Chapter Eleven

The buckboard and wagon loomed like two dark specks in the distance when Belle first spied them. While waiting for George and Margaret Campbell to transport her to the settlement to buy supplies for the long winter ahead, she pulled her light-weight, woolen cape tighter around her burgeoning body to ward off the chill.

Winter will be here before I know it. She patted her swollen belly. Before we know it. She hoped to make today’s trip without mishap.

Rubbing her belly with both hands, Belle scratched through her clothes, where faint stretch marks hid, to massage the area around her protruding navel. How much more growing will I have to do before giving birth?

“Probably a few more weeks, little one, and we’ll get to meet you.” She stopped the unlady-like scratching and sat on top of one of the trunks brought overland months ago. Both trunks held quilts, representing years of the young woman’s labor. Inside the dugout, she kept the last two quilts she and her mother had made together—the lily quilt, because it held so much meaning for her, and the bride’s quilt—plus two more recent ones for her rope bed. That left ten quilts, five in each trunk.

Hopeful to find buyers for quilts in a settlement as small as Horseshoe Bend, she maintained a positive composure but tried to brace for failure. She planned to approach Mr. Owens to consign a couple of them for her in his trading post, now growing into more of a general store. Or perhaps, she could trade one to someone else, trade with anyone for almost anything. Desperate to stock up on supplies, she needed money. Her quilts were the only valuable items worth bartering.

She tasted salt when tears started to fall, sliding down her rounded cheeks into tiny crevices at the corners of her mouth. She blinked the tears back, then stood and stamped her booted foot.

“I will not cry over quilts,” she said, choking out the words. “I won’t.” But selling the quilts hadn’t triggered the tears. She wondered how she was going to survive. Most of her money had been spent on the trip out west. After she arrived in Texas, Michael was to have provided for her and for the child she was carrying. Dejected, she sat back down and cradled her face in her hands.

Finally, she gave in to her pent-up emotions and wailed, “Michael, you weren’t supposed to die.” Then in anger, she beat on the trunk. “Damn you, you need to be here. Why did you have to die?”

After a few moments, she stood, her back straight, her chin out, and wiped the tears from her face. “I will survive,” she said, solemn, yet determined. “Damnation, I will.”

She took long, confident strides toward the dugout. Once inside, she washed her tear-stained face and hoped her company wouldn’t notice she’d been crying.

By the time the Campbell clan arrived in their creaking wagons, Belle was in control of her emotions and cheerful, hoping the chilly air would be blamed for her red cheeks. While they all exchanged greetings, the two oldest Campbell boys loaded her trunks onto the wagon, which overflowed with arms, legs, and smiles. Belle climbed up and sat on the bouncy wagon seat, and the boys hopped up to sit on the trunks. Noisy chatter from the happy family created music for Belle’s lonely soul. The party struck out for Horseshoe Bend.

As the Campbell caravan creaked along in the quiet settlement, they saw no one until they pulled up in front of the trading post that sported a new sign: Owens’ Mercantile. Three old, grizzled trappers lounged near the doorway of the building, stirring enough to propel their coffee-colored spittle into the dirt street. They nodded a greeting toward the group, then reached up to pull down the tip of their hats in respect to the two women.

Stephen Owens stepped out of the mercantile onto a new, split-board sidewalk and greeted the Campbell party. They made their way to the sidewalk and into the store, each one anxious to choose a treasure that would keep them occupied for the coming months of winter.

Belle walked past Owens and, glancing at his face, recognized the look of rage. He was staring at her pregnant belly. Alarmed, she stiffened.

He relaxed the tense muscles in his face and spoke as if nothing had happened. “Mrs. Strong, it’s good to see you again. I see you’re surviving out here in the Province of Mexico.”

Confused at the changes in his demeanor, Belle wondered if she had misjudged him. “Oh yes, I’m doing fine,” she said, her voice sounding more sure of her situation than she felt. “Especially with wonderful friends like the Campbells.”

“Indeed.” Owens raised an eyebrow.

“I do have one concern, though.” Belle tried to appear nonchalant in her sales attempt.

Owens regarded her with a frown. “What might that be, madam?”

Belle looked straight into his eyes with as much pride as she could muster. “I need supplies for the winter, but I don’t have enough money to buy them.” She braced herself for the next statement, taking time to moisten her lips and swallow the lump in her throat. “I have quilts for sale. I wondered if…” She paused. “May I barter some of them for supplies?”

Owens rubbed his fingers up and down the length of his cheek while he pondered an answer. “Wish I could help you out, but I have no market for quilts and coverlets,” he said, his voice brisk. “These men coming through here to trade are used to sleeping on robes made from bear and buffalo. Any animal with fur or long hair keeps them warm. Why, they would destroy a fine quilt.”

Belle felt her pride slip away, letting desperation creep in. “Possibly at your fine plantation?”

“No,” Owens said, wearing a smug look. “I have plenty.”

Embarrassed from baring her soul to this man, Belle looked away. She had once thought him handsome when he befriended her at the ferry, but he could now bore holes through her with resentful eyes. She wondered why.

To make matters worse, she noticed Trader Jake amid the men crowded around the open doorway. Why does his presence bother me so much? She had not forgotten his actions from the ferry, although that seemed like a long time ago. But there’s something else about him. She recalled a dream where he had slugged her with his huge fist. When she woke with a very sore jaw no one could explain to her satisfaction, she was puzzled about the whole issue. If it was a dream, why should I want to strangle him? Confused, she had been staring at him.

He smiled and tipped his hat, his tall frame blocking her retreat.

She nodded in his direction.

Owens interrupted her confusing thoughts. “I can offer you an alternative solution,” he said, unable to conceal a taunt. “I could extend you some credit.”

“Thank you, no. I’ll make do,” Belle said, with as much dignity as she could rally. Inside, her private terror ran rampant. How am I going to make do? How will I survive?

She looked around. Jake was gone. Well, that’s a relief. I can at least walk through this crowd and get out of here before I cry.

Seated in the wagon, a patient Belle waited on the Campbells to make their final selections. She sat as proud and straight as she could, but inwardly, she seethed.

“I will starve before I beg,” she said in a tight whisper. “Credit sounds fine.” Her whisper became almost a whimper. “But how would I ever pay him back, anyway?” She wanted to cry but chose to hold her tears until she returned to the dugout, promising herself a loud, wailing fit if she still wanted one by then. She would wait until she was alone. No one will ever see me cry over money.

Startled by a gentle touch on her hand, Belle looked down from the wagon into a gentleman’s face, topped with wavy, gray hair.

“Madam? I’m Burcham from the hotel,” he said in a pleasant voice.

“Yes?”

“About your quilts,” he said. “Would you show them to me?”

“Of course, I will.” She adjusted her skirt and hurried over the wagon seat to unlatch one of the trunks.

“These will really brighten up your hotel rooms.” She recalled the worn and frayed coverlets on the hotel bed she had slept on when she first came to Horseshoe Bend. Her hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, I am mortified. I shouldn’t have judged your bedding. Please forgive me.”

Burcham waved her words aside with a liver-spotted hand. “Don’t apologize. I haven’t had the responsibility for caring for the hotel until now, so you haven’t offended me. I do agree they need replacing, and that is precisely what I want to do.”

Belle opened one trunk to reveal bold poppies in bright reds and soft pinks with green stems. Tiny stitches outlined appliqued flowers and formed colorless rainbows on the background of unbleached muslin. She enjoyed the boldness of this quilt and thought it would appeal to a man. It was no accident that it lay on top of the stack. She started to unfold it, but Burcham refused to let her.

He examined her fine stitching and checked the quilt’s thickness. “Four dollars each, and I’ll take them all,” he announced.

No sound came forth when Belle opened her mouth. She stared at him, and when she could breathe normally again, she answered, “That’s way too much for them. Why, that’s a fortune. And besides, I have ten of them.”

“Take it or leave it,” Burcham said. “All or none.” His blue eyes twinkled.

“Sold,” Belle said. She liked the sound of two, twenty-dollar gold pieces clinking together when Burcham dropped them into her outstretched hand.

“Just deliver them to the hotel when it’s convenient.” Burcham turned and walked back to the hotel.

Marveling at her good fortune, Belle watched him go until movement caught her eye. Jake stared down at her from a second-story window of the hotel, his muscular arms folded across his broad chest. She stared back, wishing she knew why he unnerved her so.

She turned away and went into Owens’ Mercantile, anxious to share her good news with Margaret. Now, I can buy all the supplies I could possibly use this winter and have money left over! Although saddened to sell quilts that contained memories and countless hours of hand sewing, she felt a heavy burden had been lifted from her shoulders. After buying supplies, she treated the Campbell children with horehound candy drops and a sarsaparilla each. Then, she purchased an iron skillet as a thank-you gift for Margaret and George for all the help they had been to her.

After delivering the quilts to the hotel, Belle and the Campbell family prepared for their return trip. Her trunks rode home empty, but her heart was full. She had conquered one more obstacle in her quest for survival on this raw frontier. Reality broke into her reflections as she envisioned how many more hardships she might need to face in the near future. She brushed wispy tendrils from her face and, in turn, brushed away negative thoughts.

“Tomorrow is soon enough to worry,” she whispered. “Let me glory in my new wealth for a few more hours.”