Cherry wouldn’t stop fretting now. She’d be caterwauling soon. Moriah patted her back and continued bouncing. “I need to tend to the babe for a few minutes. Can I trust you to stay put until I return?” She’d be watching him, of course.
He nodded, still gripping his hat in one hand and his rifle in the other. “Yes, ma’am. Do you mind if I step back in the woods and get my horse? Then I’ll come right back to this spot and wait for you.”
If he was as honest as he sounded, she’d thank God all day. But she knew better than to trust a white man. She’d seen too many of them sink into vile depravities.
She turned and stepped back inside the cabin, then placed the brace on the door and took up her position by the peephole. Her rifle lay within reach, but she’d need both hands to care for Cherry.
She unbundled the babe and changed the wet cloth. She couldn’t help the warmth that flowed through her every time she tended her tiny daughter. “You’re finally going to eat, my sweet one. Patience is always rewarded.” If only that was true for her. It seemed like she’d been holed up in this cabin forever, waiting for things to get better. Yet, the danger seemed to grow with each day.
Cherry paused in her squirming to stare up at Moriah with Henry’s wide eyes. At just three weeks old, everything about her seemed tiny except those eyes. Moriah leaned close and pressed a kiss to the soft skin of her daughter’s cheek. While she was close, she took a second to breathe in the sweet baby scent. Nothing could be more wonderful.
But then she forced herself to straighten and peek through the hole in the cabin wall. No sign of the man. Hopefully he was still gathering his horse and not stealing around to approach from the other side.
She turned back to her daughter. “Let’s get your belly full so we can send him on his way.”
IT SEEMED TO TAKE AN hour for Mrs. Clark to come back out of the cabin, but after Samuel collected his horse, he returned to the spot where he’d promised to stand and didn’t stray. This woman clearly wasn’t afraid to shoot that rifle of hers, and he now knew the root of her spunk—fear. Or whatever it was that made a female bear so ferocious as she protected her cubs.
He hadn’t been able to see the baby well over the distance, but he’d seen enough to know the infant was tiny. A newborn.
Where was Henry? They must need food awfully bad for him to leave his family vulnerable for a hunting trip. That had to be where he’d gone. Samuel couldn’t think of another reason why the man would leave them alone.
At last, the door creaked open, and Mrs. Clark stepped out again. He had to blink to take in what he was seeing. She wore something strapped on her back—something bulky—and carried a bowl in one hand and a rifle in the other.
She walked toward him, and he wanted to meet her partway, but he didn’t dare. He wanted her to know she could trust him.
As she neared, he couldn’t take his eyes off her, even to eye the bowl of something steamy she carried. Her dark braid and dusky coloring reminded him of the Indian women he’d seen in the camps they passed on the way north. Yet her hair wasn’t coal black but coffee brown. Her eyes were lighter still, like coffee with a bit of milk lacing the cup. She wore a shirtwaist and skirt just like any other white woman. Could she have blood from both races running inside her? Regardless, Henry had found himself a pretty wife.
Speaking of Henry, Samuel held out the letter. “Here’s the note from Rachel. She didn’t say her brother was married, but I assume she won’t mind if you read it before your husband gets back.”
The woman took the note and flicked her gaze to the paper before looking back at him, as though she didn’t trust him to stay put while she turned her focus to the missive.
“I think it basically says that she’s only a few days’ ride away and she’s getting married,” he said. “She’d really like her brother to be there for the wedding. I’m sure she’d love to meet you and the child, too.” He nodded toward the cabin where the baby must be. “If you’re up to travel, that is.”
She raised her chin, and he waited for whatever fiery response she planned to offer. But instead, she handed the bowl toward him. “Eat. You must be hungry after coming so far.”
The smell of the stew had been teasing his belly, and the sight of hearty chunks of meat in warm broth made his mouth water. She’d even added a spoon. He glanced at her expression once more—just to make sure she wouldn’t change her mind and dump the hot liquid on him.
Her face was impassive. Completely void of expression, although she hadn’t lost the regal bearing of her shoulders nor the weary creases edging her eyes. Caring for a newborn added those lines to women’s faces. He’d seen it before among their neighbors in Yorkville. A lifetime ago.
Taking the bowl, he nodded his appreciation. “I am hungry. Thank you.”
He scooped a bite to his mouth, letting the warmth soothe his insides even before his tongue picked out the flavors. The meat tasted like venison, but she’d added spices or something to enhance what could sometimes be a flavorless meat.
Another bite slid down, even tastier than the first. Although he focused on the soup, he kept an eye on the woman at the edge of his vision. He’d eaten half a dozen spoonfuls before she finally looked down at the letter again, fingering the corners of the envelope. More than half the meal was gone before she slit the wax seal and unfolded the papers.
Her gaze narrowed in concentration as she studied the words. As he scraped the last bite from the bowl, she lowered the letter and returned her focus to him.
He gave her a grin. “This is the best venison stew I’ve had in ages.”
She nodded, her face softening a tiny bit. Then it went rigid again, as though preparing for what she was about to say. “My husband died several months ago. While hunting. Please tell Rachel how sad I am to share that news.”
The words slammed into him like an ax blade hacking a tree, and he swayed a bit from the impact. “He’s...dead?” His gaze scanned to the cabin again. Several months ago. Before the baby was born? Henry had never known his child. Even worse, had this woman endured childbirth alone? Surely there was a doctor or another woman in the area she’d called. Maybe her mother.
But why had she been left alone to care for the baby and manage all the other work required to survive in this wilderness? That infant had looked so tiny, Mrs. Clark likely hadn’t yet recovered from the birth.
He turned his focus back to her. “I’m more sorry than I can say for your loss. I’ll hate to break the news to Rachel, too.” His mind spun in a new direction. “Maybe you’d like to come meet her? I know she’d appreciate the chance to know her brother’s wife.” His gaze slipped back toward the cabin. “And your little one, too. Is it a boy or girl?”
“A daughter.” She turned slightly, revealing the structure on her back.
It was something like a satchel, and he almost jumped when he saw the blinking eyes near the top.
The baby. Swaddled in layers of blankets so only her tiny face peeked out, Henry’s daughter hung from her mother’s back. He thought of the stories he’d heard of Indian papooses. He’d never seen one before now.
His chuckle slipped out before he could stop it, and the woman spun back to him, concealing her child behind her.
She looked as though she thought he planned to attack the child. He had to explain his laugh. “I didn’t realize she was hanging there.”
Her face still held suspicion, so he tried to sober his expression. “What’s her name?”
“I call her Cherry.” Again, the woman’s expression softened a little. It was easy to see she loved her daughter, and no wonder, with the babe’s adorable innocence.
“Cherry?” An unusual name, but this seemed like an unusual pair. “I like it. Sounds sweet. Has she been healthy so far?”
Mrs. Clark’s chin bobbed. “So far.”
He eased out a breath, forcing his mind back to the more consequential topic. “I’d like to escort you to your husband’s sister. She and the rest of our fami
ly would be pleased to see you. There are kids and babies aplenty, so lots of mamas happy to help out.” Traveling with a newborn wouldn’t be easy, but he surely couldn’t leave this woman to fend for herself. Was she even recovered from childbirth yet? Maybe they’d need to wait a few weeks.
She raised her chin, all regal defiance. “I thank her for the offer, but I will go back to my people. I have been waiting only for the babe to gain a few weeks. The time is almost here.”
She had family then. Thank you, Lord. Did she mean Indians or whites? Not that it mattered. As long as she had people around to help her, he’d not worry. “How far away is your family?”
She turned her gaze westward. “About three days’ ride to the west and slightly north.” Then she brought her gaze back around and leveled it on him. “A Piegan camp in the mountains.”
He nodded. “I can help you get there on my way back. I’m headed southwest, but it’s probably not more than a day or two out of my way.”
She eyed him as though waiting for something else. Some other response. Did she expect a reaction about her Indian ancestry? Or maybe she was debating within herself whether to accept his offer.
She would probably balk at it, as independent as she seemed to be. But she’d need help on the trail with an infant. Especially being only a few weeks out from the birth, she surely didn’t have her strength back. There was no way he would send them on their merry way alone. If he did, he’d be launching her and the babe to certain torture, maybe even death.
Still, he waited for her to speak next. Better to know the level of her resistance.
“It’s not a hard journey. I will travel alone.” She spoke calmly. Resolutely. Then she nodded toward the smaller of the two buildings, the one connected to a corral. “You and your horse may stay the night in the barn before returning to your people in the morning.”
So, she was dismissing him. Telling him he’d better be gone by first light. At least this was a kinder send-off than she’d given the others. Leave this place in three languages.
Indeed, this was quite a woman. Yet he wouldn’t be swayed by her strength. She needed help, and he’d be patient until she was ready to accept it.
Chapter Three
“My commission is clear. How I’m to accomplish it, though, is still a bit murky.”
~ Samuel
MORIAH WARRED WITHIN herself all night. Each time Cherry pulled her from exhausted sleep for a nursing, her mind worked through Grant’s offer. She wasn’t naïve enough to think traveling across country with a three-week-old would be an easy thing. It was hard enough to manage here in the cabin, shielded from the elements with the dwindling supply of logs and food she’d stocked up before the babe came.
But she could do it. She had to.
When there was no better choice, you simply did what had to be done.
But now she did have another choice. Could she trust Samuel Grant? Just because he was a friend of her husband’s sister didn’t make him trustworthy enough to share a campfire with. She didn’t sense a bad spirit in him, but trusting a white man was no small thing.
As her mother had learned the hardest way of all.
Cherry awakened just before the blush of dawn lightened the horizon, so Moriah mixed up gruel for herself and the man outside, and steeped a pot of coffee the way Henry had liked it. If her visitor left this morning like she’d back-handedly suggested, she’d consider it God’s leading and worry no more.
But if he stayed... She didn’t know what she’d do if he stayed. Maybe wait a few days so she could get a better reading of his character.
When there was enough light to see by, she made her morning trek to the river with Cherry strapped to her back, following the path through the trees bordering the bank. This had been the perfect place for a home, near the water but with the fringe of woods giving them privacy from those traveling the river.
The men who’d pestered her these past weeks knew it too. They’d surely move in the very day she left, just like the squatters they were.
On her return to the cabin, sounds of activity drifted from the barn. Her guest must be stirring. He’d surely had a cold night without a fire to heat by, so he would appreciate the steaming food and coffee. Maybe she should invite him in to warm himself by her hearth. But she wasn’t quite ready to share the tiny cabin with another man, even for a few minutes.
Cherry gurgled in her cradleboard as they made their way to the barn. With a bowl in one hand and a tin mug in the other, she could only manage a tap on the barn door with her toe.
Seconds later, rustling sounded louder inside, then the door pushed open. The soft morning light shone on the man, bundled in a winter coat, his hair ruffled as if he’d combed his fingers through it moments before. A bit of dried grass clung to the scruff of his short beard.
And when his gaze rested on her, his mouth curved in a smile that would warm her if she let it. His eyes held the same kindness Henry’s had, although the men’s appearances were different in almost every other way. Henry’s stocky frame and flaxen hair were nothing like the tall, lean build and darker features of this man.
She’d always loved the way Henry’s eyes made her feel safe. She was reminded of that safety from the way Samuel Grant looked at her now.
She extended the bowl and cup. “Gruel and coffee. They should help warm you.”
He accepted the offerings. “Thanks.” His voice still had a sleep-roughened quality. He raised the cup to his mouth, and his eyes drifted shut as he took a long sip of the brew. As he lowered the mug, his lids opened and he exhaled a long sigh. “That’s real good. Just what I needed.”
She nodded. How exactly was she to respond to that?
He leaned against the door post and nodded toward the cradleboard. “How’s our little one today?”
Our? She glanced over her shoulder. “She’s well. Up early as usual.”
“Does she stay warm enough bundled like that?”
Something she often worried about. She turned so he could see the baby. “We don’t stay out long when it’s cold, but she seems to like being snuggled where she can see the world.”
“Hey, there, Cherry.” His voice softened. “You do like to see things, don’t you?”
He looked back at Moriah. “I don’t know that I’ve ever seen a person so little. How old is she?”
There couldn’t be any harm in answering that question. He knew the babe was young and hadn’t yet taken advantage of her weakened state. “Three weeks yesterday.”
His eyes widened a tiny bit as he looked back to Cherry. “My, but you’re a sweet young lady.” When he spoke to her daughter, his voice took on a gentleness that most men wouldn’t show.
The sound brought a burn to her throat. Would Henry have been like that? Probably. He’d been hardworking and no-nonsense, but never had he shown himself cruel. He would have loved his daughter.
She straightened, forcing the thoughts that had no bearing on the present from her mind. “If you get too cold, knock on the cabin door, and you can warm yourself by my fire.”
Had she really said that? She shouldn’t let herself fall prey to distraction again, or who knew what she’d offer up?
Turning, she retreated back into the house. To safety.
SAMUEL TOOK ANOTHER sip of coffee as the cabin door closed behind Mrs. Clark and the baby. He’d been pretty sure she had a softer side under that stone armor she wore, and this breakfast proved it.
And she’d even offered up her cabin should he be on the verge of freezing to death. Of course, she’d looked as if she wanted to clamp a hand over her mouth after she said the words, but they’d still slipped out.
He gave in to his grin as he stepped back inside the barn. At least this structure kept the wind out.
How long before she finally gave in and allowed him to escort her to her family? A few days? A week? For that matter, how long before she would be ready to travel? That could be several weeks still, if it had only been three since her childbirt
h.
And that baby was so tiny. Surely, she needed to grow more before they exposed her to the harshness of nights on the trail. He’d best hunker down for a few weeks’ stay at least. Maybe he could rig a branch shelter in the yard to sleep in so he could have a campfire at night.
He’d need to chop more wood unless Mrs. Clark had a stash hidden. The dwindling pile alongside the cabin wouldn’t last long. How was she doing with food? He had only a few days’ supply for himself, and he’d need to do some hunting to supplement that. If her husband had been gone several months, she probably needed more too.
His next few days would be busy.
As soon as the sun cleared away the fog, he took the ax into the woods and chopped the first felled pine he found that wasn’t rotten.
He’d just worked up a light sweat when the little hairs at the back of his neck tingled. He’d laid his rifle a few steps away, but his hunting knife hung from his belt. Should he lunge for his gun or ease around and see who was watching? It might simply be Mrs. Clark, not the men from yesterday come back for vengeance.
He shifted just enough so he could see out of the corner of his eye without alerting the person that he knew of their presence.
A flash of blue caught his gaze, the same dark blue as the blouse Mrs. Clark had been wearing that morning. He turned fully, taking in the sight of her squared off about a dozen strides away and framed by trees.
The babe cradled in her arms did nothing to soften the glare marking her stony face. She looked as if he were hiding in the woods shooting at her like those cads yesterday.
He raised his brows and summoned his most gentlemanly tone. “Can I help you?”
“What are you doing?” Her words emerged clipped. Angry.
He glanced back at the tree. Had she been saving it for something? “I was cutting firewood. I wasn’t sure how long it’d be before we head out, and there’s not much left stacked beside your cabin.” He turned a rueful gaze on her. “I was also thinking I might camp out in the open and have a fire at night, if you don’t mind.”
This Daring Journey Page 2
