Nellie's New Attitude

by Lynn Donovan

  Nellie drew in a ragged breath and closed her eyes.

  Chapter Three

  “Whoa, Grey!” Timothy Moses halted his mule and coughed against his fist. A snow covered lump that he had not seen before lay next to the big tree. Around the other side was a trap he’d set for critters with money-making pelts.

  The bait for the trap was tacked at the end of a branch that he had whittled to a point at both ends. Shoved into the ground at a thirty degree angle, the trap sat in front of the bait. The critter had to step on the trap in order to get to the enticing bait.

  But the unusual snow covered lump seemed more important than his trap. Besides, he could see the trap hadn’t been tripped. He tramped over to it, cautiously. Was it a bear cub, succumbed to the snow and died next to the tree? His heart ached at the possibility.

  He poked it. If it wasn’t dead, he didn’t want to get mauled.

  Nothing growled or moaned. He stepped closer, pushed aside the snow with his hand, and found cloth. Fancy blue cloth. He hurried and pulled the layer off to find a woman curled up like a squirrel. Quickly, he laid his ear against her back. Her heart beat and she was breathing, but barely on both accounts.

  “Ho! Grey, come yer!” he hollered. The effort irritated his throat. He choked a cough, then cleared his throat. The mule plodded toward him with a snorting sigh, looking just as curious as he.

  Who was this woman? Why would someone dressed this fancy be out here in his woods in a snow storm? Perhaps the storm hadn’t reached the town yet, but still, why would a woman from town come out here?

  He pulled the blanket off Grey’s back and tossed it over the girl. Then he squatted and lifted her, bundled in the blanket, and sat her on Grey’s back. She crumpled forward, and Timothy let her lay against Grey’s mane. Being against the mule with the already warmed blanket over her back was probably the best way to get some warmth into her ’til he could get her back to his cabin.

  Glancing at his trotline, he saw a jerk. She was going to need some food too, and not just dried bear meat. So Timothy took the time to yank his line out of the river but rolled it on the stick he had it tethered to, fish and all. He shoved it into a leather bag on Grey’s rump and coaxed the mule to walk with him toward his cabin.

  Grey happily obliged. Home was her favorite place to be, especially when it was snowing. He’d only taken her out because he needed to check his traps. The others would have to wait ’til morning. In truth, he surrendered his catches to whatever bigger animal would rob the traps overnight. He hated to leave them, but this woman’s life was more important.

  The girl stirred. Timothy touched the blanket over her back. “It’s alright. I got ya. You’re goin’ ta be alright.”

  He kept talking to her all the way. Once they arrived at his dog-trot cabin, he pulled her and the blanket from Grey’s back, cradling her like a child, and booted his door open. She weighed nothing. Grey waited alongside the porch that formed a breezeway between the two cabins. She knew the routine of waiting for him to unload her first. However, she whinnied and shook her head, just to remind Timothy it was cold, he had taken her blanket, and she’d like to go to her half of the shelters.

  Timothy gently laid the lady on his bed, taking precious time to look at her there. He’d never had a lady from town in his cabin, let alone lying on his bed. Just then, he saw her face. His mouth dropped open. Whoa! Thank you, mountain!

  It was Nellie Harris! The beautiful blond he had admired since he was a boy. Of all the pretty girls in Belle, he had always thought she was the prettiest. His best days in town were the ones where he caught a glimpse of her shopping or eating ice cream with her girlfriends. He loved her laugh and the way she smiled.

  She was spirited, and he liked that best about her. She weren’t no wimpy, weak-willed sissy like so many of the city gals. Nellie would make a fine mountain woman. She had the gumption to withstand the harsh winters and give him strong healthy sons… or daughters. If the children were like Nellie, they’d all be perfectly suited for mountain life.

  At least, that was what he had dreamed about.

  And here she was!

  In his bed!

  How’d she end up out here, in the snow? His ma had always said, “The mountain provides.”

  Time was important in order to keep her alive. He needed to get her warmed up. She was soaked to the bone in those wet clothes.

  “My apologies, Miss Nellie, but iffen I don’t get them wet clothes offen you, you’re gonna die.” He hesitated. “I-I promise not to look.”

  Closing his eyes tight, he reached out and realized he had no idea how to get her out of this fancy gown. Peeking through the slightest slit of his eyelids, he gingerly rolled her toward him and found cloth-covered buttons. Gosh, there were a lot of buttons!

  Squeezing his eyes closed again, he fumbled with each one until they were undone and he could pull the wet gown off of her ice-cold body. Staying true to his word, he kept his eyes closed until he had turned away and laid her gown out on the floor. It was beautiful, before she fell in the river and got it all muddy. Now, it was ruined. There wasn’t enough lye soap in all of Wyoming that could get this black mud out of that delicate fabric. Too bad. She had gone to a lot of trouble to work things out with Miss Tillie to have this dress made.

  He remembered the day Miss Tillie spotted him outside her dress shop. He weren’t no peeping tom, he was just admiring how pretty Miss Nellie was and how excited she was about showing Miss Tillie her fancy New York magazines. Miss Tillie had asked if there was anything she could do for him, but since she had no power over making Miss Nellie be his sweetheart, he told her, “No, Ma’am.”

  Timothy turned back to Nellie, careful to squeeze his eyes closed first, and considered what to do next. Peeking through veiled eyelashes, he saw her stockings were torn, muddy, and soaked through too. Lord forgive him, but he also saw her legs were blue as spring flowers. That wasn’t good.

  With his eyes properly closed, he laid his hands flat at the top of one stocking, trying not to actually touch her skin, and rubbed his hands downward, making the long thin sock roll over her knee. He chunked it on the floor and then managed to get the other one off in the same manner. Ignoring the thrill that tormented his body, he continued. This had to be done to save her life and he was the only one here to do it.

  Her small clothes didn’t seem to be too wet, at least what he allowed himself to see through his eyelashes, weren’t clinging to her. Her fight with the river must have been from her waist down. He left her underthings on and covered her up with Grey’s blanket and his own coverings.

  Quickly, he stoked the fire in his hearth to warm his cabin and rushed outside to tend to Grey. Taking the game bags and traps that needed mending off the mule, he prayed. “Lord, please forgive me.”

  Grey waited impatiently, shifting her weight and whinnying. Soon enough, she could wander over to the other half of the cabins where her feed awaited her return. Timothy laid everything on the porch and hurried back inside. The fire had warmed the cabin nicely. He put a cast iron pot on the hook. Miss Nellie not only needed warmth in the room but in her belly as well.

  He knelt before his mother’s trunk, cleared his throat, and pulled out a thick, double lined quilt and laid it over the blanket and sheets already covering her. “That’ll warm you up in no time.”

  He ladled out some water from the barrel next to the hearth. The banked fire kept the stored water from freezing solid. It sizzled and popped when it hit the already hot cast iron. He stifled the irritating cough that had been a nuisance these past three days and kept at his work. The steam from the pot felt good to his lungs, so he inhaled as much as he could while working near it.

  Then he went out to the porch and brought in the leather pouch that bore the trout, hooks, line, and all. Quickly, he gutted and filleted the fish, then cut up an onion, a turnip, and some carrots, along with two potatoes he had shaved. Root vegetables were all he had left from his summer garden. But he had everyt
hing he needed to make Nellie a nice fish soup. He added salt and pepper and stirred it a bit. Glancing back at her, he wanted to do more, but what? Then he got an idea.

  He ladled more water in a smaller pan and set it on a metal shelf inside the hearth so it could boil. Gripping a fist full of coffee beans, he put them in the grinder and cranked it for a spell. Hot coffee would be done cooking faster than the soup and would warm her from the inside out. Yeah, coffee would be good for her, even if it were boiled, rather than brewed like they did in town. Maybe next time he went, he’d trade a rabbit fur for one of them pretty enameled coffee pots like his brothers’ wives had.

  He opened the drawer at the bottom of the grinder and hesitated. She might not appreciate mountain coffee as much as he did. Carefully, he poured a smaller-than-usual amount of grounds into the bubbling water and gave it a stir.

  Timothy sat back on his heels considering his work. For the first time in his life, he wished he had some of his ma’s tea leaves. Nellie might prefer tea to coffee. But right now, in order to save her life, she could drink plain boiled water, just to get the warmth back into her bones. Maybe later, he could take Grey and get some tea from his brother’s place up the mountain.

  Nellie moaned in the darkness, slowly becoming aware of a solid weight on top of her body, like a mountain of covers. Was she buried in snow? No, this wasn’t freezing cold like snow. Was she dead? What happened to that bright light she’d heard about?

  Her body hurt! There wasn’t supposed to be pain in Heaven! No tears, no sorrow… and what was that stench? It smelled like… fish guts!

  Her skin itched so bad. Oh no! One of the widows at church had told her if she was not a good girl, God would give her a rusty halo and a gown that itched. But why was she so cold?

  Well, at least she was in heaven. Or was she?

  She wanted to reach up and feel for a halo. Rusty or not, she had to know. But her arms were so stiff. Drawn up close to her body, her limbs ached for more warmth.

  Regret swamped her heart. If she was dead, she never got a chance to tell May she forgave her for taking Hoyt away from her at the alter during her wedding—

  Sorrow flooded the regret, shoving it aside. Truth was she needed to ask May to forgive her! Nellie wanted to cry. But she couldn’t muster a tear. Where was she?

  A shiver raked her body. Why was she so cold? The chill hurt worse than the itchy gown. She tried to open her eyes, but she just couldn’t. Was this what they meant by being in a cold, dark grave?

  Oh God! Was she lying in a casket, six feet underground?

  No! There was a blanket over her body. Had Jesus wrapped her in a blanket until she woke? … Or Saint Peter? Was he waiting at the Pearly Gates for her to wake up?

  Wake up! Wake up!

  Was she in heaven, or that place of limbo where you wait your turn, according to Audrey—? A sense of relief filled her mind. It was far too cold to be the other place. Another shiver rippled across her limbs. Goosebumps pulled at her skin like a thousand needles which only agitated the itchy fabric lying against her. She wanted to draw up tighter into a ball, to warm her limbs with her body. She sensed her arm against her ribs—

  She was naked! Where was that itchy gown?

  “OH NO!” She screamed! But didn’t. Her voice… where was her voice? What was going on? What had happened to her? She tried to force her eyes open. First they parted just a tiny bit. She could see a flickering light through her lashes. Straining, she managed to get one, then the other open. The interior of a simple cabin slowly came into focus. Whole fur pelts hung from the rafters and along the walls. A fire flickered in an open hearth.

  She was alive! Oh, thank God!

  In her peripheral, she caught a glimpse of movement. Her eyes dropped from the pelts to someone across the room.

  A man!

  She stilled. Who was this?

  Had he… hurt her? Her eyes darted down to her body. Two, no three blankets covered her but under she could see the top of her chemise and corset. Closing her eyes, she sighed. Surely that meant he hadn’t taken advantage of her while she was unconscious. Didn’t it? Her body ached, but she didn’t feel like she was… injured.

  Staring at the man fussing over a cast iron pot at the fire, she noticed her gown had been laid out on the floor. Oh, and it was ruined. She snorted a sigh, the closest she could come to sobbing for her beautiful sweetheart ball gown. At least she was alive.

  Something like coffee and another intriguing aroma wafted to her senses. The fishy smell lingered in the air, too. Her stomach growled. When had she eaten last? What time was it now?

  What day was it?

  She tried to push up on her elbow but her strength gave out and she just sank deeper into the oddly filled mattress. Sniffing, she identified pine.

  Pine needle straw! It smelled lovely. And didn’t feel too bad. Softer than corn husks or field-fresh straw, like some of her friends had, but not as billowy as the down feathers in her own bed at home. Still, it was comfortable. The three blankets were heavy, but warming the chill out of her bones. Although the one against her skin was itchy. She chuckled to herself. She had thought it an itchy heavenly gown.

  The fire blazing in the small hearth was nice. She drew in a deep breath and sighed, pulling her limbs closer to her body. The warmth saturated her consciousness. She closed her eyes and the cabin faded—

  “Miss Nellie?” the man’s voice she didn’t recognize called her name. He knew her name!

  With great effort, she drew herself out of the slumbered state and opened her eyes. She blinked. The man— she did recognize him, but couldn’t think of his name— held a ceramic cup toward her. Steam rose from the liquid inside.

  “Here. You need to drink this.” He pressed it against her lips. She tried, but just couldn’t.

  He slid his arm under her head, awkwardly, and lifted her enough, then tried again. This time she could sip the hot liquid. It was too hot. She jerked back.

  “Oh, I’m sorry.” He immediately blew across the… coffee… she realized it was the coffee that she had smelled earlier. Only it was black, no cream, or sugar. But it was hot and she wanted more. She strained to reach the cup with her lips, and he lifted her head again so she could take a sip.

  “There you go. This’ll warm you up. I’ve got trout soup cookin’, but it won’t be ready for a bit.” He held the cup to her lips again and she sipped more.

  Her eyes fluttered from the cup of bitter hot coffee to his face. She knew him from town. He was with the mountain men who came down every so often to trade furs. What was his name?

  “Who?” It was all she could manage to croak.

  “Oh, my name’s Timothy. Timothy Moses. And you are Miss Nellie Harris. I know you, ‘cause… well ‘cause I’ve always thought you were mighty purdy and I’ve—”

  He clamped his mouth shut.

  Her eyes widened with fear. Was she in danger after all?

  But he was helping her. For all she knew, he had saved her from freezing to death out there by that river.

  But he’d taken her gown…? Where was her gown? She wanted to scream, but she just didn’t have the strength. Oh, yes, her gown lay on the floor, ruined. “I- ‘member you.”

  Why did she say that?

  He smiled. “You do?” A slight blush filled his face underneath a lot of dark, thick facial hair. “I-I didn’t know if you’d ever noticed me. Most folks look the other way when me and my brothers come ta town.”

  She nodded and sipped at the cup. He had to tilt it slightly for her to get more. If he was going to harm her, he certainly was being kind right now.

  The coffee tasted terrible, but it was warm and felt good going down. Her anxieties seem to settle down as the warmth filled her up. He rose and she realized for the first time he had been on his knees beside the bed. He put the cup on a simple table and walked to the large pot hanging over the fire. He stirred the contents and sipped a taste from a big wooden spoon. “Mmm. It’s coming along. Soon as t
he vegetables are soft, you can eat.”

  “Tank you,” she mumbled.

  He turned to her as if surprised. His eyes twinkled and his mustache moved. He was smiling. She realized he was young. Probably her age. The beard made him look so much older. But his eyes gave him away.

  “You’re welcome. Good thing I was out checking my traps later than usual. If Grey and me hadn’t found you til morning, we’d a been bringing your frozen body back to your paw for buryin’.”

  Tears sprang into her eyes. Timothy jumped up and lunged three strides to her side. “Oh. Don’t cry! I didn’t mean nothing. Sometimes I talk before thinking. I’m sorry. Please don’t cry. You’re gonna be just fine. Soon as the snow lets up, me and Grey’ll get you back ta town.”

  He lowered his head against the mattress and coughed. The cough seemed to take over, like he had swallowed a bug or something. He pulled away from the bed and turned his back to her, with his hand drawn up to his mouth, he continued coughing until it waned. He cleared his throat and slowly turned back around. “Excuse me. I seem to be coming down with somethin’. I’ll get some of my ma’s elderberry syrup tomorrow, and I’ll be good as new.” His eyes darted to the window. “If the snow eases up.”

  Nellie drew her brow tight. He sounded like he had wet lung to her, what little she knew. Had he caught it while out there rescuing her? She pointed at the coffee.

  “You want more coffee?”

  She shook her head and pointed at him.

  “Oh you want me to drink some. Yeah, it probably would be good for this cough.” He poured himself some out of a beat-up pan.

  No wonder it tasted so bitter. He’d boiled it. Her eyebrows rose high on her forehead.

  “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine,” he assured her.

  But she was concerned. Why? She didn’t know him… not really. Oh! It occurred to her, his wellbeing meant her survival. She really did care about him being alright.

  Some folks in town had a bad cough like his. Doc had called it wet lung and said it was pretty bad. At the time, Nellie didn’t give it much thought. She wasn’t sick and her daddy nor her momma were sick, so it wasn’t her concern.