Chapter Twenty

“Cissy? Cissy, are you awake?”

Constance tried hard to open her eyes. “What is it, pet?”

“Cissy, I’m frightened.”

“You’ve been frightened since we left Independence.”

“I—I know. And it isn’t Mr. Nyland’s snoring or milking the cow, it’s…”

Constance opened one eye. “Both the major and Billy West are sleeping right outside this wagon, Nettie. There is nothing to fear.”

Nettie snuggled closer. “Lying here in the dark like this, it’s like when we were young, isn’t it? When I’d get scared at night and you’d let me crawl into bed next to you, remember, Cissy?”

“I remember.” Constance squeezed her sister’s small hand. “What has frightened you tonight?”

Nettie sighed. “Oh, lots of things. I thought you might die earlier.”

Constance smiled. “I thought so, too, for a while. For a while, I wished I would.

“But just think, Cissy. What would happen to me if you died?”

Her other eyelid snapped open. “You’d learn how to cook and churn butter,” she said dryly. “Honestly, Sister, is your concern always for yourself alone?”

“N-no. But if you died all of a sudden, like Papa…”

“You would grow up, Nettie. The way I did when Mama died. You would have to.”

In the long silence that followed, Constance patted the lump curled up under the quilt with her good hand and let her eyelids close. “Go to sleep, Nettie.”

“I can’t. I’m still worried about…something.”

Constance heard the whiny tone Nettie used when she wanted something. “After what we have survived, what more could possibly worry you?”

Another silence.

“I don’t have a dress to be married in,” Nettie blurted. “Mama’s wedding gown was packed away in the chiffonier. I was planning to wear it.”

Constance sat up, clamping her jaw against the pain in her shoulder. “You are worried about Mama’s wedding gown? That’s all?” She realized her voice would carry out into the night, but she didn’t care. She couldn’t stop herself.

“Not Indians on the warpath or Friedrich Stryker’s weak heart, or how we will manage on wash day when I have use of only one arm? Mama’s wedding gown?

“Well…yes,” Nettie said in a small voice. “And…”

“At least you are honest,” Constance snapped. “And what?”

“And whether it will still fit in the waist, since I am…you know.”

Her head spun. This time it had nothing to do with drinking too much whiskey. “Nettie, how can you be so…?”

But she knew how. Nettie had been spoiled and pampered all her life, and Constance now saw that she was as much to blame as Papa. She could be angry, furious, even. But she could not blame her sister for simply being the person she had been encouraged to be.

Nettie sniffled. “Cissy, don’t be angry.” Her small hand crept into Constance’s. “I know you fancy the major, but if I don’t get married quickly, I won’t fit into Mama’s dress. Don’t you see? You don’t need someone the way I do.”

So furious she couldn’t think clearly, Constance counted her breaths until she could speak. “As for my not needing him, Sister, I would advise you to look beyond your own nose for once in your life.” The words came out in a voice she had never heard herself use before.

“And, Nettie, here is something I do not want you to forget. Major Montgomery is not just ‘someone.’ If you ever, ever are unkind to him, or mistreat him in any way—in any way at all, do you hear me?—you will answer to me. Is that clear? Nettie?”

“Y-yes.”

“Then do not ever speak of him in this manner again. You will have Mama’s wedding dress. Now, hush up, Sister, or I will cry, and it hurts me even to breathe!”

She stifled a wild impulse to get away from Nettie, climb out of the wagon, no matter how much it hurt, and walk out under the stars. John might be there.

And that, she thought when reason returned, was exactly why she could not.

 

John awoke to the enticing smell of coffee and sizzling bacon. For a moment he couldn’t remember where he was, but then Billy’s raspy voice came from the direction of the cookfire, singing in his peculiar musical style, half humming, half speaking.

“‘…too long in the saddle, down Mexico way, the girls were all pretty, but I could not stay…’”

John winced. He’d listened to that particular song through most of Idaho and Montana, and it always brought back the same memories—two green army men who forged a friendship during a thousand-mile trek. He’d grown to hate the song, but he loved like a brother the man who sang it.

“‘…and so I kept ridin’, o’er valley and hill, and someday I’ll find her, and wed her I will…’”

“You’ll find,” Billy remarked as he forked over a strip of bacon, “that women will surprise you. Yessir, when you think you know what they gonna do, they—”

John rolled over. “Billy?”

“…up and say somethin’ or smile atcha or start…”

“Billy, who are you making this speech to?”

“Nobody in partic’lar, Major. Jes’ thinkin’ out loud.”

“Think more quietly. You’ll wake the women.”

“Don’t think so, Major. Nosiree. Miss Nettie and Miss Constance already up an’ dressed and off to the necessary.”

John sat up so fast his head swam.

“Ain’t speakin’ to each other, after last night, but they walkin’ side by side like civilized folks.” He dumped a cup of cold water into the bubbling coffeepot. “Though Miss Constance, now, she’s pretty unsteady on her pins.”

“What about last night?”

“Major, you slept through one of the purtiest speeches I ever heard, Miss Constance telling Miss Nettie a few things she had on her mind.”

John pulled the tan buckskin shirt over his head, jammed his feet into the boots he’d used for a pillow and stood up. “Which way did they go?”

“I’d go th’opposite way if I’s you, John. You’re already in between ’em up to yer neck.”

“Mind your own business, Billy.”

“That’s just what I’m doin’, John. Coffee’s ready.”

John chuckled in spite of himself. Billy was right. He was in up to his neck, and coffee wasn’t going to help.

Billy filled a cup anyway. “‘…too long in the saddle down Mexico…’”

“Duquette been by?”

“Nope. Don’t expect him, neither. He’s waitin’ to see what you’re gonna do next. Here, Major.” He handed John a speckled mug of thick black coffee. “My special brew.”

“Whiskey?”

“Brandy. Found it in yer saddlebag when I stowed yer medical kit last night.”

John put the cup to his lips. It smelled so rich and sweet it made his eyes water. “Billy, I’m going to recommend you for promotion.”

The skillet banged onto the fire grate. “Don’t even think it,” Billy shot. “I don’t want to be no closer to hell than I already am.” He shoved a plate of food into John’s hand. “Eat yer breakfast.”

Three fluffy white biscuits looked up at him through a latticework of crisp bacon strips. “You make these?”

“You see anybody else with an apron tied around their middle? Miss Constance, she tried to help, but she cain’t hardly see straight this mornin’, let alone use that arm.”

“There’s always Nettie,” John remarked. He crunched a piece of bacon between his front teeth.

“Yup. There’s Nettie, all right.”

And that was the last Billy offered on the subject.

They ate their meal standing up. When the two women returned to camp, Billy served them generous portions and set Constance’s plate on an overturned box so she could try eating left-handed. John noticed she avoided direct sunlight, shielding her face, even under the wide-brimmed straw hat, with her hand in between bites.

“Head hurt?”

“Yes.” She was careful not to nod.

“Here.” He handed her his mug of brandy-laced coffee. “Hair of the rattlesnake.”

“Don’t make me laugh, John,” she begged. “It hurts worse.”

“She couldn’t even get dressed this morning,” Nettie interjected. “As it is, she’s not wearing a—”

“Nettie!”

“Well, you’re not. I don’t see what’s so shameful about…”

“I’m s’prised y’er even up and movin’ around,” Billy interrupted. He laid the last strip of bacon on Constance’s already loaded plate.

Nettie calmly reached over and snagged it for herself. “I had to milk the cow, too. And carry the pail all the way back, as Cissy can’t bend over, not even a little bit.”

Constance laid down her biscuit. “I am proud of you, Nettie. You have been a real help.” As she spoke she surreptitiously lifted the bacon strip off Nettie’s plate and bit into it.

John blinked. “You think you could drive the wagon today, Nettie?”

Nettie looked horrified. “You mean, the oxen? Oh, I don’t see how—”

“Sure you can, Nettie girl.” Billy wiped the last of the bacon grease from the skillet. “You’re plenty smart. Why, I betcha I can learn you how to drive a team in half an hour.”

“Teach me,” Nettie corrected with a sniff. “Teach me how to drive.”

“At yer service, ma’am. Now, who’s gonna help me with the washin’ up here?”

Nettie’s lower lip came out. “Oh, all right, I suppose I will have to,” she grumbled.

Billy sent the major a covert thumbs-up and Constance ducked her head to hide a smile. Poor Nettie. She really had to pitch in, since Constance was not able to use her arm.

Poor Nettie, indeed! an inner voice countered. As soon as they reached the fort, “Poor Nettie” would marry the major and knowingly break her sister’s heart.

John downed the dregs of his coffee. “Let’s hitch up and get rolling. We’ve got another mountain and the north fork of the Platte ahead of us. We’re due at Fort Laramie in six days.”