“The young never learn how fragile they are.”
Harrod glanced sharply at him. “Why, that’s almost poetical, that is. No one ever told me you have such a way with words.”
Nate shrugged. “I read a lot.”
“Is that a fact? I never got beyond the second grade. My ma wanted me to stick it out to the sixth, but I was always acting up and the teacher didn’t take kindly to my antics. He didn’t take kindly to them at all. Must have rapped my knuckles ten times a day with that ruler of his.”
“My father wouldn’t have let me quit school even if I’d wanted to.”
“One of those, was he? My pa lit out on us when I was four. Never did learn why. Ma said he took up with another woman but a friend of his told me he couldn’t take ma’s nagging anymore. Seems to me, though, that if a man says ‘I do,’ he shouldn’t abandon a gal just because she’s fond of flapping her gums.”
Now it was Nate who grinned. “You have a way with words yourself. Well put. Of all the virtues, I value loyalty pretty near the most.”
“Virtues, huh?” Harrod snickered. “I won’t lie to you and claim more than my share. I have my weaknesses, I am afraid. Money is one of them.”
“Oh?”
“Money is what brought me to the mountains to trap. Remember all the talk back then? About how a coon could make a small fortune for a few measly months of work?”
“It wasn’t entirely a lie,” Nate said. The best trappers earned upward of two thousand dollars at the rendezvous, at a time when most men back east were lucky to make three hundred dollars a year.
“Maybe so. But if I told you some of the other things I’ve done for money, you’d laugh. I’d laugh too except that some of my harebrained notions have cost me in scars and skin.”
“You’re not the only one.”
Harrod didn’t seem to hear him. “I’m just letting you know I’m no angel, so you don’t hold it against me later if I prove to be less than perfect.”
“Don’t worry,” Nate said. “I won’t hold you to a higher standard than I’d hold anyone else. So long as you show some common courtesy, you’re welcome to ride with us for as long as you like.”
Peleg Harrod beamed. “You don’t know how happy I am to hear you say that.”
Chapter Seven
Everyone took to the new member of their little party. At first the Worths held back, but after several days and nights of the old frontiersman’s smiles and chatter, they were won over. Randa, in particular, loved to hear his stories about all he had done and seen in his travels.
Everyone took to the new member—except for Winona King. She couldn’t say what it was about Harrod, but something about him bothered her. She kept it to herself, thinking it silly, until the morning of the fourth day. She was up before first light. Chickory was supposed to be keeping watch. They all took turns. But the boy had dozed off and let the fire go out.
Winona quietly rose from under the blankets so as not to awaken her husband. She stretched, then walked toward the charred embers, smoothing her dress. She didn’t look up until she was almost there.
Peleg Harrod was missing.
Winona gazed about the clearing. Everyone else was still asleep. But Harrod’s blankets were thrown back, and he was gone. She figured he had risen and gone off to wash up in the Platte. Kneeling, she set to rekindling the fire. Chickory let out a snore, and she grinned. Over the past weeks she had grown quite fond of the Worths. It had been her idea to have Nate ask them if they would like to settle in King Valley. Nate had proven reluctant, and she had probed to find out why.
“What is wrong, Husband? You do not want them to live near us because they are black?”
Nate had stiffened in indignation. “If I were that way, would I have married you?”
“I am red, or so your people say, and not black.”
“Don’t quibble. If you honestly and truly think that I judge people by the color of their skin, say so now and I’ll go off and live by myself.”
Winona had arched an eyebrow. “You are making more of this than it deserves.”
“Not when you just called me a bigot, I’m not.”
“Never in a million winters would I think that,” Winona had assured him. Placing her hand on his broad chest, she had smiled up into his troubled eyes. “I love you more than I love life. I am sorry if I have hurt your feelings.”
“That’s better.”
“So tell me why you do not want them to come to our valley? What reason could you have? It is not as if we want for space. There are three cabins and a lodge in a valley that is”—Winona had paused, trying to remember what he told her once—“big enough for a thousand families.”
“One more might not seem like a lot to you,” Nate had responded, “but when we first moved there, the idea was to get off by ourselves. We were too near the Oregon Trail, where we lived before. Too near the foothills.”
“I remember.” It had seemed to Winona as if strangers happened by every time she turned around.
“It was supposed to be only us and Zach and Lou and Shakespeare and Blue Water Woman. Then the Nansusequas showed up and you were too kindhearted to turn them away.”
“That was your decision, not mine,” Winona corrected. “You are the one with the kind heart, although you try to hide that you have one.”
Nate ignored her comment. “Now you’ve invited the Worths. At the rate we’re going, we’ll have us our very own city in no time.”
“Oh, Husband.” Winona had laughed heartily. “I understand, though. We will let the Worths stay, but no one else after them. Agreed?”
Nate had nodded and the matter was settled.
Now, as Winona poked a stick at the embers and thin wisps of smoke rose into the crisp morning air, she thought of how surprised her son and their friends the Nansusequas would be. New settlers were one thing; blacks were quite another. The Worths were so unlike her people and the whites, and yet so much like them, too. She looked forward to many a day spent in Emala’s company, learning all there was to learn about her kind.
One of the horses nickered, and Winona glanced up.
Harrod was coming back but not from the direction of the river. He was coming from the east, which struck Winona as strange. He saw her at the same instant she saw him, and he stopped short as if in surprise. Then, wearing his perpetual smile, he strolled into the clearing.
“Good morning, Mrs. King. You’re up awful early this fine morning. The sun hasn’t risen yet.”
“The same could be said of you.”
“Oh, I’ve always been an early riser,” Harrod said. #8220;I was raised on a farm, and we had to be up and out at the crack of dawn to milk the cows and collect chicken eggs and such.”
Bending to puff on a red ember, Winona asked, “See anything on your walk?”
“Just the usual. A few deer. A few birds.” Harrod coughed. “Why do you ask?”
“No reason.” When the flames were high enough to suit her, Winona picked up the coffeepot and shook it. “Empty. I need to make more. My husband is unable to start his day without a cup or two.”
“I’m the same way.” Harrod cradled his rifle. “How about if I walk with you? Just in case.”
“In case what?”
“In case a griz happens by. Or a cougar. Or a pack of wolves.” Harrod grinned. “Then there are the two-legged kind who wear paint and like to lift hair.”
“I have these,” Winona said, patting the flintlocks tucked under the leather belt she wore. “But you may come with me if you wish.” She went and got her own rifle.