Winter Love Part 2

What b.u.t.terfly had said in confident tones was, "There is only one answer, Taylor. So that Laura will not be shamed, you must marry her." After a stunned silence, Laura squeaked incredulously, "Marry Pa? You're out of your mind, b.u.t.terfly. I can't marry my father."

"Taylor is not your father by blood," the Indian woman pointed out. "In fact, he is not related to you at all. There would be no sin in marrying him."

"Good Lord, b.u.t.terfly, do you realize how everybody would talk?" Taylor said, adding his objections. "They'd be scandalized."

b.u.t.terfly shrugged her shoulders. "They will probably talk some at first, but only for a short time. As soon as something new happens that they can get their teeth into, they will forget your spring-and-winter marriage. In the meantime you have taken the step that will protect Laura's good name. That is more important than anything else. Is it not?"

Her mind in total confusion, Laura gazed unseeing at the dancing flames in the fire pit. Was her good name important enough for her to marry the man who had raised her, had been a father to her in nearly every sense of the word? Then again, what about her unborn child? It deserved to have a father even if that man in actual fact was his grandfather.

Taylor, who had also been thinking over his lover's advice, looked at Laura finally and said gruffly, "It would be in name only, of course."

When b.u.t.terfly answered that he would only be giving Laura and her child his name, he grinned crookedly and said, "I've always dreaded losing Laura to some young man. If I marry her myself I can put that fear to rest."

b.u.t.terfly laid a hand on his knee and cautioned, "Laura will fall in love again someday, Taylor, and you will have to set her free. It would be selfish of you to keep her tied to your side, wasting her youth."

"You are right, of course." Taylor nodded, then looked at Laura's downcast face. "You haven't said anything, honey. What are your thoughts on b.u.t.terfly's advice? It's your future, after all, and what you decide will be the way it is."

Laura heaved a weary sigh and looked up at Taylor, defeat in her dark gray eyes. "I can't think of anything else, Pa, unless I leave Big Pine. I know that is out of the question. I have no idea where I'd go or what I'd do when I got there."

"Don't ever think of leaving your home," Taylor ordered, half in anger. "We'll get married and carry on as usual. If people want to talk, let them. We'll just grow tough hides and let their words bounce right off us." He gave a tickled laugh. "Won't Fletch be surprised when he comes home and finds he has a new mother."

Laura smiled weakly. Surprised wouldn't be the word. Furious would more aptly describe what his reaction would be.

Two days later, on a Sunday, the small church was filled to capacity as Laura and Taylor stood before Reverend Stiles and spoke their marriage vows. All through the service there was a constant hum of whispering voices.

Justine Fraser, Laura's maid of honor and her best friend, stood up with her, full of curiosity, Laura knew, but she also knew the young woman would never question her. Elisha Imus, Taylor's longtime friend, stood beside him. When the ceremony was over, they accepted their friends' and neighbors' congratulations, best wishes that they knew were mouthed only because it was considered the right thing to do regardless of what they might think of the surprising marriage.

One woman didn't wish them well. She wasn't there. The widow Martha Louden. That one had had her sights on Taylor ever since her husband had been killed in a hunting accident three years ago. The plump, 54-year-old widow had been so determined to have him she hadn't even noticed that he paid no attention to her flirtatious smiles when she made unnecessary trips to the store almost every day. When she heard the news that Laura and Taylor would wed, she had been so outraged she had taken to her bed.

Before the newlyweds could escape they had to parry questions for several minutes, giving away nothing, saying only that they had been thinking of marrying for some time.

And since none of their answers had been satisfying, gossip ran rampant, each person expressing his own view on why a beautiful young girl would marry an old codger like Taylor, and him being like a father to her all these years. Some wondered out loud if Fletch had known about their intention and that was why he had gone off to Canada. And if he didn't, what att.i.tude would he take when he returned home?

As Taylor had said would happen, life went on as usual in the Thomas household. There was one exception. Laura took over Fletch's bedroom. It would be more handy than the loft room when the baby came.

And as b.u.t.terfly had predicted, Laura and Taylor, after a while, ceased being the main topic discussed whenever two townspeople met. Even when it became apparent that Laura was expecting, it was accepted as the natural result of any marriage.

That was until on a hot August night, after a long, hard labor, b.u.t.terfly delivered Laura of a baby girl who she named Jolie. Since the baby was tiny and delicate boned, everyone believed Taylor when he said that Laura had fallen in the barn and brought on an early birth.

However, after the neighbor women had come visiting to see the new baby, and to congratulate the parents, the gossip had started all over again. For Jolie, blond-headed and fair-skinned, looked glaringly out of place in the household of dark-skinned, black-haired Thomases.

Widow Louden was quick to remind everyone that before Laura married Taylor she'd had many young men come courting. "She always seemed to favor that blond-haired, blue-eyed Adam Beltran."

Someone else then pointed out that though he was handsome enough, Adam was built on the small side and was only a couple inches taller than Laura.

And Adam, somewhat lacking in good moral fiber, liked what was being whispered about him and Laura. Consequently, although he never claimed that the baby was his, he didn't deny the rumors either. He left it up to the community to believe what they pleased.

Laura noticed that he was always careful not to come around her with his self-satisfied smirks. She would have set him straight before long. But there wasn't much she could do to combat gossip that went on behind her back.

With a sigh, Laura rolled over and settled herself to sleep. Her last conscious thought was to wonder where Fletch was tonight.

Chapter Three.

The day was drawing to an end as Fletcher watched the woman light two candles that sat on a rough-hewn table, then move to the fireplace to light the one on the mantel.

From his bed in the log-walled cabin he had watched Maida do this for three weeks. He lifted his gaze to the smoke-stained raftered ceiling. Maida and her common-law husband, Daniel, had saved his life. Daniel had found him while running his traps and had brought him here. Maida had then dug the bullet out of his shoulder and stopped the flow of blood that was draining the life out of him.

He had fainted in the middle of her probing for the piece of lead, and had remained unconscious as she closed the wound with 13 st.i.tches.

Fever had gripped him then, and it had been Maida's knowledge of herbs and roots that had gradually cooled his burning skin and finally healed him. As Maida moved about preparing their evening meal, stirring a pot of venison stew that hung from a crane over the fire, then mixed up a batch of skillet bread, his mind lingered on the events that had brought him to this place and time.

It had been with mixed emotions he had left Laura and Big Pine that cool autumn morning. Laura had looked hurt and bewildered, and well she might. He had felt lower than a snake's belly for treating her so coolly on his leave-taking. But it wouldn't have been fair to her to do what he wanted to-take her in his arms and ask her to wait for him.

When he was first approached by the fur company he had thought the trip might provide just the breather he and Laura needed. The only reason he had agreed to their request was to get out of Laura's life for a while, give her the time to discover what her real feelings for him were. She was only 16, too young to really know her own mind. He could only pray that when he returned she would still be single and would want to marry him. She could do a lot of growing up in a year. She could change her mind about many things.

And so he had set out with his four companions, certain he was doing the right thing. Strapped on their backs were their bedrolls, a gear of tin cup, fork, and spoon, and the trail supplies they had divided between them. They also earned little bags of tobacco and rock candy in case they ran into Indians, of which there were many tribes between the Upper Peninsula and Canada.

Fair weather stayed with them through the balance of September and most of October with sunny days and cool nights. As they trekked through a forest so thick there were only narrow paths made by deer and moose that wandered aimlessly, they became aware of Indians slipping silently through the woods, keeping pace with them.

"What tribe do you think they're from?" Hank Manners, the leader of the group, asked Fletch.

"I'm not sure but I think they may be Fox or Sac," Fletch answered quietly.

"Do you think they mean us harm?"

"You never know with them. Some tribes are friendlier than others, and some hate the white man, will kill him every chance he gets."

"What do you reckon we ought to do tonight when he make camp?"

"For one thing, keep a fire burning all night and stay close to it. We could try putting out some tobacco and candy for them. Maybe they'd take it and move on. And of course a couple of us should stand guard over the camp all night."

Pretending that they weren't aware of the ghostlike figures d.o.g.g.i.ng their footsteps, Fletch and the men walked on, their hands close to the b.u.t.ts of their pistols. When they stopped to make night camp, the men went in pairs to gather firewood and to chop pine branches to lay their bedrolls on.

All five set to work clearing a wide area of pine needles, then building a good-sized fire in the center of it. While Dole prepared a supper of salt pork, beans, and hardtack, the others sat close to the fire, surrept.i.tiously keeping an eye on the forest crowding in on them.

Fletch took the first watch after the others had turned in. He selected two pouches each of candy and tobacco and laid them down at the edge of the forest, then secreted himself behind a large boulder a yard or so from camp. From his hiding spot his eyes moved continually, watchful and alert. The Indians might not intend to harm them, but they were known to steal anything they could get their hands on, and the men needed everything they had.

It was nearly midnight and Fletch felt chilled to the bone when an Indian, with stealthy grace, suddenly appeared. By the light of the full moon Fletch watched him walk over to the gifts he had put out, stoop over, pick them up, then fade back among the trees. He waited ten minutes, then shook Hank awake. After a whispered conversation, Hank rolled out of his blankets and took up the watch.

As they moved on during the next several days, never sighting the Indians anymore, the days became cooler and the nights definitely cold. They had been on the trail six weeks when they came to Lake Huron, the separation between Michigan and Canada.

Now they were faced with the problem of getting across the large body of water. That was when they met Gray Owl.

They heard the slap of a paddle hitting the water before they saw the canoe appear from a bend in the lake. An old gray-haired Indian sat in the center of the birch vessel, a fis.h.i.+ng line dragging behind him as he fished the edges of the water. When Fletcher hailed him, he nosed onto the sh.o.r.e and sat waiting for him to speak. His wizened face and snaggled teeth suggested that he was as old as the hills surrounding them.

"What is your name, old brave?" Fletcher asked, walking toward him.

"I am called Gray Owl."

Fletch gave his name, then asked, "Do you know where we could buy a craft like yours?"

After a thoughtful pause, Gray Owl answered, "I might let you buy this one, but not with money. Here in the wilderness an Indian has no use for the white man's green pieces of paper."

"What would you want, then?" Fletch wondered if he was going to ask for one of their rifles, and if so, should they give it to him and take the chance of him turning it on them.

"Gray Owl wants firewater. Bad weather is coming on and it will warm my blood."

Fletch shook his head. "We don't have any whiskey. Could we offer you some tobacco?" He felt encouraged by the glimmer of interest that shot into the black eyes that they would strike a deal.

The old fellow had been a wise trader, however, and before he turned the canoe over to them, all the rock candy had been handed over to him as well as half their tobacco.

When Gray Owl clambered out of the canoe and stood beside him, Fletch looked across the long stretch of water and sighed. "It's going to take us forever to paddle across this lake."

The owner of their candy and most of their tobacco pointed down the sh.o.r.e. "Three miles down you come to the narrowest stop of water. You can be across before sunset."

As the old Indian had said, they landed on the opposite sh.o.r.e with an hour to spare before darkness set in. While the others hurried to set up camp, Hank walked along the huge lake's sh.o.r.e. When he returned to a cheerfully burning campfire, he announced that this was the perfect spot for the fur post.

"Here, the Indians and the trappers can bring their furs by water as well as by land."

Everyone was ready to settle in one spot, and the next morning they set to work hacking out a clearing and building a long, st.u.r.dy cabin that would serve as the post, and also as their living quarters. All the while they worked, they kept a wary eye on the forest that bounded them on three sides. They knew that in the woods there was game-deer, moose, and rabbit to be shot for fresh meat-but also there were bears, cougars, and wolves. And they mustn't forget that there could very well be Indians slipping in and out between the trees, silent as ghosts. They kept their pistols strapped to their waists and their rifles always handy.

After the roof had gone on, they knocked together a table and two benches from hand-hewn boards. Then from small saplings a couple inches thick they built for each man a bunk bed. After they had moved into the building they would call home for some time, the days were spent felling trees and chopping them into lengths that would fit in the wide fireplace built from fieldstone.

When they felt they had sufficient fuel to last them through the winter, yards and yards of corded wood were stacked behind the post. It took Hank two evenings to burn out the name of the new post on a rough board about a yard long and two feet wide: CANADIAN FUR COMPANY.

TRADER AND BUYER OF FURS.

When Hank fastened the sign over the door to their surprise, before they could build a counter in the business end of the building, two customers came in. First was a rough-looking white trapper; then later an Indian brought in some fine mink pelts.

Two mornings later when the men threw back their blankets and stepped outside to relieve themselves, there was a dusting of snow on the ground; an hour later the earth wore an eight-inch white blanket. By sunset the snow was up to the top of their boots. That night, riding out of the north on winds of gale force, roared a blizzard that rattled the windows and drove against the door.

Winter had come to stay.

The next morning they found snow drifted two feet against the cabin door. It took two men to push it open. Stepping outside, the men found that the wind had died down and the snow had stopped falling. However, the white stuff was up to their waists in some spots.

Business was brisk all winter as white trappers and Indians, snowshoes strapped to their feet, brought in fine furs. As word spread that Hank was an honest trader, never cheating any trapper regardless of his color, he had almost more furs than he could handle in the small quarters of the post.

They had been operating a month when one day Dole came in from hunting, bringing with him a young Indian woman. Hank frowned and said, "There's gonna be trouble over her. The rest of us are gonna be jealous, watching you tumble her every night."

Dole laughed good-naturedly. "I'm not gonna hog her. We'll share her equally." The woman's Indian name was too hard for the men to p.r.o.nounce, so they called her Pansy.

Luckily for Pansy she enjoyed coupling as much as the men did, for she got a good workout every night, and sometimes during the day. Fletch received a lot of ribbing because he never took his turn with the willing Indian wh.o.r.e. He was asked if he was a priest in disguise, or if the severe winters in the Upper Peninsula had frozen his p.e.c.k.e.r off.

It had surprised him too that his manhood hadn't sprung to attention when he watched what went on between Pansy and his friends, especially when she sometimes serviced two men at the same time.

Since Fletch showed no interest in Pansy, she was determined that he would. She paraded around him buck-naked, her black eyes flas.h.i.+ng him an invitation. One night, after the men had sated themselves and gone to sleep, Fletch was startled awake by warm lips moving on his rock-hard arousal, which had been brought on by dreams of Laura. It had been months since he'd had a woman, and before he could push Pansy away his body was jerking in a powerful release.

When she lifted her head and gave him a sly smile, he pushed her out of bed, grating, "Don't ever try that again, woman." Everything went smoothly through the winter and on into the spring when the snow began a slow melting. It was late May with only patches of snow left in deeply shaded spots when visitors came from across the lake.

There were five of them, dirty and unkempt, all with tobacco-stained beards. They had pistols and skinning knives stuck in the waistbands of their greasy buckskins, and their sullen faces said they were looking for trouble.

As they clumped noisily across the wooden floor, heading toward Hank behind the counter, Fletch and the others quickly positioned themselves in places that gave them a clear view of each stranger's hands. If a move was made toward a weapon by any of them, they would know it and would take like action immediately.

Their action didn't go unnoticed by the strangers, and the spokesman said, "We're not here to fight... today. We've come to give you warning to clear out." He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "Me and my men work for Hudson Bay Fur Company and our boss don't want any compet.i.tion. We don't want to see you around here the next trapping season."

His hand firmly on the wicked-looking skinning knife at his waist, Hank came from behind the counter and stood in front of the belligerent speaker.

A slumbering threat of violence on his face, Hank rasped out, "Go back to where you came from and tell your boss that Hank Manners said he can go straight to h.e.l.l. We ain't budgin' from here."

With angry, disgruntled noises the man's companions started forward, then came to an abrupt halt when they saw four hands dart to long-barreled pistols.

It was a standoff as both sides waited to follow their bosses' lead. In the threatening silence that hung in the air, the trapper from across the lake finally grated out, "If you're still here next season you'll be the one who'll go to h.e.l.l." He wheeled around and stalked out of the post, his muttering men following him.

Fletcher eased his body into a more comfortable position, favoring his wounded shoulder. He had planned to start for home shortly before their unwelcome visitors had arrived. The pain that had been in Laura's eyes when he left had haunted him ever since.

He wondered now, as he often did, if he had done the right thing in going off to give her time to discover if she loved him as a man she would want to marry. Or was it merely brotherly love compounded by infatuation with an older man?

After a month into the wilderness trip, his inner voice had begun to nag him, telling him that Laura wasn't flighty like the other girls in Big Pine who constantly changed their minds about everything.

Even as a little girl, she had been on the serious side. She always knew what she wanted and would stick to it like a dog worrying a bone. Fletcher reminded himself that Laura was also very proud. His rudeness to her the morning he left might have cut her so deeply she decided to have nothing more to do with him.

He closed his eyes at that painful thought, telling himself it would serve him right if while he was gone Laura became interested in one of the many young men who were always hanging about. Like blond-headed Adam Beltran.

The trouble brewing between the two fur companies had made him stay on in Canada. He felt a sense of loyalty to Hank and the others. When you spent a long winter in one room with a bunch of men, you either became close friends or fierce enemies. In this case they had all developed a strong liking for each other.

The days pa.s.sed in pleasant idleness, with no more visits from across the lake. In mid-September Fletch made plans to head for home, hopefully to arrive before the first snowfall. Dole, Jones, and Nick talked him into delaying his departure to go hunting with them one last time.

They left early in the morning, leaving Hank and Pansy alone at the post. When they returned in midafternoon, each carrying a young doe over his shoulder, they were met by utter devastation. Only the charred framework and a clutter of partially burned logs and the fireplace remained of the post they had worked so hard to build.

As he stared at the ravaged building, wondering where Hank and Pansy were, Dole shouted, "Over here, men!"

Fletch and Nick ran over to Dole who stood looking down at the ground. At the edge of the forest Hank lay sprawled on his stomach, a bullet hole in his back. Fletch knelt down and placed his fingers on one wrist, feeling for a pulse.

There was none. He stood up, shaking his head. "I'm afraid..." he began, then stopped short. The four men who had visited them in the spring stepped out of the forest, rifles held to their shoulders. Dropping their kills, Fletch, Nick, and Dole dodged for cover in the trees back of where the post used to stand. Shots rang out behind them, slicing leaves off the trees. Fletch saw his friends crumple to the ground as he dove into the deeper darkness of the forest. As he raced on, dodging trees and brush, he could hear the thunder of feet following him.