by Karen Kay
In reaction to her, however, as though she had embarrassed him, the boy took one pace backward. Worse, he brought a hand up to swipe at his cheek.
His action checked her movements, but only for a moment. After all, this youth had saved her life.
Throwing caution to the wind, Carolyn stepped forward once again, this time encircling her arms around him. It was only then that she became aware, for the first time, that, except for a brief bit of cloth covering his privates, this youth was naked.
And this thought had no more than materialized when the two of them snapped apart, as though by some natural force. Nonetheless, Carolyn could not help observing—perhaps for the first time—that the boy’s chest was wide, well-developed, and…he was handsome. His midnight black hair—so very, very long—fluttered in the slight breeze around his shoulders and waist, framing his silhouette as though he were made of shadow and light.
And despite herself, despite, too, his obvious reluctance to hold her close, Carolyn grew enchanted.
Gazing up into his dark eyes, she smiled at him. But again, the boy did not return the gesture. Instead, he spun away from her, as though she were a particular piece of bad luck. He trod off swiftly, up the steep incline of the mountain. But he had taken no more than a few steps when he turned around, motioned her to follow, and turned back to his task: blazing a trail up the mountain.
Hmmmm. Despite his lack of manners, despite what Carolyn felt certain was discourtesy, she would not leave it at that; she could not leave it at that. After all, this boy had saved her life.
Lost in thought, she followed him. How was she ever to repay this boy? she wondered. Absentmindedly, she fingered the chain around her neck, until all at once she stared down at what she was doing.
This was it. Her necklace. She would give him her necklace.
Removing the silver locket from around her neck, she ran after the boy, and, tapping him on the shoulder, she threw her arms around him.
She said, “This is for you,” and taking a step back, held her locket out to him.
This time, the boy did not move away. He stared down at her, then at the locket. However, he made no attempt to take the thing from her.
It would have to be up to her.
Scooting forward one pace, she drew the necklace over his head, at the same time saying, “From now, until the day I cease to exist on this earth, we are friends.”
Then, with as charming a smile as she could muster, she patted the jewelry into place on him, her small hand pausing for a brief moment on his chest.
He stepped back, out of her reach, and nodded at her, signaling with his right hand that their exchange was over. And Carolyn was happy to observe that, though he fingered the locket, looking down at it with a strange expression, he did not remove it.
Instead, he turned away from her and motioned her to follow.
This was Carolyn’s first exchange with an American Indian, and she could not help feeling a little uncertain, for she could not ascertain if the boy was happy with her and her gift or not. But perhaps it little mattered.
With a light shrug, Carolyn did as he asked and moved forward to follow him, although as she did so, she tripped and almost fell off the ledge, causing the boy once more to act the part of a hero.
Chapter Three
Virginia City, Montana Territory
Eight and a half years later
“Why us?” As soon as chestnut-haired Carolyn White asked the question, it hung in the air, unanswered. But, as though unaware of the reaction her inquiry triggered, she went on to say, “Why is it that we’re the ones having the bad luck? Why doesn’t it happen to the rest of them? We all came here at the same time, as part of the same caravan. Most of our neighbors are doing all right. Why aren’t we?”
“Now, now,” said Margaret Simon as she reached out to pat her adoptive daughter’s hand. “It’s not our place to question the ways of the Lord. We must make do with what we have.”
“Yes, I know,” said Carolyn, “but I still can’t help wondering why we’re not getting rich off this land. It’s what was promised us when we purchased this stake. And heaven knows, we paid dearly for it.”
“Now, now, not to worry,” said her mother as she deposited a basket of wash onto the floor. Turning, she opened a closet door which held an ironing board, and grasping hold of the board, she pulled it down. As she did so, she commented, “We’ll make do.”
Carolyn heard the words and tried to feel mollified by her mother’s attitude, but she could not help wondering if they would. Or was her mother being overly optimistic?
For eight and a half years, eight and a half long, hard years, Carolyn’s new family had been doing their best to eke out a living on this land. Of course it hadn’t helped when, only a few months after arriving in the mining fields of Virginia City, Carolyn’s father—a man who had adopted her without question—had fallen from a ladder.
He had broken both hips, and injured his spine, which left him semi-crippled. With aid, he could walk, but he could not do heavy work.
In the end, it had been up to Carolyn and her mother to take on the majority of the work—work that her father would have done, had he been able. Early on, however, the two women had discovered that there were some physical exertions a woman could not do as well as a man. It was this realization that had forced them to hire help.
In order to obtain the finance needed, however, they had borrowed money against their stake. And now they could not pay either of their debts. In truth, their expenses were already six months overdue.
“How much time did the banker say we had before they would be forced to take our property away from us?” asked Carolyn.
“Three or four months,” answered her mother. “Maybe we have till the end of the year, if we’re lucky.”
Carolyn sighed. “I wish you and Father would let me hire out for other work. I could take in laundry, too, like you do.”
“It’s enough that you help me.”
“Is it? If I were to bring in my own business, we could make double the money.”
“And who would do your other work in the mining fields? Who would handle your chores? Besides, a young girl like you shouldn’t be wasting her time cleaning another woman’s clothes.”
“Hmmmm. I wouldn’t have to drop any of my routine chores, Mother,” said Carolyn. “I’d just have to work faster with a few longer hours. I could manage.”
“No, Carolyn,” said her mother, firmly. “We’ve been through this before. As it is, you work too hard and don’t go out enough with people your own age. It was never my or your father’s intention to deprive you of what should rightfully be yours. You should have a husband.”
Carolyn sighed. “But you know that I don’t want to get married. At least not now. There must be something else I could do to help you and Father.” She paused. “Although I suppose I could always marry Nathan Thompson…”
“No!”
“He proposed to me.”
“He didn’t. When?”
“A few days ago.”
Her mother snickered. “We’re not that bad off yet. I wish that man would leave you alone. Why he’s older than your father and uglier than a rotten bull.”
Both women gazed at one another, as though disbelieving the words had been said. Disbelief, however, grew into laughter.
Carolyn was the first one to speak. “But—”
“No, Carolyn, be patient,” her mother cut in, although she did so with a smile. “We’ll find a way to keep our stake. You must learn to put your trust in the Lord.”
Carolyn fell silent. She did put her trust in the Lord. She always did. Although, Carolyn thought, sometimes it didn’t hurt to help the Lord…just a little.
“What’s this?” Margaret’s voice interrupted Carolyn’s thoughts, causing her to look up toward the older lady. Her mother was straightening away from her task, and she was holding up a dress—one of Carolyn’s.
Carolyn gasped. Where had that come f
rom? She narrowed her brow, as her mother stretched out her hand, displaying something she had taken from the pocket of Carolyn’s dress: a small, grayish-white object. One Carolyn recognized only too well.
It was a stone arrowhead. One she kept hidden away, along with other valuables…as a reminder of another time, another place…a boy she had known.
Carolyn arose, crossing the room toward her mother. It should have taken her three easy steps. But in the process of moving, she knocked over two chairs that weren’t even directly in her path.
Amazingly enough, neither woman made a comment, except for the grimace on her mother’s face.
Carolyn said simply, “It’s an arrowhead,” before she stooped down to pick up the chairs.
“Yes, I can see that,” replied her mother. “What I mean is, why haven’t I ever seen this before?”
Why hadn’t she? Because, Carolyn thought as she set the chairs back upright, she kept it hidden, that’s why. Also because she tried to forget anything and everything connected with that period of her life. And because, if she were truthful, she would admit that the arrowhead, as well as one other object, reminded her that she had done something—something that, when she thought of it now, made her feel ashamed.
Her mother, examining the arrowhead, said, “It looks ancient.”
“I think that it is,” replied Carolyn. “I picked it up on the ground in the Bighorn Mountains when I was only eleven…before your caravan arrived at Fort C.F. Smith. These arrowheads are scattered all over those mountains. Do you remember me telling you that I’d been lost in those mountains and that an Indian boy led me to the fort? I found it then.”
“Is it an arrowhead that he used?”
“No, I don’t think so,” said Carolyn. “I got the impression that some other group of people—little people or some other kind of people—used these long ago. He told me in signs—at least I think it’s what he said—that his people only use arrowheads made from bone, although of course, now, with the coming of the white man, they use steel ones…or bullets.”
Carolyn’s mother handed the arrowhead to her, and Carolyn closed her fingers over it. She would have to put it away, back into her private stash of things, later, when no one was looking. There it would keep company with another, more valuable object—the one she never handled or looked at—the one she had taken without permission.
“In the mountains, eh?” muttered her mother under her breath. Then, “It’s funny that, as long as you’ve been with us, we’ve never really talked about what happened to you there.” The older woman waved her hand when Carolyn might have spoken, going on to say, “Oh, I know about the Indian boy who found you, and who led you to the outpost. And I know that he saved you from a bear. But that’s all you’ve ever told us.” She paused, and then, hesitantly, she asked, “Is there more?”
Carolyn stiffened. Of course there was more. But Carolyn had never been able to bring herself to voice aloud what had happened there. It had been a harsh time in her life; one of great loss, one of starvation, one also marked by the stirrings of an infatuation with that same boy who had saved her, though he had never reciprocated her feelings.
“I know you’ve not wanted to talk about it, Carolyn, and so I’ve waited for you to open up to me on the subject,” said her mother. “But you never have. Don’t you think it best if we talk about it?”
“Perhaps.” Carolyn nodded, remaining otherwise silent.
A moment, perhaps two, dragged by. Resolutely, her mother sighed. “Ted Hawkins came around looking for you yesterday.”
“Did he?”
“He did. Such a fine-looking young man he is, too. Now, there’s a boy, who, if he proposed—”
“I couldn’t accept, Mother.”
“Why not?”
“Because,” Carolyn straightened her shoulders, “if I married him, I’d have to leave our home. His parents have their own property, and they’re struggling with it, too. And if I left you for any length of time, you and Father would not be able to manage for very long. No, if I were to marry, I’d have to choose someone else, someone who would be able—and willing—to pay off your debt to the bank.”
“Carolyn!”
“Now, Mother, I know it sounds hard-hearted, but it’s not as if I’m in love with anyone. In fact, I’ve been wondering lately if it might be better, after all, if I looked upon marriage as an investment rather than a matter of the heart.”
“Heavens!” Carolyn’s mother crossed herself. She said, “Carolyn, I don’t know where you come up with these ideas. We definitely would make do if you were to leave us. Do not worry about us. Besides, maybe having an extra pair of hands might help us, too.”
“Then I definitely could not marry Ted Hawkins, could I?” Carolyn grinned at her mother before raising her hand to hold the arrowhead up to the light.
“Now Carolyn, be reasonable.”
“I am.”
“No, you’re not. Your father and I want only your happiness. Most women desire a husband and a family, as well as love. Most wouldn’t be happy without each of these things.”
“I’m perfectly happy, Mother.”
“Are you?”
Carolyn shrugged. “I worry about our stake here a little.”
“A little?”
Carolyn nodded. “Yes, a little.”
“Tell me, Carolyn, I’ve often wondered. You didn’t, by any chance, fall a little bit in love with that Indian boy—the one who saved you?”
Carolyn gasped, the intake of breath making a tiny hiss.
But her mother must not have heard it, for she went on to say, “Because if you did, I wouldn’t blame you. It would only be natural.”
Carolyn paused to collect her thoughts. After a short time, however, she shrugged her shoulders and said, “Maybe I fell a little in love with the Indian boy, but if I did, it was probably no more than infatuation. We were chased by a bear. I wouldn’t be here today if it weren’t for him.”
“Yes, I know,” her mother replied, “but it’s odd. You’ve never told us anything else about what happened there, and I’ve always wondered about it.”
How true, thought Carolyn. It was strange. Strange, that she had lived with these, her adoptive parents for these past eight years, yet never had she told them the truth…at least the truth about her adventure in the mountains. It wasn’t as if she weren’t devoted to her new parents; she was.
They had taken her in, had made her a part of their family when she’d had nothing. She loved them, was devoted to them, would do most anything for them. But there were some things a person did not say; some things too private to share, even with those you loved most.
Carolyn let out a sigh. Maybe she should have another thought about that last idea. Perhaps it would do her some good to open up on the subject.
Dropping the arrowhead into her pocket, she sat on the closest kitchen chair, which, unfortunately for her, appeared to have a cracked leg, for it fell over as soon as she sat down. As though this sort of thing were commonplace, Carolyn rose easily enough and plopped down in another, sturdier chair. She said, “It happened so long ago and, to be honest, I’ve tried to forget about it.”
Carolyn did not look up to regard her mother, did not see the woman move closer to the kitchen table.
“Forget what?” asked her mother, sweeping the broken pieces of the chair into a corner, perhaps to remain there until it could be fixed. The elder of the two women took a seat across from Carolyn.
The caves, Carolyn thought, she wished she could forget about the caves. But she could not so much as utter a single word about them. She had promised him that she would never do so…not to anybody…ever. She said, “When I think of that time in the mountains, I remember it as a happy experience; at least it was happier than that which preceded it. Following the tragedy that took away my parents, and then all the others…
“I know it’s wrong, so very, very wrong,” Carolyn continued, “but after watching my friends pass away, one by on
e, I wanted to die, too.”
Her mother gasped. “I’m so sorry, dear,” the older woman took Carolyn’s hand into her own. “But after all, it’s only natural that you would feel that way. You shouldn’t torture yourself about that.”
“I try not to. In truth, I do my best not to think of that experience at all. And as for the boy, I have to admit that when he found me and saved me from that bear, it was as though I were being given a new life. And yes, maybe I was a tiny bit infatuated with him…but, as you say, who wouldn’t have been? There’s one thing I can tell you true, however.”
“What’s that, dear?”
“There was never a chance of me losing my heart to him.” Carolyn looked up to catch her mother’s gaze. “The truth is, he could hardly stand me.”
“Oh, Carolyn, I’m sure that’s not true.”
“Yes, I’m certain it is. I practically threw myself at him. But I might as well have been poison ivy, the way he acted. He couldn’t wait to get me to Fort C.F. Smith. As soon as we came in sight of it, he slipped away—without even saying good-bye.” Carolyn swallowed the rush of emotion that arose all too easily in her throat, making it difficult for her to finish speaking. At length, however, she said, “And I never saw him again.”
Tiny flickerings of grief threatened to undo her composure, but she swore she would not give in to the feeling. She knew from experience that it would abate soon enough.
Darn. Why did these old hurts never go away? Wasn’t time supposed to heal all wounds?
But if Margaret Simon noticed anything unusual about her daughter, she said nothing. Instead, she went on to observe, “It’s just as well that you didn’t ever see the boy again, Carolyn. After all, he’s Indian and you’re white, and never the two shall meet—”
“Hmmm…” interrupted Carolyn. She did not want to hear more. Though she realized that the people in these Montana territories harbored a good deal of prejudice, for the most part—and this included her parents—it was not something Carolyn wished to discuss. Chiefly because she disagreed.
