The Beloved Woman

  Amarintha sighed as if thinking. “Captain, excuse the bad language I’m about to use.” She bent down so that her face was inches from Katherine’s and asked softly, “Don’t you think I know the kind of nasty things you savages do with men? You can’t keep your hands off them; you’d just as soon lay down for this one as the next. Mr. Gallatin is not just your friend, you lying squaw. He’s like any other man—he’ll take whatever’s easiest to get, be it white or Indian. Well, you may have gotten him into your bed, but I won’t let you ruin him for decent society.”

  She sat back and smiled with unnerving ease. “I’m waiting. Captain.”

  Taylor glanced toward the stockade gate and saw his soldiers carrying the unconscious Gallatin out on a blanket. Though another blanket covered him, it was obvious he was naked.

  “What have you done to him, you female devil?” Amarintha demanded. “You’re filthy, filthy!”

  Katherine grabbed a buggy whip from the wagon seat and drew it back to strike the mules. “Hold on, Miss Parnell, because you’re going for a ride straight to hell.” She swung the whip.

  Taylor reacted as he thought any gallant ought to, given the threat to his lady. He leapt forward and landed a fist in Katherine’s temple. She fell against the wagon and slumped to the ground while soldiers grabbed the reins of the startled mules.

  “Oh, this is the most dreadful thing!” Amarintha cried. “Please, let’s take Mr. Gallatin away from this awful place.”

  Breathing heavily, already ashamed of what he’d done to the woman who lay at his feet with her incredible black hair strewn around her in the dust, Taylor yelled, “Load that man in the wagon, dammit!”

  The soldiers put Gallatin onto a mattress in the back. He moved his head weakly and frowned. Taylor climbed into the seat beside Amarintha and took the reins. “Carry that woman to her friends and see that they look after her!”

  Taylor felt justified but sick as he drove away with Amarintha’s small hand patting his arm soothingly. He looked back and saw one of the soldiers dragging Katherine Blue Song’s limp body into the stockade.

  KATHERINE SAT IN a shady spot by the stockade wall, her head back and eyes shut. Her temple ached this morning, but not as badly as it had during the night. No, today she had a clear mind, and all she could think about was Justis. She heard running feet and looked up to see Sam dashing across the crowded compound toward her. His eyes filled with distress at her disheveled appearance and swollen face.

  “God in heaven! How are you?” He squatted beside her and she grasped his arms.

  “How is Justis?”

  He exhaled wearily. “Not good. Amarintha has him hidden away at her house and I couldn’t get in to see him until this morning. The damned doctor keeps bleeding him.”

  She wailed softly. “That’s no help! It will only make him weaker! Sam, get me out of here.”

  “The general’s arrived. Let’s go see him.”

  He helped her up while she anxiously tried to straighten her hair and clothes. “I don’t look very impressive, Sam.”

  “Just be yourself. I think the general will be smitten.”

  General Winfield Scott, a tall, imposing veteran who favored long sideburns and fine uniforms, very much deserved his nickname, Old Fuss and Feathers. As Katherine sat across from him in the rough little cabin that served as the stockade’s headquarters, she was shocked to learn that he was sympathetic to the Cherokees’ plight, and hers.

  “I’m willing to let you go about your business in town,” he told her, stroking his sideburns, “as long as Mr. Kirkland here will be responsible for you.”

  “Yes, sir,” Sam said quickly. “My wife and I will look after her.”

  “Thank you, General,” Katherine added.

  He shook his head. “But I can’t allow you to stay permanently. When the others go west, you’ll go with them.”

  She nodded. “I’m just happy to be free for the moment.”

  “What is this Mr. Gallatin to you? Common-law husband?”

  “No. A dear friend.”

  “Let me warn you, I’m tired of white families trying to sneak their Cherokee in-laws past me. If you’ve got any idea of marrying him so that you can stay here, it won’t do you any good. If you marry him, he’ll have to go west with you.”

  Katherine gave him a pensive smile. “I understand. I have no intention of marrying Mr. Gallatin.”

  The general studied her shrewdly, then nodded. He crossed the small room to a crude plank desk. After a minute of careful writing he handed a sheet of paper to an orderly waiting nearby. “Put my seal on that and give it to Miss Blue Song.”

  General Scott bowed to her. “That order will keep your freedom for you until the march begins. I wish you well, Miss Blue Song. And I hope you’re able to do some good for your friend.”

  She curtsied. “I hope so, too, sir. Thank you.” She turned and ran for Sam’s buggy.

  AMARINTHA STOOD IN the door to her home like a fierce pink tiger.

  “Mr. Kirkland, I will not let that woman in this house!”

  Katherine tried to step around Sam, but Rebecca shoved past them both and confronted Amarintha nose to nose. “My dear Amarintha, do you know how many times I’ve seen you take liberties with the merchandise in my store? How many times I’ve said nothing when you’ve tucked a packet of pins into your sleeve or hidden a ribbon under your bonnet?”

  “I have never!”

  “You most certainly have! And if you don’t let Miss Blue Song upstairs to doctor Mr. Gallatin, I’ll send your father a bill for everything you’ve stolen!”

  “Sweet baby?” a booming voice called from the back of the house. “Do we have guests?”

  Amarintha’s eyes glowed bitterly as she stared past Rebecca at Katherine. “Yes, Daddy, we do.”

  The judge strode down the hall, smiling, and asked what the problem was. Sam explained, and Amarintha’s face took on a shuttered, almost fearful expression. The judge looked down at his daughter thoughtfully.

  “You’ve grown too fond of Mr. Gallatin, dear. I think you’re being overly concerned for his health.” He looked at Katherine. “Young woman, he’s called for you more than once. That’s the only reason I can absolve myself of responsibility for his well-being. You may work your Indian medicine on Mr. Gallatin if you like. But if he dies, remember this—you’ll be liable for a murder charge.”

  Katherine nodded brusquely. “He won’t die. Where is he?”

  Amarintha was shivering with a strange combination of fear and anger. “Well, come along, then, squaw,” she said, and pivoted grandly. “Follow me. He’s upstairs.”

  Katherine pushed ahead of her and took the stairs at a run. When she reached the landing she headed instinctively for the one door that stood open. Stepping into the shuttered, airless room, she gasped at the smell of sweat and stale air.

  Justis lay in the center of the bed, unconscious, his arms and chest bare above several heavy quilts. She dropped her satchel on a chair and went to him, throwing back the suffocating quilts until there was only a sheet left.

  She put her hands on his face and groaned at the feel of dry, hot skin. Glancing at the marks left by the leeches the doctor had placed on his arms, she cursed out loud.

  His eyes flickered. “Hullo, Doc.” His voice was a rough croak, but he almost managed to smile. She sat beside him and took his head between her hands. He looked up at her with such welcome that she kissed him.

  “Don’t spread your lustful poison in my house,” Amarintha said from the doorway. “I’ll be watching you.”

  Katherine stared at her. “Get out of this room and stay out, or Miss Blue Song will sing merrily.”

  Amarintha’s eyes narrowed as she realized Katherine meant that she would tell Justis every detail about the scene at the stockade. Her spirit crumpled visibly and she looked, to Katherine’s surprise, like a child who’d been whipped. “No need to sing,” she said in a dejected tone, and left.

  Katherine forgot her im
mediately and gazed back at Justis. “I’m going to take care of you now, you scoundrel. And you’re going to get well.”

  He struggled for a moment with parched, tight lips before he whispered, “And then you’re going to marry me.”

  CHAPTER 9

  IT WAS nighttime, Justis decided, though he was too tired to turn his head toward the windows Katie had opened. He could smell the cool, green-earth scent of darkness, and when he opened his eyes he found himself squinting at a bright, blurry shape on the night table. The shape became a flickering oil lamp. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

  Ah. Katie’s voice, low and soothing. Her hands, strong, gentle, rubbing something cold on his chest and belly, something that made him feel less like a rock heating in the sun. But her voice hadn’t always been soothing, nor her hands gentle.

  More than once during the day she had scolded, bossed, even yelled at him, calling him names—lazy and a coward and a stupid, stubborn ox—whenever he refused to open his mouth for another awful concoction. Her abuse made him so mad that he took the drinks just to end it.

  And the cat had used her damned claws on him! Each time he had tried to shove her and her piss-sour drinks away, she had pinched one of his ears until the pain penetrated his feverish haze.

  It was only now, as his mind began to clear a little, that he remembered all the sweet apologies she had offered after he did as she ordered. He frowned as he felt the night air on his legs and groin. She had uncovered that part of him to rub the blessed cooling ointment on every inch of his skin.

  “Don’t like it,” he muttered, trying to lift his head. “You seein’ me so ugly, helpless. Unmanly.”

  “Shhh. Helpless, yes. Ugly or unmanly, no. You’re very handsome. Très beau.”

  “Speakin’ French. Must be the truth.” His tongue felt swollen. “Talk to me. Tell me. Real name.”

  Her hands paused on the thick muscles of his thigh. “My Cherokee name? That’s powerful medicine. Not many people know it.” She paused, then added in a hollow tone, “Most of them are dead.”

  “Must be bad luck, your name.”

  She gasped with surprise, then realized he was teasing. Her fingers pressed warmly into his leg. “You’re feeling better. Thank God.”

  “Hmmm.” He managed to crane his neck and squint at her. Words, confused and emotional, tumbled through his hazy mind. “I’d like to eat you.”

  “You’d get a mouthful of dirt and sweat.”

  He let his head fall back on the pillow. “Com’ere. Lemme taste.”

  “Shhh.”

  His strength had grown enough that he could grasp her arm and hold on tightly. “Here, gal.”

  “All right,” she said in exasperation. She moved closer and he pulled her arm to his mouth.

  He licked the skin and gazed at her woozily. “Hmmm. I like that. Do you like that?”

  “Yes,” she admitted sadly. Slowly she bent down and kissed his cheek. Her lips brushing his ear, she murmured, “Katlanicha is my real name. It means ‘She Sees Dreams.’ ”

  “Katlanicha,” he repeated, his throat making the name sound hoarse and raspy. “Thank you.”

  “Don’t use it to conjure spells against me. I’m your a-tsi-na-Ha-i, your captive, already.” Again the sadness radiated through her words.

  He held the back of her hand against his cheek and shut his eyes. Damn the world for putting so much trouble between them, he thought. He struggled sleepily for a way to express his frustration. “I wish you were white. Everything would be so easy if you were white.”

  He drifted off as she slid her hand from his grasp.

  KATHERINE HEARD FOOTSTEPS on the stairs and stiffly raised her head from the back of a thinly upholstered chair. Her neck still ached from the force of Captain Taylor’s blow.

  Amarintha came to the open door and stopped, peering inside at Justis, who slept fitfully. She clutched a ruffled pink robe over a matching nightgown. Her red-gold hair streamed from under a pink nightcap. She had cried so much that her face matched her outfit.

  “Is he better?” she asked in a small, timid voice.

  Katherine stared at her. Did this mean-spirited creature feel sincere concern? “His fever’s lower, I think.”

  “May I come in?”

  Katherine wanted to say no, but the expression in Amarintha’s eyes was pitiful. Bewildered by this new side of her, she nodded. “Of course.”

  Amarintha padded inside and sat on the footstool near Katherine’s chair. She gazed at Justis woefully. “He can’t die. Please don’t let him.”

  “I don’t think he will.” Jealousy churned in Katherine’s chest, but she knew she had to ignore it. “Do you love him?” she asked.

  Suspicion clouded Amarintha’s eyes. “I’ll not tell my feelings to you.”

  “Tell. They’ll be a secret between us. What would be wrong with saying that you love Mr. Gallatin?”

  Amarintha thought for a moment. Her gaze darted to the open door, then she said in a low voice, “My father forbids it.”

  “Loving Mr. Gallatin? Your father isn’t wise, then.”

  “No. Loving anyone.”

  Katherine was startled. She watched Amarintha twist knots in the ruffles of her robe. “What about Captain Taylor? Isn’t he in favor with your father?”

  A tight, desperate laugh burst from Amarintha’s throat. “The captain hasn’t the gumption required. No man has.” Her eyes hardened. “Except Justis.”

  “Doesn’t your father want you to marry?”

  “Oh! Oh, certainly!” Her hands wadded the material with malicious intent, but she smiled. “What a fool you are to ask such a question.”

  Katherine wondered at the strange contrast between Amarintha’s smile and her nervous, angry hands. She recalled how Justis had said the fourteen-year-old Amarintha had spat on him and smiled.

  Now the pink face became sad again. “I’d have married Justis long ago, except for those women of his.” She cut her eyes at Katherine. “He took up with two of your kind, you know. Over at the Talachee village. Daddy said he was as good as married.” She paused. “But now the dirty squaws are gone.”

  Justis groaned and passed a hand over his eyes. Katherine rose and went to his side, welcoming the excuse to get away from Amarintha. The girl’s control seemed brittle, and her cruelty held a puzzling amount of fear, as if it were self-defense. Katherine stroked the thick chestnut hair off Justis’s forehead, and he grew still. He was sweating a little—a sign that his fever was breaking, she hoped.

  Amarintha came to the foot of the bed and watched as Katherine smoothed his shaggy hair. “Is he big?” she asked, scanning the form of his body under the thin sheet. “You know—his nasty man-part?”

  Katherine studied her in quiet shock. It wasn’t the question that perturbed her, it was the tone of loathing. Suddenly she wanted to protect Justis from this woman’s less-than-admiring scrutiny. She casually pulled a blanket up to his waist. “You should ask him yourself.”

  “No decent woman can ask a man that. Tell the truth. Does he hurt you with it?”

  Katherine swallowed her nausea. Amarintha’s curiosity had a perverse edge. “I’ve never lain with him. I swear it.” Downstairs a clock chimed three times. “It’s near morning. Go back to bed and try to rest. Your wits are shaken by worry, I think.”

  “No.” The pink mouth curled sardonically. “If he hasn’t stuck it in you yet, he will. I know men. But he won’t marry you just to get between your legs. He’d be a fool to marry an Indian.”

  Katherine grimaced. Was there no way to get rid of this odd, disturbing woman? “I agree,” she said brusquely. “And he may be reckless at times, but he’s never a fool. Besides, I wouldn’t marry a white man. I won’t bring half-breed babes into the world to be scorned by both sides.”

  “Not even if you loved the man something dreadful?”

  Katherine winced inwardly. Amarintha would probably act even more strangely if she suspected the truth. “I don’t love Mr. Gallat
in, and I never could. I want a man with education and sensitivity, someone who appreciates the finer things, not some backwoods scalawag. Oh, Mr. Gallatin is very kind and likable, but he’s not my type at all.”

  “Well, I declare, you certainly take on airs. Justis is better than you deserve.”

  Good, Katherine thought. She was defending him now. “Then you may have him. Later. For now, go back to bed before our chatter wakes him up. He’s resting better than he has all day.”

  Amarintha nodded. Her blue eyes held a hint of respect along with the dislike. “Good night.”

  After she left, Katherine took the blanket off Justis and straightened the sheet. She ached to slip into bed beside him and hold him close.

  “Sleep well,” she murmured. “In an hour you get another dose of medicine. For me there’s another dose of cold coffee waiting downstairs—right this second.” Exhausted, her knees so weak that she stumbled, Katherine walked from the room.

  Justis opened his eyes and watched her go. Her conversation with Amarintha rang bitterly in his ears.

  KATHERINE LAID HER book down and turned from the afternoon sunlight as she heard Justis shoving his covers around. “Stop that,” she commanded, going to him quickly.

  He cursed in a sleepy voice that was growing stronger by the hour and pushed the heavy quilts down his chest. “What are you tryin’ to do—boil me now that I’m done roastin’?”

  She pried his hands off the quilts and held them snugly across his torso. He was drenched in sweat. “Your fever is breaking. I want you to perspire—and I don’t want you to catch a chill.”

  He quieted, panting a little because he was still very weak. “Let go. All right. I’ll stay covered.” She rearranged the quilts. “Leave me alone. Go on with your damned fancy readin’. You’ve done enough.”

  Surprised by his anger, she gazed at him in bewilderment. “I don’t mind.”