Her legs grew weak beneath her. The way her mind spun, her body didn’t have strength to manage standing too. She did have God. No matter how much she wanted Beaver Tail too, could her Heavenly Father be enough?
Conviction wove through her, pressing hard in her chest. She’d always told herself the Lord was most important to her. Had reminded herself when they struck out for their westward journey that when Pa’s illness finally took him, she’d still be safe in her Heavenly Father’s care.
Yet, somewhere along the way, she’d forgotten to remind herself. Maybe it was when she’d begun to put so much faith in Beaver Tail. He’d been her rock through these last days. There when she wanted him, giving her space when she needed it, and wrapping her in his strength when she had none left.
Had Beaver become more necessary to her than God, her Creator and Sustainer? The Heavenly Father who held her life in His hand and promised to give her hope and a future. The Lord Who also held Beaver’s life in His hand, as He’d now proved.
She bowed her head, dropping her chin to her chest as pain flowed through her. “I’m sorry, Lord.” The words seeped out in a whisper, her heart crying to the Father. “You are all I need. In You I place my trust.” God truly was her only hope. If only she’d realized that before He’d sacrificed Beaver Tail to remind her.
Tears trickled down her cheeks for the first time since the fire. Grief for Beaver Tail, for her wayward heart, for the pain she’d caused them all. And maybe a little relief that God hadn’t left her too. She wasn’t alone, although part of her still felt the desolation of life without the man she loved so dearly. How would she survive losing him?
With God’s strength, she’d have to make it one day at a time.
She let herself cry for several minutes, then forced the emotions back down. No matter how impossible it seemed that Beaver Tail might be alive, she still needed to search for him. She wiped her face with her sleeve, and the cloth came away streaked with black. She must look a sight.
Pushing to her feet, she glanced around her. Back at their camp, Caleb still slept, his massive body stretched out under several furs stitched together.
A motion in the distance caught her attention. Was that an animal? Her muscles tensed. Another bear? She hadn’t grabbed her gun when she started out for the horses.
Turning, she took long strides back toward camp, but kept her focus on the figure. Actually, there were two figures.
Elk? No, men on horses. Or people on horses, at least. She should know better than to automatically assume they were men.
They were too far away for her to recognize them, but Beaver Tail had no horse, so neither of the figures could be him. Indians? She should be armed when she met them, just in case.
When she reached the camp, she dug for her rifle. It wasn’t with her pack. A glance over her shoulder showed the strangers drawing closer.
“Caleb, wake up.” She moved near enough to shake his shoulder. He jerked mid-snore, then his eyes flew wide and he stared up at her.
“People are coming. I can’t find my rifle.” She’d packed Pa’s gun carefully in his satchel. She hadn’t planned to ever use it, but she hadn’t planned to be in this situation either.
As she dropped to her knees beside the pack that contained her father’s things, Caleb lumbered to his feet. “I don’t believe it.”
His voice held a wonder that made her jerk around. He stared off at the horsemen, and she followed his gaze. Was there something familiar about them?
“I think its French an’ Joel. At least, French an’ someone.”
She scrambled to her feet and squinted to see better. Her eyes still burned from smoke, and the skin around them pulled tight from her tears. But as she strained to make out the details of each form, one of the figures took on French’s fine-boned outline. The other man was so bulky, he couldn’t be Joel.
Caleb was already striding toward them, his rifle in his hand. It would take too long to find her father’s gun and take time to load it. She glanced at their pile of supplies once more, but saw no glimpse of a smooth wooden stock or long metal barrel. She’d have to rely on Caleb’s weapon for safety. Surely French wouldn’t be riding with someone he didn’t trust, would he?
She ran to catch up with Caleb and was breathing hard as she settled in beside his extended strides. Even though she lengthened her own step, his long legs required her to add a running stride every few paces.
“That’s Joel, too, but he’s got someone in front of him.” Caleb’s words brought her focus up from keeping pace with him to hone in on the strangers.
One of the horses did carry two people. No wonder the outline had looked so bulky.
As she stared, a numbing awareness sank through her. Beaver? Did he have Beaver braced in the saddle in front of him? The man’s head was tilted backward, leaning against Joel, so she couldn’t see his face. But the outline of his shoulders was a view she loved. A memory forever stored in her heart.
She broke into a run, joy and fear tangling in her chest to drive her forward. They’d found him. He must be alive. He had to be.
Running took most of her strength and focus, so she was only vaguely aware of French spurring his horse into a lope to meet her. Joel stayed at a steady walk though. Why didn’t he run too? She had to see Beaver Tail.
French reined in when he reached her, and she shot a glance at his face before returning her focus to Beaver. “Is he alive?” She heaved to catch her breath from running.
“He’s alive but hurt.”
Alive. Joy surged through her, and as much as she wanted to find out what had happened, getting to Beaver was more important than anything else. She had to touch him, to feel with her own hands that warm lifeblood pulsed through him. To do whatever it took to help him recover.
She broke into a run, closing the thirty or so strides that separated them. Her heart thundered in her chest, making each breath ache as she sucked in air. Nothing mattered. No amount of pain would slow her down from reaching Beaver Tail.
He was alive.
At last she neared them, and she honed her focus on Beaver as she slowed to walk the final steps. He lay back against Joel, his head on the man’s shoulder as though he was unconscious. She couldn’t see his face, only his neck and the strong set of his chin. Soot darkened his leggings and tunic. Or was that water? Maybe both.
Joel pulled to a stop beside her, and she reached out to lay a hand on Beaver’s leg. The grimy feel of wet buckskin met her touch. Her heart pressed so hard, each beat pulsed in her ears. Was he truly alive? She couldn’t tell for sure without seeing his face.
“Beaver?” The voice didn’t sound like hers as she pushed the word through her raw throat.
He didn’t respond, and she darted a glance at Joel.
Weary lines etched under his eyes. “He took in a lot of smoke and water. We think he might have hit his head on a rock. Let’s get him to your camp and lay him down.”
Yes, he needed to lay down. Then she could get a better assessment of his injuries. She reached up for Beaver’s hand, which dangled loosely at his side. Warm. Thank you, Lord. But his hand stayed limp as she gave it a gentle squeeze, and the fear inside her grew a few notches stronger. She could still lose him.
Chapter 27
With effort, she forced herself to release his hand. To step back and allow Joel to nudge the horse into a walk. She needed to get to camp ahead of them to ready a place for Beaver Tail.
She pushed into a run again, but the bark of her name drew her up short.
“Here, ride with me.” French pulled his foot from the stirrup and motioned at the saddle in front of him.
That would be faster. She climbed into the tiny space he opened up. The saddle’s seat wasn’t big enough for them both, but several packs were tied behind him, so there was no other room.
She gripped the horse’s mane as he pushed the animal into a lope. They passed Joel and Beaver, and the moment French pulled up at the camp, she swung her leg over the
horse’s neck and leaped to the ground.
Her blankets would be fine for Beaver to lie on, but she straightened them, then turned to find their medical supplies and a canteen. Only a little bit of water sloshed inside the flask. She’d have to send one of the men to the river for more once they settled Beaver.
Murmurs from Caleb and Joel drew nearer, and she turned to watch as they closed the final short distance to camp. Beaver Tail still lay lifeless against Joel. Had the blow to his head caused his unconsciousness? Her spirit churned inside her, bile roiling in her belly.
Caleb and French lowered Beaver from the saddle and carried him to the blankets she’d readied. Beaver’s head didn’t hang as limp as it might have. Maybe he was regaining consciousness. Or trying to.
The men stepped away from him, and she dropped to her knees beside the man she loved. The man she’d thought to never see again—at least, not alive.
She stroked the hair from his forehead, taking in his soot-smeared face. The raven-black hair, so thick and rich before, hung in tangled tendrils around his cheeks and neck.
His skin was cool to the touch. And no wonder with his leathers so wet still. She reached for the extra blankets and pulled them over him, but they would only become soaked themselves. She glanced up at the men standing around her. “We need to get him out of his wet things.”
French nodded. “We’ll do it.”
She turned back to Beaver Tail and let her eyes linger on his face, absorbing the strong features that had drawn her admiration that first day—and every day since. She stroked his forehead again. “I won’t be far away, my love.” She tried to speak low enough that the men didn’t hear. Beaver Tail probably couldn’t hear anyway. She wanted to lean forward and press a kiss to his forehead, but the men were watching. Waiting.
Drawing back, she stood and stepped farther away. “Please be careful with him. His head.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Caleb patted her shoulder as she passed by him.
This would be a good time for her to refill the canteen and wet some cloths to clean the soot from Beaver’s face and hands. She hadn’t seen any injuries yet, but she’d know better after the men changed him.
She took her time at the river, letting her gaze wander over the blackened landscape across the water. Where had the men found Beaver? How had he traveled so far away from their camp? And what had caused the injuries? She should have questioned them before leaving them alone.
But Beaver’s comfort came first. She would satisfy her curiosity later.
For now, she could only lift a shaky praise to the Father. But she couldn’t help following it with a plea. Let him recover fully, Lord. Please.
Pain radiated through Beaver’s head, pounding so hard he could barely feel the ache spreading through the rest of his body. Could barely feel the soothing touch.
He should open his eyes, but he couldn’t summon the strength to make his body work. Instead, he focused on steady breathing. A long, slow breath in, and then, he eased the air back out. Another breath, slowly, deeply, filling his lungs. Filling his body with life.
The life-giving air God had created. Made to sustain the people He’d also created. This new understanding felt like an awakening. His mind had been closed in a dark lodge during the first part of his life and could now see the wide world around him, illuminated by bright sunshine.
Not even the agony in his skull could dim the wonder of this new awareness. The reality he’d come to terms with as he fought to escape the fire’s blaze. The unmistakable peace that had taken root since then.
As the life-giving air flowed through his body, the pain in his head eased a little. Enough that his mind registered the cool cloth wiping his face. Then the warm touch. A soothing caress.
His body yearned to draw nearer, to lean into that hand. He worked to open his eyes. To see the woman he longed for. The only person who could bring his senses to life like this.
He was only able to manage thin slits, but that was enough to see her blurry outline over him. The light pierced his eyes, sending a fresh round of pain. Forcing his lids closed again.
But touching Susanna, feeling her softness with his own hand, would be worth whatever effort required to make his body work. He focused his attention on his hand, forcing his aching body to use the muscles. He reached up and wrapped his fingers around her wrist.
The sweet feel of her made him want to draw her closer. To curl her close to him. To feel her warmth and softness beside him.
Her other hand covered his, and together, they wove their fingers in a clutch so strong, almost desperate.
His yearning eased, calming into a reassurance that soothed some of the pain pulsing through his body. Susanna was here. She was safe.
And one day, Lord willing, she would be his.
Chapter 28
Susanna stared up at the peaks around them as the icy wind whipped at her hair, pulling the strands free from the braid she’d just refastened. It seemed nothing could be restrained from the wild freedom of this mountain wind. Not even the weight of her grief.
Warm hands wrapped around her from behind. Strong hands, enfolding her in the safety of the arms she’d come to love so much.
She leaned back against Beaver Tail, sinking into his strength, relishing the love he so freely offered. They’d not spoken of feelings or weighty matters in the two days since the fire. His pain had been obvious, even though he rose within an hour of that first awakening. He’d seemed light-headed, but she hadn’t protested his activity until she saw him weave when he walked.
Thankfully, he’d settled back down on his bed pallet and hadn’t taken long to succumb to sleep. He’d alternated between sleep and waking ever since then, and she’d tried hard not to worry over the knot protruding under the thick layers of his now-sleek hair.
His memory and speech didn’t seem to be affected. God be praised for His abundant mercies.
The warm press of Beaver’s mouth rested on her head, and she let her eyes drift shut. Her heart had been through so much turmoil these last days, yet resting in this man’s hold, she could feel God’s peace settling over her.
She wasn’t whole yet. Maybe she never would be, not until she saw Pa in heaven one day, but the weight of grief didn’t crush her any longer.
After long moments standing with Beaver, absorbing his strength, Susanna turned in his arms to see his face. Standing sideways in his hold, she studied his strong jaw. She cradled that strength in her palm, let her finger rest on the curve beside his mouth.
His eyes pierced her with a gaze that took her breath away. Her stomach flipped as longing surged through her. Her body prepared for the kiss she’d been craving, although she hadn’t realized it before now.
Then, the corners of his mouth curved up, and his dark eyes danced. His face slipped into a smile that made her heart nearly burst inside her chest. Heavens, she loved this man.
He kept one hand tight at her waist and brought his other up to cradle her jaw. “Susanna, I planned to wait until you were ready, to give you time to grieve. But these past days have reminded me we can’t count on how much time we’ll have.” His gaze intensified. “I want to spend as many days as I’m given with you. The love I feel for you is more than I ever thought possible.”
The flurry of emotion his words stirred fanned through her, making her eyes sting with more thoughts and feelings than she could name. Overwhelming happiness rose to the surface. But a sadness tinged the emotion, the reality she would have to face. She couldn’t commit her life to a man who didn’t share her faith. Her love for the Father.
A flash of uncertainty slipped through his eyes. “Your pa spoke much to me of God. He said I wouldn’t be able to make you happy unless I knew your God and accepted his love. I have done that. Caleb is teaching me, but there is much more I want to learn.”
A wash of joy swept through her, spreading a tingle all the way down her back. Beaver had committed his life to God? Wanted to learn more and to serve Him? Thank You,
Father. How could all this be true? It seemed too much, too wonderful a gift, even from the God who loved her.
Yet, one concern niggled in her mind. If Beaver chose her faith merely to make her happy, his commitment may not be real. She couldn’t risk entering a union that would unequally yoke them. She’d seen the misery of that situation too many times to risk living out that possibility herself.
But this man… She clutched at his tunic, letting her eyes roam every handsome feature of his face. She’d never seen so much uncertainty in his eyes. Never seen his expression so unguarded, so exposed as he waited for her answer.
Her heart yearned to say yes. To accept his words and glory in his love. To tell him how she’d been falling for him a little more every day, and now she couldn’t imagine leaving his side.
She couldn’t, though. Not until she knew for sure. If she did this right, held staunchly to the directions God had given, He would guide her to the best path. Lord, let that include Beaver. Please, Father. But even if it didn’t, God would sustain her. He would be enough. She had to cling to that.
Summoning every bit of strength she could muster, she worked for the best way to ask the question that would determine the course of her life. “Beaver, I don’t… You shouldn’t…” She drew in a breath to settle the churning in her mind. To help her form a coherent sentence.
His hand slid from her jaw into her hair, tightening a little as his body tensed. His gaze didn’t close off, but the unguardedness shifted to urgency. “Say it, Susanna. Speak of what worries you.” Tension gripped his voice, and she could taste his fear, maybe even desperation.
Dear God, don’t let me hurt him. Breaking her own heart was one thing. But she wouldn’t be able to stand bringing pain to this man she loved so much.
With another breath for strength, she forced herself to speak. “I don’t want you to accept my God to make me happy. I want Him to be real to you.” She pressed a hand to his chest, where his heart resided, doing her best to ignore the powerful muscle under her palm. “God loves you even more than I do, and He wants desperately for you to know Him. To trust Him with your life. You can’t do that if you turn to Him only because you think that’s what I want.” But that is what I want. She couldn’t speak those last words.
Freedom in the Mountain Wind Page 20