In the Shadow of the Mountains

by Rosanne Bittner

  “I expect so.”

  She stopped walking and looked up at him. “If I accept your offer, can we do it my way?”

  “Your way? What do you mean?”

  “I—I’m not sure yet. I just want to know that if I promise to love the baby and raise her as my own, I can make certain conditions, certain requests that will be honored?”

  He watched her closely a moment. “All right—long as you say them out up front, before we see a preacher.”

  “Fine.”

  “You’ll do it then?”

  “I don’t know yet. Meet me outside the store again tomorrow night and I’ll tell you. Wait until my uncle leaves.”

  “Whatever you say. But I still think he should know.”

  Bea stiffened. “He doesn’t deserve to know, not until after it’s too late.” She turned to him. “I’d better get home. You can watch out for me but don’t walk beside me. I don’t want anyone to see us and tell my uncle, or he might not let me leave the house tomorrow. He and Aunt Marlene are afraid I’ll be courted and get married before their precious daughter, Cynthia does. Uncle Jake doesn’t let me see men.”

  Kirk smiled slightly. “Well, I’m kind of glad. I always figured if I ever took a wife, I’d want her to be just mine, if you know what I mean.”

  Her cheeks flushed hot again and she turned away. “Good night, Kirk.” She hurried off, feeling a surprising jealousy at the thought of the man going back to Sadie’s place tonight. Would he sleep with the woman?

  She walked faster, deciding that what David Kirkland did tonight was the least of her worries for the moment. Out of a clear blue sky the man had come back to Kansas City to ask her to be his wife! She realized there was no way he could really love her—not yet, anyway. All he wanted was a woman to take care of his baby. But marrying him opened up whole new avenues for her. It could be her way to realizing some of her own dreams, and it was certainly a way to get away from Uncle Jake and Aunt Marlene.

  She knew that marriage was not a pathway to independence for most women, but to her it spelled a certain freedom. Was she a fool to consider David Kirkland’s outrageous offer? She turned to see him walking some distance behind her. He was a big, handsome, honest man. She believed him when he said he would make no demands on her; but what kind of future was there with a mountain man who had never held a regular job or lived in one place? Still, he seemed willing to settle for her sake.

  She felt suddenly beautiful, desired, needed. Perhaps he didn’t love her, but people could learn to love each other, couldn’t they? Like Kirk had said, out in the great West where he came from, sometimes total strangers got married. She realized his offer seemed perfectly sane and acceptable to him, for he came from a world far different from her own, and that fascinated her.

  She looked back at him once more, feeling protected and safe. One thing was sure—David Kirkland was a man who knew how to take care of himself and protect his own. That was a good feeling. She reached the house, then turned and nodded to him before going inside.

  Kirk gave her a little wave. He had already decided not to tell her about his son. It was enough of a shock to bring her a baby girl and propose marriage and motherhood both at the same time. He would never know his Indian son, and the thought brought a heaviness to his heart, more painful because he would never be able to share the ache of it with anyone else. Only Red McKinley knew about Morning Star’s twin brother, and it was not likely he would ever see Red again. If Beatrice Ritter accepted his offer, his whole life would change forever. He had no choice. He had a beautiful little daughter who needed him, and he would do what was necessary to raise her properly.

  Night seemed a long time coming. Bea was hardly aware of her daily chores, dusting, taking inventory, waiting on customers mechanically, thinking with secret excitement and a feeling of victory that no one knew what she would do tonight. It was difficult to add up costs, count pieces of candy, or accurately measure bolts of cloth, for her mind was not on her work.

  There was nothing logical about her decision. It was dangerous, foolish, risky—yet no argument she posed could change her mind. The thought of getting out of her uncle’s house overshadowed all warnings.

  No one had asked why she wore one of her better dresses today, not that it was especially fancy. Cynthia hadn’t spoken to her at the breakfast table, just looked at her coldly. Bea wondered if Cynthia thought she had worn her pink flowered muslin just to try to look prettier after seeing Cynthia’s new dress the day before.

  Bea didn’t care what she or anyone else thought. At least no questions had been asked. She had bathed before coming to the store, and she had sprinkled on lilac water. She had plaited her dark hair into one thick braid down her back, which she thought looked nicer than a bun, and she had smuggled extra clothes into the store under the skirt of her dress. She didn’t have enough possessions to bother packing a bag; what she needed after tonight, David Kirkland would have to buy for her.

  The time finally came when Jake Ritter turned over the closed sign on the door. Her uncle had hardly talked to her all day, still annoyed with her for upsetting his daughter. Bea offered to stay and finish inventory, apologizing again for seeming “ungrateful,” and telling him she wanted to make up for it.

  Jake accepted her offer with grudging satisfaction, and left. Bea pulled the shades down over the door windows. She waited until it was fully dark, then went to the back room and, just as she had the night before, gently applied more of the luxurious cream to her face. She pinched her cheeks to bring some color into them, wishing again her skin was pale and pretty.

  She smoothed her dress and breathed deeply for courage, then walked to the front door. Opening it, she stepped outside onto the boardwalk. The streets seemed quieter than usual. She looked up and down the street, until she saw David Kirkland walking toward the store. He had kept his promise.

  She quickly stepped back inside the building, and when he came to the door she quietly told him to go around back. After locking the front door, she carried a lantern to the back room and opened the door, letting Kirk inside.

  He removed his hat, and Bea looked up at him, sudden doubts again filling her at the realization of what a big man he was. The small back room only emphasized his stature. She noticed he had shaved his beard but had left a mustache, and he had gotten a haircut. He wore trousers and a shirt instead of buckskins, and she smelled the pleasant scent of a man’s toilet water. His blond hair hung in neat waves to his shirt collar, and his eyes seemed even bluer in the lamplight.

  Whether the man would be a good provider was yet to be seen, but one thing could not be denied—he was indeed handsome. She reminded herself he must be good, or he wouldn’t have kept his baby girl and willed himself to settle down for her sake.

  “Have you made up your mind, Bea?” he asked.

  Her blood rushed with a mixture of anticipation and fear. “Yes,” she answered. “I’ll marry you, David Kirkland, and I’ll be a mother to your little girl, but I have certain conditions.”

  He nodded. “What are they?”

  She wondered where she got her courage. Perhaps it was the deep hurt she had suffered at the hands of her aunt and uncle and Cynthia that drove her to do something so daring and outrageous. She took a deep breath, her bold gaze on his face.

  “We’ll leave tonight,” she answered, seeing surprise in his eyes. “I don’t intend to tell my uncle until we’re far from here and we’re married. Otherwise he might try to stop us.”

  He frowned. “If you think that’s best.”

  “I do.” She folded her arms. “I want to go to St. Louis. I’ve never seen St. Louis, and I hear tell it’s a pretty big city. You could find work there.”

  Kirk refused to express his aversion to such a move. Farther east. The thought brought an ache to his insides. What about his beautiful mountains? Still, he knew he would have to find work. St. Louis was probably as good a place as any, and he was not a man to take to farming; but living in a city wou
ld not be easy for him.

  “I want a home,” Bea went on, “a real home—a house of my own that I can fix my own way and live like a proper wife. I want nice things. I don’t mean that I expect to live fancy like my aunt and uncle, but I don’t want to live like poor folks either. You’ve got to work like a proper husband, and in return I’ll make a nice home for you. I’m a good cook and I’m clean. I’ll love your little girl like my own, that you can count on. But I want folks to think she’s ours. I don’t ever want to tell anyone she isn’t. I don’t want folks thinking you only married me to be a mother to her, even if it’s true.”

  His eyes moved over her, and he swallowed. “It wouldn’t be the complete truth, Bea,” he answered, making her cheeks redden. “I mean, if I didn’t already have fond thoughts of you, I wouldn’t have asked.”

  Her blood tingled and she suddenly felt too warm. She dropped her eyes. “Another reason I don’t want anyone to know the truth about your little girl is because some folks aren’t very nice to someone with Indian blood. It will be better for her not to know herself.” She met his eyes again. “I think she should think we’re her real parents. As long as she doesn’t look Indian, like you say, why should she be burdened with knowing she’s got Indian blood? She’ll feel more loved if she thinks I’m her real mother, and she won’t ever feel she has reason to be ashamed.”

  Kirk frowned, looking around the little room while he seemed to be thinking things over. “I never connected being Indian with being ashamed,” he finally said, not looking at her. “Where I come from, white men and Indians mix like blood brothers. I lived with Morning Star’s mother for over a year.” He turned to face Bea, seeing a hint of jealousy in her dark eyes. “She was a good woman.” He sighed deeply. “What I’m saying is many of my closest friends have been Indians, Bea, and I’ll never talk against them. I don’t like what I can see is going to happen to them as more whites settle out west. But at the same time, I think I understand what you’re trying to tell me. Places like this, and cities like St. Louis, people think different. My little girl might get teased and abused. I wouldn’t want that.” He rubbed at his eyes. “Maybe you’re right. She ought to think we’re her parents. The only thing about her that’s dark is her skin, but it’s not near as dark as a full-blood Indian’s, and you’re dark. With my light hair and blue eyes, I don’t see why we can’t pass her off as our own.”

  Bea nodded. “No one needs to know when we got married. We’ll go to St. Louis and tell people we’ve already been married a while. When we get there I’ll write to my uncle and tell him where I am and that I’m fine. He doesn’t much care about me anyway. He won’t bother coming to find me once I’m married and he knows I’m all right.”

  “You sure?”

  A look of deep hurt came into her eyes. “I’m positive. And I don’t care if I never see my aunt and uncle and cousin Cynthia again.” She raised her chin proudly. “I brought some clothes with me. I want to leave tonight. I’ll let my uncle wonder for a while what happened to me. It serves him right to worry for a few days. We’ll be married as soon as possible, and I’ll be a wife to you.” She felt her face reddening again. “I just want your promise that you won’t be—that you aren’t a man who would abuse a woman, hit a woman.”

  He shook his head. “No, ma’am. I’m not that kind. And I’ll wait as long as you need—”

  “No. If I’m going to marry you, I’ll be a proper wife right off.” She felt herself trembling, and she took another deep breath, trying to keep her courage up. “If my uncle should decide to come after me, I want the marriage to already be properly consummated so that it cannot be annulled. I want you to be a real husband to me, and I your wife. Maybe in time we’ll even be able to say we…we love each other.”

  He stepped closer, and she prayed her legs would not give way. “I don’t think that would be too hard,” he told her gently. “Feelings like that don’t come easy to a man like me, Bea, but since I’ve had Morning Star with me, I’ve begun to learn what the feeling is all about.” He touched her arm hesitantly. “And I already love you some just for what you’re doing for me and my baby girl.”

  She read only sincerity in his eyes, and she stood rigid as he leaned down and gently kissed her cheek. He was so handsome, so strong and sure. She wanted to love him, to experience the strange passion he stirred deep inside her. But he was still a stranger, and she knew so little of men. She wished she would be able to give herself to him with total abandon, as Morning Star’s mother probably had; but she knew that would be impossible for her, at least at first. She would just have to be brave and trust Kirk to teach her, to do whatever must be done.

  “I would like to rename Morning Star,” she said quietly. “I want to name her Irene, after my mother. Irene Louise.”

  He let go of her arm. “That’s a fine name.”

  She smiled. “It’s settled then. I’ve wrapped my things into a blanket. I’ll lock up and leave the keys inside for my uncle. He has another set. We’ll take the back way to wherever Morning Star—I mean, Irene—is being kept and we’ll leave tonight. Don’t tell the woman taking care of her where you’re going, and tell her not to say a word to my uncle.”

  “She won’t.”

  She turned and picked up her little bundle of belongings. “Let’s go then. I’ve already locked the front door and laid the keys on the counter. The back door will lock when we close it. Take that cape from the hook there and put it around my shoulders, will you?”

  Kirk obeyed, patting her shoulder reassuringly when he did so. Bea felt numb. For the moment nothing seemed real. She blew out the lamp, and they walked outside. She looked up at him in the moonlight. “Remember, you promised me a real home,” she said.

  “You’ll have it.”

  “I don’t want you running off on me. You’re not much of a settling man, I suspect, David Kirkland.”

  “I won’t run off, Bea. I’ll never leave my little girl, and I’d never abandon you after what you’ve done. I’ll provide for you the best I can.”

  She took another deep breath and shivered. Whether it was the chilly night air or the realization that she was running off with a mysterious mountain man, she couldn’t be sure.

  Kirk put a hand to her waist and led her away. Bea smiled thinking how worried and confused her aunt and uncle would be by morning, and suddenly the idea of never seeing them or the store again made her happy. She did not look back. There was nothing in Kansas City she would miss.

  Chapter Three

  August 1849

  Bea lay on the rough-hewn bed in the crude cabin, shivering with fear and pain. The baby was coming, and she was alone. Three-year-old Irene sat beside her mother, her cheeks covered with tearstains. She was confused and frightened by her mother’s groaning and crying. Irene’s little brother, John David, crawled around on the straw-covered floor, unaware of his mother’s suffering.

  Bea was in agony, not only because she was having her second birth-child alone, but that while she lay suffering and helpless, there was no one to look after Irene and little Johnny. She turned to her daughter and took the soft little hand in hers. “Don’t be afraid, Irene. Mommy will be all right. You have to be a big girl and watch Johnny for me. Can you do that?”

  Irene sniffled and nodded, giving her mother a pat before climbing off the bed. Bea watched her lovingly. It would be so easy to blame Irene for her predicament, but Bea knew there was no one to blame but herself—and Kirk. She had vowed she would never blame an innocent child for something she could not help, never treat a child the way her own uncle had treated her.

  Irene had made it easy to keep that promise. It was impossible not to love the child. She was naturally sweet, a beautiful, loving little girl whose pretty blue eyes were full of innocence and trust when she looked at her mother. Bea had come to love her as though she was of her own flesh and blood.

  No, it was not little Irene’s fault that Bea lay having a baby alone in the Sierras. She had married David Kir
kland willingly, realizing she hardly knew the man, knowing he was a wanderer. She had kept her promises to him, but in her mind Kirk had failed miserably. It seemed he was never there when she needed him most.

  She’d grown to love her husband, but sometimes he made her so angry and frustrated that she hated him, and this was one of those times. As she had feared from the beginning, his restless nature had gotten the better of him back in St. Louis. The job he had found there—driving wagons for a freighting company—had not lasted long. For a while they had lived in a simple but pretty little frame house, and Bea had realized part of her dream of having her own home. Now that dream was shattered.

  Life had been good in St. Louis. After her first startling initiation into womanhood, Bea had learned to accept a man in her bed and had gradually grown to love her husband, in spite of the fact that he had chosen a job that kept him away for days at a time. She had her house and Irene, who was a good, quiet little girl. Everyone in St. Louis thought Irene belonged to her and Kirk, and Bea had begun living the life of a happy wife and mother, attending quilting bees, joining a church, making friends.

  In November of 1847, sixteen months after she had married Kirk, she had borne him a son, John David. Bea had thought that having a second child, especially a son, would help Kirk settle even more; but all along she had sensed his restless spirit, and when rumors that gold had been discovered in California hit St. Louis, there was no holding David Kirkland home.

  “It’s our chance to have all the nice things you really want,” he had argued with her. “I could go back to the mountains, and you’d be a rich lady. We’d both have what we want, Bea.”

  Kirk had told her he would go out first and send for her once he found gold, but Bea had insisted he take her and the children along, fearing that once her husband was back in the mountains, she would never hear from him again. They had sold everything and set out for California, leaving in late 1848 and spending the winter at Fort Bridger, in Utah Territory. Some called it Nebraska Territory, unsure of the dividing line. Others called it Wyoming.