Sarah put her hands out. “Rebecca, sit down. It’s not good for you to get so worked up.”
“This is not about me, you trollop. You have become confused about what is important.” A strange expression passed across her features and her jaw relaxed suddenly, her eyes widening in some focus of sudden realization.
Sarah felt a cold shudder run through her body and the heat rising in her cheeks at the slur. Standing abruptly, she leaned forward with her chin, on tiptoes, waving her arms. “How dare you call me that? My condition is not my fault. I was raped. What about you? You were willingly with a man before you were married…” she waved her hand at Rebecca’s belly, “and now see what position you are in.”
Rebecca’s attention returned to Sarah, the brunette’s face turning scarlet and then immediately pale. She sank down to the bedroll holding her stomach.
CHAPTER 33
June 21, 1855
UNDER A HIGH COUNTRY SUN
“This glare is blinding,” grumbled Reuben, pulling the brim of his hat even lower over his eyes.
Zeb chuckled, one long leg folded up over Buck’s neck just in front of the saddle horn, his rough fingers rolling a smoke. “If I remember correct, you boys thought it was funny when I smeared charcoal across my cheek bones this morning.”
Reuben laughed. “So we did, Zeb.”
Focusing on the cigarette paper, the mountain man did not look up. “Cuts that glare off your cheeks a mite. You wouldn’t think so, but it does.” He raised his eyes briefly to Reuben’s cowboy hat. “Days like these I wish I had one of them broad brimmed hats rather than this fur cap.” He tipped his head slightly to the left. “See where that snow is about melted off on the southwest rises, yonder? Just look up there in the brown and green. Get them eyes off the white for a spell and rest ‘em.”
“In Villmar, we have bitter cold, and snow, but nothing like this glare and the snow never melts as quickly.” Eager to resume their journey, Reuben added, “Maybe we can start moving this afternoon.”
Zeb’s thumbs and forefingers stopped their rolling motion as he searched Reuben’s face for a brief moment before returning his eyes to the smoke. “Moving this afternoon? You know the answer to that, son. One of these horses goes down, someone gets hurt, or a wagon slides off into a draw? We’ll lose way more than an afternoon.” Reuben swallowed his impatience. Can’t argue with that logic. “Well, the cows look settled down. I am going back to the wagons and grab some lunch. Be back in an hour or so. Then you can head in.”
Zeb licked the cigarette and ran it under his nose, inhaling deeply. “And check on Rebecca.”
“Yes, and check on Rebecca.”
Holding the cigarette up to the sky, Zeb examined it critically. “No shame in it, Reuben. When a woman reaches out and grabs your heart, she’s under your skin. Just the way it is.”
Reuben nodded, unlooping his reins, which he had wrapped once around the saddle horn.
“And tell Sarah,” Zeb added, “she ought to wear a bandanna over the bridge of her nose and around her face. That fair skin of hers will burn quick this high up with the snow.”
Reuben started to reassure his friend he’d pass on the message, but Zeb was busy holding one lapel of his fringed buckskin jacket out from his chest, reaching in for his flint pouch with his other hand.
Lahn’s hooves whispered through the sun-softened remnants of the storm. At the short, steeper incline that separated the small plateau with the milling cows from the clearing nestling the wagons, Reuben was startled when the big palomino slipped. The horse raised his head and snorted, setting his front hooves and instinctively lowering his rear haunches, sliding thirty feet to the bottom of the little rise without taking a step. At the bottom, Lahn straightened up and shook. Reuben turned, looking back over his shoulder at the long, heavy skid mark. Yep, Zeb was right. With more caution, they worked their way through scattered aspens toward the wagons.
He was surprised to see Sarah sitting in front of a small but blazing fire, hunched over, her elbows on her knees, her hands extended palm down toward the flames.
She didn’t look up as he dismounted. “You’re getting mighty good at starting those fires, Sarah.”
Her eyes rose to him briefly, then sank back down. Are those tears? “Zeb told me to tell you to make sure you wear a bandanna over your nose and cheeks.” She nodded without looking up. Strange. Maybe she’s not feeling well, but then she’d be in the wagon. Reuben decided to say nothing further, instead leading Lahn to the wagon and tying him off on the customary rear wheel. The tailgate was open and the rear flaps partially tied back. A long ribbon of sunlight beamed its way deep into the wagon interior. Rebecca lay on her back on the bedroll, her legs drawn, bent knees in the air.
“Rebecca, you okay?”
At the sound of his voice, her face shifted toward his. She sat up slowly, swinging her legs to the wagon floor. Reuben put his hands on the tailgate readying a vault into the wagon.
“No, Reuben. If you don’t mind, we just got through cleaning up. I’d be happy to make some lunch and bring it to you.” She raised a delicate hand to her eyebrows looking out beyond the rear of the wagon. “Such a beautiful day. I would love to get some sun. Would you take me for a walk?” Her voice was hopeful. And something else.
Reuben tried to mask his surprise. “Sure I would. Snow’s mostly down to a couple of inches. If you don’t mind sliding through some, we can get a little ways up on that southwest face. The snow is gone on those exposures, though it is sure to be wet. You can fix me up that meal when we get back.”
Rebecca smiled and, using her arms, pushed herself off the bunk and cautiously rose. She swayed once from side-to-side, then straightened her shoulders, walking to the rear of the wagon. “Help me down, Reuben.” She crouched on the edge of the tailgate, reaching out her arms. Reuben placed his hands on the perfect curves of her body above her hips, lifting her easily and gently down to the ground. She looked up at him and smiled weakly. “Thank you, Mr. Frank.” Her eyes shifted toward Sarah briefly, a cloud passing across her features. “Let’s walk in that direction,” she said, pointing away from Sarah and the fire.
Reuben’s eyes darted to Sarah, then back to Rebecca. Though only thirty feet away, Sarah had not acknowledged them. The redhead remained fixed on the flames, seemingly frozen in the same position he had seen her a few minutes before.
“Okay, Rebecca. One direction is as good as the next I suppose.” He walked over to Lahn, slipped the Sharps from its scabbard and with Rebecca’s right hand firmly clasped around his upper arm for balance, they began to walk slowly uphill, stopping occasionally for Rebecca to catch her breath.
“Johannes says there is way less air at this altitude. We’re all feeling it a little bit. He told me of some campaign in the foothills of the Alps—some conflict or other. The Danish Army even gave out papers telling the troops the air was twice as thin in the mountains as at sea level. I think it’s one of the reason the horses pulling the freight wagon are having some problems.”
They had reached a small clearing mostly devoid of snow on the side hill. A twisted, grey and black aspen trunk canted at an angle low to the ground, its fall arrested by the fork of another tree. Rough pieces of its ancient bark hung by stubborn threads waving in the light breeze. A single strip of snow clung to the shadowed ground beneath the leaning trunk. Splotches of the canvas tops of the wagons were visible through fir branches and white trunks of still standing, younger aspens. They could hear the muted bawls of cattle and the occasional faint drone of voices, though their owners were indistinguishable.
“Let’s sit here, Reuben. Such a lovely spot. What are those mountains straight out there, the jagged ones, and the ones there to the right?”
“To the north,” corrected Reuben.
Rebecca smiled at him. “North. What are they?”
“They are all part of the great San Juan Range,” he chuckled. “Those to the right—”
Rebecca laughed. “Point m
ade, Mr. Frank. To the north.”
Reuben grinned into her eyes. So pretty. “I checked the map yesterday before the snow moved in. To the north that would be Red Cloud Peak, Slumgullion Peak, and the highest one out there, the one that kind of hooks at the top,” he grinned widely, “is Uncompahgre Peak. Sculptures of God. The scout notated many of these were almost three miles high. Now those there tallest to the west?” He raised his arm, pointing. “Farther out is Lizard Head, and that one closer in and slightly north— I can’t pronounce the Ute name. The closest is Pole Creek Mountain. And from what Zeb tells me,” he closed one calloused hand around hers and squeezed, “those mountains in-between Lizard Head and Pole Creek that have a sort of triple top, with red showing through where the snow has been blown off or melted? Those, Mistress Marx, are the Las Montanas de Rojas, the Red Mountains. They are where the maps end.”
Rebecca’s eyes widened, her mouth opening in a gasp. “Really?” She squeezed his hand back, hard. “That’s the place mapped out by your father’s scout and my dear father?” There was wonder in her voice and she bounced their hands up and down excitedly in her lap. “How much farther? How many days until we are there?”
“I asked Zeb the same thing this morning. That’s when he pointed out the Red Mountains.” He smiled at her. “I was just as excited as you are. In fact, I still am but, there’s a lot of country between here and there, most of it twisty and up and down. We have the Gap tomorrow, then Lost Trail, if it’s open, the west short cut to Red Mountain Pass. Zeb thinks that’s the shortest way, but he supposed it would be at least four or five days assuming it is dry and we have no mishaps. And, if we have to go all the way around to the Gunnison, we have several weeks ahead of us.”
“Oh, my,” she breathed, leaning her head against his shoulder. “We’ve come so far, Reuben.”
“We have indeed, Rebecca.” He closed his eyes allowing the sun to warm his eyelids and his soul to absorb the energy of the moment and the vista. “It is more than just raw, unending, rugged beauty, though.” He wrapped his arm around her as she raised wide, misted eyes to him. “It is freedom. A place to build whatever life one chooses.” Tucking her face to his shoulder, Rebecca moved her head in agreement.
Reuben lowered his cheek to her hair. I do love the way she smells. She raised her fingertips to her face with a swiping motion. She’s thinking about Inga. Reuben took the rifle from his lap, setting its butt plate to the ground and snugging the barrel into a large raised knot next to him. Hugging her, he whispered, “Yes, Rebecca. Inga would have been excited, too. Perhaps we will build some kind of stone markers for her and Mac down on the ranch. Kind of a tribute.”
One of Rebecca’s hands knotted up in the open front of his jacket. She sniffled, then raised a teary face to his. He leaned his head down and kissed her, her other hand curling in the open collar of his jacket as her tongue traced his mouth. “I like the name Frank,” she said in a whisper, nestling her head in his chest.
Reuben’s gaze flicked down toward her hair, thankful she couldn’t see the surprise in his face.
“Rebecca Frank. Rebecca Elizabeth Frank.” she said in a soft voice. “I think that’s a fine name.”
A surge of adrenaline carried on the wings of butterflies coursed through his body. He pulled away slightly, lifting her face with fingers gently placed under her chin. “You mean…”
She moistened her lips and swallowed. There was a blush to her cheeks and a sassy twinkle shone through the moisture in her eyes. “I believe, Mr. Frank, that you mentioned something in your first clumsy attempt to propose about being down on one knee under a warm high country sun and expansive views surrounding us.”
Reuben’s mind was a racing jumble, her meaning finally registering with him. He stood so quickly she almost lost her balance before he hurriedly reached out and saved her from toppling over backward, both of them laughing.
He fumbled with the leather glove on his right hand, then raising the side of his coat, dug in his pocket for the ring, Rebecca’s smile tender with amusement. He no sooner extracted the simple band of metal than it slipped from his fingers, falling into the thin strip of snow hiding under the log. Flustered, he looked frantically down around his boots and Rebecca started to laugh.
She pointed, “Right there, Reuben, a few inches in front of your right toe. You see where it made a mark in the snow?” He knelt, one hand feeling blindly for the ring as he lifted his eyes to hers, embarrassed. What a clumsy oaf.
As if reading his mind, her eyes twinkled. “Yes, you are, dear Reuben. Isn’t it a good thing you only have to do this once in your life?”
Reuben lost himself in the loving intensity of her stare and their eyes locked, unblinking for what seemed like forever. He smiled. “And, milady Marx, isn’t it a good thing you shall only have to endure this spectacle once in your lifetime?” Rebecca giggled as his fingers found the ring. Wiping it on his jacket sleeve, he took her hand. “I love you, Rebecca Marx. I’d be honored if you’d be my wife.”
Rebecca’s cheeks reddened further and she looked deeply into his eyes with an unflinching gaze, as she added softly, “And the mother of your children.”
Reuben suddenly felt hot, the sun intense on his shoulders. Sweat trickled from his armpits down the sides of his chest.
Rebecca’s eyes had not left his. “I ask only one other promise in addition to all those this moment means for us…”
I’m not sure she has ever really looked at me this way, Reuben thought, lost in the magnetic emotion radiating from the brown of her eyes. “And that would be?”
“And that would be, Reuben, that though our hearts and bodies will be eternally promised and bound, that each of us swears to never attempt to subdue the spirit of the other.”
What exactly does she mean? His leg muscles tensed, as if readying to stand. Don’t overthink this Reuben, you idiot. He forced himself to relax. “I agree, Rebecca.”
“Then, Reuben, my answer is a very happy yes!”
He splayed her fingers out in his hand, trying to control the tremble in his own and slipped on the ring. “And, I have one question for you.”
Her eyes, filmy, happy and glittering in the sun, rose from the ring. “Yes?”
“Our children. I’d like to raise them, as best we can, out here in the middle of nowhere, in the Jewish tradition.”
Rebecca smiled radiantly. “Funny you should mention that, Mr. Frank. I was going to suggest the same.” Her lips curled into a teasing grin. “I believe this is the time that all the books say that you are supposed to kiss your betrothed.”
Grinning, Reuben stood, lifting her from the log. “It seems we’ve been reading the same books,” he murmured in her ear, and then he kissed her deeply, fully, the melt of their lips endless, the heat of their touch warmer than the sun. They clung tightly to one another as their lips parted, slowly, reluctantly. She looked up at him with a slight tremble in her chin and a smolder in her eyes. “Tell me, Reuben. Tell me about the house we shall be building.”
We shall be building. Reuben savored her words, letting them echo in his mind. First time I’ve ever heard it put that way.
CHAPTER 34
June 21, 1855
TAKING NO CHANCES
Rising up in his saddle, Philippe shielded his eyes against the glare with his hand under his hat brim. “It appears, Señor Johannes, that Señor Reuben is going back to the wagons.” The vaquero glanced up at the sun. Smiling, he turned to Johannes. “I believe it is time for midday kafee, sí?”
Johannes nodded, but could not force a smile. Maybe if he knows more of the history of Sarah and Zeb it might calm things down a bit.
Philippe swung out of his saddle with one smooth motion, his eyes darting around the ground. “The trick will be to find enough dried wood for a fire.” He straightened and turned toward the muffled sound of hooves approaching, as did Johannes. It was Michael, riding down from above.
“Them’s…them’s…them’s…”
; “Take a deep breath, Michael. Say what you want.” Johannes kept his voice as kind as possible.
The young man drew a deep breath, held it, then exhaled. “Them’s… Them’s two cows missing. Seems like… they… they went back up from… from where we come the… the… the day before.” He sighed, a look of relief flashing across his face at getting his thought out.
Philippe looked at him hard for moment, then raised his eyes to Johannes. “It is unusual for cattle to go uphill into heavier snow, especially away from the rest of the herd.” His eyes narrowed. “Let’s see if we can find them.” Michael nodded energetically and began to turn his horse.
“No, muchacho. You stay here. Make sure none of these other cows wander off. Señor Johannes and I will go up and find them.”
Johannes watched Philippe step close to Diablo, getting ready to mount. He thinks it’s more than just two cows wandering off.
The vaquero sprang into the saddle and he and Johannes trotted back toward the summit of the pass, Philippe slightly ahead. When they were out of Michael’s sight, the Mexican raised his arm out to the side, palm down. Johannes slowed Bente’s gait, reining in abreast of the black horse. Philippe leaned down and back, sliding the Smoothbore from its belly scabbard with a practiced motion. He checked the load, then pointed to a partial track twenty feet away, half visible on the edge of a patch of retreating snow. Looking quickly around, Johannes drew his Sharps carbine. Dismounting, the two men led their horses over to the partial imprint, which in the blaze of sun became fainter even as they watched.
Philippe knelt, examining it closely. “Indio.” Johannes eyed the faint trail rising to the east, no more than a swath through the trees punctuated by the occasional ripple of a wagon wheel rut marring an otherwise smooth snow surface. The trail curved up an incline back toward the top of the pass still two miles distant. Johannes searched the terrain, thinking. Keeping his voice to a whisper, he pointed, “Let’s work our way up to that rocky point. We ought to be able to see a ways up toward the trail and maybe down the backside of the rise. Might be enough snow left to see movement.”
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