This Daring Journey

by Misty M. Beller

  “You want me to hunt before we ride on?” Matisse stepped up beside him.

  Samuel studied the sky again. The clouds covered about half the expanse above them but would probably break up as the day progressed. “I think we should start riding while the weather’s good. We’ll look for game along the way.” If he’d been thinking straight, he would have brought down one of those mountain goats taking shelter in the cave. But danger had captivated his thoughts much more than the need for food.

  “I’ll go water the horses then.” The boy slipped out before he could answer. Always staying busy.

  Not for the first time, Samuel breathed a prayer of thanks for the lad.

  Their entire group seemed to prepare slower that morning than usual. Maybe it was the cold. Or perhaps the snow added extra work.

  Finally they were on the trail, with the yearling pouncing through the layers of white crystals like he’d never seen the stuff. The other horses plodded along, noses flaring when a covey of birds flew up from some bushes.

  Samuel kept his rifle ready, but they never saw anything bigger than a white hare that dodged out of sight before he could aim.

  Their stop for lunch was quick, mostly because snow covered everything, making it hard to do more than stand in the wind as they ate.

  When he finished repacking the leftover roasted venison behind Moriah’s saddle, he turned to her. “How about if I carry the little one now that she has a full belly?”

  She met his gaze, and it may have been his imagination, but her cheeks seemed to grow even redder than they’d already been from the cold. His heart panged. He didn’t want her embarrassed around him. And he sure didn’t want her to think he considered what had happened between them a light thing.

  He reached out and brushed his hand down her arm. Through the thickness of her coat, she might have barely felt his touch. But he would show her in every way he could how much she meant to him.

  The edges of her mouth tugged up, and she slipped out of the sling. “Thank you.”

  His heart lifted at the change in her, and even more when he took the wide-eyed cherub. “Hey there, Little Bit. You ready for a ride?”

  A few hours later, Moriah took her back to nurse as they rode. The babe seemed to be eating more often the past day or so. That must be what it took to grow.

  About an hour before dusk, he started looking for a good place to camp. It might be too much to hope they could find another cave, but if he could just find a rock overhang or a cluster of trees, they would stop. And probably too much to hope they could find grass underneath the snow for the animals to graze.

  In this rocky terrain with cliffs towering on every side, there was little by way of shelter. At least, being near a creek was no longer a requirement. They could melt snow for water.

  “Samuel?”

  “Yes?” He turned in his saddle at Moriah’s weary voice as they rode single file through a scattered line of massive boulders. His gut knotted at the weary lines on her face. Was her sickness returning? He should have stopped them long before now. They could use these stones for a windbreak and clear away snow from the ground. “We’ll stop soon. In the next few minutes.”

  She nodded, then turned her focus back to the ground in front of her horse. This woman would soldier through anything without complaint. But he had to find a place for them to camp soon.

  A glance at the sky made his muscles tighten even more. Low, heavy clouds had closed out the sun again. Do we really need more snow, Lord? They’d have to make a shelter to keep the weather away from Moriah and the baby. If not with branches, then with furs.

  As the first flake swam in front of his vision, he spotted a rock overhang just ahead. The stone jutted about as wide as he could stretch his arms, leaving a section of ground with little snow.

  That was better than trying to create a shelter.

  Setting up camp seemed even harder than usual, what with trying to find enough wood to keep the fire blazing through the night and searching for fodder for the horses.

  At last, they sat propped against the rock wall, Matisse on one side of the fire and Moriah holding the babe on the other. Samuel took his place beside Moriah as they had firewood piled on Matisse’s other side.

  He slipped his arm around her shoulders, and she leaned in to him. That act of tenderness—of trust—sent a surge of warmth through his chest. Cherry lay in her mother’s lap, staring up at them with her big, round eyes. He reached out and brushed his finger down her cheek. It was red and wind-chapped, not the softness her skin had been before they’d set out on this journey.

  “How’s she holding up?” He raised his gaze to Moriah, her face only a handbreadth away from his. If she looked his way, he’d be sorely tempted to kiss her again.

  She didn’t. Instead she reached forward with a cloth and swiped under the babe’s nose. “Her nose has been running since last night. I hope she’s not getting sick.”

  A knot tightened in his gut. Cherry was still such a tiny thing. How could her little body withstand even a minor illness?

  He had to get them to Simeon. There, they would have shelter and safety and someone with proper medicines and the knowledge to use them. His sister Noelle’s letters had praised their oldest brother’s abilities with herbs and other natural healers.

  He ran his fingers lightly over Moriah’s arm. “I hope there’s only another couple days before we reach my family. We just need to hang on.”

  “I’ve been watching for landmarks I might recognize, but everything looks so different in the snow.” She turned to Matisse. “Has anything looked familiar to you?”

  “Same as you. It’s hard to tell in the snow.” The boy bit off a chunk of venison.

  The sight of the meat must have brought his other concern fresh to Moriah’s mind. She turned to look at him. “Will we have enough food?” Her gaze was troubled, worry darkening her coffee-and-cream colored eyes.

  The knot in his stomach tightened. “We need to hunt tomorrow.” In truth, they had enough to last only another day at the most. He’d eaten barely enough to dim the rumbling of his belly tonight, leaving the larger portions for the other two who needed food more. He’d do the same at every meal until they found fresh game. He should have allowed Matisse to take the time for a hunting excursion that day.

  “I’ll head out at first light.” The boy spoke from across the fire.

  Samuel leaned forward to send him a nod. “Thanks.”

  Then he settled back against the rock, letting his head rest against the cold stone. Moriah lay against his shoulder, and he could feel the working of her jaw as she ate her own dry venison.

  He should have done a better job providing for them along the way. Maybe he should have insisted they go back to the flatland to ride south, where there might be more big game along the way.

  No matter how much he tried to do the right thing, he always failed at actually helping.

  He couldn’t fail again. Not when the lives of this boy and the woman and child he loved depended on him getting this right.

  THE SNOW WOULDN’T STOP. All day, ever since they’d left the rock overhang that morning, they’d been riding through a steady onslaught of flakes. Moriah clenched her teeth against another shiver as her horse plodded along behind Samuel’s. Each hour seemed colder than the last. She was hungry, exhausted, and so cold every part of her ached. Plus, she stunk of spoiled milk.

  To make things worse, Cherry had fussed all afternoon. Eating wouldn’t satisfy her, and her nose leaked like water in a loosely woven basket. Her cheeks were flushed, which might be from staying bundled up against the snow. But fear nibbled at the edges of Moriah’s nerves. If Cherry was truly growing ill, what could she do? Was there a way to feed the child the garlic pieces Matisse had offered before? Maybe if she crushed them into a powder.

  Would Samuel stop to camp soon? The sky was so dark, it was hard to tell the sun’s position. Surely evening was near.

  A few minutes later, he turned to t
hem. “We’ll stop for the night in those trees ahead.”

  Shivers convulsed her body, making every part of her ache as she climbed down from her mare. Cherry fussed and complained, but before Moriah could attempt to feed her again, she had to have a fire or she may just freeze to death.

  Samuel and Matisse were removing packs from the horses, so she grabbed her flint and steel and some fabric shreds and birch bark she kept in her saddle pack. Using her feet, she cleared snow from the largest flat area under the trees, then dropped to her knees. She couldn’t control the shaking in her hands, even with her gloves. But she wouldn’t get warm until they had a fire.

  The first strike didn’t even summon a spark. Nor the second. With the third blow, the flint flew from her frozen hand, and she tumbled forward from the force of her effort.

  “Moriah.” Samuel was by her side, slipping his arm around her. “I’ll do this. Sit and rest. Keep Cherry warm.” He pulled her into his chest, wrapping both arms around her, rubbing her vigorously enough to stir her blood.

  Her entire body shook, and his touch both soothed and intensified the ache in her tight muscles. He leaned back, and the warmth of his breath brushed her face.

  He planted a kiss on her forehead. “Let me get this fire going, then we’ll see if I can warm you and Little Bit up.”

  Cherry’s complaints had risen to a wail, loud enough to scare off any game. Moriah had to tend her. If her daughter felt as awful as she did, the babe needed help. She turned to crawl to her, but Samuel stopped her.

  “Sit. I’ll bring her to you.”

  She pulled her fur tighter around herself, succumbing to the shivers. She wasn’t entirely sure she could hold the child without dropping her, the shaking had grown so strong.

  Samuel tucked Cherry in her lap, and she cuddled her, rocking. Trying her best to soothe them both.

  “I’ll work quickly.” He pressed another kiss to her forehead, then turned to the tools she’d been using to kindle the fire.

  Cherry’s warm body was like a hot stone cradled in her lap, feeding the flames of worry in her chest. She needed to do something to help the babe, maybe try to feed her, but her brain felt like it was mired in fog. Every part of her ached from the cold so much she could barely move.

  Finally, Samuel had a blaze growing, and he turned his focus to her. The worry in his eyes didn’t make her feel any better. “Let me take her.”

  Cherry was still wailing, and Moriah let him extract the babe from her arms.

  “It’s all right, Little Bit. We’re gonna get you feeling better.” He used his soothing voice and raised the little one to his shoulder, her favorite position. The intensity of Cherry’s cries lessened, but she still fussed.

  He looked to Moriah and reached a hand to brush her cheek. “You’re both feverish. I’ll get the blankets out so you can lie down. Do you think she’s hungry?”

  “Don’t know.” It seemed like she’d just tried to feed her, but she couldn’t think straight through the fog.

  Samuel stood, and she curled into herself to find warmth. The hum of voices sounded above her, but she didn’t try to make out the words.

  The effort was just too much.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “I hate this helplessness, yet I can’t seem to control it.”

  ~ Moriah

  “I HAVE A FEW GARLIC cloves left.”

  Matisse’s words sounded from behind Samuel as he tucked the fur tighter around Moriah and the finally-sleeping babe. He rose to his feet and turned to the lad. “I guess we should give them to her. They seemed to help before. I don’t know about the baby, though.”

  He scrubbed a hand over his face. He knew so little about doctoring, much less about how to tend a sick newborn. Moriah had said the baby was much too young to eat real food. Would the garlic—even if he crushed it—be too harsh for her tiny body? Lord, show me what to do.

  Taking one of the small pieces from the lad, he knelt beside Moriah again. It was hard to tell if she was asleep or just exhausted. He placed a hand on her shoulder, and her eyes slitted open. “Think you can eat one of these garlic pieces?”

  She lowered the covering from her mouth and parted her lips. Those same lips he’d cherished only two days ago were now red and parched. Cracking. Maybe he could find a medicine in his pack to soothe them.

  He placed the garlic in her mouth, and even though she was ill, the act felt so intimate. As she closed her lips and began chewing, he stroked his fingers across her flushed cheek, feeling the flex of her jaw. Her skin was hot, just like the last time when they’d found the hot springs.

  “Do you hurt anywhere, love?” He brushed the hair from her temple.

  “Everywhere.” Her word rasped as though her voice were as weary as the rest of her.

  “Like the last time? When your side hurt so much?”

  Her face had twisted into a grimace, maybe from the taste of the garlic. “No.” She spoke the word on a breath. “It’s just the ague.”

  She made her illness sound like nothing, yet she looked completely miserable.

  He stroked her forehead, smoothing out the grooves from her grimace. “What else can I get for you?”

  “Water.” Her eyelids drifted closed. “Just water.”

  Matisse had scooped a pot of snow to melt over the fire, so Samuel filled a cup and curled his fingers around it to absorb some of the warmth while it cooled enough for Moriah to drink. Was there anything else he could do for her? For either of them?

  Show me how to help. Because what Moriah needed was beyond his abilities. Only God could fix the trouble they were in now.

  SAMUEL BLINKED IN THE light of morning, struggling to make sense of his surroundings. A weight lay on his arm, and he turned his attention to it.

  The baby. Cherry lay on her belly in the crook of his arm, the blankets lifting where her little rump poked up as she curled her knees underneath her. A warm spot pooled in his chest, spreading what he could only call love through every part of him.

  He watched her face for a few more minutes, the way her eyelids fluttered as though her mind were busy with a dream. Her tiny lips gathered to form a tiny O. Only the red circles marking each cheek gave hint of the long, frustrating night they’d had.

  The babe’s fever had kept her miserable for much of those long dark hours. When it became clear she wasn’t hungry—just feeling wretched—he took her from Moriah and did his best to soothe, spending what felt like hours walking back and forth in their little camp. Every time Little Bit went to sleep in his arms, he’d try to lay her down next to Moriah, only to get a rousing wail as her face scrunched into that unhappy contortion.

  Finally, he’d let her sleep in his arms as he sat on his own bedroll by the fire, praying for her healing with everything he had left.

  A rustle lifted his focus toward their packs. Matisse sat on his haunches, his rifle over his legs as he hung the shot bag over his shoulder.

  “I’m going hunting. I’ll be back with food.” He kept his voice low, but the determined look made his resolve clear.

  “Take the mare Moriah rides so the yearling doesn’t follow you.” She wouldn’t be going anywhere until after Matisse returned with food.

  Matisse nodded.

  “Be careful.” He wasn’t sure what made him add that. Matisse had proved himself capable. But as the lad stood and cradled the gun in the crook of his arm, his lean body still held the gangly look of youth, his tawny face smooth.

  With another nod, the boy faded out of the camp, disappearing among the trees.

  Help him, Lord. He’s out of my hands. And that was probably a better place for the lad anyway.

  Samuel turned his focus to Moriah, who’d spent her own restless night buried under the covers of her bed pallet.

  Her dark eyes were open, watching him. Even sick, her beauty still had the power to bring him to his knees.

  “How do you feel?”

  She pulled the blanket down to her chin, so it no longer covered h
er mouth. “Better, I think.” Her voice rasped, more than just the remnants of sleep. Another symptom of her sickness, most likely.

  He shifted the baby so he could rise to his knees. “I’ll get another of those garlics and some water for you.”

  “I’ll take her.” She shifted her covers again to make a spot for the little one.

  Samuel cradled the exhausted little bundle as he knelt beside Moriah. “I’m not sure how long she’s been asleep. Probably a couple hours.”

  Moriah raised tired eyes to him, the shadows underneath showing how much she still needed rest. “I’m sorry you had to stay up with her all night. I should have done it.”

  “No, you shouldn’t have.” He eased the baby into the place Moriah had cleared, tucked against her body.

  His pulse kicked up a notch at his nearness to her. At the tender scene before him. These two girls had come to mean more to him than he was ready to admit. He reached out and brushed his fingers down Moriah’s cheek. Her skin was so achingly soft, his callused hands were too rough to touch her.

  But she raised her gaze to his again and gave him a weary smile that started his heart thumping anew.

  “What else can I get you? Besides the water and the garlic.” He would bring her the moon on a silver tray if she asked for it.

  Except...he couldn’t even make her breakfast. He swallowed the guilt that rose as bile in his throat. “Matisse went to hunt food for us.” Because every last morsel was now gone. How had he let that happen?

  She slipped her hand out of the covers and closed it over his. Her fingers were cold, even though her cheek still held fever. “I don’t need anything. You’ve done so much already. Too much, but I’m grateful.”

  He couldn’t stop himself from leaning forward and pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I’ll do anything you need.”

  With every bit of willpower in him, he rose to his feet and turned to add wood to the fire.

  It was time to put action to his promise.