by S. C. Wilson
Chapter Nine
It was impossible to tell who needed the other more. Jessica and Frieda had only each other. The bond between the two became like that of mother and daughter. Jessica adored the older woman, and had anyone witnessed their interactions, it would have been obvious Frieda felt the same way.
As the years passed, Frieda imparted more skills Jessica needed to continue living on the mountain. One of the most essential was how to make arrows. Frieda had learned the method years ago from Nathaniel, and passed the vital technique and craft to Jessica. Since their gunpowder was almost depleted, they relied primarily on the bow to hunt.
Even though she was only fifteen, Jessica had become a pretty good craftsman, able to fix just about anything. She put her skills to use on the cabin. Their home was in better shape than it had been in years. It had problems, as most aging things do, the main one being the roof. It did a decent job of keeping the rain out, but during serious downpours, they had to catch invading water in jars and pans.
Years of labor took their toll on Frieda. Arthritis set in, gnarling and distorting her hands. She continued whittling figures until she could no longer grasp the wood. Even packing her pipe became too painful for her inflamed fingers.
Walking slightly bent at the waist now, Frieda ended most days in a great deal of pain. Jessica massaged a salve of chopped huckleberry leaves and stems onto Frieda’s back each night, but this remedy was becoming less effective. Jessica was frustrated at her mentor’s helplessness. Frieda had done so much for her. She was able to repay the older woman less and less.
Frieda’s legs also betrayed her. Most days they swelled with a slight inward bow. She couldn’t get anywhere without her sturdy, oak walking stick, its knots like those on her knuckles.
One evening after dinner, Frieda asked Jessica to join her outside. “Sunset is going to be something to see this evening.”
“Let me fix you a pipe and I’ll be right out,” Jessica said.
“That would be lovely, dear. Thank you.” Frieda swayed side-to-side as she made her way out onto the porch.
Jessica brought her the pipe, already lit, and took a seat on the old stump chair. She picked up a small piece of wood and began whittling, the hobby having become her own. The sky burned a pale orange, mixed with swirls of red and yellow. A soft breeze blew bits of wood shaving into a dance around their feet.
Watching Jessica’s blade digging into the soft wood, Frieda’s mind drifted back to a harrowing event that had taken place many years before. Focusing her gaze on Jessica’s young features, Frieda asked, “Are you frightened by Indians?”
Jessica’s hands stopped carving. She looked up at Frieda. “I heard my parents talk about them when I was little. The stories I heard scared me. But I’ve heard you tell stories about your time with them. How kind they were to you. I guess maybe some are good and some are bad. Why?”
“I used to think, when I was young, that Indians were horrible people…mean and ruthless. But I was wrong about them. I don’t want you to fear them.”
“Why—do you think they will come here someday?” Jessica asked.
“Don’t you fret about that. I’m saying don’t just assume they’re going to hurt you and don’t you try and hurt them either. I used to consider them all to be savages. They killed my father. The tribe that took me in years later softened the anger and hatred that had settled in my heart. Loving and kind, they accepted me as one of their own, and if not for their teachings I would never have known how to survive on my own all these years.”
“But they killed your father. How can you ever forgive them for that?” Jessica asked.
“They did kill my father, but they were provoked. They were only protecting their way of life. How would you feel if a man came here and told us that we had to leave this place? That this was his property now. Would you just leave peacefully or would you stand up and fight for our home?”
“What would give him the right to do that?” Jessica’s expression hardened.
“Exactly. The Indians have been living here long before the settlers came to this country. What gave us the right to claim that we owned the lands and tell them they had to leave—to go somewhere else that wasn’t their home?”
Jessica bit her lip, a sure sign she was concentrating. “That’s terrible. I can understand why they fight. I would too.”
“So promise me, if you ever meet them, you will be kind.”
“I promise,” Jessica said. She could sense there was more Frieda wanted to say, but she kept it to herself for whatever reason. Jessica didn’t ask. She was more focused on getting Frieda to talk about her past. “I’m sorry you lost your father. You’ve never told me what happened.”
“I wasn’t much older than you were when you came to live with me. I remember that horrible day as if it happened yesterday. It was a beautiful autumn day and the trees had just begun to change. My father was a damn good trapper, and it wasn’t unusual for him to be out checking his traps on a day like that. Trapping was considered to be man’s work, but since my father was never blessed with a son, he sometimes took me with him—but not that day. Oh, how I had wanted to go with him when he left that morning.”
“I liked to go with my father too,” Jessica said, chiming in, “but I had brothers and they were the ones who usually got to go.”
“I guess I was lucky then,” Frieda said, smiling. “Looking back, I cherish the time I got to spend with him out in the woods.” She paused and then frowned. “That day, however, my mother insisted I help tend to the garden to begin the fall harvest. My sister and I did as we were told. It seemed unusually quiet, except for the birds. It was like they were sitting on my shoulder, singing just for me. Right before it happened, they got quiet. It was like they knew.”
Frieda grew quiet for a passing moment. She stared into the distance, lost in thought, before she continued. “Howling screams filled the air. The hair on the back of my neck stood up. Our neighbor ran out from the woods so fast he couldn’t speak. He had to catch his breath first. His face was white and his eyes were wide.”
“What happened?” Jessica’s eyebrows shot up.
“He just screamed ‘They shot him!’ My mother ran to him asking: Who? Who was shot? The corn fell out of her hands. I think she already knew.” Frieda stared intently at Jessica.
“He said, ‘Jasper!’ Then collapsed, face down in the dirt. That’s when we saw the arrow sticking out of his back. I can still see the dust flying when his head slammed into the ground. Jasper Saylor, my father was out there, shot. I knew right then our lives were changed forever.”
“I can still see bad things too. I think I always will.” Jessica wanted to know more, but didn’t want to ask. She could tell by Frieda’s expression how painful the memory was. Her own eyes welled up, thoughts of her own family filling her mind.
“I think you’re right about that. Some things just get etched in our minds, unfortunately.” Frieda shook her head, and returned to her story. “I saw a group of dark-skinned men with painted faces riding over the ridge. They yelled high-pitched war cries. I thought we were next, but then they turned their horses and rode out of sight. Before my mother ran to Father, she ordered us to stay where we were. I suppose she didn’t want her little girls to see him like that. My heart breaks that you had to see such things.”
“I wish there was a way to unsee the bad things.”
“Me too, dear.”
“Why did they kill him?” Jessica asked.
“I learned the Indians were very angry with us white folk. They felt we were depleting their food supply and forcing them off their lands. They were right about that. Men, women, and children…so many lives lost on both sides. It’s a shame.”
Jessica sat in silence as Frieda continued telling her story.
“The years after Father’s passing were tough on Mother. Lavina and I always worked hard to take some of the burdens off of her. I think she was actually relieved when I met Nathaniel. He came to
our village one summer to visit with his cousins. He was a fine man, and like Father, he could trap anything. I think Mother felt I would be taken care of and she wouldn’t have to worry about me as much if I got married—like my sister did. Lavina married a man named Elgie Wilson, and they moved to Philadelphia the year before I met Nathaniel.”
“Was Elgie a trapper too?” Jessica asked.
“No, dear, he was a book-learning kind of fellow,” Frieda said with a chuckle. “Elgie was studying to be a lawyer. Anyway, I felt as if I was her last burden. I knew she loved me, but I knew she worried about my future too. I wasn’t attracted to Nathaniel in the beginning, but over time our friendship grew deeper and he finally won me over. I agreed to accept his marriage proposal under one condition—we had to stay and take care of Mother.”
“I wouldn’t have left my mother either. I miss her so much.”
“I know you do. It’s not fair what happened to you. You lost so much and it breaks my heart,” Frieda said with a pained expression.
“So, did you?” asked Jessica.
“Did I what?”
“Stay there and take care of your mother?”
“Yes. Nathaniel was a kind man. He had no problem with that. We settled into a nice life together, had our beautiful boy, and looked after my mother. Our little town grew over the years, and I became the local teacher. I enjoyed my time with the children. I will never forget those years.”
“I wish I got to know Nathaniel and Patrick.”
“Me too, Jessica,” Frieda said, eyes filling with tears.
“I know how that feels to miss someone so much. It’s a pain like no other.”
“It’s something that you and I will carry for the rest of our lives. But we both have fond memories we keep in our hearts,” Frieda said with a sigh.
“That’s true,” Jessica said, nodding.
With an unfocused gaze, Frieda continued on with her story. “We stayed in Pennsylvania until Mother passed away. Nathaniel had heard talk that the lands to the west were plentiful with all sorts of animals, and with the animals all but gone in our area, he was more than ready to take us away and make a new start. Having just lost Mother, I still wasn’t quite back to myself yet. I guess you could say I had just been going through the motions. I was thirty-three years old, and like Nathaniel, I wanted to see what another state had to offer.”
“So that’s how you ended up here?” Jessica asked.
“Not exactly. We were planning to go to Illinois, but that all changed when we met a chieftain from another tribe who came to the Dothka village. After speaking with him, we made other arrangements, and eventually made it here.”
Frieda sighed. The embers in her pipe, forgotten in her hand, had grown cold. “If I had stayed in Pennsylvania, my boy would still be alive. The guilt of that decision has been so hard to live with. I don’t know that it was fate or a grand plan or anything like that at work. Sometimes things just work out the way they do. I spent years of my life questioning the Great Spirit. Why this, and why that? But, I do know this: if I hadn’t gone through all of that, I would have never been here for you. You are the ray of sunlight radiating out of my darkness. Because of you, I know the loss of my son was not in vain.”
Chin trembling, Jessica reached for Frieda’s withered hand. The sun had long since set, and the once-perfect breeze now blew cool across the porch. She could tell by the faraway look in her old friend’s eyes the story had taken a lot out of her. Jessica stood and took the pipe from Frieda’s lap. Frieda allowed herself to be led by the hand into the cabin. The old woman fell asleep as soon as Jessica tucked her into bed.
Jessica lay awake for quite some time, mulling over everything Frieda said. She didn’t think she’d ever be half as strong as the woman softly snoring below her.
Chapter Ten
1861
Jessica nocked an arrow onto the bowstring. A large elk stood grazing in the meadow, completely unaware of the sharp projectile trained on it. A light gust blew. Jessica held her shot, waiting for the right moment. The soft twang of the string was the only sound as the arrow flew toward its mark. Her aim was true. Tip through its heart, the animal dropped.
At seventeen, Jessica had become a tall and beautiful woman. With high cheekbones, chiseled jawline, and emerald eyes, her face was stunning; the only blemish being a crescent-shaped scar on her forehead. Though dressed from head to toe in loose-fitting, buckskin clothes, it was obvious her body was well built, lean, and muscular from years of mountain living. No longer the frail little girl who hid in the barn, Jessica was now a strong, young woman.
Jessica knelt beside the fallen elk, giving thanks as she always did when taking an animal’s life. Frieda had taught her to acknowledge the Great Spirit for providing the sacrifice. In her mind, she didn’t do exactly that. She whispered silently to herself, giving instead a small thank you to her father and brothers who she felt were always with her on her hunts.
Her long, ginger hair tumbled in the wind as she field-dressed her kill. She wasted no time, working fast with the large blade. She wanted to get back to the cabin as quickly as possible to check on Frieda. Her mentor was not recovering from the illness that had befallen her during the winter. Frieda’s health was deteriorating by the day. No longer able to make it out of bed, Frieda depended solely on Jessica for everything.
The bedridden woman spent most of her days worrying, plagued with anxiety, agonizing about what would become of Jessica after the Great Spirit came for her. She knew it would be soon and didn’t want Jessica to stay isolated and alone in the old cabin. The young woman had no experience living in a town as an adult. This frightened the ailing woman to the point where she spent most nights staring at the loft above, fretting over what to do.
After many sleepless nights the solution came to her, and on one of her better days, she motioned for Jessica to come sit next to her. The girl’s radiant smile illuminated her entire face, bringing a similar expression to Frieda’s. Jessica sat beside Frieda and held her hand, grateful the old woman seemed to be feeling better.
Frieda said, “You’re going to have to leave here and go make a new start in the world.”
Jessica’s smile cracked a little. “I’m not going any—”
“Now hold on just a second and hear me out, girl,” Frieda said. Her rigid tone erased what remained of Jessica’s smile. It wasn’t unusual for Frieda to be stern with her. But this was different than the tone she took when Jessica had misbehaved or needed a push on her schoolwork—more urgent somehow.
Frieda’s hand squeezed a little tighter. Jessica let out a long sigh, grateful for the small show of affection. “I know you don’t want to face it, but I’m not going to be around here forever. I’ve thought long and hard about this. You are going to have to leave here.”
“Leave and go where?” Jessica cocked her head to the side.
“There’s a place called Ely—”
“There isn’t even any way to cross the river. You said the bridge washed away years ago,” Jessica said, interrupting. She was confused and more than a little scared.
“There never was a bridge that got washed away. I just told you that. The river can be crossed. I’ve done it before. That’s how Nathaniel and I got up here. There’s a secret crossing. The Indians that led us here showed us the way,” Frieda finally confessed.
“Why didn’t you ever tell me?” Jessica asked, dumbfounded by the revelation.
“You were young and besides, what difference would it have made? I would’ve taken you across years ago if you had kin searching for you, but you told me you had no one. I guess maybe I was wrong not to tell you. I’m sorry.” Frieda shrugged her shoulders.
“No reason to be sorry. I wouldn’t have left you. What do you mean by a secret crossing?” Jessica asked with raised eyebrows.
“Long ago, way before our time, when this mountain was being formed, somehow a natural granite crossing was made in the river. It’s like a bridge hiding beneath the su
rface. Nathaniel said it was a large slab of granite that broke off the mountain long before men were even walking the earth. It can’t be seen even if you’re looking right at it, but it’s there. On the north side of the slab is a jagged ledge. Sticks up about three feet high and runs the entire length. The force of the river hits that instead of your legs. Keeps you from being swept off your feet.”
Jessica had no desire to leave and opened her mouth to say so, only to be quieted by Frieda’s raised hand.
“Let me finish. It’s a tough world out there. It’s hard enough for a man to survive, but damn near impossible for a single woman to make it on her own. You, of all people, know how cruel some men can be. Do you think a beautiful woman could just walk into a town alone without drawing unwanted attention? Think about that. If a man walks into town alone no one gives two hoots. I’m telling you, when you go, you’re going to have to do something so that you don’t stand out. You have to change the way you look.”
“What do you mean? I don’t understand,” Jessica said, rubbing the crescent-shaped scar on her forehead.
“To be safe, I want you to dress like a man. Do this one thing for me, please. I need to know that nothing will happen to you.”
“Dress like a man?” Jessica stood up, her green eyes flashing with confusion. “I’m not sure you’re thinking clearly today. Why don’t you get some rest?” She reached down to feel if Frieda had a fever.
“Now dammit, I don’t need rest and my mind has never been more clear. You can do this. I haven’t been off the mountain in years, though, so I have no idea what Ely is like after all this time. You don’t have to do this forever, just go check things out. See what it’s like.”
“You’re serious?”
“Never been more serious about anything,” Frieda said with stern expression.