Page 41 of Sure as Shooting

“Don’t bother. I can get it.”

“No, allow me!”

Whit finally looked at her. He sighed with apparent disgust. “Let us both go.” And he barged out of the tent ahead of her.

Belle berated herself for her insensitivity during their bivouac on the Merced. Had she lost her only chance to tell Whit how she felt about him? Would he forever be riled that she hadn’t returned his heartfelt sentiment? For surely it must have been an enormous blow to his pride. To tell someone you love them, only to have them kneel there like a tomfool utter shit sack!

Eager to explain to Whit, Belle followed him past where the sons of Tenaya were under guard. After the attack on Little, they had been tied back to back with reatas and then fastened to an oak tree in the middle of the camp. The new guard, a Thaddeus Martin from Texas, was supposed to be impartial to Indians, but he smirked smugly at them as they passed.

Whit stopped short. “Martin. It looks as though they’re trying to untie each other.”

Whit was right. Their nimble fingers behind their backs were definitely working at the knots.

Martin shrugged. “The officers already know what they’re doing.”

Whit said more forcefully, “They should be separated, and nothing left to fate.”

Martin tilted his head as though regarding Whit thoughtfully. “Are you on guard duty? No? I didn’t think so.”

Whit finally gave vent to his irritation. “I’m not on guard duty because I’m a physician. See to it at once they’re separated.”

And he stormed toward the edge of camp, furiously jamming the strap of his medicine bag over his shoulder.

Belle waited until they had gone a good ten minutes into the forest to dare speak to Whit. She had located the ideal tree, had hacked the bark, and the sap was now pouring into her funnel. Whit crouched down nearby, attentive to the balsam seeping into the funnel.

“Whit,” she said quietly. When he didn’t respond, she continued, “It appears I made a great error a few days ago. On the Merced.”

Whit remained still but finally responded. “Oh, yes? And what was that?”

Belle watched the funnel. She couldn’t bring herself to look him in the face. “When you told me you love me. I was unprepared for that. I didn’t even know how to reply to that when my husband first said it to me. I was completely unprepared for you to say it. I’ve been feeling it in my heart as well, but I thought it was the last thing you’d ever say to me. Especially immediately after…”

Whit filled in for her. “Immediately after ejaculating in your warm pussy?”

She was glad there was a hint of humor in his voice now, and she exhaled with relief. She finally looked at him, and yes, there was a slight smile at the corners of his mouth. “Yes, especially immediately after that. And with Huntley’s penis up your ass.”

“And with the saddle horn up his ass?”

“Yes!” Belle cried with relief. “It just wasn’t…wasn’t the very first thing that would have come to my mind, you saying that. At that very moment. But Whit, I’ve been feeling it too. I’ve just been struggling with my feelings.” She paused, regarding him warmly. “I do love you, Whitman Whitney. I’ve known that for awhile. I just wasn’t sure what to do with that knowledge.”

Whit settled back on his behind, hands clasped between his knees. “I must apologize. It just came out of my mouth without forethought.”

“No!” Belle cried, nearly upsetting the wooden bucket that caught the sap. “If it’s true, why apologize for it? I mean. It is true…Isn’t it?”

Whit nodded. His eyes glittered with emotion. “Yes, Belle. I have been in love with you since I first laid eyes on you. But I thought it hopeless, pointless. I could have ten medical degrees and it wouldn’t erase that I am made up of one-fourth Cherokee and one-fourth Negro. How could I ever hope to marry you? Even here”—he gestured about him at the trees—“such a marriage would not be tolerated.”

“Why wouldn’t it?” Belle became so excited that Whit took the funnel from her, holding it against the weeping bark. “Why would it not be tolerated? Why, one of the major political figures in San Francisco, and a big landowner near Captain Sutter’s fort, is mulatto!”

“Leidesdorff? He was descended from Caribbean slaves, true. He died of brain fever not long ago. But yes, he was buried honorably at the Mission Dolores. He also never married.”

“Well!” Belle sputtered. “That doesn’t matter. What matters is that we’re in love, Whit. You remembered all the phrases from that pillow book. You thought to remember them, and that just melted my heart.”

Whit’s heart appeared to melt, too, from the look he gave her. Vaulting herself up on her knees, Belle kissed him, but gently, so as not to knock the funnel from his hand.

“I love you, Dr. Whitney,” she said against his mouth.

“I love you, Miss Belle Pennington.”

He pulled away a few inches then and looked back to the funnel. “What about Huntley?”