by Stephen Cote
Part 2: Road To Liberty
How that winter wind howls o’er the Palouse. The pungent aroma of cattle dung whipped into the stinging breeze and gave the evening air a distinct bite. Icy granules were blown into every crevice of fabric. The medicine John Bear delivered brought clarity to Cain’s thoughts, sharpening his intellect but dulling his instincts. He felt sluggish, even in the loose fitting winter cloak a Nez Perce woman had stitched for him some years past.
Genevieve Rauessou rode a spotty little mare, Black Grama. Her pony seemed to take pride in antagonizing Mescaline. Genevieve handled well her mount on their winter ride through the fertile and hilly land, nonetheless restricted by her French-made outfit. Though ill suited for riding and already soiled about the breaches, the indigo-dyed felt looked warm.
With evening setting in, Cain brought Mescaline to a halt near a small river, dismounted, and assisted Genevieve down from Black Grama. When she reached the ground, she threw her arms around his shoulders and hugged him.
“How are you doing?” she asked, her mouth aquiver and shrouded in a billow of condensation.
Cain nodded in reply, and shuffled through the snow looking for loose wood. He found a few large branches and went about making a fire. While he collected wood, Genevieve unpacked two thick hides and two blankets. He fetched a tinderbox from one of the saddlebags strapped to Mescaline and crouched near the pile of sticks and branches. She then crouched near him and put her slender arm, clad in designer fabrics, around his shoulder.
“Are you alright?” she asked, her French accent adding ambient warmth.
Cain chipped flint over a small bit of kindling. “I’m cold,” he said, and patted his balding head.
“I think you’re the only man this side of the country who won’t wear a hat.” She wrapped one of the blankets around his shoulders, and fell silent until the kindling took to light. As the glow of the fire revealed his long and gaunt face, she asked, “You’re feeling well? It’s nice to see you again, even in such forbidding weather.”
“It has been,” he agreed, pulling the blanket across his arms. “But, I don’t have much medicine. I can feel it wearing off.”
Genevieve looked to the far side of the fire and away from Cain. “The tribe hasn’t moved that far away yet. I’ll have to ride out in a day or two if I am to meet up with them.” She glanced at Cain from the corner of her eyes, gauging his reaction.
He put his arm around her and leaned away from the growing fire. “I have to do this.”
Genevieve shook her head and touched his face. “No, you don’t,” she said. “We can ride further west, or go to Montana.”
Cain smirked. “I can’t go back there.”
“I don’t believe that,” she said. “For the years I’ve known you, you’ve never acted like you talk. Now you are riding to Liberty and I’ll never see you again.” She raised her hands in a gesture of helplessness, admitting, “I can’t see you again”
“Have a little faith in me. I may not die.”
She closed her eyes and pulled away from his embrace. “I love you, but I cannot be with you if you design to take life. And all over a matter of horses.”
“Wright ordered the slaughter of eight hundred horses,” Cain said. “They were the lifeblood of the tribe. And, the cavalry has done far worse. The tribe beseeched repayment, and its name is vengeance.”
“And the settlers who were killed for no reason? The scouts who were ambushed? We made our trespasses, but the tribes were killing or robbing from the start.” Genevieve shook her head. “I don’t see how you could owe them this debt.”
She removed a small knife from her pocket; the blade Cain had given her from John Bear. When she unsheathed the blade the polished metal gleamed in the firelight. A blackened horse engraved the flat of the blade and a branch bearing her likeness scrawled the bone handle. “Who am I to receive such tokens? A knife so that I might cut away my heart because I can’t live with you by my side?” She rubbed the scrimshaw. “Don’t think I’m weak. I won’t pine for you, not when you’re forcing me away.”
Cain withdrew the knife John Bear gave him and held it next to hers. “It is for safe passage through the tribal lands. Not because they thought you’re weak, but because they knew I had to make this sacrifice. You have to leave because I am compelled to continue.”
Genevieve set the knife in her lap and held Cain’s hand. “What debt must be repaid with bloodshed? You are genteel, no matter what others claim. But, I cannot be with you if you continue.”
She took the knife from Cain’s hand and set it upon the ground. “What have we taken without payment?” She tilted her head towards the horses. “A crazy horse named for the medicine they give you, and an old nag named for rancid feed? Knives whose blades were machined, and spotty engravings that could be anyone? You paid for these things. You owe them nothing.”
“I’m not saying they haven’t been good to us,” she continued. “Everyone says you are some terror who slaughters entire towns, but I don’t see that in you.”
Genevieve shook her head. “It hurts that you can collect your thoughts to commit to the tribe, but need medicine to love me.”
“No,” Cain said. He took both of her hands into his. “The medicine is the only thing that helps me see the world for what it is. Without the medicine, I don’t rightly know how I’ll make it to Liberty.” He moved one pair of clasped hands to the center of his chest. “This is something I need to do. I wish to honor my debt.”
Debt. Cain considered her claim that he owed none. He didn’t believe that. All he had owed to some ethereal debt. Yet, he couldn’t explain what compelled him to make decisions incurring further debt. In Liberty, he hoped to make payment.
He leaned in to Genevieve and lightly kissed her winter-chilled lips. “I love you, but I have memories and dreams that feel old and worn-out. Debts for old trespasses. Real or imagined, I can’t escape them. If going to Liberty will make it stop, then I must go.”
She cupped his cheek. “Given a choice between me and death, you are choosing death.”
“I choose you,” Cain said. “Death isn’t a choice, it is unavoidable.”
“And you’re riding out to meet it.”
But Genevieve had expressed similar sentiments before, and Cain suspected she knew he would stay his course. In the morning, before the sun rose and while he slept, he expected her to leave. Would he ever see her again? She loved him, but he understood why she could not stay with him.
“Let’s enjoy these few hours,” she whispered and the two lay down in the furs near the fire.
Later that evening, before he closed his eyes to sleep, he whispered, “I love you.”
