He shrugged. “My father was the one who secured that job for me. He was an attorney. I never much liked being shut indoors all the time, even though it was sometimes a welcome reprieve from the scorching sun. A Texas summer could be as hot as the winter up here is cold.”
She scrambled for another question, anything to keep him talking. He’d never been this free with words, especially about himself. “And what of the town where you grew up? You said that was Baltimore?”
Reaching forward with his right hand, he tossed another log on the fire but kept hold of a strip of the wooden fiber. This he twisted around his finger as he spoke. “Baltimore was hot, too. A muggy kind of heat, but not as bad as Texas.”
What else could she ask that wouldn’t sound like prying? So many of the questions that sprang to mind were rather personal, but she chose one and hoped for the best. “Where did you learn to play the guitar?”
He didn’t answer right away. She watched him from the corner of her gaze. A direct stare probably would have spooked him, but if she needed to retract her question, she’d only know it by watching his expression.
He seemed to be remembering, his gaze locked on the fire as his fingers twisted that sliver of wood. “Our neighbor in Baltimore taught me. He was an Irishman, so I learned a lot of old Irish folk songs. I practiced when I could and learned how to pick out tunes to the other songs I knew.”
As she’d suspected. His easy manner of handling the guitar made it clear the instrument had been a long-time friend. A lifetime companion, it sounded like.
Everything within her wanted to ask about his injury. Would he ever be able to play an instrument with that hand? Yet something held her back. Maybe it was the fact that he’d finally opened up and revealed a little of himself.
The last thing she wanted was to put that dark look back on his face.
Chapter Eight
When I should be most unnerved, my Father places gifts along the way. Tokens of His love for me.
~ Monti’s Journal
ANTOINE HAD AGED.
It was Monti’s first thought as her father’s cousin descended from the cabin’s doorway to meet them in the snow. She stepped into his warm embrace, the one she’d loved as a girl whenever he came to visit them in Montreal. She always imagined hugs from her father would have felt like this. Maybe they had, and she’d replaced those early memories of Papa with Antoine’s visits.
“I have missed you.” She could barely push the words through the lump in her throat, and he responded with another squeeze.
Then he pulled back, gripping her elbows as he studied her face. “How are you, ma fifille?”
Monti smiled through her blurry vision at the old nickname. My little girl. She’d forgotten how much that simple moniker warmed her all the way through. “I am well. Very well now that we’ve finally reached you. And what of you? How do you fare?”
He patted her arm, then released her. “Blessed. God is bringing forth fruit from our efforts, and it gives me much joy.” He motioned past her. “Monsieur Malcom. You have accomplished your task with excellence. I cannot thank you enough for bringing my girl to me.”
She turned to catch Joseph’s reaction. From the first moment they met, she’d not been what he expected, which she knew had made his job much harder than he’d planned. Yet, once he’d pushed past his initial shock, he’d been kind and respectful, if a bit reserved. So unlike the type of men she’d learned to guard against.
He nodded toward Antoine as he held both their reins in his hand. “Glad to help.”
She couldn’t keep herself from adding on to that understated comment. “Joseph has been a gift from God, bringing me safely through the wilderness. He even saved me from an avalanche.”
The lines etched in Antoine’s forehead creased deeper. “Praise be to God for His protection.”
Joseph cleared his throat, scuffing his foot in the packed snow. “I’ll settle Miss Bergeron’s horse in the lean-to, then be on my way. Good to see you, Father.”
Monti straightened, a bit of uneasiness stirring in her chest. “You can’t leave yet. Stay and have the midday meal with us.” She glanced at her cousin. She’d not even stepped foot in his home, and already she was inviting people to eat at his table. But surely he wouldn’t mind.
“Of course. You must stay and break bread with us.” Antoine stepped forward. “I will settle the horses. You both go in and warm yourselves.”
Her cousin took one of the horses’ reins from Joseph, though he seemed reluctant to give them up. Monti couldn’t help the smile that tightened her chest as the two traipsed around the side of the cabin.
At the last moment, Antoine turned toward her. “Go in and settle your things, ma chère.”
She nodded, and as they disappeared past the corner of the building, she turned to see her new home.
She’d tried not to create any preconceptions about what Antoine’s home would look like. It was the base for his missionary work, after all. But somehow, she’d not expected a rough-hewn log cabin. Not as barren and dark as this structure. The walls seemed sturdy enough, however the door looked to be only two hand-cut boards held together by a couple of crossbeams. The cracks between the boards hadn’t been chinked as the walls were, so the wind could easily blow through. In fact, those cracks were wide enough for a person to peer inside.
As the door bounced shut behind her, darkness seemed to settle over the place. A fire in the hearth on the far left provided most of the light for the room. In the center, a trestle table held a lantern and a book—maybe a Bible—as well as several papers and an ink pot and quill. Benches lined the table, and a bedtick on the floor in the corner seemed to be the only other pieces of furniture. Crates sat stacked against the far right wall.
She’d promised a meal to Joseph, so she stepped toward the hearth first. The pot hanging there might hold food, if she were lucky. Inside, the bubbling, lumpy mass seemed to be stew. Just enough for the three of them, hopefully. She found a few dishes stacked on a small shelf beside the fireplace.
By the time Antoine stepped into the cabin with Joseph close on his heels, she had two finely carved bowls set out on the table, filled with stew. Since she’d only found the two bowls, she opted to use a tin cup for her own meal. And she’d filled the remaining cups with what seemed to be tea in the kettle.
“Place those packs here, beside the crates.” Antoine motioned toward the floor on the far end of the cabin.
Joseph seemed to have off-loaded most of the bundles from one of the pack horses, and now eased them down where the priest pointed.
“Our Peigan friends will appreciate these gifts.” Antoine sent a smile to Joseph that seemed almost fatherly. Then he swept his gaze over the table, landing on her. “You have been busy. I hope you found everything you sought. My humble home will blossom under your care, I can see.”
She could feel the surge of heat rise to her cheeks, but she motioned to the benches. “I’ve only served the food that was already prepared. We should eat before it cools.”
She’d placed her setting beside what she had assumed would be Antoine’s seat, but her cousin took the opposite side. Joseph allowed her to settle on the bench first, touching her elbow to balance her when she wobbled as she lifted her leg over. His touch sent a warmth all the way up her arm, but she did her best to ignore it.
When they were seated, Antoine bowed his head and spoke a simple prayer of gratefulness. Her heart swelled as she raised her own thanks to the Father. For bringing her here safely. For sending Joseph to accompany her. For placing this gentle man of God in her family and providing this place of refuge after her world in Montreal collapsed.
Just before Antoine spoke the amen, she glanced sideways at Joseph. His head was bowed, but his eyes stayed open, staring down at the table. Glassy. Something about his expression seemed void. As though he’d retreated to a distant place.
She didn’t have time to dwell on it though, because Antoine began peppering them with que
stions as soon as they started into their stew.
After he’d extracted the exciting elements about their journey from Joseph, he turned his focus on her. “And tell me, my cousin. Were you able to settle your mama’s business affairs suitably? I am sorry I could not come to you myself.”
The all too familiar wad of emotion surged in her throat, but she nodded. “Oui. Our steward agreed to take over the business. He paid for the rights to Papa’s inventions, and I signed it all to him.” Done. Perhaps she should have stayed and continued the work Papa and Mama had both taken such pride in, but matters of business held no allure for her. The chance to start over, to build a new life in this place of beginnings—the idea had called to her for some time now. If she could make a difference for at least one person, share the faith that had grounded her throughout her years, but especially these past few months, she would call herself blessed.
After they finished the meager meal, Joseph pushed to his feet. He seemed to be scanning the room, taking in the simplicity of it. “I brought in a stack of furs you can use for an extra pallet. Would you like me to string up some ropes before I go? You can use blankets to section off part of the room.”
Her gaze swept to the little cot in the corner. Antoine would find it hard to spend the nights on the floor, with the aches and pains increased years sometimes brought. She’d happily continue sleeping on the furs she’d been using. It was a wonder how comfortable and warm they could be. But a little privacy would be more than appreciated.
“Yes, that is good.” Her cousin was already motioning toward the cot. “I have rope. We can hang it over here.”
She didn’t argue the point yet. It would be easier to convince him when it was just the two of them. Then they could move the cot to the opposite corner, and she’d position the furs in the partitioned area.
With Joseph’s height and strength, they had the blankets hung in short order. He tied the knots with only the wrist of his left hand and the fingers of his right, and even managed to make the effort look natural.
She still hadn’t found the courage to ask about his injury. Would she never learn of it?
As Joseph finally bid them good-night and rode off into the dusky light of late afternoon, she couldn’t help the tightening in her chest. Lord willing, Joseph Malcom wouldn’t fade from her life just yet. There was still so much she wanted to know about him.
“HOW FAR AWAY DO THE Indians live?” Monti took another sip of her tea the next morning as she studied Antoine.
He spooned a bite of porridge into his mouth. “Less than an hour’s ride.” He seemed to be moving laboriously this morning, despite the fact that he’d said he wanted to get an early start.
If she knew what else to do to ready them, she would be up and about the work. But her cousin had said to sit and prepare herself, so she was doing exactly that. Asking all the questions that had lingered in her mind for weeks.
“What do the women spend their days doing?”
Antoine raised his gaze to her, a hint of a sparkle in one of his eyes. “Cooking, caring for the children. The things any wife busies herself with. Would you please bring my Bible here?”
She straightened and rose to obey his request. He must read Scripture just before departing for his work. That would make sense.
After placing the book in front of his bowl, she took her seat again.
“Now, read at the first letter to the Thessalonians. That is where I last stopped.”
She slid the book to rest in front of her, found the spot, and started in, trying her best to still her restless mind and focus on the words. The doing would happen soon. For now, she needed to prepare her heart and mind.
She’d barely started into the second verse when the sound of a horse drifted in through the front door. She jerked her head up. “Someone is here.” She’d been under the impression Antoine lived a distance away from any neighbors. Had someone heard of her coming and made the trip to welcome her?
He nodded, as though he wasn’t surprised by the news. “Welcome him in.”
Him. Antoine must be expecting someone he hadn’t told her about.
She rose and went to the door. After removing the brace that held it shut, she pulled the door open enough to peer outside.
Joseph Malcom met her gaze, his boot poised on the stoop as if he’d been about to climb up and knock.
She pulled the door open all the way and smiled through the rush of relief. “Good morning. I didn’t except to see you again so soon.”
He touched two fingers to the fur hood of his coat, as though tapping a hat brim. “Mornin’. I told the Father I’d help tote those supplies to the Indian town. It’s too much to carry behind your saddles.”
She couldn’t stop the flush that crept up her neck, although why it came on, she couldn’t have said. Instead she turned away. “Come in and have a cup of tea.”
As she filled a mug, she attempted to analyze why his coming made the day seem less daunting. The supplies would have been a challenge for them to transport, so an extra set of hands would be welcome. And perhaps he could help translate if the Indians didn’t know English. When her mind brought up the idea that having Joseph Malcom by her side would make any challenge less frightening, she pushed the thought down.
The Lord had made her a capable woman. Fully able to accomplish whatever He set before her. She didn’t have to have this man at her side to carry out her mission.
WITHIN A HALF HOUR, Joseph had the supplies loaded on his pack horse, and he and the priest saddled the other two mounts.
Monti looked fresh as a rose—a delicate French rose—as she came out in her fur coat with a flowered gown peeking out the bottom. “I’ve packed some food we can eat today. I hope this will be enough.”
He took the bundle from her and tied it behind her saddle. “The Indians might offer food at midday, but this’ll be good to have in case.” She appeared to be doing her best to handle her part, no matter how limited her experience seemed to be. Maybe he could teach her how to cook a few more dishes. Or Emma could. She was a much better cook than he was.
But then again, maybe he should just step out of Monti’s life and let her do what she’d come out here to do. Father Bergeron could teach her all she needed to know, including the cooking.
But the French priest might not be able to keep her safe from the danger that constantly threatened out here. Joseph fought the clenching of his gut with that thought. He used his teeth to jerk the knot tight around the bundle. That danger was exactly why he’d offered to come today. There was no telling how the Indians would accept her. Or whether some cocky young brave would take too much of a fancy to her, beautiful as she was.
She needed more protection than the kind old priest could offer.
Thankfully, Father Bergeron kept Monti occupied as they rode to the tribe’s winter camp. He pointed out the landmarks and told heartwarming stories about his experiences and the people he’d met in each of the places he’d been. Sometimes he simply used the markers as a reminder to pray for one of the people he ministered to.
The man cared for his flock, no doubt. Both the spiritual needs and their daily challenges, it seemed, with all these supplies he’d purchased to give to the tribe. This little band of Northern Peigan were luckier than they knew.
Chapter Nine
Among these innocents is the one place I feel free.
~ Joseph’s Journal
THE CHILDREN APPEARED first.
Monti had to bite back a scream when two miniature versions of the Indian braves they’d seen days before stepped around a rocky cliff onto the trail just ahead of them. The boys couldn’t have been more than seven or eight, but they stood motionless, their faces stoic masks, devoid of any soft expression.
Until Antoine spoke some kind of gibberish to them. The smaller boy broke his stance first, his face spreading into a grin to match any carefree lad in Montreal. The taller one smiled, too, but seemed to be fighting it.
They strode for
ward, and soon a host of little figures surrounded their horses.
Antoine dismounted and spoke to the children, and Monti slid from her horse, as well. Her muscles still ached from so many days in the saddle, and she had to bite back a groan as her weary ankles complained about the need to hold her weight.
When she turned to face the clamoring voices, Joseph was by her side. She glanced up at him. Would he be tense and wary around the Indians?
His mouth was set in an amused tip as he watched the children. His lips spread into a full grin as a young girl approached him shyly.
He dropped to her level, sitting on his heels as she spoke to him. He responded in the same Indian tongue, then reached inside his coat and extracted something. When he held out his right hand, a peppermint stick sat on his palm.
The girl’s eyes sparkled, and she stepped close enough to take the treat. She seemed to know Joseph, although shyness still lingered in her actions. Instead of taking the candy and darting backwards. She placed the confection in her mouth and beamed at Joseph around the stick.
He tweaked her ear and spoke to her again. His deep tenor held a teasing lilt.
The girl sidled closer, coming to a stop when she was close enough to touch Joseph’s shoulder. With her hand resting there, she studied him. Not speaking, just seemingly content to suck her treat and watch to see what he might do next.
He spoke to her again, and she nodded. Then he scooped up the girl and held her in his right arm.
When he turned to Monti, the child beamed at her. “Monti, this is Hollow Oak.” He looked at the girl and pointed to Monti. “Monti.”
The child, who couldn’t be more than three or four years old, looked at her. “Mon-ti.” The little girl’s words were precious.
Monti stroked the girl’s arm. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Hollow Oak.”
The girl turned to look at Joseph and giggled, as though tickled by the fact that Monti had spoken to her. Joseph tapped her nose and grinned wider than Monti had ever seen him. But who couldn’t smile at that adorable little tawny face?
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