Donners of the Dead

We both went back to working in a silence that was strangely awkward, making the hot air seem thicker than it was, a soup of sweat and dust. It was only by the time we’d started moving around some hay bales up in the loft to make room for the meager harvest at the end of the month, that he asked if I wanted to go over some of the French he’d been teaching me.



With Avery’s help over the last few years, I had learned everything there was to know about history, not just in America, but worldwide; I’d learned proper grammar and penmanship; I’d improved on my mathematic skills and even learned a bit about science. The last thing there really was to learn (at least from Avery) was French. Avery only knew the rudimentary basics, having learned it from his Louisiana grandmother when he was young. I figured French wouldn’t help me here in Washoe or the Utah Territory, but there wouldn’t be harm in it, either.



Twenty minutes later, the hay had been restacked, and Avery and I were sitting on top of a scratchy bale and enjoying the late afternoon breeze while going over nouns. I loved that his full attention was on me as I grappled with pronunciation, even though I sounded quite stupid half the time. Perhaps I was nervous because his eyes were often centered on my lips, which naturally made me think about kissing him, to wonder what it would be like. I didn’t even have anything to compare it to.



“Believe me, you’re a natural at this,” he said to me as I messed up a few more times. “It’s a right shame that your father never taught you your native language before he died.”



I looked down at my hands and brushed the hay from my plain brown dress. Pa had taught me some things, but it seemed the moment he left, everything I knew and understood was whisked away with him.



“I’m sorry, Eve,” Avery said quickly. “I meant before he disappeared. I didn’t mean to imply—”



“It’s okay.” I forced a smile and met his clear blue eyes. “What’s past is past. The language would be no use to me now that he’s gone. I’m quite content with English.”



“Et Français, aussi,” he said.



“Oui.”



He patted me on the hand and a delectable current brushed up my arm, making my heart swell. Oh, he had to know the effect he had on me. As inappropriate as it was, I wondered what it would be like if I kissed him. I feared I was bull-headed enough to do it.



But before I could dwell on it any further, my thoughts were broken up by the rhythmic thump of hoofbeats outside the hayloft, maybe four or five of them traveling in a group. I closed my eyes and concentrated, breathing in deep. I could smell the horses and the smell of steel and leather and sweat. There was something almost foreign about the smell, making me think that the horses and their riders weren’t from around here. After all, the River Bend settlement only had about thirty townsfolk, even with the California gold rush still drawing in pioneers and prospectors.



Avery heard it too, and we got up, edging over to the open side. From up here we could see the road clearly, and a group of five men on horseback, heavily loaded, with packs and guns strapped to their mounts. Their hats were drawn down over their eyes, casting them in shadows and they rode like they owned the ground in front of them.



One of the men was plump like a pregnant sow, another skinny as a birch tree. One was an elderly man with a long grey beard, another was scar-faced and suspicious with a wicked glint to his mouth. The fifth man at the back of the party was built like an ox, with broad shoulders that were rivaled only by the massive brown steed he was riding on. While all the men were looking around with interest, the man at the back faced forward, his posture strong and straight. Then, as if he sensed us, he looked up and over his shoulder, straight at me and Avery.



I gasped and instinctively hid myself back into the shadows of the barn. Even then, the man’s dark eyes were still on mine, locked in like an eagle on a mouse. I quickly appraised his face: black arched brows and sharp cheekbones, slim nose, broad, masculine jaw, and a trimmed beard. If you asked someone to tell you what a “man” was, I was certain he’d be their description.



That was until his lip curled up in a snarl, directed right at me.



“Who the blazes are those men?” Avery asked, seemingly oblivious to the bearded man. Sometimes I forgot that my vision was better than most people’s. The man turned his attention back to the road, so all I could see was the back of his neck and the black handkerchief knotted behind it.



I carefully crept out into the light, and we watched as the men kept riding. Beyond Uncle Pat’s and the Millers’ farm on the opposite side of the road, there wasn’t much more to this end of River Bend.



I breathed out a queer sigh of relief, believing them to be on their way. “I guess they’re just passing through,” I said to Avery. “Looks like they’re well packed, they’re most likely heading across the pass to Sacramento.”



“Looks like,” he agreed. “They better hurry if they want to beat the snow.” But as soon as he said that, the skinny man at the front of the group slowed his horse and raised his hand. They all came to a stop in the middle of the road.



“What are they doing?” Avery asked.



I shushed him, not caring if it was rude, and tried to listen.



“Well, I reckon this here be the end of the road,” the skinny man said. I tried to place his accent. Sounded like just another man from Missouri.



He nodded at Uncle Pat’s and at the Miller’s small farmhouse. “And I reckon one of these here houses oughta be the one we’re looking for.” He looked to Mr. Scar Face and Mr. Grey Beard. “Hank, Tim, you take this one here.” He shrugged in the direction of Uncle Pat’s. “Rest of us, we’ll take this purdy house over there.”



“I’d like to take this one,” the snarly man said, his head tilted ever so slightly toward Uncle Pat’s. I sucked in my breath, so certain that he was going to turn around and look at me again.



The thin man shrugged. “Suit yourself.” The party split into two groups, with this Hank, Tim, and Snarly heading right toward Uncle Pat’s—my—front door.



Avery quickly turned around, trying to look calm and in control, but I could see the tension in his temples and hear the quiver in his voice as he said, “I better go see what these men want. I certainly don’t want any trouble, and your uncle’s still out with Ned. You wait here and stay safe.”



Any other girl would have done as they were told. But besides the fact that I wasn’t like any other girl, I wanted to make sure Rose and my aunt June were okay, as well as my mother, who, thanks to her condition, rarely left her small room upstairs. If these men were up to no good, Avery couldn’t handle himself and protect the women at the same time. He was strong and a good shot, but he’d never been truly tested before.



Avery climbed halfway down the ladder and jumped the rest of the way, running stealthily through the pigs and dairy cows before going in through the pantry’s screen door. I followed behind, hiking up my dress so my boots wouldn’t trip on it, and moved quickly. I got to the screen door just as I heard June and Rose from inside, asking Avery what was wrong, their voices bewildered.



“It’s fine,” I told them as I carefully shut the door behind me. Still, it probably didn’t assuage their fears when I picked up a butcher’s knife from its place on the wall. Their eyes widened at the sight. Rose huddled under June’s arm as Avery scampered over to the front door just as a knock sounded from it. There was no time for me to run upstairs and warn my mother to stay in her room, I just had to hope she’d be smart enough to do so. She never spoke and she was a little neurotic, but she wasn’t stupid.



“Who’s there?” June asked, her voice breaking. “What is it now? Is the rabid horse back?”



I made the motion for her to be quiet, and then stepped in front of them, keeping them confined to the kitchen while Avery grabbed the shotgun off the wall before putting his hand on the knob. “There are a few men here,” I whispered. “We don’t know who they are or what they want.”



“Are they Indians?” Rose asked with big green eyes.



“No,” I said, gazing at her coldly, wondering why I wanted to protect her and her ignorance again.



I turned back to see Avery opening the door a crack, keeping the shotgun behind his back and out of sight. Thank heavens the damage that Nero did last night didn’t affect the door as a whole.



“Yes?” he asked.



I could only see Tim, the older, grey-bearded fellow clearly, though I sensed the other two were right behind him.



“Good afternoon, pardner,” Tim said in a thick Texan drawl. Ooh boy. I’d only met a couple of Texans in my lifetime, and both of them had been trouble. Up close, his eyes were a deep blue and possessed a startling clarity that contrasted with his lined face. “I was wondering if I could speak to the master of the house.”



I could see Avery flinching slightly, wondering if he should lie or not. Though Tim gazed directly at him, I knew he’d seen us in the background. Those kind of eyes saw everything. They reminded me of my father.



“He’s out yonder,” Avery said, and I winced when I heard the warble in his voice. “I work for him. I’m Avery Packwood. How may I be of service?”



Tim smiled, displaying a few missing canines that looked like black piano keys. I could hear Rose suck in her breath behind me, as if people in River Bend were known for perfect teeth.



“Do you know when you expect him back?” Tim was being polite, but I knew the other men behind him, Mr. Scar Face and Mr. Snarl, were otherwise. I didn’t know what these men wanted but I knew it wasn’t trivial.



Avery squared his shoulders, and as he did so, the muzzle of his shotgun tapped against the door. Tim looked down and raised his brow but didn’t say anything.



“He should be back for supper,” Avery said.



“Is that your supper cooking in there now?” a lecherous voice said from the porch. I could hear the man sniffing, Mr. Scar Face, and I immediately felt disgusted, as if he were smelling us—the women. “Maybe we could all have a feast.”



“Ease up, Hank,” Tim warned, his mouth turning grim. He looked apologetically at Avery. “Sorry about that, pardner. We’ve been on the road for an awful long time and it’s been a while since we’ve had a hot meal.”



While I started cursing Avery inside my head if he dared to invite them in, Tim continued. “No matter, we’re used to the lack of hospitality up north here. You see, we only need to ask Pat Smith a question, that’s all. Get his permission for something that we’re doin’. See, who we really want to talk to, who we’re really here for…is a half Injun’ girl called Eve Smith.”



Tim looked past Avery’s shoulder and met my eyes with an air of victory. They were here for me.



Aunt June gasped.



My blood ran cold.



I tightened my grip on the knife.



Chapter Two



“I’m Eve Smith,” I said, my voice surprisingly loud and clear. I could hear June and Rose fretting behind me, but there was no use in pretending I was someone I wasn’t. Besides, I wanted to know why these strange men were here and looking for me. I barely even existed at times.



“Ignore her, she’s lying,” Avery said, trying to block Tim’s eye line. Any other time I would have been touched by his loyalty to me but not now.



I walked across the room, holding the knife in plain sight, and stopped on the other side of Avery. Up close, I could see the puffiness under Tim’s eyes and the red tinge of his nose, more signs of his age. Still, his eyes remained clear as day, even as they crinkled at the corners as I approached. He barely noticed the knife.



“I said, I’m Eve Smith.” I looked dead at Tim, resisting the compulsion to look behind him at the two others. Their silence continued to be menacing.



“Well, how do you do, Eve Smith?” he greeted cordially, tipping the brim of his weather-beaten hat.



“I do just fine. Now how may we help you?”



“Why, aren’t we well-spoken,” he commented. I waited for the comment about never meeting a well-spoken Indian before, but it never came. A smile twitched at the corner of his dry lips as he appraised Avery. “Your friend here was trying to protect you, I reckon, but the fact is, ma’am, we don’t mean no harm.”



“Then what do you mean?” I questioned boldly.



He raised his brow, taking a moment before he spoke. “Me and my friends here, we’re a makeshift search party of sorts. This is the last settlement before we head off into the mountains, and after inquiring at the general store for a local tracker, boy weren’t we surprised when a woman’s name kept coming up.” He looked me up and down. “However, now I see you’re more of a girl than a woman.”



“She’s a lady,” Avery said, his shoulders tensing. “I don’t think you should call her anything less while you’re standing outside her home.”



“My apologies,” Tim offered quickly, though he and I both knew I was the furthest thing from a lady. Aunt June and Rose were ladies. I was just impressed he called me ma’am.



“Besides,” Avery went on, “there are other trackers in the area. I can certainly be of help.”



My heart squeezed at the thought of him going off with these men.



“We might right need the help of a young man like yourself, Avery Packwood,” Tim said. “But Eve’s name kept on coming up. And though we know we might find someone—a man, perhaps—at one of the local tribes, our general consensus is that you can’t trust a savage.”