Chapter 8: A Trip to Town
Don't ask me how I managed, but I convinced Kopakashe to remain in the guest room. I had brought in one of the furs we had slept under all those nights, and the blanket she had worn about her shoulders, and placed them on the bed. When I brought them in the house, my father protested. Adam, you might be bringing in some infestation with that fur and that blanket. How clean are they? I told him not to trouble himself; the only thing dirty about them had been me when I lay under them.
Once I placed the fur and blanket on the bed, I guess it sent a signal to her and she smiled. I showed her the items on the vanity, the comb, brush, using them on myself. And she was fascinated by her reflection in the large mirror. She touched it with her fingertips.
"See how pretty you are?" I asked. She grabbed my arm and pulled me beside her, looking at both of us reflected in the mirror, and then at me and back again. Then she said something about me – I heard my name – and she smiled. I had to laugh then and she did as well. I can only imagine what she had said.
And this time, up in the guest room, I turned my back as Kopakashe pulled her dress over her head and I heard the slight creak of the bed as she lay down. There was something different about being back in the "civilized" world that made me more aware of the fact that she was a woman, far more a woman than a child. And I became aware – and embarrassed as well as ashamed – by my reaction to her. I needed to get her out of the house before something "untoward" did happen in my father's house.
When I turned back to say goodnight, I saw Kopakashe had made room for me, lifting the edge of the fur to welcome me. But I shook my head and told her – as useless as words were – that I would be sleeping in another room and would see her in the morning, and for her to "stay" - the way I would a dog. And she looked so sad when I left. I went to sleep with her face haunting me. What had I done by taking her away from all she knew? But, I convinced myself, I had had no other choice. None. And yet…there had to be something better than handing her over to the Rowes. But what that could be, I didn't know.
In the morning, when I walked out of my room, Kopakashe was waiting for me in the hall. She was sitting against the wall, her knees drawn up, but when she saw me, she smiled and stood up – and I had to as well. She was wearing her doeskin dress, her moccasins, all her jewelry, and her hair had been braided in one long plait down her back. It made her look…less child-like. And after breakfast, where she seemed less fearful of Hop Sing, I headed out to hitch the horse to the buckboard. We were going to town with orders to pick up a few sacks of oats for the horses and some chicken feed. I planned out our itinerary. First, after depositing Kopakashe with Miss Wayalnd in her dress shop – if I could make Kopakashe comfortable enough, I would get a haircut; my hair was curling about my ears and over my shirt collar. And then, the confectionary where, if enough ice had been delivered, ice cream would be on the bill of fare. I imagined how surprised Kopakashe would be with the dish, how delighted she would be with the delicacy of vanilla, the sweetness and the cold. I smiled to myself at the thought – she would probably think it was merely snow until it touched her tongue.
Many times, Kopakashe had watched me saddle and bridle my horse during our travels, as if memorizing the actions, and she watched while I hitched up the horse. I told her the horse's name, Ranger, and she ran a palm against his neck. The horse swung his head towards her and snuffled, pushing its muzzle gently against her. She smiled and spoke softly to it; the horse was as charmed by her gentle ways as I was.
It was a beautiful morning and we rode along, Kopakashe taking it all in. We passed a patch of primrose. I stopped the horse, pressed the brake and jumped down, Kopakashe calling to me, moving over to my side to watch me. I grabbed a handful of stems and uprooted them. Then, turning back, I twisted off the roots so that only flowers and stems were left when I handed them up to her. She smiled – and that was the reason I had done it – and once I was back in the seat, twisted off a few blooms and tucked them in her hair behind one ear. That made her more beautiful than all her jewelry. Then she smiled and placed a flower between my ear and the brim of my hat – and laughed. I did as well.
Indians - Paiutes and Bannocks - were often seen in town although it was usually an older, squat, woman selling lengths of beads or shells, or a few squaws sitting beside a pile of blankets for sale. The men were older and walked with their heads down, going about their business and trying to avoid any confrontations. There were many places they weren't welcome and signs outside many establishments stated it along with some crude caricature of an Indian. But I knew that as long as I was with Kopakashe, she was going to be allowed anywhere I went. The Cartwrights weren't a family to be trifled with – we had most of the land and most of the money and Carson City was only an hour or so further; we could easily take our business there.
I parked the buckboard next to the feed store. Kopakashe placed her "bouquet" on the seat and I helped her down – not that she needed any. She was as nimble as a deer. So, with Kopakashe padding along behind me, I told Mr. Henderson who had come out into the yard, to load up the oats and chicken feed and to also toss in a dozen or so bales of alfalfa hay; it wasn't often he had any. Henderson kept looking at Kopakashe and then at me.
"Adam, it's not for me to ask, but why the hell you got a flower behind your ear? Got anything to do with that squaw?"
I felt like a goddamn fool and I'm sure I blushed as my face went hot. I snatched the flower out and twirled it in my fingers.
"Just fill the order, would you?" And I handed him the flower.
I held Kopakashe's arm and guided her down the sidewalk. People looked at us oddly – me and my squaw - but I tipped my hat to the passing women and nodded to the men, a few saying my name as greeting as they nodded. I knew we would be a source of gossip but there was no avoiding it; better now than later.
And then Darla McMasters and her mother stepped out of the mercantile right in front of us. We almost collided.
I whipped off my hat, letting go of Kopakashe. "Darla, Mrs. McMasters, how are you?"
They stared at Kopakashe. Then Darla, who always was a level-headed girl, said, "Nice to see you're home, Adam. Have you been home long?"
"No, no. Actually, I just arrived home yesterday. I was planning on calling…but, well, I need a haircut and then…well, there is the Cattlemen's dance this Saturday and I was hoping I could take you, that you would go with me." It is indicative of how uncomfortable I was that I was talking without thinking; this wasn't the place to ask Darla to the dance.
"I don't know, Adam. You haven't yet asked me." Darla stood as if coming face to face with the man who was courting her, escorting a young Indian squaw was nothing out of the ordinary. She had a half-smile on her pretty face, her blue eyes sparkling with mischief. I couldn't help but admire her honey-blonde hair, the waves piled up under her hat decorated with silk flowers and a dotted grosgrain ribbon. But Mrs. McMasters wasn't quite able to behave as if nothing was amiss.
"Adam, is this…squaw with you? Who is she?"
"Mother," Darla said sotto voce, turning to her mother, "if Adam wants to explain, he will. If not, it's not our business."
"But, Darla.."
"Mother, please." Darla turned back to me. "Are you asking me to the dance, Adam?"
That was my Darla – blunt, honest and to the point. "Yes. I would have liked to stop by one evening to ask you – maybe proffering a box of candy, some flowers, and spewing poetry – small bribes - but, time is fleeting and this meeting seems advantageous. Will you allow me to escort you?" I still held my hat in my hands, lightly bowing in feigned subservience.
Darla laughed. "I would be delighted, my dear Adam! But promise me one thing."
"Anything for you," I said, making a grandiose sweep with my arm.
"To get a haircut." She smiled that lovely smile of hers, and I told her that I planned on one that very afternoon. We confirmed the time I would be at her house, 7:00 pm, and she and her mother went on their way, her mother giving me a curt nod as she left, Darla, smiling over her shoulder and tossing her head. I knew I would eventually have to explain away Kopakashe but perhaps by the dance, Kopakashe wouldn't even be an issue.
But Darla seemed an issue to Kopakashe. She watched Darla and her mother walk away, their heads together, and then smoothed her own doeskin dress, pinching the skin between her fingers. She ran one hand down her long plait, pulling it over one shoulder, and then glanced back one more time to watch Darla. I gently pulled her on.
As we passed the Sazerac, I heard the loud laughter of the Bonner brothers; there was no mistaking it. I needed to talk to Jeff, the older of the two, about hiring on as head drover for our spring roundup. He knew his business, being taught it by his father and of course, where Jeff went, Rick went and they usually managed, now they were older, to stay out of trouble. Usually. And although my father didn't care for them – it went back to my younger days and my "running with them," we needed as many hands as we could hire; our herds had grown rapidly in the past two years and Hoss was only 22 and Joseph, just 16. Maybe Hoss could go along but not Joe. Pa would insist he stay home one more year before being exposed to something as rough and miserable as moving beeves for miles across dangerous, rough terrain.
"Kopakashe," I said, holding her by the upper arms, "stay here. I just have to run inside for a moment. I'll be right back." I put out my hands and backed into the saloon, then turned to find the Bonners. They weren't hard to find, pouring their own drinks from a whiskey bottle and laughing and joking with a barmaid who sat on Jeff's knee, his arm about her waist
"Well, Adam!" Rick called out. "Sit down and have a drink. Barkeep! Another glass here for my friend!'
"No, thanks anyway, I don't have time." I crossed my arms. "I just want to know if you two would sign on for spring roundup; we need to move our combined herds to Abilene and, Jeff, we need a head drover." I wanted to do this quickly, before they drank themselves into a stupor and forgot everything we'd discussed.
"Now, Adam, we know your Pa don't…what the hell?" Jeff was looking toward the swinging doors of the saloon and Rick did as well, their brows furrowed. I knew what they were looking at and I slowly turned. Kopakashe was on tip-toe, holding onto the double doors and looking into the saloon.
"Look, just think about it, okay? I'd like your answer now but…"
"Adam," Rick Bonner said, dropping his chair down to all four legs, "I think that little ol' Indian gal's looking for you. You have a squaw now?"
I was about to answer when I heard a voice that was in some odd way, familiar.
"Well, well. If it ain't that stinkin' squaw man."
The saloon became silent. I turned and a cowboy had stepped away from the bar. Although I hadn't really seen his face at the lake, I recognized the clothes – and his voice. Why couldn't this have just been a nice, uneventful trip to town? Why this?
I crossed my arms high on my chest to show I wasn't going for my gun, and slowly tuned about to face him. I didn't want trouble, didn't want a gun fight. I was relatively fast but I had no idea how fast this stranger was – perhaps faster – and I didn't want to die – not today. Well, not tomorrow either or the day after that, but especially not now. The cowboy stepped out into the center of the saloon and those who might be in harm's way, scampered. Even the Bonners stood and pressed themselves against the wall and the barmaids scampered into the back storeroom. The barkeep slipped out the swinging doors and glancing that way, I saw Kopakashe watching, her eyes large. I wanted to take her away from this as quickly as possible, before the cowboy saw her.
"Look," I said, "let's just forget the whole thing – no harm done - you go back to your drink and I'll go on with my business."
"No…I think I'm gonna kill you, mister. I don't like Indians any and I don't like you – especially since you have a squaw. That's a bad combination in my thinkin'." His right hand hovered over the holster. "Now, face off."
"Look, mister,…" But it was hopeless. I wondered what would happen to Kopakashe if I should be shot through the heart. Would she mourn? Or would she, once I was dead, head back to her tribe, glad to be shed of me?
I stepped out to face him. Looking a him, I saw he was smiling, seemingly sure of himself. And my heart was thudding in my chest.
"C'mon, squaw man! My hand is itchin'."
He was waiting for me to pull first so it could be self-defense but I didn't care to. So, I waited and that infuriated him.
"Pull, you goddam, stinkin' Indian-lovin', squaw man!" he yelled angrily. He was no longer smiling and before he could move – or I did – Kopakashe slipped into the saloon. I saw her and I must have given her away with my eyes because he turned slightly but before either he or I could do anything, Kopakashe had picked up a half-empty whiskey bottle and smashed it upside his head. The glass shattered into bits, whiskey splattering, and the cowboy fell over onto the floor. Kopakashe, the neck of the bottle still in her hand, leapt on him and before she could jam the jagged edges of glass into his neck, he turned slightly, throwing up an arm to fend her off, and she ground the jagged edges into his cheek. He screamed in pain. I grabbed Kopakashe about the waist and pulled her off of him.
She spouted invectives, curses at him while I held her off the ground, her legs and arms flailing while she stabbed the air in his direction with the bottle neck. I carried her to the doors, everyone staring, the man, moaning. I managed to back out, but when I turned about, I came face to face with a surprised Sheriff Coffee followed by the barkeep who quickly stepped back into the saloon.
I placed Kopakashe on the sidewalk and pulled the bottle neck from her hand, blood on the edges. "Look, Roy," I said as he stepped inside to look. I looked back in as well and a few men were helping the cowboy up off the floor and to a seat while a barmaid arrived with a towel. Roy turned to me.
"I thought you were in the middle of a gun fight. Elmer caught me on the street sayin' you were going to be killed by some passing saddle tramp and what do I find? You with a little squaw holding a bloody, broken bottle and a man inside pouring blood like a stuck pig. Now, you stay right here, Adam – her too – until I find out what's going on."
TBC
