Out West Ch. 10: A new Eve?

Before resuming with Martha's account, it's best I set the scene.

That morning I noticed that things had shifted between us - as they needed to; so it was for the best. Martha and Emma were, if anything, happier than I had ever seen them.

Kate and I had come to an understanding too. She had admitted she was falling in love with Martha. She had told me that hesitantly and with some embarrassment. She was, as she said, still on my payroll and my "guardian", and she did, she protested, still "love" me. For once (just to show I could do it, perhaps?) I held my tongue and let her speak.

"There, I knew I'd offended you, Pixie! You're never this silent," she protested.

I gave a little laugh:

"I can't win, can I? If I chip in before you finish, you tell me off for not letting you finish, and if I hear you out, you think I'm cross! Well," I said, kissing her, "I'm not."

She looked relieved.

I had, in all truth seen it coming. Although we had set out with the destination as our purpose, it was, it seemed to me, the journey itself which mattered. Yes, of course I wanted to see Tim and tell him about our parents and his inheritance, but the Lady Cynthia who had set out so naively from New York, was not the same as the Pixie who would see Tim at the end of this Odyssey; the journey had changed me; formed me.

I had seen so much in such a short time. How could it not have changed me? Whatever I was becoming, or would become, that naive little English aristocrat who had lived such a sheltered but barren life, was now simply the substructure for the Pixie I had become. I no longer even thought of myself as Cynthia. Indeed it felt strange even to say my name to myself.

I had known nothing of love. I do not think either of my parents had loved me, and those lovely Nannies, beloved of fiction, who make lonely little girls feel wanted, had never turned up in my story. Now, how rich I was in it; and yet.

I had been pondering the matter before that memorable night, but its events had clarified things to me as I pondered them in the early Kansas morning light.

So when Kate made her confession, I was easy. She loved me in her own fashion, but the love she felt for Martha was stronger, deeper, more passionate. Kate's love assumed numerous forms, and in some ways her ability to love was linked with her desire for sex; she, like Martha and, I thought Emma, liked sex for its own sake. Perhaps that was something true of all women except me? How could I know? Maybe it was true of women who also liked men? That would make sense. But maybe it had something to do with the intensity of the fire? For me, I needed an emotional connection. I had it in different ways with my three companions, but I had a sense that the fires burned with less intensity in me.

As we lay there, I felt the world change. What happened next seemed simply to confirm that. It was one of those moments which stick in the memory. Emma entered our room, her hair gloriously messy, like a blonde dust storm halo. She sat on the bed, her breasts on view. I could see the marks of Martha's teeth on them. She oozed sex.

"Pixie, do you mind? I so need to climax, I about wore myself out last night giving Martha what she needed, but I woke now feeling the need."

Kate giggled and rose, herself still mired in the sweat of our love-making, which, to judge by the sounds coming from Martha and Emma, had been quite sedate.

"Well, after you getting me ready for Jacob," she giggled, I think a girl ought to return the favour. Pixie, go sit over there, this one is for the big girls."

Something shot through me, making my stomach lurch and my pussy tingle. I had been feeling for a while somewhat inexperienced compared to Emma and Kate, and their confirmation of it seemed to relegate me to what suddenly seemed my proper place.

"If you want to touch yourself, Pixie, just say," Emma smiled at me, as she drew Kate to her breasts. "Take care darling, your Jacob made quite the meal of them."

I sat as one transfixed - no, I was transfixed - as the tableau played itself out.

Taking her cue from Emma's comments about her breasts, Kate pushed her back onto the bed and kissing her, slid her leg between Emma's thighs, one hand on her bottom, the other pulling her face toward her so they could share a deep kiss. Pushing her wetness along Emma's thighs until she could position herself so that their pussies were pressed into each other. Kate explored Emma's open mouth, before pressing in so that their nipples could rub as she pushed.

It was slow, it was exquisite, almost balletic in its athleticism. As they both sat up, Emma would rub her left breast against Kate's right breast, making sure that their nipples made contact; it made Kate gasp with pleasure. Emma slide her hand under Kate's bottom and by the sounds the latter made, she was fingering her rosebud, which caused them both to press harder; the room filled with their scent. The sound of their scissoring made my own pussy wet. I wanted to touch myself so badly, but I wanted to watch them even more.

Then Kate positioned herself so her knee pressed into Emma's breast, their pussies open and pressed together so their clits must have been rubbing each other. Kate looked at her:

"I love you Emma, never forget that!"

"Oh, oh, oh Kate, that'ssssssss....!"

Whatever it was got lost in the incoherence that came as Emma's orgasm overtook her. As though sparked by it, Kate's also burst forth and in a scene I shall never forget, the two of them came together as one. It seemed wise to leave; so I did.

When I got back, Emma had left to go back to Martha. Kate looked at me sheepishly.

"Was that okay darling? I just needed her to myself. Thank you for allowing it. It does not mean I don't love you or Martha, I just...."

"You hush now," I told her gently, adding that it did not matter. I would, I assured her, be with her as long as needed. I understood. How confidently does heedless youth dispose of a future is not within their jurisdiction. But there, we each do as comes to us in the moment. And that bright shining morning in the City, all was finally well. I loved that the two women felt so strongly for each other. Love was deep, wide and broad enough to encompass us all. Why set limits which were, in truth, no more than one's own limitations?

It was, Emma commented as we resumed our reading of Martha's Journal, entirely characteristic of her that as I was having what she would have called these "high falutin' ideas", she should have worrying herself about logistics. As I once said to Martha, she'd worry about having nothing to worry about. Her reply, "ain't never gonna happen, always somethin' to worry me" rather proved my point; not that she noticed.

But, with my usual thanks to SerradaC for her ability to decipher the hand-writing, let us take up Martha's story from her own Journal.

[Martha's Journal].

The morning broke clear and crisp and I was a sore as if I had been throwed from a horse.

"Tarnation Emma, did you have to shove that whole thing in?"

I hobbled over to squat on the little bench to pee into the porcelain, and it was not comfortable, not at all. What did my whimper of discomfort get me? A word of sympathy? No, a giggle. The damned girl giggled, my pee and nethers felt like they had been run through a grater and she giggled.

I didn't ask where she'd been when I woke, I could guess by the look on Kate's face at breakfast. They two of them looked like cats with more cream than they could handle. Pixie puzzled me. I saw no such sign with her, yet she seemed content. She was unusually quiet, and I don't just mean for her, why five minutes was an age for that one to be quiet; there was about her a different air. Something had shifted. Maybe it was the proximity of seeing her brother? Who could tell with that one? Time, I decided, to get us moving if she wanted to see Lord Tim.

"Let's get a move on and breakfast. I want to see whether we are ready to head out, at this rate you three will make it so a body can't move."

The bottom floor was nice and appointed like any woman would appreciate. I might as well have been an elephant for my appearance in that company.

"Sit anywhere girls."

The Widow Mathers, waved about the small number of seats and the little table in the corner.

"And don't you bother trying and pretending with me, Jacob Anderson, you are still too much woman for any woman with eyes to miss." As she patted my wrapped boobs, adding "there is only so much cloth can do, besides no man caries on the way you were last night. Now set yourself down and have a cup of coffee and a bit of bread and cheese."

I must have been as red as an apple, which brought another wave of politely covered laughter from the small gathering. Perhaps just less than a dozen women including my group.

Everyone was very cordial, I was soon to discover that the house we were staying in was recommended to us by Elizabeth. She used it regularly on her occasional trips to the Dakotas. Although her brand of entertainment was pricy, the gold coming out of the Dakotas made it worthwhile.

The meal passed pleasantly, conversation was polite for a change, and I did not feel the need to pretend which was a relief. Several asked for details from the paper, most of those in attendance were far more impressed by the truth than the fiction. I wondered which would be more prevalent by the afternoon. It seemed as though even here, where I could be Martha, "Jack Anders" cast a long shadow.

I left the girls to pack and pretty themselves, this town was too rough for them to be wandering about unescorted, although several of the renters did seem to have no problems, they often went in groups.

Regardless I left them to themselves to go and see about our transportation.

The horses were ready and to my surprise so was the wagon. To my greater surprise there was a covered Surrey in the line! The tack was new and good quality, the livery owner was more than happy to provide it. Apparently, he was persuaded to provide good materials for various reasons: some good, such as to get the supplies out; others, like the desire to not anger Jack Anders, not so good. But what did I care?

It turned out I was doing him a favor in many ways. Teamsters were paid by the tonnage they transported, so they wanted the largest wagons they could get. That was not good for us because big wagons meant large teams. Something we could not handle, at least not in a normal manner.

For the livery man, the Surrey had been a real problem. No one wanted to drive it. It was pricey and delicate compared to the heavier wagons. It could carry nothing in freight, hence no money to be made save whatever the recipient thought fair. Hence it made no money, and besides, it was not manly.

Apparently, it had been ordered by the very person we were seeking, Lord Tim, to give his harem something to go to church in. The very idea that the unmarried harem of a man wanting to attend church on Sunday showed the oddly flexible moral codes that were the hallmark of our surroundings.

Now, what did I bring? Well, I was going to provide not only a gun but reputation, and word had it that already certain parties had decided to let this train pass unhindered - my reputation had proceeded me.

He tried to change our agreement by trying to convince me that one of the horses we had agreed on would go on the Surrey, which meant a saving on a horse and tack, since would be the only one riding. I nixed that as I knew I had no trained muleskinners to handle a team of mules. Depending on the number they planned, I had a suspicion that one of the girls would need to ride the lead mule to help the wagon driver control the team, so I needed the tack anyway.

Besides, he must have thought I was an easy touch since the Surrey horse would be needed for the Surrey! I doubted the man at our destination would want to pull it himself, and besides the value of the horse was between him and the man who bought the Surrey, that meant no never mind to me.

We argued a couple more minutes, until decided I needed to check my revolvers for their loads; he quieted down a mite then. I was a little put out by then I will say. The truth was he was trying to skin me, and I have a powerful dislike for cheats.

What made no sense was that he should have been motivated enough by the need to get the supplies delivered; he did not get paid until delivery! It was clear the whole mess had been delayed for lack of riders and wagoners. He needed protection and someone to drive the wagons, I brought both. The need for a wagon drivers was obvious, but the need for gun hands was growing because of attacks. At first it had been blamed on the Sioux, but there had been a survivor who had set them straight. Since then there were no survivors.

I was hot and frustrated and needed air, so we went out to inspect the wagon. It was a light flat bottomed freight wagon, and was new. It had come upriver with us. I had seen them in the cargo of the riverboat but had not thought much of it; now here it stood ready for the team of mules. Oxen were preferred but slow and hard to come by, and you can't ride them like you can a mule or horse.

I counted the reins, and I now had a problem. They planned to use a dozen mules and although Emma had some experience with Henry it was a different thing to have two dozen reins in your hands. I had mounts and bottoms to put in them, the question was who and where.

I thought I'd put a saddle on the lead mule, with Emma in it, Kate on the buckboard holding the reins, with Pixie in the Surrey. Kate and Pixie together were about the weight of a big man, then Emma - they could trade off, and I could I tie off the extra horse on the Surrey in case one came up lame.

"Where are the horses?" I asked, he tried not to meet my eye, "Come on, where are the horses?"

I sure wasn't going to let him pick them. Finally, we walked down to the only farrier I had seen. Inside was stables and all manner of horses, I walked up to the blacksmith right off.

"Alright, where are the horses he don't want you to show me?"

I kept my voice even, my hands free just in case. He was a giant of a man, not so much a man as a side of beef on legs. I swear he was as wide as he was tall, and he was tall, not many men are head and shoulders above me, he was at least two.

Suddenly I knew what Pixie must feel when she snuggles up with Kate. If he had an ounce of fat on him, it was from a piece of bacon that had dropped on himself at breakfast. But as huge as he was, his face had a blank childlike expression.

I had seen his type before, over gifted in body but not so much in brains.

"I gotta ask momma" was all I ever heard him say, he wandered over to a door, knocked and poked his head in then came out and went back to work.

Not long after out came a woman who was as wide as she was tall, and I was certain that Pixie had her by at least two inches in height, regardless of how the woman was measured.

"Yes, sir what can I do for you?" She asked, as polite as you please.

"I want to see your best horses, bill them to him." I jerked my thumb toward my companion, I could not see him, but I bet he was shaking his head.

"Why Ed, is that why you had me move those beautiful horses out back?"

She was clearly enjoying this.

"Now you would not want to be trying to cheat this handsome man would ya'?"

"Come on honey, let me show you his best." She took my arms as best she could, and we walked out back.

There was a half dozen beautiful animals, hidden away out back. The best four were two Cayuse Indian ponies, an Appaloosa, and large solid black stallion. All but the stallion were around fourteen hands high, smaller than most breeds but I knew by reputation that Indian ponies were tough and would serve us well. The tall stallion? Well, he'd fit my emerging reputation, so I figured why the hell not?

"Charge them to him" I jerked my thumb back to my host, "Wash them, and put my name on their stalls. He will send over tack for all four. Make sure they are ready to go."

"I will not pay for..." the livery man was not happy. I didn't care.

"You tried to cheat me." I responded looking square at him, the room got very still. "You have tried to twist our deal around from the beginning. You might have read, I don't like cheats."

"Eddy I told you that your ways were gonna' catch up with you one day..." The little round woman turned to me and simply stated. "Mr. Anders the horses are yours, I will see to the tack myself and they will be ready when you are, along with a bill of sale... and this fool will pay for all of it."

It was a quiet walk back to the livery office and made the changes, he accepted my demands and after thinking about it, offered to put a pillow on the buckboard to make it more comfortable.

"The Surrey ain't too bad, and although a mule ain't as comfortable as a horse, it is a damn sight better than that wagon will be." He added, "My wife makes a fine pillow if you want one, just 10 no, no 5 dollars."

I looked at him askance. I was pretty damn sure I could rent his whole wife for two dollars and possibly buy her for ten. The man was a greedy fool. I flipped him a single silver dollar.

"Make it a nice one, good and soft, otherwise I will want my silver back." I headed for the door, "and I will take your wife with me." I didn't give him a chance to answer. I just made it out the door when I heard my new name called.

"Mr. Anders?" There was a youth who carried a saddle and some other tack on his back, "Mrs. Caller sent me with this to see if it was good enough."

The saddles were local, rougher made but very good quality with buffalo leather. Cowhide is good, but buffalo wears like iron and can be just as soft. It had been cured well and stained deep brown. I liked it well enough that I wandered over to the leather workers store and bought myself some saddle bags for all the horses, two new scabbards for my rifles and a new belt with holsters which tied to my legs.

That night on the boat I had almost got hung up in the chair, so these were designed to get my pistols out faster and clear of the barrel quicker. Necessary for my new trade. I purchased a couple of nice pieces for each of the girls. For some reason the prices were far more reasonable than I expected. I suppose having Jack Anders wearing your goods was worth a great deal of silver in the trade. I told the tradesman to send the rest by lunch-time which he agreed, although he was surprised as to my accommodation.

"I thought that was a woman only establishment?" His confusion evident, I had to think of something fast.

"Well as I am travelling with my wife and daughters, they made an exception for me." I looked myself in the mirror as I adjusted my new holsters and tied them to my legs. "I don't suspect they have many men like me stay there, and I doubt it will be repeated."

I walked out with what I could carry of my purchases, it was queer feeling watching the streets clear. Apparently, I was becoming an undesirable. Or at least it felt that way.

[Martha's Journal ends at this stage, resuming only later, so let me fill the gaps in].

When Jacob returned, he seemed happy enough with the results of his bargaining, and certainly looked the part of "Jack Anders". It was clear from what was in the newspapers that he was becoming a bit of a local celebrity, and as we left town that afternoon, I could see people whispering and pointing to him.

"Darn fools!" was Jacob's reaction, but even he admitted it had its good sides.

"Less likely some damn fool'll mess with us!"

The journey was slow, and when I say painfully so, I refer to my backside. Cushions can do only so much when you are moving along unmade tracks in a wagon with no springs. There were times each of us preferred to walk, indeed when only Martha, astride the lead horse on the left, was mounted. Cooled the ardour, that was for sure.