by Vivi Holt
She linked her arm through his and they set off down the winding drive. “Indeed. I do believe I’m lookin’ forward to it this year. These past few winters were quite a shock – havin’ lived all my life in England, I thought I knew what snow, ice and cold were. Then I spent my first winter here – phew! I’ve never seen so much snow before.”
They walked longer than they’d planned to — for an hour or so — chatting about the weather and the latest news from town, how the shoats had grown and what Winston’s plans were for his ranch in the coming year. The sun dipped below the horizon, and shadows lengthened along the valley.
After a few minutes of silence, Winston spoke hesitantly. “Are you glad you traveled west after all?” He arched an eyebrow and waited for her reply with concern on his handsome face.
“Yes, I am. I can’t quite believe it, actually. I never intended to leave home that way – it was all Harry’s idea. I‘d never have traveled across the Atlantic if he hadn’t. But now I’m glad I did. Of course I miss home, but I’ve had so many adventures, and learned so much about myself and God and life. I wouldn’t swap it for anythin’. I just wish I could share it with Mam and the wee ones.”
She dropped her gaze to the uneven ground, feeling the pang of homesickness shoot through her. She’d never realized how much she’d miss her brothers and sisters. She’d always thought of them as something of an inconvenience before – creatures that simply caused her extra work and ate all the food, leaving her stomach grumbling in complaint. But now that she’d been away from them four long years, she longed to see them again and hold them in her arms, sing them lullabies and read to them from the old, torn Bible that sat on Mam’s bedside table.
A tear drifted from the corner of her eye and wound its way down her cheek. She dabbed it away with her glove in surprise. She hadn’t realized how deeply she felt the loss until that moment.
“Do you think you’ll want to go back, then?” asked Winston, looking up at the horizon with a clenched jaw.
“I don’t know.”
He stopped, pulling her up short beside him. Turning to face her, he cupped her cheek with one icy hand. “Cammie darling, you know how I feel about you. Don’t you?”
She nodded, swallowing a lump in her throat, her heart beginning to pound in her chest.
“I care about you, and I think we’d make a good team, you and I. Will you consider marrying me?”
Her eyes widened and she stifled a gasp. This was how he asked her? Where was the spark, the romance? He cared for her – but did he love her the way she wanted to be loved? She couldn’t tell, his face was unreadable in the failing light. “I … I don’t know. I’m not sure. It seems so sudden and I have to consider …”
“Consider what?” he asked, his eyes snapping.
“Well, consider whether we would make a good match.”
“I would’ve thought you’d have settled that in your mind by now. I’ve been courting you for months – you’ve had plenty of time to gather your thoughts and make a decision. You must have known I‘d ask you soon.”
“Yes, it’s just that … I’m still not sure. Will you give me some time to think it through?”
He dropped his arm to his side, pushing her hand away. “Of course. Take all the time you need. Just know I may not be here waiting for you when you finally choose.” He turned to walk away, then faced her again, his countenance furious. “Is it him? Is he the reason you need time to think?” he spat, his eyes narrowing at her.
“Him?” she whispered.
“The sheriff. It’s because of him, isn’t it? You think he wants you. But if he did, don’t you think he’d have said something before now? And if he cares for you, the way you obviously hope he does, where is he now? Tell me that.”
She shook her head. “No, it’s not because of him. I’m just not sure about us, that’s all.”
He sniffed, and strode back down the trail.
“Winston, wait!” she cried, hurrying after him.
He turned to face her. “No! Don’t follow me, Camilla – I need some time alone. If you don’t think we’re a match, maybe I’ve been terribly mistaken about you.”
As he marched away Camilla fell to her knees, her heart pounding in her chest. She lifted her hands to cover her mouth and bowed her head, her eyes closed. As she took deep breaths, she wondered how it had all gone so wrong so quickly. A few minutes ago, everything was wonderful – she was taking a romantic stroll with her beau in the twilight after a sumptuous Thanksgiving feast. She’d been happy. And then he’d proposed …
… and her heart had leaped into her throat as panic washed over her. Why had she reacted so? Wasn’t this what she’d wanted? But then he’d yelled at her — said horrid things. After the way Da had acted all her life, she knew she didn’t want to tie herself to a man who allowed his temper to rule him that way.
She slowed her breathing to calm herself and opened her eyes. The valley was shrouded in growing darkness now, the first stars twinkling through the gossamer clouds low overhead. She hadn’t realized how much time had passed since Winston left. She’d better head back before it grew darker. If she didn’t, it would become hard to find her way home, since they’d followed a winding, overgrown path she’d never walked before. She lurched to her feet and scurried back the way they’d come, starting at every grunt or rustle in the undergrowth.
Something dark blocked her way forward, about ten feet in front of her. She paused, willing her eyes to focus on the shadowy shape. Was it a tree stump? She didn’t remember one being directly in the middle of the path. Perhaps she’d wandered from the trail? She rubbed her eyes and stepped forward slowly.
Then the shape moved. She gasped and froze. What was it? Now closer, her eyes were able to make out the curve of a shoulder, the length of a muscular back, and two pointed ears. A mountain lion!
It stepped toward her, lowering its powerful body into a crouch and she heard the cat hiss, low and steady. Adrenaline pumped through her body, sending her heart into a frenzy. She stepped cautiously backward along the trail, keeping her eyes trained on the animal. It stood unmoving, watching her retreat. She continued that way, her eyes never leaving the cat, until she could no longer see it. Then she turned, lifted her skirts with both hands and ran.
As she fled, she could hear it at times. It was stalking her, pacing her like the prey she was. When it screamed, a shiver ran up her entire body, chilling her to the bone. She soon gave up running, knowing it would only hasten the attack if the animal saw her fleeing. Instead she walked quickly, spinning around, trying to see where the beast was hiding in the woods around her. Now it was on her right, then her left, now in front of her, then behind. It moved around her, wearing her down, watching her every move.
Her breath formed clouds in front of her with each puff, and the cold bit through the fabric of her coat. She couldn’t think clearly anymore, the panic that filled her mind was too great. She wanted to double back as soon as she was safe, trying to find her way home using a parallel route, but the animal had never let her, and she’d lost all track of which direction to take as she stumbled through the darkness.
Think, Camilla, think. Surely the Yellowstone River was around here somewhere. If she could only find the river, she’d know which way to go. But there was nothing around but the same dark, foreboding woods she’d traveled through for far too long already. God help me find the river. Please –
The cat screamed again, and she whimpered. Try as she might, she couldn’t hold back the tears any longer. She was tired, cold and completely lost. She had no idea which way to go, and her mind was so befuddled by fear she couldn’t think of what to do. This is how she would die – alone in the Montana wilderness, eaten by a mountain lion. She slowed her pace, sobbing between the junipers and hemlock trees that stood guard on either side of her, hemming her in, obscuring her view and making every twist and turn she took look the same as the one before.
A tinkling sound broke through the silence
, and she held her breath to listen. Water! It must be the river!
Swinging her head frantically from side to side, she found the river bank less than fifty feet to her left through a wall of tree branches. She hurried toward it, stepping out into the clearing by the edge of the water. Her booted feet sunk into the sand running the length of the shore, and she floundered through it, barely maintaining her balance.
Her sobbing turned to laughter, and she giggled hysterically in relief. She’d found the way home. If she followed it, it would take her all the way to Cutter’s Creek. But did she need to go upriver, or down? She glanced skyward to get some indication of direction. No help there – the clouds covered the sky completely now, hanging low and gray over her.
She stopped to think. The river flowed northward into Cutter’s Creek, and she was pretty sure she was north of town. So she should follow the river upstream to find her way back. She sighed with relief and ran her hands through her hair. She knew what to do now. She just prayed she’d make it. Thank you for your guidance, Lord. Now, please keep me safe until I reach Cutter’s Creek. She strode along the river’s edge, her feet sinking into the soft sand.
A sound to her right caught her attention, and she stared into the black woods. The mountain lion was there, still shadowing her. With her eyes focused on it, she kept hurrying forward, muttering a repeated prayer under her breath: God help me, God help me, God help me.
She saw the cat crouch and spring toward her. It had finally decided to attack, and she had nowhere to go. If she ran forward, the sand would slow her down – not that it would matter, since the cat would catch her regardless. She couldn’t climb past it into the woods. And the water was cold as the Atlantic –
In three enormous strides it had almost reached her, and leaped into the air, claws extended and fangs bared! She had no other choice – she flung herself into the icy river with a cry, falling forward and wading out into the depths as quickly as her legs could carry her.
The cat had landed on the bank where she’d stood a moment earlier and watched her splash and stumble in the water, its tail twitching with displeasure. Once she was chest-deep she stopped, fighting the strong current pulling and tugging at her long skirts as they swirled around her shaking legs. She stood there, teeth chattering with the cold, and waited, her eyes never leaving the cat. It paced along the riverbank, watching her just as intently.
It was no use – the animal intended to wait for her to leave the water. A likelihood she’d have to face soon enough – she’d freeze before much longer. And the opposite bank was too far away, the river too deep to cross. She turned away from the mountain lion and began walking upstream toward town. She didn’t know how long she could continue that way, but at least she was doing something other than waiting to die.
After a few minutes she noticed that the cat hadn’t followed her. At least she couldn’t see it anywhere on the bank, which was now steep and had no beach to climb. She kept moving, her teeth pressed so tightly together she wasn’t sure they’d ever part again, her arms wrapped around her shaking body. Her mind became foggy, her thoughts muddled. Where was the town? How much farther? Surely she’d reach it soon.
The bank fell, and another beach emerged in the darkness. She waded toward it, stumbling onto the sandy shore. She tried to run, but tumbled immediately onto her stomach. She pushed herself up with her hands and lurched forward again, floundering toward the edge of the woods, then turning to follow the river once more. She would make it. It couldn’t be much farther.
Something wet landed on her nose, and she stared up in wonder. What was that? Lifting her face skyward, she gazed up to see small white flakes falling through the dark all around her. Oh no – it was snowing. She had to get to town soon or she’d freeze out here. Already it was hard to place one foot in front of the other.
The woods opened up, and she ran into a clearing, her chest heaving as she fought desperately for air to fill her tired lungs. A bridge – she could see a bridge up ahead. She knew that bridge … but it was two miles from Cutter’s Creek. There was no way she’d make it in this condition. It was over. She had nothing left to give.
She fell face down into the thin snow. Her eyes blinked closed and she drifted into unconsciousness.
***
Charlotte paced back and forth before the fireplace, wringing her hands in front of her. “Where is she?” she pleaded, her eyes falling on Estelle’s pale face.
“Don’t worry, my dear, they’ll find her.”
“They should have found her already!”
Estelle didn’t respond. They both knew it wasn’t a good sign that Harry, Winston, Justin and Sam had still not returned with Camilla.
“How could he have left her out there all alone?” Charlotte’s words became a cry, and she fell onto the love seat, her hands covering her eyes. “Something must have happened to her, or she’d have come back.” Suddenly her eyes narrowed in accusation. “What was Winston thinking? Why did he leave her out there?”
Margaret hastened to her side, and placed her hand on Charlotte’s arm. “I’m sure everything will be well. She’s just lost her way – she’ll find the path again soon.”
Charlotte’s red eyes found Estelle’s, begging for confirmation.
“It will be okay, dear. Come now, let’s pray. It’s something we can do right now to help her.”
Charlotte nodded through the tears, and the women bowed their heads to intercede on Camilla’s behalf with their Heavenly Father. Charlotte felt a peace come over her as they prayed, and saw a picture in her mind’s eye of Camilla lying on the ground, eyes closed in a colorless face. She gasped and felt her heart drop. Father, protect my sister. Please don’t leave her side.
The sound of hooves outside on the drive made Charlotte’s eyes fly open. She leaped to her feet and ran to the front door, flinging it open and stepping out into the cold night. A gray mare stood in front of her, sweat darkening her heaving sides. Sheriff Brentwood climbed from her back, and strode toward Charlotte. “Sheriff Brentwood?”
“Mrs. Brown, good to see you.” He removed his hat as he spoke, leaving his hair plastered against his scalp. His eyes flitted back and forth, scanning the doorway behind her with interest.
“What are you doing here?” asked Charlotte, confused. “Have you come to help find Cammie?”
His eyes sparked. “Find Cammie? Is she lost?”
“Yes, we don’t know where she is. She and Winston took a walk earlier, and he came back alone around dusk without her. The men have been out looking for her for hours now – they should have been back by now. I’m beside myself, I don’t know what to do …”
“Which direction did she take?” He spun on his heel, returning his hat to his head and vaulting onto the waiting horse’s back.
“South, I believe. Toward town.”
He spun the horse around and dipped his hat at her, his eyes flashing. “Don’t worry, Charlotte. I’ll find her and bring her back to you.” And then he was gone as quickly as he’d come, with only the noise of galloping hooves on the grassy slope to show he’d been there.
Chapter Twenty-One
Clifford bent over Tilly’s neck, urging her forward. She was tired, he could tell – her steps lacked their usual vigor — and he wasn’t surprised. They’d covered a lot of miles today, and he’d pushed her faster and further than he normally would. He’d been so determined to make it back to Cutter’s Creek, he hadn’t wanted to stop and camp when the sun set. A good thing, too, given the current situation.
“Come on, girl, you can do it,” he urged her. “Not long now until I tuck you away in your warm stable for the night and feed you your favorite meal of oats and turnips. Just hold on for a bit longer, okay?”
He’d formulated a plan to search for Camilla. She was a smart woman, and would no doubt try to make her way to town via either the wagon track or the river. It was dark tonight, so she wouldn’t be able to see far. He’d decided to follow the road to town first, then d
ouble back along the river. He prayed he’d find her close to one or the other. If only he had a dog – he’d often thought of getting one, but his bachelor lifestyle had turned him against the idea.
He glanced up with a frown as small, wet snowflakes began to fall all around him, and cursed under his breath. He knew the clock was ticking. If this snowfall was more than a few flurries, Camilla’s survival time would be severely limited. He noticed it was sticking to the ground and falling fast. He grimaced – it wasn’t looking like it would stop anytime soon.
The scream of a mountain lion pierced the silence, and he shuddered and felt Tilly balk beneath him. “There, there, girl. You’re okay. Let’s keep going.” He patted her neck and scanned the woods on either side of the wagon track for any sign of the cat. But the cry had come from some distance away, and he didn’t think it would bother a galloping horse and her rider even if it had been close by. He hoped for Camilla’s sake it was nowhere near her.
A couple of miles from town, he slowed Tilly to a trot. The snow was falling so heavily and lay so thick on the ground now, it was becoming impossible for him to see shapes or movement as they traveled. He studied the landscape around him for any sign of Camilla and frowned. If she’d left any footprints on the ground, the snow would cover them now, and unless she was still moving, there would be no fresh trail to follow. He only hoped she was walking – maybe he’d catch some prints in the snow before they were wiped out by fresh snowfall.
He saw the bridge over the Yellowstone River up ahead, the point before town where the wagon trail and river intersected. After he’d made it to town, he’d return to this place and follow the river back. If she made it this far, she’d no doubt follow the trail rather than the river into town. He’d been praying the entire way, and he said another quick prayer now. If he was going to find her in this weather, he’d need divine intervention.
He pulled Tilly to a halt and scanned the river bank to his left. The slow-moving river gurgled happily, flowing black and smooth beneath the thick planks of the bridge. His eyes roved over the clearing beside the bridge where the woods held back, as though respectful of the merging of trail and river.
