quiet for a minute until Clara giggled and said, “You know darned well that’s not what I mean. I’ve heard,” she began, lowering her voice, “that Indian men are hung like stallions. You’ve seen him neked,” she finished, giving my elbow a squeeze. I blushed even more.
“Clara Potter, I swear if you weren’t my sister’s child, I’d abandon you right here where you stand!” her Aunt Esther cried in shock. Clara was twenty-eight and single and traveling with her aunt and uncle.
“You can’t blame me for being curious about him, Aunt Esther, especially when the stories I’ve heard are so… interesting ,” she enthused, her eyes shining.
“I should never have told you a thing about the man.” Esther harrumphed indignantly.
“Oh, now,” the girl whined. Clara clearly disliked her aunt’s priggish attitude.
Obviously regretting what she had told the women, Esther turned on her heel. “Let’s get back to our wagon, Clara. There are a lot of clothes that need mending,” she said in a huff as she took her niece by the arm.
Prissy had left the group a minute earlier, her nose in the air as though she had decided to avoid any further talk about Mr. O’Hara’s body. Mary Cranmer went to check on her two youngest children, who were whooping up a storm. It was Saturday, and they had the day off from their lessons with Mr. Drummond. The boys, Joe Junior and Frank, were playing soldiers and Indians, and every now and then one of the two towheaded boys would stick his head out of their wagon and let out a war whoop or a bloodcurdling scream.
“Joseph, Franklin, that is enough!” Mary yelled. “I’d better go tie those two down before they break something. You can stay here with Samantha until she’s needed in the wagon. Then you are to leave her to her nursing. Don’t go in there. I don’t want you getting in the way,” Mary told her Sarah, her oldest. I suspected that there was more to it than that. I suspected she didn’t want her daughter getting near Mr. O’Hara under any circumstance. And. though I liked Mary Cranmer a lot, I didn’t like the prejudice I sensed in her. She hurried off to round up her boys while Sarah and I continued our constitutional.
Sarah was a couple of years younger than me, and she was quiet, so much so that I really didn’t feel I knew her very well. We spent time together almost every day, but usually her mother or the other women were with us, and Sarah hardly ever said a word. So I welcomed the opportunity to spend time alone with her. Perhaps I could draw her out of her shell.
“I’d say Clara is going to be mending clothes until we reach California.” I laughed, hoping to break the ice.
“Yes, I’d say so,” Sarah agreed, nodding and smiling.
“I haven’t really seen him naked,” I blurted out, and then I glanced at Sarah’s face to see if she believed me. Her eyes were on the ground as I steered her toward my father’s wagon. I had been asked to take care of a man who was a valuable asset to all of us, and I wasn’t about to stray very far from him. It was just as well I hadn’t gone far because, just then, Papa called out to me.
“Samantha, he’s awake!”
With a quick “see you later” to Sarah, I hiked up my skirt, grabbed hold of the wagon’s seat, and pulled myself up and into the wagon, ducking as I passed under the canvas top. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the shady interior, but when they did, I could see that Mr. O’Hara was indeed awake. And he was sitting up, trying to pull one of my father’s undershirts over his head. It was too snug and had gotten tangled about his shoulders.
“What are you doing?”
“Getting dressed. Where are my clothes? This damned thing doesn’t fit,” he growled as he tore the shirt off and tossed it aside. By this time I was kneeling beside him, one hand on his forearm. Where my fingers touched his skin, he felt hot. Was he still feverish, or was it me?
“Your shirt was
“Clara Potter, I swear if you weren’t my sister’s child, I’d abandon you right here where you stand!” her Aunt Esther cried in shock. Clara was twenty-eight and single and traveling with her aunt and uncle.
“You can’t blame me for being curious about him, Aunt Esther, especially when the stories I’ve heard are so… interesting ,” she enthused, her eyes shining.
“I should never have told you a thing about the man.” Esther harrumphed indignantly.
“Oh, now,” the girl whined. Clara clearly disliked her aunt’s priggish attitude.
Obviously regretting what she had told the women, Esther turned on her heel. “Let’s get back to our wagon, Clara. There are a lot of clothes that need mending,” she said in a huff as she took her niece by the arm.
Prissy had left the group a minute earlier, her nose in the air as though she had decided to avoid any further talk about Mr. O’Hara’s body. Mary Cranmer went to check on her two youngest children, who were whooping up a storm. It was Saturday, and they had the day off from their lessons with Mr. Drummond. The boys, Joe Junior and Frank, were playing soldiers and Indians, and every now and then one of the two towheaded boys would stick his head out of their wagon and let out a war whoop or a bloodcurdling scream.
“Joseph, Franklin, that is enough!” Mary yelled. “I’d better go tie those two down before they break something. You can stay here with Samantha until she’s needed in the wagon. Then you are to leave her to her nursing. Don’t go in there. I don’t want you getting in the way,” Mary told her Sarah, her oldest. I suspected that there was more to it than that. I suspected she didn’t want her daughter getting near Mr. O’Hara under any circumstance. And. though I liked Mary Cranmer a lot, I didn’t like the prejudice I sensed in her. She hurried off to round up her boys while Sarah and I continued our constitutional.
Sarah was a couple of years younger than me, and she was quiet, so much so that I really didn’t feel I knew her very well. We spent time together almost every day, but usually her mother or the other women were with us, and Sarah hardly ever said a word. So I welcomed the opportunity to spend time alone with her. Perhaps I could draw her out of her shell.
“I’d say Clara is going to be mending clothes until we reach California.” I laughed, hoping to break the ice.
“Yes, I’d say so,” Sarah agreed, nodding and smiling.
“I haven’t really seen him naked,” I blurted out, and then I glanced at Sarah’s face to see if she believed me. Her eyes were on the ground as I steered her toward my father’s wagon. I had been asked to take care of a man who was a valuable asset to all of us, and I wasn’t about to stray very far from him. It was just as well I hadn’t gone far because, just then, Papa called out to me.
“Samantha, he’s awake!”
With a quick “see you later” to Sarah, I hiked up my skirt, grabbed hold of the wagon’s seat, and pulled myself up and into the wagon, ducking as I passed under the canvas top. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the shady interior, but when they did, I could see that Mr. O’Hara was indeed awake. And he was sitting up, trying to pull one of my father’s undershirts over his head. It was too snug and had gotten tangled about his shoulders.
“What are you doing?”
“Getting dressed. Where are my clothes? This damned thing doesn’t fit,” he growled as he tore the shirt off and tossed it aside. By this time I was kneeling beside him, one hand on his forearm. Where my fingers touched his skin, he felt hot. Was he still feverish, or was it me?
“Your shirt was
Similar Books
