Love's Compass

by Gade, Carla; Franklin, Darlene;

  Within half an hour they were ready to continue their course along the Rio Grande. There were no new passengers, which pleased Yiska. While Eliana and Mr. Van Horn enjoyed the view of cattle roaming the hills, Yiska enjoyed watching her.

  “I believe that ranch belongs to Kit Carson’s brother-in-law,” Mr. Van Horn said. Kit Carson was responsible for sending the Navajos on their long walk. Yiska wasn’t pleased at the reminder. What made him open up the way he did about his past? Did it matter that much that Eliana understand him?

  Eliana glared at her father. He took her cue and changed the topic. “The stationmaster told me Wagon Wheel Gap got its name when they discovered an old wheel in the river. They believe it was from Charles Baker’s wagon when he passed through here while exploring the area.”

  “That’s interesting, Papa. It reminds me of Mr. Snowden in Silverton, the last living member of the Baker Party.” Eliana looked at Yiska. “Papa will be photographing Mr. Snowden for the San Juan Prospector.”

  Yiska wanted to ask if she would be there, too.

  The Van Horns pulled out their newspapers. “Do you need some reading material, Yiska?” Eliana asked.

  “No, thank you. I can’t read with all this movement.”

  “Perhaps I could read something aloud. Would you enjoy that?”

  “That sounds fine,” he said.

  “Oh, I know you will enjoy this!” Eliana beamed. “This is a journal entry penned by the Anonymous Explorer. The Prospector has been running a series of them.” She began to read with a lilt in her voice.

  A multitude of color explodes into the valley on a carpet of lush mountain meadows. Once lying dormant under the cover of winter, hearty blooms and delicate petals display their beauty and fill the air with fragrance.

  Flowers have now awakened along quiet streams and rocky places, greeting the wildlife as it enters this blissful place. This romance with nature fills my heart in a way I wonder if any human ever could.

  Though Yiska’s heart raced, his face remained like stone.

  Eliana sighed and folded the newspaper. “Have you ever heard such beautiful words? I can hardly imagine being surrounded by a place so sublime.”

  “Beautiful, yes,” Yiska said. The words are even more beautiful on your lips. How I wish I could take you there.

  “That was penned by the Anonymous Explorer.” Eliana placed the paper on the seat beside her and straightened.

  Mr. Van Horn raised a brow. “I wonder what place the author is describing. I’d love to go there and photograph it. Yet it seems he has kept it a secret.”

  “Oh, Papa, it would be wonderful to see in person!” Eliana’s eyes danced.

  “Any idea, Yiska?” Van Horn asked.

  “It sounds like a valley west of Handies Peak. Northwest of here—in the San Juan forest between Stony Pass and Eureka Gulch.”

  “Have you been there?” Mr. Van Horn asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Is it as lovely as the writer claims?” Eliana asked.

  “More so.”

  Eliana grew quiet and looked down at her hands, and then met Yiska’s eyes. “I have a confession, but please promise not to tell.”

  Yiska nodded.

  “I found a journal on the steps at the end of the boardwalk. I brought it to the newspaper, hoping to place an ad to find the owner. But the editor decided to publish it instead.”

  Yiska’s heart skipped a beat. “Really?”

  She nodded. “I felt awful when Mr. Wilson printed it without the author’s permission.” She placed her hand on the newspaper. “This is art, and the work of a romantic. I hope the author is not terribly disappointed. Though I know I would have been.”

  “Perhaps it all worked out for the best. Mr. Van Horn, what are you reading?”

  Mr. Van Horn peered up at Yiska. “Scribner’s Monthly. An article entitled ‘The Cañons of the Colorado’ by Major John Wesley Powell. It’s a series of three articles detailing his explorations, with engravings from Hiller’s photographs. John Hiller was first hired as a boatman on the expedition, and later Powell hired him as photographer. Goes to show, if you have the ambition…”

  Eliana leaned over her father’s shoulder. “The pictures transport you right there. That’s what we…you…hope to do on the expedition, Papa.” She looked at Yiska. “My father is going on a survey in New Mexico.”

  “He already knows about it, dear.”

  “Does he?” Eliana’s eyes widened, filled with curiosity and alarm. “Yiska, have you been hired as the guide?”

  “Well, yes, he was there when I was discussing it with Trask Whiley. And no. Yiska will not be on the expedition.” Mr. Van Horn’s glare issued Yiska a warning to keep silent about the matter.

  Eliana looked again at the Scribner. “Papa, maybe your photographs will be published after the survey and circulated in a magazine.”

  “Sunshine, that is precisely what I hope to accomplish. Photographic documentation would not only serve to educate people, but inspire them to visit such remote places and appreciate God’s creation. I would love nothing more.”

  Yiska’s heart swelled. Dreams so much like my own.

  “I hope you have that opportunity, Papa. And I, too, would love to see my own photographs in print. Alas, I am a woman, and that most likely shall never be.” Eliana sighed.

  Mr. Van Horn looked at Yiska. “What aspirations do you have, son?”

  Eliana tilted her chin toward Yiska, beckoning an answer. He dared not share the nature of his dreams. He tried to disregard the rough grade beneath the wheels of the coach and the rumbling inside that cautioned him to put his growing attraction toward Eliana aside. He could tell they were pulling into the Willow Creek swing station by the slowed gait of the horses hooves.

  “Whoa!” Lucky Jim hollered. The timing couldn’t have been better.

  The quick change of the horses at Willow Creek left Eliana feeling restless. The brief stop provided her a chance to stretch, wash her dusty face, and join the others at the well for a refreshing drink of water. In another fifteen miles, through narrow canyons and slopes, they’d arrive at Rio Grande Pass—only about three hours away, and three hours from saying farewell to Yiska.

  She’d hoped she could spend more time talking with him, but a mother and her son of about eight joined them for this length of the trip. Papa assisted them as they climbed aboard and then followed. He turned to help Eliana, but Yiska took her hand and helped her up. Did he plan to ride above with Lucky Jim?

  But to Eliana’s delight, Yiska climbed in and sat down—beside her! She tingled all over.

  “Are you an Indian?” The boy asked.

  “I’m a trail guide…and a journalist,” Yiska said.

  Eliana cocked her head and eyed Yiska, mouth agape. He turned to her with a sly grin and winked. Did he mean—was Yiska the Anonymous Explorer?

  The boy spoke again. “Oh. I was hoping you were an Indian.” His frown of disappointment wrenched her heart.

  “Why’s that?” Yiska said in a gentle tone.

  “I’m part Indian. And I never met a real one.”

  The boy’s mother patted him on the knee and said in a soft voice, “Jacob, please don’t bother the man.”

  “No bother at all, ma’am.” Yiska rested his elbows on his knees and met the boy eye to eye. “Jacob, is it?”

  “Yes, sir.” The boy’s eyes widened.

  “I’m more than just an Indian, and so are you.” Yiska gave a strong nod. “What do you like to do?”

  “I like to build things out of wood.”

  Yiska grinned. “See. Jacob, the builder. I’m pleased to know you.” Yiska addressed his mother. “Ma’am, you have a fine young man here.”

  “Thank you. Mr…” Were those tears the woman was blinking back?

  “Wilcox. Yiska Wilcox.”

  “Pleased to meet you Mr. Wilcox. I am Mrs. Stafford.” She turned back to her son. “Jacob, please pull your bandanna over your mouth and nose to keep the d
ust out.”

  “But, Ma, I forgot it on the table at Grampa’s cabin.”

  “Oh, Jacob.” The boy’s mother sighed and started to rummage through her satchel.

  Yiska untied his neckerchief and handed it to the boy. “He can have mine.”

  Eliana’s heart melted. Why can’t everyone see what a good man Yiska is?

  “Thank you, Mr. Wilcox.” The boy took a toy soldier from his pocket and fiddled with it.

  “Sure thing. And you can call me Yiska.”

  Eliana wondered if Jacob reminded Yiska of himself as a child. A boy looking for truth, aching to understand who he was. Similar thoughts crept into her mind about her own heritage. Why did these things matter so? Wasn’t it most important simply that the child was loved? She was certain that Jacob’s mother loved him. Did she remind Yiska of his own mother? Yet he was an orphan for most of his life. Eliana thought of Mama, and leaned a little closer to Papa in the seat next to her.

  The stage bounced over a deep rut and tossed Eliana forward.

  “Whoa.” Yiska caught her and settled her back in the bench.

  Eliana’s face flamed as she glanced at him and let out a deep breath. “Thank you.”

  “Is she your wife?” Jacob asked.

  “Jacob!” His mother had stretched her arm across her son’s legs to keep him from bouncing about, but she yanked it back and covered her mouth.

  Papa’s eyes flashed open. “No, young man—she’s my daughter. Her name is Miss Eliana, she’s a photographer, and I believe she was about to take a nap. Isn’t that right, dear?” Papa’s lips pulled into a tight line. My, but it had been a long day.

  Eliana corrected her posture and latched on to her father’s arm. He rested his neck against the back cushion and nodded off as the coach rattled along. Yiska leaned back and pulled his hat down over his eyes. Jacob was soon asleep with his head against his mother’s arm. Eliana smiled at Mrs. Stafford, wishing they could have some female conversation, but found herself settling against Papa’s shoulder.

  As her eyes fluttered shut she became more aware of Yiska’s presence beside her—the warmth of his leg radiating to hers through her skirts, his muscular arm burrowed against hers, his shallow breathing. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Yiska tilt his hat and steal a peek at her, but she chose to ignore it. A myriad of thoughts rolled into her mind. Was it wise for her to be this close to him with the feelings she was starting to have? There was still so much she did not know about him. Eliana’s swirling thoughts and the rhythm of the coach lulled her to sleep.

  A burst of noise jarred the passengers awake. Shots rang out, and the horses bolted. Jacob’s mother screamed and flung herself down on the seat to cover her son.

  Chapter 9

  Everybody down!” Adrenaline surged through Yiska’s body at the sound of gunfire. A strong instinct to protect Eliana overcame him, but her father’s shielding arms thwarted his effort.

  The coach sped up, and he reached across the floorboards to retrieve his rifle from under the seat. Jacob’s mother peeked up at Yiska, her eyes full of fright. The boy didn’t appear harmed. Mr. Van Horn had found his own rifle and was readying the gun. Yiska peered out the windows on each side to assess the situation. Who was out there? Bandits? Utes?

  Shots resounded. Yiska and Mr. Van Horn fired back. A bullet thwacked against the coach. They returned more fire.

  “Ma, you’re bleeding,” Jacob cried. Blood seeped through her sleeve.

  Eliana crouched down next to the boy’s mother and tried to steady herself on the bouncing floorboards. She pushed the woman’s sleeve back farther to try to examine the wound, but the task was impossible during the chase. At least the blood wasn’t gushing. That must be a good sign.

  She tore off a piece of her petticoat, pressed it against the wound, and wrapped her other arm around the terrified woman’s shoulders. “I think it only grazed her arm, Jacob. She’ll be all right.”

  The gunfire subsided. Had the culprits retreated? The coach pitched over bumps and ruts, its speed increasing. Yiska clutched the edge of the seat. Something was very wrong. Was Lucky Jim down? He shouted to Mr. Van Horn. “I think the horses are running on their own. I’m going up.”

  “Yiska.” The concern in Eliana’s voice pricked his pounding heart. His desire to protect her overwhelmed him, but they might crash if he didn’t do something. Then he remembered—her father had called her Eagle Eye Eli.

  “Cover me.” He handed her his rifle, and she positioned herself near the window and cocked it.

  Yiska hauled himself up to the window’s ledge and grabbed hold of the rails above. The wind whipped him, and he clamped his hat tighter.

  Another shot echoed. Eliana and Van Horn fired back. Yiska pulled himself on top of the rocking coach and lay on his belly.

  He cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted. “Eliana, my rifle.” She handed it up to him.

  He crawled forward to the driver’s box. Lucky Jim slumped on the footboard, the reins caught under his arm. Yiska bent to grab them, and another shot whizzed over his head. He raised his rifle and fired back. Four Utes had come out of hiding, whooping and hollering on horseback as they circled the careening coach. The renegades reared their horses and shot their guns into the air. They left in a flash, their horses kicking up dirt in their wake.

  Yiska wedged his gun between his legs. Sweat soaked his brow as he grabbed hold of the reins, and tried to gain control of the runaway team. The spooked horses ran wild over rocks and ruts, rattling the stage like the rumble of an avalanche. Dust filled the air, blinding Yiska’s view. He held the reins firmly, but tried to give them enough slack so the horses could guide themselves on instinct—any abrupt turns could tip the coach onto its side. He hoped the wheels of the vehicle were as sturdy as they looked. If he could only get the horses to settle into a normal gait, he might be able to bring them to a stop.

  “Yiska,” Lucky Jim groaned.

  Yiska startled. He’d thought Lucky Jim was dead. Relief eased some of his tension.

  “Pull the brake, slowly. The resistance will signal them to stop.”

  “I’m trying. A branch is stuck in there.”

  Jim stirred, clamping one hand to his bloody shoulder. “Give me the reins and get it out.”

  “You sure?”

  “If you don’t get that brake loose, the horses are going to go right down into that ravine around the bend—and all of us with them.”

  Yiska gripped underneath the seat and leaned forward. The rutted road sped by beneath him. The pounding of the horses’ hooves filled his ears. He gritted his teeth, reached down, and pulled on the tree limb that was wedged against the brake.

  It didn’t budge.

  He fumbled for the hatchet and whacked at the branch, careful not to slice into the brake. At last it broke free and flew downwind. Now he could control the lever. He gripped the metal handle and pulled back, gently at first, then exerting more pressure. Jim propped himself up and gritted his teeth while he pulled on the reins.

  The stagecoach slowed its pace, and with the resistance the horses’ terror waned. Soon they slowed to a trot. Lucky Jim handed Yiska the reins. “Pull ’em in now. Easy does it.”

  “Whoaaaa.” Yiska pulled back on the reins, increasing the tension against the bits. The hitch chains jangled as the four-in-hand team came to a complete stop, this time with no hostlers to come out to greet them.

  “Now lock the brake,” Lucky Jim said.

  Yiska secured the coach and scanned the timbered foothills that bordered the rugged trail. No sign of their pursuers. He exhaled, muscles relaxing, and hollered down to the passengers. “All’s clear. You can come out now, with caution.”

  Eliana disembarked, shaken by the tumultuous ride. Papa helped her down with rifle still in hand. He also offered his hand to help Mrs. Stafford and reassured her son that she would be all right.

  After the coach slowed, Eliana had managed to tie her scrap of petticoat around the woman’s
arm as a makeshift bandage. If no infection set in, the wound would heal in no time.

  “Are you all right, Sunshine?” Papa asked.

  Eliana threw her arms around him. A lump formed in her throat. “Yes, Papa. Are you?”

  Papa wiped the dirt and sweat from his brow. “It takes a lot more than a little gunfire to upset me.”

  Anxious to see Yiska, Eliana hurried to the front of the coach where the horses stood, soaked and lathered.

  He looked down at her from the driver’s seat, a slow grin easing onto his dusty face.

  Her eyes moistened. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes.” He wiped his face with the back of his hand.

  Papa walked up beside her. “And what about the driver?”

  “Lucky Jim was shot in the shoulder. Help me get him down,” Yiska said. “We’re still a couple hours from the next station, and his wound needs tending.”

  The two men helped Lucky Jim down and got him into the coach. Young Jacob held the door open to allow fresh air inside. Eliana ripped more of her petticoat for bandages and climbed inside to take care of Jim. Jacob’s mother, though a little pale, waited outside, resting on a boulder with a watchful eye on her son while Papa stood guard.

  “You saved us,” Jacob said. His wide eyes, full of admiration, looked up at Yiska.

  “Well, I had a little help.” Yiska turned toward Eliana, his gaze resting on her face.

  Something about the way Yiska looked at her made her feel more connected to him with each passing moment. Each experience they went through together brought them closer, strengthening a bond she couldn’t understand. Yet, as with an undeveloped photograph, she still could not envision what might yet come.

  “Miss Eliana can sure shoot a gun,” Jacob said.

  “Yes, she can,” Papa said.

  “Thank you for watching my back.” Yiska turned and nodded at Jacob. “The Van Horns make a good team.”

  He poked his head inside the coach. “How is he?”