“I’ll do my best not to get myself killed.” As an afterthought the senator added, “Or either of you killed, as well.”
5
Gerty threw down her fork and stamped her foot. “I hate deer meat! I hate it, hate it, hate it! I hate rabbit meat, too. Deer or rabbit. Rabbit or deer. Over and over and over.”
“You can always go hungry,” Fargo said to make her madder. He had been invited to supper with the Keevers. The senator had brought a folding table along and insisted his family use it for each and every meal.
Rebecca was swallowing tea, and coughed.
“Did you hear him, Father?” Gerty asked. “Did you hear how he talks to me? Yet you won’t get rid of him like I’ve asked you.”
“Now, now, child,” Fulton Keever tried to soothe her. “I’ve explained before that Mr. Fargo is indispensable. Which means I can’t do without him.”
“I know what it means,” Gerty declared. “I might be young but I’m not stupid.”
Fargo couldn’t let it go. “That’s one opinion.” All during the meal she had criticized him, carping that he didn’t chew with his mouth closed, that he drank water like a horse, that he didn’t use the right spoon when he had soup. It got so, Fargo would dearly love to chuck her off a cliff and see if she bounced.
“He’s doing it again, Father.”
Senator Keever sighed. “Mr. Fargo, must you? You’re a grown man. It’s beneath you to bait her.”
Rebecca came to Fargo’s defense. “She’s been picking on him all evening. Surely you noticed?”
“A child’s antics, nothing more,” Keever said indulgently. “And I should think you would have more sympathy for a member of your own family.”
“Gertrude means the world to me. You know that. But it wouldn’t hurt if she learned some manners.”
Gerty’s mouth twisted in a cruel smirk. “You wouldn’t say that if you were my real mother.”
At last Senator Keever showed a flash of anger. “Enough, child. I made you promise never to bring that up, remember?”
“Real mother?” Fargo’s curiosity had been piqued. He was under the impression Rebecca was the only wife Keever ever had. Which meant the senator had been tempted by a greener pasture.
Keever raised his napkin from his lap and slapped it down on the table. “Now see what you’ve done, Gertrude? There are some lapses I won’t tolerate, and this is one of them.” He looked around as if to make sure no one else could hear him. “I want your solemn word, Mr. Fargo, that you won’t repeat what I’m about to tell you. Not to another living soul ever.”
“You have it,” Fargo said.
“I was very close to another woman once. Her name was Priscilla. We weren’t married but we took it for granted that we would one day tie the knot.”
Fargo saw a change in Rebecca’s expression. One thing was obvious; she didn’t like this talk of the “other woman.”
The senator gazed off into the dark. “Priscilla would be seated at this table now but for the unforeseen. You see, she became in the family way. I was all for marrying her but God had other ideas.” Keever’s eyes mirrored sorrow. “She came down with consumption.”
Fargo felt genuine sympathy. Consumption claimed a lot of folks. Some said it was the leading killer in New England and other parts of the country, more so than any other disease.
“The doctors tried their best but there was nothing they could do.” Keever stopped and turned to Gerty. “Why don’t you go play? Maybe take your doll over by the fire for a while.”
“I don’t want to.”
“I wasn’t asking, I was telling you. It’s time for grown-up talk and you’re not an adult yet.”
“If it’s about my real mother I have the right to hear.”
Keever grew stern. “I’m a lawyer, not you. I know what your rights are. Now go get your doll and sit by the fire. Or so help me I’ll take the doll from you and not give it back until we’re home.”
Sulking, Gerty climbed down and went into their tent. She came back out holding her doll and muttering under her breath. Giving her father a withering glance, she went over to the fire.
“My darling girl,” Senator Keever said. “She acts too big for her britches sometimes.” He scratched his chin. “Now where was I? Oh, yes. I was telling you about Priscilla. She hung on as long as she could. Every day the doctors bled her and sweated her but it didn’t help. Finally, about a month before the baby was due, she succumbed. But right before she died, the doctors cut Gerty out of her.” Keever brushed at his face as if to dispel the memory. “So there I was. I had a child but no wife. But as fate would have it, I met Rebecca the very next week. One thing led to another, and when Gerty was four months old, Rebecca agreed to marry me.”
Rebecca smiled, a thin smile that didn’t touch her eyes.
“Now you know what my daughter meant,” Keever said to Fargo. “I trust you will stand by your word and not reveal my secret to a living soul. It could ruin me politically.”
Fargo didn’t see how and said so.
“That shows how naïve you are. A politician must be above reproach, sir. My constituents expect me to be a model of moral and ethical behavior. In short, I must be perfect in all my ways or they will vote me out of office.”
“You’re human like the rest of us.”
Senator Keever smiled. “You know that and I know that but try telling it to the Ladies Quilting Society or a church group. Were they to learn I had a child out of wedlock it would be the scandal of the century.”
Fargo hadn’t considered that aspect. Politicians had it harder than he reckoned.
“Now, if you will excuse me.” Keever pushed back his chair. “I’ll go keep my wonderful child company for a while.”
Fargo gulped the last of the coffee in his cup. To make small talk, he said to Rebecca, “You have a fine family, ma’am.”
“Oh, please. My so-called husband is a pompous ass and my so-called daughter is the biggest brat alive and will no doubt grow up to be the biggest bitch alive, as well.”
Fargo didn’t know what to say so he said nothing.
“I see I’ve shocked you. I’d apologize for my strong language but I meant every word.” Rebecca leaned over and lowered her voice. “Take Fulton’s account with a large grain of salt.”
“Care to explain?”
“No. I’ve said too much as it is.” Rebecca rose. “Be careful, Mr. Fargo. Be very careful. Things aren’t as they seem. You’ve been nice to me so I’m giving you fair warning.”
“I could use more details,” Fargo said.
“You should leave. Now. Get on your horse and ride off and don’t look back. Otherwise, you could very well wind up dead.” Rebecca glanced apprehensively toward the others, then wheeled and strode into the tent. “I bid you good night,” she said as the flap closed behind her.
Fargo was dumbfounded. She sounded sincere. He wondered what she meant by that “dead” business? He refilled his cup, and pondered. It could be she was worried about the Sioux. He didn’t blame her. He was worried about the Sioux, too, especially after nearly taking an arrow in the back. That reminded him. Rising, he went over to the other fire.
Owen and Lichen and half a dozen others were hunkered around it. They stopped talking as he came up.
“I want an extra man to keep watch tonight and every night from here on out.”
“You do, huh?” Owen snickered.
Lichen said, “One has been enough so far. Why should we have to lose more sleep?”
“I saw a Sioux warrior today not far from here.”
That got them. Every last one sat up as if prodded with a pitchfork. Owen asked, “Why didn’t you say anything sooner?”
“We’re in Sioux country. You should have expected it.” Especially, Fargo reflected, the closer they got to the Black Hills.