Aiming for Love

by Mary Connealy

  Dave got his own cloth and began bathing his feverish brother. It was hard not to be a touch angry that Mitch had brought this danger home to them all. Of course, he couldn’t have known, but Dave thought of the way the Nordegren sisters’ grandpa had stayed off by himself after his trips to town and wondered if that wasn’t a good idea. Had he ever gotten sick? Had he ever lay, itchy and feverish, in that little cabin for two weeks before it was safe to go home?

  “If we don’t see a rash with dimples in, he’ll be sick for a spell, but we will be able to relax, even if one of us gets it.”

  Dave couldn’t stand to see his fast-talking brother brought so low. But if Ma was right, Dave only had to face this fear for a few days, and what choice did he have? He’d pray for the best, work to head off the worst, and live with whatever happened.

  “Ma,” he said quietly as he worked, “those names in the Nordegren family Bible?”

  Ma rinsed her cloth, wrung it out, and put it on Mitch’s splotchy chest. “What about them?”

  “All that death.” Dave swallowed. “Is the family under a plague because of their strange beliefs?”

  Ma shook her head, paused, then shook her head again. “Sickness is everywhere, Dave. Death is a part of life. I had two little sisters die the year after I married your pa. We’d headed west and left my family behind. I received a letter two years later telling me the town well had gone foul. Fever swept through every home.”

  “You’ve never told me that.” Dave kept working, praying, and listening.

  Ma gave a humorless laugh. “Too busy telling you to do chores, I reckon. And it was all so far away, a life that wouldn’t ever touch you. No sense railing against it like the girls’ grandma did.”

  “She got hit mighty hard. Too hard, I reckon. Seems like she went just the littlest bit mad from the grief.”

  Nodding, Ma said, “Grief is part of life, too. She’d’ve probably come around if she hadn’t married a mountain man who took her way up here where she could convince herself it was safe.”

  “And I think there was an avalanche,” Dave speculated. “The girls have cows up here and used to have horses, but there was no passable trail I ever found. I think it wasn’t just Grandma being afraid. That trail was probably easily climbed when they moved up here. Then a rockslide cut the trail off. Grandpa had to do some hard climbing to get down, and I reckon it was easy for Grandma to just stay up here with her family. Tend to the home while her husband did the trading. It probably helped make her fears seem reasonable.”

  “Then her son left and evidently died. And here she was, stuck with three very young children on a mountain she doubted she could get them down. Instead of moving through her grief, she nurtured it and let it take over.”

  “Ma, what if we bring fever and even death to Jo and her sisters?”

  Shaking her head, Ma said, “If they get sick, even if they survive, we might drive them away from any human contact. I’m afraid Ursula is always going to be a solitary soul. But Ilsa and Jo seem eager to meet people and find friends, maybe get married some day and have children of their own.”

  Ma lifted her eyes to meet Dave’s for a long second, and he had no idea why. He was busy feeling a strange pang at the thought of Jo, remembering their kiss. Wishing he could see her and talk through all the troubles with her. He didn’t want to talk about Jo with his ma, so it was a good thing Ma didn’t know.

  “If that happens, they might just up and run.”

  “But run where, Dave? They sure aren’t about to run to the lowlands, and there’s not much higher they can go.”

  Dave didn’t have an answer, but his gut twisted at the thought of how Jo moved through the woods, how silent and swift she was, and how well equipped she was to take care of herself. It would be a terrible hardship to Jo, but if she wanted to, she could vanish into the wilderness, and he’d never see her again.

  Frozen, her arrow aimed, silent as fog, Jo waited, breathed silently, steadied her hands, and let go of all fear and tension as she always did when it was time to shoot.

  She’d never understood the cool confidence she had about her bow and arrow. But after all these years, they fit into her hands as perfectly as her fingers. Her aim was true, her courage on fire. No doubt she could hit what she aimed at.

  The dark object ahead didn’t move. No attack. No bugle call. Not even the movement of breathing.

  With her hearing razor sharp and her eyes keen—the fog notwithstanding—she knew what loomed ahead was not alive. Breathing in the night air, she caught no scent of animal nor man. Neither did it seem to be the trunk of a tree; it was too large. A rock wall, or a boulder in the path. Maybe it had rolled across the trail, because the trail she’s been following led straight ahead.

  Her arrow ready, she stepped forward, one step, two. Then ten, and she reached forward and jabbed . . . something . . . with her arrow. Then she lowered her weapon and reached out a hand. Stone. But it was squared off, and there were stones on top of stones to make a wall. She brushed her hand over the rough, sandy rock.

  Another house? Did her grandpa build this one, too? What could he have been thinking? She decided to try to figure out Grandpa later. For now, feeling her way along, she came to a corner. Continuing her cautious advance, she reached something with edges that could only be a doorway. Whatever this building was, it was certainly deserted. No smell of people or meals cooked recently. No hint of ash from a fire, not even one gone stone cold. There was no door, just this opening. Working up all her nerve, she stepped in to . . . nothing.

  Feeling her way along in the pitch dark, she fumbled in her pocket for a flint and, in the pouch with it, a little bundle of crushed leaves that would catch easily.

  The whole room smelled of dust. Feeling her way, her fingers became gritty with it, and she scratched her nose, then wondered if she was smearing her face with dirt.

  She didn’t want to start the fire with nothing to burn. It would only provide light for a few seconds. There was nothing she could identify as a hearth. She found walls again, and turned to walk along them. She came to an opening and turned again. She went along this way for another turn and another, and suddenly fear struck her so hard it had to be the hand of God.

  Where was she going? Could she find her way back?

  Near panic turned her around, and she rushed along the wall, found a corner, and turned. But was it the right corner? How many had she followed?

  Suddenly she was furious at her whole life.

  Up here, alone. She’d always run wild. She’d never before feared being alone.

  Now she’d come into this mysterious place. For heaven’s sakes, no one knew where she was. No one would find her if she became lost in some twisting, turning cave . . . though it had to be made by hand. This was no cave. These were walls.

  Fighting down the fear so her brain would work, she evened her breathing and listened. The elk were still out there. She realized then the walls had no roof to muffle the noise. Climbing the walls wouldn’t help now because the fog made it impossible to see, but if she didn’t get out tonight, she would tomorrow. Spending the night outside wasn’t something she worried about.

  That thought calmed her. If she had to, she’d use the flint and leaves to light her way. Even a few seconds of light would help. She inched along.

  As she began to move again, following the walls in the inky darkness, she came upon a corner and turned, moving toward the sound. The elk bugled, and the sound seemed to be straight ahead.

  Jo vowed that this was the end of her wilderness living. Or at least the end of her cutting herself off from the lowlands. She vowed to herself she was leaving the lost world up here and going to a town. She was buying matches! She swore it.

  Grandpa had even left them some money in a small wooden trunk long ago tucked under the bed he’d shared with Grandma. She knew nothing about money, so she didn’t know how much a small case of gold coins was worth. And she’d found more in the cabin she was staying in with
Ilsa and Ursula. Surely there was enough to pay for a few matches. She’d have to ask Dave.

  But whether the gold was worth enough for matches or not, she was getting off this mountaintop. Hope Mountain. Until now she’d never thought much of hope, but now the name was right. She claimed that perfect name.

  Maybe she wouldn’t leave until spring. Maybe not until the trouble harassing the Wardens had been settled. But soon she was going. Dave had said it was a long ride to a town. And that town was probably New York City. Mitch made it sound very exciting, and she wanted to see it.

  Her panic fully faded when she reached an opening that she knew from the wind and openness beyond was the outside. The fog was impenetrable. The starless night black as pitch. She wasn’t going out there to find her way home. She’d stay here. Despite Ilsa’s words, her sisters wouldn’t worry. They knew her too well. And she wanted to see this high valley in the daylight.

  Tomorrow she’d go back and get her sisters and bring them here to explore. Yes, Ursula included. Though Ursula ran the house for the most part, she did well in the woods and knew how to live with the mountains. She’d come.

  It might keep their minds off the struggle for Mitch’s life. The struggle that might yet rain death down on all of them.

  23

  Jo led Ursula and Ilsa toward the stone house. The snow came down more heavily than it had before. There was a foot of new snow overnight, but they could still pass.

  They ran. The tireless, easy lope they’d all learned from having to travel through their mountaintop home on foot. They dodged around the skittish longhorn cattle, stomped through dry winter grass, and plowed through snowdrifts. Ilsa laughed aloud, and Jo felt the grin on her face. Even Ursula looked strong and free and wild. All her fears set aside for this one moment.

  Jo hadn’t bothered to braid her yellow hair this morning, but she always had her bow and arrow and a deadly aim that could protect and feed them.

  Ilsa’s black curls were flying wild around her like they danced for joy. She was always happiest swinging in the treetops, with her knife quick and always to hand.

  Ursula was tidy with her white hair in a tight braid. But she had longer legs than Jo and Ilsa. And she was fast and prone to leading. The thinker, the planner, the watcher. Her mind as orderly as her braid.

  Her fear of outsiders was a terrible exaggeration of her love for her sisters and her efforts to care for them, mother them.

  She wasn’t as good with a bow and arrow as Jo, but she was still very good and carried one with her most places. She wasn’t as fast into the treetops as Ilsa, but she was plenty fast. She carried a handy knife, and knew her way around rugged land as well as any of them.

  Smiling, Jo enjoyed the time together. There’d been so much unhappiness lately, but right now, in the cold, crisp air, with snowflakes swirling around them, they were a team, just as they’d always been. A group of three women who’d carved out a life in the highlands and done it well. Jo longed for her sisters to be close again.

  But with the Wardens still in their lives. She didn’t know if Ursula would let that happen. For now, Jo shoved aside the sadness that came on her and enjoyed being one of the Nordegren women.

  The meadow filled with Dave’s cows was behind them as they entered the deep woods and were swallowed up.

  The three of them together. It made Jo’s heart lift with the pleasure of her family.

  The snow was deeper in the woods, knee-deep mostly, but drifted to neck-deep in places. It was light as powder, and they could plow through, sometimes nearly buried by it, but it didn’t stop them. They followed a trail broken by Jo’s trek out last night and back this morning.

  The trees and snow slowed them, and they still had to keep a watchful eye. It wasn’t too late yet for a bear to still be rummaging, and mountain lions never slept. And heaven knew wolves prowled all winter.

  At one point, Jo glanced over to see Ilsa gone. She looked up and saw her little sister clambering up, then running along on branches so thick and so close together they were almost like a solid floor over their heads.

  “I didn’t see many tracks. It was too dark.” Jo told them about the fog and the bugling elk. The clashing antlers and soaring eagles.

  Ilsa and Ursula loved beauty and the outdoors just as much as she did, so they listened and asked endless questions.

  The woods were so tight it cast the day into near twilight. Jo unslung her bow but didn’t reach for an arrow.

  “I can weave roots and hang them in these trees so I can swing,” Ilsa called down from overhead.

  “Look at the berries. There is food for the winter dried on the bushes.” Ursula slowed further, learning this new land.

  “And those dried stems, those are Indian potatoes.” Jo pointed at a stretch swept bare by the wind. Ursula nodded.

  “I’ve found an oak that didn’t shed its acorns yet,” Ilsa shouted. “We can gather enough for the whole winter from this one tree.”

  “And there’ll be more on the ground if we need them.” Ursula swung an arm across a mound of fluffy snow and laughed.

  Ilsa knew how to slip through the woods silently, but today she was making noise, chattering like a bird in the trees. None of them made any effort to be quiet. Not only because they were enjoying themselves but also to alert any dangerous animals that there was something coming. Most animals would run. A bear, a wolf, a lion. They didn’t understand people and even up here where maybe they’d never seen a woman, they’d choose to run away given the chance. But step too close to one and startle them, make them feel cornered, and they’d fight.

  Their chatter was making the way safe for them.

  Jo saw footprints in the snow and stopped, as if frozen. She tore her bow free, then an arrow. With a flash, she let loose one arrow, then another, and a third.

  Rabbits. Big fat ones. “I got our dinner.”

  Ursula loped to the nearest one and picked it up by its hind legs. She got a second, and Jo fetched the third. Ilsa came down from the treetops, grinning. “We’ll roast them and save the soft fur.”

  Content with their coming feast, they climbed the canyon and looked down on that valley, no longer shrouded in fog.

  The three of them saw splendor.

  Ilsa got there first and stopped dead in her tracks. Ursula came up beside her. Jo was last because she wanted to see her sisters’ reactions.

  And then she saw it. She’d headed home in the first light of dawn and known this valley was especially beautiful, but it was magnificent in the full daylight.

  They stood, three in a row. Jo, Ursula to her right, Ilsa next, and they drank in the beauty. No one broke the silence. It was too perfect, a holy moment, as if they were closer to God up here. Finally, they were filled with the peace of the place, and Jo could speak.

  “Look to the right.” She pointed, and they all stared at the strange stone structure. It was a huge red-rock overhang, and in the gap between the overhead rock and the ground, someone had built walls. Windows were clearly visible. Some of the stacked, squared off stones had caved in. It had been built out from the overhang and had a roof at one time, but much of that was collapsed and gone, though the walls still stood in places. It was possible to believe the front of the structure was just fallen rubble. But behind that stood unmistakable walls built by human hands.

  Ursula said in a hushed voice, “Someone had to stack those stones. But who?”

  “There’s no one here, and I went over it last night, then looked more this morning before I came home.” Jo had slept here in the cold, bundled up and out of the wind. “I didn’t explore for long though.”

  Ursula, who knew her very well, knew her curiosity, asked, “Why not?”

  Jo glanced at her sisters. Ursula caught the look.

  Jo grinned. “Last night, in the dark and fog, I was afraid I’d get lost in some twisting pathway and never find my way out.”

  “So you decided to let us get lost with you?” Ursula arched a brow, but her ey
es gleamed with amusement.

  “Yes, I thought you might as well get into trouble along with me. And that’s why I didn’t look much this morning. I wanted you with me when I explored.” Jo’s voice went quiet. “I wanted to share this with you, be with you when we discovered more about such an unusual place.”

  Ursula and Ilsa nodded quietly. They, too, felt the strangeness of these walls. They walked toward the odd building. It was like nothing they’d ever seen before, nor heard of. Nothing they’d ever imagined.

  When they reached it, Ursula ran her hand along the stones, and bits of gravel brushed off. She lifted her hand away to do no harm. “It looks so old.”

  Jo smiled at her, and Ursula smiled back. Yes, they’d been nearly at each other’s throats last night, but today, when she’d rushed into the house, bursting with excitement, Ursula had forgotten her anger and come along.

  Ursula liked exploring as much as Jo and Ilsa. Or maybe she’d just found a place even farther from civilization. Whatever it was, Ursula was smiling for the first time since Jo had told her about Dave.

  “In here,” Ilsa’s voice echoed, and together Jo and Ursula walked down a hallway that had doorways opening off it.

  “I can see why you didn’t like this in the dark,” Ursula said. “At least not the first time you went in.”

  They followed Ilsa’s footprints in the deep dust. They found her in a room with a solid roof, no caved-in walls, doorways but no doors, no windows to let in the cold, and a fireplace with a tiny hole overhead for a chimney. You couldn’t call it warm, but if they got a fire going, it might be decent.

  Ilsa’s bright smile was full of the excitement they all felt. “There are more rooms here, in a row, right up against the canyon wall. Look,” Ilsa said, pointing at a wall. “That isn’t made with these squared-off rocks, that’s the side of a mountain. And the roof is that overhang. They’d created houses by using a cave with a wide-open front.”