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“Trusting has never come easy, and with good reason. This time, no less than any other.”
~Moriah
MORIAH PRESSED HER mouth close to the peephole and raised her voice loud enough for the stranger to hear. “Henry is my husband. You can leave the letter where you stand and be on your way. Thank you for delivering it.” Lord, let him think that sufficient.
The man didn’t move to obey, just stood there. His head tilted slightly. “Actually, Miz Rachel is nearby. About three days’ ride away. She’s planning to get married again and was hoping her brother would come for the ceremony.”
A flare of hope warred with the fear inside Moriah. And when Cherry loosed a louder cry, desperation joined in the mix.
The man must have heard the babe, for he straightened. “Is everything all right in there, ma’am?”
She had to take care of her daughter, but she couldn’t leave this man standing in the yard for the next half hour, wondering what was happening inside. He seemed to truly be a friend of Rachel’s, but maybe she should ask a few questions to be sure.
Leaning closer to the opening, she asked, “Where is Rachel staying? Does she have anyone with her?” They’d received her last short note saying her husband had been killed in a gambling fight, but Henry had assumed she’d stay at her home in Missouri and keep working the farm. Her son, Andy, should be old enough to help her now.
“My brother and I met Miz Rachel and Andy at Fort Benton, then traveled north with them and another man. My brother’s the one she’s planning to marry, and they’re waiting at my sister’s house in a little valley tucked in the mountains.”
He knew Andy’s name, so that was a good sign. But there was one more thing she needed to know before she placed any trust in him. “Why did she leave her home?”
The man cocked his head again. “She was coming north to see her brother—your husband."
A pang hit Moriah’s chest, landing squarely in the ache that still lingered even six months after Henry’s passing. Rachel’s journey had been for nothing.
But the man continued. "I got the feeling that, after her husband died, she wanted to start over. Someplace new.”
Maybe Rachel could still have that fresh start in this country. Especially if she’d found a man worthy of her.
Cherry pressed harder on Moriah’s neck, crying out with an insistence that wouldn’t be denied. It was time Moriah show herself and her daughter to this man. Let him know she’d need a few minutes before dealing with him further.
Bouncing a bit to distract her babe, she moved to the cabin door and elbowed the brace aside. She blew a strand of hair from her face, then pushed the door open and stepped outside.
She had to blink in the sharp daylight, so much brighter than the dim shadows in the cabin. She’d run out of oil for the lanterns, so she’d put them away, although she never would have lit them in daytime anyway.
The man standing across the clearing removed his hat, drawing her focus to him and the gentle grin spreading across his face. “I wondered what that fussing was. Now I see.”
Cherry wouldn’t stop fretting now. She’d be caterwauling soon. Moriah patted her back and continued bouncing. “I need to tend to the babe for a few minutes. Can I trust you to stay put until I return?” She’d be watching him, of course.
He nodded, still gripping his hat in one hand and his rifle in the other. “Yes, ma’am. Do you mind if I step back in the woods and get my horse? Then I’ll come right back to this spot and wait for you.”
If he was as honest as he sounded, she’d thank God all day. But she knew better than to trust a white man. She’d seen too many of them sink into vile depravities.
She turned and stepped back inside the cabin, then placed the brace on the door and took up her position by the peephole. Her rifle lay within reach, but she’d need both hands to care for Cherry.
She unbundled the babe and changed the wet cloth. She couldn’t help the warmth that flowed through her every time she tended her tiny daughter. “You’re finally going to eat, my sweet one. Patience is always rewarded.” If only that was true for her. It seemed like she’d been holed up in this cabin forever, waiting for things to get better. Yet, the danger seemed to grow with each day.
Cherry paused in her squirming to stare up at Moriah with Henry’s wide eyes. At just three weeks old, everything about her seemed tiny except those eyes. Moriah leaned close and pressed a kiss to the soft skin of her daughter’s cheek. While she was close, she took a second to breathe in the sweet baby scent. Nothing could be more wonderful.
But then she forced herself to straighten and peek through the hole in the cabin wall. No sign of the man. Hopefully he was still gathering his horse and not stealing around to approach from the other side.
She turned back to her daughter. “Let’s get your belly full so we can send him on his way.”
~ ~ ~
IT SEEMED TO TAKE AN hour for Mrs. Clark to come back out of the cabin, but after Samuel collected his horse, he returned to the spot where he’d promised to stand and didn’t stray. This woman clearly wasn’t afraid to shoot that rifle of hers, and he now knew the root of her spunk—fear. Or whatever it was that made a female bear so ferocious as she protected her cubs.
He hadn’t been able to see the baby well over the distance, but he’d seen enough to know the infant was tiny. A newborn.
Where was Henry? They must need food awfully bad for him to leave his family vulnerable for a hunting trip. That had to be where he’d gone. Samuel couldn’t think of another reason why the man would leave them alone.
At last, the door creaked open, and Mrs. Clark stepped out again. He had to blink to take in what he was seeing. She wore something strapped on her back—something bulky—and carried a bowl in one hand and a rifle in the other.
She walked toward him, and he wanted to meet her partway, but he didn’t dare. He wanted her to know she could trust him.
As she neared, he couldn’t take his eyes off her, even to eye the bowl of something steamy she carried. Her dark braid and dusky coloring reminded him of the Indian women he’d seen in the camps they passed on the way north. Yet her hair wasn’t coal black but coffee brown. Her eyes were lighter still, like coffee with a bit of milk lacing the cup. She wore a shirtwaist and skirt just like any other white woman. Could she have blood from both races running inside her? Regardless, Henry had found himself a pretty wife.
Speaking of Henry, Samuel held out the letter. “Here’s the note from Rachel. She didn’t say her brother was married, but I assume she won’t mind if you read it before your husband gets back.”
The woman took the note and flicked her gaze to the paper before looking back at him, as though she didn’t trust him to stay put while she turned her focus to the missive.
“I think it basically says that she’s only a few days’ ride away and she’s getting married,” he said. “She’d really like her brother to be there for the wedding. I’m sure she’d love to meet you and the child, too.” He nodded toward the cabin where the baby must be. “If you’re up to travel, that is.”
She raised her chin, and he waited for whatever fiery response she planned to offer. But instead, she handed the bowl toward him. “Eat. You must be hungry after coming so far.”
The smell of the stew had been teasing his belly, and the sight of hearty chunks of meat in warm broth made his mouth water. She’d even added a spoon. He glanced at her expression once more—just to make sure she wouldn’t change her mind and dump the hot liquid on him.
Her face was impassive. Completely void of expression, although she hadn’t lost the regal bearing of her shoulders nor the weary creases edging her eyes. Caring for a newborn added those lines to women’s faces. He’d seen it before among their neighbors in Yorkville. A lifetime ago.
Taking the bowl, he nodded his appreciation. “I am hungry. Thank you.”
He scooped a bite to his mouth, letting the warmth soothe his insides even before his tongue picked out the flavors. The meat tasted like venison, but she’d added spices or something to enhance what could sometimes be a flavorless meat.
Another bite slid down, even tastier than the first. Although he focused on the soup, he kept an eye on the woman at the edge of his vision. He’d eaten half a dozen spoonfuls before she finally looked down at the letter again, fingering the corners of the envelope. More than half the meal was gone before she slit the wax seal and unfolded the papers.
Her gaze narrowed in concentration as she studied the words. As he scraped the last bite from the bowl, she lowered the letter and returned her focus to him.
He gave her a grin. “This is the best venison stew I’ve had in ages.”
She nodded, her face softening a tiny bit. Then it went rigid again, as though preparing for what she was about to say. “My husband died several months ago. While hunting. Please tell Rachel how sad I am to share that news.”
The words slammed into him like an ax blade hacking a tree, and he swayed a bit from the impact. “He’s...dead?” His gaze scanned to the cabin again. Several months ago. Before the baby was born? Henry had never known his child. Even worse, had this woman endured childbirth alone? Surely there was a doctor or another woman in the area she’d called. Maybe her mother.
But why had she been left alone to care for the baby and manage all the other work required to survive in this wilderness? That infant had looked so tiny, Mrs. Clark likely hadn’t yet recovered from the birth.
He turned his focus back to her. “I’m more sorry than I can say for your loss. I’ll hate to break the news to Rachel, too.” His mind spun in a new direction. “Maybe you’d like to come meet her? I know she’d appreciate the chance to know her brother’s wife.” His gaze slipped back toward the cabin. “And your little one, too. Is it a boy or girl?”
“A daughter.” She turned slightly, revealing the structure on her back.
It was something like a satchel, and he almost jumped when he saw the blinking eyes near the top.
The baby. Swaddled in layers of blankets so only her tiny face peeked out, Henry’s daughter hung from her mother’s back. He thought of the stories he’d heard of Indian papooses. He’d never seen one before now.
His chuckle slipped out before he could stop it, and the woman spun back to him, concealing her child behind her.
She looked as though she thought he planned to attack the child. He had to explain his laugh. “I didn’t realize she was hanging there.”
Her face still held suspicion, so he tried to sober his expression. “What’s her name?”
“I call her Cherry.” Again, the woman’s expression softened a little. It was easy to see she loved her daughter, and no wonder, with the babe’s adorable innocence.
“Cherry?” An unusual name, but this seemed like an unusual pair. “I like it. Sounds sweet. Has she been healthy so far?”
Mrs. Clark’s chin bobbed. “So far.”
He eased out a breath, forcing his mind back to the more consequential topic. “I’d like to escort you to your husband’s sister. She and the rest of our family would be pleased to see you. There are kids and babies aplenty, so lots of mamas happy to help out.” Traveling with a newborn wouldn’t be easy, but he surely couldn’t leave this woman to fend for herself. Was she even recovered from childbirth yet? Maybe they’d need to wait a few weeks.
She raised her chin, all regal defiance. “I thank her for the offer, but I will go back to my people. I have been waiting only for the babe to gain a few weeks. The time is almost here.”
She had family then. Thank you, Lord. Did she mean Indians or whites? Not that it mattered. As long as she had people around to help her, he’d not worry. “How far away is your family?”
She turned her gaze westward. “About three days’ ride to the west and slightly north.” Then she brought her gaze back around and leveled it on him. “A Piegan camp in the mountains.”
He nodded. “I can help you get there on my way back. I’m headed southwest, but it’s probably not more than a day or two out of my way.”
She eyed him as though waiting for something else. Some other response. Did she expect a reaction about her Indian ancestry? Or maybe she was debating within herself whether to accept his offer.
She would probably balk at it, as independent as she seemed to be. But she’d need help on the trail with an infant. Especially being only a few weeks out from the birth, she surely didn’t have her strength back. There was no way he would send them on their merry way alone. If he did, he’d be launching her and the babe to certain torture, maybe even death.
Still, he waited for her to speak next. Better to know the level of her resistance.
“It’s not a hard journey. I will travel alone.” She spoke calmly. Resolutely. Then she nodded toward the smaller of the two buildings, the one connected to a corral. “You and your horse may stay the night in the barn before returning to your people in the morning.”
So, she was dismissing him. Telling him he’d better be gone by first light. At least this was a kinder send-off than she’d given the others. Leave this place in three languages.
Indeed, this was quite a woman. Yet he wouldn’t be swayed by her strength. She needed help, and he’d be patient until she was ready to accept it.