Jenny Quade stood on a small hill a week later, watching as Dylan and his men started a large herd on the dusty trail to Abilene.
She’d heard that John Jacob had returned to the post, and that Rachel had moved into the cabin he’d built her. Why should that white-haired little bastard get all the luck? thought Jenny enviously. A house of her own and that good-looking Dylan Quade panting after her. What did all the menfolk see in the skinny little bitch?
It was a hot, sultry day, and after Jenny had haphazardly done her weekly laundry—two pairs of homespuns for her husband and a couple of faded dresses of hers—she decided to take a short walk to a shallow spot in the river, where she could splash around a bit to cool off.
She slipped through the willows with the stealth of a cat, a manner she had used almost as soon as she learned to walk. Thanks to her eavesdropping over the years, there were few people living on Tulane Ridge or in Jackson Hole who held any secrets from her. Consequently, she was disliked and distrusted by all.
When Jenny came to the shallow spot in the river where folks went to swim, she was surprised to see that the spot was already taken. She hadn’t heard the sound of splashing water or laughing children. But when she saw who was there, she wasn’t surprised that she hadn’t heard the usual happy sounds of playing children.
Preacher Robison’s two orphans were waist deep in the river, quietly wading around in the cool water. The preacher sat on the riverbank watching them. Jenny’s eyes narrowed. She had suspected for some time that there was something strange about a young preacher taking care of girls. The younger one was probably ten years old, the elder fourteen. Why wasn’t he taking care of young boys?
She sat down on a big rock hidden beneath a large willow branch. She had sat there about ten minutes when Robison called to the girls that it was time they got home and made lunch. The girls immediately did as they were told, leaving the river and climbing up the bank, water streaming from their dresses and petticoats. The older girl waded out last, and Jenny’s eyes bugged at the sight of her.
The girl wore no petticoat and her dress was thin, clinging wetly to her body. But the thin dress and absence of a petticoat weren’t what had stunned her. The young teenager was well along in a family way.
Jenny sat chewing on a dirty fingernail, her brain racing as the girls dried themselves off. How, she asked herself, did the girl manage to get away from the preacher to meet some man in the woods?
It came to her then. The girl didn’t have to sneak out of the house to meet a man. She was living with one.
She sat on after Robison and the girls left the river and disappeared up the mountain. She must carefully ponder this new knowledge, decide how to get the most out of it.
She was ready to go home when the laughter of a child reached her. She peered through the branches and saw Colby, Benny and Rachel coming along. Rachel carred a basket on her arm, the tops of herbs she had dug up hanging over the edges of the wicker container. Miss High-and-Mighty, you don’t know it yet, but pretty soon you and that stuck-up Dylan are going to fall off your high horses.
Jenny waited until she figured the preacher and the girls had changed into dry clothes and maybe started fixing lunch. She walked up the path to the preacher’s house then and knocked on the door. The low murmur of voices inside the shack stopped immediately. A minute later the door creaked open about twelve inches. Robison stood there frowning down at her. He did not open the door wider as an invitation for her to enter. Jenny smiled knowingly. She knew the preacher had never thought much of her. Without being told to do so, the two girls faded into a back room. Impatience was in his voice when he demanded rudely, “What brings you here?”
His eyes were contemptuous as he looked over her bare legs and feet, which hadn’t seen soap in a long time.
“I think someone should talk to you about that older girl you have livin’ with you.”
Robison’s eyes were suddenly icy, and he stared at Jenny with hate blazing in his gaze. She took a step back, sure that he was going to strike her. “What about my Millie?” he demanded coldly.
“You know as well as I do that the girl is expectin’. The problem facin’ you now is, what man bigged her?”
Robison’s eyes were ugly when he demanded, “I suppose you know who the man is.”
Jenny’s eyes narrowed defensively as she said, “Know as well as you do name of the man who did it.”
When alarm flickered in the preacher’s eyes, she grew bolder and reclaimed the step she had lost a few moments ago. “The question is, do we want that man to be found guilty, or is there another one who would do better?”
“Do you have one in mind?” Robison narrowed his eyes at her.
“I do,” Jenny answered immediately. “He would make your charge a fine husband. He has a lot of money and two properties.”
A knowing gleam came into the preacher’s eyes. “If you have in mind that arrogant Dylan Quade, forget about it. No one would believe he would stoop to lie with ugly little Millie, who doesn’t even have a last name.”
“That’s where you are mistaken. Dylan Quade, with his high-falutin’ ways, has many enemies. Most of the mountain men hate him and would love to see him jerked off his high horse. They would swear to anything we asked them to.”
Her lips spread in a malicious, twisted smile. “They would grab him some night after he had gone to bed, take him high up the mountain where you could be waiting. In five minutes time Mr. Dylan Quade would be a husband.”
Robison gazed at Jenny, reluctant admiration in his eyes. He would never want this one for an enemy.
“Will you be able to convince the girl to name Quade as the father?” Jenny asked, pushing her greasy hair off her forehead.
Robison looked at Jenny with arrogant confidence. “Millie will do as I tell her.” An evil glint flashed in his eyes. He had his own way of making sure Millie would do as she was told.
“It’s agreed, then,” Jenny said, hardly able to contain her gleeful satisfaction. As she left the preacher’s house, she was already planning her course of action. The first step would be a visit to the general store in Tulane Ridge.
Midway up the single street, Jenny spotted women who had come to town to do their weekly grocery shopping. They ignored her as she approached them. That didn’t deter her from walking up to the group and saying, “Howdy, ladies. It’s a fine day, ain’t it?”
One of the women looked up at the blazing sun and, fanning her face, said, “It’s a mite too hot for me.”
She was ready to turn back to her friends when Jenny spoke again in her irritating nasal voice. “I was just talkin’ to Preacher Robison. He’s all broken up over one of them girls he’s been takin’ care of.”
Jenny had their attention now and she rushed on to keep it. “It’s clear you ladies haven’t been payin’ much attention to her. She’s showing big.”
“I’m surprised to hear that Preacher Robison chose you to confide in,” one of the women said with a sniff.
“Well, he didn’t confide in me exactly,” Jenny said shyly. “I was fishin’ at the river when the preacher and the two girls came along to take a dip in the water. They didn’t know I was there. Robison sat on the bank watching them. The only thing they had on was their dresses. I didn’t pay any attention to that. That’s the way we mountain girls go swimmin’. Then the older girl, Millie, stood up, and the way the wet dress clung to her belly, it was plain as day that she was bigged.”
“Does the preacher know who the father is?” one of the women asked. “Is it one of the boys from the ridge?”
“Not exactly.” Jenny looked away from the women. “The preacher’s pretty sure Dylan Quade is the pappy.”