by Gini Rifkin
“Some of the chinking is missing on the windward side.”
“That’s easy enough to repair. We’ll get on it first thing in the morning.”
Kade nodded and fell silent. He and Tucket had built this safe-haven. Well, actually, Tucket had done most of the work. Back then, he himself had been a gangly kid with no idea of how to proceed with much of anything, let alone with how to build a cabin. But Tucket had been patient, and they had accomplished the task. And they’d been doing that ever since, the two of them together, accomplishing the task, no matter how difficult.
He wondered if it might be their last year together. Tucket had been making noise about giving up fur trading. Of course, the old man issued the same idle threat every year following the hardships of winter, but he’d sounded serious this time.
Change was in the wind. Right now, it had no name, but it was an unsettling feeling. Just like mountain man luck, there was mountain man intuition, and good or bad, something was comin’.
They rode on to the dwelling, dismounted, and led their animals to the corral. The enclosure was ringed on three sides by sheer rock and closed off on the fourth by several sturdy cut pines run horizontally through the chinked upright posts.
“Make sure them rails be good and secure,” Tucket instructed. “Better to spend a minute or two now instead of counting tracks come morning.”
Kade smiled and nodded. Tucket was always reminding him to do what he already knew needed doin’, but it was good to have someone worry over you—and to have someone to worry over.
He slid the poles into place and lashed them down as Tucket forced open the unwilling cabin door and disappeared inside.
Suddenly, a heap of tangled brush sailed out through the portal. Next came a whoopin’ and a hollerin’ sound, followed by Tucket, hat in hand, as he gingerly herded along a family of ’possums.
“You ugly little varmints. Step lively, now.” His partner followed them as they scurried away. “You’re lucky my panniers are full and your hides be too puny to bother with.”
Kade let loose with a hearty laugh and went about unloading supplies.
****
Blind Deer stood to one side, waiting for orders as to what to do. When none came, she took it upon herself to once again gather wood. You could never have too much firewood.
As she worked, she watched Tucket and Kade. They went about their chores as if they had shared many seasons together, anticipating one another’s moves and needs. Once she had known similar feelings, but now she refused to need anything or anyone. It was safer. No one could control or own you when you held nothing dear.
She also watched the coyote/dog. The way white people treated dogs seemed odd to her. They gave them human names and let them live in the house. They talked to them as friends, yet enslaved them with collars and leashes. Some Indian tribes ate dogs to survive—and some wealthy white women dressed little dogs in clothes and jewels. Again, the two worlds she traveled clashed head on.
Soon a good supply of wood waited outside by the cabin door and inside by the hearth. With the shutters open and opossums gone, their leavings tidied up, the room felt fresh and orderly. There were curtains on the un-glassed windows, clean woolen blankets on the two beds, and a red oilcloth on the lopsided table. How curious that these trappers would bother with such domestic touches. Obviously, this was a home, not just a place to be.
Intending to haul water, she stood in the yard holding two buckets. Kade passed by heading in the other direction, his arms loaded with the last of the goods from the mules.
“There is a creek nearby?”
“Yes. To the west about twenty yards or so. If you wait a minute, I’ll go with you.”
“Do not concern yourself, McCauley. I will not be in your way or expect you to do woman’s work.”
Her arm throbbed, but she refused to let it show. If she became a burden, they might turn her out before she recovered enough to endure living on her own again.
“I wasn’t worried about your being in the way, Blind Deer. I was worried about you hurting yourself. You sure do take offense at the least provocation.”
“I have learned to expect the worst at the least provocation—and I am rarely disappointed.”
She followed the route Kade indicated. Why was he being kind to her? Such sentiment did not come without a price, and she wondered what he might want from her. Stumbling over a tree root, she rued her poor vision and hoped he wasn’t watching.
McCauley made her worry over useless things like whether or not her face was clean, or if her conversation was pleasing to his ear. She had never felt this way around a man—not with her brothers, or their friends, or the young warrior to whom she was betrothed. Of course, back then she had been very young too, and in love with her pony as she tried hard to be one of the boys.
She quickened her step, seeking the seclusion of the trees up ahead. At the sound of the gurgling stream, she paused and stood motionless. Water was a place where all creatures gathered. Surprising a bear or wolf as they quenched their evening thirst could prove fatal—to surprise a human could be worse. Assured no danger awaited, she continued to the water’s edge.
After submerging the buckets to soak and expand the dry wooden slats, she eased down upon a flat rock and loosened the leather pouch from her tack belt. Her precious bundle contained native herbs and white man’s medicine. Both held much power, and in the wilderness such knowledge could mean the difference between going on and going under.
With the sleeve of her buckskin dress thrown back over her shoulder, she untied the thong holding the bandage. A sharp pain knifed through her arm. This time she could not stifle her groan.
Scooping up handfuls of freezing cold water, she bathed the shoulder, loosening the last of the stuck-on fabric. Then she rinsed the cloth and allowed it to dry, to be reused another day.
The numbing cold turned to fire as she doused the wound with alcohol from the small vial Sir Reginald had given her for medicinal use during their travels. Lightheaded, she swayed unsteadily and leaned forward, nausea gripping her stomach.
When the sickness passed, she sprinkled powdered willow bark and club moss upon a dry piece of calico stored in her medicine pouch. The flesh continued to burn as she wrapped and tied the bandage into place, and although the wound appeared jagged, the healthy red blood seeping out was a good sign. It should heal fully. One more scar upon her body to rival those etched upon her heart and soul. Reassembling her medicine pouch, she gained her feet.
A branch snapped in the woods. Startled, she turned toward the sound and reached for her knife—the elk-antler hilt biting into her palm.
A blurry figure approached through the gloaming. Too late to run, she unsheathed the Green River blade and stood ready to fight.
The intruder was almost on top of her.
“I came to help fetch back the water.” Kade stopped short, warily eying the knife held steadfast between them. “I thought you saw me coming. Otherwise I’d have called out. You were looking right at me.”
Your weakness is the weapon of your enemy.
“I was busy tending my wound and did not hear you.”
Kade gave her a curious look before retrieving and refilling both buckets with fresh water. Setting one at her feet, he hefted the other, and took off for the cabin. She sheathed her knife, grabbed her medicine bag, and snared the other wooden handle.
She wished to speak, but what would be of interest to this man? Nothing came to mind, so they walked in silence. Blind Deer had never found quietude so disturbing. Oddly, while the silence seemed troubling, Kade’s nearness felt reassuring.
Lengthening her stride to match his, she risked a sideways glance his way. He walked tall and proud, yet with an easy gait, and his long brown hair, tied back with a thong, showed red streaks of fire whenever it was struck by the sun’s rays. His beard, worn short, was of a darker hue.
Catching her staring at him, Kade smiled. The action reached all the way to his eyes
, kindling a spark in the rich dark-blue color.
She quickly glanced away, refusing to look again until they reached the cabin.
Without thinking, she began to prepare supper, boiling the potatoes stored at the cabin, and panfrying the duck Tucket had shot. This time her efforts met with no resistance. Right up until the last glimmer of daylight, the men worked at repairing a corner of the roof, and at patching the hole in the wall where the possums had gained entrance. Now they both seemed done in.
At a rustling noise Blind Deer peeked over her shoulder. The older trapper rummaged about in a trunk wedged between the two beds. A heartbeat later she jumped as a screeching sound filled the air. After adjusting the fiddle with great care, Kade’s partner managed to coax a less excruciating sound from the instrument.
Kade lit a candle lantern, and Tucket ran through his repertoire, and she could not help but enjoy the musical interlude.
Sitting by the door, Kade tipped his chair back against the wall, then he reached down to scratch the big dog lying at his side. “Where do you hale from, Blind Deer?”
Coming at her out of the blue, the question took her by surprise. The Bitterroot Valley had been her home, but she had yet to make it back there in her current travels. Besides, why should he care?
“Where I am from depends upon whom you ask.” At her evasive answer, Kade raised a brow. Regretting her sharp words, she continued. “Having a white mother and an Indian father, the Salish say I am from the circle that overlaps. They think I am honored to walk in two worlds. The Missionaries say I belong nowhere, and I corrupt both worlds.”
“And what do you say?”
She hesitated, mulling over her answer. Here was a question no one had bothered to ask her before. “I am just me. And for now, I am where I belong.”
“Or maybe you’re a world unto yourself.” Kade tipped his chair forward, and the front legs thumped back down onto the floor.
Did he laugh at her? His expression was serious, and kindness lived in his eyes.
Kade McCauley was vastly different from most dogface white men she’d met.
****
Kade decided not to ask any more questions, and when supper ended, he helped Blind Deer clean up the dishes and utensils. As she banked the coals in the fireplace, he followed her movements with what he hoped was an unobtrusive gaze. He couldn’t help but be transfixed at seeing a woman in their little cabin tending to such chores.
“You can have my bed,” he offered when she returned from visiting the trees.
“Or mine,” Tucket quickly put in.
“I will be fine by the hearth.” Mouth set in a firm line, she sat down to take off her moccasins.
Kade opened his mouth, not to argue, as he knew that would be for naught, but to warn her. Maggie usually slept in that spot. Before he could utter a word, she held up her hand indicating there was to be no further discussion. He took the hint, curious as to how this was about to play out.
Blind Deer diligently made a nest with the hides and blankets he’d offered her, and when everyone seemed settle in for the night Kade blew out the candle lantern. A few moments later, Maggie padded across the room, her toenails clicking on the floorboards as she headed for her usual place to bed down. Discovering the space occupied, the dog let out a menacing snarl.
Unable to suppress a smile, Kade waited in the dark for Blind Deer to call for help, or for her to come running to his side.
Instead he heard an even more ominous growl as Blind Deer defended her territory. That gal had a mind of her own, and the plumb crazy courage to back it up. With a whine, one exceptionally pitiful, Maggie turned tail and moved to a new spot—farther from the hearth, and closer to the foot of Kade’s bed.
Chapter Four
Glancing out the cabin window, Blind Deer watched Kade and Tucket as they tended to the morning chores.
These men were curious to her. Neither had tried to sneak into her bed, and although they treated her like a sister, she would continue to sleep with knife-in-hand. To be honest, the men did not truly scare her, but how readily she had become accustomed to the arrangement of traveling with them frightened her a great deal.
Grabbing the bucket holding the breakfast wash water, she stepped to the door and heaved the contents into the yard. Her injured arm gave a hearty twinge, but it was bearable. The wound was much better today, and soon she could leave and fend for herself if she had to. But this was the safest she felt in a long while. And certainly, the safest since parting company with Lord Seton. What could it hurt to stay a while longer?
Refilling the bucket at the stream, she returned to the cabin and softly closed the door. If she stayed, she must not be lulled into false contentment. Nothing had changed. These two meant nothing to her. She must take advantage of their sympathy and kindness, using whatever it took to keep going, to keep searching for her tribe.
She hadn’t always felt this way. Once she had trusted to the future, and to the magic of love and hope. But if measured by grief endured, that was long ago. Now she believed only in herself. To find her Salishan people was the reason for which she lived, and although many years had passed since she’d seen the Bitterroot Valley, she spent a lot of time there in her mind.
The cabin door flew open. Blind Deer jumped and turned toward the noise. Favoring his right foot, Kade lumbered forward and flung himself toward the nearest chair.
“Dang mule.” He bent forward to unlace his moccasin. “Stepped on my foot—not once but twice.”
“Let me help.” She crouched at his side. “Does the animal seek to harm you on purpose?” She slid the leather from his foot.
“No. It was my fault for getting between the two of them hitched to a rail.”
“Then I suppose shooting and eating this animal is out of the question.” She peered up at him through her lashes.
He chuckled and relaxed back in the chair. “Sorry for bursting in on you in such a lather.”
Rolling one of the stumps used for sitting near the hearth closer to Kade, she up-ended it, placed a folded blanket on top, and rested his foot upon the woolen cushion. “I just brought in fresh water from the stream. The cold will help your pain and discourage the swelling.” Soaking a cloth in the icy water, she applied it to the top of his foot. While holding the cloth in place, she noticed a scar near the bruised flesh. Red and twisted, the old wound curved upward, disappearing beneath the leg of Kade’s buckskin pants. The healed scar still appeared angry, as if refusing to be forgotten. “Did the mule do this too?” Gently, she ran a finger across the puckered flesh.
“No.” Kade shook his head. “An Indian brave accommodated me there. After he killed my parents and grandmother.”
Blind Deer drew back her hand as if touching fire. “You must hate Indians.” She leaned away from him.
“Just that one.”
“But not all?”
“Why should I? They haven’t all tried to kill me. At least not yet. Although the Blackfoot tribe does have a long-standing hate for white folk. Since Lewis and Clark came through, many a trapper’s gone under crossing paths with a Blackfoot. But no, I don’t hate all Indians—or even most.”
She had a hard time not despising all white people. And even if he did not, she hated the entire Blackfoot nation. They were forever enemies of her people, always were, always would be.
“They took from you what can never be replaced.”
“They didn’t—he did. There’s a difference. Besides, it was a long time ago, and I don’t have the desire or the wherewithal to persecute an entire group of people. I’ve been too busy just trying to stay alive out here.”
“How is it you were not killed as well?”
“It wasn’t for lack of tryin’ on his part.” Kade’s expression turned thoughtful. “It was springtime, and we’d just moved to Missouri. I was ten years old, and that morning playing down by the creek in the hopes of catching a few bullfrogs. Then I heard a ruckus going on up by the house. When I got there my parents a
nd Gran were dead, and the biggest meanest-looking Indian I’d ever dreamed in a nightmare started coming after me. I stood frozen with fright. He grabbed me by one ankle and held me upside down, shaking me like a big dog with a little rabbit.
“The eagle claw hanging from a strap on his wrist dug into my leg, and the pain brought me to my senses. I twisted and kicked, and broke loose of his grasp, but as I dropped toward the ground, he tried to regain his grip, and the talon gouged a great bloody tear down and around my leg.”
“You were very brave.”
“I was lucky. I hit the dirt running, never knowing how bad I was hurt. In about ten yards I smacked headfirst into Tucket. He shot that Indian dead in his tracks, and then sewed me up. That’s how we met, Tucket and me. He knew my pa from when we lived back East, and as if sent by God to be my guardian angel, he’d come to visit that particular day on his way through to the Stony Mountains.”
She studied the scar anew.
“Now don’t you go criticizing Tucket’s handiwork.” Kade tried to lighten the mood. “It ain’t pretty, but as far as I’m concerned it’s fancier than any stitching ever graced a rich lady’s under-pinnings. Besides, I was jumpin’ around quite a bit while he was sewing.”
Blind Deer smiled. “And how is it you know so much about rich ladies underclothing?”
“We get to town on occasion.”
An unexpected moment of regret flashed through her. He’d shown no interest in seeing her unmentionables. “It was good of Tucket to take you in.”
“That’s what it’s all about, Blind Deer. Folks helping folks.”
More white man ideas. She straightened and turned away, tearing another cloth into long wide strips. Kade and Tucket had taken her in, but as of yet, she felt no gratitude or debt to them. She did not know if she would have done the same for them.
Retrieving her bag of medicines now residing near her sleeping pallet, she selected a small jar of salve and rubbed the earthy smelling cream on his foot where it was already showing shades of purple and red.
