Sweet Mountain Magic

by Rosanne Bittner

  An alarm sounded in Sage’s heart. Already he could picture her mother—a woman who would be vehemently against her daughter’s being married to an uneducated mountain man. The future was looking more bleak as he envisioned the kind of life this young woman had led before meeting him.

  She sighed deeply again, trying to stay in control. “At any rate, I got pregnant and gave birth about ten months after we married. I had a…a little girl. Her name was…Elizabeth…and she was so perfect…so beautiful. When she was a few months old, Rafe and I—”

  Her voice broke again and she started to tremble. Sage grasped both her hands. “Rafe and I…went for a buggy ride. It was such a lovely day…and there had been no trouble with Indians in such a long time, especially not near the more populated areas. But I guess we…we just went a little too far. And all of a sudden we were surrounded…by Comanche…renegades. They were painted…dirty…savage looking…animals. They had no cause to do what they did. Rafe reached for his rifle, but the next thing I knew he was falling from the wagon with an arrow in his back. And then they were…grabbing me and Elizabeth.”

  Her voice was shaky, and she held his hands so tightly that the strength of her grip surprised him. “They tore her…from my arms…and one of them pulled me…screaming and kicking…onto his horse. They started tossing Elizabeth around…like a ball. And…then…one of them…one of them…”

  “You don’t have to say it, Mary. You’ve already told me that part.”

  A heaving sob jerked her whole body. He moved closer, setting the cigar aside and pulling her into his arms. She wept bitterly for several minutes, while he held her and rocked her.

  “Oh, Sage, Sage,” she sobbed when she finally found her voice again. “How can I live…with that memory! So ugly! So ugly!”

  “You just have to believe there’s a reason you lived, Mary, and a reason I’m the one who found you. I know it doesn’t help much, but a lot of women lose their children. And the baby was so little, she probably never knew what was happening—never experienced the fear and horror you did. She died quickly, and you’ve got to be thankful that if it had to happen, they killed her instead of keeping her to grow up among them. And someday, when the years have comforted you and allowed you to think more clearly, you’ll understand a little bit why the Comanche did what they did. I’m not defending it, Mary. I’m just saying that the same things were done to them by whites. Angry, vengeful men are the worst enemies. God only knows why your little girl was singled out—why those renegades happened to be there waiting.”

  She cried several more minutes, and he patted her hair.

  “I…have to go back, Sage. My parents…must be crazy with grief. My poor…lonely mother. They have to know I’m alive.”

  “’Course they do. And I’ll take you back myself.”

  She clung to his shirt. “What if…what if they don’t want me…after they find out what happened? They might look at me differently. Our friends might be cruel to them…make dirty remarks—”

  “They’d be fools to do that. And no parent ever stops loving his own. They’d know it wasn’t your fault. My God, Mary, no loved one could hold that against you. You’re still their pretty little girl, and they’ll know you need their support.” He kissed her hair. “But if it’s bad and you feel you can’t stay there, we’ll just go away together and find us a life someplace else. Either way, you’ve got to go home first and let them know you’re still alive.”

  She raised her head and looked into his eyes. “What about Rafe?” she asked in a near whisper.

  He frowned. “What about him? You said he was killed.”

  The tears came again. “I only think he was. I don’t know for sure, Sage. We all rode off and left him lying there. I don’t know if he was really dead. What if he lived, Sage? What if he lived?”

  He saw the hysteria building again. He grasped her arms tightly. “Stay calm, Mary. It’s something…something we’ve just got to consider, and face the possibility.”

  “But…I love you, Sage. Only I…I loved Rafe, too. If he’s alive, I’ll have no choice but to go back to him. But I don’t want to lose you, Sage. Is it possible…for a woman to love two men?”

  He studied the violet eyes. “I reckon it is. Only Rafe is likely the one you belong with. He’s your kind, Mary.”

  “I don’t care about that anymore. I don’t need that kind of life. If Rafe is dead, Sage, I want to stay with you. We can live in the mountains or wherever you like. It doesn’t matter.”

  “Yes, it does, Mary. It does matter. You might not think so at first, but it would matter after a while, now that you remember. This is no life for you. But I’d do my best to…to settle somehow, make a decent living. I reckon I’d have to leave you with your folks till I figured out how I’d do that. I don’t reckon they’d take a big liking to somebody like me, that’s sure.”

  “I don’t care! They have to accept you. You saved my life. You will have brought me back. And we love each other.”

  “Those things might not matter to them. We’ve just got to take you back and see how things work out.”

  Her eyes widened and she hung her head. “If Rafe is still alive…he might not want me anymore,” she said quietly then. “If he’s alive and I…I go back to him…oh, Sage, I couldn’t bear it if I saw shame and humiliation in his eyes! I couldn’t live with that. Maybe he wouldn’t love me anymore…wouldn’t want me. And if he does—” She met his eyes again. “Oh, Sage, how can I ever send you out of my life? How can I bear all the hurt?”

  He rested a hand on the side of her face, bending close and kissing her cheek. “You’ll take one thing at a time. If Rafe still loves you, that love will help you get over me. I’ll talk to him myself. I’ll make him understand. And I’ll make sure things are right before I…leave you.”

  Their eyes held. How could they ever part now? His own eyes teared. “I’ll have to do what’s best for you, Mary. That’s all I can do. I don’t really matter.”

  “Yes, you do!”

  “No. Not really. You had a whole other life before I came along. Me—I had nothing. I came from nothing, and I’ll go back to nothing. I’m tough. I’ll survive. But in my whole life, I’d never love another woman like I love you.” They hugged tightly. “It’s a damned good bet Rafe is dead, Mary. I know how torn you are, wanting him to be alive but loving me, too. Neither of us wishes him dead. I’m just saying it’s pretty rare for a man to live after an arrow wound in his back. You might as well resign yourself to the fact that he’s dead. You’ve got to face his death and your daughter’s—accept it so you’ll be strong enough to face your parents and all the familiar things when you go back. It will be hard for you to return and remember it all over again.”

  “Hold me, Sage. Don’t let go of me for a while.”

  He pressed her close in his strong arms. Marietta St. Claire Cousteau. It was a fancy name. She came from a fancy family. Perhaps when they went back she would remember better how good her life had been there and change her mind about staying with him. He told himself that he couldn’t blame her if she did so. She had been through so much. How could she be blamed for not really knowing what she wanted now? He simply would have to accept whatever she decided to do and live with it. But that was easier said than done.

  Texas. It was a long, long way from the mountains of Wyoming. And they wouldn’t even be able to leave for two or three months—not until the snow was melted enough for travel. What did they do between now and then? If her husband was still alive…He held her closer. He’d be damned if he would not make love to her anymore because of a remote possibility. He would make love to this Mary St. Claire Cousteau MacKenzie. She was his woman, plain and simple. And if she was willing, she would stay his woman until they reached Texas and whatever waited there for them.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Eight days after the miscarriage Mary was up and dressed, surprising Sage when he returned from splitting some logs with breakfast and a tidied up cabin. The
y had talked little since she had told him who she was. She had spent most of her time since then sleeping, and Sage had seemed to make it a point to stay outside a lot.

  He was different. She knew he had meant it when he said he still loved her, but still, he was different. He seemed more self-conscious, suddenly almost shy.

  “Well, now, looky here,” he said when he came in to see tin plates set on the log table and smelled breakfast cooking. “You’re looking real good, Mary; lots of color in those cheeks. You sure you’re well enough to be up?”

  “I have to get back to living, Sage, or waste away to nothing just lying there. You’ve been waiting on me long enough.”

  He watched her strangely as she brought food to the table. He turned away to hang up his hat and coat. “I don’t expect you’re used to waiting on anybody,” he commented, “what with having servants and all that. How is it you take to serving a man so easy?”

  He turned and met her eyes, and she put her hands on her hips. “Sage, just because I had servants doesn’t mean I’m helpless. I used to help them cook and I learned to do a lot of other things. I never liked just sitting around like some ninny, so don’t go looking at me like one.”

  His eyebrows arched. “Well, I didn’t exactly call you that. I’m just surprised—I mean, now that you remember and all, it’s gotta be hard for you to be doing all the cooking, setting a table and all.”

  “I don’t mind. Now come and sit down.”

  He walked over to the wash pan. “I’ve got to wash my hands first.”

  She watched him as he washed, feeling the new strain between them. “Sage, I feel the same way about you as I did before I remembered. Why are you acting so distant? You said you’d help me. You said you still loved me.”

  He nodded, turning and wiping his hands on a towel as he spoke. “I did, and I do.” He sighed deeply, throwing aside the towel. “Damn it, Mary, look at this place. The floor is dirt, the table is made of old logs. We’re eating off tin plates, not china. Your hands are scratched and calloused, and we’re eating bear and rabbit instead of steaks and pork. The dresses you wear are borrowed and don’t even fit. And instead of a four-poster bed, we sleep with a tent for a mattress and bedrolls and a buffalo robe for cover.” He turned away. “All of a sudden I’m seeing how worthless I am, that’s all. If we find out when we go back that we’re able to stay together, how can I ever offer you the kinds of things you had back in Texas?”

  Her heart swelled with love. “Sage, I don’t need all those things. I’ve survived just fine living this way. Naturally I hope for some kind of a little house someday, but it doesn’t have to be something like my parents have. Surely by now you realize those things don’t matter to me. They never really did. I remember going to play with the little Mexican girls, and I’d go to their houses—shacks is a better description for some of them. Others were very clean and nice, but simple and plain. It didn’t matter. Either way I had more fun there than I ever had at home, because they were real people—people who really understood life and didn’t look down on others. That’s what you’re like, too. A person can feel comfortable and welcome around you.”

  He turned and studied her. “You’re pretty unusual, you know that?”

  She looked down. “No. Not really. Actually I—I’m surprised you look at me as something special at all, Sage. I certainly don’t feel like something special—not after what the Comanche did.” Her voice began to shake. “And I know it’s people like you and our Negro servants and my Mexican friends…who will understand and sympathize better than my own parents and friends.”

  Sage frowned, walking closer. “Mary, I told you before to quit hanging your head over it. You’re a beautiful young woman who’s done nothing wrong. There’s no way your parents will think less of you for what happened.”

  She breathed deeply for self-control, looking up at him and putting her hands on his waist. “Well, then, I won’t let it bother me, if you promise to stop letting my background bother you. Agreed?”

  He smiled, bending down and kissing her forehead. “Agreed.” Their eyes held a moment, and then he met her mouth, tenderly, lovingly, pulling her close. How much longer would he have her this way? How wrong was it, knowing her husband could be alive, and how wrong was he to try to convince her he had to be dead? He was afraid that if she truly believed he had lived she would not let him touch her until she knew for certain. He might have only these next three or four precious months. How could he spend them with her so close and not make love to her?

  “Oh, Sage, I love you,” she was telling him. “Maybe we should just get married before we even go to Texas.”

  He pulled back. “You thinking your folks won’t accept me?”

  She reddened slightly, looking down again. “I don’t know. If they don’t, we’ll just leave together and go live someplace else. It might be best that way anyway, considering how people talk.”

  Sage sighed, moving around to sit on a log in front of his plate. “Let them talk. I agree we could get married first, but considering all the circumstances…” He reached for a biscuit. “We’ve got to go there first and get it all straight. Your father might not approve of me, but we have to try it the right way first.”

  She sat down on a log across from him. “Maybe Father could give you a job, Sage. You say you don’t know what you’ll do. Maybe he could help you.”

  Sage shook his head. “No. I can make it on my own. I don’t need your father handing me things. I’d be obligated to him then, and we’d be tied down there at a time when it might be best to go someplace else. I won’t go begging your father for help. I’ll get my own start someplace. We’ll leave come spring and go to Texas and get it all straight and just take it from there. A lot depends on what’s happened since you’ve been away—mostly whether your husband is alive.”

  Her chest tightened. She scooped some potatoes onto her plate. “It’s impossible, Sage. I’ve thought about it a lot. I can see him lying there so still, that horrible arrow sticking out of his back. Several of the Comanche stayed behind when they took me away. Surely they made sure Rafe was dead before they left.”

  Sage nodded. If she wanted to believe it, he wasn’t going to fight her on it. Wrong as he might be, he would not make her doubt Rafe Cousteau’s death. She was too proper. If she believed the man was alive…

  “Good biscuits, woman,” he commented.

  She smiled then, finding his use of words amusing now that she remembered another life. She silently prayed there would be no problems when they reached Texas. But she knew her mother all too well. The woman was loving and protective toward Mary, but she could also be a snob in the best sense of the word.

  How would her parents react to Sage MacKenzie? If they insulted him, hurt his pride…She refused to think about it. If they could not accept him, it would be just as Sage had said. They would go elsewhere. It would be hard to leave her mother behind, but she would have to do it. She was a different person now, far removed from the Marietta St. Claire Cousteau who had been carried off by Comanche eight months ago. No matter what happened now, she probably would not be able to stay with her family in Texas. Nothing could ever be quite the same again.

  Two more weeks passed, and although the love was there, and in spite of their struggle to ignore all the unanswered questions, the strain was evident. Sage wanted to make love, but was not sure now how to approach her. Surely she was healed physically. But would making love to her bring back unwanted memories, or perhaps remind her of Rafe? Would it be different now?

  Mary, in turn, wanted Sage to make love to her but feared he would somehow think less of her. Would he think it was right for a woman who had been raped to actually still want a man? Or would he think her bad for wanting him when there was a remote possibility her husband was alive?

  Things suddenly seemed strained and awkward between them. Sage made some snowshoes and a sled and went out to cut more wood. Mary baked and knitted and repaired worn clothing. The snow melted
some; then fresh snow came down. Then came a new blizzard, and they were forced to stay inside for long hours at a time. Sage made them some chairs with backs on them by tying together the trunks of young saplings, fashioning arms and legs, and using rawhide secured into notches in the ends of the wood to hold everything together.

  “There you go,” he told Mary late one night. He had worked for hours near the fireplace, whittling and peeling and notching and tying. She had paid little attention, since he had already made himself a chair. She was surprised to see he had whittled more wood into a curve and had tied it onto the legs of his chair to make a rocking chair.

  “See?” He rocked it back and forth. “Won’t this be more comfortable for knitting and such? Beats a log with no back on it, and a straight chair, too.”

  She gasped with delight, setting aside her knitting. “Sage! Sage, a rocker! However did you do it?”

  “Well, it’s sure not the best. I expect back home you’ve got the fancy kind, made of polished wood with rockers that are perfectly balanced and all. I’m afraid this is the best I can do for now.”

  Her eyes teared as she sat down in it and made it rock. “Oh, Sage, it’s the most beautiful rocker in the whole world. But this was supposed to be your chair.”

  “I just wanted you to think that so you’d be surprised.”

  She rocked more. “I wouldn’t trade this chair for the finest rocker from New Orleans.” She fingered the arms. “This will be the most special piece of furniture I’ll ever own.” She met his eyes, her own red with tears. “Oh, Sage, we can take it with us, can’t we? We can make a travois and take it with us. I couldn’t bear to leave it behind.”

  He watched her, a sadness in his eyes. “I expect we can take it along, if you want.”

  She smiled, and their eyes held for a moment before she looked at her lap. “Sage, would you…I mean…do you think it’s strange or wrong…for a woman who’s been through what I’ve been through…for me to want…” She couldn’t finish. She sat there twisting her hands in her lap. Sage came closer, kneeling in front of her and grasping her hands.