The Brides of the Old West: Five Romantic Adventures from the American Frontier

by Peggy Darty, Darlene Franklin, Sally Laity, Nancy Lavo

  It might not be a very interesting diet, but they could live on it. They could live on it until Jan came back, and he would come back. He was not dead, just delayed. The very thought of him being dead caught at her heart, and she refused to entertain the notion.

  The wind began to howl. Surely it was mocking her fears, trying to make her scream with terror. She would not! She would pray and be strong. God had seen her through the weeks at the Indian camp. God would be with her now.

  It was a daily struggle. There wasn’t enough to do to ward off the gnawing consternation. She invented things to keep busy. The children learned verses from the Bible. They acted out parts of the books Jan had on his bookshelf. They made up a song to learn Boister’s addition and subtraction facts. Soon Mari, and even Evie, could sing facts from one plus one to nine minus nine. Tildie made up a story about a happy little imp who tried to steal ideas from them that they could use to keep from getting bored.

  And Tildie walked. She paced back and forth in the little cabin, strengthening her legs. She’d march with the children, singing their numbers song and singing the songs her own father had sung when he sawed wood back in Indiana. In the back of her mind was the possibility that come springtime, she and the children would have to walk out of the mountains by themselves.

  They’d just be going down to find Jan. It wasn’t that he wasn’t there. He wasn’t dead. He couldn’t come to them, but they would go to him. They just had to pass the time ‘til the spring thaw. It was only a matter of time. Oh dear God, let it only be a matter of time.

  She wasn’t tired enough. That was the problem. The little they did to occupy their time wasn’t enough to wear her out so that when she laid her head down at night she could sleep.

  Boister shoveled out the stall, kept Charlie provided with a clean stable, and brought in the hay for feed. Boister also took Charlie out into the yard and gave his little sisters rides, exercising the horse and pleasing the girls to no end. Boister brought in the wood, hauled out the ashes, and trudged through the snow with Gladys to the cave where meat was stored.

  Tildie genuinely praised him for his efforts. Without him, she and the girls would be uncomfortable to say the least. Finally, Boister acted more like a normal boy, showing pride over his responsibilities, grumbling at his little sisters, and affectionately hugging Tildie when the notion struck him. She thanked God for rescuing Boister from that false guilt.

  Many times when the sun shone, Tildie bundled up the children and let them roll snowballs to make snowmen in front of the cabin. She could only sit by the door. Her crippled legs couldn’t forge through the snow.

  How she would love to be so tired that she would sleep as soon as she crawled under the heavy blanket! She delayed going to bed. Once she lay down on that pine needle mattress, her mind began to churn. All the suppressed fears raised their ugly heads and hissed at her in the dark. The prayers she said in the morning to help her face the day sounded hollow and meaningless at night… and the nights were so long.

  She hadn’t conserved the candles until too late. She realized that the oil in the lamps wouldn’t last forever, that the candles wouldn’t burn all winter. They started to keep the candles and the lantern for special occasions and spent most of their time in what light the fire provided. Jan probably could have told her to be more careful. Jan would have known how to make more candles, but he wasn’t here.

  Then the noises began. It wasn’t her imagination. Charlie shifted nervously in his stall. He whinnied his uneasiness. Gladys came awake and crouched next to the wall, growling in her throat. Outside, something clawed at the shutters, at the door, at the wall. For what seemed like hours, it wandered outside the cabin, coming back again and again to scrabble at the wood. Boister woke and came to sit in the bed with Tildie. Neither spoke. Perhaps if it didn’t hear anything, it would go away.

  In the morning, they looked at the tracks in the snow. They examined the deep claw marks in the soft pine wood around the door and windows.

  “Do you know what that track is?” asked Tildie.

  “Maybe bear,” guessed Boister. “Jan never showed me that track, or I’d know.”

  “I thought bears slept through the winter,” said Mari.

  “Hibernate,” said Tildie, “yes, bears hibernate.”

  “It’s big,” said Evie.

  “Must be a bear,” said Boister.

  “Well, we’ll just have to pray that bear goes to bed real soon.” Tildie ushered her little tribe back into the cabin.

  “He’s been in the meat,” Boister whispered to her that afternoon when he came in with a load of wood.

  “We have Jan’s rifle, and you can trap a rabbit. We won’t starve, Boister—even if the bear eats all the meat. God will take care of us.”

  The bear was back again that night. He returned every night, and as Tildie examined the damage he did on the windows, she wondered how long it would be before he broke through.

  Now she lay awake with new fears. She’d wait for the clawing to begin. Sometimes it was long in coming. She would think that he would skip a night, but just as she was drifting off, the persistent clawing began. She prayed that the thick walls and door would hold against the onslaught. She knew if the bear was in a rage, he could probably force his way in.

  Every morning they surveyed the incredible damage, but the bear didn’t seem intent on entering the cabin. Every night, he toyed with the windows and doors. Every night, either before or after, he would raid the cave and haul away some of the frozen meat.

  One day Gladys roamed away from the cabin and didn’t return.

  “I’ve got to find her, Tildie. Jan left me in charge of taking care of you. That includes Gladys. Gladys is special. She’s been Jan’s dog forever. Jan will be so angry with me that she’s gone.”

  Tildie had a hard time convincing Boister that he couldn’t take off at dusk and search for the missing dog.

  “Jan will understand. He’d be much madder if you did something you knew to be foolish. Going out in the dark on this mountain with a bear prowling about is foolish! Gladys has lived in the wilderness a lot longer than we have, and she probably knows more about how to take care of herself than we do.”

  “But she could be hurt someplace,” protested Boister.

  “I know,” said Tildie softly, looking off toward the woods, wishing the dog would suddenly come bounding toward them.

  “Jan won’t be mad, Boister. He wouldn’t lay the responsibility on you for what Gladys got in her head to do. Maybe she decided he’s been gone too long, and she’s gone off to find him.”

  “Do you really think so?” asked Boister.

  Tildie shook her head. “I don’t know what to think, except she’s a pretty smart old dog. We just have to hope nothing bad has happened to her.”

  Gladys didn’t return the next day. In looking for the old dog, Tildie suspected Boister explored as far away from the cabin as he dared.

  The dog was a link to Jan. She’d been a comfort in one way or another to each member of the family. She went with Boister whenever he ventured outdoors. She lay with the girls when they took their naps or were playing quietly on their pallets, and she acted as a watchdog giving Tildie a confidence she needed. Now, with Gladys not around to bark her warnings, Tildie was even more concerned. They all missed her terribly, and the little girls cried at the loss of their friend.

  CHAPTER 16

  If she had Boister haul the meat into the cabin, would the bear become more determined to break in? They gathered up a good deal of the meat and hung it in bags of skin from branches high in a Ponderosa pine. The bear could climb as high as Boister. Three days after they’d hidden the stash, the bear discovered it. Boister thought maybe he’d followed his scent to the tree. Tildie admitted they didn’t know enough about bears to even guess what was going on in the animal’s head. All they could do was pray, and she didn’t admit to the children how futile the exercise seemed to her.

  A sunny day enticed them
outside. Although the temperature was low, the high, dry mountain air made it almost comfortable. Tildie sat in the door of the cabin with mending in her hands. It was easier to stitch out in the sunlight than by the light of the fire. The girls strapped their dolls to flat pieces of wood they used as miniature sleds. Climbing up the small embankment, they let their dollies ride down, squealing as if they were the ones enjoying the sensation of speeding down the hill.

  Maybe Tildie and Boister could rig up some kind of sleigh for the girls’ Christmas present. Tildie mulled over the possibilities. Boister was out in the woods now, gathering what he recognized as edible. Tildie marveled at how much he’d learned while they spent the few months in the Indian village. He must have listened as well as watched for he brought things home from his foraging that the Indians had told him about but never shown him.

  Shouting in the distance brought Tildie’s head up. She rose to her feet. Was it Jan returning? No! As the hullabaloo came nearer, she caught the distress of Boister’s shouts. The sound brought fear to her heart, clamping the muscles in her chest until she almost stopped breathing. She peered into the trees but could see nothing from the direction of his frantic yells.

  “Get inside,” Tildie ordered the girls, but they both froze. “Mari, Evie, inside, now!”

  Evie started to cry, and Mari ran over to take her hand, trying to pull her toward the door. Evie sat down, still crying, and Mari started crying with her.

  Boister broke through the last few bushes and started across the open space to the cabin. Behind him lumbered the bear. Tildie pushed the chair aside and rushed into the cabin to grab Jan’s rifle. She’d never shot a gun before, but now was not the time to debate over whether she could or not. She ran out again.

  Tildie raised the gun to her shoulder. She sighted down the barrel and squeezed the trigger. The explosion knocked her off her feet and back into the cabin. She lay there for a second with the smoking gun beside her. As she sat up, Boister came through the door with wailing Evie under his arm. Mari screeched as she followed him. Boister yelled to close and bar the door. Over the commotion the children made, Tildie could hear the roar of the angry bear.

  Tildie scrambled out of the way as Boister threw Evie into her lap. Mari pushed at the door while Boister grabbed the bar. As he put his shoulder to the door and swung it shut, Tildie saw the bear within feet of entering the cabin. She pushed Evie off her lap and hurled herself against the door with Mari and Boister. The boy jammed the bar in place, and they all froze in their positions against the door.

  Nothing happened. Evie cried loudly. Mari sobbed as she gasped for air. Tears rang down Boister’s cheeks, and he panted from his long run. Tildie slid to the floor, still leaning heavily against the plank door.

  There was no assault upon the door. No pounding, no clawing, no enraged bear growling and snarling to get in. Where was he? Tildie looked at the window where both the inside shutters and outside shutters stood open.

  She touched Boister’s arm and pointed. He understood immediately and scrambled over to close and bar the shutters. He moved quickly to the two other windows, and then to the stable door. When all was secure, he came back to Tildie’s side and sat down next to her.

  “Are you hurt?” she asked as he moved as close to her as he could. Evie crawled across the floor and over Boister to get into Tildie’s lap. “Are you hurt?” she repeated.

  “No.” His denial caught on a sob. He turned his face into her shoulder, and she knew he was crying quietly. His fists tightened on her sleeve, but he couldn’t bring himself to speak. Tildie squeezed his shoulders and turned to the girls. “Mari, are you okay?”

  Mari paused in her whimpering to nod. She sniffed and rubbed her nose on her sleeve. “Where is he?”

  “I don’t know,” answered Tildie.

  Evie reached up and put a little hand on Tildie’s cheek. “Okay?” she asked. Her little face was tear-streaked, her eyes red from crying.

  “Yes.” Tildie laughed softly. “I’m okay, are you?”

  Evie smiled and nodded. The tension eased from their bodies, and Mari gave a nervous giggle. “I was scared,” she admitted.

  “Me, too,” Evie said and gave her sister a comforting pat.

  Boister shuddered next to Tildie.

  “We were all scared,” said Tildie. “Boister was the bravest of all. He got us all into the cabin and barred the door.”

  “We all helped,” said Mari.

  Boister lifted his face and scrubbed at his eyes and cheeks. Evie stretched out her arms to him, and he grabbed her, holding her tight against his small chest. Mari crawled across Tildie to hug both of them. For a moment the four of them embraced in a family hug until Tildie spoke softly. “I have to get up off the floor. I don’t know how much damage I did when I fell, but I’m beginning to hurt.”

  The children clambered off. Boister and Mari helped her rise and move awkwardly to the chair by the table. Evie helpfully pushed from behind.

  The children stood close around her. Tildie sat in the chair, panting over the exertion. Mari reached over and took her big brother’s hand. “Where did the bear go, Boister?”

  Evie looked up at him, waiting for him to say. Tildie put a hand on his shoulder. “We have to look,” she said quietly.

  He nodded. Mari handed Tildie her crutches, and they moved solemnly to the front window. They stood in the dim light, listening… but heard no sound other than the wind from outside.

  “Maybe we should load the gun again,” suggested Boister.

  Tildie nodded, and Boister ran to pick it up. He took care as he loaded it just as Jan had shown him.

  “Girls, stand back,” he ordered as he handed the rifle to Tildie. They scurried over to their pallet, and Tildie stood a few feet back as she aimed the gun at the window. Boister quietly pulled up the bar and lowered it to the floor. He eased one shutter open a crack and peered through.

  He shut it and turned back to Tildie.

  “I don’t see anything.”

  “Listen,” she instructed. “Maybe you’ll hear him.”

  Boister opened the shutter a crack again and listened. He opened it wider and looked with more daring. Finally he opened both sides and pressed his face against the greased paper.

  “I see a dark shape in front of the door!” he exclaimed. “I think it’s him. I think he’s dead. You must’ve hit him, Tildie. He’s lying right in front of the door.”

  “Bears don’t play possum, do they?” asked Mari from where she sat hugging Evie in their bed.

  Tildie lowered the gun. “I don’t think so.”

  Boister ran to the door.

  “Wait, Boister. What if he’s only stunned?” objected Tildie.

  “Then let’s get the door open and finish him off before he comes to,” answered Boister.

  He hauled off the bar and waited for Tildie to stand ready, taking aim before he swung the door open.

  The bear lay before the door with his nose barely a foot from the opening. His great arms stretched out beside him. The claws looked yellow and vicious even as he lay still.

  “I don’t think he’s breathing,” said Boister.

  The girls began to whimper.

  Boister started to take a step outside.

  “Be careful,” urged Tildie. “And don’t get between the gun and the bear.”

  Boister nodded and crept toward the huge animal, keeping to the side. He bent over to examine it, and Tildie held her breath, realizing she was praying without having thought out the need.

  Suddenly, Boister stood upright, put forth his foot, and carefully nudged the bear. “He’s dead,” he declared.

  The girls cheered, and Tildie staggered backward to land in the chair by the table. Tears rolled down her cheeks, and the girls came to hug her.

  “Why are you crying now?” asked Mari. “Now we’re safe.”

  Boister came over and gave Tildie a pat on the shoulder. “That’s just the way women are sometimes,” he said sagely to his lit
tle sisters. He went back to examine the bear.

  “I don’t see where you hit him, Tildie.” He grabbed the beast by the ears making Tildie shudder and look away.

  “The eye, Tildie,” he crowed. “You shot him right in the eye.”

  Tildie looked back, and with the girls’ help, picked up her crutches to go see for herself.

  “That’s mighty fine shooting, Tildie,” said Boister. “Wait until Jan hears. That’s great. I didn’t think you’d ever fired a gun before.”

  “I haven’t, Boister.” Tildie gave him a weak smile. “I think we’ll have to thank God for my marksmanship. I aimed for his chest.”

  Boister looked at her, wide-eyed and speechless. He started to grin, then he laughed. Soon, all four of them roared, tears of relief running down their cheeks. They held their aching sides and reveled in the sheer joy of having been delivered from the bear.

  When he could talk again, Boister said, “You know what else, Tildie?”

  “No, what?” She wiped her apron over her cheeks.

  “God also delivered fresh meat and a bearskin rug to our doorstep. If we’d killed this bear someplace else, I couldn’t have dragged him home.”

  Tildie smiled and looked at the bear, trying to see him as a gift left on the doorstep. Suddenly her face brightened. “Boister, I think I remember you can make candles from the tallow off of a bear’s fat.”

  “Hurray!” cried Mari. She grabbed Evie’s hands and started bouncing up and down. The two girls did a little dance around the cabin.

  Tildie hobbled out to stand next to Boister as he stared admiringly at the bagged bear.

  “Tildie?” He tilted his head back to look up at his cousin. “Do you happen to know how to dress a bear?”

  Tildie shook her head. “Not one single idea,” she admitted.

  Boister sighed and looked back down at the huge beast. He put a hand to his head and scratched his scalp with his fingertips. He shrugged and grinned.

  “Can’t be much more than skinning a deer, and that’s just a bit fancier than skinning a rabbit or a squirrel.” He put his hand in Tildie’s and gave it a squeeze. “We’ll manage.”