River With No Bridge

by Karen Wills

  “Dynamite, is it? Nobody told us to bring that.” Nora gestured for him to walk to the cabin with her.

  He hoisted the furs again. “Well, it’s what people do. Then your rows could be—”

  “Straight as string. The stumps are a nuisance and they take up space better used. Where would we get this dynamite?”

  “The camp at Belton could spare what you need. Anyway, you and Jim should see it. Folks are settling near my place. They call it Apgar after my old friends the Apgar brothers, one of them anyway. No wives yet, but several men put up cabins. When the railroad’s finished, their families will follow.”

  “Families. Is she really so bad, Beartracks?”

  He frowned. “Not well, Irish. Not well at all. Her spirits are low, like she’s given up. We try everything, but she weakens. You must see our Dawn Mist. A good-natured infant, although some would fault her being mixed like China Jim.”

  Nora nodded. “Of course.”

  “We’ll stop at Nan and Fred’s.”

  Nora looked down at her mud-splotched skirt, shaking the caked hem. “Well, it will take me a bit to be ready.”

  Beartracks nodded at the moccasins and leggings. “You’re not such a pilgrim any longer, and it’s only your first spring.”

  “I’ve always gotten along in the place where I land.”

  That night she bathed and laid out decent clothes, a gray dress with a jacket and the old straw boater with the green ribbon. Although moccasins were comfortable around the place, she pulled out her worn, heavy black shoes, so cracked and curled she took time to rub tallow on them. The old desire to be respectable returned. She didn’t want it to seem to townfolk that she’d forgotten all the ways of civilization while making her home on the North Fork.

  Jim insisted one of them should stay to keep working and tend to Beartracks’s horse. As she rode away on the wagon next morning, Nora felt a pang looking back at him bending to work in the garden. They’d become a family of two during the long enforced winter. Passion overcame the little irritations of close life in the cabin. They’d emerged with a love, respect, and dependence more absolute than Nora had ever known.

  Instead of the clear alpine water Nora had crossed last autumn, the North Fork swelled up swirling, the color of milky tea. While Wink and Cotton balked, then stepped into the water, Nora clung to her wagon seat, feet braced hard in her worn shoes.

  Beartracks grinned for the first time since arriving. “Relax, Irish. Think of blasting all those stumps to tarnation. I know pilgrims. As tired as you get of wintering in your cabins, you’re shy as fawns come spring.”

  “No,” Nora lied. “I’m not afraid to venture out. It’s the wild water, the bumpy road. Everything’s come through winter so different.”

  “You’re a strong, healthy girl now. Not sickly as when you stayed with us. Not like Sweet Grass is.”

  He had the right of it there, Nora agreed. North Fork life had been good for her, had given her the fulfullment of a man’s love, what she’d thought never to have again.

  The wagon rolled through webbed shadows speared by white flowers. Nora marveled at all the tints of green as they passed moss-covered boulders high as castle walls and fallen trees, their circular root systems upended like shields.

  “I wouldn’t be surprised to see fairies here. You know, the little people.”

  “Little people, big people, too many people of all sizes when the railroad’s done,” Beartracks muttered.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Winter hadn’t altered Nan Hogan. Nora could swear the woman wore the dress she’d met her in the summer before. Spring sun had already tanned Nan’s handsome face. Her cheeks glowed from the heat of baking bread.

  The Hogans had other guests. An arrogant British aristocrat had come hunting trophy mountain goat, his guide none other than the famous Pete Dumont. Nora had first heard Pete Dumont’s name from Lillie McGraw. She would not pass on Lillie’s greeting, however. The memory of Lillie’s place made her cringe.

  A woman dressed in black traveled with them, her dark hair and hazel eyes set off by gold nugget earrings. The men, Pete and Beartracks catching up on their respective winters, noticed Nora who summoned all her dignity before stepping into the room, extending her hand, wishing it were softer or she’d worn a glove. Pete Dumont made a sweeping bow. “Mrs. Larkin. Beartracks told me he’d brought a pretty girl to the North Fork. I am Pierre Dumont, but all in these mountains call me Pete.”

  The nobleman interrupted. “Beartracks brought a beautiful titian-haired goddess, a Hibernian Helen to inspire poets, a face that could launch a thousand ships.” The woman at his side narrowed her eyes.

  Nora, not noticing, remembered with a stab how she’d chosen Helen’s name, but took advantage of a rare literary reference she knew. “I’m not one the Greeks and Trojans would fight over, sir,” she said with a wary smile. “Just a settler trying to hold her land.”

  “Admirable, Mrs. Larkin.” He bowed stiffly. “Lord Smith-Gordon. This exotic creature is my friend, Miss Clementine Dasher. You Irish have done well in America. I applaud your ambition.”

  Nora nodded to hard-eyed Clementine, knowing instantly she was an independent version of the girls at Lillie’s. “Us people, is it? Your countrymen haven’t given us much choice now, have they, my Lord?”

  Beartracks leapt in. “Well, well, Nora has a partner.” He described Jim.

  Nan laughed, describing their disheveled arrival until tensions melted. Both Nora and the English lord remained formal, unable to avoid or ignore their heritage as ancient enemies.

  After dinner the men retired to the barn for serious drinking, and Clementine excused herself. Nora settled by the fire with Nan who had winter stories of her own about a man who arrived at their door nearly frozen, or the moose that took up residence near the barn and liked to listen to the hired man play his harmonica. She couldn’t top Nora’s avalanche experience, though. Nora left out the resulting passion.

  Next morning Nora dawdled in her room, not wanting to breakfast with the aristocratic trophy hunter and his haughty mistress. After finally hearing them ride off, she went to Nan’s kitchen. Beartracks appeared. Pale, he winced when Nan rattled the cookware.

  “Sure and I don’t know why you men drink,” Nora said.

  “We know why when we’re doing it,” he said, pulling up a chair and sagging into it. “We just can’t remember in the morning.”

  They arrived at Apgar by late afternoon. A pockmarked Blackfeet girl sat on a log in front of Beartracks’s cabin looking miserable. A chubby baby kicking moccasined feet lay across her knees. When Beartracks called, she gathered the infant against her shoulder and walked toward them. She spoke to Beartracks in Blackfeet. He whirled and ran to the cabin. Nora stared at the somber girl for a moment, then followed.

  Sweet Grass lay in a doeskin, bead-decorated dress. Folded little hands clasped a rosary. Her skin had the gray pallor of death, her features the stiffness of frozen wax. Beartracks knelt, his head on her hands.

  “I’m so sorry,” Nora murmured, touching his shoulder. She’d miss the soft-voiced, helpful girl with her dimpled smile.

  After silent minutes, Beartracks rose, jaw set, and went about enveloping his wife’s body in an elk robe. He carried her, followed by Nora and the Indian girl, now hefting the baby and a spade, far into the forest beside the big creek that ran from the lake. Nora gestured that she would take the four-month-old. Beartracks dug the grave.

  Nora studied Dawn Mist. Intense brown eyes, slightly up-tilted in a heart-shaped face, studied her right back. Nora cooed, stroking the baby’s shock of black hair, then a small brown hand. The infant grasped Nora’s finger. Nora fought tears, remembering her own babies. This little girl now lived as motherless as she lived childless. She shifted the baby, bounced and patted her as Beartracks lowered Sweet Grass into the forest earth to lie forever within the cedar-laden bank.

  Trudging back, the Indian woman spoke earnestly to Bear-tracks who gave one g
ruff response. Nora held Dawn as the woman strode ahead into the cabin to emerge carrying her parfleche, climbed into a canoe, and raised her hand once before paddling off across the lake.

  Nora glanced at Beartracks. He shrugged. “She had to get back.”

  Carrying the baby toward the cabin, Nora looked back at him. “Come in and tell me what you intend to do with your enchanting daughter.”

  Inside, she prepared canned milk and mashed cooked apple for Dawn Mist. Beartracks watched, then spoke. “I want you and Jim to take my daughter. Take her and raise her.”

  Nora didn’t answer, but focused on the infant. After feeding Dawn Mist, she heated water, bathed, and changed her. It seemed she’d done it before only yesterday. There’d been an empty ache in Nora’s arms for so long. But would this be right?

  “You’re her father, Beartracks,” she said after Dawn Mist fell asleep. “What exactly are you proposing? Do you want us to keep her for only awhile, or until she’s grown?”

  “My life is in the mountains. I can’t raise a girl, and if I ever wanted to go back to Merry Old England, God forbid, my people would never accept a half-breed bastard. Sweet Grass and I never married actually.” He nodded. “No, you and Jim take her as yours. You’re a mixed bunch anyway. You ought to have a child underfoot. Make you more of a family.”

  “What if Jim says no?” Nora realized she’d as much as admitted she wanted this orphan.

  “Find somebody who will—or take her back to the reservation—although most of her relatives died off during the starving time in ’83 and the smallpox epidemic. Those people still live hard. It’s how I took up with Sweet Grass. She strung along with me until I just gave up and accepted her as permanent. I’ll never do that to another woman. Dumont’s smart to stay unfettered. Anyhow, Dawn is half white.”

  Nora rested her eyes on the sleeping baby. Providence offered her this third chance at motherhood. She found the words to tell Beartracks about Helen, finding it easier to talk about her even though her blonde chatterbox had been quite different from this exotic child. “I’ll tell you what we’ll do,” she said. “We’ll take Dawn with us, and I’ll put it to Jim. His big heart will carry the day. You’ll visit from time to time so she knows you. I’ll be her legal guardian. Put something in writing. What do you say?”

  Beartracks sighed in relief. “So it’s up to China Jim? He can’t refuse you. That’s a great relief. I’m going into Belton. I’ll bring back dynamite in the morning, and we’ll start back.”

  Alone with Dawn, Nora pondered what she’d just done. She began a low Celtic lullaby, and eventually slept beside the child, her treasured gift.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  The Hogans greeted Nora and Beartracks as they stopped on the return trip, happy to have the long-awaited supplies. Nan said Pete Dumont had planned to spend a night at Nora and Jim’s cabin, then leave Clementine there while they went up to Kintla with the Englishman. A doubtful Nan added it was kind of Nora to take in Beartracks’s “little half-breed.”

  “She is a blessing for me,” Nora retorted. “And her name is Dawn Mist. We’ll call her Dawn.”

  That same night, Pete Dumont brought Smith-Gordon and Clementine to Nora and Jim’s cabin. Clementine bathed in their galvanized tub. Jim made up Nora’s old bed where the exhausted woman dropped into hard sleep while the three men played long games of poker. Smith-Gordon fancied himself a sharp player. “I met Clementine at a house in Storyville in New Orleans,” he told them. “She was a faro dealer come down from Chicago. One of the best. I’m keeping her with me for the time being . . . an entertaining woman in every circumstance. With her hair pulled back, the golden nuggets match golden flecks in her eyes. What fellow doesn’t enjoy being in close proximity to gold? Or a woman of such varied talents?”

  Jim, having played poker many times with Nora on long winter nights, realized that Smith-Gordon wasn’t the player he believed himself to be. The Englishman made it clear he didn’t think much of Jim at all. He ignored him, keeping his endless stories and observations directed to Pete. Slowly, Jim began to play improved hands. By dawn he’d won a sizeable sum from the astonished aristocrat.

  “I never knew a Chinese to outplay an Englishman.” Smith-Gordon glared.

  “China Jim here is full of surprises,” Pete said, pushing the pot toward their host. “I’m beginning to think he can do just about anything. But cheat? No. Nora’s man is honest.”

  Next day just after reaching the river, Nora and Beartracks ran into the hunters. Lord Smith-Gordon had a large, tawny mountain lion slung over his pack animal. The nobleman smiled, definitely in a fine mood.

  Approaching home, Nora noticed Clementine Dasher saunter out of the cabin. “Sure this place is becoming as crowded as Boston,” she muttered to Dawn, who cooed from the sling that held her across Nora’s chest.

  Jim stepped forward, his hands gripping Nora’s shoulders after she climbed down. She held up the baby. “Our friend Sweet Grass passed away, poor girl. And we’ve much to talk about. Look at this beautiful child left motherless.”

  “Yes,” Jim said as he studied Dawn Mist, whose expression puckered at this stranger’s face. “I see we do.”

  Beartracks greeted Clementine. Smith-Gordon and Pete went to the barn to hang the lion.

  On their return, Clementine’s eyelashes fluttered. The nugget earrings bobbed. “I missed you, my lord.”

  The Englishman extended his hand. “Miss Dasher, Clementine—would you favor me with a walk out of doors? All this riding has quite given me a need to stretch my legs.”

  Clementine took the proffered hand, stood, smoothed her skirt against her thighs, then swept out the door. Nora watched her take the slim aristocrat’s arm, tilt her chin, and gaze into his pale blue eyes. “She knows how to keep him intrigued,” she murmured.

  Pete and Beartracks grinned and drifted outside.

  Nora changed Dawn and placed her on Jim’s old alcove bed for a nap. In low tones, Nora related Beartracks’s request that they raise his daughter. The smell of cut wood surrounded them as they gazed out open rectangles intended to become windows that faced the soft undulations of the Whitefish Range. “This baby needs us, Jim. I think we need her, too. Beartracks won’t interfere. He’ll be like an uncle. You’d be the father she needs, and I—would be her mother.”

  Jim hesitated. “You propose we take this child and love it as our own? Could you do that?”

  “I could. You must remember I know what it is to care for a little girl.”

  Jim’s expression softened. “My parents did not raise me, but my aunt White Plum did. I believe I brought her some joy. If you wish, we will make this little English-Blackfeet baby our daughter.”

  “Thank you, Jim. I trusted you’d say just that.” Nora kissed him, happy tears filling her eyes. He walked to the alcove and picked up the sleeping Dawn Mist.

  “Here is our child,” he said. “Now, our future holds much more than we could have dreamed. And something else to add to your joy. All our poker practice paid off. I won a sum from the Englishman last night. It meant only hurt pride to him, but I believe to you it means salvation. For Dierdre Moriarty perhaps it means help for her family.”

  “Jim, is it enough?” Nora rushed to him.

  “Just enough.”

  “Well, what some would call your ill-gotten gains is the lifeline I feared would never come. You’ve been my redemption once again. I love you so.” Nora embraced him and their daughter. The heavy burden of guilt she’d carried ever since Helena rolled away. They leaned into each other as a puff of pine-scented air breezed in. Harvest time approaching at last.

  They would ask Beartracks to see the money sent to Michigan from a Kalispell bank. Nora composed a note to Dierdre to enclose with the bank draft. She thought for a long time, then told one last lie, simply writing that she and her husband had known Moriarty and before his death he entrusted them to send his savings to his wife and children.

  While Clementine and her lord walk
ed out together, Pete surprised those indoors by pencil-sketching a radiant Nora holding Dawn, a protective Jim bending over them.

  When the others finally returned, Clementine wore a triumphant, gloating smile.

  Smith-Gordon patted his companion’s hand. “Friends, I’ll proceed to San Francisco from here. Miss Dasher tells me it’s a rollicking city for one with my interests. I suggest we depart at dawn.”

  Before the Englishman and his mistress rode out next morning, Clementine nodded to Jim, her eyes flashing less than gratitude. “Thank you for making me comfortable. I’ll remember meeting a Chinaman in the mountains. Especially one who cost Smith-Gordon so dear at cards.”

  She mounted and sat tall on her black gelding beside the Englishman on his horse. Not exactly beautiful, she had high color, a narrow face below her arched brows, prominent cheekbones, and an aquiline nose. Striking, Nora thought. Clementine Dasher must be what they meant by a striking woman. Clementine gave them a wink as she lifted her hand in a dismissive farewell gesture. Lord Smith-Gordon touched his heels to his bay stallion that pranced a little before trotting through the meadow to the river where Pete Dumont waited to raft them across.

  Jim spoke first. “I am glad to wave farewell. I sense ill fortune follows that woman. She visits it on those who enter her sphere.”

  “Do you think so? Then the English lord is in for it. I don’t mind about his ilk getting their due.” Nora nuzzled Dawn.

  Beartracks laughed. “The English lord is helping himself. Nobody else gives a damn or likes her. Well, I’ll be on my way to Kalispell with your winnings. I could use a spell in town. My father has probably sent me a little extra by now.”

  Nora and Jim thanked him, then turned in wonder to their new charge, forgetting Beartracks, the English lord, and his dark mistress.