by Karen Wills
Jim remained by Nora’s bedside for four days and nights, leaving only to gather water or wood. He undressed her, giving up on trying to protect her modesty, as she switched from chills to fevers. She needed him for everything. He bathed her, spooned tea and the honey mixture, and tried to comfort her during incoherent ravings. He scrubbed clothes and bedding in a wash tub retrieved from behind the little structure.
Only once, alone in the firelight, did Jim pause toiling to study the beautiful woman who lay momentarily nude on the rough bed. Trembling like a man enthralled before an object of worship, he moved his hand, not quite touching Nora from the crown of her head, over her throat, over her breasts, over her ribs and belly and the mound below, over her thighs and calves and feet. He sighed, but hearing footsteps outside, laid a blanket over all he’d gazed on, his treasured, yearned-for Nora Larkin, just before Beartracks entered with more herbs and venison.
Toward dawn of the fourth day, Nora’s breathing quieted and evened. Jim touched her face, cool, but so pale. Her nightgown and the blanket beneath her were sweat-soaked and cold, but she slept so peacefully he only piled on another blanket. Bathing could wait.
Standing at the open door, Jim saw Beartracks Benton asleep on a bedroll on the beach, his campfire crumbled to red and gray embers. So the mountain man had stayed close during these long nights. Jim walked to him. “She will live.”
Inside, they bent over Nora and grinned like doting uncles at a favorite niece’s bedside. When alone, Jim again saw to bathing her and airing and changing her clammy bedding. Sunshine warmed the day and Nora still slept, her face to the open door.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
By late afternoon on the fifth day after their arrival at Beartracks’s cabin, Nora came fully awake. Her focus settled first on the sooty, mud-chinked wall next to her. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” she gasped, trying to sit up. She fell back, dismayed at her weaknes.
A figure blocked out the brightness of the open doorway. “Nora? It’s Jim. Have you chosen to return to me?”
She tried to answer, pressed her fingers against her throat, and cleared it. “Past—past deciding,” she croaked. Her hand moved from her tangled hair down what she wore, Jim’s shirt. “I can scarce remember. There was a lake?”
“We think you had pneumonia. A fever at least. Beartracks used bark and roots and flowers as medicine.”
“And onion.” Nora wrinkled her nose.
Jim’s laugh caught in a sob of relief. “Onion mixed with honey. We have venison. Are you hungry?”
“Not for so much. Could you make me a little broth, do you suppose?” Nora closed her eyes, intending it to be for a moment only. When she awoke next morning, the door stood open. Turning her head, she saw blue water and those great mountains she’d noted, but couldn’t take in, when she first saw them. Now she gazed at their uneven V’s and massive risings, everything as beautiful as Jim Li had described. She said so as he stepped in with an armload of wood.
He brought her a dipperful of water. “Would you care for tea? I’ve been gathering more herbs.”
“You and Mr. Benton saved my life, Jim. I’m sorry now I ever hesitated about trusting him, although I don’t suppose I’d agree on his English politics.” Unexpected tears of weakness ran down her temples into the tangled hair. “What a witch’s bridle,” she sighed, raking her fingers through it.
“The important thing is, you agreed to come to this north country,” Jim said, taking her hand.
“I’ve caused us to lose precious time, haven’t I?” She let her hand rest in his, the touch comforting and welcome.
“We’ve used these days to dry out bedding, gather plants for medicine, and Beartracks has agreed to travel with us to where we will settle. You opened another door even in your illness.”
“Get along. I’ve never looked so bad. I’m afraid to see the hag I’ve become, and I smell of sweat and onions. What a charmer. He’s never seen a woman so ugly. He’s fascinated, don’t you see? Do you think you could heat water for me?”
Jim helped Nora wash, then unsnarl her hair. She relaxed under the sensual rhythm of long, steady brushstrokes. His touch felt natural as he braided her now-shiny mane into one long rope. He told her about the days she’d been away from them, his warm hands so gentle she all but purred under his touch. She closed her eyes and tilted her head back.
Having been within Death’s reach and escaping made any social restraints trivial. Jim must have bathed her nude body. She should be embarrassed, but felt only gratitude. Anyway, she’d been, and still remained, too weak to care for herself. Jim, gentle and matter of fact, neither looked away, nor made her uncomfortable.
Nora drank venison broth and gazed out at Lake McDonald and the mountains. If she’d died, those massive promentories would still be there. Eternity rested in them.
Beartracks had crossed to the head of the lake to retrieve his mysterious woman, then go on to visit friends at a small hotel owned by a fur trader. Nora felt thankful for privacy.
At the end of her first week of convalescence, she dressed and walked on trembling legs, progressing only a few yards down the beach to rest on a windfallen tree and take in the double scene once above, and once reflected in the quiet water. Nora wanted to take part in the work going on around her. She and Jim, two ignorant pilgrims, shared increasing awareness of how much knowledge they lacked to survive in this wilderness. Now they could learn from a real mountain man, a blessing, too, but she sensed he knew them better than he should from such a brief acquaintance.
A nightmarish dread had haunted her like a malevolent ghost ever since Helena. Even before falling ill, she had nightmares where Bat Moriarty reached for her not in love, but with malignant hate. Noticing Jim greasing the wagon’s wheels, Nora labored the short distance uphill. By the time she reached him, she panted, leaning on the wagon. Jim smiled at her. He rubbed his hands in the grass to clean them, stood, and wiped them again on a rag.
“Jim, in my fever did I talk about things best kept to ourselves?”
“Yes, but your words came out all mixed. Beartracks thinks you talked of bats. You only mentioned the fire and ring in broken cries.”
Nora nodded, still angry at herself as much as relieved. Why could she never just release the past? Fear and guilt diluted a person like added water took the taste from a stew. She turned back to the cabin. Once there, she stretched out on the plank bed and slept.
Later, she walked to the beach to wash her face and pull back her hair. As she straightened, Beartracks Benton appeared, paddling his canoe toward her. A young Indian woman sat behind him, their matching strokes powerful and certain. Neither waved, but Nora waited, hugging her arms to her waist. She would take care of one worry at least.
Beartracks pulled the long canoe onto the beach in one smooth movement, its hull scraping softly on the rocks. Jagged animal traps lay in the bottom. The girl shot Nora a shy, dimpled smile, then climbed out, spread a deer hide on the ground, and piled the traps into it.
Beartracks and the Indian woman—pretty, with high cheek-bones—spoke briefly in a language Nora didn’t know. He gestured for the girl to stand before Nora. “My Blackfeet wife, Sweet Grass.” Affection glowed in his voice. “Her teaching me about healing herbs is how China Jim and I pulled you through.”
Nora extended her hand. “In that case, you saved my life.”
Sweet Grass hesitated, then reached out. Her brown hand in Nora’s was small and well shaped, but rough, a child’s hand. Nora guessed Beartracks to be nearly forty. The girl could be twenty-five years younger. Sweet Grass moved away.
“I hear I talked nonsense when I was taken ill,” Nora began. “You’re not to think it had any truth in fact unless I talked about my husband Tade, or my little girl, Helen. They died within two years of each other. It was a loss that takes me still at times.” Nora bit her lip, realizing too late that her rush of words had just compounded the problem. Why had she spoken of the past at all?
“You talked abou
t bats and diamond rings, even threw in a fire. Quite an imagination when you’re sick. Do you have an imagination when you’re well? Ever imagine good things?”
“Such as what, Mr. Benton?” Nora flinched. She’d brought a new danger to them. She made an effort to hide her dread and be casual.
“Me, for one. I’m a trapper, hunter, guide, poet, artist, tracker, and I do love to rest these sharp old eyes on a pretty girl. At least when Sweet Grass there has her back turned.” He closed the four corners of the hide. He packed his traps into a wicker backpack and flung it and the hides over his shoulder. He turned to her again, the lake and mountains shining at his back. “But it’s not so often I see one like you standing right in front of me on a late summer afternoon.”
Nora tilted her chin. If she’d learned one thing at Lillie’s, it was that some men always wanted to satisfy their carnal needs. “Sure, and I didn’t just get off the boat, Mr. Benton. I’m a widow. I’m used to men’s flattery, although I don’t give such nonsense any weight at all. Not a bit of it. And it shouldn’t matter whether Sweet Grass is watching you or not.”
Beartracks Benton grinned, accepting her response in good nature.
“I should go back,” Nora said. “Jim could use what little help I’ll be.”
“Where is China Jim?”
“Fishing down the shore.”
Beartracks leaned against the wagon. “It’s none of my business, but you and China Jim . . . I’ve heard of Irish women taking up with Chinamen. I’ll tell you, what neighbors you have won’t like it. Be clear that he’s only your labor. We’ll stop at Hogans’ on our journey. Sweet Grass will stay on here for awhile. Nan Hogan disapproves of our union. Mixing races.”
Nora bristled. Jim was so much better than any man, any person, she’d met since Tade. “You know, I came from landless poverty. People never liked to see tinkers coming down the road, always wanted my family gone as soon as Da finished mending and shining the dented kettles and pans missing handles they handed him. I learned early on to ignore small minds and their mean opinions.”
She glared in defiance. They’d tried so hard to make it clear there was nothing of romance between them. Still, there had been those moments at St. Ignatius. Her face heated. Did she harbor secret feelings? Did Jim?
“We’re not sweethearts. Jim told me about this Flathead River country. I couldn’t come alone, could I? We’re business partners. But if it were more, how could it be any others’ business? Why would I care what they think?”
“Reconsider that. You’re alone up here. Folks depend on each other.”
“Well then, they’d better not go jumping to conclusions, had they? Folks have been doing that about me all my life. Jim, too, come to that. What we do or don’t do is our business.” Nora threw down a leaf she’d been examining.
“As to your coming with us, that’s a grand thing because we have a lot to learn. This country is so lovely. I haven’t seen so much green since Ireland, but it’s forbidding, too. I’m grateful, especially now, for a man who knows its ways to join us.” She’d learned from Lillie and her girls how to use such flattery to advantage, to deflect his assumptions about her and Jim. She knew enough not to close the door too rudely on hopes of seduction when dealing with men able to help her reach her goals.
He hesitated. “I have an idea where you should settle. You don’t have to tell me if I’m right about this, but white men don’t often come up here unless they’re running from something. A woman is rare. Plenty here have left their previous home between sundown and sunrise. Nobody questions anybody else, so I won’t ask why you were afraid someone would find you.”
“There’s not a soul after us that I know of,” Nora interrupted. Bat was dead, wasn’t he, she asked herself.
“Well, the law comes through sometimes. Your traveling companion might attract attention. He’s not here legally. I know because I’m the one who smuggled him in. Sweet Grass remembers him, too. But we won’t tell because it’s a lucrative trade, slipping Celestials across the border.”
Nora met his eyes. “I left a difficult life behind me. None of it is your business. My past is not your toy.”
He nodded soberly, taking no offense. “True words, young daughter of Erin. Now there aren’t many come to stay here. Most settle on the east side of the North Fork. But there’s land on the west side, too. We could ford the North Fork. I’ll show you a spot I’ve sometimes thought would make a fine place to build a home. You’d be hard to sneak up on.”
“I’ll speak to Jim about it. I don’t expect he’d mind being away from people. It’s what we expected.”
“I come through often.” He took off his hat with another wicked grin.
Nora turned, revealing only her profile, running her hand over huge, flat leaves of a plant hung with red berries. “I’ve never been a prostitute if that’s what you’re thinking,” she said. “I’ve had some troubles. I lost my husband. Lost my wee babes. Lost my work. But I’m here to be a landowner. That will take all our attention, mine and Jim’s.” She gave him a quick glance before returning her eyes to the plant, mastering herself again. “We’ll be grateful to you for riding with us and for all you’ve already done, wherever we settle.”
Beartracks replaced his hat. “As you wish, Irish lovely, but my hearing is sharper than most. You said you lost a daughter to diphtheria, but then spoke of babes. And you begged someone in your delerium to take the baby away.”
Nora inhaled and turned. “I don’t know about any of that. I was sick out of my head. Well, I feel worn out entirely with all this talk. Mr. Benton, do not bring up my past ever again.” After a pause, she patted the broad leaf of the plant. “A person could use these as plates,” she said with a forced smile. “What do you call it?”
“Devil’s Club,” Beartracks answered. “Watch out for the thorns.”
Nora nodded and gave him a steady look. “Always good advice, I’ve found. Watch out for the thorns.”
By mid-September Nora felt stronger, the trio had rested, repaired, and mended belongings. They bid farewell to a smiling Sweet Grass. Nora departed with a mixture of eagerness to make progress and regret at leaving the sun-dappled lake and the comfort of even a rustic shelter.
Beartracks’s cabin reminded Nora of little homes in Ireland’s wild places. She remembered traveling in her da’s wagon and wondering about the barefoot children who played in muddy grounds outside their open doorways. No children here, she thought with a pang, never again for her.
She squared her shoulders and reminded herself of what she was about. Land and a home where she could live without interference. That seemed all the more important after her talk with Beartracks about likely objections to Jim. How she yearned for peace and dignity. They’d have neither if they couldn’t prosper here, at least enough to make a living.
She still felt shaky at times, sweating and a bit sick. Jim had concocted more tea. Nora drank the tepid liquid from a jar, agreeing to “anything but the onions.”
Beartracks and Jim alternately walked and took the reins beside Nora. The trail became rougher and narrower. “It’s little better than a cow path,” she muttered through rattled teeth.
They moved around the lake’s west side, catching glimpses of blue water and deep green mountains through gigantic spears of ancient pine, fir, and aspen. Nora loved to watch the leaves shimmer in the breeze, but hard chucking against rocks, stumps, and holes in the trail claimed most of her attention. They skidded down terrifying inclines, roughnecking, locking the back brakes. Nora weakened with every jostle. When one slope nearly threw her off the wagon, she lowered her head, hating her tears.
Beside her, Jim pulled in Wink and Cotton before she realized he’d noticed her distress. “I’m sorry,” she said, brushing away tears with hands hot and swollen from gripping the wagon seat. “I hurt all over from being jarred so, and I know I can’t walk. I’m holding us back.”
Jim slid to her. He lifted her onto his lap, his arms around her, legs
braced on the wagon floor. “Beartracks,” he called. “Come up here to take the reins. Nora’s too weak, so I will hold her.” It was the first time Jim directed the other man. Bear-tracks set his jaw as if to object, but stopped on noticing Nora’s distress.
Nora rode easier with Jim sheltering her tight against him like a helpless infant. She could feel his heartbeat, feel heat from the hard muscles of his arms. Her breath caught at this closeness. It felt natural and secure. After a time, no longer fighting tears of exhaustion, she gathered strength from resting in Jim’s calm presence. When the trail became smoother and such closeness began to feel awkward, she moved to sit beside him.
Beartracks got down to walk while Jim reclaimed the reins. Lurching along the uneven trail, they’d just come out on an expanse of meadow when the left front wheel dropped hard into a hole, nearly overturning the wagon. Jim pitched out, his shoulder striking a rock waiting in the long grass. He rolled, groaning Chinese words as he clutched the arm.
Beartracks lifted Nora down, and she ran to Jim.
“It’s dislocated.” Jim grimaced up at them.
“I swear to the Almighty. The only luck you people have is bad. I’ll have a go at it.” Beartracks braced himself, giving the shoulder a sharp pull. Nora winced at the pop of Jim’s bone snapping back into its socket. His eyes rolled back as he lost consciousness. Beartracks stepped away and returned to throw water on Jim, who gasped, woke, and struggled to a sitting position.
Nora helped him to his feet, looping his good arm around her shoulders.
The front wheel hadn’t broken, but the pitch had thrown several of their belongings into the grass. Beartracks indicated with a nod of his head, “Hogan’s place is a mile into that meadow. You can see it, in fact. There’s a store and bar across from that ranch house. Travelers rent upstairs rooms.”