Love's Mountain Quest

by Misty M. Beller

  Samuel’s eyes drifted open, and he looked at her with that sleepy bewilderment that always reminded her how young and innocent he was. Even though his incessant talking and squirming could be a trial, Samuel was still a young boy who needed kindness and compassion and a mother’s love.

  As he sat upright, looking lost and weary, she pulled him into her arms. His mother couldn’t be here with him, but God had given Joanna’s place to Laura for this journey. This wasn’t the first time she’d been forced to play a mother’s role to a young, grieving boy. She would be a refuge to this dear child through the days of darkness and misery.

  “How is he today?” Aaron’s voice sounded behind her, and she turned to see him holding out two bowls of corn gruel.

  She glanced down at her charge, who’d snuggled into her side. His stillness was a sure sign he didn’t feel well. Normally he would stand only a quick hug, then he was ready to unleash his energy on the day. “He’s feverish this morning. Seems to feel worse than yesterday.”

  She took one of the bowls and looked up at the man. “How is the injured horse?”

  Aaron’s mouth formed a halfhearted smile that held no mirth. “Better, I think. At least, well enough to move on.” His sarcastic tone told her exactly what she’d suspected. Rex would have no sympathy for man or beast.

  She glanced down at Samuel, then back up to Aaron. She hated to ask a favor of any of these blackguards, but the boy needed every bit of help she could offer. “Is there water for Samuel?”

  He nodded. “I’ll fill a canteen he can carry in the saddle today.”

  As the man stood and moved away, she exhaled a long breath, forcing her tension out with the spent air. At least this was one kindness she could be thankful for.

  Joanna was already exhausted, and they’d just started on the trail for the day. She didn’t mind the extra chores, truly. Staying busy kept her from fretting about her son. At least . . . not as much.

  But worrying about Isaac’s broken leg added a whole new layer of strain that had kept her checking on him all through the night. His sleep had been uneasy, and maybe that was why he seemed to wear grumpiness like battle armor this morning.

  And the pain had to be gnawing at his strength. Few people could break a leg and climb right back into the saddle for hours of riding on these rocky, uneven trails.

  Maybe she should have insisted they rest this morning. But every moment mattered with two innocents held hostage at the hands of ruthless men.

  She’d have to trust that Isaac would speak up if he couldn’t go on.

  Lord, am I making the right choice? Please hide Laura and my son under the shadow of your wing. Give Isaac strength. And, Lord, I could use an extra dose of wisdom. And strength.

  The morning dragged slower than molasses in winter. They weren’t riding as fast as before, but she couldn’t begrudge the lack of speed. Not with Isaac in so much pain and the mare still limping on her loose shoe.

  At least they were moving.

  The trail wound around the side of a mountain peak, down into a crevice, then up another steep incline. Staying astride her gelding took work on such terrain, and she kept an eye on Isaac to make sure he wasn’t having trouble.

  He still sat tall and straight in the saddle, showing no sign of his injury. Isaac was strong, no doubt about it. The kind of man who could be trusted. Depended on.

  They were descending the hillside when her gelding’s ears perked up. The animal arched its neck toward a grove of trees near the base of the mountain.

  Something must be down there. She glanced at Isaac to see if his horse was giving the same signal. It was.

  Isaac’s gaze was narrowed on the small patch of woods, and he’d already laid his rifle across his lap. How had he drawn it from its scabbard so quickly?

  She shifted her focus back to the trees as a man on horseback appeared from their depths. Her heart raced into her throat. Was he friend or foe?

  NINE

  Joanna only needed a second to process the long black braids with interwoven feathers that proclaimed the stranger an Indian. Then, a second man rode from the woods. His braids and buckskins were much the same as the first, although his horse bore flashy brown-and-white markings that drew her eye much more than the plain sorrel coloring of the first man’s mount.

  The Indians rode toward them, no surprise in their expressions. They must have seen her and Isaac from the trees.

  A glance at Isaac showed no fear on his face, and he kept his horse moving toward the men. She could only pray her own countenance reflected such calm. Lord, keep us safe.

  Living on a homestead in the mountain country for the last four years of her husband’s life, she’d seen a few Indians traveling through. Robert had always treated them with an apprehensive respect, knowing that keeping peace with the natives could very well help the three of them stay alive. Yet he’d never exuded the same level of confidence the man riding just in front of her showed as he reined his horse to a stop a short distance from them.

  Isaac raised his hand in greeting, and the men responded with the same.

  Joanna breathed out a tiny sigh of relief. Though the braves’ stoic faces were impossible to read, the greeting must be a good sign.

  “We’re looking for three men, a woman, and a boy. Have you seen them?” Isaac’s hands shifted in a flurry of motions, giving signals of some kind.

  The brave who’d been leading the way looked at the other, then back to Isaac. He spoke a string of sounds Joanna couldn’t identify, but his hands moved in wide gestures, pointing toward the northeast.

  Isaac nodded. “All right.” Then he raised a palm to the Indians and nudged his horse forward. With his other hand, he motioned her to come along with him.

  Was that it, then? She kept her horse close to Isaac’s as they rode past the Indians and forced herself to maintain a pleasant expression. She knew she didn’t look as relaxed as Isaac seemed to be around these strangers. But at least she’d made the effort.

  As soon as they were out of hearing, she leaned close to him. “Could you understand what they said?”

  He nodded. “Not their spoken words, but the sign language is pretty much the same between the tribes in this area. I could read what they were saying.”

  “What did they say?” A beat of anticipation stalled in her chest.

  “They haven’t seen the group we’re after. But those two came from the northeast, so it’s not likely they would have crossed paths with the men we’re looking for.”

  A new weight slumped her shoulders. That’s what she’d assumed when Isaac bade them farewell so quickly, but the seed of hope she’d briefly allowed to grow made the disappointment stronger than it should have been.

  The next few hours passed quietly, which gave her more time with her thoughts than she would have liked. Thankfully, she found some relief from constant imaginings about what might be happening to Samuel and Laura—relief in the form of the man riding just in front of her.

  He must have been around Indians a great deal to be so comfortable in their presence, and to learn the sign language those braves had used. Some of the gestures were obvious, but not all. Not enough that she could follow the conversation.

  She could understand how Isaac’s excellent skills in the wilderness could have been developed by time spent among these majestic peaks. Not to mention his impressive ability to find and follow tracks, too.

  But what she’d just witnessed had to come from more than just years of mountain living. Had he lived with the Indians? Had he always resided in this territory, or had he and his father come from somewhere back east? She knew both the older and younger Bowen men lived together in a cabin about an hour’s ride outside of town. They’d passed it when Isaac and his father had rescued her and the Bradleys on their way to Settler’s Fort.

  Which brought up another question she should have asked days ago. “Isaac?”

  “Yep.” His voice held a tension that probably came from his pain. Hopefully n
ot from anger with her.

  “Is your father worried about you, do you think?”

  He cut his gaze to her, but she couldn’t read the expression in his eyes.

  As she replayed her words in her mind, she realized how they must have sounded. “I mean, did he expect you home already? Do you think he would come looking for you?”

  Isaac was silent for a long minute. “He knew I’d be hunting for a while. And he knows things happen in these mountains that’ll slow a man down. If he gets worried enough, he’ll probably head to town, and someone there can tell him where I’ve gone.”

  He turned to look at her, and the pain lines at his eyes squeezed her chest. “Joanna, I’ll do everything I can to bring your boy and Miss Hannon home safely. My father wouldn’t want me to do anything else.”

  The pressure that had kept mounting on her all morning slipped from her shoulders. This was the Isaac she’d been coming to care about. The one who made her feel like she had a partner in this journey. Someone capable of taking charge. Of bearing some of the load.

  Most of the load.

  Isaac was beginning to regret his choice to dismount for their noon break. But the horses needed a rest, and his leg needed to be propped up for a few minutes. The swelling had grown the limb to nearly twice its usual size.

  Joanna was probably appreciating the chance to stretch her legs, too, although he suspected she’d never volunteer that information. She wasn’t one to complain. His respect for that trait grew more each day, especially as her burdens increased.

  Just now she sat in the grass near him, enjoying the warmth of the sun as she ate the dried meat he’d pulled from the pack. This high in the mountains, the air was still cool enough for the sun to be a welcome relief.

  A glimpse at her relaxed face tilted toward the sky made him a little jealous of the sun’s rays. If only he could be the one to take away her cares, even for a minute. If only his past didn’t haunt his present and future still. But the sins of bygone days wouldn’t remain buried much longer.

  He struggled for something to say, to be part of her happiness while he still could, but he was never good with finding the right words.

  Joanna didn’t seem to mind the silence, which was another thing he liked about her. She seemed comfortable in her own skin—and a beautiful skin she possessed, no doubt about it. But she didn’t seem to feel the need to be someone she wasn’t. He’d never met a woman quite like her.

  At last, she turned her attention on him. “Have you always lived in these mountains?”

  They hadn’t talked much about life before this journey, but her question made him want to open up. To share a little more of himself with her. As long as he steered clear of that year when his good sense had been overridden by his desire for an easier life.

  He nodded. “Since I was seven. We lived in Indiana before that, but when my ma died, Pa moved us west to see if all the commotion about gold had any merit.”

  She tipped her chin as she studied him. “So he worked in the gold mines? What did you do all day?”

  He shrugged one shoulder. “I worked along with him. We didn’t have the big mines back then, the kind where a bunch of men are employed by the owner. Each man—or boy, in my case—staked out his claim and worked a gold pan and a sluice box. I got to be pretty good at sorting through the mud and rocks.”

  “Did you have any schooling?”

  Did she think him uneducated? She must have seen the books in his pack by now. “Pa brought books along and taught me in the evenings. When I got a little older, a new miner and his wife moved in up the creek from us. Mrs. Travers had been a schoolteacher, so she took me under her wing. Taught me advanced arithmetic. Latin. Things I’ve had little need to use since.” He shot her a sideways smile.

  Her brows rose. “Latin? I hated those lessons.”

  He couldn’t help a chuckle at her honesty. “Me too. The declensions are awful, and it was hard to make myself learn, knowing I’d probably never need it.”

  “You still like to read?” A soft smile spread over her pretty mouth. “English, I mean.”

  He nodded again. “I do. Sanford at the mercantile orders me a book with most of his shipments. I pay dear for them, but the cost is worth the entertainment.”

  “A book with every shipment? You must have quite the library.”

  Heat crept up his neck, stronger than the sun was producing, and he shrugged with both shoulders this time. Hopefully he didn’t sound extravagant. “They fill up one corner of the bedchamber. Pa enjoys ’em, too, so the space and the money are worth it to us.”

  She settled into quiet for a moment. Maybe this was a chance for him to ask a little about her. He knew she’d been married and they’d homesteaded somewhere in the mountains south of Settler’s Fort. Knew her husband had died of an ax wound. Maybe asking about him would be too hard for her, but did he dare inquire about life before that?

  Before he could find the words, she spoke again. “Have you ever thought of setting up a library? Either in Settler’s Fort, or maybe even at your home? I’d think folks would be willing to ride out to your place every week or two for the chance to read such a collection of wonderful books. They’re so hard to come by for most people.”

  He eyed her. “Never thought of it.”

  In this country, where survival could require every bit of a person’s energies, it didn’t seem like there’d be a lot of interest in books—at least not enough for him to go through the effort of setting up a system to loan them out. But maybe there were others like him who enjoyed a good story but didn’t have the means to pay for both the books and the shipment.

  Joanna’s sweet smile deepened with a blush of excitement. “Think about it. I’d be happy to help you get set up.” Her eyes twinkled. “Especially if I get to borrow them, too.”

  More warmth burned across his neck. An excuse to see her more often would be nice. He motioned toward the pack. “Start with the two in there. The Bible also, if you’ve a mind. Take anything you like.”

  A root of yearning caught her expression, but she only nodded. “Thank you.”

  He’d have to make sure she took him up on the offer when they were back in Settler’s Fort. But now it was his turn to ask the questions.

  His leg throbbed, so he adjusted his buckskins around the bulky splint, holding in a groan. “What of you? I know you homesteaded a few years, but what before that?” He stole a glance at her to see if his words raised pleasant or sad memories. He didn’t want to push if she wasn’t ready to talk about them. She certainly had enough sorrow along this journey to find her son; he didn’t want to add more.

  “St. Louis. That’s where I grew up, where I met Robert, and where we were married.” Something like a sigh drifted from her, and he could feel the sadness in it, although her face didn’t reflect the emotion.

  “You still have family there?”

  She shook her head, her lips pinching. “Not anymore. Neither of my parents had siblings. They and my sister died in a train accident when I was eighteen.”

  He sucked in a breath. Her entire world had been stolen in one fell swoop. What did he say to that? Offering his condolences seemed too shallow, too easy, when the words wouldn’t actually help her.

  “I had met Robert several years before that, but we renewed our acquaintance during the time I was settling my father’s business affairs. Not long after that we married. Then Samuel came a year later. Robert had traveled to the Montana gold fields before we married, and he fell in love with the mountain country.” She inhaled a breath. “So when Samuel was almost a year old, we sold most of our belongings and moved west.”

  She offered a sad smile. “It was a good life on our homestead. Lots of hard work, but peaceful living.”

  Quite a story that. And he couldn’t help the interest that nudged his insides about the man she’d married. The man who’d captured her heart enough to leave civilization and all she knew to come to this wild country. But how could he ask without s
ounding as though he was trespassing into territory where he didn’t belong?

  Maybe a subtler approach would work. He summoned a picture of Samuel in his mind. “Your son’s red hair and freckles fit his personality just right. Did those come from his father?” He watched her face for signs he’d pushed into painful memories.

  Instead, her expression turned soft, some of the sadness fading. “They did. Robert’s hair was a bit darker red, and most of his freckles had faded by the time I knew him, but they both had the same rambunctious spirit.” She grinned. “The first time Robert let Samuel ride the horses as he plowed for crops in our bottomland, our son was three years old. I expected them back by midday, thinking Samuel wouldn’t last any longer than that. They didn’t come back until the middle of the afternoon, though—both of them covered in scratches, with blue fingers and their faces tinted green from all the huckleberries they’d eaten. Seems they’d found quite a patch and ate the berries instead of food I’d sent with them. Neither man nor boy could bring himself to stop eating until they couldn’t stand another bite.”

  Isaac pictured a larger version of Samuel, the man gripping the boy’s hand as they offered Joanna matching sheepish grins. The image brought an instant smile. “Sounds like he enjoyed life.”

  She nodded, her eyes taking on a look that was . . . wistful? “He was a good friend.” Her voice softened. “Life wasn’t always easy, but Robert . . .” Her brow knit, as though she was searching for the right words.

  Isaac’s gut tightened. Why, he couldn’t have said. Was he jealous of a dead man? Or maybe it was the life together he and Joanna had shared. But that was the last thing Isaac needed to worry over just now.

  A sigh leaked from Joanna, stealing the stiffness from her shoulders. “I suppose I wasn’t always the best wife. We were both human, with all our flaws. But he kept us sheltered and fed, and we worked through the challenges as they came.”