A Shelter of Hope

by Tracie Peterson

  Oh, her heart still possessed an element of fear; Simone thought fear to be a healthy thing, however. Fear kept you always searching—always looking over your shoulder. Fear kept you from becoming too comfortable. Comfort, Simone had learned, caused a cascading effect on the soul. Comfort inevitably stimulated pleasure, and pleasure brought about true happiness. And if a person were happy, they could also be made sad—and Simone wanted no part of that.

  But where is your well-being, Simone? an inaudible voice seemed to question.

  Simone went back to her bed of pine boughs and gathered up her things. I won’t give in to such thinking. I won’t believe the lies that my mind would tell me. But deep down, Simone knew that it was very possible that the words she had heard within her own soul might not be lies. She wanted them to be, because if they were, she could more easily stand back and point a finger at yet another way her upbringing had failed her.

  Her mother’s faith would have her believe that God spoke to a person’s heart in order to offer them guidance and comfort. But Simone refused that nonsense. She knew her mother had cherished the psalmist’s declaration that his help came from the Lord who made heaven and earth. The Psalms shared words of comfort, with clear examples of times when the author had faced adversity and loneliness and had turned to God for help.

  “But I won’t turn to God,” Simone declared, looking heavenward. “Because I don’t believe you really care. I don’t believe you even see me here, all alone. I don’t believe you’ve ever really seen me—otherwise, how could you have allowed me to suffer? How could you have left me alone with a man who would sell me to another?” Simone suddenly realized how her words very nearly sounded like a prayer. It startled her to realize she’d spoken the words aloud. Was she going mad?

  Again she gazed up at the mountain peaks. She thought of Naniko and a portion of an old Ute saying. “My help is in the mountains where I take myself to heal the earthly wounds that people give to me.” Naniko believed healing came from the elements. The earth. The winds. The waters. Simone thought of how the Psalms and the Ute message shared a common interest. The mountains seemed to represent a fortress of strength. A haven from harm. The psalmist, however, knew his strength came from the One who made the mountains, while the Ute legend looked to the mountain itself. But these mountains seemed anything but helpful to Simone. In fact, she feared they might be her undoing.

  The horse whinnied from where she’d staked him out. He pawed at the ground, as if impatient for them to be on their way. No doubt he was just as hungry as Simone. Gathering up her things, Simone resaddled the animal and led him to the water’s edge. She tried not to be discouraged by the fact that the sun had gone back under the blanket of clouds. The gloomy gray better fit her disposition anyway.

  By the time Simone mounted her horse, a light snow had started to fall and the wind had picked up. It seemed futile to complain or even to shake a fist at the sky. Her surroundings wouldn’t heed her even if she pleaded her case, and neither would God. Shrugging down under her blanket, Simone urged the horse forward.

  They headed downriver, seeking to put the mountains behind them. Simone believed that if she could get to flat ground, she would more easily be able to discern directions and other signs of life. She noticed the slightest warming of the temperature as the horse picked his way down the trail. The farther they traveled from the higher altitude of the snow-capped mountains, the more signs of spring emerged. Surely they weren’t far from a trading post or town.

  When they came through a clearing of trees, Simone was shocked to realize they had come to the edge of a rocky drop. The horse nervously pranced and backed a few feet, sending bits of rock tumbling over the ledge. They could clearly go no farther. The ledge revealed no path that might allow Simone to navigate the steep incline. The view down below, however, held her attention in greater capacity than the obstacle of the ledge. Far in the distance, nearly beyond her field of vision, Simone made out the lazy rise of smoke. The snow had stopped, and now, looking out across the open valley, Simone possessed hope for the first time since leaving home. Smoke could only mean some manner of civilization.

  She glanced around, trying to figure out how they might conquer the drop. It appeared that if she made her way back to the river and crossed over to the other side, they would have an easier path down into the valley. Of course, that meant getting wet, and Simone had no idea how deep the river might be. She could easily risk her life and that of her mount. But it was either that or waste time exploring in the opposite direction. Her reasoning told her the river would be a better way, and without giving it another thought, Simone urged the horse to retrace their steps.

  She navigated the river with little difficulty. The place where they came back out of the woods revealed a shallow bank and water that only came up to the horse’s hocks. Simone nudged the horse with her heels and set out into the icy stream. The mare protested by nickering softly, but in a matter of minutes the obstacle lay behind them and no longer concerned the horse. Simone rubbed her stomach as it once again gave off a growl. She’d been existing on buried roots and pine—and very little else. It hardly satisfied her need, and weakness gradually overtook her.

  “Just a little farther,” she encouraged the horse. She knew she was really encouraging herself, but it seemed completely proper to issue the words.

  She tried to imagine what the town would be like. She wondered if it held very many people, and whether those people would think her queer for making a trek down from the mountains. Then it dawned on her that someone was bound to question her arrival. What should she say? What kind of story could she make up that would sound believable? She’d tell them that her parents were dead. As far as she was concerned, that much was true. But how could she explain her sudden appearance in their town? She didn’t even know where she was, much less a reason for coming to this particular place.

  With a heavy sigh, Simone watched her breath turn to steam in the chilled morning air. She simply wouldn’t answer their questions. She’d tell them only what she had to and leave it at that. She’d attempt to sell the pelts and see if someone would sell her some basic supplies, then she’d get out of there on the double. Towns meant lawmen—or at least citizens—who sought to uphold some form of justice and order. She remembered her mother telling her that much. She couldn’t stay there and hope to keep her identity a secret for long. Sooner or later, someone would find Garvey Davis’s lifeless body, and then they’d come after her.

  These thoughts consumed Simone while the horse moved ever closer to the town. She could now make out several plumes of smoke, as well as the outline of multiple structures. Here in the valley, the snow lay in sporadic clumps, giving the land a patchwork appearance. Dry needle grass was interlaced with delicate shoots of green, suggesting that a false thaw had come several weeks earlier to this portion of the territory. Of course, the past winter had been nothing compared to the winter of ’86. Simone remembered the heavy snows and bitter cold. Many folks had suffered, or so she’d been told. However, she hadn’t suffered—not overmuch. In fact, Simone remembered the time as rather pleasant. Her father had been caught unaware when a blizzard had come upon him, and he had to take refuge for several weeks in Uniontown. This winter, though irritatingly slow in its departure, had been very mild in comparison. The sun once again broke through the clouds and beamed down upon her. How wonderful it felt! Perhaps spring really would come.

  The warmth invigorated Simone. She urged the horse to pick up his pace, knowing he had to be near collapse. They would make it. She could see that now. But whether she could hold her own and manage to keep from being further harmed was another question.

  Remembering her appearance, Simone reached up a hand and untied the rawhide strips that held the rabbit pelt to her head. She tucked the pelt inside her coat, where the other two were doing a remarkable job of keeping her upper body warm. There seemed little hope of making herself look presentable, but Simone fretted over the idea anyway.
It wasn’t that she cared much for her looks or for making much ado over her appearance, but the last thing she wanted to do was draw attention to herself.

  She laughed, and the sound came out hollow and without feeling. “As if a stranger—a woman alone, no less—coming down from the mountains won’t create its own scandal.”

  The horse whinnied as if to agree. “It doesn’t matter,” she told him in reply. “I have no other choice. We have no other choice.”

  SEVEN

  THE CRUDE SIGN at the edge of town had seen better days. Simone tilted her head first one way and then the other, as if this would help her to get a better look at the ancient letters on the beaten and faded sign. She could only suppose the sign represented the name of the strange little gathering of businesses and homes. She studied the collection, disappointed to find it so small, but nevertheless grateful to have found any form of civilization. Somewhere a dog barked, and Simone found she could recognize a mixture of sounds that represented hope to her. The clanging of an anvil, the lowing of cattle—all manner of sounds that meant people occupied the tiny dwellings. If only she could find someone willing to help her by buying the furs. That would be the real trick. She needed money to help her on her way. Wherever that way might lead.

  She slowed the horse and gazed around her. The buildings were for the most part unpainted and well worn. The harsh weathering elements had taken their toll, but the buildings remained, nevertheless. Simone spotted the dry goods mercantile and decided this might be the best place to start. She dismounted, quickly glancing up and down the rutted road to see if anyone had stopped to pay her any mind. But no one seemed the least bit interested in her. Mainly because there was no one on the street to take an interest.

  Simone tied the horse to the hitching post and felt her knees start to buckle as she took a step. Her vision swam before her for a moment, and she knew if she didn’t get something to eat soon, she’d probably faint dead away. Pulling the leather pouch from her bedroll, Simone hoped the coins might be enough to purchase some form of nourishment. If not that, then she would try to sell the pelts and hope luck was with her in getting a decent trade.

  The bell on the front door jingled as Simone entered the tiny establishment. She gave the place a quick assessment. Bolts of cloth and sacks of seed and flour were propped against one wall. There were also bags of other provisions and tins of who-knew-what. Simone felt her stomach twist uncomfortably and pressed forward to the counter.

  “I thought I heard someone out here,” a man told her, emerging through a curtained doorway. “Well, you’re new to town, ain’t ya?” He looked Simone over as though trying to decide whether she merited his attention.

  “Yes,” she said softly. “I need to buy some food. Maybe crackers or jerky. Do you have jerky?”

  “Sure,” the man told her and pulled a jar up from behind the counter. He pulled out a large stick and put it on the counter. “Two cents.”

  Simone took out her coins and held them up. “Will these do?”

  He frowned at her ignorance and took hold of the coins. “They’ll do.”

  Simone sighed and grabbed the piece of meat and began to tear at it. Now was no time to worry about how this stranger perceived her.

  “Whereabout you from?” the clerk asked her.

  “Lived in the mountains,” Simone managed to say before swallowing.

  “You here by yourself?” The man craned his neck to look out through the store’s solitary front window.

  “Yes,” Simone responded cautiously. She forced herself to slow her rapid devouring of the jerky and turned to raise her question regarding the pelts. “I have two pelts with me, and I wondered if you or someone else in this town might be interested in buying them.”

  She put the jerky in her pocket and unbuttoned her coat. She worked to dislodge the pelts as the bell on the door jingled once again.

  “Ah, Reverend,” the storekeeper called out. “Good to see you. What can I do for you today?”

  Simone managed a quick glance at the older man. He appeared to be in his sixties, with gray hair and bushy eyebrows. He stood short and round, and from the looks of the smile on his face, he appeared to be very happy. “Mornin’, Tom. Gladdy sent me to pick up a few things. She’s putting lunch together just now and ran out of salt.”

  “No problem,” the clerk replied and reached once again behind his counter. He produced a five-pound bag of salt and waited to see what else the reverend would need.

  Just then Simone finally managed to free the fox pelt. “I have this one, as well as a fine wolf pelt,” she told the man, placing the fur on the counter.

  “Don’t rightly have any reason to buy either one,” the man told her. He ran his hand over the fur and smiled. “It is a nice piece. Guess I could give you somethin’.”

  The silvery wolf pelt soon joined the fox piece. “Ah, now, that is a beaut,” the man said, eagerly studying the fur.

  “I need money enough to buy some supplies. And I need some directions. I’m not sure where I am,” Simone replied.

  “Why, child, are you lost?” the reverend asked.

  Simone nodded. “I suppose so. I’m making my way to …” She thought for a moment. Where could she go? The only city name that came to mind was one she remembered her father spouting off about, and that was Laramie. “I’m going to Laramie.”

  “Well, you’re in a good place for that. Stage will be heading through in about two weeks. You could catch it and it’ll take you straight there.”

  “No,” Simone said, shaking her head. “I’ll ride my horse. He’s just outside. I need to get us some feed, but then we’ll be on our way.”

  The older man stepped forward. “I’m Reverend Elias Canton,” he told her. “Who might you be, child?”

  Simone bit her lip for a moment. She wanted so much to be calm and collected about the entire encounter, but her heart was racing and her stomach was hardly satisfied with her meager offering of jerky. She felt weak, even to the point of collapse, but she couldn’t allow that to happen in front of these strangers.

  “My name is Simone.” She made a quick decision about continuing. Perhaps if she told the man her story, he’d leave her in peace. “My folks died this winter. They left me without anything but these pelts.” She felt uncomfortable in the lie but forced herself to hold steady with her story.

  “Do you have family in Laramie? Is that why you’re making your way there?” Elias Canton questioned.

  “Ah … yes,” Simone said, nodding. “I’ve come down from the mountains.”

  “How long have you been traveling?”

  “Almost two weeks. I got lost,” Simone said by way of explanation. “I’m still not even sure which direction I’ve come from.”

  “Well, no matter now. You are now among those who can help you find your way,” Elias said with a laugh. “Tom, I’ll buy those furs.” He reached into his pocket and counted out the coins for the salt, then turned to Simone and handed her several coins. “There’s more than enough here to buy your supplies and a ticket on the stage. You could come and stay with my wife and me until the road clears enough for them to make it over from Laramie.”

  “No,” Simone replied adamantly. “I’ll just get what I need and go.”

  She turned to the man at the counter. “I need matches, jerked beef—lots of it—and crackers, if you have them.” She thought for a moment and added, “I’ll also need another blanket and a canteen.” The man looked rather blankly at her for a moment, then nodded and went to retrieve what she’d asked for.

  “At least come share dinner with us. I know my Gladdy would be furious if I let you go without a hot meal to warm you.”

  “No. Thank you anyway,” Simone answered and waited until the clerk returned with the requested articles.

  “Tom, you wrap her a good portion of those dried apples, as well,” Elias commanded. “The fruit will taste mighty good to you on the road,” he told her.

  Simone nodded, not knowin
g how to take his kindness. The clerk wrapped everything up in the new blanket, then turned to Simone.

  “That’ll be three dollars and twenty-five cents.”

  Simone looked at the money in her hand. She knew her numbers and could add and subtract, even multiply and divide, but she’d never been given a reason to handle money. Frustrated, she looked to Elias Canton, not quite trusting either man to be honest with her.

  He smiled kindly and reached out to her open hand. “These are quarter eagles,” he told her. “They’re each worth two dollars and fifty cents. This here is an eagle. It’s worth ten dollars. This is a dime and these are nickels. They’re only worth cents. Ten cents to a dime. Five cents to a nickel.”

  “Thank you,” Simone replied and studied the money for a moment before handing the two quarter eagles to the storekeeper. “That’s four dollars and one hundred cents,” she told him proudly.

  “One hundred cents equals a dollar,” Elias explained to her in a gentle voice while the clerk went to retrieve her change.

  Simone took this information as gospel and committed it to memory. “So that’s five dollars. I’ll get back a dollar and seventy-five cents,” she said, looking to Elias to make sure of her numbers.

  “You’re right good at figures,” the man behind the counter commented.

  “You certainly are. I can see that your mother and father cared enough to educate you before going home to be with the Lord. Do you read, as well?”

  “I read,” Simone replied. “I’ve been reading since forever.”

  Elias smiled. “Probably not a great many books up there in the mountains.”

  “I had my mother’s Bible and prayer book,” she told him, not able to keep the words from spilling out. She felt so starved for conversation that she couldn’t help herself. She didn’t want to tell this gentlelooking old man her life’s story, but he put her at ease in such a way that she couldn’t seem to do anything else.