River With No Bridge

by Karen Wills

Nora shaded her eyes, looking toward a brown two-story house and rustic outbuildings rising from pale grass and bright wildflowers. Grunting, Beartracks pushed the wagon out of the hole while Jim and Nora pulled the horses forward, then picked up spilled possessions to sort out later.

  Jim climbed onto the wagon, still favoring his shoulder. Bear-tracks took the reins as Nora walked, stumbling on uneven ground, determined to cover the distance without arriving like an invalid. As if he read her mind, Jim climbed down to walk beside her.

  They crossed a foot-wide line of water that fed into a pond. A few brown cattle observed them with mild, startled expressions. Nora dabbed water on the back of her sweat-dampened neck. September sunlight had turned the air dry and hot, and flies bedeviled her. She lifted her hat and smoothed the unruly red hair that sprang around her sunburned face.

  Two collie shepherds ran out woofing and wagging their tails. A tall, sun-bronzed woman followed, rolling her sleeves down over well-muscled forearms. At her approach, Nora saw gray in the wisps of brown hair that escaped the woman’s attempt at a bun behind her neck.

  Beartracks jumped down. “Hello, Nan.” He swept off his hat and bowed. “Have you saved some of your renowned huckleberry preserves for this sorry trapper?”

  “Beartracks Benton,” Nan Hogan’s severe expression relaxed into a grin. “Welcome. What pilgrims have you brought? They look ill used.” Her eyes narrowed, taking in Jim.

  “None of my doing, I promise you. Nan, Mrs. Larkin. Nora Larkin is recovering from a bad fever. My Blackfeet remedies pulled her through. Nora and her hired help, China Jim here, are going to settle north of you.”

  Nora stepped forward, extending her hand.

  Nan Hogan took Nora’s hand in her large, rough ones. Their eyes met and held. “Long times go by but what I don’t see another white woman.” Her tone softened. “I’m glad to meet you.” She paused to frown at Jim. “Some of the men hereabouts used to be miners. They hate the Chinese. Best we put this China Jim in the bunkhouse. Our hired hand is gone for a few days rounding up cattle. What he don’t know went on while he was away won’t hurt him.”

  Don’t pretend you don’t hate them, too, Nora thought, glancing at Jim. He’d assumed the masked expression she knew well.

  She opened her mouth to respond when Beartracks, giving Nora a warning frown, said, “That will be fine, Nan. A room for Mrs. Larkin, though. I’ll make camp nearby.”

  Jim and Nora gathered a few things from the wagon and walked to the log bunkhouse. Nora felt relief to see the dim interior clean with two bunks and passable bedding.

  “I know we’ll be missing things when you leave,” Nan said as she and Nora retrieved Nora’s bag.

  “Jim is no thief,” Nora retorted as they walked to the house. “He saved my life. He’s going to work for me. Or perhaps I should say we’ll be working together.”

  Nan seemed about to speak, then shrugged. Nora followed her up narrow stairs to a small room with a dormer ceiling and a window that framed snowy mountains. She dropped her bag and sank on the bed, rubbing her eyes. “Sure, and I don’t have all my strength back yet. I worry night and day about slowing us down.”

  Nan turned maternal. “You do need to rest. No man alive can take proper care of a sick woman. Have a liedown. We eat at seven sharp.”

  Alone, Nora opened her collar and pulled off her dusty shoes and grimy stockings. She undid her hair, lay back on the lumpy mattress, and touched the rough log wall beside her before closing her eyes. Hours later she opened them. The light had faded. High-spirited men’s voices drifted from below. She swung her feet to the rag rug and peered out the open window. Beartracks stood, weight shifted to one foot, talking to another bearded man in the corral. The second man, Nora assumed, must be Fred Hogan. He gestured broadly, telling some joke. Their boistrous laughter filled the yard, lazy and carefree. Jim was nowhere to be seen.

  Nora sighed in envy. These men guffawed over some trivial happening, while she’d landed here beset with problems on all sides . . . herself weak as a newborn rabbit, Jim with a damaged shoulder, precious time lost. She splashed her face with water from the bowl on the dresser and redid her hair. Having done her best, she descended the narrow stairs to join Beartracks, the Hogans, and two Canadian fur trappers for a dinner of elk steaks, mashed potatoes, greens, and rhubarb pie. The jolly Canadians and Beartracks swapped stories of trapping and hunting on the North Fork where Nora and Jim would be settling. The men drank whiskey after dinner, but Nora declined, instead sipping homemade dandelion wine with Nan.

  “The girls should be careful of Beartracks Benton,” Nan began as she settled into her sturdy rocker by the fireplace. “He breaks us ladies’ hearts. He knows how to charm with gentlemanly ways, but he’s near wild as the mountain lions. My husband has known Beartracks to eat the breast of a wild bird raw when he doesn’t want to take time to cook it. Think of that when he tips his hat to you. He’s a bad drinker, but he can sure spout poetry. They say he came from one of the great families, a younger son. He left for Canada because of some scandal. Now he’s a remittance man. His family pays him to stay away from them.”

  Nora shuddered. What sort of guide led them? She wished Jim were beside her to discuss it, but he wasn’t welcome in the narrow-minded Hogan household. She fought down a wave of anger. Beartracks had one thing right. They’d do better to charm the Hogans instead of bucking these new neighbors. Perhaps in time Nora and Jim could erase the Hogans’ prejudice. And they needed Beartracks, no matter he ate raw meat and, worse yet, hailed from England.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  They started out from the Hogans’ at dawn, roseate streaks tinting broad snowcaps. Progress came hard in clod-strewn ruts. Nora’s energy waned by afternoon. They’d spent most daylight hours moving through cedar, fir, and lodgepole. Huge, moss-blanketed boulders hid mysteries within their massive interiors. At times Nora found herself eye level with tops of huge larch, their trunks continuing down plunging, tangled slopes to merge into roots. Deer bounded over half-decayed windfalls or lightning-blasted stumps.

  They camped at a grassy patch near a stream gilded by late-afternoon sun. Nan had packed huckleberry preserves for their biscuits. Nora had never tasted such sweet, purple richness.

  “Just wait,” Beartracks told her. “You’ll be gathering huckleberries in buckets for pies, syrups, preserves, or to eat right off the bush. Griz fatten on them.”

  That night, Nora heard boots crunch followed by the hiss of shifting logs as Jim rebuilt the fire the sleepers encircled. Through half-opened eyes she watched him crouch over the flares, throwing his cheekbones into relief. His hair hung free. A warrior. She thought of Nan’s words about Beartracks Benton eating the raw heart of a bird and closed her eyes, blotting out thoughts of men refined or crude, and how they could be newly formed in this wilderness. The sleep of exhaustion reclaimed her.

  By afternoon next day, they came to a place to ford the North Fork of the Flathead from its east bank to the west.

  “It seems I’m always crossing water to start a new life.” Nora spoke aloud without realizing.

  Beartracks grinned. “West is a good direction for new beginnings. It signifies mystery and adventure.” Then he grew serious. “No bridge or ferry here, though. A river with no bridge.”

  They checked supplies, knotted and secured the tarpaulin ropes. Nora sat far back in the wagon, Jim in front with Bear-tracks, who guided Wink and Cotton into the current’s ripples. Nora’s fingernails bore into a rope when icy water splashed over their wheeltops. “Saints preserve us miserable wretches,” she muttered as the current’s power swung the wagon sideways.

  Beartracks cursed the horses, whipping the reins. At last, Wink and Cotton lunged and clambered onto the western bank.

  “We’re safer here, are we?” Nora asked, after crossing herself in gratitude that they’d survived the ford.

  “Safer from surprise visits,” Beartracks responded. “It’s all wilderness from here into Canada. I run my tra
pline through the Belly River region into Alberta. It’s pretty country. I’ll show you the place I’d build a cabin where wolves could sing weary settlers to sleep at night.” The wagon lumbered over rough ground, stopping in a sun-dappled clearing. A creek ran across one side to the river that separated them from the rugged panorama of the Rockies to the East. “This is it.” Beartracks made a sweeping gesture.

  “It is a fine place,” Jim said. “High enough to let us see soaring mountains there and other ranges into Canada and west. We have abundant water and will see anyone crossing toward us.”

  “I’m no rancher, but I’ll help you build your cabin before winter. Can’t leave a pretty girl to freeze.” Beartracks tipped his hat. “Pretty Nora from Ireland.” He looked steadily at her as Jim assumed that mask-like expression of displeasure.

  Nora turned a full circle, taking in all of it—stream, peaks, grassy clearing, and towering moss-draped pines. Good country for fishing, hunting, and planting, everything they needed. In time they might even run cattle. She looked up at Jim and nodded. He smiled and returned her nod.

  She spoke with a catch in her voice. “It has water and the clearing to put the cabin on for a start. It will be home.”

  Overhead, a red-tailed hawk rang out a piercing cry.

  An hour later Jim paused from unloading the wagon. Nora watched him study the massive mountains aglow in the setting sun. “What are you imagining, Jim?”

  “Ah, mystery in crags and glaciers, spirits in waterfalls and lakes. An image of my mother becoming an immortal at the top of the world just now evoked her presence. This place must be a good home for us, Nora. It must and it will.”

  They set up camp. Their belongings appeared paltry stacked in haphazard piles on the ground, but Nora liked the sight of her tarp lean-to against the vault of forest. A surge of hope filled her. Guilt followed. How could she be happy with Tade and Helen gone and her boy in Butte? How could she feel almost like a child on a picnic? She had no right. With that realization she saw the forest darken, and she shivered in the lengthening shadows.

  Jim approached. “As I said, I thought of my mother earlier. She gave me to her sister. But I believe she still accepted joy in her life. Joy after grief is not forbidden. In time she became one of the immortals, a good, protecting spirit.”

  Nora smiled, soothed by his understanding. “Thank you, Jim. You were right to bring us here. This wild place has such peace and challenge both. We’ll not have time to dwell on the past with so much to do.”

  She knew as she spoke that the past could not be banished altogether. Still, the dead shouldn’t hinder the living. She’d begun to feel a healing, something about wilderness only the word sacred could encompass. Could it be that after all the ugliness and sordid turns, she’d been given a spiritual rebirth among the monumental peaks of this world? She revolved slowly, again absorbing her new home.

  She set to work building a cook fire. This place might be sacred, but it would, she already knew, call on every reserve of every strength the two partners possessed. And she must do more than survive. She had to prosper to repay that debt owed Bat Moriarty’s widow. Only then, according to the priest, could she redeem her soul.

  Beartracks said his farewells. They watched him ride off, leaving them to a mix of fear and relief at being by themselves again.

  The last thing before entering her bedroll, Nora removed both shoes and stockings to curl her bare toes in the coarse, cold grass until they reached the hard dirt above its roots. “My land,” she whispered, overwhelmed again. “Land I’ll one day own. No one will take this home from me.” She knelt and dug her fingers into it, her eyes closed against tears. When she opened them, they met Jim’s, watching from beside the fire. “We made it, Jim,” she said. “We pulled it off, for certain, and look at the odds.”

  “We will make a fine life here.” Jim hesitated, then bowed and walked into the darkness.

  Nora peered, but couldn’t see him. Why did he bow? Out of respect? Didn’t he know by now she recognized him as her equal and more? She brushed dirt and pine needles from her travel-soiled dress.

  Later, warm in her bedroll, she considered three men. Tade had been so simple and good, a man of ability and decency. Then feckless Bat replaced him with that devilish, dangerous charm. She’d desired them both, the passion for Bat born of deprivation. Now she traveled with a third man. While she admired him and acknowledged that she journeyed with an attractive partner, she didn’t want and wasn’t ready for love. She still mourned Tade and Helen and grieved for the little boy in distant Butte.

  She dreamed of clearing trees, meadows of shamrocks replacing them. In the morning the shamrocks had vanished, but the jagged Rocky Mountains rose to a sky so radiant Nora squinted to look at it. Above her a pair of bald eagles flapped broad wings and coasted, their raptors’ eyes raking across every detail of the newcomers’ activity. Nora hastened to light kindling for cooking breakfast, proud to have a start on Jim.

  She toted a bucket and towel down to the stream. As she lowered herself into the scratchy brush, she wondered how long it would take to build a proper privy. After washing in the frigid water, she rubbed hard at her face to restore circulation. When she lowered the towel, she stared into porcine eyes. Nora screamed. The black bear woofed. Brush cracked and crashed as each raced up an opposite bank.

  Jim tore through bushes, pointing his rifle as Nora staggered to him. “A bear! A great black thing!”

  “Where?” Jim, hopping on bare feet, stepped around Nora. Finally, he chuckled and lowered his firearm. “It didn’t follow you. You’re all right.”

  “All right? The beast fair to frightened the liver out of me. Is my hair all-the-way or just partly turned to white?”

  Jim nudged a log over for her to sit on. “Learn to use this rifle. And keep it with you.”

  “Right. I’ll not live here defenseless.”

  Jim’s smile faded. “We must both learn to live in this hazardous beauty, to understand and respect it. Careless, we could lose everything. It is not enough to have arrived.”

  “Why are you sounding like a judge?” Nora laughed at Jim’s solemn pronouncement. “As you see, I’ve quite recovered after meeting old Black Bloomers. I’m more than ready for that cabin we’ve planned. Let’s eat and start building.”

  When they took stock after breakfast, Nora’s bravado faded. She shuddered at how much work lay ahead. Winter could arrive as early as mid-October. Beartracks had promised to return in a few weeks, but hadn’t specified the day. He’d already done more than they had a right to expect. For now, there was only Jim and Nora. But, after all, wasn’t that what they intended?

  “Let’s build our privy first, then the cabin,” Jim suggested.

  Nora nodded. “In winter we’ll tell tales by the fire. I’m that fond of stories. I know plenty about the little people that you won’t have heard.”

  Jim gave her a quick look. “Chinese tell legends of spirits.”

  “Do they now? Good, so. Well, where shall we build our fine house?”

  They agreed the cabin should face the river and great wall of mountains beyond, enabling them to observe anyone crossing. Nora had never shaken the sense of being followed, although none living had reason to trail them. “We’ll see those peaks shining the very minute we step out our door in the mornings if we place our home just here,” she said.

  They would build one big room, fourteen by sixteen feet, with alcoves containing bunks curtained off for privacy. Easier to keep warm that way. They would make their own table and chairs, and position the wood-burning stove facing the door.

  Jim remembered how to fell trees from his woodcutting days. He used the axe to make a V-shaped wedge in a hemlock, positioning the cut so when sawed through it would fall into the clearing away from other trees. When the tree crashed and bounced to the meadow floor, Nora went to work with hatchet and saw, cutting away branches, saving the softest boughs for mattress ticking. She savored the scent of pine needles and
hewn wood, that freshness of new beginnings.

  In the days that followed, Jim dug a hole and cut timber for the privy. Nora snickered when he carved a half-moon in the door. They maneuvered the little building into place and drew straws to decide who would use it first. Nora pulled the shortest blade and walked with straight-backed dignity into the structure, her eyes sparkling, her face pink.

  The two managed eight or nine trees a day. Dull from exhaustion, they burned slash in nightly bonfires that cast orange sparks toward remote constellations. Jim said Orion stood guard over them with his sword.

  Nora abandoned any effort at clean clothes. She removed her sawdust-smeared dress at night, slipping on a nightgown, grateful that no rust-brown wood chips or scratchy bark fragments clung to it.

  They lived on fish, beans, biscuits, and sourdough pancakes. As their bodies grew stronger, so did their companionship. They worked as two halves of one purpose, toward one goal. Jim’s shoulders broadened. Sometimes, too, Nora felt his eyes rest on her during evenings when they lolled by the fire, tired and satisfied with another day’s progress.

  After three weeks, Beartracks strode into camp. He threw a fresh-killed doe on the ground and pushed his hat back with one finger, grinning at the stacked timber. “Not bad work for two banged-up pilgrims.”

  “We have blisters on our poor hands for reward.” Nora held hers out to display proof.

  “I’ll show your China Jim how to make you beaver gloves for winter, Irish. Keep you warm.”

  Nora stuffed her hands in her pockets. Some kinds of warmth frightened her. She remembered the heat of Jim’s shoulder against hers as they rode on the wagon, how sweat glistened on his throat during long, hot days of building.

  Later they all ate venison and laughed over Beartracks’s adventures. He raised his cup in salute. “You pilgrims have done well, but I’ll stay to help finish your cabin. You people are too jeezely interesting to leave alone.”

  With mattock and spade, Jim overturned rocky earth, then tamped it down for a floor. Nora spread wood chips over the evened dirt. Jim and Beartracks stretched rawhide over the chips on pegs driven into the ground. She forgot to worry about her looks, her hair often half-loose around her face.