Nellie's New Attitude

by Lynn Donovan

  Besides, surviving meant she would have a second chance to go back to Belle and apologize to May… and Hoyt.

  Timothy hurried to the bigger cast iron pot and dished up the soup. Nellie smiled at him when he brought the bowl to her. He spooned it toward her mouth and she sipped the broth. Mmmm. It didn’t taste bad. She wanted to feed herself, but her limbs still felt heavy as lead weights.

  She let him feed her, then she relaxed into her pillow and closed her eyes. Sleep took over her mind in no time.

  Chapter Four

  A monster rose out of the freezing cold water, clawing at Nellie’s shredded and saturated gown. It’s huge, strong fists pulled her deeper into the river. She screamed, grabbing for ground, but it crumbled in her fingers. She kicked against the huge hands of the vicious water monster. It tossed a blanket made of snow, wet and heavy, over her, like a fishnet, pinning her down to the cold, wet ground. She pushed up with all her might against it to keep from being crushed…

  A coughing sound echoed among the trees. Timothy?

  Nellie opened her eyes. The dream snapped closed like a clap of thunder, but the terror remained ever so present in her thudding heart.

  Timothy coughed again. Nellie rose onto her elbow and looked around. The fire in the hearth was dead. Only a neat pile of grey ashes remained. She swung her bare legs over the side of the bed and shivered with the sudden cold. Timothy lay on the floor, in a bear-skin cocoon. His back was to her.

  She pulled the top quilt with her as she stood and she wrapped it around herself. Her limbs were weak, but she forced herself to move, padding over to the hearth.

  She’d seen the hearth fires brought to life by the staff in the mornings, surely she could do it too. Reaching out from under the quilt she awkwardly placed a log on the pile of ashes. An orange glow peeked out of the grey dust. Holding the quilt as best she could and drawing it tight around her shoulders, she plopped another log beside the first. Smoke smoldered up the chimney. A musty burnt smell wafted in the air.

  “What are you doing?” Timothy’s raspy voice gave her a fright.

  She spun around, panting. “I-I thought I’d get the fire going.”

  He chuckled, which made him cough. She stood in front of the cool hearth and stared at him. “Are you alright?”

  “I’m fine.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and stood from the bear-skin bed he had made on the floor. Where was her gown? Her eyes darted about the cabin. The filthy, torn gown was draped over the door to a tall cabinet. His wardrobe, she assumed. Even though it was ruined, he had treated it as if it were pristine. How strange for a wild mountain man to be so considerate.

  Bringing her eyes back to him, she gasped. He stood mere inches from her. Gently, he took hold of her shoulders and eased her aside. She drew her brow together, staring through his long dark locks into his youthful, blue eyes. He had such intriguing eyes. This behavior confused her. Her eyes lowered to his red long johns and wool socks. She gasped a quick breath through her nose and immediately averted her eyes to the ceiling. She stumbled a little over her own bare feet, but moved out of his way.

  And why not? He knew more about what he was doing than she did. A chair beside the hearth became her refuge. She folded down into it, clinging to the quilt to cover her underthings. Her heaving breath exposed her fear. But she didn’t want him to know she was afraid!

  She focused on breathing normally. He didn’t need the benefit of knowing he frightened her. Wasn’t that what her momma had taught her? Men enjoy your fear, don’t ever let them see you are afraid.

  “You can’t just toss wood on a banked fire.” He squatted in front of the hearth and pulled the two logs away, explaining what he was doing as he worked. “You gotta start slow. First, brush aside the ashes, then add small kindling. You blow on it some, and then add the larger tinders. Once they catch afire, you stack three split logs. You’ve gotta let the fire breathe. So I arrange them like this.”

  He turned toward her. Was he checking to see if she was watching?

  She was.

  He smiled. Through the dark whiskers, she could see he had nice teeth and intriguing lips. Her heart sped up again and her breath followed. Her mind wandered to the thought of how he might look without all that facial hair?

  She had to get ahold of herself! Tugging the quilt tighter around her bare legs, she turned her attention to his instructions.

  He turned from her and placed the split logs just so, like a stack, varying direction with each level and ending with a third row. He blew at the base of the pile. She could see his lips pucker as he blew, bringing the embers to life.

  She licked her lips. Why was her mind so focused on his mouth?

  The embers-turned-flames ate up the smaller pieces of kindling. The larger pieces caught fire and soon the hearth was filled with warm and inviting fire.

  Nellie scooted to the edge of the chair to be closer to the warmth. Timothy stood and held his hands out to warm them. It was then that he looked down at himself. “Oh, Juniper Bark!” He jumped away from her. “I need to get dressed. I’m sorry Miss Nellie.”

  A blush rose in her cheeks as her face warmed, not from the fire. He rushed to his cabinet and hid behind the open door that held her gown. She considered saying it was alright, but in truth it wasn’t. Why had he stripped down to his skivvies with her in his cabin? If they were in Belle, and the widows got wind of such goings-on, she and he would be dragged up the hill to the little white chapel and married on the spot.

  He emerged fully dressed in what looked like yesterday’s clothes.

  She considered him. He truly was a heathen!

  But was he?

  The women in town always talked about what barbaric heathens those mountain folk were. How filthy they were. Uneducated! Rapists!

  Nellie shuddered.

  Timothy’s eyes widened. “Are you still cold? Here.” He rushed back to the tall cabinet and pulled out some neatly folded material. “I know they won’t fit your petite frame, but it’s better than what you got left to wear.”

  Nellie stared at his eyes. So he did know? Of course he knew. How else could her gown have been removed other than he removed it.

  He was blushing. Her eyes dropped to the folded clothing he held out to her. A green and black plaid flannel shirt and some fur-lined britches that looked like fur turned wrong side out. He was right. She could not continue sitting around in her underthings and this quilt. As lovely as this quilt was, she couldn’t continue wearing it. Besides, it belonged to him. Someone’s loving hands had made it for him. His mother, perhaps?

  She drew the articles of clothing to her chest. “Th-thank you.”

  “Sure thing.” He smiled, but didn’t look at her more than a quick glance. “I-uh, I gotta go check my traps. You alright here… alone?”

  “Of course.” She spied the beat-up pan in which he had made coffee on the washboard. “Do… do you want me to make some coffee?”

  He chuckled. “Sure. Do you know how?”

  Clenching her jaw, her eyes went wide with offense. “Of course I do!”

  She looked around. But to be honest, no, she didn’t. She had no idea how Cook made coffee. And she certainly didn’t know how Timothy managed to make it in that metal sauce pan. She recalled how bitter it tasted. “I don’t suppose you have… tea?”

  Shaking his head. “I knew you’d want tea!” He glanced at her, but then dropped his eyes to the floor. “I’ll get you some while I’m checking my traps. My brother’s wife is just a few miles up the mountain. I’ll work my way over there so I can get—” He stared at her. “What?”

  “You have a sister-in-law a few miles up the mountain?”

  “Well, yeah.”

  “Maybe I could borrow a dress from her?”

  “Well, maybe. I don’t know” He licked his lips. “My brother’s wives don’t take no cotton to town folk! You might be better off wearing my stuff.”

  “Uh, okay.” Nellie considered his words. “You g
ot more than one… sister-in-law?”

  “Well, yeah. Four brothers and four wives each. Some nieces and nephews too.” He smiled.

  She couldn’t imagine how wild these women must be if they wouldn’t be willing to loan a stranded woman a dress. She let her eyes rove over his cabin. Then again, if they had as little as Timothy seemed to have in possessions, those sisters-in-law might not have an extra dress to loan. Sorrow filled Nellie’s heart. She shouldn’t be so presumptuous. This was not town or her girlfriend’s house. She couldn’t just raid a gal’s closet.

  Pursing her lips, she reconsidered. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be unappreciative.” She lifted the clothes he had handed her. “I do appreciate all you are doing for me. I’ll get into these and help you with breakfast.”

  His smile dropped into a frown. “Oh. Breakfast. I’ve got some dried bear meat, or I could make you some biscuits and…” He looked around as if he would see the ingredient he was looking for. “I got some tators.”

  “Just show me where everything is, and I’ll…”

  She let go of the breath she had sucked in, and folded over, dropping her face into her hands. “I don’t… I don’t know how to make coffee… or cook breakfast! Could you show me?”

  He smiled. “Sure. But you get them clothes on while I go take care of some things in Grey’s cabin.” He chuckled. “That’s what I call my barn.” He sobered. “I’ll come back in and we can have a cup together.”

  She stared at him. “Umm, alright.”

  He stared back. “I’m sorry. You look confused. I’m talking about gathering my traps and keeping the Franklin banked. It don’t take much ta keep the critters warm while Grey’s away wid me. She carries the outfit of traps and the game I catch for me. She’s a good mule and friend.” He bobbed his head. “Shoot, she knows where every trap I lay is. All I gotta do is follow her most the time. That’s why she’s always by my side. Good thing too. I don’t know how I’d gotten you back here without her help. Honestly, it were her ta save your life. You were pretty close ta freezing ta death. I put you on her back with her blanket over you, and her body warmed you while we walked back ta here.”

  Nellie’s eyes darted to the door. Vaguely remembering the mule and another small cabin attached by a porch and roof. “I- never thanked you… or her.”

  Timothy grinned. “Well, when you’re feeling better and the snow eases off, I’ll introduce ya.” He choked, which ended in a horrific coughing fit. Soon he stood straight, cleared his throat. “I’ll be right back, so you better get to putting them clothes on.”

  Nellie stood, clinging to the quilt with one hand and the clothes he’d given her with the other. “Timothy, you’re sick.”

  He sounded terrible. Should he be out in this weather? It wasn’t her place, but she went on. “I don’t think you should be out in this weather… checking traps.”

  “Oh. I’m fine. And the traps’ve gotta be checked. Otherwise we won’t have nothing to eat or fur to sell. So…” He turned and disappeared out the door.

  She looked down at the green and black plaid. With a shrug, she put his clothes on. Some wool socks were folded at the bottom of the wardrobe. She slipped them on her cold feet. That felt better already.

  Slowly the door opened. “You decent?”

  Nellie giggled. “Yes.”

  He came on in and flashed a nervous smile at her. Barely visible through his dark whiskers, his smile still did something to her she couldn’t understand. “I thought of something my ma used to make us boys for breakfast. I’ll get started on it and you can grind the coffee.”

  “Alright.” She stepped closer to the cupboard that designated his kitchen. “Where are the coffee beans?”

  Timothy took down a grinder and opened a burlap sack. He palmed some beans, and let them fall into the grinder. “Here. Sit down and grind this for a bit, and I’ll start boiling the water.”

  She smiled and sat down, turning the handle. It resisted, but she gritted her teeth and made it move. Eventually, it turned more smoothly and she knew the beans were giving way to becoming grounds.

  Timothy took out a hunting knife, slid it against a wet stone and began slicing thin pieces of a hunk of dried meat into a cast iron skillet. Was this the bear meat he’d spoken of? He sliced up an onion and scooted it on top of the meat in the pan. A plop of a yellowish congealed paste and he set the skillet on a metal grate over the fire. It began to melt and pop almost instantly.

  “Okay. This is ground, how do I make coffee?” She stood with the grinding box in her hands.

  “Oh.” He took the box and opened the little drawer at the bottom. “You just pour some in the boiling water and give it a stir.” He did as he has said. The aroma of coffee and frying meat and onions filled the cabin. She inhaled happily. Her stomach growled.

  She looked up at him with embarrassment, but he laughed. “Good t’ing my ma taught me how to make chipped meat and biscuits.”

  He turned to his cupboard and mixed some flour and that thick paste, then poured some milk from an earthenware he retrieved from the floor, under the washboard. “Coldest spot in the cabin. Perfect for eggs and milk.”

  “You have a cow? … and chickens?”

  “Well, no cow, but my brother’s got one and leaves a jug for me where our traps come close to one another, when he’s got a surplus. We happen to be lucky ‘cause he gave me some day before.”

  She looked at the sticky, doughy mess he was working with his hands.

  “Good t’ing biscuits taste better once the milk has soured a bit.”

  She smiled. Soured milk, globbed fat, boiled coffee. This definitely was not the meal she was accustomed to back home.

  Taming the messy dough, he rolled it out and punched circles with a wooden cup, dipped in flour. Placing the circles in a small, glob-smeared skillet, he set them on the grate next to the meat skillet. Pulling the meat from the fire, he took it to the cupboard and added flour, salt, and a generous pouring of the soured milk. He hurried to put it back on the fire and stirred it intently.

  “Here we go.” He pulled the skillet from the grate and placed it on the cupboard. Taking the golden biscuits from the fire, he prepared a plate for her by pouring half of the meat gravy over an opened biscuit. Handing her a two-tined fork, he poured boiled coffee into a cup.

  She sat in the chair, and held the plate in her lap.

  “Thank you. It smells amazing.” She knew there was a tone of question in her voice. But she just couldn’t believe how good this mountain-man meal smelled.

  He chuckled, “You’re welcome.” And sat on the floor next to her with his plate and coffee and began to cut into the pile of meat, gravy, and biscuit. Scooping it on his fork, he shoved it into his mouth. He drank deeply of the coffee.

  Nellie sighed. It wasn’t her place to remind him of table manners. But then again, they were not sitting at a table. She ate as delicately as she could, considering she was eating off her lap and only with a fork. She sipped the coffee to wash it down and wished he hadn’t told her that the milk was sour. She sure wished she could put some in her coffee.

  He didn’t finish the food he’d put on his plate. Instead, he stood and placed the half eaten portion on the cupboard. “You go ahead and finish eating, I’ve gotta go check my traps.” He took two steps toward the door and collapsed, falling against his bed post.

  Nellie placed her plate on the hearth and rushed to him. “You’re sick! You cannot go out in this weather to check your traps!”

  “I have ta!” He struggled to stand upright.

  Out of some instinct she didn’t even know she had, she reached up and touched his forehead with the back of her hand. “You’re burning up!”

  Chapter Five

  “You don’t understand!” He staggered to the door and leaned against it, his hand under his forehead. “If I don’t go check my traps, some she-bear will come empty them for me. Then she’ll come back every time I trap something. I gotta go empty my traps.” He swal
lowed and wheezed for breath. “And we need the meat. You aren’t used to eating dried meat and we can’t have chipped meat and gravy every meal…”

  His knees buckled. Nellie struggled to hold him up. “You need to get into your bed, right now!”

  He seemed so weak. It took very little force to push him over to his bed. He fell onto the covers. “No. This is your bed for now. I can rest on the…”

  “Don’t be ridiculous! You’ve got wet lung! I’ll bet on it!” She looked around the cabin. “Where do you keep your medicine?”

  He peeled one eye open. “We don’t… keep medicine!” He swallowed and the cough seized his body. He curled over on his side while the cough raked him in waves. Finally, he was able to speak. “My ma has a book she wrote for each of us boys before we took our own cabin. It’s over there in the chest.”

  Nellie rushed to the chest and realized this was where the quilt she had been wrapped in came from. Was it a treasure? She ran to the chair where she’d left it, and tossed it over Timothy. Returning to the chest, she opened it slowly. The lid was heavy. Its contents were neatly arranged, which once again altered her idea of how a mountain man lived. She gingerly lifted and searched through the precious items until she found a leather book. It looked like a diary. Lifting it, she turned to Timothy. “Is this—”

  He was asleep. But his breathing was labored.

  Nellie rocked back on her heels and opened the book. His mother had meticulously written an account of every form of vegetation in their woods, along with a drawing of the plant and its roots, leaf, flower, or fruit, and how it could be utilized for food, seasonings, and, yes! Even medicines. She had written recipes with detailed instructions along with warnings against the things that would render a poisonous substance instead of a medicinal concoction.

  Nellie glanced at every page, turning them quickly to find something about fevers. At last she found his mother’s instructions to treat a fever. Nellie imagined her voice to be kind and caring, like Mrs. Franklin over at Hoyt Cole’s house. Her first instruction for treating a fever was to make sure the person drank a lot of fresh water. Second, keep a wash cloth, wet with cool fresh water, laid on the person’s forehead and the back of their neck.