This Wilderness Journey

by Misty M. Beller

  “I just get here and she’s already putting me to work.” He shook his head as if he were disgruntled. But the look he slid Monti showed his humor.

  “It’s about time you earn your keep around here.” She looked at him with a bemused expression as he headed toward the door.

  “Where’s Simeon hiding out?” He stopped to refasten the buttons on his coat.

  “He’s gone to check the horses, but he’ll be back to eat with us.”

  The door closed behind Joseph, shutting away the outside sounds and settling a quiet over the room. Emma turned a kind smile on her. “I don’t mean to put you to work, too. Just sit at the table and visit while I finish this.”

  Monti stepped toward the kitchen. “No, please. I’d like to learn your recipe for dumplings.” Not that she had her own recipe or anything, but she’d rather not let this woman know exactly how inept she was in the kitchen. Unless Joseph had told her.

  She followed Emma toward the cookstove and work counters.

  “It’s hard to get supplies out here, but Simeon makes a run to town every few weeks for whatever they have in. As long as he can get flour, we’re able to grow or hunt most everything else we—”

  A bang at the door cut her short, and they both whirled to face the sound. Emma moved that direction, but had only taken a step when the door flew open.

  A large man in a thick animal-skin coat barged in, something furry cradled in both arms.

  “Simeon.” Emma was by his side in a second. “What’s happened?”

  The man turned to his wife, giving Monti a better view of his front. He carried some kind of grayish-colored dog that had a bright spot of crimson marring the hair on its side. The blood dripped down from the animal in a steady stream, pooling on the cabin floor.

  “Wolves...after the horses.” He struggled to catch his breath. “When I got there, they were after the black mare. Mustang chased them off, but he took a beating.”

  Emma leaned close over the dog’s head. “Hey, boy.” Then she stepped back. “I’ll get a blanket and the medicine box. There’s water heating by the fire.”

  Mr. Grant glanced around, his gaze coming to rest on her. He nodded, then moved toward the hearth.

  Monti turned toward Emma. “What can I do?”

  She motioned toward the counter. “There’s a crate under there with bandages and dried herbs and such. Take that to Simeon while I get a blanket.”

  Monti found the box, then turned to the man and dog on the other side of the room. They’d not even been introduced, but it seemed formality really didn’t have much place here on the frontier. Squaring her shoulders, she strode over to him.

  He looked up from where he seemed to be examining the animal’s wounds. “You must be Miss Bergeron.”

  “Yes.” She dipped in a slight curtsy. Something about the man seemed so daunting. Not that he was frightening, per se, but he seemed to have a wild aura about him. As though he’d been carved from the mountains that stood as sentries around this valley.

  She knelt by the dog’s feet, placing the box where the man could reach it. “What next?”

  “Bring that water over here. And I’ll need a rag. Maybe you can find one by the sink.”

  She did as he asked, finding a cloth that looked dry and unused. As she moved back toward the wounded animal, the cabin door swung open again. Joseph stepped inside, and the sight of him loosened the knot clenched in her chest.

  His gaze met hers. “What’s wrong? I saw Simeon’s horse and a trail of blood.”

  She motioned toward the man and dog, then proceeded in that direction. “The dog is hurt. He said wolves attacked the horses.” She knelt again and handed the cloth to Simeon, who pressed it against the dog’s side where the blood seemed to be coming in a steady flow.

  Joseph knelt behind her, his presence both soothing her nerves and awakening a riot of butterflies in her middle. He was close enough she could feel his warmth, even though he didn’t touch her.

  “Anyone else get hurt?” His voice rumbled near her ear. If she turned to look at him, their faces would likely be less than a foot apart.

  But she didn’t turn.

  “One of the broodmares. I think she’s all right, but I need to get back out and check her. Make sure they don’t come back to finish the job.” Simeon’s attention drew upward to a point behind them, a bit of relief slipping over his face.

  Monti turned to see Emma approaching. She held up a gray woolen blanket and moved around to sit in front of the dog. “Have you washed it yet?” She spoke in a low tone, her words obviously meant for her husband.

  “Just staunching the blood.”

  “Do you need to get back to the horses?” She looked up at him, studying his face with twin lines furrowing her brow.

  He nodded, his gaze shifting between her and the dog. “I would use the powdered pepper first, then we’ll try comfrey tonight.”

  “That’s what I was thinking, too.”

  Their gazes locked, and something intimate passed between them. She found herself watching Simeon’s face, which looked—thankful? Relieved? As if all would be better with Emma’s help.

  She knew that feeling. The startling realization made her pull back a bit. The look on Simeon’s face was exactly how she felt when Joseph had walked into the room moments ago.

  She wanted to dart a glance at him, but her spinning mind wouldn’t let her. What did it all mean? Thankfully, she didn’t have long to ponder, because Simeon rose to his feet, towering over them.

  Joseph stood, too. “I’ll help with the horses.”

  She wanted to protest, ask him not to leave her here. She’d almost rather go help tend the horses and fight off wolves if it meant Joseph would be with her. But a look at Emma stilled her racing heart.

  “We’ll take care of things here.” Emma spoke to the men but kept her calming amber eyes on Monti. As though she could read her impulsive desire.

  Monti inhaled a steadying breath and nodded. She was a Bergeron. She didn’t need a man to lean on. Especially not when someone—or something, in the case of this poor dog—needed her.

  Chapter Twelve

  These questions have turned to a battle inside me.

  ~ Joseph’s Journal

  MONTI WORKED WITH EMMA to tend the dog, at least for the first few minutes. The animal had several deep gashes across its side and abdomen, and a chunk of flesh hung loose from one front leg. The wounds were hard to look at, but the way the dog gazed up at her, its tongue lolling to the side, made her want to stay with him and ease away the pain.

  “He’s usually not good with new people, but he seems to like you.” Emma watched the animal as Monti stroked its head.

  “He must hurt a great deal.” The dog’s coarse hair bounced back up after each time her hand passed over it.

  “That tea we gave him should help. Even in pain, though, Mustang doesn’t take to people easily. I think he only tolerates my presence because of Simeon. And because I feed him.” Her voice held a smile.

  Monti used her thumb to stroke the bones just in front of the dog’s ear. His eyelids drifted partway closed, and his panting turned into a contented sound.

  “Yes,” Emma said. “He’s smitten. And he doesn’t seem to be the only one.”

  Monti’s gaze jerked up to the other woman. “What do you mean?”

  But a baby’s cry pierced the air, and Emma stood. “Hannah’s awake.”

  Monti wanted to chase her, to question her further about what the woman meant. Surely she didn’t see something between her and Joseph. There wasn’t anything to see, except this unsettling need she seemed to have for his presence. A need she’d best obliterate...post haste. She’d never needed a man, and she didn’t plan to start now.

  A few minutes later, Emma returned with a cute girl on her hip, her brown curls splaying in all directions. The child’s face was red and splotchy from her short bout of tears.

  Emma brought her over. “Hannah, this is our new friend Miss
Monti. Can you say, hello?”

  The child dove into her mother’s shoulder, taking refuge there as though she couldn’t stand to meet a newcomer.

  Monti reached up from her seat beside the dog and tweaked one of Hannah’s little stockinged feet. “Hello, Hannah. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  Emma tried to coax her daughter into a greeting, but Hannah kept her face pressed into her mother’s shoulder. Emma finally sent Monti an apologetic smile. “She feels a bit overwarm. I think she may not be feeling well.”

  The next hour passed in a busy blur. Poor Hannah fussed off and on, especially when Emma tried to set her on the floor with her doll. Finally Emma gave up and bounced with the child as she swayed to and fro. Monti moved to the kitchen and helped as she could while Emma gave instruction on how to fold the dumplings, what to mix for the cream sauce, and how to shift it about on the stove top to keep the mixture from burning with the varying temperatures of the fire.

  “That looks perfect,” Emma finally proclaimed. “Now you can move the pot to the edge of the stove where it will only get enough heat to stay warm. Hopefully, the men will be back before it turns to mush.”

  Monti gave the mixture a final stir. It did look perfect and smelled just as good. Joseph would be shocked that she’d made more than corncakes without burning them.

  Of course, she’d had Emma giving instructions the entire time.

  Monti had just settled in beside Mustang again when a boot thud sounded on the stoop outside. The door pushed open, and Simeon stepped inside. Joseph followed him, and his gaze immediately scanned the room until it landed on her.

  Or...maybe his gaze had been searching for the dog. She tried to offer a reassuring smile and speak as if that were the case. “He’s staying calm, which is good. How are the horses?”

  Joseph approached her and dropped to his knees, the animal between them. “The mare had some deep marks, but she should be all right. We brought her to the barn to keep an eye on her.”

  “And her foal? Will she have trouble?” What a horrible thing to happen with a young one on the way.

  He looked up from the dog and met her gaze. “I hope not. Time will tell. She looks like she only has a couple months left.” His eyes glimmered sadness, not the callused look of a man accustomed to such bloodshed.

  “I hope you’re all hungry. Monti made dumplings for the meal.” Emma’s voice broke through the haze that seemed to surround the two of them.

  His eyes softened and crinkled at the edges. “Dumplings, eh?” His voice was low, his words for her alone. “I’m definitely hungry.”

  She couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe with the way he looked at her. What was it about this man that affected every part of her so strongly?

  At last, he straightened, breaking the invisible connection that pulled at her. After standing, he held out his right hand to help her up. He still wore his gloves, although he’d unbuttoned his coat.

  She placed her hand in his and allowed his strength to aid her as she rose. It might have been her imagination, but it seemed as if he gave her fingers a gentle squeeze before letting go. It was hard to be sure through his leather gloves, though. Was there a chance he felt more for her than kindness, or maybe even friendship? That must be what his sister had meant. But smitten? That was so far from possible, the idea was almost laughable. She wasn’t the kind of woman Joseph needed. Not competent in this mountain wilderness. And besides, she’s sworn off men. Ever since that day when she was fifteen, she’d vowed never to trust a man again. Mama hadn’t needed a man, not after Papa died. And she didn’t need one either.

  She moved to the kitchen and dished out the food while Emma settled Hannah for the meal and the men washed up. The air had a cozy feel. Homey. As if they were all one big family. Which they were, she supposed. The others, anyway. She was the outsider here.

  But as Emma asked Monti to hand her the cloth she tied around her daughter’s neck to keep her clothes clean, and Joseph offered a gentle curve of his lips when she filled his coffee mug, she couldn’t help but feel like part of their family.

  She was accepted here. Among these people who’d absorbed her in their midst as though she’d always belonged.

  AFTER THEY ATE, JOSEPH accompanied the rest of them to the barn to examine the wounds on the expectant mare. Monti had suggested she stay inside to finish cleaning the kitchen, but Emma wouldn’t hear of it. And he was glad to be in her company again. He’d thought he’d spend the whole day with her, yet aside from dinner, he’d barely seen her since they’d arrived.

  They neared the stall and found the mare in the corner, resting with one hind foot cocked. That resting leg was the one that had been pierced by the fangs of a wolf, and the injured area had already swelled.

  Simeon applied a fresh dose of salve there and to the other lacerations. Emma brought in a bit more hay and coddled the girl for a few minutes. Even Monti stepped into the pen and stroked her dark winter coat. Joseph could only imagine what it was like to have her stroking and whispering sweet comforts in one’s ear. He was having trouble summoning pity for the mare just now.

  “Neigh-neigh.” Hannah reached toward the horse, almost pulling herself out of his arms.

  “You want to pet the horse?” He straightened the little mite and stepped into the enclosure with the others. The women eased back to give him room, and he helped his niece pet the mare, snuggle into her mane, and plant a kiss on her forehead.

  “All right, ladybug. Bid her good day.” He pulled Hannah back and stepped away.

  “G’da.” Hannah waved to the horse, and he couldn’t help a grin.

  He turned and caught Monti’s gaze, sharing a smile with her. Who couldn’t feel a bit happier when spending time with this little muffin?

  THE AFTERNOON PASSED in a blur for Monti, especially when they all climbed into the Grants’ sleigh and rode across the valley to visit with Joseph’s aunt and uncle. Madame Lockman was a feisty woman with hair cropped almost as short as her husband’s. The lady even wore men’s pants, although the apron she tied over them while the women prepared dinner helped soften the shocking appearance a little.

  Monsieur Lockman didn’t often fit a word into the conversation, and at first he seemed extremely shy. His wife appeared to handle the talking for both of them. But as he leaned over and spoke to Madame in low French tones, realization slid over Monti. He might prefer listening over talking, but it probably had as much to do with not speaking English well as it did with personal preference.

  As often as Monti could without seeming rude to the others, she slipped into French to communicate with him. He seemed eager to answer her questions about how long they’d lived in this part of the frontier, how many horses and cattle they owned, and whatever else she could think of.

  She found herself seated beside Monsieur Lockman at the evening meal, which gave him the chance to tell her more about how they’d come to settle their ranch. He’d left France twenty years before—the same year Monti was born. After a horrid week in Quebec, he’d traveled on, first down the Ottawa River, then westward. The moment he’d seen the peaks of these Rocky Mountains, he said he’d finally found his home.

  “Everything seemed perfect, especially after I met this lady, the love of my life.” He leaned over to wrap an arm around Madame Lockman’s shoulder.

  She gave him a smile that was part chastisement, part adoration, then turned to Monti and said in the same French language. “I’d been living at the trading post over the mountain until my first husband left me a widow. Never would have stayed in the area if I hadn’t met Adrien. Now I can’t imagine leaving.” They shared another look and smile that was...well, the English didn’t seem to have a word sweet enough to describe the strength and staying power of the love that drifted between them. As though it had been tried by fire and come out stronger and purer.

  She looked away, as much to give them privacy as to soften the ache in her chest the sight brought on. She’d never had the desire to marry.
Mama had never seen the need to remarry and had done well for them both. When Monti made the choice to come west to this wilderness, she’d decided to become something of a nun. She was married to her Lord, here to carry out His will and spread His word.

  Her gaze wandered to Joseph, as it did more than it should these days. He was already looking at her, and his gaze seemed to bore through her, so penetrating she couldn’t pull herself from it. Yet he didn’t seem to be studying her as much as just buried deep in his thoughts. His face held an odd expression. Intense. Was he irritated with her? Or maybe with something else. Yet... he didn’t quite look angry. She couldn’t identify what she found in his gaze.

  She finally pulled her focus from him. The man was confusing enough sometimes to give one a headache.

  Thankfully, Emma asked her aunt a question about their livestock, bringing a renewed lightness to the conversation and a fresh direction for Monti’s frustrating thoughts.

  She’d do well not to dwell on Joseph Malcom.

  A WAR RAGED INSIDE Joseph as he accompanied the others back to Emma’s home. Watching her speak French with Uncle Adrien had awakened something inside him that wouldn’t return to its dormant state.

  She’d been beautiful. But that was nothing new. Every time he looked at her, he had to steel himself against her beauty. It was the gentle way she’d sought out his uncle, the man who’d learned to resign himself to the role of observer in most conversations. She’d gone out of her way to converse with him, and in so doing, had brightened both his aunt and uncle’s day considerably, if he judged by the glow that now surrounded them.

  Monti cared about people so much. It wasn’t a trait he’d expected when he first met the French princess at Fort Hamilton. He’d assumed she would be ignorant and snobbish. It turned out she was strong and kind and braver than he could ever dream of being.

  Which meant he was nowhere near good enough for her. He’d known that since the first day, although he’d not let his mind go anywhere near those thoughts. But now, he couldn’t seem to stop himself from dwelling on the differences between them.