by Vivi Holt
Out here in nature’s embrace, she came alive. Her eyes flashed and she talked and talked about anything and everything. He really felt like he’d gotten to know her on those outings in a way he’d never been able to before. Her hopes, her dreams, her thoughts – all were topics of conversation, along with his own. He’d never shared what was on his heart with anyone else the way he was able to with Charlotte when they hunted together. No doubt they’d scared off plenty of wild game during their ramblings, but as far as he was concerned, that just meant more time alone together.
He glanced at her, as they searched the ground for tracks. She looked so beautiful, so vibrant and full of life. The feel of her warm body against his when they’d ridden Honey together moments earlier still lingered within him. He’d had to work hard to squash the desire that rose up within him. She was off limits, there was no point in his fantasizing about her any other way.
He found a willow tree with a hollowed out trunk, and peered up the length of it. Dozens of honey bees buzzed around an opening near the top of the trunk. He frowned. It looked as though the trunk might hold a hive. He didn’t have much experience with bees, but he knew how honey tasted and he decided he’d do whatever he could to get some.
He hurried back to their mare, and pulled his spare canteen from the saddle. Tipping the water from the wide-mouthed bottle, he carried it back to the willow tree.
“Charlotte, come over here,” he called.
“What is it?” She ran to his side.
“I think I’ve found a bee’s hive. I’m going to try to get us some honey.” He undid the top buttons of his shirt and tucked the canteen inside. Then, he climbed the tree, watching the bees closely. When he reached the hole near the top of the tree, he peered inside. It was full to the brim with honeycomb. Hundreds of bees buzzed to and fro, filling it with even more honey with each passing moment. His eyes widened and he swallowed hard. The honey looked delicious. He eyed the bees, weighing up his options.
“What do you think?” Charlotte called from below.
“I’m getting us some honey!” he cried.
With one swift movement, he pushed his arm through the opening, his hand delving deep into the honeycomb. He pulled it out, dripping with honey, and poured it quickly into the open canteen in his other hand, clenching his legs around the trunk to hold himself steady. With only a few more scoops, the canteen was full, and he felt the first sting on his arm. The bees were beginning to swarm, getting angry at his intrusion into their home.
He twisted the cap onto the canteen as the second sting came on his cheek. As quickly as he could, he clambered down the tree.
“Quick, Charlotte. Get the horse!” he called.
She ran to the animal, and mounted, riding her back over to meet him as he leapt down from the tree. Dozens of bees were following him, and even more were hovering around the opening at the top of the tree. He jumped onto the horse’s back behind Charlotte, and dug his heels into the animal’s sides.
She shot forward, just as the swarm of bees headed their way. As they galloped down the edge of the river bank, they could hear the bees behind them. The sound of their pursuit filled Harry’s ears, and he felt another sting — this time on his honey-covered hand.
He grimaced, and pressed the horse forward. Before long, they emerged onto the plain and galloped back toward the campsite. As soon as they surfaced from the hollow where the river was hidden, the bees turned back. Harry sighed with relief, and licked some of the honey from his throbbing hand. They galloped into the campsite and Charlotte slipped from the mare’s back, with the canteen full of honey between her hands. She laughed, and held it above her head in a mock salute. Her eyes flashed, and her hair flew out wildly around her face. Harry watched her with a grin. She was breathtaking. He climbed down and tapped the end of her nose with his sticky finger. She squeaked, and pulled away, poking at the honey now stuck on her nose with a timid finger.
“Oh you rascal!” she cried, and wiped some honey that had escaped the cap of the canteen with her hand. She lunged at Harry, and slathered it across his bearded cheek. His eyes flew wide, and he grabbed her with both hands, covering her own cheek with a slathering of honey from the back of his hand. She squealed and squirmed in his grasp. He pulled her closer, and her face came within an inch of his. Their eyes met, and smiles faded in a single moment, as the noise and movement of the campsite faded away around them. Charlotte’s gaze dropped to his lips, and he felt time pause as the beat of their hearts resounded against one another through the thin fabric of their clothing.
Just then, Camilla and Maria emerged from the other side of the wagon, hands still full of cards.
“I still don’t think I’ve truly gotten the hang of this game,” complained Maria, rubbing her forehead with her free hand. “I’m so sorry, Camilla. You must be entirely sick of showing me how to play.”
“Not at all, Maria. I’m having a grand time.”
Charlotte pulled free of Harry’s embrace, and turned to greet them. “Honeycomb for everyone!” she cried.
The two women stared at Charlotte and Harry with eyes full of surprise, then hurried to meet them.
The honey was delicious, and Harry turned to unsaddle the mare, while Charlotte carried the canteen to the back of the wagon with Camilla and Maria chattering together by her side. He smiled. It was a risk to steal the honey, but one he’d been willing to take, just to see that smile on Charlotte’s face.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
After months on the trail, the chill of fall was settling in the air at night and the birds overhead had turned southward. A day earlier, they’d finally reached the head of the Bozeman Trail, after having taken their leave of the majority of the wagon train back in Wyoming. The others were headed to California, and now only three wagons made their way north into Montana Territory, with Harry driving the middle wagon. Justin and Winston were just up ahead in their own covered wagon, their quarter horses trailing behind them. And after Harry the young couple from Virginia, Fred and Maria Holloway, drove a pair of mules and towed a milk cow.
Harry’s oxen looked thin after their months of travel. The grasses of the prairies they’d left behind had browned in recent weeks, their heads bowing to the ground, no longer rebounding after the wheels of the wagon ran them over. The landscape had changed as they trudged toward the foothills of the Bighorn Range. Surrounded by evergreens such as junipers and spruce, food for the animals was scarce. They’d stopped in Caspar, Wyoming to stock up on molasses, hay and oats, but even that would be running low before long. They had to get settled in Cutter’s Creek before the cold of winter, in time to gather food for their stock.
Harry glanced around, taking in their surroundings with a single look. He felt jittery today. They’d run into some folk a few miles back who’d told them about the attacks on wagon trains along the Bozeman Trail by Red Cloud and his Lakota warriors, and the news had left him feeling unsettled.
They’d encountered various groups of natives on their way across the country, but none had given them any trouble. He hoped that would continue along the Bozeman Trail. The sooner they reached Cutter’s Creek the better. He gathered the reins tighter and clucked his tongue to the oxen, encouraging them to pick up the pace and catch up to the forward wagon.
His restless eyes studied their surroundings yet again, taking in the slow, lazy river on their right and the looming foothills on their left. It would be a great place for an ambush, he noted with some concern – nowhere to run other than back south down the trail or further north into who knew what kind of trap.
He shivered as the cool morning air bit through his woolen shirt and vest. He’d have to wear more layers soon. It seemed Montana Territory would be colder than anything they’d experienced of the New World so far, if the current fall weather was anything to go by.
Charlotte and Camilla walked just ahead of the oxen. They strode along side by side, and looked to be deep in conversation about something. Their voices were ju
st out of range and he couldn’t pick up what they were discussing, but it must have been of great interest since they rarely looked up as they walked.
He’d continued meeting with Justin and Winston every morning for prayer before they set off for the day. And he’d begun to feel a peace deep inside about life, a type of peace he’d never felt before. It was new and yet familiar in an odd kind of way – as though he’d always known it was there, but just out of reach.
He’d attended the small church in Greyburn for most of his life, and it had seemed a waste of time given that nothing ever came of it. But the times of prayer on the trail had been different. Something inside of him had changed, and he’d felt what he now knew to be the presence of God. It was a life-changing experience for him, but one he hadn’t spoken of with anyone yet. He wasn’t even sure how to put his experience into words.
Justin and Winston knew about it, of course – they’d been there with him through it all. They’d prayed with him, listened to his confessions, encouraged him through the difficult days and sat with him when there were no words left. The strength of the feelings he’d experienced through those times – love, acceptance, peace – had transported him into the presence of God and he’d reveled in it, worshiping and praying for what seemed like hours some evenings.
Now, every time he turned to God he felt a tingling all over, a sensation of being completely known and completely loved. An intimacy he’d never thought possible. He smiled. Life just kept bringing such unexpected surprises his way. He chuckled as he remembered how he used to feel about God, and how much his life had now changed because of Him. In all honesty, he felt like a different person.
If only Charlotte knew. He’d have to find a way to tell her. For some reason, having her know about what had happened in his life would somehow make it all more real.
A sharp sound in the woods spooked Honey, and she whinnied and jumped around, her feet tip-tapping the ground. He swung his head about with a frown. Just behind him, the Holloways sat still, looking straight ahead on their wagon seat. Behind them, Harry saw three braves, bows raised ready to fire.
He stood to his feet, the reins still in his hands and shouted. “Fred! Behind you!”
Fred spun around and immediately shouted to his mules, raising the whip high above his head to bring down on their backs.
Harry sat and slapped the reins down hard, reaching for his whip to spur the oxen on. “Charlotte, Cammie, get in the wagon!”
The oxen leaped forward and the women spun around in fright. When they saw the braves in hot pursuit of the Holloway wagon, they hurried to comply with Harry’s request. First Cammie, then Charlotte clambered into the wagon as Harry slowed it for them. Then he whipped the oxen back into a gallop. They were unaccustomed to galloping with the wagon in tow after months of plodding, and shook their heads and rolled their eyes with displeasure.
Winston looked back to see what the noise was about, then spurred his oxen on as well, their horses snorting and whinnying in fright behind the wagon.
Harry handed the reins to Charlotte. “You’ll have to drive. I’m going to load the rifle and pistol.” He climbed into the wagon as it shook and rattled up the bumpy trail.
Finding the rifle and pistol, he loaded them, then scrambled back out to the wagon seat. Wriggling to the edge of the board, he leaned around the side to assess the situation. A brave was almost on them, just a few feet from him. He grunted in surprise and lifted the pistol to fire a single shot. He hit the warrior in the side and the man fell from his horse with a hollow thud. His eyes widened, and he quickly reloaded the pistol.
Another brave closed in on them, but when he saw the pistol raised, he reined his horse quickly behind the canvas wagon cover. Harry squeezed his way over to the other side of the wagon and saw that the brave had pulled off to the side, disappearing into the thick woods.
He looked back to see the Holloways’ wagon had been overwhelmed and the mules pulled to a stop. Braves had climbed aboard and taken the young couple hostage. He watched in horror as they killed Fred with a long, sharp knife. Maria screamed. He aimed and was about to fire his rifle when he saw them throw Maria onto the back of one of their painted ponies and take off south into the woods. She was still alive. But for how long?
He scanned the woods. It seemed as though they were gone – he couldn’t see anyone else pursuing them. He turned to face the front again, his entire body shaking, and lay the rifle and pistol at his feet. He clenched the board beneath him with both hands, his knuckles white. “You can slow down now, Charlotte.”
She pulled the reins. “Whoa, whoa there.” The oxen complied and were soon walking sedately along the track as before. They puffed loudly, snorting and clashing horns.
Winston had stopped up ahead, and he and Justin leaped from the wagon to hurry back, each carrying a rifle. “Where are the Holloways?” asked Winston, his eyebrows raised in concern.
“Gone.” Harry’s voice was hollow, his eyes downcast. “Fred’s dead. They took Maria with them.”
Charlotte gasped and Camilla cried out in dismay.
Justin’s eyes narrowed. “Those lousy …”
“They left the wagon with Fred. We’ll go back and get him,” said Harry.
“Okay,” replied Winston, removing his hat and staring down the trail with vacant eyes.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
It was a somber group that pulled into Cutter’s Creek the following Monday: three covered wagons, only five travelers. Charlotte heaved a sigh of relief as they passed a swinging sign on a timber board that read the much-anticipated town’s name.
Such a long journey, so many fields, prairies, hills, rivers and mountains left behind.Some friendships made and others lost. She felt so different from the young woman who’d set out from New York all those months ago. Never mind the girl who’d left England – she didn’t recognize herself as the same person.
She patted Honey’s neck and stood in the stirrups to stretch. She wondered if the people of Cutter’s Creek would notice or mind that she rode astride. They didn’t bring a sidesaddle with them on the trail, and she’d ridden so long astride now that she barely considered sidesaddle at all. She didn’t think she’d ever go back to riding that way – it was so much more comfortable sitting with one leg on either side of her mount. Although she was looking forward to fashioning some kind of riding outfit that didn’t bunch up around her legs the way her skirts did.
It was late in the evening when they pulled into town, and in the frigid temperatures of the fall night the streets were already empty. Only the slow curl of smoke from chimneys up and down the main street revealed where the town’s occupants were hidden away. Beyond the main street were scattered a few homes to the right and left, and the street itself housed a number of businesses, including a mercantile and café, from what she could see.
They plodded past a small red chapel, its paint dark in the failing light. She raised her eyebrows in surprise – it was an odd sight to see a chapel painted that hue. Such a pretty chapel with criss-crossing white thatching beneath the red boards. It sat in the center of town on a small grassy lot with a tall oak tree out front that threw the whitewashed entryway into shadow.
“We’re here.” She pulled Honey close to the wagon and saw that Camilla was dozing beside Harry, her head bobbing with the movement of the oxen. “Cammie dearest, we’re here. We made it to Cutter’s Creek. Wake up.” She reached up and gently shook Camilla awake.
Camilla’s eyes opened gradually, then she sat up straight, her mouth popping open. “Where are we?” She rubbed her eyes and yawned widely.
“We’re in Cutter’s Creek.”
“Really? We’re here?”
“Yes.” Charlotte felt hot tears prick in her eyes. They’d thought about, dreamed about and hoped for this day for so long. It had felt as though it were an elusive fantasy, not a real destination. It was even more quaint than she’d pictured it in her mind’s eye. The houses were cozy and the streets narro
w but friendly. A pleasant silence filled the empty space around them, punctuated by the occasional happy sound, such as a cow lowing, a dog barking or a baby crying. Sounds of life, of civilization – sights and sounds that were so very sweet to the ears of all who’d traveled so far to see and hear them.
“Where do you suppose Aunt and Uncle live?” Camilla, now fully awake and studying the town around them, asked Harry.
“I couldn’t say. I suppose we’ll have to stop and ask someone.” He pulled the oxen to a stop and leaped from the seat, looking more lively than he had ever since the attack on the Bozeman Trail. None of them had really recovered from the gruesome event. They’d returned to the Holloways’ wagon after a suitable amount of time had passed to bury Fred’s body beside the trail and retrieve the wagon.
They weren’t sure what to do about Maria, but all decided that they couldn’t do anything for now and the best thing would be to continue on to Cutter’s Creek and report her kidnapping to the authorities. They’d keep her wagon, livestock and belongings until she could be recovered – if she was ever recovered.
Harry returned to report back to the group after having knocked on the nearest door. “They said the Todds live just there, a few doors down. Their name should be on the gate.”
“Well, I guess we’ll leave you here, then,” Justin called from his wagon seat.
“Where will you go?” asked Camilla.
“We’ll camp just outside town. No doubt we’ll see you soon enough.”
“Do you think you’ll stay for a while?” asked Harry.
Justin glanced at Winston, whose cheeks looked flushed even in the dim light. “I think so. We’ll stay a bit and see if it’s the kind of place we’d like to settle. Anyway, we’ll be here for a while at least.”