| |
“God, no!”
~ Samuel
THE SUN SHONE BRILLIANTLY as Samuel followed the tracks left by Matisse’s horse, winding along the valley where they’d camped, then up and over the cliff to the east. The higher he climbed, the fiercer the sun’s rays until he could barely do more than squint.
But he had to keep his eyes open to watch for tracks. Through the rocky sections, it was easy to lose the trail the boy had traveled. Samuel had to focus. A few other animal tracks marred the snow, and he might even find game along the way if he kept his eyes open.
He pushed his gelding as fast as he dared. Urgency squeezed his chest, tightening all his muscles and pushing his horse to go faster. If Matisse or the animal were injured or—God forbid—killed, Samuel would be leaving both Moriah and the lad unprotected. It might even spell a death sentence for them all.
The first peak he crested merged with another mountain partway down, and he slowed his gelding to climb the rocky surface of the second crest. The sun seemed to grow brighter with each upward step.
When he reached the top, a motion down the other side caught his focus. He squinted, trying to focus in the blinding glare of the sun on millions of snow crystals. Was the movement he’d seen merely a trick of his eyes?
No. There it was again, a dark figure. He reined his gelding that direction, and as he closed the distance, the figure morphed into multiple brown and gray shapes.
Deer? No, smaller than that.
Mountain goats.
He reached for his rifle. This was the part he always hated—taking an innocent life. But Moriah had to eat. They all did.
He tried to edge his gelding nearer the animals to clear the blurry haze from sun on snow, but the herd shifted away. He’d have to take a shot now or lose them completely.
Guide the bullet, Lord. Aiming as best he could, he squeezed the trigger.
The blast ripped through the still mountain air, scattering the herd in the midst of frantic bleats. He nudged his horse forward to see if his shot had hit a mark.
Yes. They could eat now. Hopefully this would last the day or two until they reached his family.
After draining the blood, he wrapped the carcass and strapped it on behind his saddle. Now if he could just find Matisse, they could go back to Moriah and little Cherry.
After mounting again, he reined his gelding back up the hill to the spot where he’d left Matisse’s trail. His eyes stung from keeping them open against the blinding sun, but he had to watch closely to find, then follow, the tracks. At least it wasn’t snowing, and the wind wasn’t strong enough to blow away the prints. Not completely, anyway.
He spotted the trail and followed it. When he’d descended to the base of that mountain, he tried to gauge how long he’d been gone by the position of the sun. Two hours? Three? His head ached from the brilliant rays, both from the huge ball of fire in the sky and the beams magnified by reflection on the snow.
He had to move faster now. If he found Matisse this very moment, it’d be at least another two or three hours back to Moriah. She may be in desperate need by then. Didn’t fevers usually worsen in the evening hours? Whatever happened, he couldn’t leave them alone through the night.
There were likely very hungry animals lurking around. Mountain lions or wolves who were having just as much trouble as he’d had finding smaller prey in the snow.
He couldn’t leave Moriah and that tiny baby alone—sick and at the mercy of anything that came for them.
Through the narrow valley, the wind kicked up into fierce gusts, blowing through the narrow channel between the mountains like a rushing train. Matisse’s tracks disappeared completely, and Samuel had to ride along the base of the opposite cliff before he finally picked up the trail again.
Where is he, Lord? Show me. Anxiety pressed hard on his chest, making him urge the horse faster up the mountain. The higher they climbed, the fiercer the sun’s rays beat down. His head pounded like the steady blows of a man and an ax splitting wood inside his skull.
This mountain was taller than the others he’d crossed that day, and when he finally crested the peak, he reined in his gelding to let the animal catch its breath. In truth, Samuel was breathing hard, too. As much from the weight on his chest as from the exertion of urging the horse up the mountain.
The sight before them was different than the terrain he’d been traveling, and it took a moment for his weary eyes to make sense of what he saw. Partway down this slope, a line of tall lodge-pole pines started, spreading down beyond the base of the hill. Then the ground leveled off into flat land for a stretch, rolling into gentle hills. Had he reached the edge of the mountain country?
A tall structure in the distance caught his gaze. Covered in snow, the spectacle looked different than it had the last time he saw it. A tall butte, standing higher than the tallest lodge-pole pine, with a huge boulder almost covering the flat top. It was as though the ground had washed away all around and that massive rock was the only thing that kept its platform in place.
He’d seen that boulder-topped butte on his way to find Henry. Late in the afternoon on the first day of his journey.
Simeon and the rest of his family were only a day’s ride from here. Excitement surged in Samuel’s chest, easing some of the pressure inside him. They were so close.
He nudged his gelding down the slope, and the horse must have felt his eagerness, for he had to rein the animal in so they didn’t tumble head-over-heels down the mountain.
He’d almost forgotten to watch for Matisse’s tracks until a deep indention in the snow made him pull the horse up short. The white fluff was churned in a section twice the width of a horse, running down the mountain for about twenty strides. Almost to the grove of trees.
Bile churned in his gut. Was this what had happened to Matisse? But where was the lad?
He pushed his gelding forward, scanning the trees for signs of motion. “Matisse!”
Maybe he’d taken shelter in the woods. And his horse?
No response sounded, but with the creak of Samuel’s saddle and the shuffle of his horse’s hooves in the snow, a call may be drowned out.
As he neared the woods, he could see a line pressed in the snow, like something being dragged toward the trees. He jumped from his gelding at the edge of the grove and squinted to adapt his eyes to the dimmer lighting. Flashes of light shot through his vision, almost blinding him for a moment as his eyes adjusted.
“Here.” A voice—low and raspy—jerked his attention downward.
Matisse lay in the snow, tousled and looking so small wrapped in the fur he usually wore as a cape.
“Matisse.” He scrambled toward the boy and dropped to his haunches beside him. “What happened? Are you hurt?” He scanned the length of the lad, then looked back at his face.
Pain scrunched his features. “Horse fell. My leg. And arm.”
Samuel examined both his legs, and the knot in his gut tightened when he saw how big around the right thigh had grown. He shifted toward it and reached out to touch gingerly.
“Don’t.” Matisse bit the word through clenched teeth, his breathing growing heavier. “I already know it’s broken. The arm, too.”
Samuel turned his focus to the arm. He’d need to see the leg before he attempted to splint it, but he could wait a minute until he knew what shape the other limb was in.
Matisse lifted the gray fur from his right arm. The buckskin sleeve was pulled tight with the swollen limb inside, and a large bump protruded on the side of the upper arm. The bone below that bulge lay at an odd angle.
Samuel’s gut churned. This was a bad break. The boy would be lucky if the bone wasn’t protruding through the skin. He couldn’t splint that kind of break, not out here in the snow and freezing cold.
And he couldn’t move Matisse without securing the broken limbs. Even with splints, the lad couldn’t sit atop a horse with his thigh bone broken. Not only would the pain be excruciating, there was no telling what further damage would be done by the curve of the saddle and the jostling of the animal’s gait.
He turned to look up the mountain. He had no choice but to go retrieve Moriah and the baby, then bring them back to Matisse. None of them could be left alone for long, and all needed food and warmth.
Looking back at the boy, Samuel studied his face again. The lad shivered, and a sheen of sweat glistened over his features. The perspiration could be from pain, as could the unusual rosy blush on his cheeks. The shivering could be from lying in the snow.
But something inside Samuel told him there was more. He removed his glove and pressed a palm to the lad’s forehead.
Hot. Was this his body’s reaction to all the trauma? Or had Matisse contracted the same sickness Moriah and the baby suffered from?
Either way, he needed help.
Standing, Samuel moved around to the lad’s other side and kicked snow away from an area that would work for a small fire. Thank God he’d brought flint, steel, and tender to build a fire. There were plenty of cured pine branches lying on the ground throughout the little glade. If he could find some that weren’t soaked through, he could get a good fire started.
It seemed like hours, but he finally had a small blaze going, a spit of goat’s meat roasting over the flame. The fire, the meat, and the extra wood were all within Matisse’s reach so he could eat when the food was ready and keep himself warm for the next few hours.
Samuel dropped to his haunches by the lad again. “Anything else you need before I go?”
Matisse gave a single, painful shake of his head. His breathing had grown even more ragged than before.
Samuel scanned the area again. “Any idea where your horse is? I assume your rifle’s still in the scabbard.” He hated to leave the lad without defense against hungry wildlife. He could follow the horse’s tracks to find the gun, but he didn’t have time right now. He had to get back to Moriah.
“Don’t know.” The words seemed to be dragged from the boy’s throat.
Samuel brushed Matisse’s face again, then fought a cringe at the heat emanating from his skin. “It’ll probably be five or six hours before I come back, but I will be back.”
He was pretty sure he could manage the trail in the dark, especially since the moon wouldn’t be hidden by clouds.
Lord, let Moriah and Cherry be able to travel. He couldn’t even think about what he’d do if they weren’t.
With a last farewell, he mounted his gelding and turned the animal up the mountain.
Praying with every stride this goodbye wasn’t final.
~ ~ ~
NIGHT HUNG THICK AROUND Moriah as she clutched Cherry, rocking forward and back. The baby was restless, but nothing compared to the turmoil in Moriah’s own chest.
Where was Samuel?
Had he found Matisse, and whatever trouble delayed the lad was too much even for Samuel to overcome? She’d promised to go after him in the morning if he didn’t return by then, but a part of her wanted to find him now.
What if another mountain lion had attacked? Or they’d run into someone who didn’t like the color of Matisse’s skin? Of course Samuel would do what it took to save the boy.
But maybe they both needed help. How many more hours until dawn? Four? Five? She would pack up the camp now and follow him if she didn’t need light to find his tracks.
Cherry whined, scrunching her face and kicking inside her blankets. Moriah forced herself to relax. “It’s all right, sweet one. He’ll be back soon. They’ll both come, and everything will be fine.”
She lifted the babe to feel Cherry’s forehead with her cheek. Still a little feverish. The garlic seemed to have cleared away the worst of Moriah’s own sickness. Maybe she should have given it to her daughter, too. It was so hard to know what was best.
A shuffling sounded in the distance, and she sat up straight, straining to see into the darkness. Cherry’s complaint changed to a wail, and Moriah bounced her as she struggled to stand. “Hush, sweet one.”
She glanced to the rifle on the ground beside her, but she couldn’t shoot the gun with the babe in her arms. If she put Cherry down, though, her cries would rise in earnest.
“Moriah, it’s me. Are you there?” Samuel’s voice sounded through the night, a distance away. Maybe from the edge of the trees.
Her body slackened as fear eased out of her, and she had to lock her knees to keep from falling. “I’m here.”
The noise grew louder as Samuel neared. When he stepped into the firelight leading his horse, the sight of him stirred such a torrent of emotions inside her, she almost went down again.
He strode right to her, catching his arm around her and pulling her close, locking her and Cherry in the protection of his embrace. She laid her head on his shoulder, breathing him in. Soaking in his warmth and steadiness and...love. She couldn’t find another word that summed up the gentle intensity of his touch.
Even Cherry was soothed by his nearness, for she didn’t even squirm as she was tucked between them.
He drew back, and she had to stop herself from clutching at him to keep him close. But he didn’t remove his arms from around her. Instead, he lowered his mouth to hers, kissing her as though he’d thought he would never see her again.