Winter Woman

by Jenna Kernan

  He saddled his horse and bridled the other. Then he rode to the stream and hollered, “Delia! I’m checking traps. You coming?”

  He waited a moment, thinking she might appear. After looking for some sign of her, he sighed and turned his ponies upstream. The thudding of running feet stopped him.

  He swung about in his saddle and saw her dash down the trail. Her blond hair flew behind her. She ran with a grace usually reserved for four-legged animals. He could see her red eyes and damp cheeks. She jumped onto the packhorse without a boost or stepping stump. Damn, what a woman! She straddled the horse and her dress rode up her bare thighs. He stared at her long tanned legs. She would not look at him, choosing instead to stare at the horse’s mane. He clucked to his mount and off they went to the beaver pond.

  He checked the traps and she held the horses. They rode a slow circle about the pond, collecting his catch. He tied the beaver behind his saddle. Then he walked to her and placed a hand on her leather-clad ankle. At last, she looked down at him. His smile yielded no reflection in her face.

  “Delia, I’m sorry if I hurt you,” he said.

  She gazed at him. He kept his hand still upon her leg, resisting the urge to pull her down, into his arms.

  “I don’t want to give my heart to a man who plans to leave me at the Rendezvous.”

  He nodded. That was the original plan. So much had changed since he had spoken those words.

  “Would you want to stay with me, Delia?”

  She blinked as if she couldn’t understand him.

  “What do you mean?” she asked.

  “I don’t want to leave you at the Rendezvous. It just seemed like what you wanted and maybe what’s best for you.”

  “What do you want, Thomas?”

  “I want you to stay with me.”

  She smiled at last. Slowly the smile melted away like last year’s snow. A chill seeped through him as he studied her tranquil expression.

  “And trap the mountains, run from Indians, grizzly bears and who knows what else?” she asked.

  She was right. Of course she was right. What was he thinking that, just because she had learned to shoot and trap, she wanted to make a living at it? What else could he do? He had always hunted for a living, even back in Kentucky when he owned a little farm. But she was educated, a preacher’s wife. Likely, she was used to cities and congregations, books and quilting bees. Even if he did leave the mountains, could he give her the kind of life she was used to? He had no answer. Suddenly he felt full of insecurity.

  “You’re a fair hand at trapping,” he said at last.

  “Oh, Thomas, this is no life for me. I can’t live here in the wilderness.”

  “Yet, you were ready to do just that with John.” He was unable to keep the venom from his voice.

  She straightened her back and peered down her pert nose at him as if judging him and finding him lacking.

  “I did. Now I have seen this great wilderness, this terrible, unforgiving land. I want to go home.”

  “Where’s home?”

  “Ohio.”

  “And who is waiting for you, Delia?”

  She pressed her lips together. He knew the answer; he had read it in her journal.

  “You know I have no family.”

  “Home is where you make it. Make it here.”

  She looked away and he knew. He’d lost.

  “I can’t,” she said.

  He released her and mounted his horse.

  How had it happened? How had she fallen in love with the absolute wrong man for her? Cordelia couldn’t stay here with Thomas. She’d never survive another winter in the mountains. The land had rugged beauty, the sweeping vistas and tiny miracles. But it was a wilderness. They were alone and at the mercy of unforgiving nature.

  She lay beneath the hides, only a foot from him. Her traitorous body whispered for his touch. She clenched her fists at her sides. Now that she knew the feel of his arms about her, how long until she lost this war within herself?

  The gripping tension in her body finally exhausted her enough to allow sleep to take her. The night sounds that had once terrified her lulled her to sleep.

  She woke to the smell of coffee and crawled out to meet the day. He handed her a rabbit leg and a cup.

  “I’m going to check the traps,” he said.

  She nodded and stumbled down to the river to wash. She chewed a birch twig to fray the green wood, then used it to polish her teeth. The cold water did more than the coffee to rouse her.

  When she returned, he was already mounted. In a moment she was rocking to the walking rhythm of her little bay.

  She wondered about her future as they rounded the circuit of his traps. If he’d leave the mountains, she’d go with him. She watched him move through his tasks with silent efficiency. Would he ever leave them?

  They rode back to camp. She saw his posture change. Her hand moved to the shotgun and held it ready. She halted at his signal and waited for him in the trees as he rode in first. After a long silent stretch, she kicked her horse forward, breaking the tree line and sighting the camp.

  The wigwam was destroyed and their hides scattered. The bearskin was gone. She looked to the empty place where the tanned beaver hides had been stacked and wrapped in the waterproof deer and elk hides. Thomas studied the ground, running back and forth across the camp.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  “River Crow.”

  “How do you know?”

  He held up the banded shaft of an arrow. “This here’s their mark. Damn! River Crow are born thieves and dangerous as rattlers.”

  “When?”

  “Not long, we just missed them.”

  “How many?”

  “I’m just figuring that—ten, maybe.”

  He reached for her and pulled her to the ground.

  “Stay here,” he ordered.

  She grabbed his shirt, clenching her fists in soft leather.

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I’m going after them. They got our catch.”

  “Don’t! Stay here. We can catch more beaver.”

  “Delia—it’s July. We ain’t got time to catch enough furs to live through the winter, let alone make a profit. Let go.”

  She wouldn’t. He had to pry her fingers away one by one.

  “There’s ten, you said. They’ll kill you, Thomas. What good are the furs if you’re dead? Stay with me, please.”

  “Let go.” He freed himself and pushed her away. She fell in the dirt. Before she could rise, he was on his horse. He grabbed the reins of the bay and kicked his mount to a canter.

  “Thomas!” she screamed his name. He rode away. Her feet pounded along the uneven ground. The distance between them grew. “Thomas, don’t leave me!”

  “I’ll be back,” he called.

  She fell to the ground beside the babbling stream. She lay there for some time. He’d left her. He’d left her with the shotgun, a water skin and no horse. How long could she live without him? Could she find the Rendezvous alone? No, she could not. She rose and walked back to the camp. The bag of jerky still hung safe on the white pine. She lowered it to the ground and filled the water skin. Into her shoulder bag went all the jerky she could carry without removing the shot, powder and rags. The water skin went over her opposite shoulder. She rested her hand upon the butcher knife he’d given her. Then she followed the path of ten Crow and one stubborn trapper.

  Nash should have left her a horse. But then she would have followed him, sure as hell. Then again, a horse meant she’d have a chance of getting out of these mountains. That was if she could make it past the wolves, bears and Indians. But he needed the horse to pack the furs once he recovered them.

  He checked the trail, staring at the ponies’ footprints in the mud. They were just ahead now.

  Without those furs he’d have no chance of ever having Delia. He needed money to make a fresh start, buy land in St. Louis or Ohio or wherever the hell she liked. If he lost
them, he’d lose her. He couldn’t ask her to stay in the mountains during the winter and trap. That was no place for her. She should be home, in a house, with a real wood floor and a hearth. She should have friends and neighbors and perhaps a child or two.

  Watch the trail, you idiot, or you’ll run right into them.

  He’d wait until they slept, than steal back his goods. He and Delia would need to hightail it out of the area, before they came swarming down on them like wasps.

  They’d forded the stream here. The ground was still wet from the horses’ passing. He stopped, deciding to scout ahead on foot. He hoped they wouldn’t travel all night.

  Cordelia’s legs were so tired. Don’t think about it. He’s just ahead, just ahead. She hadn’t lost their trail. John’s trail had vanished after only a mile, as if he had stepped off the earth. She would not lose this trail.

  She gritted her teeth and continued walking. The first stars appeared in the dark blue sky. She’d find him.

  The moon rose, adding light and sending long shadows across her path. The sound of a screech owl rattled her nerves. She gripped tight the warm wooden stock of the shotgun.

  Terror walked with her through the night. She feared the past and what lay beyond the small circle of her sight. Above all, she feared failing. She struggled to cast off the images of Thomas lying on the ground with his scalp removed. She saw arrows protruding from his back. A shiver shook her body.

  The moon was falling now, slowly dipping into a bright orange ball. She looked to the East hoping to see the sky brightening. When the moon disappeared she halted, crawling beneath the roots of a fallen pine.

  The sound of birdsong roused her from an uneasy slumber. Her muscles groaned in protest as she rose stiffly from the ground. Now the light was growing in the East. The day approached.

  How much farther?

  She heard the shot and recognized the sound. The echo rattled past her. It was his Hawkins. Another shot rang out and she was on her feet, running toward his discharging gun.

  When she came upon the horses, she stopped. First she found the bay and black. Farther along was a string of ten unfamiliar mounts. The painted markings on the legs and unusual halters told her they belonged to Indians. She stood panting before the questioning stare of ten horses. Now what?

  She crept forward, slowly slipping from tree to tree. This camp seemed empty. She glanced at the beaver skins tied in neat bundles. A hundred yards beyond, the Indians squatted behind rocks and leaned against trees. Above them came an occasional shot from Thomas’s rifle. They had him cornered on a rocky bluff.

  She had to do something. But what? Her heart hammered so loudly she wondered that the Indians didn’t hear it.

  She crept back to the pelts and carried them bundle by bundle to the horses. Then she untied the Indians’ beasts and walked them back to Thomas’ pair. She mounted the bay and led the entire string away from the camp, back to her fallen tree and the small grove of briar bushes beyond. She tied them there and hid the hides. She chose a pretty pinto of black and white for the return trip. The beast had intelligent pale blue eyes. Red stripes were painted upon the mare’s front legs.

  The horse allowed her to mount and ride bareback toward the camp. Where the horses left the animal trail, she stopped to sweep the ground with a bough from a white pine. Covering her tracks, Thomas called it.

  She didn’t know if her plan would work. Perhaps they would kill her. She clenched her jaw. Her gaze lifted to the treetops swaying against the blue sky. Better to die and go to heaven than to stay here alone. God help me save Thomas, she prayed. Some Indians respected her, feared her. Please let this band have heard of Winter Woman.

  She rode boldly up behind the Crow warriors.

  “Thomas,” she called.

  All eyes focused upon her. Drawn bows pointed at her. She did not flinch. Several men pointed at her horse. The sound of their muttering reached her. None of the men fired. She held her shotgun aimed at the closest man.

  “Delia? Good God, woman, is that you?” She’d know his voice anywhere.

  “It’s me,” she said.

  “Where are you?”

  “Down below with the Indians.”

  There was silence for a moment, as the entire world seemed to stop.

  Thomas yelled to the Indians. They shouted back.

  “They knows you, Delia. They don’t want to shoot you. They say to drop your weapon and they’ll not harm you.”

  “What about you?”

  “Me they plan to kill,” he shouted.

  “Tell them to drop their weapons or I’ll shoot the man wearing the blue necklace. Tell them I have their horses and the furs.”

  Thomas spoke to them. The man behind the tree lowered his weapon.

  “He says that’s his horse, and nobody but him can ride her,” said Thomas.

  She smiled at the Indians and tightly gripped the rein, hoping to disguise her racing heart and trembling hands.

  “Apparently he is mistaken. Tell them I’ll trade with them.”

  There was another exchange between Thomas and the Crow.

  “He says he can kill you and take his horse back.”

  “Not before I kill this man.” She motioned with the barrel of her gun, her eyes never leaving the sight. She kept her weapon raised, holding the stock firmly to her shoulder. Nash’s translation drifted down the mountain. “I’ll give them half the horses in exchange for you.”

  “They can find the horses, Delia.”

  “Just tell them.”

  He did. The men spoke between themselves.

  “They want all the horses and furs,” he called.

  “No furs and all the horses but ours and I don’t kill this man.”

  Thomas’s words rolled down off the mountain.

  “They agree.”

  She lowered her gun and smiled. The bows dropped to each man’s side.

  “I’m going to fetch them,” she said.

  She wheeled the horse about and cantered off toward her cache. After retrieving the horses and switching to the bay, she rode back to the group. Thomas had crawled down off the rocks and was speaking to the Indians.

  She handed the reins to the man wearing the most feathers. He nodded and pushed Thomas forward and spoke. She looked at Nash, who stood mutely wearing a stubborn expression.

  “What did he say?”

  Nash scowled. “He said I ain’t worth ten horses.”

  “You are to me.”

  Nash cocked his head and appeared to be considering a moment.

  The leader called to his men. The group quickly mounted up and rode off.

  Thomas stood motionless until the forest swallowed up the sound of the horses’ hooves. Then he spun about and pulled her off her horse.

  “That was a damn stupid thing to do,” he said. His finger pointed, like a pistol, toward her chest. “If those were Blackfoot instead of Crow, you’d be dead right now.”

  “So would you.” She managed to get the words out before her trembling body took over. Her knees turned to water and she sank toward the earth. He caught her before she slipped away and held her quivering against his solid body.

  “They could have killed you,” he whispered. His breath ruffled her hair.

  She closed her eyes, inhaled his earthy scent and then sighed. “They didn’t.”

  “You can’t keep relying on them thinking you’re magic. You should have stayed put.” He pulled away far enough for her to see the scowl on his face.

  “I stayed put once and look where it got me.” She shook her head in disbelief. “You still don’t understand, do you? I’d rather be dead than left alone in these mountains.”

  He looked momentarily chagrined but quickly recovered his composure to continue his tirade. He paced back and forth before her and spoke.

  “You have to do as you’re told. You’re my responsibility.”

  “You are not my husband. I’ll do what I think best.” Her control evaporated and her voice ro
se sharply. “They would have killed you. Are those furs more important than your life?”

  “Yes,” he shouted. Her jaw dropped open at the vehemence of his response. “You think I give a damn what happens to me? All I care about is getting back those furs.”

  She knew he wanted his pelts. But it hurt to know they were all he cared about. Especially when her own feeling for him nearly overwhelmed her. She was a fool to love a man who cared nothing for her.

  “Well, you’ve recovered them.” She turned her back on him, walking through the lush grass growing beside the stream. She couldn’t look at him, couldn’t stand there and stare into his cold eyes without crying. Then she changed her mind, determining to go back and face him. She turned about, startled to find him just behind her.

  “Why are those furs so important?” she asked.

  His intense gaze stopped her in her tracks. He stepped closer and placed a hand heavily on each shoulder, rooting her to the spot.

  “Because without them I can’t have you.”

  “What?”

  His voice was calm now, and sure. “Without them pelts, I got nothing to offer you but my sorry carcass. The money from them furs will give us a stake.”

  “What are you talking about?” A tingling excitement swept through her like a brush fire.

  “I’m talking about a stake, Delia, our stake.”

  “Thomas, I don’t want to stay in these mountains.” She wanted him, but he had to understand, the winters here would kill her. The loneliness and isolation were harder on her soul than the lack of food was on her starving body.

  “I know that.”

  He drew her into his arms. She let her body mold to the hard planes of his chest and belly. He’d said nothing of marriage. Would she marry him if he asked?

  “I won’t see another snowfall here. Never, never again. I’m afraid of the snow now.”

  “Afraid, you, who faced Flatheads, Crow and an eleven-foot grizzly? Not my Delia, she ain’t scareda nothing. Bravest woman I ever met, you are.”

  “I’m not brave. I’m full of fears.”

  “Marching into a nest of Indians is a funny way of acting scared.”

  “I just wanted you safe.”