You’ll be married before you can say aye, yes, or maybe—”
“No,” Shannon interrupted.
Cherokee sighed. “Gal, you don’t—”
“No,” Shannon said again, cutting across the old woman’s words. “It’s your turn to listen. My mother and I lived on the kindness of my uncle until I was thirteen and Mama died of lung fever. My uncle died shortly after. Then his wife worked me like a slave.”
Cherokee nodded without surprise.
“I was indentured to a tailor,” Shannon said. “I couldn’t leave the shop, ever. I worked there, ate there, and slept there. When the tailor got drunk, which was about twice a month, I fought him off with the shears I kept beneath my pillow.”
Again Cherokee nodded, unsurprised.
“One day my mother’s uncle came to town,” Shannon continued in a flat voice. “A letter I wrote to him when Mama was dying had finally reached him and he came to fetch me. He got Mama’s silk scarf and gold wedding ring back from my aunt. He put the ring on my finger. After that, I was Mrs. Smith.”
“That’s about how I had it figured,” Cherokee said matter-of-factly. “No gal like you takes up with a man like Silent John unless she’s desperate.”
Shannon’s smile was bittersweet. “Compared to what I came from, Silent John and Echo Basin looked like paradise.”
“I always felt that way, myself. Except I come here older than you, and alone, and I come as a man. My pa was a Mexican and my ma was a rawbonedTennessee whore, strong as a mule and durn near as stupid. I been hired out to do men’s work since I was ten, been paid like a gal, and treated like trash. After Ma died, I just took out and never looked back.”
“Nor did you look for a man to marry,” Shannon pointed out.
Cherokee shrugged. “Like I said, I was full tired of being some man’s slave.”
“Yet you want me to go looking for a man.”
“That’s different.”
“Yes,” Shannon said dryly. “It’s my slavery, not yours.”
Cherokee swore and smiled at the same time. “You’re always too quick for me. But then, anybody is, these days. I’m getting old. This blasted ankle ain’t healing worth a handful of spit. I’ll be lucky to hunt for myself this summer, much less for you.”
“Then I’ll hunt for both of us.”
“Gal, you’ve got sand enough for three men, but you’re mighty thin beer when it comes to hunting.”
“I’ll get a lot better before the end of summer.”
For a long moment Cherokee’s dark eyes searched Shannon’s face. Then Cherokee sighed and said no more on the subject of men and marriage and survival. She simply shook her head. There wasn’t enough time between now and winter’s famine for Shannon to learn how to hunt well enough to feed two people.
But Shannon would have to discover that for herself, because she wasn’t listening to the older woman’s advice.
Cherokee could only pray that Shannon wouldn’t learn too late, after the high pass overWhiskey Creek was closed by snow. Then every living thing left in Echo Basin would be locked in until the pass opened, or they died of starvation.
Whichever came first.
4
I T was sunset by the time Shannon wearily dragged herself to the top of the steep, rocky rise that overlooked her cabin. From where she stood the cabin was nearly invisible, shielded from the clearing by tall firs and half buried in the mountainside itself.
Rarely had to clearing looked so good to Shannon. The hours since she had left Cherokee’s cabin had been spent hunting food. All Shannon had to show for her work was a tired body and a stomach that was growling loudly enough to draw curious looks from Prettyface.
“Take it easy,” Shannon muttered. “I’m not going to catch you and skin you out for supper.”
Prettyface waved his tail and licked his chops.
“Don’t look at me,” she said tiredly, rubbing the dog’s head. “If you’re hungry, go catch something. And this time, make it big enough for both of us to eat,
“No,” Shannon interrupted.
Cherokee sighed. “Gal, you don’t—”
“No,” Shannon said again, cutting across the old woman’s words. “It’s your turn to listen. My mother and I lived on the kindness of my uncle until I was thirteen and Mama died of lung fever. My uncle died shortly after. Then his wife worked me like a slave.”
Cherokee nodded without surprise.
“I was indentured to a tailor,” Shannon said. “I couldn’t leave the shop, ever. I worked there, ate there, and slept there. When the tailor got drunk, which was about twice a month, I fought him off with the shears I kept beneath my pillow.”
Again Cherokee nodded, unsurprised.
“One day my mother’s uncle came to town,” Shannon continued in a flat voice. “A letter I wrote to him when Mama was dying had finally reached him and he came to fetch me. He got Mama’s silk scarf and gold wedding ring back from my aunt. He put the ring on my finger. After that, I was Mrs. Smith.”
“That’s about how I had it figured,” Cherokee said matter-of-factly. “No gal like you takes up with a man like Silent John unless she’s desperate.”
Shannon’s smile was bittersweet. “Compared to what I came from, Silent John and Echo Basin looked like paradise.”
“I always felt that way, myself. Except I come here older than you, and alone, and I come as a man. My pa was a Mexican and my ma was a rawbonedTennessee whore, strong as a mule and durn near as stupid. I been hired out to do men’s work since I was ten, been paid like a gal, and treated like trash. After Ma died, I just took out and never looked back.”
“Nor did you look for a man to marry,” Shannon pointed out.
Cherokee shrugged. “Like I said, I was full tired of being some man’s slave.”
“Yet you want me to go looking for a man.”
“That’s different.”
“Yes,” Shannon said dryly. “It’s my slavery, not yours.”
Cherokee swore and smiled at the same time. “You’re always too quick for me. But then, anybody is, these days. I’m getting old. This blasted ankle ain’t healing worth a handful of spit. I’ll be lucky to hunt for myself this summer, much less for you.”
“Then I’ll hunt for both of us.”
“Gal, you’ve got sand enough for three men, but you’re mighty thin beer when it comes to hunting.”
“I’ll get a lot better before the end of summer.”
For a long moment Cherokee’s dark eyes searched Shannon’s face. Then Cherokee sighed and said no more on the subject of men and marriage and survival. She simply shook her head. There wasn’t enough time between now and winter’s famine for Shannon to learn how to hunt well enough to feed two people.
But Shannon would have to discover that for herself, because she wasn’t listening to the older woman’s advice.
Cherokee could only pray that Shannon wouldn’t learn too late, after the high pass overWhiskey Creek was closed by snow. Then every living thing left in Echo Basin would be locked in until the pass opened, or they died of starvation.
Whichever came first.
4
I T was sunset by the time Shannon wearily dragged herself to the top of the steep, rocky rise that overlooked her cabin. From where she stood the cabin was nearly invisible, shielded from the clearing by tall firs and half buried in the mountainside itself.
Rarely had to clearing looked so good to Shannon. The hours since she had left Cherokee’s cabin had been spent hunting food. All Shannon had to show for her work was a tired body and a stomach that was growling loudly enough to draw curious looks from Prettyface.
“Take it easy,” Shannon muttered. “I’m not going to catch you and skin you out for supper.”
Prettyface waved his tail and licked his chops.
“Don’t look at me,” she said tiredly, rubbing the dog’s head. “If you’re hungry, go catch something. And this time, make it big enough for both of us to eat,
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