When Mountains Move

by Julie Cantrell

  When I finally turn my attention back to Bill Miller, his feet are standing only inches from us. Those same shiny shoes that left me in that steeple. Only this time, they are dusty, just like mine.

  Bill leans over us now, victory in his grin. He has grabbed the gun from the ground and is preparing it to fire again. He cocks the trigger as I clamber across yellowed leaves and dry, brittle broken branches and slivers of sharp-edged stone, scrambling to stand.

  As I regain my footing, I quickly pull Isabel to me, determined to shield her from the gun. Then, with my daughter in my arms, I run.

  I’ve made it only five or six steps when Bill Miller fires the pistol from behind us. By the time the sound hits me, I know the bullet has already been released, but I don’t stop running. If the bullet has hit me, I don’t feel any pain. I am driven down the trail by a determined mothering, a force greater than any amount of ammunition.

  Obviously, the lion feels it too, because just as the gun fires, I hear another sound. Not so much a scream as a pitiful plea for help. I turn my head back toward the noise, trying to get a look as I run, afraid we’re now being chased by the mother and her cub. But then I see.

  The mountain lion has leapt from the ledge, but not to chase Isabel and me. Instead, she has claimed Bill Miller as her prey.

  I stop running now, covering Isabel’s eyes to block the view. Behind us, Bill is pinned face down, struggling to get away from the lion, begging me to help him. She must weigh ninety pounds, maybe more. I bend to grab rocks, to throw them at the lion, but I don’t release a single stone. If I try to save the man who threatened us, Isabel could be in danger. The lion could come for my daughter. And if not the lion, then Bill Miller. I can’t risk either.

  There’s no doubt I despise this man, but still, it is not easy for me to leave him here begging for help. I try to move my feet again, but the command doesn’t register. Nerves and muscles disconnect. I am too stunned to move.

  The lion looks up at me and holds her eyes in line with mine. Her shoulders are hunched over her victim and her jaws stay low, ready to sink her teeth into the man who struggles beneath her sharp claws, but she doesn’t give me the stare of a predator to its prey. Instead, she offers me an almost sympathetic gaze, as if, somehow, she understands. As if she’s letting me know she is on my side. That we’re safe now. Isabel is safe. Her cub is safe. And Bill Miller will get what he deserves.

  Then she lowers her jaws and clamps them around the neck of this man. Diana’s husband. Camille’s father. Weakness overcomes me, and stars swarm. I nearly drop Isabel back to the ground. Numb from shock, I will myself to turn my back and take another step toward home. And another. And another. Until I no longer hear the sound of scream and bone.

  Isabel’s tiny fingers squeeze my skin as we move toward safer ground. Like me, she is terrified, pale with fear, but with each step, her cries soften until she only releases swift gasps and sniffles. “Shh,” I whisper. “We’re safe now.”

  I say it again and again, but I still find it hard to believe. Are we really safe? Or will the lion change her mind? She could easily catch up with us and launch a second attack. Hurry, Millie. I tell myself. Keep walking. Find Bump.

  As we move quickly toward home, my fear begins to wane and calmness claims me. With it comes Mama’s voice, riding softly on the wind. Millie, she says. Listen.

  “Mama?” I call out, crazy as it seems, half hoping my mother has come back to me, as Sloth did after he died. I turn all directions but see no one. Not Sloth. Not Mama. Not the lion or her cub. Not Bill Miller. No one. Then I hear my mother’s voice again, not from the woods, as I had thought, but from my own heart. Seeping through from the lessons she planted deep within me. She tells me the story of Daniel and the lions’ den, the one she shared time and again from the kitchen, and the ironing board, and the squeaky porch swing. But this time, one of the verses stirs my soul. “My God hath sent his angel, and hath shut the lions’ mouths, that they have not hurt me: forasmuch as before him innocency was found in me.”

  Innocency was found in me. I stand on the mountain, hold my child to my chest, and hear my mother speak my secret name. I have struggled to choose this title, not yet knowing enough about my own self to give myself a name. But now I hear it. The one thing Mama never managed to give me while she was alive. Truth. The only secret I will keep from now on. My name is Truth.

  Someday, I will tell my daughter everything, the truth of who she is, from start to finish. I will tell her she is Choctaw, with deep roots in Mississippi, the deepest possible, and that the land is her mother. And that there is nothing stronger than a mother’s love. I will tell her she is a Miller, but that she has only the good parts, like Camille. I will tell her she is a survivor, Ihanko, strong, and that she is loved. Through and through. And I will remind her that no matter what led to her being here with us, she is and will always be an Anderson. Bump is her true father, and nothing will ever change that.

  I will tell her the meaning of her name, Isabel, and that she is a promise from God. And I will remind her of her birth name, Hofanti, and tell her she is cherished, nurtured, protected. Then I will give her a second Chahta name based on her own special gifts. And when she is ready, I will teach her to choose a secret name, one just for herself. I will give her the truth. And, as Oka taught me, the truth will set us free.

  Chapter 34

  We don’t make it to the end of the trail before Bump finds us. He slows his running. “I heard shots,” he says, short of breath, full of worry. “And screams.” As he pulls Isabel from my arms, his panic-white eyes perform a rapid scan, searching us both for wounds.

  “She’s okay,” I tell him. “We’re not hurt.”

  “What happened?” he asks, still trying to accept the fact that Isabel and I are both safe.

  “Lion,” I say. It sounds unreal, and part of me wonders if it happened at all. I can’t fully accept what I saw.

  Bump knows the fear I’ve had since the first time a mountain lion came after me at the river. “Let’s go,” he says, pulling me down the trail quickly, trying to add distance between us and the dangerous animal.

  I follow him a few steps before I can get the words out. As much as I loathe Bill Miller for the things he has done, I can’t just leave him on the trail. There’s a slim chance he could still be alive. I have to send help.

  “Bump, wait,” I begin. “Bill Miller. He’s up there.”

  “Alone?”

  I nod my head.

  “Well, we gotta warn him,” Bump says, turning to move back up the mountain. He doesn’t understand what I’m saying.

  “Wait,” I say, pulling him to a stop.

  He is anxious, eager to hurry. Determined to save Mr. Miller. “It’s probably too late,” I say. “She got him. I didn’t know what to do. I had to get Isabel out of there.”

  “You saw the lion take him?” Bump asks. Lines of disbelief mark his face.

  I say yes only with my eyes, but he understands. Then I add, “It didn’t look good.”

  Bump spins in a circle, as if he doesn’t know how to react. Should he try to get to Bill, or should he get Isabel and me home to safety. He looks up the mountain, but the scene of attack is out of view. Then he looks down toward home, the roof barely visible through acres of trees.

  “Was he alive, Millie? When you last saw him, was he still alive?”

  I nod my head. I’ve never seen Bump so unsure. “I gotta help him, Millie. You should keep movin’. Get in the house. And send Fortner. Make sure he has his rifle.” With this he heads quickly but cautiously up the trail toward Bill and the lions, scanning his surroundings for signs of danger. I haven’t moved, so he yells back to me, “Go!”

  “There’s something else,” I yell, stopping him again. He turns back, agitated.

  “Not now, Millie. Hurry home!”

  “No, Bump. Listen.”

 
It’s clear he’s worried, and he wants Isabel and me to get to safety.

  “She had his neck,” I tell him.

  With this, he finally holds still, sending a long breath into the air. A surrender. He understands. Lions are known for snapping the spine of deer. We can only assume they hunt humans the same way. “You can’t go up there alone, Bump. Let’s get Isabel down, and then we’ll all go together. You, me, and Fortner.”

  “There’s no time for that, Millie. I can at least stop her from …” Even Bump can’t say the words out loud. She’s probably chewed her way through his ribs by now. Predators always go for the heart.

  “Bump, you’re not thinking. She’s still pumping adrenaline, fueled for attack. And you know she’ll try to guard her prey. Plus she’s got a cub. It’s not safe. We have to go as a group. There’s nothing you can do.”

  He seems to be thinking this through, trying to figure a way to save us all.

  “Come down with us,” I beg, hoping I can talk sense into him. “We’ll get Isabel to safety.”

  He shakes his head at first, still determined to find a solution, but eventually reason wins. He gives in. “Let’s hurry.” He takes my hand and we don’t speak again until we reach the ranch.

  There we find Fortner at his teepee, sharpening his knives. I rush to take Isabel to the porch where I leave her with Oka. My grandmother senses my concern, drawing back as if to question me.

  “Mountain lion,” I say, quietly. I look around for Diana but don’t see her. “It attacked Mr. Miller. We’re going back to try to help. Don’t tell Diana yet. It’d do her no good to see what we might find.”

  Oka nods and takes my daughter into her arms. I kiss Isabel’s forehead and give Oka a long look, as if to say, “In case something happens, take care of her.” Then I race back out to find Bump and Fortner. As we make our way up the trail, Fortner struggles to match our fast pace, and for the first time, I see the old man in him.

  By the time we reach the scene of attack, the mountain lion has dragged Bill’s body into thicker brush where she has covered his legs in dirt. I am too horrified to look as the mother and her cub both devour their feast. The mother stops long enough to display a string of growls and hisses, warning us to stay back from the prized meal.

  “Don’t kill her,” Fortner warns. “Just scare her away.”

  Bump quickly fires his gun, aiming at nothing but space up the trail. Fortner does the same, finally convincing the muscular cat that she is outmanned. She retreats quickly, and her cub follows, but the men reset their guns, just in case. They move closer to Bill Miller.

  As the lions run deep into the woods, my view of Bill expands. I fall to the ground, horrified. I can’t breathe. Bits of rock slice my knees as I crawl through the leaves, trying to reach Bump. “Stay back, Millie,” Fortner shouts. “Stay back!” I can’t reason what he says. I just keep moving forward, scrambling on all fours, like some kind of wild animal.

  Even from a distance, I see the body. His head angles hard into the ground with eyes open, as if to say, “I see,” and a thin ribbon of blood slips from the mouth where his cheek falls slack against chipped teeth. The air is filled with the smells of gunpowder and blood.

  My brain can’t process what it sees. I am hit with waves of confusion. “Is he dead?” Sounds stick as they string together. Tongue tangles. Mind fogs. I try again to squeeze the folds together in my throat, move wind through chapped lips, make voice. “Is he dead?”

  “Yes” is the last of the sound before silence swells, blocking all understanding. In an instant, I am sinking into a thick, gray, numbing blanket of shock, and everything else disappears. He is dead. He is dead.

  I come to as Bump and Fortner are discussing what to do.

  “Should we bury him here?” Bump asks Fortner, keeping his back to the mangled body.

  “I imagine his wife will want a proper burial,” Fortner answers.

  I nod from where I sit on the ground, still weak from fainting. I can’t imagine how Diana will take this news. I don’t know how we’ll tell her.

  “They can send the remains back to Mississippi by train,” Fortner continues.

  “We gotta carry him down,” Bump acknowledges. His brow wrinkles as if he’s trying to reason all that has happened. Trying to fix something that can’t be fixed.

  “I’ll go get a horse,” Fortner says. I don’t fully understand his plan. When he hunts, he quarters the elk before loading it on the horse in leather sacks he’s made. Surely he has a better idea for Bill.

  “You shouldn’t go alone,” I argue. “The lion is still out there.”

  Fortner doesn’t seem worried a bit about the lion. “She’s had her fill for now,” he says. “She knows we could have killed her. And her cub. She won’t forget.”

  With this, he turns to make his way back down the trail. Confident. Calm. Certain he will make it back to us without harm. He’s barely out of view when Bump says, “I shoulda kept a better eye on him.” He is pacing back and forth, taking full blame for the attack on our guest.

  I wait for him to calm, trying to seize the perfect moment to tell him the truth.

  “I don’t understand,” Bump says, his face puzzled. “What was he doin’ up here in the first place?”

  “He came to find me,” I admit, biting my nail to the quick.

  “But why? Diana seemed upset. Did something happen?”

  “Not exactly.” What will he do when I tell him?

  “You sure haven’t been very welcomin’, Millie. I thought you’d be excited to see ’em again. Granted, I figured Camille and Mabel would come, but still …”

  “Bump,” I interrupt. “Listen.” I should have done this from the start, but I won’t make him go another minute without the truth. He deserves to hear it now. From me.

  “If this is about Kat—”

  I interrupt again. “It’s not.”

  He keeps talking as quickly as he walks. “I had to stay in Longmont, Millie. I tried everything to help Mr. Fitch, but I couldn’t save him. You should have seen Kat when they told her the news. I couldn’t leave her like that. It was my fault he died, Millie. You understand?”

  “It wasn’t your—” He cuts me off before I can finish. He is determined to say what he wants to say.

  “And then the Millers were supposed to be comin’ in two days, so I just waited in town. I didn’t know until dark that their train got delayed a day. Then another, and another, so I kept waitin’, each mornin’ expectin’ them to arrive. Each night findin’ out about another delay.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask. “You should have sent word.” I feel so ashamed about River. The kiss. None of this would have happened if Bump had been honest with me. If he had told me the truth. All this time, I’ve been convinced he had chosen Kat.

  “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t wanna ruin the surprise. I never thought you’d …” Now he stops walking and looks at me. “I should have let you know what was goin’ on. I wanted to surprise you. That’s all. It got out of control.”

  “Shh.” I reach for his hand, but he doesn’t take it. “What I have to say is worse.”

  “River?” His voice drops.

  “Worse than that.” My hands tremble. Bump notices. Fortner is long out of sight. Too far to hear us now.

  “What could possibly be worse?” Bump stops and leans against a spruce. Two squirrels chase each other around another ragged trunk.

  I inhale a deep breath and brace myself for the fallout. “You deserve the truth.”

  Bump looks at me with open eyes. “Whatever it is, Millie. Just tell me.”

  “It’s about Isabel,” I begin. Please, God, don’t let this hurt him. “When I was pregnant.”

  Bump holds up his hand to stop me. “I already know,” he says.

  He knows? I’m confused. Has Oka told him about
the rape? Diana? “What do you mean you already know? What do you know?”

  “Kat told me what you tried to do, early in the pregnancy.” Bump makes a quick survey of the woods, then looks back at me. “The herbs.”

  “Of course she did.” I hate to think I ever considered her a friend.

  “This mornin’, I asked Fortner if it was true. He wouldn’t say, but from what I can figure, he likely talked you out of it.”

  “Bump, let me explain—”

  “It’s okay, Millie.” He gives me a look of understanding.

  “You’re not angry?” I look at him, amazed by his ability to forgive.

  “I’m no fool, Millie. I studied medicine, for goodness’ sake.”

  My mouth drops open. “You knew she wasn’t—”

  He holds up his hand to stop me. “Don’t say it, Millie. Don’t ever say that. Isabel is my daughter. Has been from the start.”

  “I’m so sorry, Bump.” I start to cry. “I couldn’t tell you. I never meant to …”

  Bump shrugs and smiles gently, as if he’s already come to terms with all of this. “I figured you’d tell me when you were ready. But I never bargained on him showin’ up here. That about killed me, Millie. To find you with him. I never thought —”

  “You should have told me they were coming. I would have stopped you from bringing him here.”

  We suddenly realize our conversation no longer makes sense.

  “What?” We say, in sync for the first time.

  “Millie, are you sayin’—” Bump stands straighter now, pulls away.

  I do the same. “You thought it was River?”

  “Who else would it be?” His voice grows louder. Angry.

  “Bump, no. This has nothing to do with River. I would never have done that to you.”

  “What are you gettin’ at, Millie?” His temples pulse.

  I release a long breath. Think of Isabel. Try to get this out the right way.