“Exactly what isn’t safe?”
“Talkin’ to ’em. Keepin’ company with ’em.”
“Well, this is news. Talking to Indians isn’t safe?”
“No, ma’am. Leastwise, not like ye have…talkin’ to ’em, teachin’ ’em. Why, if ye keep that up, they might think you’re wantin’ more than a conversation, and afore ye knows it, they’s gone an stolt you away. Then me and the others’ll have to come and rescue you, I reckon. Risk our lives to do it too.”
His expression was so theatrical and so downcast, Angelia almost smiled. Realizing that Mr. Russell considered this subject to be a deadly serious one, she turned her head away instead. Composing herself, she glanced back at the man. “Mr. Russell, I think your worry might be misplaced. However, if this is a worry to you and the others, what do you suggest? That I cease my lessons?”
“That would be fine. But if ye don’t see fit to it, there’s a widower on the wagon train, a Mr. Hudson. Now, he’s traveling with his two children and his mother all the way to Californ-ee. Ever since he and his mother arrived, she has been under the weather and in need of Mr. Hudson’s care. Now, it’s mostly merchants that make this run into Santa Fe, and they’s gotta stay with their wagons. Mr. Hudson has said he would be most happy to ensure your safety when them Injuns is around, that is, he will if’n you might be of a mind to include himself and hisfamily in your meals.”
Angelia cocked up an eyebrow. “Would he, now? How…nice of him.”
“Yes, ma’am. He’s the one alongside ye, over there—” Mr. Russell pointed at the wagon directly to Angelia’s right. Angelia gazed that way and nodded at the gentleman who sat atop his wagon not more than fifty feet away. Seeing her look, the man tipped his hat.
Though she smiled at him, Angelia grimaced. From her view of the man, he appeared to be lean to a fault, balding, and was perhaps twice her age. There was also something about him that made her want to shudder, even at this distance. Worse was the realization that these people had been gossiping about her behind her back. In fact, enough talking had been done that all this had been arranged for her, and about her, yet without her knowledge of it.
Anger welled up within her. She could understand Mr. Russell’s and the others’ concern, but really, this seemed to go a little far, considering that none of these people had even dared to consult her before making these arrangements. Perhaps unwisely, she found herself observing, “Does Mr. Hudson want a cook, I wonder, or a surrogate mother for his children and a nurse for his mother?”
Mr. Russell coughed. Out of guilt?
She asked, “How old are these children?”
“The boy is ten, the girl is eight.”
Angelia sent a pointed look at the wagon master. “And their grandmother?”
“Somewhere in her seventies, maybe?”
“Ah. Let me ensure I understand this. I would be required to take on this responsibility for no more in return than his…protection?”
“Well, miss, the way we see it, it’s for the protection of us all.”
“Yes.” Angelia’s voice was sarcastic. “Lest we forget it is for the protection of us all.”
Again Mr. Russell coughed.
“Tell me, Mr. Russell…” there was a glint in her eye, “…you and the others talk to the Indians, don’t you?”
“But that’s different.”
“Is it?”
“We’re men, ma’am. We’re expected to parley with them savages, to keep the womenfolk safe from ’em. But you, you’re…you’re…”
Angelia glanced down at the man and smiled, though her grin bordered on the sarcastic.
“Well, you’re female. And females ain’t supposed to talk to Injuns. Least not on this caravan.”
“Oh? Because I’m a woman, I have fewer rights than you men do?”
“Ah…”
“Let me make absolutely certain now that I comprehend you thoroughly. I’m not allowed to communicate to whomever I want? Is that right?”
“Guess not, if’n they be Injuns. Now, fact is, the Vigilance Committee says that if ye dunna want Mr. Hudson’s protection, yet ye keep talkin’ to them Injuns and get yerself stolt, I’m supposed to tell ye that we ain’t comin’ after ye. But with Mr. Hudson’s?—”
“The what committee?”
