Mountain Magic

by Simmons, Trana Mae

  "Have you ever thought that maybe that bear wasn't there at first?" Jon had finally asked. "Maybe he came up on you two after you were already at the patch. I've heard that grizzlies can move pretty quietly through the brush, despite their size. Or maybe he was a rogue bear — those type don't need a reason to attack, especially if the reason they turned rogue was a run-in with a human. Sometimes a wounded bear gets away, and the wound heals, but leaves the bear in pain. It'll attack anything that moves."

  They'd ridden for several minutes, with Jon hoping that Caitlyn was thinking over his explanation, before she told him about the rest of the attack.

  "He reared up not more than fifty feet from me," she had said. "He roared, and I felt like I was looking straight down his throat. Paw, he was sitting over under the maple, about half asleep, but I heard him yell just about the time the bear roared.

  "I knew I didn't have much time — couldn't run nearly as fast as that bear could. I threw the berry bucket at him and he dropped down just as Paw shot. Probably Paw would've hit him if I hadn't thrown that bucket, 'cause the bear might've been still standing when he pulled the trigger."

  "You can't know that, Caitlyn," Jon said.

  "No, I guess not," she had continued. "I ran for the pine and so did Paw. He was trying to reload his rifle as he ran — I'd seen him be able to do that during buffalo hunts — but we got to the tree before he rammed the ball home. Grizzlies can't climb, you know, and if you get high enough in a good, strong tree, they can't get you down, if you get a good, tight hold while they shake the tree."

  When she fell silent again, Jon prodded her on. "I guess the bear got to the tree about the same time you did."

  "Just long enough afterwards for Paw to shove me up. The first branch I grabbed broke, and Paw shoved me higher. I think I even remember climbing on his shoulders. Then he tried to get the tree between him and that bear, but the bear swiped right around it and broke his gun. Paw never had a chance to get up the tree, because those claws caught him in the arm and knocked him down, too."

  She hadn't told him about anything else except burying Mick afterwards, but Jon could imagine it. As he neared the maple tree, he kept his gaze fixed on the pine. She would have heard it all — seen it all. Mick's screams of pain, mixed with the bear's roars of rage. Probably even bones breaking when the bear bit down. The bear dragging the body off, with Caitlyn maybe thinking it was going to eat parts of its kill within her hearing.

  "Thank God it didn't," Jon breathed, finally tearing his gaze from the pine as he rode around the maple. "And thank God it didn't come back — or at least, if it did, it was too confused to realize the body was buried under those rocks."

  Jon slid from his horse, wobbling on one leg until he settled the crutch under his arm, then limped over to the grave.

  The cairn of stones was undisturbed, mounded almost as high as his waist and at least six feet long. How much time had it taken Caitlyn to dig the grave, then carry all those rocks? And all the while waiting for the bear to return, without even having a rifle to protect her. She'd told him her own gun had been lost in a rock slide earlier that fall.

  Jon limped back around the maple and waved at Caitlyn to ride on in. As soon as she arrived, he awkwardly remounted and took the rifle from her.

  "I'll wait just over there for you, all right? If you need me, call out."

  When Caitlyn didn't answer, Jon hesitated, watching her gaze at the grave. She walked over and placed her hand on the wooden cross, bowing her head. He turned his horse as quietly as he could and left her in privacy to grieve.

  Some of it she had cried out that morning on his chest — knowing her, possibly even the first time she had allowed her grief full rein. He wouldn't ride too far away. If she needed someone to help bear the pain this time, he'd be there again.

  A while later, Caitlyn stepped from behind the maple and called to Jon, "Are you ready to go?"

  "Stay as long as you like, Caitlyn," he replied. "I'm in no hurry."

  She walked on out into the clearing and stopped, gazing at the pine tree — the berry patch. Then she looked back at Jon.

  "I'd like to stay here a while. Maybe gather some fall leaves for the grave, seeing as how the flowers are all gone. But...." She turned her face back toward the berry patch, and Jon rode his horse forward and dismounted.

  "You stay as long as you want, sweetheart. I won't let anything bother you."

  Caitlyn turned a grateful face up to him. The breeze blew a strand of hair across her cheek, and she brushed it back with a half-hearted gesture.

  "I should've braided my hair this morning, but Paw always liked to see me with it loose. And you really shouldn't be calling me that, either."

  "Sweetheart?" Jon asked with a quirked eyebrow.

  "Yes. You know what we agreed."

  "We just agreed to try, Caitlyn, sweetheart. But I'll try a little harder, at least right now. I really don't think that same bear could be around a year later, but you never know. You go ahead and gather your leaves while I keep an eye out."

  After Jon swung into the saddle again, Caitlyn smiled up at him. "I think Paw would've liked you, Jon Clay. But I don't think he would've let you call me those sweet names."

  Jon bent from the saddle and cupped her chin. "Think he would've shot me for thinking about kissing those lips, too?"

  Caitlyn giggled and swatted his hand away. "Probably."

  "That's sort of a contradiction, isn't it?" Jon asked as he leaned on the saddlehorn. "You just said your paw would have liked me. And every man knows that when he has a daughter, he'll lose her one day to another man — someone who will take care of her for the rest of her life. Don't you think your paw might have been glad the man in your life was someone he liked, too?"

  "But...you're not...I mean, we haven't talked about nothing like that. We said we'd forget about this thing between us."

  "Caitlyn, darling, I can see that we've got some more studying to do. You're not understanding what we've been saying to each other at all." He reined his horse a step away. "Now, you go on and get your leaves while I keep an eye out for any danger. When you're finished, we'll eat the lunch we packed, and do a little more studying."

  Jon rode to the edge of the clearing and turned his horse. Laying his rifle across the saddle in front of him, he gazed around, carefully ignoring Caitlyn's still figure standing where he had left her. Finally, from the corner of his eye, he saw her move over to the maple and begin breaking off some of the lower-hanging branches, covered with bright vermilion leaves. She disappeared around the tree, returning after a moment, leading her pinto.

  Jon kneed his horse forward, but Caitlyn swung into her saddle before he reached her.

  "I think we better head on back," she said as she rode toward him. "I decided I really don't want to stay here and eat. We can eat back at the cabin."

  "And be cooped up for the rest of the day back there?" Jon asked. "I thought you'd enjoy spending the day outside. If you don't want to stay here, we can find another place for a picnic, Caitlyn."

  She shrugged her shoulders and rode on past him. "It's sort of chilly yet, after that snow. And the ground's too mushy to set on."

  "Sit," Jon corrected as he urged his horse up beside Caitlyn's. "Remember...."

  "I know," she interrupted. "Hens set. People sit."

  "Right. Well, if you insist on going back, I guess we can talk and study while we ride."

  "I don't feel like it today."

  "Which one? Studying — or talking?"

  "Neither," Caitlyn said in a flat voice.

  "Then I guess you don't want to learn as badly as I thought you did. Right now, what with being laid up with my knee, I've got time to teach you. But as soon as I'm able, I'll be going back out every day with Silas, getting our trap line routes figured out. There won't be much time then, and you'll probably forget everything you've learned."

  "No I won't."

  "Caitlyn," Jon said in exasperation. "When students go to schoo
l, they go every day during the school term. They don't just pick a day now and then when they feel like learning."

  Suddenly he reached over and grabbed the pinto's bridle, then began leading it off the trail.

  "Stop that," Caitlyn insisted. "Where are you going?"

  "I heard a stream running down the mountain over here when we rode by," Jon replied. "You might not be hungry — although I doubt it, since you only picked at your breakfast — but I am. And you can sit on a rock, if you don't want to get your dress wet on the mushy ground."

  Caitlyn attempted to jerk her pinto's head around, but Jon had a firm grip on the bridle. Rather than injure the pony's mouth, Caitlyn shrugged in surrender and loosened her reins.

  Maybe Jon could make her go with him, but he couldn't force her to eat — or force her to study, if she didn't want to.

  Or talk.

  Immediately she thought of the leather-bound journal, now hidden under her mattress. What if Jon grew impatient with her and refused to teach her any more? She had enjoyed every minute of yesterday, especially after she realized that the letters had sounds, and strung together, they made up words. Words that could be written down to preserve a person's feelings and thoughts.

  Words that could be left behind after a person died, so people reading them would know about the person who had lived before.

  Could there be something in that journal to explain her past — maybe fill in the blanks in her memory?

  But maybe the journal would also tell her things she didn't want to know. Caitlyn shivered, and a film of gossebumps crawled over her bare arms. Maybe that was why she had buried those memories so deep inside her — so they wouldn't cause her pain — bring on the nightmare that surfaced from time to time.

  Then she remembered the deep satisfaction she'd felt when she wrote just those two, simple sentences on the slate and signed her name. And Jon had promised at the beginning of the lessons to let her start reading one of those books just as soon as he thought she could understand it. In fact, at one point yesterday afternoon, he'd told her that she might even be learning fast enough to study a book within a day or so.

  "Caitlyn?"

  Caitlyn blinked and stared around her. She'd been concentrating so hard on her thoughts that she hadn't even realized she was sitting on her pinto beside the bubbling creek. Sunlight dappled the clear water, bouncing around like skittering diamonds on the rippling surface. The creek wasn't very wide — maybe a couple dozen feet — and the opposite shoreline was a riot of fall colors. Bright yellow aspen leaves, red maple and orange oak, with green pine and straight black and gray tree trunks interspersed with white birch. A beautiful place to stop for a while.

  She glanced toward Jon's voice and saw him beside a flat rock, where he had spread out the food from his saddlebags on a piece of linen cloth. The new buckskins she had sewn for him fit perfectly, though she hadn't tried them on him while making them. Even Jon had commented on his surprise that morning when he realized she had cut and sewn the shirt and pants from only observation.

  'Course, she had told herself that she just mentally measured Jon's garments against the many shirts and pants she had made for Mick over the years. She'd had to add a couple inches in the shoulders, though, and taper the shirt in a little more toward the waist. The soft tan color was a shade lighter than Jon's blond hair, and it sort of set off his outdoor-tanned face, which made those deep blue eyes stand out.

  His eyes were much bluer than the creek water, which was tinged more slate than blue. They were more like the patches of sky showing through the towering trees overhead.

  "Are you going to get down, or should I go ahead and eat myself?" Jon asked.

  Caitlyn's stomach gave a tiny growl, and she frowned down at the betraying sound. Giving a sigh of capitulation, she slid down and dropped her reins to ground tie the pinto. She walked to the rock and picked up a cold buffalo roast sandwich, then stared down at it while she spoke.

  "I do want to study, Jon," she said quietly. "I'm feeling more like it now."

  "All right. In a minute. But first I want to talk."

  Caitlyn shrugged in irritation. "Talking, I still don't feel like doing. Leastways, nothing beyond just what needs to be said while we study." She took a huge bite of her sandwich and chewed.

  "Too bad then." Jon reached into his saddlebags and pulled out one of his books. "Guess I'll just read while we eat." He flipped open the book and settled back against the rock behind him, taking a huge bite of his own sandwich while he scanned the first page.

  Caitlyn choked down her bite of sandwich, which had suddenly turned dry in her mouth, then flounced over to the other side of the rock. Brushing off some dead leaves from a smaller rock, she sat down, with her back toward Jon. Still she heard him turn a page, and his low, almost whispered voice.

  "Always liked this story," he murmured. "Old Bill Shakespeare really knew how to tame his women."

  "Harumph!"

  "Got a good title, too. 'Taming of the Shrew.'"

  Jon read a few lines from the book, which immediately elicited a response from Caitlyn.

  "People don't talk like that," she said around a mouthful of meat. "That sounds more like song words, sort of rhyming like that."

  "His writing is a sort of poetry," Jon admitted. "And it's written in a way to make whoever reads it stop and think about his meaning. Here, listen to this."

  For the next half hour, Jon leafed through the book and read a passage here and there aloud. Caitlyn had unconsciously turned around just after he read the first passage, so she could explain her own interpretation of the words to Jon. She finished two of the sandwiches while they talked, and split the half dozen molasses cookies she had baked between them, quickly polishing off her three during the times Jon read.

  She finally allowed herself a tiny smirk, trying to hide it from Jon. But he looked up before she could school her face back into interest in the words.

  "What's that look all bout?" Jon asked. "Never mind, I know," he continued before Caitlyn could form a plausible excuse. "You think I've forgotten that I said I wouldn't study with you until we talked. Well, I haven't. I just wanted you to remember how much fun it is to learn. And now, if you want to go on, we'll get that talk over with first."

  Caitlyn set her lips stubbornly. "You tricked me."

  "Sure did," Jon admitted. "Now, I want you to tell me just what you have against allowing yourself to care for a man. Or is it just me, not all men?"

  "I never had any trouble with any other men." Caitlyn lifted her chin an inch. "Never had any desire to kiss any of them — or let any of them hold onto me."

  "But you do have that desire with me, don't you?"

  "Oh, all right! I do!"

  "Then," Jon said softly, "why are you fighting it so hard? Why do you want me to fight it, too, when we both know how wonderful it feels when we're close? Even when we're not close — just near each other."

  "Because I don't ever aim to give up my freedom and let some man boss me around for the rest of my life! Getting married ain't in my plans for myself."

  "Married?" Jon said with a gulp. "Now, Caitlyn, I didn't say anything about marriage. I just...."

  Caitlyn's eyes narrowed and she fixed Jon with a furious glare. "You just want to play around with me, huh? Like some of the mountain men do with the Indian women, then go back where they came from and leave those poor women to raise a passel of kids!"

  "Well, no. I didn't...I mean...."

  "Just what the blue blazes do you mean, Jon Clay? You know as well as I do what kissing and hugging around can lead to. And reckon you've felt it between us just like I have. You think you can do that with me — that making love you were talking about — then run back to your fancy women back east and maybe leave me tied down out here with a babe to raise? Do you?"

  "Uh...well, no. But...."

  "Ain't no 'buts' about it, Jon Clay. Since you don't have marriage in m...mind...." A surprising stab of hurt pierced Caitlyn at her words,
but she forced herself to continue. "And since I sure don't have it in my own mind to up and marry any man, then we just better forget about this whole business of kissing and hugging. That way, when we get this trapping season over with, we can each go on with our lives!"

  Jon groaned under his breath and shook his head. "Well," he said, "I asked you and you told me. We better start back. It's getting late."

  "Didn't want to stop in the first place," Caitlyn muttered. "Now he's acting like it'll be my fault that it'll be close to dark when we get back."

  ****

  Chapter 14

  The tall Indian man waited in front of the log cabin. Jon raised his rifle, but Caitlyn stopped him with a gesture of annoyance.

  "That's a friend of mine," she bit off, her irritated voice telling Jon that she was still peeved.

  Jon swung his horse across the trail, blocking her path. "Friend or not, someone's been prowling around here. And you're not riding in there until I know it's safe." He kept his rifle barrel pointed at the cabin, his thumb near the hammer. "Who is that down there?"

  Caitlyn blew out an exasperated breath, lifting a fringe of curls from her forehead. "You haven't met him, but you saw him back at rendezvous. Now, get out of my way!"

  Ignoring her demand, Jon studied the man in front of the cabin. A scowl crawled across his features when a flicker of recognition dawned.

  "He looks like that damned Indian you were kissing in camp," he growled. "Thought you said back on the creek bank that you hadn't ever wanted to kiss any other man."

  "Oh, for pity's sake!" Caitlyn reined her horse around a tree beside the trail and trotted it in front of Jon. "You got some studying to do yourself," she said over her shoulder when Jon urged his horse after her pinto. "There's kissing, and then there's kissing. Sounds like the same word, but different meanings!"

  Jon gave a soft sound of displeasure, but he refused to answer her comment. Instead, he rode behind her, eyeing the Indian warily as they approached the cabin. His discontent grew rapidly when Caitlyn slid down from her pinto and ran to the Indian, flinging herself into his arms.