Evan Hunter: The Chisholms: A novel of the journey West

“What about?”

“Well,” he said, “could we sit there in the corner? I don’t want you puttering around while I make my speech.”

“Is it to be a speech?” she said.

“Sort of,” he said.

“Then by all means let’s sit,” she said, and put down the pewter plates and led him to where a puncheon bench rested against the wall. Sitting, smoothing her skirt, she turned to face him. Schwarzenbacher sat beside her. He cleared his throat.

“Bonnie Sue,” he said, or thought he said, and then cleared his throat again, and said it too loudly this time, “Bonnie Sue,” and lowered his voice and said, “I want to tell you a little bit about myself first.”

“All right,” she said.

“You may or may not know,” he said, beginning the rehearsed speech, “and perhaps may not even care to know that my plan in coming here to Fort Laramie was to learn the fur trade, starting at the basest level, the acquiring of hides from trappers and hunters. I’ve changed my mind about furs, for to tell the truth there’s nothing too stimulating about the skins of dead animals, and I’d as soon they kept their hides as parted with them.” He nodded, rather pleased with what he’d just said. He looked into her eyes. Wide and green, intelligent and alert, they were studying his face. He suspected she was far ahead of him already, and cursed the cumbersome speech he’d memorized, but plunged ahead with it nonetheless. “I plan to leave for California in the spring,” he said, “when my contract with the American Fur Company expires. I plan to seek my fortune in the west. I’ve talked with Gideon, your brother Gideon...”

“Yes,” Bonnie Sue said.

“Yes, and I know something of his own plan to leave for California, and I thought we might make the journey together. I thought to convince Bobbo to come along as well, leaving the cabin here to your parents...” He had departed from the planned speech; he was rambling. “Orliac is correct on that one matter, Bonnie Sue...”

“What matter is that?” she asked.

“Of there being little danger of Indian attack here since the fort is a place of business, and Indians are as smart as any other men when it comes to trading. I’m saying your parents would be safe here should both your brothers decide to leave and — and you and the baby with them. The baby’s coming in March—”

“In February, I reckon,” Bonnie Sue said.

“That’s better yet,” he said, “which means by June you’d be strong enough to travel, you and the baby both. I’m asking you to go with me when I leave, Bonnie Sue. As my wife, Bonnie Sue.”

He went back to the prepared speech again, picking it up not quite where he had lost it, but raveling up the yarn nonetheless, telling her how much he admired her, and of how his admiration had started that day of the courtyard trial when she’d nobly come to the defense of Lester Hackett, all of which he’d thoroughly rehearsed, and which he told her now with practiced ease and studied sincerity even though he meant every word of it. He told her, too, that he loved her more than he’d ever loved anyone in his life, loved her more than life itself — why, he would lay down his life for her in a minute if she asked that of him, without hesitation and without remorse. He told her he’d broken his engagement to Miss Loretta Hazlitt in Yonkers, New York, had dispatched a letter to her via some trappers who’d been at the fort, perhaps she recalled having seen the trappers, one with but a single ear, the other constantly drunk, he was sure Loretta had received it by now. He had, in short, performed his gentlemanly duty by releasing her from her vows, and he was free now to ask Bonnie Sue for her hand in marriage, which he was now doing. He wished to assure her that he would accept the baby as his own and love it as his own, be it boy or girl, it made no matter, he would love the child as deeply as he now loved its mother.

“If you’ll have me,” he said, “we could marry at once and move into my apartment at the fort, which is neither sumptuous nor grand, but which will serve us well till we leave for California in June. Will you marry me, Bonnie Sue?”

“I don’t love you,” she said.

“That will come,” he said. “In time.”

“No,” she said.

The night was cold and sharp. Clouds of vapor puffed from their mouths as they came down the hill toward the fort, their arms laden with gifts for Will. Bobbo was drunk and singing. Gideon kept trying to shush him. There were only two tents outside the fort now, both of them sending up smoke to the crystal night. Will heard them coming, poked his head out, and then stepped into the cold.

“Hey, how you doin?” he said. “Merry Christmas! “

“Merry Christmas, Will,” Gideon said, and took his hand.

“Hey there!” Bobbo shouted, and hugged his brother close. “Merry Christmas there, Will!”

“Come on in, you two! Hey, Catherine!” he yelled, and threw back the flap to the tent. “Look who’s here!”

There was a fire burning inside. The two women were sitting near it. They got to their feet at once, both of them smiling welcome. Catherine gestured to one of the robes, and Gideon said, “Thank you,” and put down the gifts he was carrying. Bobbo sat cross-legged. There was a strained moment of silence, and then Gideon said, “Hey, Will, we missed you today.”

“Yeah, I missed y’all, too. Hey, wait’ll you see what we got for you. How’s Ma, is she okay?”

“She’s fine,” Gideon said. “Pa sent you this gallon of whiskey; it’s most the last of it, Will. He’s doling it out like it was gold these days.”

“Hey now,” Will said. “Hey, let’s all have some whiskey. Sister, have some whiskey. Tell her whiskey, Catherine.”

“Is that her name?” Gideon asked. “Sister?”

“Well, that’s what Catherine calls her,” Will said. “She’s her sister-in-law actually. They used t’be married to the same fella. Here we go — ah, good,” Will said, and picked up one of the hollow gourds Catherine put on the ground beside him. “Made some nice things for you,” he said, and then said to Catherine, who was starting across the tent again, “No, honey, let it wait, have some whiskey first. Ask Sister if she wants some. Whiskey,” he said to Sister, and nodded. Catherine’s hands moved. Will passed the filled gourds around.

“Merry Christmas,” he said.

“Merry Christmas,” his brothers said, almost together.

Catherine nodded.

“Mair-creez,” Sister said, and drank.

“Bonnie Sue would’ve come down with us, Will, but the snow’s deep and she’s big as a house.”

“That’s okay,” he said. “Sister made a nice comb for her, didn’t you, Sister? Comb,” he said, and made a sign with his hands.

“Comb,” Sister said, and nodded.

“She’s learning a little English. Catherine can’t talk, you know, sons of bitches cut out her tongue when she was just comin along.”

“Do that again, Will,” Bobbo said.

“What you mean? This with my hands? This means comb,” he said, and again made the sign.

“ Looks like a comb, sure enough,” Gideon said.

“It sure do,” Bobbo said. “Will, what’s her name again?”

“Sister,” Will said.

“Hey, Sister, how you doin?” Bobbo said, and held out his hand to her.

Sister took the hand.

“She knows about shakin hands,” Will said.

“Shake,” Sister said, and nodded.

“Right,” Bobbo said.

“Ain’t you gonna open what we brought, Will?”

“Sure I am, you bet I am. Here now, let me get — no, sit down, Catherine, I’ll get it. How was your dinner? Did you have a nice Christmas dinner?”

“Oh, yeah, it was real nice,” Gideon said. “How about you?”