The squaw walked toward them, leading the horses behind her. She came near Monti and touched her arm, then motioned for Monti to accompany her.
What now? Monti glanced at Antoine, who nodded.
“Go with her. I think she wants to give me a private moment to discuss matters with the men.”
The woman motioned again, and Monti forced herself to turn and follow. They walked in silence toward the edge of the camp where a cluster of horses stood. When they neared the other animals, the woman handed one of the ropes to Monti, then started to unfasten the leather bindings holding the furs on her horse’s back.
She motioned toward the animal Monti held, apparently wanting her to do the same. Within a few minutes, they had both horses turned loose with the others and were carrying the packs back toward the lodge. It might have been easier to remove these when the horses had been standing by the teepee, except that the squaw had been in such a hurry to get her away.
As they walked, Monti pointed toward herself and spoke her name. The woman jabbed at her own chest and spoke a string of syllables that sounded something like “Dashanashi.”
Monti tried to repeat the sounds back to her, but she must have butchered the word.
The Indian woman smiled, then pointed at herself again and said, “Dashi.”
“Dashi.” Monti repeated the shortened version. Much easier to pronounce.
The squaw smiled again, then nodded. Apparently, that was close enough.
As they neared Dashi’s lodge, Monti forced herself not to drop back. The braves still stood outside and seemed to be talking to Antoine with hand signals.
Dashi motioned for Monti to place her load at the edge of their camp, which she did.
Antoine motioned her over. “I have told them of the importance of shared faith between man and wife. Thunder Rumbles understands, as his beliefs are important to him, as well.”
A weight seemed to slip off her shoulders, and she glanced at the man in question. He eyed Antoine, as though trying to make out his words. Not once did his gaze slip to her.
Antoine touched her arm and leaned closer as his voice softened. “They have invited me to smoke the pipe and tell of our faith. Why don’t you find Monsieur Malcom while I share with these men?”
She nodded, trying to keep her expression passive. Not an easy feat with her emotions swirling like a windstorm.
JOSEPH STOOD TALKING to Three Shadows, the brave who’d invited him to join their hunt. It had seemed like a good way to get his mind off Monti. The last thing he’d expected was to run into her here in the camp.
He should mount his horse and ride off now before she approached him. Except that would be the coward’s way of handling this situation. He did enough things he hated. He didn’t need to add being a coward to the list.
There. Monti appeared around the corner of a lodge, every inch the French princess she’d always been. She saw him then, her chin notching up as she marched straight toward him. So brave and pretty and headstrong.
She stopped in front of him, and he had to fight the urge to step forward and pull her closer. Press his mouth to hers and taste the sweetness he’d dreamed about for a week and a half. A breeze blew the loose tendrils of her hair across her face, adding to the stubborn independence plainly showing there.
He had to be the one to speak first. He knew that. He’d left without a farewell, an insult that was his to make right. He swallowed to summon moisture back into his mouth. “Hello.” A great orator, he was not.
“Hello.” Her voice wasn’t harsh but lacked its usually softness. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“I saw Three Shadows in the mountains.” He motioned toward his friend, but the man had walked away. Probably to give them privacy. “He invited me on the hunt. What brings you to this village?”
She raised her brows. “We were checking on Hollow Oak and had some other business.”
It might have been the cold, but her face seemed to color with her words. “How is she? Do you still think it’s a heart condition?”
She nodded. “Simeon sent a concoction of herbals that seem to have helped some. At least she’s up and moving now.”
He frowned. “She’s been abed all this time?” That would be unusual for any youngster, especially a hardy Indian child.
“For almost a week I think.”
His chest squeezed at the thought of the little one in pain. “What else can be done for her?”
Lines formed across her brow. “We’re doing everything I know, and she seems to be progressing. I hope it’s enough. I pray it’s enough.”
Silence settled between them, and he struggled for something to say. There was so much, but everything he thought of brought his mind back to their kiss.
At last, he asked, “Where’s the priest?”
She glanced behind her, as though checking to see. Then she turned back to him. “He’s speaking with Thunder Rumbles...and Fighting Elk.” She didn’t meet his eye. “They have asked...about his faith.”
Something wasn’t right there. The way she wouldn’t meet his gaze, her hands clasping tightly around themselves. And more color seemed to have flooded her face than could be attributed to the cold. His gut told him to dig deeper.
“Fighting Elk is the father of Hollow Oak?” He waited her response.
She nodded.
“And Thunder Rumbles is...?”
She glanced behind her again. Was it so he couldn’t see her face? “He’s the brother of Fighting Elk.”
“Do you know these men?”
“I’ve only met them a couple of times.”
“It’s a wonder they’ve agreed to hear Father Bergeron. What happened to encourage them?”
She did meet his gaze then, raising her chin in a stubborn jut. Something about the look in her eyes made his gut tighten. “Thunder Rumbles asked for my hand in marriage. Antoine let him know our faith discourages yoking with an unbeliever, so he asked for details of our beliefs.”
Even though he’d prepared for a blow, her words slammed into him, shaking him all the way to his core. So many thoughts churned in his mind, but he forced his voice to remain calm. “You aren’t considering marrying him if he converts?” Perhaps his tone was too calm. Almost lethal in its lack of emotion.
She still held his gaze, but her eyes softened a touch. “I hadn’t planned to marry anyone.”
He couldn’t begin to explain the relief her words brought on. Yet, not completely.
A commotion sounded behind him. Someone yelling, a child screaming.
He whirled, trying to decipher the Indian words. Children were running from the trees, waving and calling frantically. When he caught the word dead, his instincts came alive.
Sprinting toward the children, he signed for them to tell him what was wrong.
The youths crowded around him and pulled at his arms, but couldn’t seem to calm enough to answer him.
One of the older children motioned him to follow and said something that sounded like Hollow Oak’s Indian name. A pit of dread filled his stomach, and he glanced backward to see where Monti was.
Right behind him.
She’d grown especially attached to the child. If something had happened to Hollow Oak—if she’d died—the last thing he wanted was Monti with him when he found the scene.
He motioned her back. “Stay here. I’ll go see what’s wrong.”
She shook her head. “I’ll come too. Maybe I can help.”
Other Indians were running from the village now, and every moment might mean the difference for the child.
He turned back to the youth. “Show me.”
They ran through the snow, into the forest of lodgepole pine and cedar. The other children straggled behind, but the youth he followed ran like a mountain lion. Long strides stretching as he wove through the trees.
At last, they reached a narrow river. The surface had frozen over except for a small hole at the bank where the ice was broken.
A hole
just the size of a little girl.
He slid down the steep part of the embankment, then dropped to his knees on the jut of land at the edge of the water and peered in. The ice was three or four inches thick, and the water underneath looked dark from the shadows, but relatively clear.
No sign of a person.
He turned back to the youth, pointing into the water. “Hollow Oak is in there?”
The lad shook his head and motioned down the river a little, where the steep embankment met the water. The river’s flow had eaten away at the lower part of the earth, making a sort of ledge under which a small figure now lay slumped on the ice.
Monti saw her first and rushed to the place where the jut of land ended, still four or five feet from the girl. They would have to crawl out on the ice to reach her.
“Don’t, Monti.” He made it to her and grabbed her waist so she didn’t do something foolish. “The ice won’t hold you.”
“I have to get to her. She’s passed out. If we don’t do something to fix her heart, she’ll die.” She struck at him, landing a hard blow in his chest. Harder than he’d expected, and it punched the breath out of him.
She took advantage of that slight distraction to squirm free from his arms. She dropped to her knees and scooted onto the ice.
“Monti.” He sank to his own hands and knees, then grabbed her skirt, barely registering the familiar brown wool he’d bought at the Fort Hamilton trading post all those weeks ago. “Come back.”
She reached the girl and gathered her into her arms. The child’s head hung backward as Monti cradled her, all her limbs falling limp.
He eyed the ice, but no cracks seemed to be working out from beneath her. Of course, he knew from experience the ice could suddenly give way without any previous sign of weakness. He’d almost lost his sister from a sudden fall through the ice, and the memories created a swirl of panic in his chest. “Monti, please. Ease your way back now.”
She did as he asked, and he didn’t breathe until she and the child inched onto solid ground.
He helped her settle Hollow Oak in her arms. The girl still lay unconscious, and her body was cold, so cold. The bile churning in his gut rose up into his throat.
She couldn’t be... Surely she was not dead.
Chapter Sixteen
Though my mind knows better, my heart still reaches.
~ Joseph’s Journal
MONTI HELD THE GIRL close and pressed two fingers to the artery at her neck. It was there. A faint pulse.
She looked up into Joseph’s face. “She lives. But we have to get her back to camp. Have to get her warm and see what else is wrong.”
He reached out. “Let me carry her.”
She didn’t hesitate to put the girl in his arms. He could be trusted to take the utmost care of her.
He cradled Hollow Oak, resting her head in the crook of his arm so it didn’t bounce. His injured hand didn’t seem to get in his way at all.
They rose and turned toward the embankment, which would be work for him to climb with a load in his arms.
Worried Indians gathered at the top, both young and grown. Monti climbed behind Joseph as he strode up the steep side, and she kept a hand at his back in case he lost his balance. His footing was sure, though.
Dashi came running through the throng of people, sobbing as she approached Joseph and the child. She pressed a hand to her mouth, her eyes welling.
Monti squeezed her shoulder. “She lives. She’s alive still.”
Dashi looked at her, her dark eyes glistening as she seemed to be trying to understand.
Joseph had already started back toward the camp. Monti took the woman’s arm, and they ran in his wake.
Dashi was practically dragging her as they reached the lodge, for Monti could scarce catch her breath.
Inside, Joseph was kneeling over Hollow Oak’s pallet, Antoine at his side. The two Indian men hovered a few feet behind.
The young squaw gave a little cry as she took in the scene, then rushed forward and dropped to her knees by her daughter’s head.
Hollow Oak was awake, thank the Lord. Monti joined the group, and Joseph shifted backward to give her his position.
“We need to get her warm.” His words were a comforting breath at her ear.
She nodded and pulled the animal-skin robes up tighter around the girl. Dashi seemed to get the idea, and worked to snuggle her daughter tighter in the furs.
“The medicine.” Monti twisted to look around the lodge. “She needs to take some. It’ll help her blood flow.”
“I’ll get it.” Antoine groaned as he pushed to his feet.
Monti turned back to focus on the girl again.
Her normally dark lips had lightened to an eerie blueish tint. Her teeth chattered, but as her eyes met Monti, she tried to smile. “M-m-monti.”
The smile started a fresh wave of panic in Monti’s chest. The left side of her face didn’t move. That part of her mouth didn’t pull up. That adorable girlish grin that had stolen Monti’s heart from their first meeting only formed on the right side.
What do I do, Lord? She’d read about this type of apoplexy, but mostly in older people. It was thought to be caused by injury to the brain. Could it have something to do with her heart condition? Or perhaps it happened with the fall on the ice.
If the former, she could only pray the tonic helped. If the latter, rest might be the best medicine for the girl.
Hollow Oak took the mixture willingly. She was such an obliging child, even during trauma and illness. When she’d finished a double dose, Dashi cradled the girl in her arms, rocking gently and murmuring.
“She needs much rest. Can you tell her that?” Monti looked to her cousin.
He nodded and made several hand gestures to the mother. Dashi responded with a nod, then snuggled her daughter closer. Hollow Oak’s eyes drifted shut, which made her face look normal again.
It didn’t stop Monti’s own heart from aching in her chest, though. Why had something like this had to happen to such a sweet, innocent little girl?
AS JOSEPH FOLLOWED the priest and Monti out of the lodge, he nodded to Hollow Oak’s father, who stood by the fire outside. He looked grim, more than the normal stoic expression the Indian men often wore. The man beside him must be his brother.
Joseph couldn’t help but stiffen as he walked past. He must be the one who’d offered for Monti. What had she called him? Thunder Rumbles?
He nodded at the man, whose eyes narrowed as he studied Joseph.
Father Bergeron approached the men and spoke with them for a moment, leaving Joseph standing with Monti on the outskirts of the fire’s warmth. He wanted to talk to her, to ask how she’d been. To hear her musical voice again. To erase the worry that lined her face. Which might require wrapping her in his arms. Holding her tight and inhaling her softness.
But when he glanced at her, she was looking at Thunder Rumbles. A knife of jealousy stabbed his gut. But maybe it was better this way, if the man was willing to consider Christianity. If he valued Monti enough to change his faith for her, perhaps he would be the husband she deserved.
If only things could be as simple for Joseph. If all he needed to be worthy of this woman was to make peace with God, he’d put forth the effort.
God may have lost track of him in this mountain wilderness, but maybe the Almighty would hear for Monti’s sake. Yet that wouldn’t make his hand work again. That wouldn’t make him the man he wished he could be. Would it?
“Let us journey home now.” The priest clamped a hand on Joseph’s shoulder. “Come with us, Joseph. We’ve missed you these past days.”
One look at the kind eyes and wisdom-lined face had him nodding. “Yes, sir. I can ride along.”
Within a quarter hour, they were out of camp and riding over the hill toward the priest’s cabin. The trail was wide enough for two to ride abreast, but not three. He found himself riding beside Monti, the priest just ahead.
The older man made small talk about his conve
rsations with the Indians, speaking mostly to Monti. Joseph kept an ear tuned for mention of Thunder Rumbles, but most of his focus strained toward the woman riding tall in the saddle beside him, although he rarely let himself look her direction.
“Did my young cousin tell you we’ve been to visit the Blood tribe in Greenriver Gap?” This the priest directed toward him. “I was most pleased with their response to her. Very encouraging.”
Joseph glanced sharply at Monti. “Isn’t that the group you said has been ill? Isn’t there danger of contagion still?”
Monti shook her head, her chin jutting. “There’s some form of danger in everything. If the potential for good outweighs the risk, I’ll not stand back and wait.”
She was too feisty for her own good. But that was part of what made her such an enigma. Delicate and cultured one moment, striding right through the bounds of decorum the next if she saw a need she could fill.
“We saw a huge herd of buffalo on that trip.” Her determination softened some, and she offered a tentative smile. “You should have seen them. They covered the land so the ground looked black. I’d have never thought it possible.”
“It is a sight to behold, isn’t it?” Joseph said. “I saw my first herd when we were on the steamboat bound for the Montana Territory. I’ll never forget the way they blanketed the plains beside the Missouri River. And sometimes they’d walk right out into the water, and the boat would have to wait hours for the herd to cross.”
The rest of the trip seemed shorter than normal, but when they reined in at the lean-to behind the cabin, the dusky light that comes before sunset had fallen over the land. He’d not eaten since breakfast, and his stomach was gnawing on his backbone. Which made it hard to say no when the priest invited him in for the evening meal.
“Food sounds good. Much obliged.” He glanced at Monti, who was loosening the saddle from her mare. Had she made any progress with her cooking skills during the time he’d stayed away? “I can settle your horse if you need to get inside.”
“I’m almost done. And I already have food cooked, just need to warm it.” She grabbed the heavy leather contraption and hoisted it off the animal.
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