Read Online Wagon Train Sisters (Women of the West) by Shirley Kennedy - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Shirley Kennedy
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look of disgust made it plain what she thought of her daughter-in-law.
“I’ll get her something.” Jack dug a small pouch from his saddlebag and was soon brewing some kind of tea. When he finished, he thrust a cup filled with steaming liquid into her shaking fingers. “Drink this.”
She took a sip. Ah, that felt good, just to have something warm inside her. It had a bitter taste. “What is it?”
“It’s a root called black cohosh. The Cherokees use it to make alcohol, but it’s also good for pain. You’re not pregnant, are you?”
What! If she’d been capable of blushing, she would have done so. At home, a gentleman never discussed such an intimate condition with a lady. But then, she wasn’t home, this man was no gentleman and, at the moment, she wasn’t much of a lady. “No, I’m not pregnant. Why do you ask?”
If he’d sensed her initial shock, he gave no sign. “Pregnant women shouldn’t take black cohosh—for a lot of reasons.”
A wave of pain hit her. She bit her lip to keep from crying out. Jack knelt in front of her, took her throbbing right foot in his hands, and massaged it vigorously. He kept on until the pain eased slightly and a touch of warmth returned. He did the same with her left foot—so competent, as if his skilled hands had done this sort of thing before. The pain lessened. She breathed a sigh of relief. “That was wonderful. I’m beginning to feel my feet again.”
After he left, she stayed by the fire sipping her tea. The pain was all but gone. She suspected the black cohosh, which could also be responsible for the sense of well-being that enveloped her. After a while, when the animals had all been fed and the wagon dried out, Jack came to sit with her. By now, all work was done. Her parents were napping in the wagon, and Ben was asleep and snoring beneath his poncho.
Jack sat in that easy way he had, knees apart, hands loosely clasped in front of him, yet she sensed he was regarding her with keen, observant eyes. “So you’re all right now?”
“The massage helped a lot.”
“I’ve seen strong men cry when their frostbite thawed. You did well.”
His praise meant a lot, more than she cared to admit. She gave a casual shrug and cocked her head. “I never heard of black cohosh.”
“It’s an Indian remedy. Tribes like the Delaware, Iroquois, and Cherokee use it for everything from arthritis and snakebite to easing the pain of childbirth.”
“You know so much, like you must have been raised by Indians.”
“No, I wasn’t raised by Indians.”
“Then where were you raised?”
“New York City.”
“Really? My grandparents lived in New York, on the Upper East Side. I visited them once. They had a lovely home overlooking the East River. Where did you live?”
He took a long time to answer. “Five Points.”
“Oh?” Five Points was the worst neighborhood in New York City, full of crime and slums that were unspeakably vile. To her knowledge, no respectable person would ever be seen in Five Points. She searched for something polite to say. “Does your family still reside there?”
He stared at her and burst into laughter. “Except for my mother, I never had a family. I grew up in a brothel, Sarah. My mother was a prostitute.”
Now she was the one who was staring. “A…brothel?”
“Yes, a brothel, a bawdy house, where women sell their bodies.” His lips twisted into a cynical smile. “And their souls.”
“I…I…” Vainly she searched for something suitable to say.
“You don’t have to say anything. I’m surprised I told you. Except for you, I’ve never told anyone.” He smiled gently. “What have you done to me, Widow Gregg?”
Before she could answer, he got up and walked away.
* * * *
By the following day, Sarah had recovered from her frostbite. The road was passable again. After breakfast, accompanied by Jack and Ben, the Bryans got off to an early start. Ma was especially anxious and asked Jack, “Do you think we might
“I’ll get her something.” Jack dug a small pouch from his saddlebag and was soon brewing some kind of tea. When he finished, he thrust a cup filled with steaming liquid into her shaking fingers. “Drink this.”
She took a sip. Ah, that felt good, just to have something warm inside her. It had a bitter taste. “What is it?”
“It’s a root called black cohosh. The Cherokees use it to make alcohol, but it’s also good for pain. You’re not pregnant, are you?”
What! If she’d been capable of blushing, she would have done so. At home, a gentleman never discussed such an intimate condition with a lady. But then, she wasn’t home, this man was no gentleman and, at the moment, she wasn’t much of a lady. “No, I’m not pregnant. Why do you ask?”
If he’d sensed her initial shock, he gave no sign. “Pregnant women shouldn’t take black cohosh—for a lot of reasons.”
A wave of pain hit her. She bit her lip to keep from crying out. Jack knelt in front of her, took her throbbing right foot in his hands, and massaged it vigorously. He kept on until the pain eased slightly and a touch of warmth returned. He did the same with her left foot—so competent, as if his skilled hands had done this sort of thing before. The pain lessened. She breathed a sigh of relief. “That was wonderful. I’m beginning to feel my feet again.”
After he left, she stayed by the fire sipping her tea. The pain was all but gone. She suspected the black cohosh, which could also be responsible for the sense of well-being that enveloped her. After a while, when the animals had all been fed and the wagon dried out, Jack came to sit with her. By now, all work was done. Her parents were napping in the wagon, and Ben was asleep and snoring beneath his poncho.
Jack sat in that easy way he had, knees apart, hands loosely clasped in front of him, yet she sensed he was regarding her with keen, observant eyes. “So you’re all right now?”
“The massage helped a lot.”
“I’ve seen strong men cry when their frostbite thawed. You did well.”
His praise meant a lot, more than she cared to admit. She gave a casual shrug and cocked her head. “I never heard of black cohosh.”
“It’s an Indian remedy. Tribes like the Delaware, Iroquois, and Cherokee use it for everything from arthritis and snakebite to easing the pain of childbirth.”
“You know so much, like you must have been raised by Indians.”
“No, I wasn’t raised by Indians.”
“Then where were you raised?”
“New York City.”
“Really? My grandparents lived in New York, on the Upper East Side. I visited them once. They had a lovely home overlooking the East River. Where did you live?”
He took a long time to answer. “Five Points.”
“Oh?” Five Points was the worst neighborhood in New York City, full of crime and slums that were unspeakably vile. To her knowledge, no respectable person would ever be seen in Five Points. She searched for something polite to say. “Does your family still reside there?”
He stared at her and burst into laughter. “Except for my mother, I never had a family. I grew up in a brothel, Sarah. My mother was a prostitute.”
Now she was the one who was staring. “A…brothel?”
“Yes, a brothel, a bawdy house, where women sell their bodies.” His lips twisted into a cynical smile. “And their souls.”
“I…I…” Vainly she searched for something suitable to say.
“You don’t have to say anything. I’m surprised I told you. Except for you, I’ve never told anyone.” He smiled gently. “What have you done to me, Widow Gregg?”
Before she could answer, he got up and walked away.
* * * *
By the following day, Sarah had recovered from her frostbite. The road was passable again. After breakfast, accompanied by Jack and Ben, the Bryans got off to an early start. Ma was especially anxious and asked Jack, “Do you think we might
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