When Mountains Move

by Julie Cantrell

“It wasn’t my fault.” I close my eyes and wish I could make this all go away.

  But Bump wants more. He takes both my hands and makes me look at him. “I’m not mad, Millie. Tell me the truth.”

  “Bill Miller.” I cry harder now. Every time I say his name, it gets me.

  Bump’s teeth clench. He looks back at Bill’s limp body, and then he says, “Explain.”

  I tell Bump everything, starting from the beginning. How I went to church that morning with the Miller family. How I asked to stay, spend some time alone in the sanctuary. How Diana’s husband found me later, in the steeple, and forced himself on me, taking all I had, leaving only a seed. “I wanted to tell you about the ... the steeple, before the wedding, but I was afraid.”

  “You should have trusted me.” He paces quickly, a bad energy filling him. He looks back down the trail, but Fortner has yet to return.

  “I didn’t know I was pregnant, Bump. I would have never trapped you like that.” I follow him, begging, pleading for him to understand.

  “You didn’t trap me.” His voice is flat. I’ve never seen him so … consumed.

  “At first I didn’t know. I realize I should have, but I guess I was in denial. Kat’s the one who finally made me accept that I was carrying, back when I thought she was my friend.”

  Bump says nothing to this.

  “She told me which herbs I’d need. Said Fortner could help me. But he refused.”

  Bump kicks the trunk of a tree.

  “I wouldn’t have gone through with it.” I think of Isabel and feel disgusted by the plans I once had. “I’m so sorry, Bump. I never meant to hurt you. I was afraid. Afraid I’d lose you. Or that you wouldn’t understand. And I thought maybe I couldn’t be a good mother to her, after all that had happened.”

  “I gotta let this sink in,” Bump says. He takes a few steps, then turns back to me. “All this time, I thought it was River.”

  The woods have grown quiet now. Even the wind is holding its breath.

  Bump spits, as if the truth is more than he can swallow. He walks to Bill Miller’s mangled body and gives it a hard, angry kick. Then another. I wince with each blow. Then Bump stands over the man who raped me. He holds his gun above Bill Miller’s face. “Well, one thing’s for sure,” Bump says, spitting again, this time onto Bill’s face. “This monster got what he deserved.” Then Bump shoots him, right between the eyes.

  Chapter 35

  Fortner sits at the table, his arms crossed. Oka sits in the corner, rocking Isabel. I sit next to Bump on the sofa, his arms tight around me. He knows not to let me go. Every time he does, I cry. I still can’t believe we’re alive. That Bill Miller is dead, and that my family is safe.

  Sheriff Halpin stands in the doorway. “All right,” he says. “You first, Bump. What happened?”

  The sheriff has seen the body. He knows the lion did a lot of damage, but what he doesn’t know is whether the bullet entered Bill’s head before or after the lion took her share.

  Oka passes Bump a glass of water, a sign of support.

  “Bump didn’t kill him,” I say for the third time since this interrogation started. But my voice cracks and I worry the sheriff may take that as a sign of stress. Of dishonesty. He doesn’t believe a mountain lion would attack a grown man for no reason. They tend to try to avoid people, not pounce on them. Especially when there are plenty of deer to catch instead. The sheriff looks around the room, trying to read the faces of everyone present. Then he turns to Fortner, and a flash of satisfaction crosses his face. Halpin may have finally found his chance to lock him away.

  Fortner looks the sheriff in the eye but says nothing.

  “Let me guess. You’re going to deny this one too?” It’s clear Halpin wants to blame the shooting on Fortner, even if the bullet had nothing to do with Bill Miller’s death.

  “What difference does it make?” Fortner says.

  Bump speaks up, defends Fortner. “As excited as that idea must make you, Sheriff, Fortner did nothing wrong.”

  “From what I can tell, he fired his gun.” Halpin gives Fortner a cold, hard look, while talking about him as if he isn’t in the room. “Seems a likely story that Fortner killed this man, hauled his body into the woods, and left him there for the lions to find.”

  “Fortner did no such thing. He was only there because I asked him for help,” Bump explains. “The lion killed Bill Miller. Whether you believe it or not, it’s the truth. Millie saw the whole thing. She can tell you. We moved the body down the mountain, not up.”

  I nod at the sheriff, who still looks confused.

  “But both guns were fired,” Halpin says.

  “We shot to scare the lions away,” Bump explains. “He was already dead when we found him.”

  “Then why shoot the man?” Halpin asks Bump. “If he was already dead, as you say, then you weren’t trying to put him out of his misery. What made you put a bullet in his brain before you retrieved the body? What am I missing here?”

  The room swells with silence.

  “Seems to me, somebody’s not telling the whole truth.” Sheriff Halpin continues to glare at Fortner.

  “Maybe somebody’s not asking the right questions.” Fortner walks toward the window and points outside. Diana sits on the porch, head in her hands, crying.

  Sheriff Halpin opens the door. “Mrs. Miller?”

  Diana looks up. She’s white as a sheet, with makeup rolling down her face. Her entire body shivers from shock. She cries, “What have I done?”

  Sheriff Halpin looks back to Bump for an explanation. I nod, giving my husband the permission he seeks to tell everyone the truth. Bump exhales, squeezes my hand, and starts at the beginning. He spills years’ worth of secrets and shame. But I don’t care anymore who knows. It doesn’t matter what the sheriff thinks of me. Bump is safe. Isabel is safe. That’s all that matters. We will deal with the rest in time.

  Dishes clatter, feet shuffle across the wooden floors, and the smell of morning coffee stirs me from sleep. Oka must be cooking breakfast. Bump is still in bed with me. Isabel, too. It’s the first time we’ve ever slept in together, letting the chores take last priority. Bump brushes my hair from my face and looks long into my eyes. Isabel stirs between us.

  “I love you,” he says. And never did the words hold more meaning.

  I kiss him, softly. Freely. The room is heavy with emotion.

  “I’m sorry, Bump. I’ve made so many mistakes.”

  “Shh.” He kisses me again. “We both have.”

  I rest against him, finding no words for what I feel. Finally, Bump speaks. “Sheriff’s decided to stay with Diana. He’s going with her all the way to Mississippi. She’s too upset to travel alone. Especially with the remains.”

  “I’m so worried about her. And Camille.” Now the tears start to fall again, despite my best efforts not to cry. Because of me, Camille has no father. Diana, no husband. Bill Miller may have been a monster to me, but now they’re the ones who will pay for his sins.

  “They’ll be all right,” Bump says. “They’ve got Mabel.” An angel there to catch their fall.

  I think about that row of dominoes. One choice leading to another. “This is all my fault.”

  Bump pulls me closer. “Nothing about this is your fault, Millie. That man brought this on himself. He got what he deserved.”

  “But if I had told the truth, from the start …”

  “Shh,” he says again. “It’s all over now.”

  When we finally crawl out of bed, we find Oka and Fortner sitting in silence by the fireplace, as if the whole world has been placed on pause. Bump and I move to the love seat, and Isabel jumps into Bump’s lap. Now that everyone knows the truth, Oka wants more. She confronts Fortner, direct as always. We are all tired of secrets and surprises.

  “You really kill two women?” Oka asks.

&
nbsp; Fortner gives her a look of understanding, as if he realizes she’s only trying to free him, too. We wait to hear his story. He clears his throat and looks down to his moccasins.

  “Halpin shot Ingrid.” Oka nods, as if that’s all she needed to hear, but Fortner continues to argue his case. “You think for a second he’d let me go if I was really the one to blame?”

  “Why’d he do it?” Bump asks, bending to stoke the fire. Isabel moves from his lap to mine.

  “He didn’t mean to hurt her,” Fortner explains. “Not his fault any more than mine, I suppose. We brought it on ourselves. Ingrid just got caught in it.”

  “Sounds like you really cared about her,” I say. The coffee percolates, and Oka heads to the kitchen.

  Fortner looks out the window, nods, and says, “I did.”

  Oka pours a cup of coffee and brings it to Fortner. No sugar. No cream. He motions for her to sit beside him again on the hearth. She sits, letting silence soothe his scars.

  No one asks about the other woman, the one who lived here at the ranch. The one folks say he shot when he was a young boy. But Fortner knows it’s what we’re all thinking. Like me, he’s ready to bury the burden. He is ready to tell the truth. He starts with a sigh, and then allows the secrets to surface.

  “I was just a kid,” he begins. “Living in the woods after my folks left. I came and went those first few years, hopping trains, working the mines. Made it all the way to California by the time I was fifteen.”

  It’s hard for me to imagine a boy so young, all on his own. But then I realize I was sixteen when I became an orphan. Oka was already married with children by that age. Bump was working to support his family long before then. Survivors, all of us.

  “I came back through town, looking for work,” Fortner continues. “Found a new family living here on the ranch, and I thought they might hire me. I knew this land like no one else. It was my home. I had a horse by then. A sound mare that looked just like Firefly.” Fortner looks at me, and I smile. “Best horse you could have asked for. I let her lead me through the woods, to make camp, but it was getting dark, and I couldn’t see.” He gets upset now. Stops talking.

  “I didn’t see,” he says again, as if he’s trying to convince us.

  “It’s okay,” I tell him. I know how hard it is to say things out loud. I don’t want him to feel forced to do this. Oka moves closer against his side and touches his knee. Her kindness gives him the courage to continue.

  “She stepped in a trap,” Fortner explains, clutching his cup as the coffee steams above the rim. “It clamped her leg tight and there was nothing I could do. Best horse, I tell you. The best horse.”

  His voice cracks. It’s clear he’s fighting tears. He blows on his coffee and takes a sip before continuing.

  “I was all bent out of shape,” Fortner admits. “Had no choice but to shoot her. I was still a kid. Just a kid. And that horse, well, she was all I had.”

  Oka wipes tears from her eyes. I do too.

  “The family must have heard the shot. They all came out with guns, ready to fire. They circled me in the woods, threatening me, demanding to know my name, where I’d stolen the horse from. I was furious. It was their trap. You see? They had done this. Not me.”

  He stands again. Paces now. His voice is tightening.

  “I fired a shot. I did. I yelled at them, and I shot straight into the air. I threatened them too, but I didn’t kill that woman.” Fortner sounds desperate now, ready to leave all this behind him. Ready to release the blame.

  “We believe you,” Bump says calmly. “I know you don’t have it in you to do such a thing.”

  Fortner faces the wall. I assume it’s his attempt to hide his tears.

  “But the woman die?” Oka asks, still trying to put the pieces together.

  Fortner nods.

  “If not you, then who?” I ask.

  “Her son,” Fortner answers, finally turning back to face us. “He was small, even younger than me. But he was aiming right at me. The woman moved just as he pulled the trigger. She was trying to stop him from shooting me.”

  I pull my hands to my mouth. “He shot his own mother?” I can’t imagine anything worse.

  Fortner nods. “They didn’t want to hang it on him. What else could they do?”

  “They blamed you?” Bump asks.

  “They blamed me.”

  Later, at night, I crawl into bed next to my husband. I sink into Bump’s strong hold and hope he never lets me go.

  “Bump,” I say. “There’s something I still need to know.”

  He waits. Runs his fingers through my hair.

  “I came back to Kat’s house that first night. I saw you there, with her asleep in your lap. I know it’s all over now, but if there’s anything else you need to tell me. Any more secrets …”

  “Millie.” Bump kisses me softly, his lips lingering long on mine. “I was never with Kat. I promise. I was a fool. That’s all. I stayed because she asked me. She said she was afraid to be alone, scared somethin’ might happen to her father after I left. And she was right too. I sat on the sofa to wait it out. Just to monitor him until I was sure he was stable. But then Kat started talkin’, tellin’ me everything about her mother, the cancer, the day her husband left. She went on and on, Millie. I tried to stay awake and listen, but I kept noddin’ off. Next thing I knew, the sun was comin’ up. I woke hours later to find her head in my lap and Mr. Fitch not breathin’.”

  Whether his story makes any sense or not, I believe him, and for the next several moments we hold each other tight, whispering words of forgiveness. Then Bump moves his finger slowly across my neck, tracing the line of my collarbone, down into the subtle dip of my throat. My body fires, and in this moment, I feel the passion for my husband that I have always felt for River.

  My hands explore him, and every nerve within me sizzles with heat. He turns, gently over me, and I don’t tense up. I don’t spin away. I don’t pretend I’m Kat.

  “I told you, didn’t I?” Bump runs his fingers through my hair. “When we moved here.”

  “You told me lots of things,” I say. “That Fortner was no killer. That you’d never let anyone hurt me. That we could turn a profit with this ranch.”

  “Was I right?”

  “You were right.” I kiss him.

  He smiles. “And I said we’d be okay here. That everything would work out.”

  The house is dark. Quiet. Isabel sleeps soundly in her crib. I look into Bump’s safe blue eyes, kiss him once more, and say, “I really am the luckiest girl in the world.”

  The next morning, we stay in bed, with Isabel climbing between us. We talk, we read, we snuggle. Outside, the air cools, the colors shift, and the elk sing.

  I’ve twisted and turned in bed as we’ve laughed and played, trying to revive our spirits, treating Isabel to tickles and pillow fights. In all the commotion, I’ve ended up backwards, with my head falling over the edge, and that’s where I notice the twin peaks in the distance, the very ones I’ve stared at through this window for years. The ones we first saw when we moved to Colorado. When I pointed them out and asked Bump if he really thought we could move mountains.

  “Bump?” I ask. “Come here.”

  “Again?” he teases. “You gotta go easy on me, Millie.”

  I laugh and tell him to behave. “I’m serious. Come see.”

  He moves next to me, his head hanging over the foot of the bed like a child. Isabel climbs over us and does the same, laughing. “You see what I see?”

  “Um … mountains?”

  “How many?” I ask.

  Bump looks confused.

  “Look again. You see the twin peaks? The ones from my dream?”

  He looks where I point but says nothing.

  “They’ve moved.” I release a laugh.

  “What are you t
alking about?” Bump twists to get a better look from my angle.

  “See? From here, it looks like they’ve finally come together. They stand as one. Just like you said they would.”

  Bump moves closer and brushes my hair from my face. “But that’s not really what happened at all, is it?” Bump says, softly. “The truth is, Millie. It’s you who had to move. And me, too.”

  I take in what Bump is saying, thinking long and hard about the real message of that verse his mother taught him: “If ye have faith as a grain of mustard seed, ye shall say unto this mountain, Remove hence to yonder place; and it shall remove; and nothing shall be impossible unto you.”

  I remember the traditional Choctaw dress Oka made for me. The one with the half diamonds that represented mountains, the road of life. Maybe Bump is right. Maybe that’s what Oka was trying to say all along. The only way we can really change anything is by changing ourselves.

  Bump wraps his arms around us and calls us his girls. Outside, the mountains stay strong. In here, I feel strong too. Strong. And brave. And safe. The three of us. Bump, Isabel, and me. The We.

  Chapter 36

  It’s been three months since Diana returned to Mississippi to bury her husband. The sheriff returned to Colorado once he knew she was safely surrounded by loved ones. Tomorrow, we will celebrate Isabel’s second birthday and another swift spin around the sun. But for now, I am sitting by the fire with my daughter, rereading a letter from Camille.

  Dear Millie,

  Every spring when the clovers bloom, I make crowns, just like you taught me. I keep them in a special box in my room. I wore one to Daddy’s funeral so I would feel brave. Then I made a wish, and you know what? I think Daddy heard me. He sent me a rainbow, all the way from heaven. Mabel says that was a sign that everything’s going to be okay. Mama says Mabel’s right. She also says we will come visit you soon, maybe for Isabel’s baptism. I made a crown for her. I hope she likes it.

  I love you, Sis.

  Camille

  I place the letter back in its envelope, an oversized plain white business casing, nothing pink or perfume-laced this time. Then I pull the clover crown from the package and place it on Isabel’s head. She reaches up and feels the tiny white blooms. “You are brave,” I tell her.