Blackfeather
14 Husband and Wife
“I WILL NOT wear breeches,” Miranda croaked. I could still feel the wolf’s teeth at my throat and realized Miranda’s voice had truly been damaged by Harriet when she attempted to strangle us. It had been beautiful and lyrical but now was harsh and raspy.
“I am just telling you that it ain’t safe for two girls to go alone through this country. You should pretend to be boys. These buckskins could be cut to fit you and you would look like a couple country boys out to seek your fortune,” John said.
“It is uncouth.”
What’s going on, Miranda?
“You’ve chosen a fine time to return. I thought you’d left us.”
Well, I did just leave, but I can’t control when I come and go.
“Why now?”
Why? I… Oh God!
“Take not the name of…”
I know, I know. Miranda. No. No.
I couldn’t put it into words but I knew. I knew that it had to be. Miranda’s continuing pain would be a constant reminder to me of the wolf’s teeth on my throat. I couldn’t have survived.
I think I’m dead.
“Lord have mercy,” Miranda said aloud. “Excuse me. I must walk alone for a few minutes.” She left the little store and headed for the barn, passing Katie on her way. She simply waved the girl away. When we were behind the barn she stopped and we wept.
The wolf. There is no way I could have survived with her teeth on my throat. I heard the raven cry as I felt her hit me and I was gone. My poor brother. My poor Aubrey. My poor parents. I’m dead.
“You cannot be dead. You must not be dead.”
I don’t think there is anything I can do about it.
“But if you are dead and you are in me… Then it is… Forever. I must share my body with you and my mind. I will never be me again. I will go insane.”
No, Miranda. Even if I have to silence myself and ride without ever thinking a thought, I will not force you to bear me like that. Just please give me a little time before… before…
“It is May and we are preparing for our departure to the north. I can always use your help, it seems, when we are traveling. Truly, Friend Ramie, I wish you no harm. I have been angry with you for leaving me and now I am angry that you have returned. It makes no sense, but my heart has thrown these thoughts at me. Let us try to help each other for a while.”
Miranda, please be my friend. I don’t have anyone now.
I was so self-absorbed that I scarcely noticed the activity going on around me. I could see no way that I could have survived the wolf attack. I couldn’t have moved my rifle far enough to hit her. I’d felt her teeth on my throat and Miranda’s sore throat was a constant reminder. Why didn’t anyone prepare people for the truth about dying? You just get ripped out of your body and planted in someone who doesn’t want you there, with no friends and no family.
As we worked putting bundles in the wagon, tears kept flowing down Miranda’s cheeks and I couldn’t tell if they were hers or mine. I’d heard how, when people lost a loved one, they regretted harsh words and unsaid feelings. But that was supposed to be the regrets of the living. I was dead. I didn’t tell my family how much I loved them. Didn’t tell them often enough. Now it was too late.
John was a good man and was happy with his new wife. Beulah was already rounding in pregnancy and did her best to emphasize it by the way she stood and walked. And as far as I could tell, she was happy. John stopped frequently in the day to pat her tummy. He had also decided that he would help us on our way as much as possible. We were not equipping to homestead as we intended to catch up with Miranda’s family. But we needed to travel and to camp. Victuals, blankets, and tarps for shelter were among the things he stocked for us. He also gave us a wooden box with firing caps for the pistols and a horn of powder. I found a shot pouch filled with lead balls lying on my bedroll.
That got me thinking, though. The pistols would be handy for protection if we were close. I had no confidence in my own ability to hit a target more than twenty feet away and was reasonably certain Miranda had not been target practicing. If we needed to hunt for food, the Colt Navies would be useless.
We need a rifle.
“Really? I can’t even shoot these sidearms you insist I carry. Why must we have a rifle?”
A rifle is easier to shoot and more accurate than a revolver. We might need to shoot a deer in order to survive.
“I hate this. Demon Ramie, you must talk about this with John. I simply cannot.”
We went to see John and I told him what I thought. He nodded.
“I see the point. I would like to help you but rifles do not fall from the sky like raindrops.” He stopped and thought a minute, looking at my slight frame and shaking his head. “Well, there is one.” He dug around behind a barrel and came out with a long gun. It would reach from the floor to my armpit. “I don’t want to say where I got this damn Yankee rifle. And do not tell anyone where you got it. In fact, you should carry it out of sight. It is a cartridge rifle. You load it on Sunday and shoot it all week. That should be suitable for your needs. It takes a .44 cartridge but I believe the sighting is catawampus.”
“I cannot simply accept this as a gift,” I said. “It is a fine rifle.” I’d seen a reproduction in Kurt’s store, though I’d never fired it.
“Indeed. I have coveted your Colt Navies. I will trade you one for one. With one condition,” he said. I contemplated the benefit of giving up one of the Navies in trade for the Henry. It seemed like a good trade.
“The condition?”
“Wear the buckskins I gave you and travel as a boy. I do not fancy sending you into the wilderness to be raped and enslaved.” Miranda struggled to regain her voice, but she’d given me control to negotiate the trade and I wasn’t giving it back.
“It is acceptable,” I said. He slapped a box of .44 Henry rimfire cartridges on the counter and I removed one of the gun belts. I took the rifle and cartridges to the back room where Katie and I had slept for the past eight months and began stripping off Miranda’s dress.
Stop! Demon Ramie, I will not wear trousers! No lady would ever wear them.
“Miranda, hush. The rules have all changed. Hell, just look in the mirror.” It was a small glass and I moved it up and down to show her naked body to her. I blushed in spite of myself. “Damn it, Miranda, I’d do my best to get between your legs. These buckskins will hide some of your womanly charms so that one day perhaps your husband will have the pristine joy of you. Now put the damned pants on.” She stopped fighting me and I slid the buckskins up over my legs. They were soft and felt good going up our thighs. The shirt dropped over my breasts and we felt our nipples rub against the sensuous material for the first time. At least the shirt hid a bit of her shape.
What about Katie? She is a woman and just as pretty.
“She can travel as our sister or wife. Whatever.”
As soon as I was dressed, I took the rifle to the wagon. Like many wagons, it had gun clamps under the seat. I had trouble getting the rife to fit correctly and ended up lying on my back on the floor looking up at the bottom of the seat. I could see the problem right away. Sliding the rifle in knocked the hammer up against a metal box strapped beneath the seat. I worked the box free of the straps that held it and nearly killed myself as it fell on my shoulder.
“Ow! What have you done to me?”
You’re back in control again, I see. Are we cooperating?
“Yes. What is this? It is heavy.” We pried the latch open on the box and opened it to reveal a small fortune in gold coins.
That is our passage to your new life, Miranda. You are no longer dependent on finding your family in order to survive.
“They are twenty dollar gold coins.”
Double eagles. I estimate about a hundred of them. Remove two and let us put the rest back where we found them. Now that I see what was obstructing things, we can reverse the position of the rifle and it will fit in the brackets.
“What are these two coins for?”
I don’t like taking charity and the rifle John just gave us is worth twice the Colt Navy we traded. Not to mention the fact that he has supplied our journey. We’ll just leave them on the counter for him.
There were many tearful goodbyes in the morning when we left. Beulah came in from the ranch and hugged Katie and Miranda, thanking them for understanding what she wanted and not getting in the way of her claiming John as her man. From my limited dealings with him, I felt confident that he was a good man and would treat her well, so I felt no qualms about leaving her behind. I sadly noted that it was the eighteenth day of May when we departed the little Tennessee trading center. My brother’s birthday, only a century and a half before he was born. My only hope was that since he was time traveling, I would someday meet him in the body of his host, the corporal.
A rutted wagon road was the best route to where John said there was river traffic. He had been helpful planning our journey. There was a sometimes ferry almost due west of the trading post, but John was of the opinion the river was too high this early in the spring for that ferry to run. At Dyersburg, though, there was steamboat traffic and a ferry that could accommodate our two horses and wagon would be more likely. He tried to give us money for the ferry, but we gently refused and said we’d make our way. He’d be surprised to find the gold coins on his counter.
Miranda was sullen as we left. Katie took the reins and competently guided our wagon. I understood. Miranda’s throat hurt, as did mine. Okay. It was the same throat, but hers was partially crushed by the madwoman we rescued over six months ago. Mine bore the emotional scars of wolf’s teeth. What is more, I caught a flash of movement through the trees east of our wagon road. She did not fight me as my fingers closed on the grip of the revolver but the wolf that haunted me did not materialize.
In spite of the fact that John considered this the “main road” north, it was little more than two ruts that did not quite match the width of our wagon wheels, so we constantly slid out of one and into the other. We could have walked much faster than the horses pulled the wagon, but the horses and wagon would be valuable as we made our way west. Miranda was convinced that we would not find her family in St. Louis as it was only to be a winter stop-over before they started for Omaha. That just added to her foul mood.
Eventually, Katie pulled the horses off the road into a copse of trees where we could make camp for the night. Our travel days would be short. The horses needed to be rested and we needed time to make and break camp each day. We were not just traveling, we were living on the road.
“Miranda,” Katie said as we heated jerky and potato soup over the fire, “you still look like a girl.”
“So I have teats,” she answered with a touch of venom. Miranda was still not happy about dressing in the buckskin trousers. Not to mention the fact that the large shirt had been rubbing against her nipples all day and she didn’t know what to do with the feeling.
“It’s not your teats that is the problem,” Katie continued calmly. “It is your hair.” Miranda looked at her in horror. “I believe that to maintain our charade we must cut your hair.”
“You vile girl! You think that you will make a man of me. No woman cuts her hair until married. I have tied it in a knot and put it under this ghastly canvas hat. That is adequate.”
“That is part of the problem,” Katie persisted. “Miranda, you are a beautiful woman and nothing done to your hair will stop that. With it all pulled up under your hat, you show your elegant neck. No one would mistake that for a man. Many of the mountain men we saw at the trading post had hair cut at their shoulders. With such a cut, you would hide your neck without showing the long tresses of a maiden. Miranda, I am frightened that anything we might do would give us away before you have reached your family.”
You should listen to her. She makes sense.
“My hair? You have taken away my shape, my voice, and now my hair? I am no woman.”
You are all woman. Miranda, it is for our safety and will make travel easier.
Miranda lifted her pants leg and pulled the knife from it. For a moment, I feared she would do harm to herself. She was angry and hurt. Instead, she handed the knife to Katie and pulled off her hat. Her long auburn tresses fell from their pins and tumbled to her waist.
“Consider killing me instead of my hair, Katie Forster. I would prefer it,” she said. Katie pulled the brush they shared from their bag of personals and began brushing Miranda’s hair. Miranda sat silently with tears running down her cheeks. At last, Katie began cutting the locks just above the line of Miranda’s shoulders. When she finished, she laid the knife in Miranda’s lap and gathered the hair. It was better that she take it away before Miranda could see the long locks lying on the ground. Miranda continued to sit staring into the fire. I could not read her thoughts.
She ate mechanically from the plate Katie gave her and Katie cleaned the dishes and banked the fire. Darkness fell and still Miranda sat while Katie did the camp work. I was getting a little impatient with her. Katie spread our bedrolls and lay down.
“Come, husband. Lie down and sleep.”
“I am not your husband!” Miranda screeched. Her voice hurt me to hear it. “I am not a man! I am not!”
“I cannot call you Miranda. What if someone heard?”
“Then call me by my Demon name,” Miranda continued. She was completely out of control. “Henceforth I will be Ramie Lewis.”
Miranda!
“Drive, Demon!”
I saw a flicker across the firelight and reached for the revolver at my side.
Awkawkawkawk!
Miranda’s body went limp and I barely caught her before she plunged forward into the fire.
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