by Sadie Conall
Madeleine turned to Ryder and Te’tukhe, even as she glanced to the west at the darkening skies which promised a thunderstorm later in the night.
“Shall we camp here?” she asked. “It’s getting late and we can get the bigger teepee raised before the rain comes.”
Ryder nodded, even as a burst of lightning split the clouds way off to the horizon. “We’ll get everything under cover before it comes,” he said, before nodding towards the stand of trees and boulders just behind them. “They’ll offer some shelter for the horses at least.”
Te’tukhe agreed and helped Ryder dismantle the travois and lodgepoles so they could raise the teepee. Within a few hours the horses were hobbled between the trees and boulders, the larger of the teepees was up, a firepit dug inside and all their belongings unpacked and under cover. And as Ryder and Te’tukhe finished securing the rawhide ropes and stakes in the ground, Madeleine, Deinde'-paggwe, Poongatse and the children collected as much firewood and kindling as they could find in the stand of trees around them. And as Madeleine struck her flint to get the fire going, the first sound of thunder rippled away in the distance even as black clouds began to loom above them. The dogs whimpered in fear and Ryder and Te’tukhe found a slight overhang within the boulders where they could take shelter.
From this high point in the hills, they could see the mountains slowly disappearing beneath a heavy layer of mist and rain. By the time the rain reached them on the ridge, Madeleine and the girls had butchered the woodchucks which Ryder and Te’tukhe had caught earlier that day and skewered the birds on sticks of ironwood above the fire. When the men crawled into the teepee, the wind had picked up, pulling at the hide walls of the teepee. And as they settled around the warmth of the fire, no-one dared mention that the Bannock weren’t there.
*
They rode out of the forest and reined in their horses, the Snake River Plain spread out before them. The storm had passed in the early hours of the morning and they had pushed on, eager to reach the valley although it was damp and cold. But despite the bleakness of the late autumn day, the mountains and the valley looked just as Madeleine remembered. And the air was cool and crisp and fresh, scented with pine and winter wild flowers. Yet her heart lurched in bitter sorrow, even as she heard Wannge’e soft cry of distress and the silent tears shed by Poongatse and Deinde'-paggwe. For that wide strip of land between the forest and the river, where the Bannock usually made their winter home, lay empty. Although she knew the Bannock girls were also remembering that morning when the Hidatsa came here, the deaths and destruction they had seen and the violence of their capture.
She saw the wretchedness on Te’tukhe and Ryder’s faces and as she looked out over that stunning landscape that she had called home for so long, she could hardly breathe from the bitter gall of disappointment. She didn’t need to speak of the long grass below them which stood several feet high, for it was obvious that no-one had camped here for a long time. Madeleine knew that Ryder and Te’tukhe had been prepared for this, that the Bannock and Shoshone might not be here, but she had not.
She glanced up towards the northern ridge where she would ride every winter to find esa. She could see the plateau where the ruined cabin lay and the canyon where she and Ryder and esa had sheltered from a winter blizzard. She had wanted to return here so badly it had been a yearning she could never satisfy and although the emptiness before them was a shocking blow, the journey hadn’t been a complete waste of time. She had only to look across at the three Bannock girls and Kimana to know it had been worthwhile and as long as she and Ryder drew breathe, these young women and the child would have a home with them.
She dismounted and helped Ryder untie Harry who rode before him, lifting the little boy down so he could run off and stretch his legs. Poongatse wiped her eyes and dismounted to help Deinde'-paggwe untie Kimana, the little girl following Harry as fast as she could while Te’tukhe dismounted to take Wannge’e’s hand, as she sat down heavily on the bank and looked out over that empty land.
Ryder turned and saw the place up in the woods where he had stood with Ese-ggwe’na’a all those years ago and declared his love for Madeleine. He saw the gorge, where hundreds of horses should be corralled, grazing on that lush, green, fertile land. And then he turned to Madeleine and saw the devastation in her lovely gold brown eyes.
*
By the end of the day some of the grass had been cleared away, teepees raised and three firepits dug, one in each of the teepees for warmth, the other outside between them so they could share meals. Wannge’e took the children up into the woods to collect kindling and wood, although they didn’t have to go far. Without anyone collecting fuel from these woods in years, the forest floor was littered with old logs and fallen branches and pine cones and kindling.
By the time dusk began to settle, all their belongings had been unpacked and safely stored away and the three fires were blazing. The men hobbled the horses nearby, brushing them down with old blankets, for the animals deserved that at least, having come so far.
As night came down they all settled around the outside firepit, feasting on what remained of their supplies. They ate their fill of dried smoked meat, root vegetables cooked in the hot ashes, handfuls of fruit, nuts and berries, chokeberry cakes and bread made the day before. They ate it all, taking pleasure in the feast, sitting around the blazing fire well into the night, smoking their pipes and wrapped in blankets and furs against the cold. Kimana sat cradled in Deinde'-paggwe’s lap, Harry with Madeleine and when the children fell asleep Te’tukhe began a game, encouraging everyone to speak of their journey west.
They found humour in each other’s stories, even as they stopped to point at shooting stars piercing the glittering sky above them, the clouds blown away to reveal that endless sky of untold stars. And when the haunting cry of a wolf howling way out on a distant range drifted down to them, they paused, silenced by the sound. Madeleine’s longing to see esa in that moment was almost overwhelming, although she knew the chances of his still being alive after all these years was unlikely.
When Te’tukhe and Wannge'e retired to the warmth of their teepee close to midnight, when Poongatse carried Harry to bed and Deinde'-paggwe followed them with Kimana asleep in her arms, Madeleine and Ryder remained outside by the fire. She curled up beside him, warm enough from the heat of the flames and her furs.
“Are you still glad you came?” he asked softly, brushing his lips against her hair. “Even though the Bannock are not here? Or the Shoshone?”
She nodded and moved to look at him. “Haa,” she said, her voice almost a whisper as she glanced back into the trees, but they were nothing but dense black shadows there now. And regardless of the tragedy that had taken place here more than five years ago, she didn’t feel that death lingered here.
“But what of you Ryder? You left so much behind to follow me and Harry.”
He reached over to kiss her on the lips and she responded to him, feeling the heat of him, his desire. “There’s no other place I’d rather be, even if we do have to winter here alone. We can teach Harry what it means to live in the mountains and if agreeable to you, instead of returning to your cave, perhaps in the spring we can head north to the Salmon River, for the Bannock will surely be there,” he moved, pulling her closer. “What say you, my love?”
Madeleine nodded, before moving to fill their pipes with tobacco once again. “We really have no choice. If Te’tukhe moves on in the spring and Wannge’e goes with him, we can’t leave the girls behind while we go and spend summer in the cave. And it’s too small for all of us. Besides, it wouldn’t be safe. Imagine Kimana and Harry chasing each other up there on the plateau, with that sheer drop off the edge. So yes, I agree with you. We have no choice but to head north to the Salmon River.”
When making her plans to return to the Bannock while still living in London, with no knowledge of where Ryder was, Madeleine had always thought she and Harry would return to the cave to spend their summers there. But that wasn’
t possible now. She didn’t know how she felt about it. One day she might think on it and consider it a loss. Yet she had gained so much since those lost days in England. And not just Ryder, but his brothers and Aishi-waahni’, the Bannock girls and Kimana. And there was Wannge’e’s babe to think on as well.
For a little while Ryder spoke of their lives in London along with his family and their friends and wondered if any of them would go to Millbryne Park for Christmas.
“This time two years ago I was urging Saldivar to cross the English Channel. Little did I know you had already left for America.”
Madeleine groaned and curled her legs around him, taking the pipe from her mouth. “Don’t talk of it,” she said softly. “I can’t bear to think of those days. Let us think on other things instead, on happier times.”
Ryder laughed. “Like the first time I saw you dancing, not far from where we now sit. I couldn’t take my eyes off you.”
Madeleine laughed. “Oh, I remember that night well enough,” she said. “Yet how long ago it all seems, for so much has happened,” she paused and looked up at him. “Ryder, do we dare hope the Bannock will come?”
She felt Ryder tense beside her. “Dear God, I hope so.”
*
Just after midnight Madeleine woke to the sound of wolves howling way out on the ranges. She crawled slow and silent from their bed, desperate not to wake anyone, before pulling on her fur coat and her moccasins and crawling outside. The cold hit her with an icy blast even though it wasn’t truly winter yet and shivering, her arms wrapped about her for warmth, she hurried across to the fire pit, for the glowing coals still gave off some heat. Then she turned in awe, for the night was so clear she felt as though the scene before her was not real because it was so stunningly beautiful.
The soaring mountain ranges with their snow-covered peaks lay jagged and brutal against that sky of diamonds. The moon was little more than a half sliver of light, yet it allowed her to see the forests sweeping up and away into the foothills. The scent of wild flowers and long summer grass and pine trees filled the night air and that familiar smell was so sharp and fresh and sweet that she felt overwhelmed.
It took her breathe away. She was home. And it was exactly as she remembered.
Another howl from wolves came way out on that distant range and then another, but this one closer, just up to her right in the hills above the gorge. And once again she felt that aching need to see esa. But he would be nine years old now, which was old for a wolf in the wild.
She turned as Ryder crawled from the teepee. He stood for a moment to get his bearings then saw her by the fire. When he held out his arms she went to him, enclosed within his warmth and they stood there for a long moment in silence, in awe of the scene before them. Then Ryder spoke, his voice a whisper, for it was so quiet, it was as if they were alone in the world.
“How in God’s name do we survive a winter here alone? We have three young girls and two babes to feed and keep alive, as well as another on the way.”
“Hush, my love,” Madeleine scolded him, stepping back to look at him. “Do you doubt we can do it? You and I and Te’tukhe have good hunting skills. And there’s a girl sleeping in that teepee just behind you who survived alone in the wild for months. And another two girls whose skills at hunting and gathering are as good as our own, if not better, so have no fear on that score halfbreed. We’ll be alright. And we have an unlimited supply of wood in these forests to keep us warm and dry and enough powder and shot and muskets to supply a small army. As for Wannge’e, her fate is in the hands of the Gods. There is nothing we can do for her if things go wrong. And in the spring, as agreed, we head north to the Salmon River and take these girls home.”
Ryder bent down to kiss her on the lips. “You’re right of course and I’m a fool to think otherwise,” he shivered suddenly. "Come back to bed and try and rest. After two years of travelling you’ve earned that right, my love.”
She reached up to kiss him before allowing him to lead her back to bed.
*
Ryder woke to the cold of late autumn early the following morning. He left Madeleine and Harry and the girls sleeping as he quickly dressed and went outside. The valley was alive with birdsong. He stood for a long moment watching the sun rise slowly from behind the mountains to the east, turning the sky gold and red, reflecting off the snow on those high mountain peaks and turning the Snake River to a brilliant amber. Way in the distance on another mountain range, mist was just beginning to rise from the highest point in the trees and as the dawn sun swept slowly across the Plain to touch the northern ridge, Ryder could just make out the plateau where the ruined cabin lay. He and Madeleine and esa had sheltered in a canyon up there, during a storm in the winter of 1799. Almost six years ago. A lifetime of changes since then.
Behind him lay a vast forest where he had taken long walks to regain his strength after the crippling incident with esa. And somewhere back there in those trees were the remains of the crutch Madeleine had made for him, where he had thrown it in frustration, smashing it to bits against the trunk of a tree. He had been so frustrated, so tired of feeling less of a man and so tired of being unable to hunt or do his share around the village due to the ongoing pain and discomfort of the wound on his lower right leg.
He turned away from the forest, not wanting to dwell on those days and began to make his way through the thick knee-high grass to the river, aware of the damp grass against his moccasins and buckskin pants. He crouched at the water’s edge, cupping his hands to wash his face and drink, the water tasting pure and fresh and so clear he could see every pebble and stone within its depths. He sat back, wiping his face with his forearm, the buckskin material cold against his skin when someone tapped him playfully on the shoulder. Ryder turned as Te’tukhe crouched beside him.
“Morning brother,” the Ugákhpa said. “I couldn’t sleep so have been walking around for a while,” he turned and pointed along the river bank towards the gorge. “And look what I found.”
Ryder stood up and squinted in the bright morning light. At first he couldn’t see what Te’tukhe was pointing at, so took a step forward. He found them a little way further along the riverbank, half buried in the long grass. Canoes, at least a dozen of them, all piled in a heap, as if the water had dumped them there.
“I’ve had a good look at them and only two are in good condition. But two are all we need. Do you feel like a paddle upriver?”
Ryder nodded and stepped over to look at them. His brother had already separated them, pulling the rotten canoes away, most of them damaged by logs and flooding from the gorge. Yet, two lay apart from the others.
“They must have been lying beneath the others, yet raised and out of the water all these years,” Te’tukhe said, as Ryder bent down to inspect them. “And as you can see, they’re in almost perfect condition,” he laughed as he stepped around them, before bending to pick up a dozen paddles from the long grass. “Most of these have rotted away, but I found five we can use.”
“They must have been left here by the Shoshone after that attack by the Hidatsa all those years ago. And no-one’s been back to reclaim them, or repair them,” Ryder said, knowing as well as Te’tukhe that these canoes didn’t belong to the Bannock for they preferred tule reed rafts, finding them easier to handle.
They pushed the two canoes out into the river and jumped aboard. The vessels could each fit four men comfortably. Made of birch bark, the boats were light and easy to paddle and manoeuvre. It was still so early in the morning the dip and sweep of their paddles through the water was the only sound to compete with birdsong. The forest to the left was dense with pine, fir and conifer, with patches of brown where deciduous trees of maple, yellow aspens and beech had lost their leaves to winter. And all around them, soaring towards the heavens, were those towering mountain ranges.
Some three miles downriver they came upon a great herd of deer drinking at the water’s edge. There were dozens of them, a great stag standing guard over his fe
males and offspring. The animals didn’t run as the canoes approached, but stood silently, not understanding this threat, for they hadn’t been hunted by men for years. Although they were safe enough for now, for Ryder and Te’tukhe had seen multiple tracks of deer and wild hares in the woods behind their camp.
They drifted pass the herd and sometime later came upon another river, a tributary, the water coming off the mountains to merge with the Snake. And another mile or so they came upon yet another tributary, although they could see that this one had been damned by beaver. The creatures’ hard work had left a wide deep pool, the logs and branches felled by the beaver’s powerful teeth jamming up the river long ago, causing it to flood and break its banks, creating fertile meadows on either side.
“There!” Te’tukhe hissed and Ryder turned as several splashes around and within the dam suggested beaver were plentiful here.
They continued paddling downstream, their progress mostly silent for the canoes barely made a ripple on the river, so light and solid was their construction. Now and again some birds would soar from the trees, startled by these intruders. Or a fish, possibly a northern pike, or smallmouth bass or steelhead would disturb the surface of the water, unsettled by the movement of the canoes as they glided on by.
“What a country,” Ryder said in awe, his voice seeming unnaturally loud in the stillness of that early morning.
Te’tukhe nodded. “I agree, brother. It would be easy to fall in love with a place such as this, despite the cold.”
