OverTime 03: Slipping (First 70 Chapters)

Chapter 30: Into Wyoming (Garrison)

  Their successful river crossing set the pattern for the next week and most of the way to Fort Laramie. The cattle moved easily and the days--while long, hot, and exhausting as ever--passed with only one minor incident: Ropes claimed to have seen a "haint," all gray and white, amidst the shadows of the trees during the river crossing.

Despite the memory of spotting a figure in the storm, a week back, Garrison dismissed Ropes' claim as superstitious nonsense. Some of the coloreds were susceptible to that sort of thing, after all. It got the young man campfire attention, was all.

Garrison felt quite certain there were no such thing as ghosts, and his men kept pushing the herd westward.

However, Garrison's wife left him increasingly befuddled in incident after incident after incident.

Much of the time, she was everything he could want in a helpmeet. She got her required rest most afternoons, as long as Amos lingered nearby and sang to her. She asked Garrison for kisses throughout the day, as she had on the north bank of the Platte, for no other reason than that she seemed to like kissing him. He did not much mind obliging her in that, as long as he weren't busy working. And at night....

In the closeness of their dog tent, they shared far more than kisses and a bedroll. He'd never imagined a woman could be so willing. As promised, she did not let him hurt her. She was as bold with laughing out an "Ow, my hair" as she was at gasping "Harder." She could as easily admit that "hey cowboy, that scratches" as she could whisper, "There! Yes, that...."

He liked that she felt free to direct him some, encircling his wrist to draw his hand where she wanted it, or even guiding his mouth someplace he would never have thought of kissing. After long days and too little sleep, he enjoyed not having to think too hard in their tent.

Once the night-kissing started, he rarely remained clear-headed.

He did worry about scratching her, though, after the fact. One night, as he held her before drifting to sleep, he thought to ask, "You want I should shave?"

"No!" She kissed his cheek--over the beard--as if to thank him for offering. "Not unless you want to shave."

He shook his head. Shaving a beard meant it itched when it grew out.

"I like it," she told him, petting his whiskers, and he saw no reason to disbelieve. "It gives you a great, rugged-patriarch vibe. I'm surprised more of the men don't have beards."

"Old fashioned," he reminded her, ignoring that strange word, vibe.

For some reason, his comment made her laugh.

No, the less pleasant, non-cattle-related incidents came during the daytime, with Elizabeth's strange requests. "I've decided I want to learn how to work with the cattle," she announced when he rode by the calf cart, the day after the river crossing.

He'd thought she was joshing him, and grinned.

She stared at him in a way that made clear she was not being funny and waited, so Garrison said, "No."

"They're my cattle too now, aren't they?"

"Yep."

"Then why can't I--"

"Because I said so."

She always got a pinched spot between her brows, when he told her no, but why should he sugar coat it? The idea of was beyond foolish. She was neither strong nor hardy enough to herd cattle. She weren't a good enough rider, and used a side saddle beside! She was carrying his child.And she was a woman!

"I like being near the cattle," she insisted. "Other than the smell. It's more interesting than the calf cart, no offense to Amos."

He repeated "No," and that was that.

He thought.


"I'm going to go to the river tomorrow," Elizabeth stated, over supper the next day. He'd begun to notice that she rarely asked permission -- she just announced what she meant to do, leaving it to him to dissuade her.

Trying to restrain every strange idea she had put him in mind of a greased pig contest he'd entered--and lost--as a child. Even if you caught the pig, it slipped away again, and you just looked foolish. He particularly disliked when she brought these things up in front of the men.

"Ain't takin' you to the river," he told her, between bites of beans.

"You don't have to take me to the river, but I'm going. I need to find some willow bark to make a tea for– to make a tea, and I didn't think to look for it when we crossed the cattle over."

"Don't need tea."

"According to Dr. Maddie's book, it's a medicine and I want to learn how to brew it."

Medicine. "You sick?"

She seemed to appreciate that he worried about her. "No, it's for someone else. Anyway, that's where I'll be tomorrow." Then she kissed his cheek and headed for the tent.

Garrison felt acutely aware of the others watching him, many of them grinning at his predicament. He could not let her go alone, or even with just Amos, who was no great shot. Neither would he spare a man to escort her across the plains.

He also hadn't forgotten that somewhere out there, maybe between here and Chicago, a suspicious fellow called Slade Callahan might yet be hunting for Elizabeth.

He couldn't rightly tie her to the chuck wagon—and her suggestion was not dangerous enough to merit burning any saddles. But he had other options.

"Tomas," he decided, and his young wrangler sat up. "First light tomorrow, you ride to the Platte and cut some willow for Mrs. Garrison. Clayton will mind the horses 'til you're back."

"Yessir."

Presented with her precious willow bark the next morning, the wife—who was never up by first light--seemed less grateful than Garrison had hoped. She seemed no less grateful than he had figured.

Either way, she stayed in camp.


As he rode toward the calf cart to share her late lunch with her, the next day, Elizabeth looked up from her biscuit and said, "I'd like to learn how to ride night guard."

Garrison turned his horse around and went back to the herd.

Of course, she just said it again over supper. This time, the boys got to laugh at her joke too.

"I'm serious," she insisted. "I'm not saying I should take a shift on my own! But I could ride with you, and we could talk about what kind of cabin we'll build when we get to Wyoming, and about Thaddeas."

"Ain't talkin' 'bout Thaddeas." He had to say that a lot.

"Well not right now."

"Been in Wyoming fer a day."

Her eyes widened. "Seriously? There should be signs or something. It looks a lot like Nebraska."

"You ain't ridin' night guard."

"I want more to do with the cattle! And technically, I'd just be keeping you company while—"

"No." Garrison leaned closer to her, and made his voice extra low and steady. "No."

That night, he was disappointed when he boosted himself into the tent, and over her. Normally, that was when the night-kissing started. But she said, low-and-steady, "No."

He'd expected her to refuse his bed, sooner than later. Weren't that what wives did? So he simply grunted and rolled onto his own bedroll, disappointed but not surprised.

What surprised him was when, before he could convince his body to sleep, she cuddled up to his side and whispered, "I changed my mind," and kissed his neck.

That was a pleasant surprise indeed, pleasant enough that the next morning, when he spotted a rare wagon train across the river while he scouted ahead, he did not question the providence of it. He certainly did not question the providence of the two dairy cows the train had with them.

He forded the Platte and had himself a chat with the wagon boss.

Garrison weren't exactly relieved to learn that the four families were heading to Fort Laramie and then Deadwood. Why anybody would want to relocate a family to Deadwood, South Dakota, he could not imagine. But at least they would not be trying to cross the Rockies so late in the season. Better yet, they quickly agreed on a trade of three beef cattle for one Ayrshire milk cow.

He, who several days earlier could not spare a man to guard Elizabeth at the river, now spared four of his men to ford three of their slower steers back across the Platte--a worse ford, but with so few cattle, they managed safely--and return with a halter-led heifer ready to be milked.

Four drovers with one halter-led cow created a funny sight, on their return. But Elizabeth's pleasure, after he explained that the heifer's care and milking would be her charge, made it worth diverting his men. Finally, he thought, his wife would settle down.

Also, the men might get some butter or cream from the deal.


The cow kept her happy for two days. But at the end of those two days, just before she drifted to sleep in his arms, she said, "Before we reach Fort Laramie, you need to take me to the river for a bath."

Like that vexing greased pig contest. Piglets had long lashes, too.

"Don't need no bath."

Elizabeth said, "I'm tired of sponge baths, and I have to wash my hair."

"River's muddy."

"Not all of it. I am determined to have clean hair at the fort, Mr. Garrison." For some reason, he liked it when she called him that. He did not understand why. "If you can't stand guard on me wearing little or no clothing--soaking wet--who else should?"

Somehow, Jacob Garrison found himself making plans to escort his wife to the river.