by Jenna Kernan
“This here is the Three Forks. We’ll head East from here toward the Yellowstone.”
They traveled for several days, hunting only for food as they climbed into the high mountains where the river narrowed as it fell down rocky slopes and danced through alpine meadows. The splendor of the Rockies took her breath away. Beautiful and deadly, she reminded herself. Nash kept heading upstream. The water ran calm now.
There were signs of beaver, she thought, noticing the stripped bark and felled trees all about them. There was good shelter in the high ridge of rock to the left and plenty of tracks indicating game.
“We’ll stop here,” said Nash.
She smiled in silent satisfaction. He’d taught her so much.
The gear was unpacked and the camp struck. By midafternoon they set a line of traps and caught a fat buck for dinner. Nash did the skinning. She took the hide for tanning after he finished gutting and butchering the beast. Before dusk she collected cattail root to roast with dinner.
That evening, she turned a flank of venison over the low fire. From their new camp she could see the snow on the high peaks to the west. She gazed at the blue giants nestled in green foothills. The light receded and the mountains rose up, dark against the sky.
“Purdy, ain’t it?” he asked.
She nodded dreamily.
“Delia, you haven’t said nary a word all day.”
She smiled. “I remember when you told me that I talked too much.”
“I never said that exactly.”
“No, you just made me walk behind the horse for ten miles.”
“I was trying to make a point.”
“Perhaps you made it too well.” She slid the meat to a flat stone and cut a piece for him. The venison was placed beside the cattail tuber upon a tin plate. Some days she succeeded in getting him to eat from a plate. She had yet to see him use any utensil other than his knife. He refused to say grace. She offered him the plate and smiled as he accepted the tin.
“Just was wondering if there was something on your mind, is all. I known some women in my time that used silence as a weapon. Don’t keep it all bottled up.”
“No, Thomas, I do not hold you a grudge.” That much was true. But there was much on her mind. After dinner she would write down her thoughts. It helped her make sense of her feelings.
Nash looked to where she lay beside him, curled on her side with her head resting on her new down pillow. Her hair was wispy about her face. The early-morning light filtered through the hide. In sleep, she looked younger, like a girl. He wanted to brush the fine hair back and kiss her awake.
He flopped back onto the hides. This was driving him mad. He’d make her his woman, if she’d let him. He could read trail and weather. But somehow he could not read Delia. She gave him no information and, damn it, he tried three times to start a conversation. He wanted to hold her again. But he did not want to make a fool of himself, chasing after a woman who wanted no part of him.
He glanced at Delia in slumber, then lifted himself up on one elbow and reached over her body to the bag beyond her. Quiet as a thief, he slid the journal from its place and eased out of the hut. He crept off to the rocks above the camp and sat down facing their resting place.
June 1, 1835—I shot a grizzly bear. I can hardly believe my luck. The great monster had Nash’s head in his terrible jaws. I don’t know what came over me. I grabbed his gun and shot the beast’s head. By God’s miracle, I hit it. The bear dropped Nash and charged after me. I’m ashamed to say I ran for my life. Somehow Nash made it to shore and shot the beast in the head. It died on the spot. Nash is terribly injured. I prayed to God to spare him. I cannot lose another man to these wretched mountains.
What did that mean? Did she have some feelings for him? But her words were not clear. Perhaps, she just feared losing another protector.
June 14, 1834—Thomas kissed me today. I do not know what to think. I did not stop him, though I’m sure I should have. It was wonderful for a moment. I felt a bursting joy within myself. It was as if that kiss brought me back to life and gave me hope. Then I thought of John and felt so ashamed. He is gone from this earth and here I am kissing a man. And not just kissing him. I wanted him to do more than kiss me. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Surely, these are not proper thoughts for a widow. I do not want my Johnny to be gone. But neither do I want to leave this man. I’ll all torn up inside.
Thomas told me he was married. His poor wife was killed in an accident. This explains so much to me. Now I see why he was so cruel at first. He knows what it’s like to survive and wonder why. Why me, Lord, and why him?
Oh, I nearly forgot—Thomas offered me a 10% share and I took it.
Nash slapped his forehead so hard it stung. Women were crazy. How could she shove his partnership offer there at the end, like an afterthought? He looked over the passage again. He had his answer. She wanted him. But she was still raw from her husband’s death. He needed to be patient.
He turned the page of the journal and read on.
June 16, 1834—Thomas shaved his face today. I barely recognize him; he is so handsome. I cannot believe the change. I clipped his hair as well. My fingers yearn to touch him once more. He looks dashing. After all this grooming he decided to bathe. I think he is intentionally trying to stir my blood. I recognize my body answering his call. He plays games with me. I have been in love and—
“Thomas!” Delia snatched the journal from his hands and glared at him with accusing eyes.
“Damn, woman! When did you learn to sneak about like that?”
“You told me you cannot read.”
“Now, Delia—”
“You lied to me! It’s just like stealing.” She clutched the journal to her breast. He noticed suddenly that she had filled out there as well. She no longer was shaped like a stick of dry wood. Now her hips and bosom pressed against soft buckskin.
“Now simmer down, woman. I was just—”
“Don’t you tell me to simmer down. Of all the unspeakable acts. How could you?”
“I only wanted to know something about you.”
“Some things are private, Thomas. You have no right to read this.”
He felt a door closing, slamming shut in his curious face.
“Damn.” It was all he could think to say.
“You should be. You surely should be. How long have you been reading my journal?”
“Since the bear,” he admitted.
Her little fist was clenched tight, shaking before him. He wished she’d take a swing at him and get it over with. “How far?”
He stood silent, wondering how long this storm would blow.
“How far did you read?” she shouted.
“June sixteen,” he said.
“You beast! I’ll never forgive you if I live to be a hundred. Don’t ever speak to me again.”
“That’s gonna make for a real interesting summer.”
She whirled away. Moccasins were better for sneaking than stomping, he decided, seeing her storm away. He was going to miss reading that book. He waited up on the hill for a long while. His experience with Elizabeth taught him that he’d just get second helpings if he moved in too early. Generally his wife would shout at him and then he’d apologize and then they’d make love. His eyebrows went up. It was possible, he decided, and headed back down the trail.
Nash found her talking to her horse in the field beyond the rocks. The puffiness about her eyes told him she’d been crying.
He never meant to hurt her. If he hadn’t been so crazy about her, he wouldn’t have taken the journal today. He ground his teeth rhythmically together. Then she never would have known. But she did and was now embarrassed he knew these things. He was a skunk.
“Delia, I’m sorry I hurt your feelings,” he said. That sounded heartfelt and he meant it. With any luck she’d be in his arms before breakfast.
She stroked the horse’s face and said not a word.
“You don’t need to be embarrassed. You
didn’t write nothing to be ashamed about. Now why don’t you forgive me?”
“Let me get this straight, Mr. Nash,” she said. Her voice was clipped and icy. “You are sorry for hurting me, but not for stealing my journal and reading my private thoughts. You feel I am embarrassed when by all rights you should be. And you have the audacity to consider yourself deserving of forgiveness?” She slapped him across his bare cheek.
Elizabeth had never hit him. She’d always accepted his apology. His face stung. He squinted at her.
“Now do you forgive me?”
“No, Mr. Nash. I will never forgive you.”
This was unfamiliar ground. Sometimes flattery could get him out of a tight spot.
“You look pretty when you’re mad.”
“Pretty? Do you suppose I care what you think? I could kill you. I have never, ever been so mortally offended in my life. I can think of no way you will ever make restitution.”
“Good, I guess, because I don’t know how to make a restitution anyways.”
She stared at him for a moment, appearing to size him up. Then she laughed at him. Not a friendly laugh, but a scornful, hurtful kind of laugh. The kind to make a man feel small.
“Of course you don’t,” she said.
The blood rose up within him. How dare she laugh at him? Maybe he didn’t use those fancy words. He’d taken her in, hadn’t he? He’d kept her fed until she looked like a racehorse instead of a mule.
He lashed out and grabbed her by the arms.
“Now you listen here, Delia.” He spoke through clenched teeth and gave her a little shake to get her attention. “What I done was wrong. But you have to forgive me. It says so in your Bible. I ain’t done you no bad hurt. I just read your words so I could understand you a little. I think you’re a fine woman. Maybe I ain’t got the best education. But I know spite when I see it. You’re out to hurt me.”
“You hurt me,” she said.
“Forgive me, Delia.”
“Why?”
“’Cause I need you to. You’re the most important thing in the world to me.”
Her eyes changed. They looked all velvety brown now. That’s the way he wanted her, with her eyes looking at him just like that. His breath came rapidly now.
“Tell me why you did it.” She was listening to him now. Looking into her rich amber eyes, he almost told her the truth. He nearly said he loved her. Instead, he settled on a half-truth.
“I have feelings for you, Delia. I was wondering if—I mean, I know you worry about me. But that’s because you need me to get back East. I just want you to care about me a little as a man.”
“You must think I am the most ridiculous woman alive.”
“You’re the bravest woman alive.”
She smiled at him.
His fingers stroked her cheek. She didn’t pull away. The flesh was warm and soft.
“Tell me what you think of me, other than that I’m a thief and a liar.”
Her arms loop around his waist. She stepped toward him. He felt warmth swelling within his chest. What was that? Then he knew. It had been so long he’d nearly forgotten. It was hope. She made him feel hopeful.
“At first I was so frightened of being left alone again. Now it’s worse, because I care about you.”
He met her serious gaze. “That’s all I wanted to know.”
“You should have asked.”
“I asked, Delia. You shut me out. Why’d you do that?”
His thumb brushed the shell of her ear.
“I was afraid.”
His hands slid over her shoulders and down her back to the spot where her body was most narrow. His hands splayed about her waist and drew her in. Her stomach pressed against his hips. The pressure of her warm body raised an ache within him. She leaned forward now, pressing her soft breasts to his chest. The ache began to pound with the coursing of his blood.
He lowered his mouth to hers and watched her eyes flutter shut. She gave her lips to him. There was richness in her touch, a lush fullness pressing to him. Her mouth opened at his unspoken urging and his tongue slipped within. She tasted of fresh mint.
The hot stoking of the tip of her tongue brought a groan from somewhere deep within him. One hand delved into her hair and the other pressed her body close. She must feel him now, hard and wanting pressed against her own breathless body.
A cry reached him, but he did not stop to consider the meaning. His kiss was now a promise of what he would do to the rest of her sweet flesh, if she would let him. He heard the cry again.
A horse’s whinny and a hoof pawing at the ground. He pulled her away and looked about the meadow. Something had frightened his horses.
“What is it?” she asked.
He cast a quick look at her. Her lips were swollen and pink from his kisses. The flush on her cheeks nearly made him lose his reason again. Instead, he lifted his Hawkins from its resting place against the tree.
“Stay here.”
“I will not.”
He scowled at her.
“Then follow close.”
He crept slowly in the direction of the horses. He frowned at their snorting and dancing. It could be a wildcat, he thought. Not in the daylight, he decided. Then he silently prayed that they did not smell another grizzly. He cocked his rifle. Behind him he heard the double click of his shotgun cocking.
He peered over the rocks to the area of their camp. Several Flathead Indians stood near the fire pit. He released the hammer on his gun and eased it gently into place.
“Them’s Flatheads,” he whispered.
“Is it safe?”
He nodded then called to the men.
“Hello, brothers.” He spoke in the language he had learned his first long winter in these mountain.
“Hello, Long Knife.” The speaker looked familiar. This was the man who had brought Delia to him. “I see that Winter Woman is much changed. Now she looks strong on the outside as well.”
Soon the men sat around the fire. Delia stoked the coals as Nash brought venison. The men ate and drank their fill. Nash did not bother them with questions. They would come to the reason for their visit in their own time. There was no use in rushing a Flathead. He’d learned patience in his time with them, and manners. Finally one of their group spoke.
“We have finished our fighting with the Blackfoot for now.”
“Did you count many coup?” he asked.
“Yes, my warriors were brave and fought with honor. But not all of them are coming home with me. My younger brother has gone before. My mother has no one left in her lodge, now. That is why I have come. I remembered you did not want this woman.”
Nash scowled. He remembered with shame his efforts to get the man to take Delia with him.
“I am wiser now,” said Nash.
“You see the strength in her? This is good. I saw it before when she was skinny and weak. There is a light inside her. I could not stop thinking about this woman.”
“I thank you for seeing what I could not. She is a rare woman to be sure.” He looked at Delia. She shifted uncomfortably. It was obvious that they spoke about her, yet she did not ask a single question of him. He smiled at her control.
“I wish Winter Woman to become my wife,” said Hunts Buffalo. “Strong children from her will begin to heal my mother’s heart.” Nash looked from the warrior to Delia. Her eyes were wide with questions. “Please tell her that she will live with my mother until she is accustomed to me. I will give her seven horses if she agrees and she may pick them.”
He had no choice but to relay the proposal. He turned to her.
“Delia, I have to tell you something. But before I do you got to promise me not to raise your voice. Think before you speak and be sure what you say cannot be taken as an insult. This here’s one of them men that rescued you.”
“Yes,” she said, smiling at the warrior. “I remember him. He was very kind to me.”
“He’s done making war on the Blackfoot and has come here to propo
se to you.”
“Propose what?” He could tell by her expression of confusion and dread that she knew damn well.
“He wants to marry you. Now don’t say nothing, just nod. That’s a girl. He wants you to live with his mother for a while. He thinks you’ll give him strong children. Oh, and he’ll give you seven horses as dowry. That’s more than customary.”
“What should I say?”
“Well, unless you want to be a Flathead squaw, I’d say no.”
She frowned at him. “Of course I’ll say no. I want to know how to say no so I do not insult him.”
“That’s the part I ain’t figured out yet.”
“Marvelous,” she whispered.
“Delia, this is a real touchy situation. Flatheads are peaceful, but they’s still Indians. If you insult him, make him lose face, he’ll skin me and you both.”
Her eyes were wide with fear now.
“Tell him—wait, that’s not good.” She seemed to focus on the lush green leaves above them, then her gaze met his once more. “Tell him I will be forever grateful for his rescue, that I owe him my life. I hope to repay him one day for his kindness.”
“That all?”
“Tell him that first.”
She waited while he spoke to Hunts Buffalo.
“He says you could repay him by becoming his wife.”
Chapter Nine
“He says he’ll give me a hundred beaver for you,” said Nash.
Cordelia wondered if he actually considered it. Not so long ago he would have jumped at the chance. She pressed her damp hands firmly against her thighs. She would show these men no fear.
“Are you going to take him up on it?” she asked.
He scowled at her. She’d never been so happy to see his irritation. Sweet relief flooded her body, lifting her spirits like a rising tide.
“What do you take me for? Sell my own partner? That’ll be the day. Besides, I promised to get you to the Rendezvous and so I will, God willing and if the creek don’t rise.”
So he was concerned about his partner. Now she was frowning. Perhaps she had become a little too useful. He considered her an asset. She wanted to be more to him than his trapping partner, didn’t she? She really wasn’t sure what she wanted.
