Wilderness Days

by Jennifer L. Holm

  “I know memelose story,” Keer-ukso announced, breaking the quiet.

  I swallowed hard and said, “Please tell us.”

  “All Chinook know, very bad luck to have bones of dead person near house. And worst luck to have skull of enemy near house,” Keer-ukso explained. “There was very greedy man called Kohpoh. Kohpoh wanted wife of another man. One day when Kohpoh and husband fished, Kohpoh killed husband and told woman that husband drowned. Woman cried very much and Kohpoh stayed near her. Soon, Kohpoh took woman for wife and lived in lodge of dead man.”

  He lowered his voice dramatically. “Memelose of husband come to lodge at night and sing to wife with sound of frog.” And here Keer-ukso made a frog sound. “Memelose tell wife true story that he was killed. Tell wife to look for his skull on beach. Next morning, wife goes to beach and there is skull on sand, smiling at her.” Keer-ukso placed his hands under his chin and tilted his head to the side, showing his teeth. “While Kohpoh out gambling, wife put skull under lodge.”

  “Then what happened?” I asked eagerly.

  He arced his hand. “Terrible storm, and water came up to lodge and drag lodge into bay. And Kohpoh drowned. Next morning everyone see skull on beach in same place where wife found it, and know husband had revenge.”

  I shivered. Hearing about a malevolent ghost was doing nothing to soothe my nerves.

  “Good story,” Jehu complimented. “I’ll have to remember that one.”

  “Boston Jane, you tell memelose story,” Keer-ukso prompted.

  “Well, I do know one ghost story,” I said. “I heard it when I was at Miss Hepplewhite’s academy.”

  “This oughta be good,” Jehu said, clearly trying to lighten the mood. “Wait. Don’t tell me. It’s a tale about a man who died from holding a fork the wrong way.” He mimed stabbing himself in the heart with a fork.

  “Very amusing,” I said. “It’s a story about a young lady called Clara. She was kind and thoughtful and obedient and good-tempered.”

  “Good-tempered, eh?” Jehu interrupted. “What color hair did she have?”

  “I don’t know. Red, I suppose.”

  “Sounds a lot like you.”

  “Oh! You’re insufferable. Brown hair, then. It doesn’t matter.” I took a deep breath and continued. “Clara took dancing lessons from a handsome young man called Ned. Clara fell in love with Ned, and for months never dared to express her true feelings. Until one day when he arrived at lessons with a bouquet of flowers and he declared his love for her. She confessed her own affection for him, and they happily promised themselves to each other. Ned gave her a token of their secret love—a gold locket.”

  “Pretty good for a dancing teacher,” Jehu commented.

  “And she gave him a ribbon from her hair,” I said. “Then one day while out walking, Clara saw Ned kissing another girl. And this other girl was wearing the very ribbon Clara had given Ned! Poor Clara was so startled that she ran straight into the middle of Chestnut Street and was struck and killed by an oncoming carriage.”

  Keer-ukso whistled low.

  “That’s not much of a ghost story,” Jehu teased. “What does the ghost do? Come back and waltz?”

  I ignored him. “From that day forward, Ned’s life fell apart. He could hear Clara crying outside his window at night. He couldn’t sleep, and his health failed. He grew haggard and pale, and one by one, he lost his students.”

  “She sounds like a real nag,” Jehu quipped lightly, but it infuriated me.

  “She was cheated by a cruel, heartless man!” I shouted.

  “Finish story!” Keer-ukso ordered.

  I took a deep, calming breath. “Ned started to see her everywhere he went. Finally he took to his bed and never got up.”

  “He died?” Jehu asked.

  “Yes. And it’s said that you can sometimes see the two of them dancing on Chestnut Street in the early dawn hours.”

  “He should have changed name. She not find him then,” Keer-ukso said, nodding to himself.

  “That’s a terrible story,” Jehu said in a disgusted voice.

  “What do you mean? It’s a very romantic story. She forgave him and now they’re together forever,” I explained.

  “Sounds like a raw deal to me. Spending eternity with some nag who drove you to your death?” he mocked.

  “At least it’s better than marrying some man who only wants you so he can get more land!” I shot back.

  “Who said anything about marriage?” Jehu said blandly.

  “I wouldn’t marry you if you were the last man alive! You’re just as bad as William. When I marry, it shall be to a proper gentleman.”

  Keer-ukso’s eyes flicked back and forth between us.

  “A gentleman?” At this Jehu laughed coldly. “I think we are all acquainted with your good luck in finding gentlemen.”

  I glared at him. “Well, you’re certainly not a gentleman.”

  “Do you think this scar on my cheek makes me no gentleman?” he demanded. “I see you staring at it all the time.”

  “You obviously don’t understand true love,” I snapped.

  “You mean dying’s the only way to find true love? Don’t be a featherhead.”

  “Don’t call me a featherhead!”

  “I’ll call you whatever I please. Who are you to order me around?” He grabbed up his pack and pushed his hat low over his eyes.

  “I’m a lady and I expect to be treated as such.”

  “You’re a smelly pest, that’s what you are!”

  “Well, you’re a foulmouthed, ill-tempered ne’er-do-well, and I can’t believe I’m stuck in a cave with you!”

  “Well, you aren’t!” Jehu shouted back. “Not anymore!” And with that, he grabbed M’Carty’s rifle, stalked to the mouth of the cave, and without a backward glance he strode out into the storm and was swallowed up by the snow.

  “Good riddance!” I shouted after him.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  or,

  Into the Wilderness

  The snow fell steadily all afternoon, each flake condemning me for my ill temper.

  And Jehu did not return.

  “He’s just doing this to spite me,” I said, staring out at the snow.

  “Bad luck to tell memelose stories,” Keer-ukso said.

  “No, it was bad luck for me to get dragged along on this foolish hunt!” I said, my voice strident. “Mr. Black is a gentleman. He is most certainly not a ghost bent on revenge, nor is he a murderer.”

  Keer-ukso sat down next to me by the fire and said, “Mr. Black, why you say he is gentleman?”

  “He dressed neatly, and was well-spoken, and had very nice manners.”

  Keer-ukso looked thoughtful. “So does Boston William,” he said, his meaning clear.

  “It’s not the same,” I said defensively. “Mr. Black is a good man.”

  “Boston Jane, am I good man?”

  “Of course you are.”

  He touched his chest. “I have no Boston suit. I not speak well.”

  “Keer-ukso,” I said.

  “Is Mr. Russell good man?”

  I stared at him. “No. Mr. Russell is a filthy, ill-mannered—”

  Keer-ukso interrupted. “Mr. Russell is good man. Mr. Russell, he like you, Boston Jane.”

  “He likes me?” I asked, astonished. “Is that why he yells at me all the time? Is that why he threw me out of the cabin into the pouring rain?”

  “Yes,” Keer-ukso said firmly.

  The afternoon crept along slowly, like a lesson that would never end. The wilderness had turned whisper-quiet, so that every soft rustle seemed muted. I sat at the entrance of the cave and watched the snow fall in soft sheets, lacy as embroidery. It hurt my eyes to look at all of that bright snow. With each hour that passed, my unease grew until it was a tangible thing in my throat, hard and lumpy. Keer-ukso joined me at the cave entrance, watching.

  “I used to like snow when I was a girl,” I said with a bitter little laugh.

&
nbsp; Keer-ukso didn’t respond. He seemed so solemn and distracted, staring into the snow as if looking for something he’d lost. His graceful profile stood out against the white background. He looked like a statue that had been carved by a sculptor, his face so fine.

  “I wish you’d change your name back to Handsome Jim,” I said softly. “Keer-ukso doesn’t suit you. You don’t have a crooked nose.”

  He didn’t seem to hear me. “Oldest brother like snow.” His voice was a whisper.

  “Your brother?”

  He held out a hand and watched as the snow fell softly down onto it, his fingers closing smoothly over the fluffy, fat flakes.

  “Wheeark,” he said flatly. “Died long ago. Waum sick.”

  Fever.

  “Wheeark was most handsome. He always laugh at me and say I have crooked nose.” He rubbed a slight bump on his nose; it was barely discernible. “From when I was child.”

  “What happened?”

  Keer-ukso smiled sadly, his eyes wet. “Chase oldest brother up tree. Then fall.”

  “Oh dear,” I said, and gripped his hand tight. He fixed his gaze beyond me on a thick drift of snow as if expecting to see his brother appear and laugh and tease him about his nose.

  Perhaps it was the way he was sitting—so still—that made me want to do anything to take that grief-stricken look off his face. Or perhaps it was that we were in the middle of the wilderness, trapped in a cave, and he was warm and smelled good to me. Or maybe it was just because I had wanted to do it for so long.

  Whatever the reason, I simply leaned forward and kissed him.

  It was a strange kiss, different from Jehu’s. It was softer somehow, and there was none of the electricity racing up my spine that had been there when Jehu kissed me, but still it was nice and warm and comforting in a way that felt good. It didn’t seem to matter anymore that Jehu thought I was a smelly pest. Here was a man who found me pretty, who thought I was worth kissing.

  For a moment Keer-ukso just sat there, kissing me back, my lips clinging to his. And then, incredibly, he moved as if someone waking from a dream, and took my shoulders and held me gently away from him.

  “Hēilo,” Keer-ukso said.

  “What?”

  “No,” he said, and I was abruptly quite sick of Jargon lessons.

  “But I thought—”

  Pushing a tangled red curl out of my face, he said kindly, “You are good friend, Boston Jane.” He clarified. “Best friend.”

  “A friend?”

  “Mika kahkwa ats.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I teach you more Jargon,” he said. “Mika means you. Kahkwa ats means like sister.”

  “I’m like a sister to you?” I asked, astonished. “But you didn’t kiss me like a sister!”

  He blushed. “Like very pretty sister.”

  A slow, dull ache settled over my heart. Was I cursed to go through life alone? Was everyone I loved destined to die or reject me? I covered my face with my hands. I wanted to curl up into a ball and die.

  “Boston Jane,” Keer-ukso said softly, but I had heard enough.

  “You don’t understand!” I shouted in frustration, tears springing to my eyes. “William wanted me for the land, and you think I’m a sister, and Jehu, Jehu—”

  And Jehu doesn’t even want me anymore! I wanted to cry but didn’t.

  A wolf’s soulful bark echoed in the rapidly falling darkness.

  “Jehu,” I whispered, but his name was snatched away by the wind.

  Darkness descended on the mountain, and with it a thick gloom that seemed to fill the very air.

  Still Jehu did not return.

  “Sleep,” Keer-ukso urged, wrapping a blanket over my shoulders.

  I shook my head. No, I couldn’t fall asleep. A feeling of dread as thick as the skunk smell had entered the cave. I knew that if I fell asleep, he would never come back. That Jehu was lost out there in the snowstorm and he would die. And that my harsh, foolish words had been the last thing he heard from my lips.

  Just as it had been with Papa.

  The night dragged on. The snow tapered off, and the stars emerged to blink high in the heavens. Had it really just been a few months ago that Jehu and I had danced under a starry sky so much like this one? If I strained my ears, I could almost hear the sound of the fiddle rising in the night air, see Jehu’s blue eyes glittering down at me full of laughter and warmth and something more, something I recognized at the time but couldn’t bear to admit.

  He was a sailor, his personality so intertwined with the sea that even his hair smelled like a salty breeze. But why had he turned his back on it? Abandoned a life he loved, to stay in this wretched wilderness?

  For you, a small voice inside me whispered.

  I suddenly knew that he didn’t want to marry me to get land. That I had been horribly, horribly wrong. I closed my eyes and remembered the proud look in his eye when Mrs. Frink offered him her crumble cake.

  I’ll have a piece of pie. Jane makes wonderful pie, he’d said warmly, his eyes settling on mine with simple conviction.

  He had come back for me. He had stayed for me.

  Me, Jane Peck.

  And I had driven him away with my cruel words.

  Another horrible thought occurred to me. If I had been wrong about Jehu, had I been wrong about other people? Like Mr. Russell?

  Mr. Russell, he like you, Keer-ukso had said. I looked over at him now where he lay huddled by the fire, snoring softly.

  All at once I remembered lying in the bunk in Mr. Russell’s cabin, so sunk into myself that I couldn’t hear anything but my own grief beating against my head. And then there was his voice dragging me back from that dark place.

  You hear me, gal? I said ya stink!

  I hadn’t heard it then, but I heard it now. The worry. The concern.

  The mountain man hadn’t been trying to hurt or humiliate me. No, he had bullied me back to life. He had dragged me kicking and screaming back from the edge of despair and dropped me on the porch in the cold rain because he cared about me. Because beneath that filthy, grizzled, uncivilized exterior was a good man. A good man who spat far too much tobacco and could stand to bathe once in a while, but a good man all the same.

  Mr. Black’s face rose up before me, a menacing shadow.

  I have some unfinished business up this way. Loose ends to tie up, you might say.

  And I had sent him after Mr. Russell, I realized, a lump of anguish sticking in my throat. It was all suddenly too much. I couldn’t take it. Papa was dead. Jehu was probably dead. And Mr. Russell would be dead soon, too. And nothing would bring them back. Not good manners, or a thousand cups of perfectly poured tea. They were gone forever and I had realized too late what truly mattered.

  Or had I?

  I looked out into the cold, black night. The wind had died down and a bright moon illuminated the glittering snow.

  Jehu was out there, somewhere.

  I felt something stiffen deep in my soul, and I grabbed up my walking stick, tugging my cape tight around me.

  Then I headed into the wilderness.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  or,

  A Girl like Jane

  The moon was brighter than any torch, and I walked for what felt like hours, ignoring the cold and my freezing feet. Where could he have gone? The falling snow had obliterated his trail. It was small comfort that he had taken the rifle.

  As the night tripped on, I began to lose hope, and by the time the pale dawn light was kissing the horizon I was frantic. I called Jehu’s name, shouting it to the very trees as if they might be kind enough to let me know which direction to take. My footsteps left a clear trail, so I knew I would be able to find my way back to the cave.

  “Je-hu!” I called. “Je-hu!”

  Sometimes it seemed as if I heard a voice answer, echoing back to me on the cold, chill air.

  In the end it was not my cries that found Jehu, but my foot.

  I tripped right over him.r />
  He was buried in a thick drift of snow, and only his hat was visible. I crawled next to him, digging him out as quickly as I could.

  “Jane,” he croaked hoarsely, his face pale.

  “Are you hurt?”

  “My leg.”

  There was a long, ragged gash cut through the pant. I felt my way along the leg as Papa had taught me, but I could find no break. Still, it was swelling fast, and he would quite likely have difficulty walking. I tore a length of fabric off my skirt and proceeded to wrap the leg.

  “I was getting mighty tired of dried venison. Thought a little roasted rabbit might be tasty. So I set off after this rabbit, and then the ground just gave way beneath me and I went tumbling. Crawled back up here,” he said, leaning his head against my chest, his eyes fluttering shut.

  “No, Jehu,” I said, shaking him awake. “You can’t fall asleep.”

  His eyes opened a slit.

  “Can you stand?” I demanded.

  He opened his mouth to speak, and then his eyes went wide in warning. I snatched the rifle from his frozen fingers, whirling around to protect him with my very life.

  A familiar large, lumpy figure stood outlined by the rising sun.

  “Hairy Bill!” I exclaimed with, I confess, delight.

  “Ma’am,” he said, tipping his furry hat.

  “Guess you were right about him following us,” Jehu joked tiredly, his eyes shutting again.

  “Hurry,” I urged Hairy Bill. “We must get him back to the cave.”

  Supporting him between us, we managed to half carry, half drag Jehu back to the cave, one leg tied with a bloody rag, his face pale and drawn. Keer-ukso saw us trudging up the pass and ran down to us. He grasped Jehu’s hand.

  “Brought some rabbit for breakfast,” Jehu whispered.

  “Rabbit?”

  Jehu smiled weakly, and pointed to his sack.

  Keer-ukso slapped Jehu’s back in admiration.

  I made Jehu comfortable and then prepared roast rabbit for breakfast.

  Jehu, who had warmed up by this point and was feeling better with some food in his belly, animatedly described his adventures. After we had finished our breakfast, Keer-ukso and Hairy Bill headed out to survey the vicinity to see if the snow was melting enough for us to continue our journey.