A/N: Thanks Botwell Mazero and Xphoenix for reviewing.
Any Kurt fans out there? I hope you enjoy this chapter!
Chapter 3 – The Bavarian Merchant.
As we traveled Southwest through the bumpy dirty road, I found myself truly enjoying Mr. Wagner's company. He was courteous and cheerful, and undoubtedly the most talkative person I had ever met. On our very first morning together, I learned that he had been born in Munich, Germany, and had worked as a circus acrobat during his teenage years. Later, when the circus was shut down, he decided to move to America to take part in the Oregon trail along with other immigrants. However, he never got a chance to join his countrymen because on his third month in the States he received an irrefutable job offer and became a traveling merchant. That had happened nearly fifteen years ago.
"How did you meet Ororo?" I asked as we sat side by side on the wagoner's seat, watching Mr. Wagner expertly conducting his horses.
A faraway look arose in his eyes. "Ah, Ororo… We met about seven springs ago. She found me knocked out near Lake Eucha after I was attacked by thieves on my way to Cody's Creek. She tended to me -God bless her soul-, then took me to my business associate on her horse's back."
"Wow. She helped you as well," I said, surprised.
"Ja, more than once. She also brings me skins in exchange of soap sometimes. That's how she knew how to find me in Aurora."
"I see. Does she belong to a tribe?"
"No, not anymore. She doesn't talk much about herself, you know? But I used to do business with an Indian fella named Proudstar, who knew Ororo. He told me she's actually from Africa. Rumor has it that she was only a child when she came to America, and somehow ended up with the Cheyennes. When she got older, she and the tribe chief started a relationship, but it didn't work out because she kept leaving their settlement to ride across the planes alone."
I chuckled at that. "Hence, the 'Wind Rider'."
"She is as wild as the wind," the German trader agreed with a grin.
By noon, we diverted from the road and stopped near an isolated lake. Mr. Wagner fed his two horses and prepared us a quick meal while I used the opportunity to bathe, because I was really stinking. He lent me a soap bar and I scrubbed myself under the cold water until my skin became redder than my hair. Unfortunately, I had no spare clothes to wear, so I had to put on my dirty dress again. I had at least managed to fix some of the ribbons that Shaw had torn.
I returned to the schooner and applied Ororo's balm on my engorged wrist. From the wagoner's seat, my new companion watched me with concern.
"That looks ugly, Jean. You should see a doctor when we arrive in Tulsa. Also, we need to get you some boots."
"I can't afford a doctor's appointment, Mr. Wagner, let alone a new pair of boots," I told him, examining my bruised feet. "I can't even pay you."
"You don't need to pay me, fräulein. Any friend of Ororo's is my friend," he declared, adding next, "And quit calling me Mr. Wagner, will you? My friends call me Kurt."
I smiled at him. "Thanks, Kurt."
He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it. I knew what he wanted to ask, but I wasn't comfortable with the answer and decided not to make it easy for him. Finally, he pushed his indecisiveness away.
"What happened to you, Jean? It's obvious by your manners and looks that you're not from around here. So, what happened? Who's after you?"
Insecurity crept into me, making me hesitate. The least people knew, the safer I was, I supposed. Besides, I felt like an idiot for having trusted Jason so implicitly, and my own naivety ashamed me. On the other hand, Mr. Wagner had shared a lot about his life with me and was willing to take me along in his wagon for weeks in exchange of a debt of honor to the Wind Rider and some squirrel's skin. He could get in deep trouble for helping me, I realized. Plus, Ororo had assured me that I could trust him.
So I did. As we resumed our journey, I told him about my husband and Sebastian Shaw, and how they had deceived me. Then I narrated my escape from the farmhouse and Ororo coming to my rescuing. Lastly, I told him about the fire.
I was crying by the time I finished. To my surprise, Kurt didn't ask for further details; he only patted my shoulder and murmured a prayer in his mother tongue. I could tell that he didn't blame me for my condition, even though I did.
Around nine p.m., we parked by the side of the road and, just like on the previous night, slept in the schooner. On the next morning, Wagner offered to teach me how to drive his wagon. I don't know if he was trying to cheer me up or distract me from my problems, but the fact is that I gladly accepted it. The task provided me with another purpose beside only remaining alive; plus, me sharing the reins with my new friend gave him more time to rest, and I was happy to help anyway I could.
We were one day away from Tulsa when Kurt abruptly took the reins from my hands and instructed me to hide in the wagon's bed. Three mounted men were approaching us from afar; I hadn't seen them, but Wagner's trained eyes had. Before I could move into the schooner, he discreetly pushed a pistol into my hand and advised me to pull the trigger if they found me.
Crouched behind rolls of fabric, I felt my heart beating faster as we came to a halt.
"Good evening, gentlemen," I heard Kurt saying, his English almost flawless. "What can I do for you?"
I imagine that the three men exchanged glances, because they all started to snicker at the same time.
"Whatcha carrying in there, trader?" one of them asked. I could distinguish the sound of his boots hitting the ground and deduced that he had dismounted his horse.
"Oh, not much… a couple of second-grade goods I'm gonna try to sell on my next stop. Got a few mouths to feed back at home," Kurt answered. I couldn't believe how casual he sounded.
"Tell you what, fella… Hand us the money you got, and we'll let you go back to your mama alive."
"Hum… sounds fair," Wagner replied after a moment. I peeked from behind the rolls of fabric, and through the opening in the wagon's front cover I could see him swiftly reaching for his Winchester.
I shut my eyes in reflex after the first bang, counting four gunshots and two screams. Next, I heard horses snorting and hooves clacking in the opposite direction. I opened my eyes, only to see that Kurt was no longer on the driver's seat. I began to shake, fearing for my friend's life.
All of a sudden, a blade cut through the cover next to me, opening a hole in the canvas and revealing the face of a dirty, rugged man. "Well, well, well… look what we've got here."
I recognized the voice as belonging to the same thief who had threatened Kurt. Before I could react, he reached through the hole and grabbed my arm. I yelled and stirred in his grip, forcing him to let me go. I moved away to stand on the opposite side of the wagon's bed, facing him.
"Don't be scared, little butterfly," he intoned as he climbed up the wagon through the hole in the canvas. "It's gonna be fun… for me at least."
Terrified, I raised one trembling arm in the man's direction and pulled the trigger; yet, to my misfortune, the bullet only grazed his shoulder. He wielded his knife and stared at me in rage.
"You're gonna wish for your death now, bitch!"
He leaped at me, but something hurled him backwards in the nick of time.
"Now, that's not the way to treat a lady, mein Freund."
I never felt so happy to hear Kurt's voice. He had grabbed the thief by the back of his vest and was now yanking him out of the wagon, ripping what was left of the canvas on that side of the schooner on the way.
Wagner wasn't exactly a strong man, but he was smart and agile. He slammed the thief's forehead against the wagon's wheel twice, then threw him on the floor and shot him on the chest, just once. After that, he made the sign of the cross and mumbled a short prayer.
"Sorry about that, fräulein," Kurt said to me, a sheepish grin on his face. "Are you alright?"
I nodded, still shaking like a leaf, and accepted his aid to climb down the wagon. When my feet had safely reached the ground, I looked around and saw the corpses of the two remaining thieves laying on the dirty road. There was no sign of their horses.
"H-How?" I questioned my friend, flabbergasted. It had been a three-against-one situation, and I didn't think that circus training prepared a man for that sort of action.
Wagner shrugged. "Years on these roads give a man plenty of experience with thieves, Jean. Plus, their aim was lousy."
I accepted his explanation because he had just saved my life, but also because I had no other option. Nonetheless, it became clear to me that there was more to that Bavarian merchant than an adventurous spirit and a merry personality.
Soon, vultures began to hover above us, meaning that we wouldn't need to bother with burying the corpses. Kurt did save the thieves' guns and ammunition, though. It was starting to get dark, so we made quick work of changing the wagon's cover for a spare one and picked up where we had left off towards our next stop.
We arrived in Tulsa on the following afternoon. Kurt fed the horses and warned me not to leave the schooner while he took the salted meat and part of fabric rolls to one store. Next, he stopped by another shop, where he bought us lunch and supplies for the rest of the journey. Then he picked one of the three guns he had taken from the thieves and disappeared into a smaller shop. The next time he returned to the wagon, he had a pair of female leather boots in his hands.
"Try these, fräulein," he said to me.
I felt bad for making Kurt spend more of his money on me and tried to decline the gift, but he wouldn't take no for an answer. He claimed that he hadn't spent a cent on the boots since he had exchanged them for the gun; also, he reasoned that I couldn't go into town barefoot, or people would get suspicious. He had a good point there.
So I thanked him and put on the boots, finding out that they fit me. We spent the night in Tulsa; by dawn, Wagner drove us a couple of miles southward until we reached a small farm.
"This is the doctor's address, Jean. Come on."
That was the first time since Aurora that I was leaving the safety of the wagon to be seen by others, and I couldn't help but look over my shoulder, literally. Kurt had to knock on the door twice before a pale, half-asleep middle-aged man came to our aid.
"What?" the stranger asked, ill-willed.
"Good morning, sir. We are looking for Doctor Essex?" Kurt said.
"I'm Essex," the man replied, suddenly smiling. "What can I do for you, gentleman?"
"My friend's wrist is hurt, doctor, and we were hoping you could fix it."
"Friend, huh?" Essex eyed us curiously, then took my wrist in his dirty hands to examine it. "Piece of cake. Come on in."
He shooed a couple of hens away with his foot to allow us into the house. The place was completely filthy, with all kinds of plants, insects, and animals roaming around – from stray dogs to chickens, and even one piglet. On his kitchen table, there were dozens of bottles with different liquids inside. He motioned for me to sit on a chair and disappeared into another room. I glanced up at Kurt's face.
"Do you think he knows what he's doing?" I mouthed to him. The so-called doctor looked more like a butcher to me.
"Mr. Madrox from the grocery shop told me he's the best physician in town," Wagner whispered back.
"Maybe he's the only physician in town," I retorted, shrugging my shoulders.
We went silent as the doctor returned with a bunch of tools. My eyes widened when he showed me one piece that looked like a rusty pair of long claws.
"You must keep your arm still while I pull the bones in your hand with this, Miss…"
"W-White," I lied, using the first name that came to my mind. Not very bright, considering my real surname, but I was terrified. I couldn't think straight.
"Very well," the physician spoke, placing my left arm on the table's surface for leverage. Kurt held my right hand and began to pray. I shut my eyes close.
Without warning, Essex secured my forearm with one of his elbows and yanked my hand in the opposite direction using his creepy tool. I let out a yell in pain that prompted the whole fauna in his kitchen to bark and cluck. My eyes welled up immediately.
"Now, there's no need to cry, Miss White," he said as he detached the tool from my hand, revealing two bloodied marks where it had gripped the skin. "I'm sure your friend will be happy to… comfort you later."
I realized he thought Wagner and I were lovers, but I couldn't care less. Not only my wrist was hurting like hell, but also my hand was sore now. I needed Ororo's balm, and I needed it quickly.
"Avoid making any efforts, and the pain shall subside in the next day or two," Essex continued, picking one of his bottles and pushing it into Kurt's hand. "Give her one spoon of this elixir every twelve hours to control the swelling. All will be eight dollars, thank you."
"Eight dollars?" Kurt asked, outraged. "Isn't that a little overpriced for the kind of treatment you offer?"
"No," the doctor replied, looking back at me. "But in the event that you don't possess that amount of money, mister, I'll be glad to accept your girlfriend's earrings as payment. They are made of gold, aren't they?"
"Y-Yes," I responded through gritted teeth before Kurt could say 'no'. I was in great pain, and one of the dogs was trying to hump my leg. I just wanted to get away from that place. "Just take them."
Essex removed my earrings with a care he hadn't showed me during the procedure. I immediately stood up and let Kurt help me back to the wagon. He ordered me to lay down in the bed and spread what was left of Ororo's balm on my wrist.
"I'm sorry, fräulein," he said to me, sounding guilty and upset. "Madrox told me he was good. If I had any idea-"
"It's not your fault, Kurt," I replied, forcing a smile for my friend's sake.
It took me one day to realize that Essex had stolen my wedding ring during the procedure. Wagner was beyond mad when he found out; he wanted to return to the doctor's house and have a word with him, but I pleaded him not to. I didn't care about the ring, and most of all, I didn't want to see that butcher ever again. In a fit of fury, my Bavarian friend threw Essex's bottle out of the wagon, splashing the useless elixir on the ground. It hadn't helped to ease the swelling so far, and it tasted like rotten fish and garlic anyway.
We went on with our journey for twelve more days, stopping every now and then in small towns or villages so that Kurt could sell his merchandise. On the way to Fort Worth, he made a detour on a secondary road and informed me we would be spending the night in a friend's place.
"Be ready to taste the best goulash of your life, Jean," he told me with a grin.
A ten-year-old girl with dirty blond hair opened the door for us and promptly threw herself in his arms. "Uncle Kurt!"
Wagner hugged her back affectionately. "Hallo, Maria! Wow, look how much you've grown since the last time!"
She laughed at him. "You always say that!" Then she eyed me with curiosity.
"Maria, this is my good friend Jean," Kurt introduced us, and I smiled and waved at her. "Is your momma home?"
"Where else would I be, stranger?" a short blonde woman with caramel eyes and a thick accent dressed in a pink gipsy dress appeared at the door, making Kurt beam. I could see on his face that there was more to this visit than just great goulash.
"Jimaine," he voiced, holding her in an embrace that lasted too long.
"Who's this?" she asked, peaking at me from over his shoulder.
Kurt let go of her and cleaned his throat. "Jimaine, this is Jean. She's riding with me to Fredericksburg."
The gipsy woman stared at me, suspicion stamped in her sharp eyes. "You're Logan's friend?"
Confused, I turned to Kurt. "Logan?"
"The Lone Wolf," he explained to me, adding, "We should head inside."
Two hours later, the four of us were sitting around a small table eating indeed the tastier goulash I had ever tried. I learned that Jimaine Szardos was a Hungarian lady who, like me, had come to America as a child; and like me, she had had a rough time with some men during her life. Luckily, she had survived them.
I offered to help to clean up after dinner, but Jimaine told me to stay put given that my wrist was still swollen. I had run out of Ororo's balm several days ago, and since then the pain had been constant and strong.
I was given the living room's couch for the night, which felt like paradise after twenty days in a wagon. Maria laid in a cot next to me; she asked me to tell her a bedtime story, so I told her about a fearless amazon who rode her mare across the Mid-Western planes, helping people in need. Despite my attempts to keep the tale exciting, the girl fell asleep after the heroine's very first rescuing.
The sudden silence allowed me to hear Jimaine and Kurt arguing in the bedroom. She was jealous of me, while he was trying to convince her that we were only friends. I guess that he succeeded in the end, because eventually the noises coming from the bedroom changed. I glanced at Maria, relieved to see that she was dead to the world.
Closing my eyes, I thought about my previous life, with all the comfort, lux, and safety that I had once enjoyed. I realized that I didn't want it anymore – not when it came attached to greed and deceit. I had loved Jason, and in return he had hurt me like no other man had -more than Shaw, Essex, and any road thief together- and I promised myself that I wouldn't let anyone ever hurt me again. For the first time in three weeks, I didn't cry myself to sleep.
It was dawn when I woke up. I found Jimaine making breakfast in the adjoining kitchen, dressed in Kurt's dirty white shirt. She was trying to send me a message, one that I really didn't need.
"Good morning," I said, greeting her with a smile. I didn't want any animosity from her. "Thank you for your hospitality, Jimaine. I had a wonderful night."
The gipsy woman eyed me for a moment before finally smiling back. "You're welcome." She handed me a cup of coffee and we sat at opposite sides of the table. "Kurt told me what happened to you."
"Oh," I said. I hadn't expected him to gossip around.
"Don't worry. Your secret's safe with me."
"Thank you."
Out of the blue, Jimaine took my good hand in hers and turned it around to inspect my palm. "Hum… a fire hand… interesting," she began, and I realized that she was reading my palm. "That's a long life line you got here, Jean. Broken at one point, but deep all the way," she continued. "A wavy head line, inferring lots of lessons yet to be learned. And -wow- look at this heart line, so stretched and deep! I see two men in your path, Jean… also, one woman."
"That's nonsense, Jimaine," I said, abruptly removing my hand from hers. I had never believed in palmistry, anyway. "I'm only trying to survive. I have no interest in new romantic relationships."
"We don't get to choose when or for whom our hearts will beat faster, dear," she told me and stood up. "Fate chooses for us."
After lunch, we said our goodbyes. Wagner left some of the goods with mother and daughter, including one of the thieves' guns, and promised to visit again as soon as possible. He also slipped some money into Jimaine's dress pocket. She didn't complain.
Back on the road, I noticed that Kurt couldn't stop grinning.
"Someone's happy today," I teased him.
His smile grew wider. "What can I say, fräulein? Love makes us silly."
I was pretty sure I had never felt silly like that around Jason – except if by silly, Kurt meant gullible. Looking in hindsight, perhaps I had never really been in love with my husband, which would be a pity because I was determined not to ever fall in love. I didn't need that ludicrous four-letter word destroying what was left of my life.
I addressed my friend again. "Can I ask you something?"
"Ja, of course."
"Is Maria your daughter?"
He looked sad for a moment, making me immediately regret my question. "No… unfortunately."
"What do you mean?"
Wagner sighed. "Jimaine was pregnant with Maria when I met her. This fella… he hurt her. So me and my partner went after him and made sure he'd never hurt another woman again."
"Oh."
I didn't ask for details – I didn't want them. After having witnessed the Bavarian single-handling a bunch of road thieves, I could imagine what he had done to someone who had hurt the woman he loved.
Another six days passed before we finally reached Fredericksburg. Like every other time we had arrived in a new town, I hid in the schooner until Kurt had evaluated if it was safe for me to leave.
"How long have you known this Logan fella?" I asked him.
"Long enough," Wagner replied as he turned the wagon into an almost undetectable dirt road.
"What makes you think that he will help me?"
He looked at me over his shoulders and grinned deviously. "I have a hunch."
We rode for another mile until we came to a halt before a wooden ranch house. Kurt leaped out of the wagon's seat and entered the place without bothering to knock. I couldn't hear anything, and the hot afternoon sun was making me sweat inside the schooner.
After about five minutes, a bulky man with disheveled black hair and muttonchops suddenly left the house and started marching in my direction with Kurt in tow. In one move, he opened the wagon's cover and stared hard at me, eyeing me from head to toe.
I tried to smile. "Hi."
"No," he told Kurt bluntly and strode back to his house.
