Opposition
The other men in the wagon train were just as opposed to the idea of giving the Indians anything as MacGregor was. Their resentment only grew as the day went on. By evening, there were small clusters of men talking in hushed whispers that stopped whenever Daniel walked by. He didn't care. In his heart he knew he'd done the right thing. His only regret was how all this would affect Emma. She was shy and had few friends as it was. And he knew, just by how many of the husbands he'd upset, that many of her friends would probably shun her now.
He wanted to talk to her over supper, but didn't get the chance. Flint and the Sullivan brothers had stopped by and Emma had asked them to stay. At least he had a couple of allies.
Once they'd gone, Daniel watched Emma push wearily to her feet. She paused to rub her lower back, then tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear. Lord, she was pretty in the firelight. Her dark brown hair glowed with red highlights that made it look the color of whiskey.
"Why don't you get ready for bed. I'll finish up here and bank the fire."
She smiled a small smile that warmed him like a glass of whiskey before the fire on a winter night. He smiled back. "Toss me the blankets and I'll get our bed fixed up. It's been a hell of a day. I'm really beat and we'll be crossing the South Platte tomorrow."
Emma had just stepped toward the back of the wagon when Annie Jane entered their campsite.
"Hello Emma," she said, though it was Daniel she approached with a covered plate. "I just wanted to say thank you for the meat you brought us today and for helpin' with the team this mornin'." she held out the dish. "It's just some fried cake I made. I hope you like it."
"I'm sure we will." He accepted the plate, lifted the cloth and sniffed. "Smells great." He then took a big piece and began to eat. "Tastes great too," he mumbled around mouthfuls. "Good as them biscuits you made this morning." Annie Jane beamed at the compliment. Daniel turned and passed the plate to Emma. "Here, try some."
"Thank you, maybe later." Emma smiled and took the plate, all the while muttering under her breath.
Daniel frowned for a moment, unsure if he'd heard his sweet demure little wife correctly. He shook his head. He must have been mistaken. His Emma would never have said anything so rude and unladylike. He turned back to Annie Jane when he realized she'd been speaking to him. "Pardon me?"
"I was tellin' you about the rear wheel of our wagon and the strange grindin' noise it's been makin' all day. I sure would appreciate it if you could take a quick look at it for us. I'd feel so much safer crossin' the river tomorrow if I was sure the wheel wasn't goin' to fall off or somethin'."
"Well," he hesitated and looked at Emma.
She smiled, but it never reached her eyes. "No," Emma said sweetly. "You go ahead and help Annie Jane with her wheel. Don't worry about me, I'll finish up out here real quick then go to bed."
Daniel seemed unsure. There had been an odd edge of sarcasm in Emma's voice. But Annie Jane tugged on his arm and he turned away. A sharp bang behind him had him swinging back toward Emma. Pieces of fried cake littered the ground.
"I am so sorry," she apologized. "I stumbled over a stone." She squatted and begin picking up the scattered cake.
Daniel watched for a moment, puzzled by the way Emma slammed each piece of cake onto the plate. And he couldn't be certain, but the sound he'd heard a moment ago sounded like that of a tin plate hitting the wooden side of the wagon. He was beginning to wonder if his new wife was mad at him.
Emma was ready to throw all of Daniel's possessions out of the wagon by the time she'd picked up the cake and banked the fire. And the thing that irritated Emma the most was that Daniel appeared oblivious to Annie Jane's overtures.
Annie Jane hadn't had to drive her own wagon today. No, Annie Jane had batted her big blue eyes at Lyle Beecham and the young man had handled her team all day. Emma wondered if Lyle had gotten any fried cake. Probably not. The poor boy was skinny and had pimples all over his face.
Preoccupied with her thoughts, Emma lifted her skirt and climbed inside the dark wagon. She was just reaching out to light the lantern that hung overhead when a big hand suddenly clamped over her mouth and yanked her backwards, slamming her against a hard, male body.
Her brown eyes widened in terror. Small squeaking sounds escaped her lips from beneath the clammy hand. She struggled to escape his hold, but his grip only tightened. He smelled of sweat and dirt and something else. Something foul and putrid, like a wound gone septic.
His breath was hot against her ear. "If you scream, I'll kill you." Emma felt something hard press against her ribs. The barrel of a revolver. She nodded frantically, desperate to escape the smell of him. She could feel the bile rising in the back of her throat.
"I just need some food and a little doctorin', then I'll be on my way. If I let you go and you scream, I'll shoot you. I've done it before; I'll do it again. Can I trust you?"
Saliva pooled around her tongue. She swallowed, fighting the rising gag in her throat. Her head bobbed up and down. He must have believed her because he slowly released his hold.
As soon as she was free, Emma stumbled forward against her armoire and began to suck in great gulps of air. Once her heart rate had returned to something close to normal and her stomach stopped rolling she turned to look at her captor.
He had dropped to sit on her green chest. His ashen face stood out in the darkness. He was young, maybe in his mid-twenties. Beads of sweat glistened against his skin and trailed slowly down his face. His hair was dark and wet. His clothing appeared black, but Emma could see well enough to make out the gold buttons on his jacket and the yellow stripes that ran down the outside of each leg. This was Major Strickland's deserter.
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