When Mountains Move

by Julie Cantrell

  “Thank you. For stopping the lion,” I say to Fortner, trying to keep my voice from cracking on the word lion.

  Fortner nods. “She’ll be back.”

  Chapter 14

  By August, the winds drive walls of dust across the pastures, swirling and twisting the currents into miniature tornado spirals that Fortner calls dust devils. The river is now barely more than a stream, the bright wild blooms have withered, and thin patches of grass bend in thirst, as if they bow on their knees and beg for mercy. Even the ponds have shrunk, revealing hard, crusted rims.

  “I can’t imagine what this place was like in a real drought,” I say as I help Bump stretch strands of wire across another mile of fence line, careful not to let barbs pierce my leather gloves. Fortner is probably fifty yards ahead of us, clearing slash from the fence, but the bright sun sends his image to me in waves, a hazy blur blowing across the horizon. He hasn’t brought up the alleged murders since the day in the barn, and neither have we. Bump’s too grateful for Fortner’s help on the ranch, and I’m too distracted by my own sins to worry about Fortner’s.

  “Millie? You awake?” Bump pulls me from a daydream, asking a second time for me to tack the next strand to the post. No matter how hard I try, I can’t keep my mind on the work today. I keep hearing Fortner’s answer when I asked him for help. It’s too late.

  “Can’t believe we’re usin’ devil’s rope. Worst thing for horses,” Bump says, tugging the barbed wire and bringing me back to the here and now. He doesn’t like the idea of fencing at all, much less barbed wire. Horses have been known to plow right through it in a stampede, resulting in painful injuries and sometimes deadly infections, but we need separate pastures for the stallions and round pens for the broncs, not to mention safe foaling pastures for the broodmares, and pens for branding the cattle.

  Bump has chopped wooden runs for large sections of fence, but we’re also using coils of barbed wire we’ve found in the barn and strands we were able to salvage from the original fencerows. “Makes no sense to waste it,” I say.

  Bump nods but grumbles. He’s not sure it’s worth the risk.

  At nearly five months pregnant, my stomach is nearly too swollen to hide anymore, even if I am, as Kat claims, “one of those lucky girls who never gets big.” As I stand to hand Bump another width of wire, he stops and stares at my middle. “Millie?” he asks. “I can’t ignore it no longer. Is there somethin’ I need to know?”

  I pretend I don’t hear him. I reach for a hammer and begin to nail the wire to the wooden post, still half hoping this pregnancy will evaporate like the water from our ponds.

  “Millie?” he asks again. I can’t tell if his voice is tinted with anger or sadness or just a curious desire to get an answer. I fear the worst. What will happen if I tell him everything, right here, right now? Will he believe me? Will he leave me? Will he forgive me? Will he ever get over the hurt?

  He moves closer to me and places his hands on my belly, smoothing my blue cotton dress tight across the swollen mound. I’ve already outgrown all my pants, so I’ve resorted to working in housedresses. “Either you’ve been sneakin’ seconds, or we’re gonna have us a baby.” He is smiling, and before I even realize what I’m doing, I start to cry.

  “What’s wrong?” he asks, moving his attention from my stomach to my eyes. “Aren’t you happy?”

  I can’t pull words from my lungs. Instead, I lean my head against his chest and sob.

  “It’s a good thing,” Bump assures me. “Faster than we planned maybe, but it’s good, Millie.”

  My thoughts don’t reach the wind. Every worry, every ounce of shame lies just beneath the surface. And Bump, my sweet, honest Bump, has no idea why I’m crying.

  “I’m gonna be a father.” He laughs, kissing me before he kicks the fence post with a burst of excitement. “I knew it, Millie. Why on earth didn’t you tell me? I’ve been dyin’ to ask you for weeks.”

  More than anything, I want to tell him. But instead of telling Bump the truth, as I should have done from the start, I do nothing but shrug.

  “And tell me the truth, why are you cryin’?”

  I shrug again, turn away.

  “You’re gonna be a real good mother, Millie. I got no doubt.” Bump shouts down the fencerow to Fortner, “We’re havin’ a baby! A baby!”

  Fortner waves his hat in the air and smiles.

  It’s just like Bump to have no doubts, no worries. But what if he knew how awful this really is? He pulls me back to him, puts his hand to my belly, and stoops down to talk to the baby. “You’re gonna love it here, Little Bean. You got the prettiest, sweetest mother in the world. Just wait till you meet her.”

  He calls this child his little bean. Except for a brief moment of absolute terror when facing the lion, I’ve never thought of the baby as anything, really, but a curse. But as Bump speaks, I feel a rising bubble from my womb. The baby moves inside of me, and my body reacts. It’s the first time I’ve felt this, the proof of life within me, and its power is indescribable.

  I look down at my swollen middle, move Bump’s hands over the rise, and imagine this child, this little bean, listening, reacting, and reaching up for us.

  “Do it again,” I tell Bump.

  “Do what?”

  “Say something. Talk to her. I think she hears you.”

  Bump drops to his knees. He leans close to my belly and says, “Of course you hear me, Little Bean. Your mama thinks you don’t know what’s goin’ on out here.”

  The baby kicks again, a tiny, gentle swell of pressure, like a marble rolling beneath my skin. Nothing Bump can feel, but enough to let me know she is here, and she is fighting for me to give her a chance. In all my life, I have felt nothing like this. Nothing so strong, so real. I can only think of one word to describe this feeling. Awakening.

  Bump’s eyes are moist. I think he’s about to cry too, but instead he stands and looks up at the rising mountains, down at my swollen belly, and says to me, “I sure never dreamed I’d ever be this lucky.”

  Chapter 15

  September. It’s been four months since we left Iti Taloa, and now, we are waiting at the depot in Longmont for Mr. Tucker and Janine to arrive for their first visit from Mississippi. “Thank goodness Oka’s comin’ with ’em,” Bump says. “We could sure use the extra help, especially when the baby arrives.” He sounds tired, as if the hard work is finally getting the better of him. He’s never once complained, but since he found out I was pregnant, he does everything in his power to stop me from lifting, climbing, or straining in any way, even though it means more work for him.

  “They’re bound to be exhausted,” I say. “I think they had at least three transfers. Long ride on a train.”

  “Yep. Would have been too stressful for the horses. Let’s hope they make the drive in good shape. Hot time of year to push ’em up from the south. Especially with the foals.”

  “When will they arrive?” He’s told me a thousand times, but I want him to tell me every detail of the plan again and to promise me Firefly will be safe.

  “Within a day or two, I’m bettin’. Week at most. Mr. Tucker and Fortner will stay in town with me until the herd arrives. We’ll help move ’em up to our ranch from here.”

  I try to imagine Firefly in the horse drive. “Hope they didn’t push them too hard.”

  “Better than being shipped. They stuff ’em into those stock cars. Worse than a circus train. Minus the tigers and monkeys and gypsies.” There is a bitterness to Bump’s mention of the gypsies, a degrading tone as he insinuates River’s people are the equivalent of circus animals.

  This stings. Bump knows I chose him over River, and he knows it wasn’t an easy choice for me. But it’s the first time he’s mentioned the gypsies since the day I made my decision and joined Bump for the Texas Stampede. His resentment seems to come out of nowhere. I don’t know what he’s thinkin
g, or why, but the last thing I want to do is make him feel threatened by a memory. I ignore his remark and step forward to get a closer look at the station.

  It’s seven in the morning, and the air is already thick with dust. A small uniformed man pushes a cart toward the rails. With bent back and a heavy frown, he walks as if some weighty worry might drag him under the wheels of the train. He stops at the edge of the track and waits to unload bags. If he leans one inch farther, he’ll be a goner.

  It wasn’t so long ago I felt like this man, and some days I still do. But now, despite a baby in my womb and the threat of mountain lions and wildfires and drought, plus a ranch hand who may or may not be a killer, I am learning to love the west. The way the air whips around me in currents, always blowing. How the sun shines bright with warmth, and the skies spread blue to the flat eastern edge of the horizon. Never a gray, sad day to be found. I have set my pulse to the slow, steady rhythms of the mountains. When the pale moon peaks beyond the rocky crown and the coyotes sing their night hymns, the blood within me steadies and I almost believe I am home.

  I move back to Bump’s side, shielding my eyes from the glare of the sun as we turn toward the sound of a screeching whistle. Children squeal, mothers tighten their grips, fathers adjust their hats, and the broken man at the rail’s edge still doesn’t move.

  The black engine chugs and tugs my grandmother to us. Bump seems distracted. I bite my nails. He doesn’t seem to notice.

  I follow Bump’s stare to a mother holding her baby. Unlike me, Bump grew up with a huge family, playing constantly with siblings and cousins, nieces and nephews. I don’t have any idea what to do with a baby, but since the day in the pasture, when Bump called her his bean and our child responded with a soft dance, I have tried my best to put away my questions.

  I went from begging God to strip my womb of life to crying a desperate daily plea for this baby’s safety, but I still have uncertainties. When doubt creeps in, I remember Mr. Tucker’s words to Bump, when he offered him this ranching job. “Ready as you’ll ever be.” And I try to carry on. When Bump calls this baby his own, I don’t argue. I go along, pretending everything is right with our world. “Millie?” Bump’s voice sounds strange. It’s clear he’s got something on his mind. “How long has your stomach been botherin’ you?”

  Before I can answer, the train whistle blows again, closer, louder, and the brakes squeal as steel scrapes steel. Suddenly the empty platform is filled with travelers spilling from the passenger cars like ants. Those who have been awaiting their arrival swarm to offer a hug or handshake, a howdy or a hello.

  Bump and I stay back from the crowd, tilting ourselves under the eaves of the depot, watching for Mr. Tucker, Janine, and Oka to enter our new world. We hear them before we see them, as Janine’s signature shriek pierces the air. “Millie?”

  I laugh and say, “Guess who?” hoping to get Bump’s mind on a different track.

  “Millie?” Janine chirps again, sweeping her high heels so quickly across the platform she nearly steamrolls a toddler in a white dress. I move to meet her as my mouth stretches into a smile so sweet, I ache from joy. I hold her in a hug until I have to let go. I am swollen with so many emotions, I nearly burst as Janine whispers, “We miss y’all so much.”

  “I miss you so much more,” I tell her. I can’t stop smiling as I reach to give Mr. Tucker a hug. Oka, too. The way my grandmother holds me, close and long, reminds me of Mabel, of someone who knows how to care.

  “Janine tell you the good news?” Mr. Tucker doesn’t direct his question to either Bump or me. We both signal no, and he pulls Janine’s left hand into the air. “This lil’ gal’s gettin’ hitched.”

  Janine’s smile is wide, as she wiggles her fingers, showing off the biggest diamond ring I’ve ever seen. It’s not the diamond I’m impressed with, though. It’s how happy Janine and Mr. Tucker are as they announce their engagement. Mr. Tucker, who usually tugs his mustache with bravado or pulls a drag from a snipped cigar, puts his arm around his beaming bride-to-be. Janine barely reaches his shoulders, even in the highest heels she can find. She leans into him now after waiting years for him to take her hand.

  Oka steps back a bit, remaining quiet. I smile to let her know I’m happy she’s here, but her eyes droop with worry, fatigue.

  “Tell ’em how you popped the question, honey.” Janine sure hasn’t dropped the honey, sugar, and sweetie from her speech, but it no longer bothers me.

  “Took two weeks to plan,” Mr. Tucker says, grinning at Janine. They act more like classroom sweethearts than middle-aged adults who’ve known each other for years.

  “Two weeks?” I ask, impressed.

  Oka sighs and nods, as if she’s already heard this story several times. Janine adds, “You should have seen it, Millie! The entire arena was packed. Not an empty seat in the house.”

  “You proposed during the rodeo?” I take a second look at the stone. It’s much too big for Janine’s miniature frame. Just her style.

  “Fourth of July. During the grand entry,” Mr. Tucker says, beaming. “Right after the flags.”

  “He had it written out in flames, Millie!”

  Oka raises her eyebrows as if she doubts this detail. I laugh.

  “True,” Mr. Tucker agrees. “I propped up that microphone, and I said, ‘Janine, I’ve got something I’ve been meaning to ask you.’ And then … all lit up across the floor …”

  The couple talks in sync now, finishing the story as if they’ve rehearsed. “‘Marry me.’”

  With this, Mr. Tucker delivers a kiss and Janine giggles wildly. “I don’t know if any of this would have happened if Bump hadn’t tricked you into dancing with me.”

  Bump slaps Mr. Tucker on the back with a hearty, “You’re welcome,” but I catch his eyes drifting back to the woman and her child.

  “Who’re you kidding?” Mr. Tucker chuckles. “That dance was my idea from the start.” Then he gives us a wink and adds, “But enough about us. Poor ol’ Mrs. Reynolds here has had to put up with this all the way from Iti Taloa. We best give the woman a break or else she might hightail it right back to Mississippi.”

  With that, the attention shifts to Oka, and I finally have a chance to give her a proper welcome. She’s wearing the faded dress she wore to our wedding. Her hair is braided the same too, only now she seems more nervous and unsure. I figure it’s probably the first time she’s ever left Mississippi, and I want to tell her I know how she feels.

  “I don’t know how you survived the trip with these two,” I tease, “but I’m sure glad you came.”

  Oka puts her hand on my stomach and smiles.

  Janine notices. “Millie?” She is too stunned to squeal. “Looks like we aren’t the only ones with a big announcement!”

  Mr. Tucker rolls out a deep, heavy chuckle and pats Bump’s shoulder. “Well, heck, boy. You sure didn’t waste no time!”

  Bump doesn’t smile. Instead, there’s a shift in his eyes, a subtle pulse in his neck, and a change in his stance. He looks down at my stomach and says, “Seems that way, don’t it.”

  It isn’t like Bump, to act so cold. Fear shoots through me. Does he know?

  Mr. Tucker shrugs and says, “Should get our luggage.”

  Bump follows him to the cart, and I lead the women inside the depot. “Enjoy it while we’ve got it.” I point them to the lavatories, trying my best to forget Bump’s strange reaction. Oka smiles, but Janine doesn’t seem to catch what I’m saying. I don’t tell her that she’ll be using an outhouse for the next few weeks. Despite our best efforts, we haven’t had a chance to run water indoors. Something more important always comes up.

  We take our time to freshen up before heading back outside to meet the men at the truck. Fortner has waited here, and we make a quick round of introductions. He stays quiet, offering polite handshakes and smiles. Oka smiles at him, but Janine eyes his bullets and b
ones, and it’s obvious she isn’t quite sure what to make of our strange ranch hand. “Could take us a week or so to bring the horses in,” Bump tells me. “You sure you’ll be okay? Fortner can stay with y’all.” Janine gives me a look as if to say there’s no way she wants Fortner staying with us.

  “I’m not worried,” I tell Bump, trying to get my husband to look at me. He keeps his eyes on the ground.

  “No boys allowed,” Janine stresses. “We’ll be living it up. I brought nail polish. Perfume. And chocolates shipped special. Not easy to get with the war. I plan to remind this girl what it means to have fun.” She finishes with a wink.

  Oka scoffs.

  “Well, don’t spoil her too much,” Bump says, finally starting to thaw a little. “She’ll be wantin’ to run off to the city. Or join a band of gypsies.” Another unexpected stab.

  “Never,” I smile, hoping he’ll stop acting so standoffish. “Stay safe.” I tug him to me. “And take extra care of Firefly for me, please.”

  Bump offers me a quick peck good-bye, while Mr. Tucker lays a passionate kiss on Janine. Oka steps back, uncomfortable with their open affection, and Fortner laughs.

  “It’ll be our first time apart,” I remind Bump, hinting he might want to leave me with a better kiss than the one he offered. He doesn’t. So I pull him into a final hug and whisper, “I love you.” He leaves it at that.

  We leave the men in town where they’ll wait for the drovers to arrive with the horses. I drive the truck back to the ranch, struggling a little with the steep climbs and trying to focus on my guests while managing the constant shifting of gears. I’m so overjoyed to be with Janine and Oka, I try not to ruin it by worrying about Bump’s behavior at the depot. “Just another hour or so,” I promise. “It’s just slow going on these roads. Is this your first time away from home, Oka?”

  “Yes,” Oka says. “First time.” Her voice falls flat, and she sounds exhausted.