by Jane Goodger
But when her mother died, Genny realized there was a pain much, much worse than a scraped knee. There was pain that could kill you.
“I’m ready,” she said, even though she wasn’t.
He stood, slightly shaking. She could feel the tremors move through his body like a small earthquake. She held on tight, letting out only a small sound when the pain got too bad. Her father had always said she was too tough for her own good, just like her mother. Genny had never thought of her mother as tough. She was soft and sweet and would sing to her right after her prayers. Genny knew she was nothing like her mother. Her mother had been special and beautiful; she would have known that even if her father hadn’t said it.
Then Mitch lifted her up into his arms and she didn’t cry out at all. When they got to the cabin, he kicked at the door and it swung open. “We made it,” she said. “There’s a bed to the right.” She still slept up in the tiny loft, but she knew sleeping in her father’s bed for now would be more practical.
He deposited her on her bed and stepped back, looking around the one-room cabin. Genny’s memories of her home in Philadelphia were vague images of long staircases and red carpeting. She wasn’t certain she was remembering her home or some hotel they’d stayed in on the way to California. The ceilings had soared above her head and there were a dozen rooms to explore. At least that’s how it seemed to an eight-year-old girl. She couldn’t be sure if the memories were real or if she was simply remembering her father’s tales of what their life had been like. He got tired of talking about it after a time.
“Homey,” Mitch said, but there was something in his eyes that made Genny think he didn’t like what he saw. She kept the place neat and clean, but it didn’t have soaring ceilings or red carpeting. “Do you have drinking water?”
“There’s a stream out back. The dipper and pail are by the door.”
He grabbed both and was gone.
For the first time, Genny began to think about her predicament. She knew nothing about broken bones or how long they took to heal. But she figured it would be days before she could walk. What was she going to do? She needed to eat. Already her stomach was rumbling. Her last meal had been a day ago when she’d eaten the last bit of a king snake she’d cooked two nights before.
Mitch walked in, bucket and dipper in hand, and knelt by the side of her bed. “Here.” He laid a hand behind her head and helped her to sit so she could take a long drink. “I’ll leave it here so you can reach it.” He stood and looked down at her, hands low on his hips.
“Listen, I’ve got to go tell the men what happened. I’ll get some supplies and come back. I’ll be gone until morning. Do you think you’ll be all right?”
No. “Yes, I’ll be fine.”
He gave the cabin a dubious look. “You have any food?”
“I ate the last of what I had yesterday. I was planning to go out today to look for something.”
He gave her a sharp nod, but she had a feeling he was swearing silently. He was a man who liked to swear. “I’ve got some cornbread and jerky back with Millie. I’ll bring that by before I go.”
Genny had been alone for eight months in her cabin and it was strange to see another person there. But when Mr. Campbell was gone, it seemed unusually empty, the way it had when her father had first died. It was a small cabin, but it had seemed terribly big and lonely right after it had happened. Her father had done the best he could, but no man could fight an angry female grizzly. When she’d found him, he’d still been alive, torn up pretty bad and weak from loss of blood.
Genny didn’t like to think about the way he’d died, but it was stuck in her head like a burr stuck in her hair. He’d made her promise to go home—home to England. She’d promised and had meant it. But winter was nearly on her by then and she couldn’t think of leaving. By the time the weather had turned, real fear had sunk in. England? She hadn’t the foggiest idea how to get there. She didn’t even know how to get to town for certain. Her father stopped bringing her with him when she was old enough to stay alone in the cabin for a few days. It had been years since she’d ventured far from home.
England was a world away, across the entire continent, and then across an ocean of endless water. How would she get there? She didn’t even know which direction to start walking. And so, even though it had been warm enough for weeks to travel, she’d stayed put. When Mr. Campbell had shown up, she began getting a niggling of an idea. Maybe she could follow him to a town and then she could ask directions from there. And if he said no, she’d pay him with her mother’s jewelry. The thought of going up to a complete stranger, though, had nearly paralyzed her. She hadn’t talked to anyone other than her father since the last time she’d been to town. Old Jake didn’t count; her father always said he was more ghost than man, though she’d never known what he meant.
She heard the clomp of Mr. Campbell’s boots outside and turned her head toward the door. When he walked in, his big body blocked out nearly all light from the entry. Her father had not been a big man, certainly not the kind of man who could have carried her up a mountain. This man was like a boulder, big, hard, and solid. Like a big, warm boulder, she amended. When he walked over to her, she could feel the floorboards shaking.
“I’ve got your cornbread and jerky.” He held up a large paper sack that looked like it held enough food for a week, not one night. He looked around for someplace to put it and ended up dragging one of the cabin’s two chairs across the room and setting it next to her bed. He stared down at her for a long moment before turning to leave. “I’ll be back in the morning,” he said, without looking at her, and Genny was certain that would be the last she’d see of Mitch Campbell.
Chapter 2
The men back at camp thought it was hilarious that Mitch Campbell, of all people, would be babysitting a girl for the next few weeks, thanks to his own stupidity. Mitch wasn’t particularly known for his warm-heartedness and generosity, so at least some of the men were a bit suspicious of his motives.
“She rich? Got to be. Only thing you care about is money.” This was from Will, who teased him relentlessly about his stinginess. True, Mitch would rather drink water than whiskey and it had nothing to do with being a teetotaler and everything to do with the fact that whiskey cost money and water was free.
“She’s a looker. That’s it.” This was from Rainy Talbot, a man Mitch didn’t particularly like. He mostly didn’t like the look in his eyes when Rainy had asked if she was pretty, and so Mitch told him she was missing nearly all her teeth and her eyes were squinty. While he wouldn’t call the scruffy girl he’d left in the cabin a beauty, she might tempt a man who hadn’t been with a woman in a while. And Rainy Talbot wasn’t the sort of man who attracted women unless he was in a saloon flashing his money.
“Still, she’s a human being and injured and I caused it, so I’m gonna have to stick around until she can fend for herself. I’ll find you. You all stink so bad, I’ll just sniff the air.”
Mitch was going to miss them. They’d been a team for years now, moving across the country to record what they saw for the government. It was good work and it paid well. Plus, when they were on the trail, they weren’t spending money and Mitch had nearly saved up enough to start his photography studio in New York. It would be nice to be back in civilization again. Mitch was pretty close to packing it in, but he’d been having too much fun to settle down in one place just yet. Other than a few visits back home over the years to see his mother, he hadn’t been home since he was eighteen years old and joined the Union Army. Fortunately, the war ended before he could get himself killed or maimed, and he’d headed to Nebraska. He’d wanted to get as far away from smoke and noise as he could and Nebraska seemed like a good place to go. For three years he wandered, working odd jobs until he met up with the man who would change his life forever.
William Henry Jackson and his brother had a small photography studio in Omaha, and had been about to head out with the US Geological Survey. Will needed an assistant and
Mitch signed on without even thinking. Like him, Will had spent time in the war and the two struck up an instant friendship. Will was leaving behind a new bride, but Mitch wasn’t leaving behind anything. The farther he could go from home and all the memories of the war, the better. And he’d be seeing sights no white man had ever seen before.
They’d traveled together during the summer months for the past five years, and Mitch felt sick about missing even a moment of this time. Every winter, Mitch would work for Will in his studio in Nebraska anticipating the next summer’s work. Yosemite was one of the most beautiful places he’d ever seen and now he’d be stuck in a cabin taking care of a girl. And it was his own damn fault.
The men had been good about giving him supplies; Genevieve Hayes would not go hungry under his care, that was for certain. He had a sack of flour, corn meal, some bacon, dried peaches and apples, sugar, beans, and more pickled eggs than he figured she could eat. Most important: a flask of whiskey and a small bottle of morphine. Leaving his camera behind hurt mightily, but there was no way Millie could hold everything and his equipment too. That was fine, though, as he’d be able to collect his camera when Miss Hayes was better.
By the time he reached the cabin, the sun was high and he was feeling a bit anxious. She’d seemed fine when he’d left, but he’d seen men who’d looked fine one minute take a turn for no apparent reason. He knew the minute he walked in, she’d taken a turn.
When he walked into the room, she wearily turned her head in his direction.
“Papa. Where were you?”
She was bathed in sweat and her leg had turned an ugly purple.
“It’s Mitch, darlin’.” He hunkered down beside her bed and laid a hand on her forehead, wincing when he felt how hot she was. She looked confused and shook her head a bit.
“My leg hurts.”
“I know. I’ve got some medicine that will make it feel better.” Mitch ran back to Millie and dug out the whiskey—for him—and the morphine for her, swearing under his breath the entire way. He grabbed a spoon from a basket on the table and poured a small dose. “You take this. It’ll help with the pain.”
Her green eyes were glazed with fever and pain, and she looked at him as if she still didn’t recognize him, but she took the morphine without complaint.
“I’m going to let that do its work and then I’m going to loosen these bindings and make your leg more secure.”
“The kettle’s on if you want some coffee.”
“That sounds fine. Thank you.”
“Dinner might be a bit late, though.”
“That’s fine, too.”
Mitch grabbed a clean rag and dipped it in the bucket of water he’d given her before he’d left, noting the level hadn’t gone down very much. He laid the cool, damp cloth across her forehead and was gratified to see her close her eyes and smile.
“Can I go to town with you this time?”
“Sure. I’m going to get the supplies. I’ll be right back.”
She opened her eyes sleepily, and Mitch wondered if the morphine was already taking effect. He hoped so, because it was going to hurt like hell when he took that splint off to replace it with a new one. He’d cut some deer hide into wide strips, which he planned to soak in the stream and wrap around her leg. This idea came from one of the men who’d seen that done by one of the Plains tribes when a young boy broke his leg. The leather hardened and made it impossible for the bone to move. At least he hoped that would happen.
Mitch stood up and stared down at the girl, shaking his head. Her cheeks were flushed from fever, her blonde hair dark along her temples, wet from sweat, and that silly long braid hung off the edge of the bed, tied with what looked like a piece of sinew. She had a delicate nose and brows—darker than her hair—that arched above her closed eyes. Her mouth was a soft pink, the sort of color that made a man think things he oughtn’t. On another woman, he’d be downright fascinated with those soft pink lips. But the woman lying there was nothing but a problem to him. A big problem, and he couldn’t wait until he could leave her alone and head back to his life.
How the hell had he gotten in this predicament? God only knew how long he was going to be stuck here caring for her. As soon as she could hobble about, he was gone.
Genny opened her eyes and there he was, sitting at her kitchen table, making a mess by whittling in the house. He’d come back, so she didn’t care that he was making a mess, long curling pieces of wood hitting the floor with every stroke of his scary-looking knife.
Her leg, oddly enough, didn’t hurt a bit. She looked down and saw that her entire leg was wrapped in some sort of hard skin.
“Mr. Campbell?”
He turned, frowning at her. “Mitch.”
“What is that on my leg?”
“Deer hide. You can cut it off in about two months. How’s it feel?”
She sat up, wincing a bit from the pain, but smiled. “Not too bad. When did you do this?” She had a vague memory of him coming back but had no memory of him taking off the splint and wrapping her leg.
“Yesterday afternoon. I gave you some morphine. Too much, I guess, and you slept right through.”
He stood up, slowly unfolding and straightening, and loomed over her, still frowning. He didn’t look quite angry, but he didn’t look happy either. To Genny, he looked just like any other man she’d ever seen. He wore rough clothes and had a thick dark beard, and scruffy hair. Though he was tall, he was lean, and the canvas pants low on his hips were held in place by a thick band of leather with a tarnished brass buckle.
“I’m making you crutches.” He held out a long stick, carved smooth of branches and bark, with a Y at the top. “I’m putting another piece here,” he said, pointing to the Y. “Padding it up so it won’t hurt. When you can stand, I’ll measure the crutches for you. You’ll be able to get about just fine.”
She looked down at her leg dubiously. It was completely covered in hardened skins from her ankle to mid-thigh. Even with the crutches, she knew it would be nearly impossible to get around the forest. But she’d just have to do it, because she had a feeling Mitch didn’t want to stick around any longer than he had to. And that meant her only chance of getting back to England would be walking away before she could follow him.
“When do you think I’ll be able to use them?”
“Couple days. Maybe three. You’ll do fine,” he said, looking away. Then he sighed. “Listen. I can’t stay here and take care of you. I’ve got a job, and the men I’m with are moving on. You’ll be fine. I won’t leave until I know you can get about.”
Genny nodded, but inside real panic was bubbling up. She’d barely survived when she had two good legs. If she was left alone on this mountain hobbling about on crutches, she’d never make it. She looked toward the door, which seemed infinitely farther away than it had two days ago. The path to the stream was rocky, and how would she be able to bring back a bucket of water if she was holding onto crutches with both hands? How could she hunt?
She had to think of a way to make him stay.
She looked up to see him smiling. It was the kind of smile that came before a lie. “Before you know it, you’ll be getting around just fine.”
“No, I won’t. And you know it. When you leave, I will certainly perish. How can you stand there smiling at me whilst lying? When you saved me, I thought that meant you were an honorable man, a good man.”
He stared at her as if she were speaking a language he didn’t understand. She thought he murmured something under his breath that sounded an awful lot like “high falutin’” but since she had no idea what that meant, she ignored him.
“Listen, darlin’, I’ll do my best to make sure you’re okay, then I’m leaving. That’s the most I can promise. And I might remind you that none of this would have happened if you hadn’t been following me around in the first place.”
She opened her mouth, then shut it. She’d thought she’d gotten to him when she called him a “good man.” Now she’d have to try
a different tactic. Her father always told her she could get bears to dance for her if she put her mind to it. “I had a very good reason for following you.”
“And what would that be?”
“I was hoping you could help me get home.” She plucked at the covers, putting on her saddest expression.
His dark brows drew together, and she knew she had him on the hook. Now she only had to reel him in.
“I thought you said this was home,” he said.
“It is. But when my father died, I promised to go back to England. I don’t know how to get there and I thought perhaps you could help. I have no idea where it is, you see.” When she’d spied Mitch the first time, she’d started to formulate a plan. Of course that plan hadn’t included her being injured.
Again, that long, hard stare that made her want to look away, as if he could tell she was trying to manipulate him. “England. You were hoping I could help you get back to England.”
She nodded. “Yes.”
He started to laugh. “Oh, darlin’, you are something else. No, I am not going to take you to England.”
“I promised my father.” Genny looked up at him with the most pathetic expression she could muster, which wasn’t really that difficult because she was feeling fairly pathetic at the moment—and she had promised her father.
“Listen, I’m out here doing a job. I can’t hightail it off to England just because you were foolish enough to follow me and fall off a cliff.”
“Something that wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t been pointing a rifle at me,” she pointed out darkly.
“True enough. And that’s why I’m here now, to make sure you don’t die of starvation before you can get around. But you will be able to get around soon enough and then I’ll be able to rejoin my party.”
