Freedom in the Mountain Wind

by Misty M. Beller

  “If that is your pleasure.” French’s face took on a silly grin as he nodded, then took his seat again. Clearly, her smile wasn’t lost on the Frenchman. Beaver would have to make sure he didn’t show such a reaction if he was ever the recipient of that same look.

  He turned back to her, shifting his mind back to important matters. Susanna still wasn’t safe venturing out of the firelight on her own, especially through the cottonwoods that lined the river. “I’ll go with you. Just in case you meet any more bears.” He did well to keep his face stoic as he spoke the words, especially when a pink flush swept across her cheeks and ears.

  She turned away. “If you wish.”

  Interesting that she hadn’t argued the point. Not surprising really. Anyone who’d tangled with a grizzly and survived would have a healthy desire to avoid the animal in the future. She likely still felt the ache throughout her body, not just in the open wounds.

  His gaze slid over her without permission from his mind. By the time he re-captured his focus and reined it over to the fire, the damage had been done. Her lithe body was emblazoned in his thoughts, the image of the graceful sway of her curves as she stepped toward the river. Toward the darkness.

  He inhaled a deep breath, then followed her.

  Susanna dipped the pot into the quick-flowing water of the Missouri, letting the chill cool her body from the heat of the cook fire she’d been working over. This was the second night now that Beaver Tail had accompanied her out to wash the dishes from the evening meal.

  He didn’t speak, not the night before or so far this night, just stood sentry a few strides behind her. Back in Illinois, she would have objected to such overbearing treatment, but in this wilderness…anything could happen. With him guarding her back, she didn’t worry about another bear or anything else surprising her.

  Perhaps she should worry about the man himself—he was an Indian and a stranger after all. But there was something about his solid presence, his intense watchfulness to his surroundings, which made her feel safe. Besides, if he’d wanted to scalp or assault her, he’d have done it long before now.

  Since he didn’t speak, she could close her eyes and relish the quiet of the night river noises. She hadn’t realized how much she enjoyed the rushing sound of the water as she drifted off to sleep each night.

  Too soon, she had all the dishes washed and gathered again in the pot. She stood and turned to Beaver Tail. He reached for the load, and she allowed him to take it. “Thank you.” Maybe she should insist on being treated as an equal, but her body still ached from the bear attack, and the weight of the iron pot burned through her shoulders and arms.

  He nodded his response—a man of few words, this one. But his silence wasn’t awkward. Simply…peaceful.

  Before turning back toward the camp, she took one last look around the river. “This is a pretty spot, especially with the moonlight shining on the water.”

  “We will stay here tomorrow, as well.”

  She turned to him. “We’re not riding on?” Were they resting a day for her father’s sake? He’d had another coughing fit tonight, this one worse than any others. It had left him with barely enough strength to hobble to his bed. Maybe exhaustion from long days in the saddle was weakening his body. Or maybe talking with the men each evening was irritating his throat or lungs.

  Either way, part of her sagged with relief at the chance for him to recover. But would these men be angry for the delay? If she and Pa couldn’t keep up, maybe they’d be left behind. That thought shouldn’t strike such fear in her chest.

  As she studied Beaver Tail’s face, the moonlight filtered over his features, the sharp cheekbones, strong jaw. The only part she couldn’t see were his eyes. And without them, she had no hope of deciphering the feeling behind his words.

  He shook his head. “Every few days, we let the horses rest. I set traps and work the hides from the last time we stopped.” His tone sounded matter-of-fact, as though everything he said was simple truth.

  But she needed to know for sure what these men were thinking. Had to be prepared if she and Pa would be on their own again. “You’re not stopping because of us are you? Pa and me?” She hated to single out her father. Besides, maybe they thought a woman too weak to travel day after day on horseback. The thought made her stand straighter, pushing the exhaustion away.

  “The break benefits all.”

  Although she still couldn’t see his eyes for the shadows, his voice held no sign of frustration or condescension. He hadn’t exactly answered her question, but she’d best not push him further.

  She’d simply have to wait and watch. For if there were any sign that these men would change their minds about her and Pa riding with them, she’d need to be ready for it.

  Chapter 9

  Just a few more chores to finish and she could steal a few minutes of freedom.

  Susanna straightened her father’s blankets the next morning as she strained to hear the men talking. Joel and French were by the tie line, preparing to move the horses to graze for the day. She couldn’t hear what they were saying, and that was probably best. She would wear her nerves down if she worried any longer about whether she and Pa were delaying the men. She’d just have to face whatever challenge came their way, even if that challenge included being left to maneuver this wilderness alone again.

  For now, the day looked to be clear and sunny, fully of promise. Caleb had offered to bring fresh sweetgrass to ward away these horrid mosquitoes, so that nuisance would soon be lessened. Pa was resting by the river, perhaps the best possible place for him.

  Beaver Tail had disappeared early that morning. She’d seen him slip from camp before the sun pinkened the eastern sky but had assumed he’d return within a few minutes. When she had corn gruel heated over the fire Joel had rekindled, Beaver Tail still hadn’t returned.

  She asked after him, but Caleb had only shrugged. “He goes out early to set traps. Might not be back ’til midday. You never know with him.” Then he’d sent her a wink. “Likes his freedom, that one.”

  She was beginning to see that.

  And she could understand it too. Pa had always craved freedom. Wasn’t that the real reason why they’d set out on this expedition? If she were truthful, she loved the sense of freedom, too. Of course, a moderate taste of the untamed dangers in this land could be more than enough. Especially when it came to the grizzly species.

  Beaver Tail was different though. There was something feral about him, yet the wildness didn’t frighten her. Maybe it was even part of what made him seem strong and safe. As if he could conquer anything that threatened them.

  But none of that was the reason she’d been rushing to finish her chores around the camp. She simply wanted to see Beaver Tail’s process to set up his traps. After glimpsing the results of his snare the other day, she couldn’t help wondering at how he selected locations and his process for building the traps.

  Maybe he wouldn’t want her tagging along, asking questions. But at least she could watch from a distance. If she could find the man.

  Once the camp was set to rights and the fire banked, she brushed the dirt from her hands and scanned the land around them. The voices of Joel and French no longer drifted in the distance, which meant they were probably off on another chore. Now she couldn’t ask them where Beaver Tail might be, but he was likely near the water.

  She started toward the river, swiping at mosquitos as she made her way through the tall grass, then among the scrubby trees. The flowing water called to her as she neared it, and when the bank came into view, her gaze landed on a figure lying on his side.

  Pa. For a single moment, her heart froze in her chest. Had he succumbed to his illness? Then her mind caught up to reason, and her pulse began to thump again. He was merely resting in the shade, listening to the sweet murmur of the river.

  But still, her feet flew to his side. “Pa?”

  He shifted, turning to look up at her with one eye. She must have interrupted a nap. The corner
of his mouth curved up, the smile lines grooving his cheeks. “This feels almost as good as heaven will, I think.”

  Heaven. Not for many years if she had any say so in the matter. She tried to summon a feisty quip along those lines, but the burn stinging her eyes seemed to slow her thoughts.

  She blinked the tears away and swallowed the lump in her throat. “I’m going to walk along the river bank for a while. Would you like to come?” Resting here would be better for him, but offering seemed right anyway. If he felt up to a stroll, she’d treasure his company.

  His eyes gentled. “I think this is where I should stay for now.” His voice had that tender rasp that was his special tone for her. He patted the ground in front of him. “When you’re finished, come back and sit with me if you’ve a mind.”

  Her own mouth found an answering smile. “I will.”

  Then she turned her focus to the river, looking first one direction, then the other. Which way would Beaver Tail go? Rocky banks lined the water everywhere she looked, but a few openings allowed access.

  “I saw our friend Beaver working upriver a bit. Might be interesting to see how he sets his traps.”

  Pa had read her mind once again. Maybe she shouldn’t be surprised that he knew her so well. Ever since Mama had passed ten years before, they’d spent a great deal of time in each other’s company.

  For some reason, though, part of her didn’t want him to read her mind about Beaver Tail. Maybe because she wasn’t sure exactly what she thought of him. Yet none of that mattered right now. She merely wanted to learn more about trapping.

  So she nodded and set off upstream.

  After walking for at least a quarter hour, she’d shifted away from the water’s edge to take shade in what trees grew along the bank. She should probably turn around now, as Beaver Tail had likely left the river to set snares in other areas. The man could be anywhere in this vast country, and with the rolling hills, she’d never spot him.

  But then the flash of a figure snagged her attention—down the embankment at the water’s edge. She stilled.

  Only the top part of his head was visible—his strong, tawny features and raven hair. She crept forward so she could see what he was doing. But she didn’t want to startle him. And maybe she’d see more of his work if he didn’t know she was watching.

  He knelt at the river’s edge, studying something in the water. A little splash sounded, then a tiny head rose up from the surface about two arm lengths away from Beaver Tail. The animal didn’t move, just sat there with its furry brown cap barely above the water. Another river otter?

  Susanna didn’t dare draw a full breath, didn’t dare move in case she missed something important. This time, she might actually be able to help Beaver Tail if he was attacked again.

  But as the creature raised its snout above the water, the features looked suspiciously like that of a beaver. She couldn’t help but smile at the endearing little face.

  Beaver Tail didn’t move as he stared at the creature whose name he’d been given. Neither moved, in fact, as though locked in a stand-off.

  Then, slowly, Beaver Tail eased his hand away from his body. He reached to the side, but she couldn’t see what he was doing.

  Surely he wasn’t reaching for a knife or other weapon. This moment of connection between man and animal seemed too special to destroy for the simple taking of fur and meat.

  When he drew his hand back, ever so slowly, he held a leafy branch, about the length of his arm. He extended the foliage out over the water, then lowered it gently to the surface in front of the beaver. Was he luring the animal to a trap he’d set? Water flowed around the leaves, but the branch must have snagged on something under the surface, for it didn’t float.

  With a slow shifting, he eased backward until he reached the steeper part of the bank and the animal trail that wound up to the grass above. He stayed low as he climbed up the path. At the top of the bank, he paused to look at the beaver again.

  The animal still hadn’t moved, just sat there with its head barely above the water’s surface. She had to look closer to make sure it really was a live beaver. But then she saw the cock of its head. Would it take the bait Beaver Tail had offered? Part of her wanted to yell for it to flee. If there was a trap there, this brave animal should be given the chance to live another day.

  Beaver Tail turned from the creature and strode toward the trees. Toward her.

  She fought the urge to shuffle backwards, deeper into the shadows. Maybe hide behind a trunk so she wasn’t caught watching. Except he’d caught her once before when she’d tried to hide from him.

  So she forced herself to stay put and meet his gaze when it finally landed on her. No surprise registered on his face. Of course not. He’d probably known she was there even before she’d spotted him. Ever watchful, this man.

  A hint of amusement touched his eyes as he stilled in front of her. He didn’t speak, and the silence seemed to draw words from her.

  “I wanted to see how you set your traps. For the animals, I mean.” Of course he would know that was what she meant. Unless he thought she considered him a savage looking to trap young women. But why would he think that? Why would she think that? Should she think it? Now she was simply confusing herself.

  One corner of his mouth tugged in a hint of a smile, and his eyes danced. As though he could read her thoughts. If her face wasn’t already red from the heat, it must be blazing now.

  She yanked her gaze away from him and nodded toward the river. “Was that a beaver?”

  He nodded, stepping to the side and looking back to where he’d knelt. The branch still sat partly in the water, but the beaver’s head had disappeared.

  “Do you have a snare hidden in the water there?” She couldn’t see a pole like at the other trap he’d shown her, but it was probably hidden behind the bank.

  Beaver Tail shook his head. “I had planned to set one, but my brave friend has gained my respect.”

  She raised her brows, studying his face to see if her ears had deceived her. “Really? But that branch…?”

  He shrugged. “From his favorite tree.”

  Was he jesting? It sounded almost as though he knew that particular beaver and its preferences. But they’d just came to this area the night before, and from what the men had said, they’d all lived farther north. He couldn’t have seen this specific animal before. Beaver Tail’s lack of expression gave her no clues to his meaning.

  He turned back in the direction she’d come from. “I’ve set all my snares. I’ll show you where they are on the way back to camp.”

  A thrill slipped through her as she fell in step behind him. If anyone had told her a year ago she’d be following an Indian through the wilds of the Great Plains, learning about animal traps, she’d have never believed him.

  He couldn’t have said why he offered this woman a tour of his snares. Maybe because she seemed so interested in them. Although that had never swayed him before.

  Even before he’d been burned so fiercely by Ayadna, he’d mostly steered clear of the maidens in the camp. He simply didn’t have a way with them the way some braves did. Maybe the ruckus with Ayadna had really been his fault, just like she’d said.

  “This one is set for muskrat.” He motioned toward a pocket trap at the edge of the water.

  “What makes it just for muskrat?” She was leaning over the embankment, peering down at the snare he’d set with a thin layer of mud atop it.

  “Mostly the lure I put inside the hole. It might catch raccoon or mink, too, but the muskrat won’t be able to resist it.” He hoped, anyway.

  “What hole?” Now she dropped to her knees so she could lean farther over the edge. “Oh, I see it. How deep does that go into the ground?”

  He dropped to his haunches beside her. “About the length of my arm. The bait is all the way at the back of the hole.”

  She glanced up at him, and something that looked suspiciously like respect shone in her eyes. “How did you learn all this?” I
f she kept looking at him that way, she might chip through the resistance he was doing his best to maintain. He couldn’t let that happen.

  He stood and took two steps back. “All of my people learn these things.” He’d been one of the best when it came to setting snares, but his trapping and trading had barely kept his mother and sisters fed. When he’d snagged the attention of Ayadna, the daughter of the principal chief of their tribe, the trade goods her father offered would have been enough to finally provide everything his family needed. Even enough to see his sisters settled well with good braves.

  But he’d not been enough for Ayadna. Of course, he hadn’t.

  Her father found her in the lodge of Running Cat, and the disgrace heaped on Beaver’s own head at the broken betrothal was nothing compared to what his mother had suffered. She didn’t deserve to be shunned by the other women in the camp, forced to draw water in the heat of the day when no one was around, left with only scraps from the summer harvest the women usually gathered together.

  It was a wonder his mother had been able to win the attention of Hawk Flies, especially with no dowry to give. Maybe it was the man’s advanced years and the loss of his former squaw, but at least he’d promised to provide well for Beaver’s mother and sisters.

  Leaving Beaver Tail free to finally escape his humiliation.

  He forced himself back to the present, forced his focus back on the woman kneeling on the bank.

  She stood, a graceful movement that would draw any man’s gaze. “Your people are Blackfoot?” She moved toward the deer path they’d been following, and he fell into step beside her.

  “Yes. Part of Ossinawaa’s band. Near the river white men call Marias.” Even speaking the name of Ayadna’s father left a vile taste on his tongue.

  She nodded. “I remember passing that river. The water was so cold as it joined the Missouri.”