MATISSE STILL HADN’T returned.
Samuel stood at the edge of the trees, staring out into the white wilderness around them. With the sun nearing the midway mark in the sky, the boy had probably been gone for five or six hours. Was game really that hard to find? Snow no longer fell, and the sky held more clear blue than clouds, which allowed the sun to beat with intensity. Surely Matisse would have found at least a couple of animals that would fill their bellies today. He’d proven himself a decent shot, so that shouldn’t be the problem.
Samuel tried not to let his mind wander to what may have delayed the lad. Maybe he shouldn’t have let him go alone. A fifteen-year-old in this snow-covered mountain wilderness? Any number of catastrophes might have waylaid him. Hungry mountain lions were surely lurking about. His horse may have fallen on the icy rocks. An accident with the gun was always possible.
Why had he let him go without asking more questions about where he planned to hunt? He should have warned the boy not to be reckless on the ice-and-snow-covered terrain. Every lad needed reminders like those.
At least, Samuel and his brothers had.
He turned back toward the camp and grabbed two more logs from their dwindling pile to lay on the fire.
Moriah sat up on her bed pallet, and her eyes looked brighter than they had that morning. She had a blanket draped over her front, which meant she was probably nursing the babe.
She offered him a smile as he crouched by the fire to position the logs. “No sign of Matisse yet?”
“No.” His voice came out harsher than he meant it to. He eased out his frustration in a long breath. “I should have asked more questions before I let him go. I don’t even know where to look for him.”
“He’s capable. Maybe he had to travel far to find game.” A hopeful note tried to rise above the rasp in her voice. At least she didn’t seem offended by his tone.
A new thought slipped in, building into a powerful punch as he mulled it over. What if Matisse had left them for good? Taken their horse and set out on his own again. He pressed his eyes shut. No, Lord.
Had the lad taken any supplies? Not that he could remember, but he’d not seen the saddled horse to know for sure. He spun around to where they’d laid the packs. The boy’s bedroll was still there.
Good. He forced himself to take steady breaths. Matisse had been nothing but helpful, and they’d been kind to him in return. There was no reason for him to steal away and abandon them.
He shifted the pot of water so it wasn’t in the line of smoke from the fire. Moriah needed to take another chunk of garlic. He had nothing else to offer her, but this did seem to be helping.
When he stole a glance her way, she met his gaze with a look that seemed to overflow with a sad kind of wisdom borne of hard experience. She leaned forward a little, holding his gaze with hers. “If you need to go look for him, Samuel, do it.”
His chest clenched, locking down his breathing. He couldn’t leave her and the baby, not with them both sick. But what if Matisse was hurt out there? He couldn’t leave the boy to die in the elements, either.
What do I do, God? His spirit cried heavenward even as his gaze was held captive by Moriah’s.
“I can’t leave you and the baby.” Each shallow breath was a labor through the worry clenching his chest.
The tendons in her jaw flexed. “We’ll be fine. I’m better now. I took care of her alone before, and I can do it again.”
He rose and dropped to his knees in front of her. “Moriah. You’re not alone anymore. I want to be by your side. Working together. Here to help when you need me. Every time.” If her hands weren’t under the blanket, he would have taken them in his. Anything to make her see how earnest he was.
Instead, he had only his gaze and his words.
Her jaw shifted again, as though she were clenching against a war waging inside her. At last, her eyes softened. Even...was that a glimmer of tears?
He reached out and cradled her cheek with his hand. “You only have to let me.”
The delicate lines of her jaw shifted again, but more like she was swallowing down emotion, not holding back anger. She nodded, then pressed her lips together. From the red tinging her eyes, that was probably another effort to stem tears.
She tried to be so strong.
He stroked her cheek with his thumb, and she finally seemed to pull herself together enough to speak. “Thank you. I do think you should go look for him. He’s just a boy. Maybe he needs help.” Her words were soft, almost pleading.
Digging down to chip away at his resolve.
He sat back on his heels and blew out a breath. “I can’t leave you here with no food. What if something happens to me and I don’t make it back?” The thought of her sitting here with Cherry, both of them sick and slowly starving to death, was enough to firm up all his determination.
“Samuel, I have a rifle, too.” Her voice was so gentle, it almost soothed the edges of his fear. “If you’re not back by tomorrow morning, I’ll set traps and hunt around here. I know how to feed myself in the wilderness. It’s been ingrained in me since I was old enough to walk.”
She probably knew a great deal more than he did, but the weather... And she was ill. And she had a baby to tend.
“The sooner you go, the sooner you’ll be back. And the better your chances of helping Matisse before it’s too late. Take things to build a fire in case you have to stay out overnight.”
God, what do I do? She was right. He knew she was. He should leave now and be back in a few hours. Hopefully, with Matisse and a deer or elk for their dinner. Maybe the animal was so big, the lad was having trouble loading it onto his horse.
He focused on Moriah again, studying her face for signs that she was too ill to be left. If anything, more color seemed to have returned to her face.
He released another breath. “All right. I’ll saddle up and leave now. What else can I get you before I go?”
Her mouth curved up in a gentle smile. “Just come back to me.”
If she wasn’t so ill, he would lean forward and kiss her. Instead, he poured all his love into his words. “I will. No matter what. I will.”
Chapter Nineteen
“God, no!”
~ Samuel
THE SUN SHONE BRILLIANTLY as Samuel followed the tracks left by Matisse’s horse, winding along the valley where they’d camped, then up and over the cliff to the east. The higher he climbed, the fiercer the sun’s rays until he could barely do more than squint.
But he had to keep his eyes open to watch for tracks. Through the rocky sections, it was easy to lose the trail the boy had traveled. Samuel had to focus. A few other animal tracks marred the snow, and he might even find game along the way if he kept his eyes open.
He pushed his gelding as fast as he dared. Urgency squeezed his chest, tightening all his muscles and pushing his horse to go faster. If Matisse or the animal were injured or—God forbid—killed, Samuel would be leaving both Moriah and the lad unprotected. It might even spell a death sentence for them all.
The first peak he crested merged with another mountain partway down, and he slowed his gelding to climb the rocky surface of the second crest. The sun seemed to grow brighter with each upward step.
When he reached the top, a motion down the other side caught his focus. He squinted, trying to focus in the blinding glare of the sun on millions of snow crystals. Was the movement he’d seen merely a trick of his eyes?
No. There it was again, a dark figure. He reined his gelding that direction, and as he closed the distance, the figure morphed into multiple brown and gray shapes.
Deer? No, smaller than that.
Mountain goats.
He reached for his rifle. This was the part he always hated—taking an innocent life. But Moriah had to eat. They all did.
He tried to edge his gelding nearer the animals to clear the blurry haze from sun on snow, but the herd shifted away. He’d have to take a shot now or lose them completely.
Guide
the bullet, Lord. Aiming as best he could, he squeezed the trigger.
The blast ripped through the still mountain air, scattering the herd in the midst of frantic bleats. He nudged his horse forward to see if his shot had hit a mark.
Yes. They could eat now. Hopefully this would last the day or two until they reached his family.
After draining the blood, he wrapped the carcass and strapped it on behind his saddle. Now if he could just find Matisse, they could go back to Moriah and little Cherry.
After mounting again, he reined his gelding back up the hill to the spot where he’d left Matisse’s trail. His eyes stung from keeping them open against the blinding sun, but he had to watch closely to find, then follow, the tracks. At least it wasn’t snowing, and the wind wasn’t strong enough to blow away the prints. Not completely, anyway.
He spotted the trail and followed it. When he’d descended to the base of that mountain, he tried to gauge how long he’d been gone by the position of the sun. Two hours? Three? His head ached from the brilliant rays, both from the huge ball of fire in the sky and the beams magnified by reflection on the snow.
He had to move faster now. If he found Matisse this very moment, it’d be at least another two or three hours back to Moriah. She may be in desperate need by then. Didn’t fevers usually worsen in the evening hours? Whatever happened, he couldn’t leave them alone through the night.
There were likely very hungry animals lurking around. Mountain lions or wolves who were having just as much trouble as he’d had finding smaller prey in the snow.
He couldn’t leave Moriah and that tiny baby alone—sick and at the mercy of anything that came for them.
Through the narrow valley, the wind kicked up into fierce gusts, blowing through the narrow channel between the mountains like a rushing train. Matisse’s tracks disappeared completely, and Samuel had to ride along the base of the opposite cliff before he finally picked up the trail again.
Where is he, Lord? Show me. Anxiety pressed hard on his chest, making him urge the horse faster up the mountain. The higher they climbed, the fiercer the sun’s rays beat down. His head pounded like the steady blows of a man and an ax splitting wood inside his skull.
This mountain was taller than the others he’d crossed that day, and when he finally crested the peak, he reined in his gelding to let the animal catch its breath. In truth, Samuel was breathing hard, too. As much from the weight on his chest as from the exertion of urging the horse up the mountain.
The sight before them was different than the terrain he’d been traveling, and it took a moment for his weary eyes to make sense of what he saw. Partway down this slope, a line of tall lodge-pole pines started, spreading down beyond the base of the hill. Then the ground leveled off into flat land for a stretch, rolling into gentle hills. Had he reached the edge of the mountain country?
A tall structure in the distance caught his gaze. Covered in snow, the spectacle looked different than it had the last time he saw it. A tall butte, standing higher than the tallest lodge-pole pine, with a huge boulder almost covering the flat top. It was as though the ground had washed away all around and that massive rock was the only thing that kept its platform in place.
He’d seen that boulder-topped butte on his way to find Henry. Late in the afternoon on the first day of his journey.
Simeon and the rest of his family were only a day’s ride from here. Excitement surged in Samuel’s chest, easing some of the pressure inside him. They were so close.
He nudged his gelding down the slope, and the horse must have felt his eagerness, for he had to rein the animal in so they didn’t tumble head-over-heels down the mountain.
He’d almost forgotten to watch for Matisse’s tracks until a deep indention in the snow made him pull the horse up short. The white fluff was churned in a section twice the width of a horse, running down the mountain for about twenty strides. Almost to the grove of trees.
Bile churned in his gut. Was this what had happened to Matisse? But where was the lad?
He pushed his gelding forward, scanning the trees for signs of motion. “Matisse!”
Maybe he’d taken shelter in the woods. And his horse?
No response sounded, but with the creak of Samuel’s saddle and the shuffle of his horse’s hooves in the snow, a call may be drowned out.
As he neared the woods, he could see a line pressed in the snow, like something being dragged toward the trees. He jumped from his gelding at the edge of the grove and squinted to adapt his eyes to the dimmer lighting. Flashes of light shot through his vision, almost blinding him for a moment as his eyes adjusted.
“Here.” A voice—low and raspy—jerked his attention downward.
Matisse lay in the snow, tousled and looking so small wrapped in the fur he usually wore as a cape.
“Matisse.” He scrambled toward the boy and dropped to his haunches beside him. “What happened? Are you hurt?” He scanned the length of the lad, then looked back at his face.
Pain scrunched his features. “Horse fell. My leg. And arm.”
Samuel examined both his legs, and the knot in his gut tightened when he saw how big around the right thigh had grown. He shifted toward it and reached out to touch gingerly.
“Don’t.” Matisse bit the word through clenched teeth, his breathing growing heavier. “I already know it’s broken. The arm, too.”
Samuel turned his focus to the arm. He’d need to see the leg before he attempted to splint it, but he could wait a minute until he knew what shape the other limb was in.
Matisse lifted the gray fur from his right arm. The buckskin sleeve was pulled tight with the swollen limb inside, and a large bump protruded on the side of the upper arm. The bone below that bulge lay at an odd angle.
Samuel’s gut churned. This was a bad break. The boy would be lucky if the bone wasn’t protruding through the skin. He couldn’t splint that kind of break, not out here in the snow and freezing cold.
And he couldn’t move Matisse without securing the broken limbs. Even with splints, the lad couldn’t sit atop a horse with his thigh bone broken. Not only would the pain be excruciating, there was no telling what further damage would be done by the curve of the saddle and the jostling of the animal’s gait.
He turned to look up the mountain. He had no choice but to go retrieve Moriah and the baby, then bring them back to Matisse. None of them could be left alone for long, and all needed food and warmth.
Looking back at the boy, Samuel studied his face again. The lad shivered, and a sheen of sweat glistened over his features. The perspiration could be from pain, as could the unusual rosy blush on his cheeks. The shivering could be from lying in the snow.
But something inside Samuel told him there was more. He removed his glove and pressed a palm to the lad’s forehead.
Hot. Was this his body’s reaction to all the trauma? Or had Matisse contracted the same sickness Moriah and the baby suffered from?
Either way, he needed help.
Standing, Samuel moved around to the lad’s other side and kicked snow away from an area that would work for a small fire. Thank God he’d brought flint, steel, and tender to build a fire. There were plenty of cured pine branches lying on the ground throughout the little glade. If he could find some that weren’t soaked through, he could get a good fire started.
It seemed like hours, but he finally had a small blaze going, a spit of goat’s meat roasting over the flame. The fire, the meat, and the extra wood were all within Matisse’s reach so he could eat when the food was ready and keep himself warm for the next few hours.
Samuel dropped to his haunches by the lad again. “Anything else you need before I go?”
Matisse gave a single, painful shake of his head. His breathing had grown even more ragged than before.
Samuel scanned the area again. “Any idea where your horse is? I assume your rifle’s still in the scabbard.” He hated to leave the lad without defense against hungry wildlife. He could follow the horse’s tracks
to find the gun, but he didn’t have time right now. He had to get back to Moriah.
“Don’t know.” The words seemed to be dragged from the boy’s throat.
Samuel brushed Matisse’s face again, then fought a cringe at the heat emanating from his skin. “It’ll probably be five or six hours before I come back, but I will be back.”
He was pretty sure he could manage the trail in the dark, especially since the moon wouldn’t be hidden by clouds.
Lord, let Moriah and Cherry be able to travel. He couldn’t even think about what he’d do if they weren’t.
With a last farewell, he mounted his gelding and turned the animal up the mountain.
Praying with every stride this goodbye wasn’t final.
NIGHT HUNG THICK AROUND Moriah as she clutched Cherry, rocking forward and back. The baby was restless, but nothing compared to the turmoil in Moriah’s own chest.
Where was Samuel?
Had he found Matisse, and whatever trouble delayed the lad was too much even for Samuel to overcome? She’d promised to go after him in the morning if he didn’t return by then, but a part of her wanted to find him now.
What if another mountain lion had attacked? Or they’d run into someone who didn’t like the color of Matisse’s skin? Of course Samuel would do what it took to save the boy.
But maybe they both needed help. How many more hours until dawn? Four? Five? She would pack up the camp now and follow him if she didn’t need light to find his tracks.
Cherry whined, scrunching her face and kicking inside her blankets. Moriah forced herself to relax. “It’s all right, sweet one. He’ll be back soon. They’ll both come, and everything will be fine.”
She lifted the babe to feel Cherry’s forehead with her cheek. Still a little feverish. The garlic seemed to have cleared away the worst of Moriah’s own sickness. Maybe she should have given it to her daughter, too. It was so hard to know what was best.
A shuffling sounded in the distance, and she sat up straight, straining to see into the darkness. Cherry’s complaint changed to a wail, and Moriah bounced her as she struggled to stand. “Hush, sweet one.”
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