Freedom in the Mountain Wind

by Misty M. Beller

  Beaver Tail squeezed her waist, as though he knew she needed to come out of her thoughts. “I’ll help bring your father to the river.” He pressed another kiss to her hair, and the tender act made her want to nestle deeper into his hold. There was no way she could go back to the States. She couldn’t imagine leaving this man.

  Still, she forced herself to pull back. To straighten and stand. “I hope he can walk on his own. I think the effort is what his body needs.”

  But she was wrong.

  Pa only managed a few steps before coughing doubled him over. Those awful convulsions almost rent her own chest in two. Her father would have collapsed to his knees if Beaver hadn’t gripped him under his arms.

  Once the episode finally waned, she met Beaver’s questioning gaze. As much as the act felt like defeat, she nodded toward the bed pallet. She couldn’t put Pa through this suffering.

  As he straightened and wiped the dripping blood from his mouth, she stepped close to him and wrapped an arm around his waist. “Let’s get you back to your bed.”

  He met her gaze, and he seemed to find strength from somewhere deep within. “I want to see the river.” Even though his voice rasped and a tremble laced his words, he’d used the tone that was so familiar. The one that embodied determination.

  Somehow, they would make it to the edge of the cliff. Together.

  Tucking herself under his arm, they limped forward. He leaned much of his weight on her, but he was so light, she might have been able to pick him up and carry him. Oh, Pa.

  When they reached the edge of the cliff, Beaver Tail helped ease Pa down to sit. From the rasp of each breath, even sitting up seemed to be a challenge. She settled beside him as Beaver Tail retreated back to their camp—probably to give her time alone with her father. The man always seemed to know what she needed.

  Several minutes passed without a word, only the heavy labor of Pa’s breathing. She wanted to speak, but everything she could think to say brought the sting of tears to her eyes. Would this be the last time she sat like this with Pa, enjoying the view of the majestic wilderness God created for him?

  “I’m glad we came here, Susy.” Pa shifted his hand to drape it over her knee, like he’d done so many times when she was a girl. His tanned skin was wrinkled and spotted, maybe from age or perhaps the sun. Or possibly from his sickness.

  She laid her hand atop his. “I am too, Pa.” She would never be able to go back to the States. Not after having tasted the wild freedom of this place. Not after having met Beaver Tail. She swallowed down the lump clogging her throat.

  Pa looked over at her, offering a welcome distraction as she met his gaze. His blue eyes that used to be such a clear navy now shimmered cloudy like those of an old man—far older than his five decades. But when his voice emerged, its raspy tenor vibrated with that determination again. “Let’s go to the mountains, Susanna.”

  Chapter 21

  Susanna wasn’t sure she’d heard her father right, but the sparkle breaking through his cloudy gaze told her she had.

  The weight on her chest pressed harder, sending a pain all the way through her. “Pa.” He’d never make it even an hour on horseback. And Beaver Tail said it would be another hard day or two of riding to reach the edge of the real mountain country.

  He squeezed her leg. “I can make it. I need to. It’s…important to me, Susy.” When she was little, before her mother passed, she’d hated that nickname. But during those dark days—and every day after—hearing the pet name in Pa’s voice wrapped a bit of his love around her like a hug. Now, she could feel its effects swaying her.

  She twisted to look at the distant mountains behind them. “There. You can see them from here.” He wouldn’t give in to that, of course. But he would appreciate the attempt at humor.

  He chuckled, but the sound turned into a cough that echoed across the canyon below. She clutched his arm to keep him from falling forward, and somehow, he was able to stifle the cough before it turned into a full episode.

  Wheezing in harsh breaths, he gripped her knee with more strength than she’d have thought he still possessed. At last, he regained enough air to speak. “Please. Susanna. I want to…try it.” Each word seemed to take more out of him. How would he ever make it in the saddle?

  Yet everything in her wanted to help him accomplish this last goal. The mountains were what he’d always talked about. What he’d really wanted to see from the moment he first dreamed of this trip.

  And she knew well how he felt. That same yearning pulled inside her.

  She forced out the breath clogged in her chest, blowing a long exhale. “I’ll talk to Beaver about it.”

  Again, her father turned to her. “I like that young man, Susy.”

  She met his gaze, a smile threatening her mouth as his words soaked through her. In his look was something even more than that simple statement. A hope.

  Hope seemed too much for her to reach just now, but she let the smile spread as far as her weary face could muster. “I do too, Pa.”

  “I’m worried this knot won’t hold. The leather’s too stiff.”

  Beaver Tail looked up from his own tie to see where Caleb motioned. “I’ll work on it.” He could soften the buckskin to make the knot pull tight. No matter what, they couldn’t let a corner of the sling fall and injure Susanna’s father.

  “I’ll strap down the rest of the packs.” Caleb turned away to gather the satchels, starting up a whistle as he worked.

  He couldn’t blame the man for being eager to ride out again. Beaver had been itching to move, too. It would be different if there was something productive he could do here. He’d worked all his furs to the next stages, and watching Susanna’s grief as her father deteriorated a little more each day made him feel impotent.

  At least this way, they were helping Wilkins accomplish his last request. When Susanna had come to Beaver the day before to ask if he could think of a way for them to take her father into the heart of the mountains, he’d finally had something to work at. A problem he could actually solve.

  After massaging bear fat into the stiff leather to soften it, then tying a strong knot in that corner of the sling, he stepped back to examine his work.

  His two horses carrying the contraption were the best they had for the job, his own mount and the spotted gelding Susanna had been riding. The one she called Horse. The sling mounted between them was tied to the saddles at its four corners, and poles at the front and back would keep the animals spaced the same distance apart. This should allow Wilkins to lie down while they traveled so he wouldn’t have to expend energy to stay upright in the saddle.

  Hopefully, they’d be able to travel long enough each afternoon to reach the base of the first cliffs within two days. And then another day or two to climb the mountain. Could Wilkins hold out that long?

  Beaver’s gaze swung toward the camp, to where the man was, even now, bent over in a coughing fit. Each wheeze was so weak, it didn’t seem like he could bear up under the pain much longer. Maybe not more than a few days.

  An ache started in Beaver’s chest and radiated through him. They had to accomplish this last wish. For the gentle man struggling to draw each breath. For Susanna. He knew what it was like not to have a father, but he couldn’t imagine the pain of knowing his pa, of being as close as the two of them were, and knowing that soon the man would be ripped from his life.

  At least Beaver had been too young to understand the pain when his father had walked away.

  After the supplies were fully loaded, Susanna held the two horses hitched to the sling while he and Caleb assisted Wilkins to the animals. He could tell Susanna itched to help as they lifted her father onto his new bed, but she had her hands full keeping the horses steady.

  Beaver eyed the knots holding the sling in place as the spotted gelding shifted. What was he thinking putting this man’s life at risk in this contraption? If either of the horses spooked and bolted, the leather would give way. Not even the best knots could hold up to the for
ce of these massive creatures.

  The horses had settled now, but his spirit was torn inside him. Did they dare take a chance? He met Susanna’s gaze. She seemed to read his thoughts, for her expression turned determined, maybe even a bit pleading. We have to try this, her eyes said.

  He inhaled a breath to steady himself, then released the spent air. They could try. But if the danger seemed too great for her father, Beaver would put a stop to the journey.

  Within a few minutes on the trail, the horses had settled into a steady walk. Even after such a long break, these animals were seasoned enough to save their energy. Wilkins rode quietly most of the morning, staring out at the landscape in front of them during much of the ride. But when the coughing fits took over, they seemed to steal what little energy he had left. After each bout, he would lie lifeless, eyes closed and face as pale as the white fur of the wolf hide beneath him.

  As much as the sight made Beaver’s chest ache, he could only imagine how much it pained Susanna.

  But neither she nor her father called a halt. Beaver finally stopped them at midday to rest the horses. He’d been holding off because of the challenge of getting Wilkins in and out of the sling without hurting the man’s frail body, but the set-up needed to be readjusted anyway. A stop would help them all.

  Beaver took the horses to graze while Caleb put together a cold meal and Susanna helped her father settle on a blanket spread over the grass. Quiet fell over their group as they ate. There simply wasn’t much that could be said to break through the sadness permeating this leg of the journey. They were starting to ride through rocky land with more trees and hills and boulders—the foothills. Wilkins just needed to hang on a few more days, and they’d reach the mountains he craved so deeply.

  Beaver glanced at the man, who lay with his eyes closed and his chest rattling through every inhale. He couldn’t tell if Wilkins slept or not, what with the effort he had to expend for each breath. Just a few more days. Hold on. Please.

  “I’m going for a walk.” Susanna pushed to her feet and spun away from them. Her action was so quick, so unexpected when she’d been sitting quietly staring into the distance the moment before. She must be fighting her own fears. Or maybe tears. He should go after her, be there in case she needed him. Shouldn’t he?

  Beaver glanced at Caleb. The man met his gaze with a shrug, but the wrinkle in his brow belied the casual motion. “I think sometimes women like to cry. My ma always seemed better after she went off an’ cried a while.”

  Would getting the tears out help Susanna? If only Beaver knew. If only he were better at reading women. If there really was a God above, like Caleb and Wilkins had been speaking of so much these past days, couldn’t that God be merciful and give Beaver a bit more understanding when it came to a woman’s mind?

  Susanna’s mind especially.

  Caleb rose and wiped his hands down the sides of his pants. “I’ll get these things packed up. I don’t reckon’ we need to rush on, but I can get this part done, at least.”

  Slinging the pack of food over his shoulder, Caleb sauntered down the hill toward where the horses grazed. The brittle grass crunched under his feet, the barren effects of the rainless summer. At least winter’s snow would bring water for the land and refill the rivers.

  “Beaver.” Wilkins’s raspy voice barely carried over the short distance between them.

  Beaver Tail’s body tensed as he moved to the man’s side. Surely these weren’t his final moments. “Yes?” He was close enough to hear the gurgle of each labored inhale and exhale as Wilkins struggled for every breath.

  “There’s something…I need to know.” He had to pause partway through to take another painful breath. His chest barely rose with the effort.

  Beaver shifted closer. “What is it?” He would tell the man anything he wanted to know if his words could relieve the suffering Wilkins endured every moment.

  The older man fumbled his hand along the ground toward Beaver. It took a moment before he realized Wilkins was reaching for him. Other than Susanna, no one touched him.

  But he couldn’t let the man expend needless energy, so he reached out and allowed Wilkins to place his hand over Beavers. The hand was light atop his, but its bony grip held stronger than Beaver expected. Just like a father’s.

  “Son.”

  Beaver raised his gaze back to Wilkins’s.

  The cloudy blue of the older man’s eyes cleared as he focused on Beaver Tail. “Have you met my God?”

  The words weren’t at all what he’d expected. Not the deathbed wishes most men imparted. But they sank a weight through Beaver, the same tug that had been pulling at him for weeks now. He cleared his throat. Wilkins probably wanted him to say yes, but he had to speak the truth. “I don’t know Him.”

  He’d never wanted a god to bow to. Never thought one actually existed. Only when he met Caleb had he started to hear of the God Wilkins now spoke of. He may have had some moments recently when he wished an all-powerful being were real, but he still couldn’t credit it. How could he believe in something he’d never seen?

  “He wants to know you. He cares…about you…and has the best…planned for you. If only you…put your life in…His hands.” Each word was so hard for Wilkins, yet he pushed himself through to the last, then let his eyes drift shut as his body heaved in strangled breaths.

  Put your life in His hands. Even if Wilkins’s God did exist, Beaver would never be able to give over control of his life, not even to an all-powerful being. Even if that God had the best planned for him, as Wilkins had worked so hard to tell him.

  Yet he didn’t want to bring this man any more pain than he already suffered, so he held his tongue.

  The older man lifted one of his eyelids enough to peer at Beaver through a narrow slit. He must have read Beaver’s response, for he groaned a little with his next exhale.

  His hand squeezed Beaver’s. “I was prayin’ you would…be the man for…my Susanna.” He stopped to cough, but thankfully, a full fit didn’t overtake him. “But I can’t give her…to a man who…doesn’t know…our God. She’d never be…happy.” His last words faded to a rough whisper.

  The import of the words pierced through Beaver like a hundred arrows. I can’t give her to a man who doesn’t know our God. This man thought Beaver wasn’t worthy simply because he didn’t believe in a being he couldn’t see? Anger surged through him until Wilkins’s final words echoed in his mind. She’d never be happy.

  Like a punch to his gut, the statement knocked the breath from him, leeching the ire from inside—and all his strength too.

  He’d already begun to picture Susanna by his side, even after her father passed, making the rest of the journey with them, keeping him warm on the cold winter nights in the mountains. He’d pictured taking her back to his camp, presenting her to his mother. His sisters.

  Bile rose up in his throat, but he swallowed it down and let the anger return. Susanna wouldn’t want him, just like Ayadna hadn’t. And all because he didn’t fit the perfect model she expected of him.

  He turned away from Wilkins, pushed to his feet, and marched down the hill toward Caleb and the horses. Too bad he couldn’t leap aboard his gelding and let the freedom of the wind ease his fury.

  Chapter 22

  Something wasn’t right with Beaver Tail.

  Susanna could feel the weight of his irritation in the air between them as they rode on after their midday rest. A glance at him showed his jaw locked, the tendons pulsing as he rode. That same tension radiated through her neck and shoulders. She didn’t have the energy to focus on whatever was bothering him, no matter how much she’d like to ease his frustration.

  Not when her father lay dying in the sling beside her. She’d finally come to terms with death’s nearness. She’d had to. He’d barely opened his eyes since they hoisted him back on the sling, and each breath seemed to be farther apart.

  Were they doing the right thing pushing on to the mountains? If he only had a day or two left, she sh
ould spend it by his side. Speaking to him, reading to him, letting him feel the intensity of her love. Not mounted on a horse. But this was what he’d asked for.

  Hold on, Pa. Don’t leave me yet. Please.

  A motion ahead of them jerked her focus forward. Caleb threw his hand out as though to halt them, but he didn’t stop.

  Rounding the hill ahead of them was an Indian. Two of them. Nay, a whole group.

  Her heart surged, and she tightened her grip on her reins as she glanced at Beaver Tail. Should they halt? The two of them had to signal their horses together to keep the animals side-by-side, lest they rip the sling off their saddles and injure Pa.

  Beaver’s gaze was locked on the men riding toward them. His body wore a mask of relaxed calm, but she could sense his tension.

  So he wouldn’t stop. Not yet. She kept part of her focus on watching for a signal from the man beside her as she glanced ahead.

  The party were all men, some decked with feathers—a decoration she’d never seen Beaver wear. One of the men near the front wore a smear of black across his cheeks and nose. War paint?

  Each man had bow and arrows slung either on his back or fastened to his horse. Did that mean they were a war party? The pressure in her chest tightened. What would they do if these men attacked? With Pa in the sling, they wouldn’t be able to run. Dear God, help us.

  The Indians were only ten or twelve horse lengths away and advancing at a steady walk. She glanced sideways at Beaver and kept her voice low enough for only their little group to hear. “Should we stop and move Pa to my saddle?” He might not be able to sit up by himself, but she could hold him upright.

  Beaver Tail gave his head the slightest of shakes, then he spoke loud enough for Caleb to hear in front of them. “Wait.”

  She inhaled a strengthening breath, then exhaled her nervousness and settled her face into the bravest expression she could muster.

  The oncoming men stopped with only a couple horse lengths between them. One of the horses danced as its rider edged forward. The man spoke, gesturing with his hands in dramatic movements. He wore his hair in two long braids, with feathers hanging from both sides, and looked to be a decade or so older than Beaver Tail.