The Enchanted Land Read online

  “What’s wrong with you two?” Mary’s querulous voice sounded through the wall.

  Morgan wiped her eyes. “I’m all right now. Let’s go take a bath.” She turned to smile at Jessy. “Thanks for listening to me.”

  “Morgan, I’ve decided this Seth of yours never existed.” Her face was serious. “No man could be both kind and good-lookin’.”

  Morgan flashed her a brilliant smile. “Seth is special.” Happily she raced toward the water, leaving Jessy to notice that she had said “is,” as if her husband were still alive.

  Jessy was the last one to the water and was surprised to see all of the Indian men, Jacques, and some of the Indian women standing there with the three white women.

  Jacques’s deep laughter came to her. “My Indians do not take baths, and they are very much interested in someone who does. They want only to watch.”

  “Well, I ain’t takin’ my clothes off in front of no Indians.” Mary turned back toward the camp.

  Jessy laughed. “What about you, Morgan? I think bugs have nested under my skin, it’s been so long since I took a bath. I’m not gonna let a few staring Indians keep me from getting clean.” She sat on the ground and began to pull off the tall moccasins. Seconds after she stood up, she was completely naked and ran happily into the cool water.

  The other three women had watched speechlessly. The Indians and Jacques began to laugh as Jessy happily dived under the water, her smooth round buttocks coming to the surface.

  “It feels great,” she called.

  “She’s a fool besides being a slut,” Mary muttered. “These animals need no more temptation. I wouldn’t be surprised if one of them attacked her.”

  Alice clung to Mary, her face fearful.

  “You sure you won’t join me, Morgan? I can feel two months’ worth of dirt and bugs floating away. Toss me my buckskins, will you? Might as well get them clean.”

  Morgan picked up Jessy’s clothing and started to throw them to her.

  “You know … if they wanted to, they could tear our clothes off at any time. What difference does this bath make?”

  “You’re right, Jessy.” Quickly, Morgan undressed and walked into the water.

  “Lord, Morgan! I think you’ve started a fight.” Jessy gestured toward Jacques, who was smiling at one of the Indians. The Indian made an obscene gesture that even Morgan understood, and she turned away.

  Jacques laughed and called to her. “Did you hear that, Golden One? Running Bear offers me six horses and four blankets to let you be his third wife. Would you like that? It is a good price, and he is a brave warrior.”

  Morgan looked at the Indian, his hair heavy with grease and his face stained with remnants of paint and food. Involuntarily, she shuddered. Recovering herself, she met Jacques’s eye. “Do you think Madame Nicole will offer only six horses and four blankets, or do you think I am worth more?”

  Jacques looked at her full breasts rounding above the surface of the water, her small chin and flashing eyes, and the great mass of golden hair cascading about her. He threw back his head and laughed. “You will bring a great deal more from Madame Nicole—I will make sure of that.”

  “Morgan, you have more guts than any three people put together.”

  “Not really, Jessy. It’s just that I don’t really care. If I can get to San Francisco, maybe I can escape and get back to Seth’s ranch. At least there I’ll be close to him.”

  “No matter what, Morgan, you’re lucky—lucky to have had a love like that, even for a while. Just once I’d like to fall in love with a man and have him love me in return. I mean real love, not like those men that paid my pa.”

  “Paid your father!”

  “Don’t tell Alice or Mary, but my father put me out to whore when I was thirteen. You can see why I felt no regret when the bastard died.”

  Too stunned to speak, Morgan stared.

  “I shouldn’t have told you,” Jessy said quietly and began to swim away.

  “No,” Morgan caught her arm. “I was just thinking how I always hated my father, and I never even knew him. I guess we never know what we should be thankful for. If it hadn’t been for my father, I’d never even have known Seth.” She stopped and her eyes opened wider. “If I hadn’t met Seth, he would still be alive.”

  Jessy’s fingers dug into Morgan’s flesh. “Morgan! You’ve got to stop blaming yourself! You can kick yourself for the next fifty years, and you still won’t change the past. Remember Seth with all the love you have for him, but stop hating yourself.”

  Morgan frowned at Jessy. “Are you sure you’re only sixteen? You sound more like ninety.”

  Jessy laughed. “Let’s get out of here before they change their minds about leaving us alone.”

  They finished their baths and washed their hair and clothes. They put the wet buckskins on their bodies to dry. The sun was barely visible on the horizon, streaked with brilliant colors. As Morgan sat by the campfire in front of the wickiup, trying to smooth the tangles from her hair with only her fingers, Little Flower came to stand beside her. Absent-mindedly, Morgan smiled at the young Indian woman. Little Flower left and returned in seconds holding a beautiful tortoise-shell comb. She gestured to Morgan and Morgan nodded. Little Flower sat behind the blond woman and began combing her long tresses, while Morgan held the baby.

  “What do you think you’re doing, letting that animal touch you?”

  Morgan hardly noticed Mary’s anger, preferring to ignore it. Mary turned away in a huff.

  When Little Flower had finished, Morgan asked to borrow Little Flower’s knife. After a second’s hesitation, she gave it to her. Morgan cut off a thick golden curl and tied it with a long piece of grass. She put the piece of hair into the fastenings at the top of the baby’s cradle board.

  Immediately, Little Flower grabbed the cradle board and ran to show the other Indian women and her husband.

  “What’s going on? What’s all the noise about?” Jessy asked.

  Morgan laughed, looking down at the baby pulling at the thong ties on her shirt. She told Jessy about the piece of hair.

  “Well, it must mean somethin’, ’cause here comes the bossman himself.”

  Jacques explained to Morgan that the piece of hair was considered a great gift and she was to choose a gift in return.

  “I’d like my freedom.”

  “That is not Little Flower’s to give. Choose something else.”

  “I don’t want a gift, just her friendship.”

  “She will be insulted that you do not accept a gift from her.” At the look of puzzlement on Morgan’s face, he turned and spoke to the pretty Indian woman with a few soft words. Her face brightened and she ran to her wickiup.

  Quickly, she returned and handed Morgan a silver and turquoise bracelet. The turquoise was a work of art, worked inside the metal in hundreds of little ovals, like daisies going round and round. The bracelet was surprisingly delicate.

  “It was taken from a Zuñi warrior. They make beautiful things, no?”

  “Tell Little Flower it is beautiful, and I thank her very much.”

  When Jacques had repeated her words, Morgan leaned over and kissed the Indian woman’s cheek. Little Flower said something.

  “She says you are now sisters.”

  “Sisters! Bah! Sisters to these filthy wretches! I’d rather be dead!”

  Jacques turned to Mary’s scowling face. “For you, that may be arranged very soon.”

  Later, Morgan always hated to remember the trip across the desert. Never had she imagined such a horrible place existed. They broke camp before full daylight and camped again before the hottest part of the day. There were no more campfires. The rich stews they had enjoyed were now memories. They ate dried meat and dried cornmeal. Water was strictly rationed, and the dry food stuck in their throats.

  Morgan clamped her hands over her ears to block out the whimpering of Little Flower’s baby. His mother did not have enough water to replenish her milk supply, so the baby wa