Allegiance Read online

  Chapter 13

  Amy chose her emerald dress to wear for her arrival in St. Louis. As she adjusted the skirt over the bustle and voluminous petticoats, she recalled that Henri Dubois had agreed to wear his bottle-green vest and coat for the occasion. The two of them would look the picture of fashion when they disembarked from the Missouri Belle together.

  She brushed her long hair until it crackled: one hundred strokes. Thank goodness the confining trip on the steamboat was nearly over; coming upriver had been sluggish compared to riding the swift current going down. She'd been gone a month, and she couldn't deny it had been a real adventure—so frightening at times it still disturbed her sleep.

  In the aftermath of the dreadful attack on Jeb and Henri, she'd waited for the inevitable consequences—some reaction from the captain and his officers—but no. Nothing! If Jackrabbit Jones missed his two compatriots, he wasn't making a fuss about it. Perhaps there'd be an investigation after the attackers’ bodies washed ashore. She shuddered, remembering the garbage and offal dumped along the levees of the river towns.

  She slipped on the dress and buttoned the row of tiny buttons down the front, then checked the fit in the full-length mirror. Remembering the stylish coat and trousers Tyler had worn to the opera in New Orleans, she thought wistfully of how handsome he would look escorting her through the streets of St. Louis. It would force the girls who had rebuffed her at school to reform their judgment.

  Unfortunately, Tyler had decided to remain disguised as a ne'er-do-well in case Calhoun's spies had not fallen for Houston's subterfuge. Apparently, the general had left his sick bed early to return to Texas and lay a false trail, but Tyler refused to take any chances.

  Actually, Tyler's shabby appearance wasn't what had made her avoid him during the trip. He had sentenced her to a year in Purgatory waiting for his return with Jeb from New Mexico. The impending abandonment felt as familiar as a recurring nightmare. First her father and brother had left her behind, and now Tyler. She would never forgive him for it. He left her no choice but to scourge him from her heart and soul, to give up on him as well as her dreams.

  After pinning up her hair, she put on her green, feathered bonnet, setting it at an angle. As she judged the effect in the mirror, a rap on the door interrupted her final adjustments.

  She answered the summons to find Henri standing in the doorway. His dark eyes made a rapid assessment of her outfit. "Tres belle!"

  "Thank you. Has St. Louis come into view yet?"

  "Ouí, Mam'selle."

  After gathering her gloves, reticule, and parasol, she locked the door behind her and strolled with him along the deck toward the prow.

  The Mississippi River had narrowed and grown unruly with currents, snags and sandbars. A breeze carried the dank herbal scent from the wooded shore a few rods away. Upriver, the wharves of St. Louis emerged from a wisp of late morning fog.

  She breathed deeply. “Ah, Missouri. Smell the difference!"

  Henri slanted a glance at her. “You don't like Lousian'?"

  She leaned on the top railing and watched the unfolding shoreline. “The bayous have their charm, but this is home."

  "Naturellement. I been thinking...” He turned to face her. “May I ask a question? I don't wish to be ... offensive."

  "You couldn't offend me, Henri. Ask me anything."

  "Are you and that guero, Tyler O'Donnell, better than friends?"

  She glanced up in surprise. “Not really, no. Why?"

  "Chèrie, come back to New Orleans with me. You are plenty smart and good with the trade. If you would have me, I would marry you."

  His proposal left Amy speechless. She'd thought of Henri as something of a substitute brother while Jeb was in prison. She'd learned to admire his enterprising spirit and joie de vivre. Although he'd been affectionate and playful, he'd never hinted at courtship.

  "Dear Henri, you want to settle down? But you love adventure and freedom."

  "Are you so different, chère?"

  No, she was not. Henri understood that. Amy didn't believe he would ever confine his wife at home while he traveled far and wide. If she wanted to go, he wouldn't stand in her way. He would make a devoted husband, faithful and true. Furthermore, marrying him would be practical in light of their business deal. The question remained whether she could, in time, come to love him as a wife should. Amy searched her heart.

  He touched her cheek. “Wait, don't answer yet. Think on it, Aimé.” Eyes sparkling, Henri kissed her hand. “I'm a patient man, me.

  Amy's mind whirled. Marrying Henri would solve a lot of problems. But would it cure her of thinking about a certain obstinate cold-hearted major?

  * * * *

  A sense of foreboding settled over Tyler. His nerves kept twitching as though he wore a target on his back. Was someone watching?

  He jumped down from the wagon seat and glanced around the empty yard. The afternoon sun gleamed on the white-washed limestone of the Bakers’ warehouse. To the side, a shed with a lean-to formed one end of a corral. A thick stone wall surrounded the yard with a gate wide enough to admit a wagon. A row of similar warehouses, all shuttered and latched, blocked the view of the river. A dead-end road. Secluded. Not a bad place for safeguarding the muskets and preparing wagons for a journey.

  Tyler lifted his hat and ran his fingers through his hair—Lord, he needed a haircut! And a shave. Since leaving New Orleans, he'd seen no sign of men who might be spying for Calhoun, still he'd better stick with his disguise a little longer just in case. He prayed that all the obstacles lay behind him. If he completed the mission quickly and smoothly, he'd be back from New Mexico within a few months—before winter with extreme luck—ready to get on with his career. Soon he could start planning for the position of surveyor on the expedition to California Van Buren had promised.

  He settled his hat in place and turned toward the wagon. “Jeb, do you have the key to the padlock?"

  "No, I have it.” Amy reached into her beaded reticule, brought out the key, and handed it to him. Sitting on a crate in the rented buckboard wagon, she looked as out of place in her finery as a nosegay in a bucket. Her green dress had wide skirts and puffy sleeves to accentuate the snugness at her waist. When she rose to walk out on the tailgate, he stepped forward to help her down, but Henri beat him to it. She floated to earth in the Cajun's arms amid a flurry of white lacy petticoats.

  Tyler turned his back and stalked over to unlock the doors of the warehouse. He flung them wide with more force than necessary; they clapped the walls like something out of a cannon. “Let's get this done!"

  The stench of animal hides, tied in bales, almost took his breath as he entered the dim interior.

  Amy made a beeline for the nearest stack of dried pelts. “I hope the furs are good quality, Henri. See what you think."

  "Hold it!” Tyler held up his hand. “He can inspect those later. Let's unload the crates first and get them out of sight."

  Henri and Jeb helped him stow away the long wooden boxes in a back corner of the warehouse, then Henri inspected and approved the furs. When the bales had been loaded into the wagon, the two men departed for the dock, leaving Tyler alone with Amy.

  He pulled the big warehouse doors closed, then struck a flame to a hanging lamp. The glow pooled on the floor, leaving the corners of the warehouse in darkness. He glanced around the large room, acutely aware of the quiet seclusion. It was the first time he'd had Amy to himself for—how long?

  She was busy rummaging through her numerous parcels and boxes. Like most women, she had a knack for organizing, stacking, and tidying things up. He hated fussing over details, himself. Why then, did it bring him comfort to watch her?

  "Where does Jeb keep the wagons?"

  She paused to look around. The lamplight warmed the contours of her face and brightened her eyes. “In a field he rented at the edge of town. It's not far."

  "And the mules?” He could lose himself in those blue eyes, he thought, and in the feel of her smooth sk
in. Mentally, he shook himself—he had to stop this. Once he got lined out on the trail, perhaps he'd be free of the constant torment of being aware of her, of thinking about her, of wanting her.

  "No mules; we have oxen. They're in the pasture there, too.” As she bent to retie the strings on a muslin sack containing bolts of cloth, he glimpsed her trim ankle beneath the flounce on her skirt.

  "I'll want them brought here. And I'll need lumber and tools."

  She straightened, giving him her full attention. “What are you planning?"

  Restlessly, he wandered over to the windows and tested the latches on the shutters. “I thought I'd build false bottoms in the beds of the wagons."

  "To hide the muskets? Good idea. I think Jeb has what you need."

  He strolled back and stopped in front of her. The scent of her rose water sweetened the fetid air. How he would miss her! Would his memories be enough to last a few months? Sky-blue eyes, pale hair, an incredibly tiny waist...

  She returned his gaze, wetting her lips nervously with the tip of her tongue. He remembered how sweet and soft those lips were, recalled the reckless abandon with which she'd kissed him under the sweetgum tree. He struggled to suppress the hunger that left an aching void within him for he knew that one kiss would lead to another. Once started, would he be able to stop?

  He cleared his throat. “I hope Jeb's good with a hammer. Between the two of us, we might finish in a few hours. I'm anxious to hit the trail."

  A shadow flickered in her eyes, but she made no reply. He knew she was upset about his decision to leave her behind. Lord, he hadn't wanted to hurt her. Why wouldn't she listen to reason? Couldn't she see how foolish he'd be to let her go along?

  "Will you be all right here? After we leave, I mean. Jeb said you once held a position at some boarding school. I assume you helped out with the classes. Will you be able to continue on with that?” He didn't expect the flash of pain in her eyes.

  "No. I'll never go back there.” Tears flooded her eyes, and she swiped hastily at them with her fingers. “If only—I wish you would let me go. I need to finish what I started. Haven't I earned the right?"

  "It's not a question of rights, Amy, don't you see? It just wouldn't be safe. How can I, in good conscience, subject you to that kind of danger? How would I forgive myself if anything happened? You can't imagine how lawless a place the frontier is. Some tribes of Indians have never seen a white man, let alone a woman. Bandits profit on selling women and children of any color in Mexico. There's a war going on."

  "I'll risk it.” Her imploring gaze was painful to look at.

  "I'm not willing to."

  "Well, then.” Her face fell and she turned away. “I may as well go back to New Orleans with Henri. He wants to marry me."

  "What?” A kick in the stomach couldn't have staggered him as much.

  "Henri and I are business partners, after all. It would be practical."

  He struggled to regain his iron control. “Marry him if you want to, go back to New Orleans—do whatever you damn please! What's it to me?"

  He strode to the doors and threw them open wide, desperate to clear his head. He was shaking inside! Taking a deep breath, he focused his gaze on the bank of dark clouds across the horizon that had brought a sudden and premature end to the day. What was wrong with him? Never had he experienced this same combination of frustration, bewilderment, and impotent fury. Pain spread outward from his core to infect every part of his body and soul.

  For several moments, silence hung in the air heavier than the lingering odor of decay. Finally, she moved past him, her head bowed, her voice barely audible. “I'll wait for Henri outside."

  The tumult within him made thinking almost impossible. “Amy ... wait."

  He watched helplessly as she vanished through the gate in the stone wall. A desolate silence fell over the yard, broken only by the sound of the night breeze as it rattled shutters and set the hinges creaking on the big doors.

  He slumped against the wall with a groan. “Damn it all to hell!"

  * * * *

  The single span of yoked oxen drew the empty Conestoga wagon along the earthen street at a smart clip, forcing Jeb to trot ahead, shouting commands to slow them down. Months at pasture had made the draft animals sleek, headstrong and full of the devil. Downtown St. Louis wouldn't have been Jeb's first choice as a place to whip them into order, but Tyler had insisted the wagons be brought to the warehouse, and his mood hadn't allowed for much argument. Already, the major was busy dismantling the floor boards on the first two wagons.

  Jeb swore viciously, rapping the right ox along the jaw with the butt of his bullwhip to drive the pair back into the center of the crowded street. Every sort of carriage from the Jersey wagon to the two-wheel shay clogged the roadway, stalling forward motion. Weariness dragged at Jeb's spirit as well as his body. He'd made several trips between the wharf and the warehouse, transporting Henri's boxes, hogsheads, and crates of merchandise. Then he'd run around collecting lumber, nails and tools for Tyler. All the loading and unloading had left his legs shaky and his throat dry as ashes. If exhaustion didn't claim him first, he still had to hire another driver and a cavvy boy or two to tend the stock on the journey. Damn the fevers that had robbed him of his strength!

  He found enough space near Aull Brothers’ store to hitch his team to a post. He'd promised to meet Amy and Henri there to pick up supplies, but that could wait. Instead he headed into the Red Boar Grog Shop next door. He couldn't remember when he'd been so dry!

  * * * *

  Riding through town in style beside Henri in a flashy rented buggy dissipated some of Amy's languor. Whenever she spotted anyone she knew, she smiled and lifted a gloved hand. It brought almost as much satisfaction as she'd thought it would to see their eyes widen in astonishment. At Aull Brothers’ store, she even engaged herself in an animated conversation with two former classmates, women who had not spared her a moment before. To have them squeal with delight over her new dress and treat her like a fond acquaintance made her question her own standards. What value could she place on the friendship of women who responded to her finery and none of her real qualities? To think she had once held their opinions in such high regard! None of them were better by a whit than the shabbiest immigrant on the street.

  Henri dragged Jeb out of the grog shop next door and together they loaded the Conestoga wagon with supplies: coffee, salt, flour, cornmeal and sugar. Mr. Aull gave Amy a good deal on a keg of raisins.

  "I love raisins!” She popped a handful in her mouth and offered some to her brother. “Jeb, you'll be glad to have these on the trail. Be sure to get Henri's recipe for raisin pie."

  "Never mind that, did you order the bacon yet?” Jeb's face, pale and lined with weariness, wrenched Amy's heart.

  "Are you feeling all right? Henri and I can do this—"

  "We're almost done. Tell Aull we need two hundred pounds of bacon. Make sure it's fresh—no maggots. And see that the barrels are water tight. If it's all right, I'll sit down here a minute and wait for you."

  "You sure two hundred pounds will be enough?"

  "It'll get us beyond the settlements where there's plenty of game."

  Amy insisted on paying for everything herself from the hoard of bills in her reticule, and even bought Jeb the new buckskin shirt he had his eye on. Shopping was fun when one had money, she discovered, but after Henri returned her to the warehouse, her spirits plummeted again, recalling Tyler's harsh rebuff.

  Henri reined in the team of horses near the gate, set the brake, and leaned back against the leather seat with a sigh. He seemed as reluctant as she to climb down from the buggy.

  The glow of light from the warehouse windows pushed back the dark. Amy pictured Tyler inside working on last minute preparations. As if in answer to her thoughts, the sound of hammering punctuated the silence.

  "I must go and check on my cargo. The boat, she leaves in a few hours.” Henri took her hand in his and held it to his heart. “Tell me yo
u are coming with me."

  She wished she could. However much she'd dreamed of enriching her life with beautiful clothes, sumptuous furnishings, and respectable accommodations, she couldn't put luxuries ahead of happiness. Accepting his offer would represent more of a protest against Tyler's indifference than a commitment to Henri. Her friend—and partner—deserved better than that. She deserved better than that.

  "Amy?"

  "I'm sorry. Henri, I cannot."

  He smiled sadly. “I feared as much. Tell me the truth, is it the major?"

  She could only gaze at him helplessly as a lump swelled in her throat.

  "I hope you find happiness, ma petite." He touched her cheek. “If not, remember that my home is your home, always."

  "Thank you,” she whispered. “My dear friend..."

  He kissed her hand. “Let me take you to the hotel. You will be comfortable there."

  "No, I'd better wait here for Jeb. He said he made arrangements for me."

  "As you wish.” He climbed out and helped her down. His hands lingered on her waist. “Au revoir, then. Write to me."

  "I will."

  With a final adieu and a flash of white teeth, the Cajun smuggler climbed in the buggy, maneuvered it around and disappeared into the night.

  Amy blinked away the moisture in her eyes and listened until the clopping horse hooves receded in the distance. In the cool night air, she snugged her shawl closer. With Henri gone and Jeb leaving with Tyler soon, she suddenly lacked a horizon to her life. Oh, she'd survive, somehow, living and working in St. Louis as she'd always done. Nevertheless, a dark tunnel of cheerless monotony stretched before her like a jail term.

  * * * *

  Although the smelly furs were gone, the stench of death still pervaded the warehouse. In his haste to get another board from the stack just inside the door, Tyler stumbled over one of the pigs of lead. He swore irritably, picked up the board, and wove his way back through the kegs of gunpowder clustered in the middle of the room. When Jeb got back with the supplies, there'd be more obstacles to contend with.