Pa would want to see them too. After all, wasn’t that why they’d come these hundreds of miles up the Missouri? So Pa could experience this wild country as he’d always dreamed?
“I am happy to help.” The quiet depth of Beaver Tail’s voice pulled her from her wandering thoughts. He pierced her with those eyes again. Seeing through to her inner depths. Did he see how much she needed him? How relieved she was not to bear the brunt of the labor to move their supplies upriver? Especially with her body still so traitorous after last night’s battle with the grizzly.
She couldn’t let him see these things. She shouldn’t even be thinking them. The first step in maintaining her defenses required her to conquer her thoughts.
Stiffening her spine, she nodded. Now that she had that out of the way, it was time she set to work.
A quick scan of the area showed that Mr. Jackson and Mr. Vargas had finished cutting the edible parts from the carcass. The only thing left was to dispose of the remnants far enough away from camp that they wouldn’t draw predators.
The last thing she needed was a wildcat lurking in the trees, its appetite only whetted from the innards of the bear.
She should handle moving the leftovers while the men rested. After all, they’d done the hard work. But even as she moved toward the bloody spot, her stomach revolted. She hated this part.
In fact, that was one of the good things about always being on the move as they’d traveled upriver—she never had to clean the kill site after hunting. Just cut out the meat, fur, and anything else they needed, then paddle away. They usually set up camp early on such days so she and Pa would have time to clean the hide and cook the meat.
But now, there was no way to get out of the nasty job without shirking her part of the work. And that, she wouldn’t do.
She stopped in front of the mess, inhaled a deep breath and held it, then bent to scoop up a wad of intestines.
“Wait.” Beaver Tail’s voice cut through the air, pausing her reach partway down.
She turned to raise her brows at him.
He motioned toward the organs and bones. “There is much we can use. And the best parts for eating are still there.”
Her stomach convulsed at the word eating, and she had to take in a few calculated breaths to still the roiling. What kind of savage was he that he thought intestines and the other nasty organs were the best parts for eating? Maybe he’d learned uses for some of these aside from food, but she’d just as soon do without whatever supplies or trinkets he planned to make. The sooner she had this bear far away from her, the better.
Straightening, she pretended to study the contents strewn before her. “I don’t think we have time to do anything more with this. I’ll just get it away from camp so the smell doesn’t draw any more animals. In fact, since we’re heading on in the next few hours, maybe we could leave this mess here.” That would give them incentive to load up and hit the trail earlier.
He shook his head. “We’ll stay here tonight, then finish the portage at first light.” He took a bite of the meat she’d brought him.
She stiffened. “Why would we do that? We need to keep moving.” What if something happened to send Beaver Tail and his friends away before they finished carrying everything? She wouldn’t be able to rest easy until Pa and the supplies were safely ensconced above the falls.
This time, only a single shake of his head. As though the matter was settled. “There is much to do here. Better to do the work well then leave this camp with the rising sun.”
The tightness in her chest made her injuries ache worse. If only she could give vent to the frustration building inside her. Yet how could she dispute the need to do this unsavory job correctly? Tell him she’d rather settle for half-right so they could run far away from here? At least he sounded like he planned to stay and finish moving everything.
And since using the bear’s insides seemed to be so important to him, he could handle the task. She reached for his knife. “I’ll finish scraping the hide. Do what you want with this.” She waved toward the mass on the ground, careful not to actually look at the stuff. If he tried to feed her from that pile of innards, she’d bring out her own blade. Or maybe her rifle.
He extended his knife to her, but when she closed her hand over the hilt, he didn’t release the tool. That forced her to raise her gaze to his face. To see the tugging at the corners of his mouth and the sparkle in his dark eyes. He thought this situation was funny. Was maybe even laughing at her. And of course, that made the blood surge through her veins, raising her ire all the more.
But she forced herself to relax, to take deep, even breaths. She wouldn’t fly into a fit of emotion like a silly woman. She could be every bit as controlled as this Indian, with all his quiet stoicism.
He must have noticed the change in her, for the humor fled from his expression, replaced by a quiet regard. Then he released the knife into her hand.
Yet he didn’t move, which required her to turn away first. She dropped to her knees beside the bear hide, ignoring the pain in her thigh.
After scraping several long strokes over a section, she shifted to check his position from the corner of her eye. Finally, he’d moved to the pile of organs and bones, so quietly she’d not heard even the rustle of his clothing.
She forced herself to ease out a breath, pushing the tension from her shoulders with the spent air.
To be so quiet, this man churned her emotions like no one she’d ever known. And that made him even more dangerous than she’d first feared.
What was he doing with this woman? Playing games and drawing out her ire would only get him in trouble. Hadn’t he learned his lesson already?
More than once actually, but that last time had scalded him and his family so badly he could still feel the flames. Hopefully the damage for his mother and sisters was lessening now that his presence no longer tainted the entire family.
He liked to understand the things around him—could study an object until he comprehended the inner workings and knew almost precisely what would come next. But women were the one creature he’d never understood.
As he gathered up the bones that would produce the best soup stock, the sounds of steady scraping drifted from behind him. He’d intended today’s delay to give her a chance to heal, but one glance at her resolute expression as she reached for his knife had told him he’d be wasting his breath to send her back to camp. His mother was like that. Never one to back down from a challenge.
Susanna didn’t seem all that complicated so far. In fact, her determination and strength were impressive. But underneath it all, he could sense her fear. Was her father’s illness the source of her worry? Her anxiety didn’t appear to come from the wildness of this land. At least, this country didn’t seem to be the root of her fear. She looked to have a healthy respect for this untamed wilderness—she’d be foolish not to—but the distress she tried so hard to hide must be rooted deeper inside her.
He’d seen the panic in her eyes.
But who was he to believe he knew the inner workings of a female? In the past, when he’d been arrogant enough to think it, then that female would reverse direction so fast he never saw the change coming. And he was left staggering in the aftermath.
Never again.
He’d see Susanna and her father to the top of the falls, then he and the others would be on their way. These newcomers had made it this far. They could finish their journey on their own.
There was no way he’d allow himself to be burned and left to bear the consequences again.
A rousing laugh drifted from the direction of the camp. French must be back, charming everyone he met, as usual. Maybe his presence would spur the others back to work, for there was certainly a great deal to do here.
And Susanna needed to rest. She seemed to be trying to cover it, but her limp was easy to detect, as was the squint of pain that bespoke a head still throbbing.
Surely her father would send her to bed when he saw her condition. If he didn�
��t, Beaver would suggest it.
But it turned out he didn’t have to. When Wilkins stepped from the trees beside Joel, French trailing behind, his gaze honed in on his daughter. He reclaimed his place scraping fur across from where Susanna worked, and French also joined them, taking up a position at the bear’s massive hind paws.
Beaver kept an eye on them as he worked alongside Joel to sort the useful organs and bones, then take them to the creek for cleansing. He couldn’t hear anything said by those working the bear hide, but only a few minutes passed before Susanna rose and wiped her brow with a sleeve.
She walked toward Beaver Tail and held out his knife, hilt first. He nodded toward the ground beside him, as his hands were currently covered in bear fat. She laid the blade where he motioned. “This is a fine piece of craftsmanship. Did you make it?”
He sent a glance to the tool, with its elk antler handle. He’d carved a beaver at the base of the hilt and worked the grip so it molded to his hand perfectly. This wasn’t the first knife he’d fashioned, but this one had turned out well. He nodded acknowledgement of her words, and that seemed to be enough for her, because she turned and limped back toward camp.
And no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t keep his gaze from trailing her.
Chapter 5
Susanna blinked against the bright daylight. How late had she slept?
She pushed her blanket off and had to bite back a moan as every part of her body protested the movement.
A motion by the campfire grabbed her attention. Pa, scooping a cup full of liquid from the pot. Coffee, she could only hope. She needed something strong to face the pain rumbling through her.
At least her head didn’t throb as much this morning. A reprieve she was grateful for, because the rest of her felt like she’d been dragged behind a running horse for a mile or two.
“This should help what ails you.” Pa shuffled toward her, the tin cup cradled in both hands.
His eyes crinkled into the usual deep grooves at the edges, his gaze gentle as it soaked over her like a warm blanket on a cool night. He didn’t speak as he lowered himself to sit on a log beside her. He groaned a bit with the effort, which turned into a cough. That awful hacking cough that took over his entire body, jarring him like a massive hand thumping his back.
She pushed up to sit and grabbed for the cup before all the precious coffee sloshed out. If only she could help him instead of simply saving the drink. But she knew from far too much experience that there was nothing she could do except be there, hoping her presence comforted even a small bit.
God, help him. Take this awful condition away from him. So many times she’d prayed this. If only God would act. She knew everyone had to die at some point, but not yet. Not like this. Lord, please.
They’d already tried everything else, including the expensive medicine the doctor in St. Louis had suggested. Even the moist caves and the sulfur springs hadn’t brought relief, despite the fact they were touted to have saved the lives of others who’d been near death’s door from consumption.
Pa’s hacking finally slowed, and he released a last hoarse bark before wiping his mouth with the handkerchief he always kept near. He balled the cotton square quickly, but the flash of blood leapt out at her. Next time, she should turn away sooner.
He cleared his throat, then nodded toward the coffee she still clutched in both hands. “Drink up. The boys have already headed upriver. I told ’em we’d be along later this morning.”
The boys. Reality flashed like a slap to her face, bringing with it vivid memories from the day before. The men had lingered around their camp, working the bear hide and sundries, gathering firewood, doing any other chores they could find, and swapping stories with Pa. She hadn’t seen her father enjoy himself so much in months.
Mr. Jackson and French were the most outgoing by far, the latter regaling them with tales of his various trapping journeys with the North West Fur Company. It was a wonder how much he’d done being so young, but he said he’d joined on his first expedition at the age of fourteen. The deep weather-worn lines across his brow and under his eyes made it hard to calculate his exact age, but his grin made him look no more than five-and-twenty at most.
Beaver Tail hadn’t spent much time lingering in camp. The man worked like a demon drove him, using almost every last scrap of the bear’s insides, just as he’d said. Then he’d covered the bloody remains with dirt.
After that, she’d barely been able to get him to stay long enough to eat the stew she’d had simmering all afternoon. When he left, he took his friends with him.
Now, the men must have come and gone, by the look of the empty camp. Only her bedding and the small pot she used to brew coffee or tea remained. And Pa’s favorite hunting rifle, leaning against a tree. This was the second one he’d made after perfecting his rifled bore, and it held a special place in his heart. Leaving behind his other guns had been one of the hardest parts of departing from their home. That and all the memories there. But they had each other, and they were making new memories in this beautiful country.
She downed the last gulp of coffee, then pushed to her feet. She couldn’t hold back her groan this time. The effort was just too much. And Pa seemed to see her pain no matter how hard she tried to hide it anyway.
Setting the cup aside, she rolled up her bedding, tucking the blanket inside the thick fur she used as a bottom pad. The underside of the hide served to keep her bedroll almost waterproof, a fact she was more than thankful for when water sloshed into the boat during thick rapids.
Within a few minutes, she’d finished her morning ministrations, and they set out on the path. The track along the portage trail was more worn than she’d expected it to be, whether from deer or human feet it was hard to tell. But the half dozen deer, two elk, and plethora of squirrels and other small animals they saw certainly proved this section was heavily traveled.
The longer the morning progressed, the hotter the sun beat down and the more mosquitos they had to swat. The sweetgrass pouch seemed to keep many of them at bay, but the multitude of pests would be a challenge for even the best repellant. At times, the insects swarmed in a tight cloud around them, as thick as gnats around a fresh cow pile.
“Did the men say how far to the upper portage camp?” If she hadn’t slept so late, she could have asked them herself. Yet as much as her body ached now, how much worse would she have felt without the extra rest?
“They didn’t tell me exactly, but Beaver Tail said he’d go and come back for us. I told him not to worry ’bout that. We’d be along shortly. But that makes me think the hike would be three or four hours.”
Three or four hours running or walking? From the stories she’d heard the day before, the men were accustomed to covering the land in a jog when they weren’t riding horses.
“You’re more than halfway there.”
The strange voice sent her heart into her throat, and she fought down a scream as a figure stepped from the trees to their right.
Beaver Tail. She forced herself to breathe normally so her pulse would slow.
He fell into step beside her as though he had no awareness of the shock his sudden presence had given her. Maybe his friends were accustomed to sudden appearances. Or maybe they’d learned to hear him coming. She would do well to pay better attention to her surroundings.
Beaver Tail reached to unburden her father, taking the rifle and a small bag slung over his shoulder. It was surprising Pa allowed the help. He must be struggling more than he let on.
“You youngsters must have been moving at quite a lick to cover all this ground so early.” Pa’s breathing seemed to be coming heavier than usual.
She forced herself to slow, and Beaver Tail matched her pace, although it must have felt like a crawl to his long-legged stride.
“I was hopin’ we’d get to see one of the falls before we move on. Will we pass close to one by chance?” Her father’s breath caught on a wheeze, and she slowed even more. Maybe they should stop for
another rest.
“There’s a trail to one I’ve heard called Upper Falls. I can take you there.”
Something inside her stirred with the possibility. They’d heard the thundering of falls several times, yet ravines, cliffs, or trees always rose up to block their view. What would it be like to stand at the edge of such a vast wall of water? To feel the spray and be deafened by the sound of so much power?
“That’d be nice.” Pa’s breath hitched. “Real nice.” He stopped and pressed a hand to his chest as his shoulders rose and fell with each labored breath.
Fear churned in her own chest as she dropped her bedroll and the small pot she carried and stepped close to him. She laid a hand on his arm but didn’t dare apply pressure that would force his body to work any harder than it already had to. “Let’s sit and rest a while.” She glanced around, but there were no longer trees around, leaving only the gentle slope of the plains. No fallen trunks or rocks to offer a seat.
“Here.” Beaver Tail picked up the bedroll she’d been carrying and placed it behind her father. “Sit.”
She helped Pa ease down, and he sat with hands on his knees, breath coming in wheezing gasps.
God, help him. Let him breathe.
She glanced over at Beaver Tail, whose brow furrowed as he studied her father. He raised his gaze to meet hers, and for once she could read a little of his expression. Questions churned in his eyes.
How much should she tell him? Pa tried so hard to keep his troubles private. He hated the way some people coddled him once they knew of his illness. Others treated him like a leper, as though his condition could spread through only a glance, even though every doctor who’d examined her father assured them the disease wasn’t contagious. A type of cancer in his lungs, they’d said.
Beaver Tail clearly saw her father wasn’t well. Maybe if she said something general, it would assuage his curiosity and still allow Pa to keep some dignity.
Freedom in the Mountain Wind Page 4