Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Epilogue
This
Wilderness
Journey
Heart of the Mountains
Book 2
Misty M. Beller
How think ye? If a man have an hundred sheep, and one of them be gone astray, doth he not leave the ninety and nine, and goeth into the mountains, and seeketh that which is gone astray?
Matthew 18:12 (KJV)
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Chapter One
NOVEMBER, 1852
Canadian Rocky Mountains
I am the luckiest man alive. Here I stand at the edge of the world, nothing below me but rock and mountain and snow and a lake so clear it reflects the sky like green moss. It’s not yet frozen, but I know it soon will be. Another wonder of God. The stack of His marvels so high it stretches as far as I can see.
And here I stand in the midst of them. A place as beautiful as heaven, surely.
So why do my eyes sting? Why does my heart ache?
What do I long for?
If I could form it with words, maybe then I would know what I seek. I could focus my restless energy on a goal. A single purpose that would make this life worth living.
How much longer can I live with this flood of emotion that churns through my mind and chest? How much longer can I withstand this saturation of feeling before I lose the ability to feel at all?
Maybe I am there already.
Joseph Malcom closed his leather journal and stared out at the view one last time. Snowcapped peaks stretching as far as he could see, rising into the heavens, some of them covered completely by clouds. Far below, scrawny pines and firs darkened the valleys, winding around and between the green pools that dotted the flat ground.
The wild beauty of this land had fascinated him since he’d first traveled into this country. The craving to explore these peaks had been part of what urged him to stay on here in these Canadian Rockies instead of returning to Baltimore—the only other place he could think of as home.
Even after the violence that had stripped away his wholeness, this landscape drew him still. His limp hand no longer throbbed, just hung without life. Useless.
The ache in his chest had changed. Shifted. Become more like a longing. An itch to keep moving. If he had to assign a word to the tightness in his chest, he just might call it...pain.
But that was silly, because he was happy out here. Even maimed, he was free to come and go anywhere he wanted. And he loved that freedom. Really.
With a sigh, he rose to his feet and stepped toward Copper. Joseph used his right hand to scoop up his rifle from the cave entrance and headed toward his gelding. The animal nibbled at tiny grass shoots but raised its head when Joseph neared.
After slipping the rifle in the scabbard tied to his saddle, he patted Copper’s neck and strode around to the near side to mount. Once in the saddle, he scanned his campsite one last time to make sure he’d packed everything. The rocky cave opening no longer yawned dark and foreboding as it once had.
Now its murky depth seemed more like a welcoming hideaway. Home. Almost.
At the very least, a landing spot where he could come after each of his wanderings. Near enough to his sister’s new cabin and the ranch in the valley below where his aunt and uncle raised their livestock. But up here, he wasn’t so near that he intruded on their privacy. With Emma still adjusting to her new family life, she needed to get her bearings without her twin brother hovering.
Or maybe the separation was for him. He didn’t know anymore.
He steered Copper toward the trail. It’d been over a month since his last visit, so it was time to check in on them.
As the horse picked its way down the mountain, Joseph’s gaze followed a path leading off to the right. It didn’t look as if that trail had seen much traffic lately. The hot springs there weren’t as large as the pools farther north where the nearby tribe of Peigan Blackfoot Indians preferred to visit. That suited Joseph just fine. Here, just a short ride from his cave, it felt almost as though the mineral water served as his private bath.
He ran a grimy hand over his equally grimy face. He probably should have availed himself of the pleasure before heading to see Em. He ducked his chin to sniff his shirt. Yes, that would have been the wiser choice.
The air seeped out of him, sagging his shoulders. He didn’t have the energy to stop and unpack everything for a bath now. In truth, he itched to see Em again. And baby Hannah, and even Simeon. People.
No...they were more than that. They were his family. Though they didn’t need him anymore, and no matter how much he tried to love the nomadic life he lived now, some days left an ache in his chest to return to the old days. Days when he could stop in to check on Emma any time he wanted. The days she relied on him.
He pushed Copper into a longer stride as the ground leveled off, and they skirted a patch of fir trees. He could stop for a second at the creek ahead. The water would be icy, but at least he could clean the worst of the trail dirt from his hands and face.
That way, Emma would let him play with his pudgy-cheeked niece. Maybe he’d give her his carved blocks today instead of waiting for her birthday next week. One year. It was hard to believe it had been only twelve months since he and his sister had arrived in Canada. That trip seemed like another lifetime. As if he’d always roamed these mountains, climbing rocky peaks just to see the view from the crest.
The water in the creek was as cold as he’d expected, and it roused his senses better than coffee used to, pumping blood so strong he could feel its thump without touching his neck. After using his good hand to swing back on Copper, he guided the gelding back to the trail.
Within moments, the little three-room cabin came into view, the door open wide and light filtering from inside. A horse stood tied to the front porch rail. A rail that hadn’t been there on his last visit. Simeon must be keeping busy these days.
Joseph reined Copper to a stop in the yard and tied him a few paces away from the bay mare. “Hold tight, boy.” He stroked the gelding, and Copper eased out a long sigh, dropping his head as if he planned to use the respite for a nap. Joseph patted the animal one last time on the rump, then he stepped away. He did the same to the mare, taking her measure as he passed. She was more gangly than Em’s mare, and a little taller. He didn’t recognize her from Uncle Adrien’s stock, but she might be a new horse they were breaking in.
Voices drifted from the open door. Emma’s laugh. A child’s squeal. A deeper chuckle, but not rich enough to be Simeon’s.
Joseph’s senses jumped to alert, and he stopped inside the doorway to let his eyes adjust to the dimmer light.
“Joey!” A chair scraped, and the ruffle of Emma’s skirts gave him enough warning to brace before his sister lunged into his arms.
He caught her, clinging with a grip almost a
s tight as the one she held on him. Something flipped in his chest, strengthening the longing. Em was like the other half of him. He’d stayed away much too long.
She drew back to study his face, her eyes seeking out more than he was ready to reveal. He looked past her, pushing aside her scrutiny. “Where’s my niece hiding?”
“Ba!” A squeal from the table was accompanied by a banging on the wood. He smiled at the rosy face that grinned at her mother triumphantly. The child had some kind of muddy mixture spread across her cheeks and in her brown curls, not to mention on her hands, the spoon, and the table.
Another chair scraped, and Joseph pulled Emma aside so he could get a look at the person rising from the seat at the other end of the table.
“Joseph, you remember Father Bergeron.” Emma kept a firm hold on his elbow as he stepped forward. “He’s the missionary working with the Indian tribe in the next valley.”
The tension in his shoulders eased as he took in the man’s black collar and robes, the somber color broken only by the silver crucifix hanging from his neck, tucked into the cloth belting his waist.
Joseph extended his hand. “Father. Good to see you.”
A touch of a smile softened the priest’s leathered face. “Monsieur Malcom. You are always a blessing.”
He couldn’t help but raise his brows at that, but he held his tongue. A blessing didn’t describe him much these days. Turning his focus on the imp sitting at the other end of the table, he descended on her. “And how’s my little muffin? Are you good enough for Uncle Joey to eat?” He went in for a bite, using his whiskers to tickle her neck as she succumbed to giggles, tucking her chin and squirming away.
After a little more teasing, he straightened and turned back to the adults, focusing on Emma. “Where’s Simeon?”
Emma stepped to the counter and poured from a pitcher. “He’s helping Jock with the cattle today. Do you want a glass of milk?”
He grinned. “Milk? You are domestic these days.”
She turned a sweet grin on him and extended the cup. “You could use some domestic.”
That remark struck a bit close to home, but he kept his grin in place to disguise the hit.
The priest cleared his throat. “I am once again reminded of God’s grace to his children, for in my prayers this morning, I mentioned how much I wished I might find you today.”
The words were so unexpected, Joseph had to replay them in his head to make sure he’d heard correctly through the French accent. “You wanted to find me?” He hadn’t meant for his voice to pitch high at the end, and it made him feel too much like a school boy.
The twinkle in the other man’s dark gaze sparkled like the white of his hair. “I have a great favor to ask, and I can’t think of a man more capable for the job.”
“What’s that.” Something about the way those sparkling eyes regarded him made his neck itch. Or maybe he was afraid they could see into his soul. This man made a good priest with his love of the Scriptures, his gentle bearing, and that penetrating gaze. Did he see a hollowness where Joseph’s soul should reside?
And where had that thought come from?
“My cousin is coming to help in my work,” Father Bergeron said. “I sent word for Monty to ride with a freighter as far as Fort Hamilton and promised I would provide transportation from there.” A frown deepened the lines on his forehead, and the twinkle faded from his eyes. “There is sickness with the tribe of Blood Indians, and I hate to leave them in this time of need. Just when they’re beginning to open to me.” Something like a sadness passed through his gaze, then it firmed to resolve. “But I can’t leave Monty at the fort much longer either.”
He fingered the cord holding the crucifix around his neck. “You’re well-versed in the land around us. Would you be willing to bring my cousin the remaining distance to our camp?”
Joseph tilted his head, calculating what the request would involve. “You mean travel to Fort Hamilton?” That was a three-day trip at least. “When do you expect your cousin to be there?”
The priest’s gaze squinted toward the open door as if he could see over the distance to determine when this Monty fellow would arrive. “I imagine Monty’s already there waiting. It’s been long enough.” He turned back to Joseph, a plea on his kind face. “Would you be willing?”
And when a man of God looked at him like that, how could he decline? He raised a shoulder and glanced at Emma. “I suppose. Now is a good time to travel, before winter hits.” A chill had already crept into the autumn air. Time was growing short before snow would come in earnest.
“God bless you.” Father Bergeron stepped closer and took Joseph’s good hand, clasping it in both of his.
The warmth of the human contact crept up Joseph’s arm and settled in his chest. His mouth even threatened to return the man’s smile.
“My cousin’s surname is Bergeron, as well. I sent word to Monsieur Hamilton requesting secure lodgings, so ask at the trading post. I’m sure they can direct you.”
The man withdrew his hand and turned to Emma. “Now that my work here is accomplished, I need to get back.”
In less than a minute they’d bid the priest farewell, and a strange quiet descended over the cabin.
Hannah squawked, and Emma stepped over to clean up the messy toddler. Joseph couldn’t bring himself to move, as though his mind hung suspended mid-thought.
“Does that mean you’re leaving right away?” Emma’s quiet voice broke through his fog, and he turned to meet her gaze as she settled Hannah on the wooden floor.
He let out a breath and scrubbed a hand through his unruly hair. “I suppose so. It sounded like he’s worried about his cousin staying too long at the fort.” He scrunched his face. “I would be too with the reputation of the place.”
She tipped her head. “It’s bad?”
He squinted one eye at her. “Fort Whoop-up? Haven’t you heard what the Blackfeet say about it?”
She raised both brows. “I don’t meet as many people as you these days.”
He snorted. The picture she painted was cock-eyed.
Then her face turned thoughtful. “While you’re there, could you check on a shipment I ordered? It’s possible it came with the freighter who brought Father Bergeron’s cousin.”
Joseph eyed her. “Sure. Anything special in it?” Something about the pink tinging her cheeks raised his curiosity.
“Maybe.”
He drilled her with his gaze as she turned to wipe the table and chair. She could feel his question, he was pretty sure of it.
At last she peered up at him with a soft smile, the pink in her cheeks blooming wider. “I ordered a guitar for Simeon.”
A darkness spread through his chest, rising up to cut off his air. “Why’d you do that? I gave him mine, remember?”
Her eyes turned gentle. “You’ll want yours back, Joey.”
His gut churned, and he ground his teeth as he fought to keep his voice low for the sake of the child playing on the rug. “I can’t play it, Emma. I won’t ever be able to play it.” He held up his left hand, the useless fingers curling in scrawny, deformed balls. “Keep the guitar. I won’t need it.”
He spun and charged toward the door, the burn inside overcoming all his good intentions.
“Joseph.” His sister’s tone broke through the noise inside him. The sharp command in her voice pulling him to a stop. He could feel her intensity all the way to his core, but he didn’t turn to face her.
“Joey, don’t leave. Please. Stay and play with Hannah. She’s missed you. We all have.”
He let the air seep from his lungs, stealing his anger with it. His accident hadn’t been Emma’s fault. She shouldn’t have to bear his temper. And he couldn’t deny the longing in her tone. In truth, it connected with the yearning in his own chest. The bond of twins was a physical connection, soul deep.
Turning, he couldn’t quite meet her eyes, but he stepped over to the rug and settled down beside his niece.
“You’
ll at least stay the night, won’t you?”
He let his gaze roam Hannah’s features as her finger stroked the soft rabbit fur that formed hair for her carved doll. “I’ll leave in the morning.” The words thickened the air between them, but not as dense as the weight they’d lodged in his chest.
Leaving shouldn’t bother him anymore. It was a skill he’d honed this last year. He should be good at it by now.
FORT HAMILTON FELT like a city. There were half a dozen people visible in the open square as Joseph rode through the main gates. Two men in buckskins stood talking to an Indian brave beside a building along the perimeter wall. Blackfoot by the look of the man. Another trapper stood near them, watching the interaction as he stroked a long beard. Joseph headed that direction.
“Haloo, the fort.” He halted Copper and the two pack horses trailing him, then slid to the ground in front of the man.
“Howdy.”
Joseph paused to take in the man’s grubby clothes and unkempt hair. Except for the heavy salting in his beard, Joseph probably looked just as bad. A glance down at his buckskins confirmed it. At least he’d stopped to wash his face and hands at the last river crossing. And he’d shaved before he left Emma’s cabin, so he only had four days’ growth on his face. Still, he’d have been tarred and feathered back in Texas if he’d let himself slip into this grubby unwashed state. But that had been another life.
Maybe once he found the priest’s cousin, he could search out a place for a decent bath. At the very least, he could head back to that last river.
Joseph extended his good hand to the man, who took it with a shade of curiosity tinging his expression.
“I’m looking for a fellow by the name of Monty Bergeron. He probably arrived here with a freighter and is waiting for someone to take him the rest of the way to an Indian mission.”
The trader’s mouth twisted, and a strange light crept into his eyes. “Bergeron, you say? The only Bergeron I know’s stayin’ in that there corner hut.” He motioned to the end of the row of buildings. “I’mma thinkin’ he’s not what yer expectin’ though.”
Joseph quirked a brow. He hadn’t really formed an expectation. Maybe a gray-haired priest like Father Bergeron. “’Preciate the help.” He started to turn away, then paused. “Is there a place a fella can pay for a bath around here? And maybe a laundry?”
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