Faith in the Mountain Valley

by Misty M. Beller

  Men's voices sounded as she neared the stretch of traps belonging to Hawk Wing and Elk Runs. She skirted them with a wide berth to reach her own sets. The catch had been stolen from one of her traps, and another still sat open and empty. The other four had snared three beavers and a badger. Not bad for a half day.

  Darkness had closed in by the time she turned back toward the creek crossing. All the others appeared to be finished checking their lines. Hopefully all would be around the campfire indulging in another of Jean-Jacques’s good meals. Maybe they could even trade with the strangers for more foodstuffs. A better variety would be nice.

  Laying her catch at the edge of the trees, she lifted her chin and made the call of a crow. Her skills had diminished, more so than Jean-Jacques’s ability. But the sound was still discernible.

  Would the Indians question the noise? They seemed to have accepted her as part of the group, but she still wasn't certain whether they’d seen through her disguise. These were savvy men. If Jean-Jacques hadn’t been fooled by her cover, would these braves?

  But they hadn't said anything. They hadn't done anything untoward—at least not intentionally. That undressing after the rain hadn't been indecent for their culture.

  Though she couldn't help wondering, she’d better not borrow trouble.

  Footsteps sounded through the trees, and she tucked behind a trunk to see who it would be.

  Jean-Jacques’s form came clear, easing the tension in her shoulders. She shifted enough that he would see her, and he moved her direction.

  "Are you all right?" His face wore concern in his gathered brows.

  She nodded. "What have you learned of the men? Do you know them?"

  He shook his head. "I've never met them before today, but they seem a good sort. Canadians as we are. We're eating beaver dumplings and drinking coffee." His eyes sparkled. "Real coffee, Colette. You have to come."

  Though his pleasure brought a smile, the thought of coffee twisted her belly. The dumplings would be good, but such a strong brew wouldn’t settle well.

  "I need my trapping pack. Can you bring it? Once I reset my snares, I'll come to camp."

  Disappointment eased his smile, but he nodded. “I'll get it.”

  He was true to his word, and after taking the pack, she made quick work of rebaiting her traps. She should have drawn the task out, but Jean-Jacques’s good word about the strangers made her eager to return to camp.

  And food. If she had to wait out here another hour, she might well skin one of those beavers and eat the meat fresh.

  Her belly turned at that thought. If it couldn’t manage strong coffee, she'd never be able to force down raw meat.

  After field dressing her catch and securing it high in a tree where it should be safe for the night, she finally set her steps toward camp.

  Her body was ready to collapse on her bed pallet. Company or not, she'd eat enough to fill her belly, then settle in for the night. Did every expectant mother suffer this exhaustion?

  Lord, don’t let there be anything wrong with the baby.

  She pushed the worries away and focused on the voices ahead of her. The strangers were louder than their group. Their voices had been strong even when she first caught sight of them on horseback, but now the men seemed to be belting out each word they spoke. And was that a slur in one man's speech? Maybe that was his natural cadence, but she'd heard such sluggish tendencies before. Knew the telltale sign well.

  Her entire body tightened as she paused in the trees a few steps from the camp clearing. It hadn't occurred to her that these men might've brought whiskey with them. Had all the men overindulged?

  This could be awful. Almost as bad as if Raphael’s brothers had come looking for her. Panic pounded through her chest.

  She had her gun. Raising the weapon, she positioned it so she could easily aim and shoot.

  But she couldn't do that. She couldn't kill another man, not even if he came at her in a drunken rage.

  But her baby. That other time flared fresh in her mind, mixing with this moment in an awful distortion of past and present.

  Did she dare enter that clearing? Once she made her presence known, it would be so much harder to sneak away again.

  She couldn't do this. Couldn't willingly step into a den of drunken sots. Some men only turned sloppy when they consumed. But you never knew when the rage would take hold. She couldn't put herself in that position again.

  Before she could move, one of the men spoke clearly enough to grab her attention. “So French. You said she was traveling with her papa up the Missouri River? What’s his name?”

  “Wilkins. Thad Wilkins.” Jean-Jacques’s level voice barely reached her. She strained to hear his words. “Her name is Susanna. Unfortunately, Mr. Wilkins passed away a few weeks after we first met them. But I’m grateful he brought Susanna to us.”

  Susanna. Pain pressed through her, cutting off her breath. Was he speaking of his wife? Who else would he be grateful for? The warmth in his tone had been impossible to miss as he said her name. And the us must be him and the friends he’d mentioned. Why hadn’t she thought of that earlier? When he spoke of his comrades, she’d assumed he meant fellow trappers. But his wife must be among them.

  Tears blurred her vision as she eased backward, away from the firelight filtering through the trees. She raised a sleeve to swipe the moisture away. She’d known he was married. This wasn’t a surprise to her. Only a painful reminder.

  Her back bumped a trunk, and she nearly cried out at the unexpected jolt.

  Settle down, Colette. She had to get away from here—without them knowing. She couldn’t walk into that camp and face—not only men who’d been drinking, but a very married Jean-Jacques.

  There might be questions later, but she’d find another place to spend the night.

  With a glance behind her, she shifted sideways and eased backward so the tree separated her from the camp. She scanned a path toward the river, a route free of branches and anything else that might signal her presence if she stepped wrong.

  She followed that route, one tiptoed step at a time.

  At last, she arrived in the open stretch along the creek's bank. She eased out a breath and gulped in fresh air. Her legs shook, and she gripped a tree to keep herself upright. Maybe this would be a good time to skin her catch from the evening.

  The thought tasted foul. She didn't have the nerve to do that awful job right now. She'd need to find a place to spend the night. The hideaway where she sometimes took naps would do. With any luck, the men would drink themselves to sleep and not even realize she didn't return for the night.

  At least, they wouldn't know until morning, when they found her bedroll as she'd left it today. She could come up with some excuse then.

  Now that she had a plan, some of the strength returned to her legs. She'd have to go the night without eating, which meant it might be a while before her hungry belly finally conceded to let her sleep. She might as well start trying now.

  With her rifle in a position to fire easily, she started toward her private sleeping spot. The hunger would be nothing close to the misery she'd experience if she were forced to spend the night around a group of drunken fools.

  Chapter 9

  French padded through the trees as quietly as he could so he didn't frighten Colette or draw attention from the others. There was so much drinking and wild storytelling back at camp, he doubted anyone had seen him slip away.

  Where was Colette? She should've returned a half hour ago at the latest. In truth, he'd expected her long before that. It shouldn't have taken her that long to reset her traps. Had she decided to skin the catch as well?

  Why was she so hesitant to meet the strangers? It had to be more than concern for her disguise. Every one of his instincts confirmed that suspicion.

  What was she running from?

  Surely the threat couldn't be as bad as she seemed to think. What would drive her into this wilderness and make her pretend to be a man, to live with Ind
ians and skin animals all day? None of that sounded like the Colette he knew. Yet something had forced her to this life. He needed to make quicker progress in getting her to trust him enough to tell.

  There was no sign of her on the riverbank where they skinned the animals and scraped hides. Maybe she was working on her traps for some reason. He walked all the way down her line and even to his own sets.

  No Colette. All six of her snares were open and ready for an animal. Had she gone back upstream for some reason? Surely, she didn't plan to spend the entire night out. If so, where?

  Near the horses? Maybe she'd gone there to check them, but she probably wouldn't linger in that place. One of the newcomers might go out to check their animals. Although, from the bottles being passed around back at camp, he doubted any of them would think of it this night.

  Still, he should check the horses himself. And maybe he'd find Colette along the way.

  When he stepped into the open grassy area, he found that the animals all seemed fine. Resting in the darkness, most of them, though a couple still grazed. No person lingered around that he could see.

  After patting his mare a final time, he stepped away from the herd and paused to listen. "Colette?" He kept his voice low so it wouldn't carry back to camp. But if she were nearby, hopefully she would hear him and make her presence known.

  Surely she wasn't hiding from him. After all, she'd called him earlier when she needed her trapping pack.

  What about the place he'd found her sitting the other day? The grass had been flat like she'd been lying there, maybe napping in the warm spring sun. Maybe she'd decided to spend tonight there.

  Finding the spot took some work in the darkness, but he finally located it. A tiny area of grass surrounded by thick trees. An excellent place to hide away.

  Sure enough, a body lay in the grass there, covered by a blanket. Her hat rested beside her, and the white of her hair shone in the faint moonlight. Even in sleep, her brow wrinkled with worry. What made her fear these newcomers so much she would hide out here? The question was enough to drive him mad.

  Should he stay here with her? The night was warm and she had a blanket, so she didn't look like she needed more. Her rifle lay beside her, only a handbreadth away.

  It might be better if he returned to camp, where he could keep an eye on the men. With most of them intoxicated, hopefully they would sleep well through the night. But one never knew for sure.

  Guarding the strangers. That was where he could serve Colette best. And he’d sleep with one eye open.

  Pain shot through Colette's shoulder as she scraped her eyes open and pushed herself upright. Dawn had already penetrated the eastern sky with reds and oranges. A few minutes later than she normally slept, but at least she'd made it through the night. The little clearing around her looked the same as when she'd lain down the night before.

  She strained for sounds from camp. She couldn't hear anything, but that area was far enough away that she didn't normally hear the men when they spoke in regular voices. Only a shout or louder noise.

  Her belly grumbled from hunger almost as much as her neck did from the position she’d slept in. Nausea churned, rising up into her chest. She had to get food, or she'd be sick for sure.

  Pushing to her feet, she stumbled a step, then caught her footing. One would think she'd been the one with the bottle the night before.

  She had to prepare herself for what she might face in camp this morning. Questions from Young Bear and the others probably. Hopefully the visitors would sleep off their head pains, then be on their way.

  After taking care of morning needs, she gathered her rifle and blanket, then started toward camp. As she stepped into the open area along the creek's bank, Elk Runs and Hawk Wing were trudging toward their trap lines. Both paused when they saw her and waited for her to reach them. Hawk Wing’s eyes held a rim of red, and Elk Runs seemed a little sleep dazed still. Or maybe dazed by the lingering remnants of whatever he'd imbibed.

  "You did not come for strong drink." Hawk Wing eyed her.

  She shook her head. "I don't like that drink." She might have said something about how these two and the others probably drank her portion, but better not to be sarcastic.

  Hawk Wing nodded, then turned toward the river as though he needed no other explanation. Maybe his own roiling belly made him think her stance would have been better for him as well.

  She moved on toward camp, glancing up to see that her catch she'd hung the night before was still safe. They'd not had trouble with mountain cats—a blessing indeed.

  As she neared the edge of camp, she slowed to determine what she would find before making her presence obvious.

  Jean-Jacques knelt by the fire, his usual position as he prepared the morning's meal. Young Bear sat by the blaze, smoking a pipe. He didn't usually do so in the morning, but maybe he was also nursing an aching head. A few bodies littered the open area, and she took a step forward to better see them.

  Three forms, all tucked inside fur coverings. Their visitors must still be sleeping off the festivities.

  Jean-Jacques had turned and was watching her. No surprise shone in his eyes. Did he even know she hadn't slept in camp? He simply studied her. At last, he offered a "Morning."

  "Good morning." She stepped into the clearing and moved toward her bed pallet. She'd pretend she'd just been out to check her traps early.

  Jean-Jacques turned back to his work. "I have corn mush ready. We traded for more cornmeal, so there should be plenty to last a week or so. Longer if we conserve it, but I thought something warm and filling would help this morning."

  Her belly growled at the words, but the nausea churned thicker. She was going to cast up her accounts—what little accounts she had left—if she didn't get food quickly.

  She sank down to sit on her bed pallet and inhaled a deep, slow breath through her nose. Out through her mouth. In through her nose. She kept her chin up, focusing on each breath as she struggled to keep her insides from heaving.

  Maybe she should make a run for the trees now. She couldn't chance losing her dignity in front of these others. But she was managing to keep her roiling nausea down, and standing might put her feeble control at risk.

  Jean-Jacques appeared in front of her, crouching with a cup in his hands. "Here, eat. You don't look well.”

  He was studying her again, but she couldn't take time to focus on him. She grabbed the cup and raised it to her mouth.

  The gruel was hot—almost scalding—so she took only a small sip to start. She would have to down the food slowly or it would all come back up. Once her belly had enough to ease its gnawing, the nausea would die away.

  After sipping half the cup, her insides had finally settled enough to let her focus on Jean-Jacques. He still crouched in front of her, watching her. His eyes cataloging.

  She didn’t have the strength to feign a smile. "I'm well. Just a little too hungry."

  Twin lines formed across his brow, as though her comment didn't make sense. He was probably fighting an aching head from the drink too.

  His father's anger had always burned worse the morning after a binge. Or so Jean-Jacques had said. He'd never let her near his house during his father's overindulgences or their aftermath. He usually tried to keep himself far away too.

  Those last few years, when he'd been a little older, he hadn't stayed away as long. Sometimes he would mention his mother, enough for her to realize he worried over her. And sometimes he wouldn't come to find Colette until he was certain his mother had left the house for town or gone to work in their garden.

  Those latter times, the two of them never strayed farther than earshot from his home. She'd been aware of it all back then, but the seriousness had never settled in her young mind. Her world had been so very different. Safe.

  Not until Raphael’s father passed had she understood what Jean-Jacques must've gone through.

  The memories brought up another surge of nausea. She needed to get out of this place. Away from
the stench of whiskey and the sight of those who'd indulged in the poison.

  She turned away from Jean-Jacques’s stare, reaching for her gun and her possibles sack. "I'm going out to do some exploring today. I'll probably be gone several hours." The words slipped out before she had time to fully contemplate the idea.

  But that was what she needed. Time away from these people. This place. All these memories that wouldn't stay suppressed.

  Jean-Jacques stood, yet he didn't step back. The burn of his gaze pressed into her, but she didn't offer him a glance. Did she have everything she needed? There was food to snack on in her sack, although she might need a bit more. She wouldn't let herself get so hungry again if she could help it. She should take her Bible…she needed some quiet time with the Lord's words. She'd not been consistent about that lately. Maybe that was part of the reason her mind felt so muddled.

  By the time she'd tucked everything in her bag, Jean-Jacques had stepped back to his place by the fire, but he still watched her. Young Bear did as well.

  She stood and turned to them both. "I'll be back after noon. Don't worry if I'm a little later. I just want to see the area around us." She sent a glance toward the stew pot. "I'll try to find more seasonings for you too."

  Jean-Jacques still didn't say anything, so she finally dared to lift her gaze to his face. Those lines across his brow had deepened. Concern and…hurt?…showed in his eyes. "Collette, I’d like to come with you."

  Tensing, she tried not to focus on the fact that he'd used her given name in front of Young Bear. Hopefully the man wouldn’t realize it was a female’s name. She had to address the rest of his comment though.

  She shook her head. "I want to go by myself." Then she jerked her gaze from him. No need to give him a chance to say anything more. Instead, she focused on Young Bear, waiting for acknowledgment that he understood. That he didn't think anything amiss.