by Danni Roan
“I will find my brother.” She spoke, dipping her biscuit in the gravy from the stew. “He ran away long ago to go back to our people. He did not like the priest, he did not like the school, he did not like The God.”
Brion leaned back in his chair, the growing sense of contentment from the hot food and light, fluffy biscuits deteriorating at the mention of said Deity.
“You do not like The God right now either,” Winnie spoke softly, her words not kind but not accusatory, either.
“I ain’t got no time for God right now,” Brion agreed, his light brown eyes flashing. “Seems He don’t care much for us, so I don’t see any reason I should care for him.”
“Why are you angry, Brion?” She sat so still, looking across the table from him. She was quiet, the way a rock is quiet, unmoving.
“God took my sister,” he answered, his voice a bitter bark of pain and anger. “She was young and good and had three little girls to look after, but He didn’t care, he just swept her away like so much chaff.”
“So, God should not take what is his?”
“He should not allow so much pain.”
“Without sorrow, without pain, there is no mercy.” Winnie spoke carefully, “He did not bring pain into the world, but He paid for it just the same.”
Brion turned on his chair, crossing his arms over his stomach that now felt hollow and sour.
“He could have saved my sister; he should have let her live.” His voice echoed in the tiny cabin, bounding off the rafters and cracking like the storm that raged outside. “He coulda’ had me!” He shouted, standing to his feet and backing like a caged bear, as tears threatened to spill from his eyes.
Gentle arms came around him, strong and sure and warm, and he felt Winny’s body pressed against his. For a moment, he just stood there rooted to the spot, torn by rage and grief unlike any he had ever known. He wanted to shriek into the night like the gale. He wanted to rage against the darkness pressing in around him. He wanted to weep a torrent and somehow find rest for his soul.
Instead, he turned and looked down into a kind and knowing face, with eyes like a sky at midnight, at once dark and full of light. Something broke inside of him and he gulped for air, then fell to his knees, burying his head in the soft folds of her buckskin dress and weeping like a child.
Winny held him for a long time, letting the grief that had been burning in him spill out in cleansing tears. When he’d finally calmed a little, she took his hand and helped him to his feet. “You rest now,” she said, pulling him down and kissing him on the forehead before turning him to his bedroll. “I will be here when you wake.”
Chapter 11
"STORM'S BAD UP YONDER in the mountains." Billy's voice was gruff as he studied the far-off horizon, where dark clouds obscured the high peaks.
"You think we'll get snow soon." Benjamin stood from where he was splicing a fence rail.
"Ain't no tellin'. Sometimes it comes early and stays late, other times out in this western part o' the world, you have a light year. It's why cows do so good."
"Cows?" Benji blinked, turning fully to look at the older man. "What's cows got to do with it?"
"Folks is findin' that growin' cows is good business 'round here."
"I don't think you grow cows, Billy," Benji smiled as he pictured a herd of bovines standing in neat rows in a garden patch.
"It's the same thing." Billy grouched. "They start small and git big, don't they? You young folks nowadays is too literal-minded." He scowled at Benji, making him smile even more.
Benji scratched his chin, still grinning at the old man, but took the time to look out across the wide prairie with a critical eye. The stock they'd brought with them was fat and sleek on the good grass and they had plenty of room to roam and forage.
Inhaling the scent of autumn grass and crisp, clean air, he tried to picture what the landscape would be like dotted with cattle. Even a few head might pay out just selling to the folks up along old Fort Casper or anywhere folks were congregated.
"You reckon Brion'll be back soon?" Billy spoke again, still gazing off toward the far blue mountains.
"I don't know," Benji replied honestly, "he was in a state when he left, and Josh was in no condition to talk him out of going."
"He had his eyes set on them mountains," Billy spoke again, more quietly this time. "God protect him if he gets hisself stuck up yonder in that storm."
"Where is Joshua today, anyhow?" Benji asked. "I thought I saw him saddle a horse earlier."
"He's off wanderin' again," Billy said. "Little Katie wanted to go, but he wouldn't take her today. She sure was fired up over it."
"She's been too quiet and serious lately," Benji agreed. "Where is she now?"
"Deeks is with her and the other girls."
"Fiona's growing like a weed," Benji commented, thankful that the baby was strong and healthy.
"Goat's milk!" Billy barked excitedly. "Best thing in the world fer a babe. My mother, God rest her soul, swore by it."
"Well, these girls are gonna have a different kind of life with no ma around ta teach 'em to be girls."
"They'll do all right." Billy grinned, turning to look at Benji. "Them girls is good as gold an' ya cain't spoil gold." He turned back to the work they were doing with the rail fence. It was spindly but kept the stock from wandering into the garden.
"We need ta get some real timber come spring, I think,” Billy said as they wound a thin string of rawhide around the rails to hold them up.
"I'd say you’re right about that. I'm no hand at building things, but a barn and sturdy fence would be good for the stock. We took what we could from the trees here but there's no way Josh'll cut them down, not the way Bridgette loved them."
"Mebbe we'll take a drive on to them mountains soon then and see about gittin' some good timber and wood for the coming winter." Billy nodded toward the distant hills. "I reckon Josh would be up ta that."
"We get a bit more wood stored an' we'll be snug for the winter," Benji agreed. "It's a beautiful country and will provide what we need, with a little hard work and plenty of prayer."
"Billy!" Deeks’ gruff voice echoed from the sod shack's doorway. "I need yer help with these youngins," he called.
"Guess Deeks ain't used ta lookin' after little girls," he chortled. "I'll send him along to help ya with the fence." He handed Benji the small hatchet he'd been using and turned toward the hut.
BRION BLAKELY WOKE into darkness, opening his eyes to the soft glow of a low fire. The chill of the night had begun to creep into the cabin as he lifted himself from his bedroll and silently walked to the little stove in the kitchen, adding wood and bringing the banked coals to life once more.
Closing the heavy metal door of the stove, he turned and studied the outline of the woman sleeping soundly in her bundle of blankets and hides. She looked peaceful, with the amber light of the fire reflecting off her skin.
On silent feet, he moved to the door, took up the heavy coat they’d found in the cabin, and stepped outside into the frigid night. Snow crunched under his boots as he stepped out onto the open porch of the cabin. It was thick and fresh, like frothy icing on a cake.
Brion gazed up into a bright cloudless sky, where a half-moon shone amongst a myriad of sparkling stars. He breathed in the icy air and his nostrils seem to freeze for a moment until he rubbed his nose with his mittened hands.
The night was silent and beautiful, almost surreal in its stillness. The tall pine stretched their black tips into a sky that swam with the light of stars, vibrating blue-black as if alive. The silver hue of the fresh snow was a dull reflection of the night, traced in shadows of deepest black.
Brion wrapped his arms around himself and settled cross-legged into the soft thick powder on the porch, taking it in. How could this cruel world be so beautiful, so magnificent?
The steep slopes of the mountains behind him seemed eternal, unwavering, unchanging, and yet he knew that even these giants turned and tumbled and fell.
He thought of his sister. Bri had been good. She had been loving and kind and full of sass. He smiled thinking of her, remembering her laughter. It didn’t seem right that she would be gone so young.
He wondered how a good God could allow such pain as death brought. A soft whooshing, barely more than a pressure on the wind, brought with it a snowy owl, drifting through the night like a ghost as it descended on silent wings, dipped, then rose again, the tiny body of a mouse in its golden talons.
Life was so balanced even with the agony of death. Such beauty was wrought from upheaval and strain.
The heavens declare the glory of God; and the firmament sheweth his handiwork (Psalm 19:1), a favorite of his father’s, came to mind and he had to admit that sitting here in the icy depths of a mountain winter, it was true.
If God had made this wondrous place, then maybe He truly did have a plan and just maybe nothing happened without good reason.
Brion’s heart was still heavy as he rose to his feet and brushed the snow off his clothes, but somewhere deep inside, something had changed.
Winny was up when he entered the cabin and she smiled at him as he walked into the tiny space. She was making coffee and it sure smelled good.
“I was doin’ some thinking,” he said, moving to the table and taking a chair.
“A man can get cold that way,” Winny replied, her eyes bright with humor in the dim room.
Brion chuckled, “I can’t argue with that.” He studied her for a minute. “So, you think God has a purpose in everything that happens?” he asked as she sat a steaming cup of strong coffee before him.
Winny shrugged, placing her tin cup on the table and sliding into the other chair. “I think God can bring good out of anything.” Her words were simple and to the point. “He does not cause bad things to happen, but he will allow them if it will get us where we need to be.”
Brion listened, liking the sound of her voice.
“It was not a good thing that I was taken from my family.” She sipped her coffee and he could see for the first time a hint of sadness in her eyes; he longed to take her hand, to comfort her somehow.
“When I left I was very sad, my family was sad, but I learned new things that I did not know and that was good. Brother Sillar was kind, he teach each child not only how to be good Catholic, but how to be good.” She tapped her breast, emphasizing that you must have a changed heart.
“I was a very difficult child,” Winny spoke again and it was all that Brion could do not to laugh. He had no trouble believing that she had been difficult. He’d never met a more obstinate or stubborn woman.
“Brother Sillar was not cruel like some priests, he did not believe in beating the bad out of children, though he made us work hard and learn our lessons, he believed that if he taught us to listen here,” again she indicated a place above her heart, “then we would turn good, or at least better.”
The words made a strange sort of sense and for the first time, Brion felt some remorse for the gambling and horse racing he’d done back in Ohio. He hadn’t cheated, it had always been a fair race, but he’d still taken someone’s prized horse as a prize.
“In this world, Bri-on,” Winnie continued, “there are many hard things we must face. We have no promise of tomorrow, and God he does not owe us anything.” Her dark, luminous eyes pierced his soul. “God already paid our debts, it is all He needs to do.”
For a few moments they sat there at the table with the smell of coffee, wood smoke, and forest around them, both lost in their thoughts.
“But,” Winnie paused so long after the word that Brion began to worry she’d forgotten her point, “still this God, The God, he gives us laughter in a baby’s smile. He gives us shelter from the storms, he provides us with food and water and light. He gives us beauty.” She finished spreading her arms wide as if to encompass the mountains and sky.
A soft tear trickled out of Brion’s eye and he felt like a fool. He’d blubbered like a child earlier and now his eyes betrayed him again, and yet even as the tiny bead of moisture rolled down his face he felt a weight lifting from his soul.
Winny smiled, lighting her whole face. “You will stay with me this winter, no?” she asked, “We cannot travel for some time yet.”
“I reckon we don’t have a choice right now, either way,” Brion spoke feeling both relieved and anxious about spending time trapped in a cabin with a woman, and a woman he was becoming more attracted to each day, to boot.
Chapter 12
“WHAT ARE YOU TWO JAWIN’ about now?” Joshua grumbled from the small chair by his bed. He was feeding Fiona while Katie played with Meg. Someone had carved animals out of small bits of a branch and the girls were busy playing make-believe.
“We were talkin’ about headin’ to them foothills for wood an’ timber,” Billy called from the table where he, Benji, and Deeks were playing some card game.
“That’s a far piece to go,” Joshua replied, adjusting the baby in his arm. She was growing in leaps and bounds. “Not sure there’s much point though. I’m thinkin’ I’ll pack up come spring and just go back to Ohio.”
Benji craned his neck to look at his oldest friend. He’d never known Joshua to give up on anything unless it was a lost cause. For years, Joshua had been talking about heading west and starting a new home. Someplace with wide-open spaces and lots of land.
“Well you can do what’s ya wants,” Billy piped up, “but I ain’t goin’ no-where. I done got me a nice little place picked out down the creek, and I’m stayin’”
Joshua didn’t speak but watched the men play another round before Billy tossed down his cards and stood to his feet.
“I’m gonna tell you young fellas sompthin’ and yer gonna listen,” he said, sticking his jaw out and crossing his arms over his bright red suspenders. “I been around this here country a time or two,” he paused as if expecting someone to interrupt, but no one did, “and I seen a few things along the way.”
Billy stepped into the middle of the dirt floor and raised a hand, ticking off points on his fingers. “Firstly, this here’s a good place to make a stay,” he said, his eyes bright with fervor, “Secondly, ain’t no promises of nothin’ in this world. Good happens, same as bad, and just cause you done got out here in one piece don’t mean you’ll get back that away.”
He turned in a circle, looking at each man one at a time. “And third place, we fella’s feel like this here is a home and that them girls is kinda ours, same as they’re yours, and they should stay here where their ma was happy.” His eyes misted then, and he pulled a voluminous red handkerchief from his hip pocket and blew his nose loudly.
Katie and Meg had looked up from their pretend farm as Billy’s voice had grown more heated, their eyes glued to the old man they simply called Billy, in wonder.
A hush fell over the building then as each man looked at the old camp cook, pondering his words.
Meg rose to her feet and clambered over to the older man, lifting her arms to him innocently.
Billy stooped and swept the tyke into his arms, and she snuggled close. “I love Billy,” she said, her high, sweet voice kind and lilting in its unique childish cadence.
“Me, too,” Katie said, scrabbling across the hard-packed floor and wrapping her arms around his middle.
The old man sniffed, wiggling his nose to cover the rush of emotions. “There, now I said all I’m a-gonna say on the matter,” he finished in a thick voice as he moved back to his chair and pulled the girls onto his lap.
Joshua James looked down into the bright gray-green eyes of his baby girl, his wife’s parting gift to this world, and sighed. “I just don’t know how to carry on,” he said, his voice soft. “I can’t be responsible for all of you.”
“Mr. Joshua,” Deeks spoke from the table, swinging his arm over the straight back of the object, “You don’t need ta’ be responsible for none of us. The way I see it is we’s responsible each for the other.” He turned, looking first at Benji, then at Billy, the
n at the girls.
“We’re sorta all in together, ya see. Like one of them cooperatives.” Again, he looked at the other men, hoping they could help him out, but no one spoke. “My old dad used ta say that we all have to carry our own weight in this world, but that some days we all need a little help.”
“Deeks, you’ve already helped so much,” Joshua said, thinking on the work the man had done, putting trail-worn gear back in order, helping to fix cookstoves and a plethora of equipment.
“But you helped me as well,” Deeks spoke again. “I ain’t much good to no one with this back o’ mine and as I get older it’s just gonna get worst. I couldn’t even make a livin’ on my own no more, but here I got three other strong backs to help out and keep me fed to boot.”
Joshua felt an unfamiliar smile tug at his lips. He was glad the former blacksmith had joined them. Together they were truly stronger.
“I hope that’s the last talk of headin’ back to Ohio,” Benji said tentatively. “I’m kind of partial to this little spot of earth.” He smiled at Joshua, hoping his friend could see how much it meant to be here in this wild land. He’d left behind him all his former hopes and dreams and now only wanted a simple life.
Joshua placed Fiona on her belly on his knees and gently patted her back as he studied his friends. “Now what were you saying about getting lumber, Billy?” he asked, for the first time able to see beyond his guilt and pain.
December rolled in cold and bright with only a foot or two of snow on the ground, affording easy winter grazing for the horses and the goats.
The men had taken Billy’s advice and gone to the foothills while the weather was still good and harvested tall pines and gnarled hardwoods to build a barn and heat their shacks for the winter.
Now with an easterly wind nipping at them, the men took turns watching the children and working on the construction of a simple barn for the stock in case the weather turned worse.
Katie, at nearly six, was a real help making sandwiches from leftover cold buffalo or venison roasts and cured meat. She was also very good at keeping Meg out of trouble and had learned to milk the goat.
