Wanderlust
Page 2
the back trail.” He swabbed a crust of thick bread around in his gravy, then leaned closer to Vern.
“’Member the prairie, Vern?” he asked. “Far as a body could see the grass was. . . belly up to a tall mule, wavin’ and whisperin’ soft-like in the wind.” His bony fingers
moved as though casting a spell. Vern’s eyes narrowed as McToon continued. “And the wind always a-soughin’ gentle like. Or maybe a-howlin’ and a-screechin’ with the first cold of winter comin’ down from the north. What was it the Injuns called winter?” He cocked his head and squinted at Vern.
“Ghost face,” Vern answered distantly, eyes now narrowed and shadowed.
“That’s it, hoss. Ghost face. And do you ‘member how alone a body felt out there on that big open? Made no difference who you was with, you just kind of went to lookin in on yourself to maybe find some grain of comfort to guard against all that emptiness.”
The old trapper crooned on. “And them mountains, Vern. . .oh, them mountains. ‘Member, hoss? The Lakotahs called ‘em the Backbone of the World, and they’s that for sure, runnin’ ‘cross them plains like the spine of some giant just a-waitin’ to come alive. Made a man step kind of quiet and careful sometimes. ‘Member that high park up on the Yellerstone we found, just you and me? Deer and elk and bear, even some buffalo. And beaver! Lord, didn’t we make ‘em come though! And the buffalo down on the Laramie Plains in the fall? Measured ‘em by the mile. ‘Member how we’d all sit ‘round a good fire of an evenin’, cold and dryin’ out after wadin’ the ponds all day? Course we kept the fire low,” he chuckled, “cause of the damned Blackfeet.”
Beth watched as Vern touched his leg where an arrow had found its mark long ago. Even she felt the touch of McToon’s spell.
“We’d maybe have ourselves some hump meat a-simmerin’ and sputterin’ in all that lonesomeness,” he droned on. “It was like we hadn’t a single care in the whole
world. And we didn’t, neither! Even the nations got to be a part of it all, like the grizzlies and mountain cats.”
She was suddenly on her feet, McToon’s mood broken by her chair rattling backwards to the floor. “Damn your eyes to hell,” she shouted at McToon, her hands clenched into white-knuckled fists, voice edged with some cold menace. “I won’t stand for you tryin’. . . tryin’ to---“
“Beth, darlin’,” Vern stammered, eyes wide.
“Don’t you see what he’s tryin’ to do? Don’t you even care?” Her voice trembled, her eyes blazed, and she took a step towards McToon and snapped at him. “What right do you have tryin’ to steal my man away? Get out of my house and don’t never come back!”
Vern touched her shoulder lightly. “This is my house, too,” he said. “And Cain’s a friend.”
“No need for that, ol' hoss,” McToon muttered. He rose slowly, took up his rifle, and padded from the cabin.
Later that night, while she lay motionless, Vern rose silently from their tense bed. She heard him rustling in the fireplace for an ember, then lay awake in the empty darkness and smelled the aroma of the Indian pipe. Loons called mournfully in the night as she recalled the spell of McToon’s words. For the first time she’d gotten a glimpse of that far away world Vern had loved, still loved surely, but how much?
Hours of tossing and turning brought no sleep. Finally she rose and picked her way through the dark cabin. He was gone from the bench outside. Even the smell of the pipe had drifted off into the night.
First light brought him back, along with a slow drizzle of cold rain.
“Mornin’,” she said.
“Mornin’,” he responded stiffly.
For the rest of the day they suffered while the foolish pride that wouldn’t let them talk burned itself out. By evening some of the tension had eased enough for her to sit next to him at the table with her head on his shoulder.
“You really miss the mountains, don’t you?”
“Now, Beth,” he scolded lightly.
She wouldn’t let herself nag and pester him, nor try to force from him words she longed to hear, that his love was stronger than his wanderlust. She sat quietly as he took her face in his hands.
“Have I ever said a word about goin’ back?” he asked. “A body’d be a fool to give you up, along with all we’ve built here. Choice land. . .plenty of smithin’ for me. . .and give it up for cold, heat, starvin, dyin’ of thirst, hunted and ambushed by Injuns? And all for what? Once a year gettin' together with a pack of half-wild, evil-smellin’
renegades for a hoo-rah, then back out to freeze, starve and hide another year through?” He gathered a shuddering breath. “Ha! Not for this hoss, and thank you kindly ma’am.”
He’d pulled off his boots and she noticed a hole in the toe of one sock.
She went to her darning basket while a thought flowered in her mind. Damp wood popped in the fireplace. While her needle and thimble clicked she nurtured the thought, turned it one way and another with careful scrutiny.
Vern put more wood on the fire. “Did I tell you that ol’ man Ellis is movin’ out to the Oregon country? Said he was plumb fed up with how fenced in it’s getting’ around here. Imagine. . .an ol’ bird like that wantin’ to pick up and start fresh somewheres else.”
“Sounds like lots of folks is headin’ west don’t it?” she asked.
“Well, I suppose there ain’t no need talkin’ ‘bout it,” he answered.
Carefully, slowly, needing time to think, she put the needle and yarn into the basket.
“Vern. . .dearest Vern,” she began. “I’ve never for one second tried to hold you to this place. Have I?”
“Easy enough for some folks to just pick up and leave. . .like Cain.” She could tell that he was more thinking out loud than responding to her. “I just can’t go traipsin’ off again like I ain’t got no ties.”
“Vern, I won’t be a stone around my husband’s neck,” she persisted.
“A body just can’t pick up and go, leavin’ his woman to fend for herself,” he insisted.
She reached out and turned his face to hers. “You can’t. . . we can’t go on this way.” Hot tears welled. “I’d a hundred times over rather lose you than see you gutted like this.”
His eyes focused steady and sharp on her. “But I love you, Beth”
A breathless puff of vagrant wind chugged down the chimney with the smell of wild growing things in its voice. It came again, stronger now, shuffling restlessly under the eaves with some declaration. A flight of wild geese winged overhead, the whistle of their wings distant, then lost in the night.
Beth listened closely.
Vern went to stand in the doorway, head bent, shoulders sagging. She went to him and his arms came around her. How much a part of him the smell of wood smoke and clean open air was.
“You never badgered me, Beth darlin’, but you stopped me just the same.” His voice was husky now. “Three years ago I woke up one mornin’ on the Popo Agee and felt somethin’ was missin’. It was peculiar, ‘cause ‘til then I’d never wanted anything more than I had.” He brushed hair back from her forehead. “But somethin’ was just missin’.” He sighed deeply. “Then I found you.” He held her at arms length. “But this thing in me ain’t never goin’ to let up naggin’, Beth, and I just don’t know what to do.”
She leaned back in his arms, tilted her head to one side, and smiled up at him.
***
Skinner’s Creek chuckled over polished stones, and the baby ducks gabbled in their deep pool. Tracks of a wagon went away from the clearing, pointed westward into the forest. No one was there to hear the last call of a loon in morning’s first light.
Even the wind had gone elsewhere.
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