Freedom in the Mountain Wind

by Misty M. Beller

  Instead, she watched his face, studied for any sign of what he might be thinking. She didn’t expect the sheen of moisture glimmering in his eyes.

  His Adam’s apple dipped as his throat worked. Under her hand, his chest rose as he drew in a large breath. “Your father spoke of God’s love, but he was near the end of his strength, so I turned to Caleb with my questions. I think I had been searching before that, although I told myself I knew well that no greater being existed. Yet something inside me craved.” He raised his gaze from her, looking out into the distance.

  She didn’t dare breathe, didn’t dare hope as she waited for his next words.

  “I knew He was real, this God your father told me of.” He lowered his face back to her as a sad smile crinkled the corner of his eyes. “But I wasn’t sure I wanted to commit to Him. Not until the fire came. As the heat from the flames pressed around me, I realized how foolish I’d been. A reckless youth with no real power of my own. I gave my life to the God Who held it anyway. If I was to die, I begged for mercy. If He gave me more time on this earth, I committed every day left to follow Him.”

  His hand in her hair gentled. “I have much to learn, but I’ll spend the rest of my life seeking Him.” And then his eyes grew earnest again. Yearning. “I want to do it with you. Please say yes.”

  Joy overflowed inside her, bursting through every part as a laugh tumbled out. She pressed herself into him, resting her head against his shoulder as the tumult of emotion stole the strength from her legs. She couldn’t stop smiling, couldn’t stop laughing. Couldn’t stop the happy tears from rolling down her cheeks.

  He held her tight. Cradled her, his head tucking into her hair. Oh, this man… She breathed in the essence of him. The fragrance of grace.

  Even in the darkest of nights, God had blessed her more abundantly than she could have ever foreseen.

  Epilogue

  Susanna couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so happy. Or so short.

  With Caleb’s massive frame on her left, nearly blocking out the sun, and Joel and French standing on her right as witnesses, she was surrounded, encircled by friends who had become so dear.

  But it was the gaze of the man before her that made her feel cherished. The love shimmering in his intense regard. He’d pulled his raven black hair back into a leather strip, outlining every handsome angle of his face. She let her gaze drink him in, and her heart strained with the fullness of joy inside her.

  This seemed too wonderful, that God would have blessed her with this man. That He would have orchestrated so many events—from her father’s desire to follow in the steps of Lewis and Clark—even that those explorers had undertaken their travels in the first place—to the events that sent Beaver on the journey with his friends to take that same path.

  All had led them to this place. To this moment. To this joining of lives. She squeezed her eyes shut as grateful tears welled. The Lord had even blessed them with an ordained minister. Their Heavenly Father truly thought of everything.

  “What God has joined together, let no man separate.” Caleb raised his gaze from the Bible in his hands and sent Beaver Tail a grin. “You can kiss her now if you want.”

  Beaver glanced at his friend and the corners of his mouth tugged in a smile that made her heart sing. She could look at that smile for the rest of her life and never grow tired of it.

  But then he turned his gaze back to her, and the intensity in his eyes started a tightness that pulled all the way through her. A tension that drew her with an invisible tug. She could feel his lips even before he lowered his mouth to hers. The sensation was like coming home. Like she’d finally found the place she belonged.

  All too soon he pulled back. But he slipped his hand around her, tucking her into his side as he turned to Caleb. The man was speaking to them. Congratulating them. But her mind couldn’t seem to pull itself from that kiss. From the tingling that had spread all through her. She’d never felt so full, almost giddy.

  The men either didn’t notice or were kind enough not to comment as they all made their way over to the celebratory meal she’d left simmering all morning. The others talked and jested. Maybe her happiness had spread through the air, but she couldn’t seem to focus on their words as she scooped out servings of stew for each of them.

  She could easily feel Beaver Tail’s gaze on her, and she allowed herself a few stolen glances as she worked. If someone had asked her only a year ago what her wedding day would be like, she’d never ever have imagined this to be it.

  In fact, she’d have said she didn’t plan to marry. Not unless her situation became desperate enough to require it. Thank the Lord He hadn’t given her an inkling of His plan back then. She might have run the opposite direction, just from fear of the unknown.

  She could never have imagined how good this day would be. If only Pa had been here. Yet she’d felt him all day, his presence nearby. Maybe those who’d gone before really did look down from heaven and watch loved ones who still missed them. Perhaps that was only wishful thinking. But she knew in her heart Pa would be smiling if he knew of this next step in her life.

  She still missed him with a craving she couldn’t put into words, but he would want her to step into this happiness with Beaver. He would look at her with that sparkle of love in his eye and tell her how pleased he was. How he’d known their Father above had just the right man planned for her.

  A hand wrapped around her waist, its warm strength soaking through her to soothe the sadness. It was still a wonder how Beaver knew exactly when she needed him. There in front of the stewpot, she lay her head on his shoulder—just for a moment. A thank you.

  He pressed a kiss to her hair. “I’m ready to ride out whenever you are.”

  She glanced behind them at the three men still talking amongst themselves as they ate. Pretending they didn’t see the two lovebirds, most likely.

  Just then, French glanced sideways and met her eye. He winked.

  Heat flared up her neck, and she turned back to scoop the last of her own serving of stew. Leaning closer to Beaver, she murmured only loud enough for him to hear. “I think we should stay and visit awhile.” They had final details to work out, after all.

  With her bowl in hand, she and Beaver turned back to join the others.

  “You want us to meet you at the three forks of the Missouri in four days or five?” Joel leveled his gaze on Beaver Tail, then shifted his focus back and forth between the two of them. “I imagine you’ll be wanting to head out for your wedding night soon.”

  Were they all determined to embarrass her? Susanna did her best not to show even a hint of mortification, but she had to look down at her stew to accomplish it. She spooned a bite as the men kept talking.

  “Five days. If we’re not there, wait for us.”

  She glanced sideways at her new husband and caught the twinkle in his eye as he met her look. She’d happily extend their wedding trip longer than five days if given the chance. Time alone with this man—tucked away in a quiet cave somewhere with a roaring fire—sounded just about perfect. But she didn’t plan to share those thoughts with the others.

  Fortunately, Caleb had mercy on her and glanced skyward. “You couldn’t have picked a better day to ride. I think the weather’s gonna stay warm a few days.” He lowered his gaze and gave Joel one of his off-kilter grins. “Maybe we’ll find Adam before we all meet up, then we can all spend the winter with whatever friends he’s made.”

  “I hope he’s made friends and not enemies.” Joel muttered the words, but they were loud enough for all to hear.

  Susanna studied him. Was he worried about more than he’d told her? She wouldn’t expect him to bare his deepest fears after knowing her only a few short weeks. But if she let her mind run rampant imagining what trouble Adam might have met with, she’d become as tight a bundle of nerves as Joel was.

  A warm hand settled at the small of her back, and she glanced over at her husband. His eyes asked a question, and her heart responded w
ith a leap. Yes, she was ready. It was time they start out on their new life. Together.

  He rose with a lithe grace and took her bowl, stacking it in his. She’d not eaten much of the small amount of stew she’d dished herself, but in truth, her middle was too tied in knots to eat.

  Beaver Tail handed the bowls to French. “You’ll wash them?”

  The smaller man nodded with a grin. “After I eat what’s left.”

  “We’re off then.” Beaver reached for the satchel she’d packed. Hopefully she’d remembered everything they’d need, as he’d not added much to the load. Maybe he didn’t require as much to survive as she did.

  Beaver turned to her with raised brows. She nodded that she was ready, then sent the others a smile. “Be safe in your travels. We’ll pray you find Adam before we meet again.” She pushed down the churning in her middle. Goodbyes were hard, even in the happiest of situations.

  As she and Beaver made their way to the horses, his hand slipped around her back again. She would never tire of his touch, of the way he made her feel so protected. When they reached the horses, he tied the satchel behind his saddle while she mounted.

  He led his horse over to her and rested a hand on her mount’s shoulder as he looked up. “Mind if we ride double?” The grin twitching the corners of his mouth made his teasing impossible to miss, and inspired a bit of the same in her.

  “If you think this boy can handle it.” She ruffled her gelding’s mane.

  In an easy movement, Beaver Tail slid up behind her. She leaned back into his strength, a solid presence behind her. He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her in tighter as his breath brushed her ear. “Let’s ride, wife. We have much good awaiting us.”

  As she nudged her mount forward, with Beaver’s gelding trailing behind them, the truth of his words washed through her. There would be so much good ahead, no matter where the trail led them.

  Did you enjoy Susanna and Beaver Tail’s story? I hope so!

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  And here’s a peek at the next book in the series (Joel’s story!), Hope in the Mountain River:

  Chapter One

  December, 1830

  Bitterroot Mountains, Future Montana Territory

  “Is he friend or enemy?” Elan’s blood pounded through her veins as it did when the warriors from her tribe struck their targets with tomahawks—blow upon blow, louder and louder with each passing moment. She pulled her furs tighter around her shivering shoulders against the bitter wind whipping down the mountainside.

  “I can’t tell. They’re…” Her faithful friend Meksem paused, then a tiny gasp slipped from her mouth in an icy cloud. “It’s a white man.” The shock in her voice thrust the words to a dangerously loud whisper.

  “A French trapper?” Elan softened her own tone so she didn’t alert the stranger of their presence. The trappers were the only soyapo who ever came to the Bitterroot Mountains. White people, they called themselves, from the northern country. She’d heard them speak of a place called Canada. Enough of these men had visited their camp that she’d become accustomed to their strange manners and learned some of their words.

  “I don’t know. There are two of them. No…” Another pause.

  If only she had a clear view herself. Elan forced her legs to relax around her horse’s sides. Everything in her wanted to ride the few steps forward beside her friend and peek through the trees to see the outsiders for herself.

  But even that small movement could alert the strangers to their presence. Better to keep themselves hidden until they knew better what manner of persons they were up against.

  With all her training among the braves, Meksem could likely protect the two of them from any harm these foreigners might plan. But sometimes stealth was a better feat than courage. Especially for two women alone in the mountains, facing white men who surely carried guns.

  The emptiness in Elan’s heart had stripped away any caution for herself, but for her friend, she had to be diligent. She couldn’t lose Meksem—not to beast or man. Elan’s eyes lifted to the angry gray sky. The coming weather couldn’t be battled, though.

  The clop of horses’ hooves thumped loudly in the icy air as the strangers drew closer. There must be more than two traveling, as much noise as their animals created.

  Finally, Meksem drew back from her perch among the cluster of trees and turned to face Elan. Instead of speaking aloud, she used the language of signs to share what she’d seen. Four men and a woman.

  A woman? Elan’s breath caught in her chest. These people must be friendly then. Unless the woman was a captive. She made the motions to ask, All of them are white?

  Meksem shook her head, and her hands flew as she answered. All but one man. He is not of The People. Not Shoshone either.

  Elan’s heart stilled as fear clutched her throat.

  Blackfoot?

  Even as she signed the question, her mind revolted against the answer. The Blackfoot were one of her people’s most dangerous enemies. The stories of how they’d taken women and children captive and the awful way they’d treated them as slaves had been shared as warning in every lodge.

  I don’t know. Meksem’s answer only stilled a small bit of the churning in Elan’s middle. Maybe the man was Salish or from one of the other friendly tribes. After all, why would a Blackfoot brave be traveling so far south in the winter moons, especially traveling with a band of white people?

  Her friend turned back to watch the strangers, and Elan braced herself for her first glimpse as the nose of a horse appeared between the trees. The moment Meksem had first caught the sound of riders approaching, Elan had spotted this perfect place to watch the strangers while keeping the two of them and their horses hidden.

  The first sight she caught was of a horse with a long winter coat that had once been black, but long days in the sun had bleached the ends lighter brown. Its rider came into view, and something in Elan’s middle tightened. He wore a fur coat and hat, much like the French trappers did, and she couldn’t see much of his face except a glimpse of paler skin—the color of a white man’s.

  Yet something in his manner—maybe in his bearing, the way he sat atop his horse—struck a yearning inside her. He rode like a horseman, one capable of communing with his mount and moving as one. She’d seen this among some of the braves in their camp. After all, her people were known for their skill with horses and the unique spotted animals they raised. But she’d never seen a man who gripped her attention at first glance like this one.

  When he’d nearly ridden past, she caught sight of the man riding behind him. This one truly did look like a Frenchman. Much like the trapper, Lebeau, who’d spent a winter in the lodge beside her own a few years back.

  After the second man, a female passed by—a white squaw with light brown hair dressed in a beautiful set of buckskins and covered in a cape of fine wolf fur. She sat regally in the saddle—no mere serving girl, this one. Nor a captive.

  Another horse climbed the trail close behind her, and the sight of raven hair poking out from under his fur cap made her chest tighten again. She couldn’t see much of the man’s face, only enough to agree that he was from one of the tribes. But which one?

  The risk of showing themselves to find out wasn’t worth any gain that might come from a meeting. Meksem knew the trail the two of them were following, as she’d passed through here several times on hunting trips, and they’d packed enough food to reach the great river. The only reason to reveal themselves would be curiosity to see what these people were about. Definitely not worth the risk.

  After all, hadn’t Elan chosen to take this journey to escape from people? Time alone was what she’d craved. Time to heal, if that were possible. Meksem knew
how to keep silent and was an able guide and friend, so accepting her insistence on coming along hadn’t been too hard.

  Yet the long days of quiet hadn’t eased the rending of Elan’s body and heart yet. Nothing ever could. Not when her daughter’s life had been crushed, ripped into bloody shreds by a single horrific act.

  Chuslum had tried to save her. He’d done everything he could to rescue their only child. But his efforts hadn’t been enough. No man could best a grizzly with only his hands, not even a brave as skilled as her husband had been.

  Now, Elan was alone.

  In one awful day, she’d been stripped of the two people who’d mattered most to her. How could she possibly go on? What was there without her child to give her life meaning?

  Another man rode into view, bringing her focus back to the present. This stranger sat taller than the others, almost bear-like wrapped in his furs. At least they’d all dressed suitably for travel through the deadly winter in these mountains. The snow only came above the horses’ knees for now, but the low thick clouds meant more would be falling soon. This group must not have seen the cave they had to have passed early in the day, or they would have taken shelter. She and Meksem were riding hard to reach that cave before the worst of the snow came in a fury.

  When the last pack horse marched past their hiding place, Elan forced her mind to focus on sounds around them. The horses’ hooves crunching snow, the squeaking of saddles. One of the men murmured, but the group had moved far enough away that she couldn’t make out the words. Not even what language it might be.