The Hunger(37)

They’d been walking in the shadow of the Wasatch Mountain range for a week and it was hot, even after dark. Tamsen wanted a bath; she wanted to feel clean, even if she knew that by morning she would be crusty with dirt again.

She waited until the rest of the family had settled by the tents so she might have a bit of privacy. Jacob read aloud for the children; George puffed on his pipe, eyes closed, as he had sat in his favorite chair so many nights at home. But now, sitting in the dirt beneath a bowl of unfriendly sky, the ritual seemed incongruous, almost desperate. As if he might, with his eyes closed, be trying to think himself back home, or all the way to California.

With one of the wagons between her and the rest of the family, she filled their largest pot with water and set it to heat over the dying embers. Sounds from the rest of the wagon party carried lightly on the wind, but they were far away. The Donners were not pariahs, exactly, but they had fallen from their rank as the most prominent and influential of the families in the party. And whatever the others thought of her, Tamsen knew only one thing would make her feel better: a bath. She laid aside her blouse and skirt and stockings, stripping down to corset and petticoat.

Using a washcloth dipped in the warm water, she wiped herself with long wet strokes. Around her throat, the back of her neck. Lifting the petticoat to address each of her long legs in turn. It was a miracle what a wet rag could do. She nearly cried with relief as the breeze touched her thighs and calves. She had just started to loosen her corset when she froze. Something had changed.

Something had moved.

The hairs on the back of her neck stood up. She couldn’t have said whether it was a sound that alerted her, or a shift in the darkness, but she knew: Someone was watching her.

Her eyes went to the bushes, to the dark ragged shadow of the trees. Nothing.

She relaxed. The stories of prowling monsters, of wolves the size of horses, were infecting her as well. She went for her corset again, her fingers slick and clumsy with the laces. It was so quiet. Surely Jacob hadn’t stopped reading already. Surely the others hadn’t gone to bed.

Surely she was not alone. The sun had only set an hour ago and people were up and about, driving their livestock out to the meadow, cleaning up after dinner.

She got the laces unknotted. She opened her corset to expose her breasts, but this time the wind carried a bite, and she shivered. And then she saw it—a silhouette moving through the shadow of the trees, moving quickly, moving upright.

With one hand she reached instinctively for her blouse, anything to cover herself. But with the other hand she snatched the lantern and lifted it high, so the light bounced off the trees and made a lattice of the leaves above them. He ran off almost at once but not before the light seized him, his face pale and narrow and hungry.

Halloran. Watching her.

Before she could shout, he was gone.

She dressed with shaking hands. That look—it wasn’t desire, but something deeper, something raw and animal. She tried to think where she had last seen her girls, her innocent trusting girls who had come to love and trust Luke Halloran. Leanne had been sitting with the little ones, sucking on rock candy while listening to Jacob. Had Elitha been among them?

She hurried back to the campfire, startling the others from Jacob’s reading. George blinked at her as if he couldn’t imagine where she’d come from.

“Have a nice bath?” he asked.

She didn’t answer. Elitha wasn’t with the others.

She knew it was silliness. Paranoia. Elitha had probably lost track of time. She was probably wandering in her usual dreamy way, looking for tadpoles in the creek or climbing trees to find abandoned birds’ nests. One time, not long ago, Tamsen had caught her whispering to herself, and when Tamsen had asked what she was playing at, Elitha had gone white-faced and angry. It’s not playing, she’d said. The girl would have to be broken of these habits, for her own good.

Still, she didn’t want Elitha wandering tonight.

Tamsen plunged into a thicket by the creek first. It was just the kind of place Elitha would like, a wild tangle of cattails and sedge, the air sweet with birdsong. “Elitha Donner! Are you out here?” There was no reply. It was quiet as church. Too quiet, everyone said, and Tamsen agreed. It was as if everything living had fled, even the birds. “Elitha, you answer me this minute.”

Something rustled in the rushes. Tamsen’s heart knocked hard against her ribs.

“Elitha?” This time, she couldn’t keep the fear from her voice.

“Just me, I’m afraid.” It was only Mary Graves, loping into view on her stalklike legs. “Has Elitha gone missing?”

“Not missing,” Tamsen said sharply. Though she had been thinking in just those terms, she resented Mary for using the words. “Just out for a walk, I’m sure.”

The two women stared at each other. It was the first time that Tamsen had ever really gotten a look at Mary. She might have been attractive, but her jaw seemed a bit too square, and her eyes were certainly too large for her face. Though only a few years younger than Tamsen, she was probably a virgin.

Maybe that was what appealed to Stanton; Tamsen hadn’t missed the way his attentions had moved on. Maybe he wanted an inexperienced woman who’d be easy to impress. It was funny how men would have a fling with an experienced woman—a whore, in their eyes—but settle down with someone who would submit to them, like calves under a yoke.