GENTLE SURPRISE
Zeb and Sarah walked side-by-side toward the bonfires. Zeb stepped over the wagon tongue and held out his hand. Such a nice man. Sarah took it and he patiently helped her over.
The letters were quickly distributed, Zeb calling out “Mail!” and then the addressees’ names, struggling with the occasional pronunciation. The lucky pioneer generally ran to him, grabbing the envelope from his outstretched hand, turning immediately away and fumbling to open it with a muttered, “Thanks, Zeb.”
Sarah caught a glimpse of Rebecca, about to climb in their wagon, but pausing for a moment to look over toward the fire.
Several of the people around one fire tried to engage Zeb in conversation but he would have none of it. “Got things I got to take care of. We’ll talk in the morning before you pull out.”
The chore dispatched, they walked toward the far side of the circled wagons. Then she saw Johannes. His lithe six-foot-six form and blond hair, reddish in the firelight beneath the light colored, flat-brimmed cowboy hat was unmistakable. He was striding rapidly toward them leading his bay, Bente. “Sarah! Zeb!” he called out in a thick Danish accent, “I’m headed out, over the east ridge we crossed this afternoon. Got a night guard out in every direction, although we will rotate twice, instead of once, tonight. Tomorrow’s a big day and the men need time to get organized.” He smiled. “All are excited, as well they should be. I don’t want to keep anybody from their families too long tonight.”
“What about you? Want me to spell ya later?” Zeb asked.
“No; I appreciate the offer, Zeb.” Johannes looked up at the sky to the east. “I will enjoy the night out there. Would you tell Reuben where I am and about the guard rotation for the night?”
“Sure thing,” Zeb answered.
Johannes’ eyes drifted down to Sarah. “I went through Inga’s things,” he said to her, pausing to take a deep breath. She noted a tremor in his voice as he spoke again. “Rebecca helped but it was mostly me.” He took another deep breath. “She doesn’t think any of her clothes will fit either of you. Inga was too tall.”
She could tell this was difficult for Johannes. He dropped his head, a catch in his breath. “But I know you and she were particularly close. There is one thing I found that I am sure she would like you to have.” He raised his eyes to her, turned, walked around the horse and fumbled with the saddlebag. He reached in and pulled out something. Leaning on his horse, she heard him clear his throat. A few moments passed before Johannes walked back to them.
Inga’s silver brush shone and reflected in the firelight in his outstretched hand. Sarah took it slowly, reaching out and resting her fingers on his arm. “Johannes…I…” He didn’t let her finish. “That was the only thing she had from the old country. She treasured it, as you know. She said it reminded her of her parents before their death when she was young and the fjord where she grew up. I’m sure she’d want those happy memories to flow through to you.”
Before Sarah could say anything, Johannes nodded to Zeb. “Tell Reuben, would you?” Then he abruptly turned, leading Bente away from the wagons and toward the east. Zeb and Sarah watched them both disappear from the firelight.
Sarah looked down at the brush and turned it in her hands, remembering. The fire sheen on the silver metal blurred. “Oh…” she said softly.
Zeb put his hand on her shoulder. “Let’s go,” he said quietly, leading her away. They stepped outside the curved line of rigs, the frontiersman’s right hand holding the .52 caliber Sharps, his left arm hanging loosely in the darkness next to her. In a few paces, he stopped and turned. “We can walk around the wagons or we can walk out to that little rise yonder,” he pointed south to a raised portion of the shelf slightly more than one hundred yards from where they camped. “Your drathers, Sarah.”
“Let’s go up there, Zeb. I just have to make sure I don’t trip and fall in the dark with this dress.”
To her surprise, he took her hand. “I won’t let you fall, Sarah,” he said, shortening his steps. Her hand seemed lost in his warm, protective grip. She liked the rough and gentle feel of his touch. They reached the elevated area and stood silently, a vast blanket of stars over their heads twinkling with hope and promise. The mountain man did not take his hand from hers and she realized she was glad, feeling perhaps more found than lost.
“Always was partial to the sky,” said Zeb quietly, looking up. “Tells you there’s more.”
She squeezed his hand, her fingers barely wrapping around the edges of his palm. “Me too, Zeb. On both those thoughts.”
Far in the distance, she heard a long, lonely howl, shortly afterward answered by another from a different position but close to the first.
She squeezed his hand again and looked up at the dark, rugged form outlined by stars. He turned toward her slowly, then seemed to hesitate. She took her hand from his, turned into him and wrapped her fingers into the folds of soft leather below the rawhide ties at his throat. “Thank you, Zebarriah Taylor. You have been so very kind, looking out for me and trying to protect me from Jacob.…” She could feel his eyes on her face even through the darkness. He wrapped his arm around her back, below her shoulders and bent down slowly, his kiss tentative as he drew her to him, his embrace firm yet not insistent.
Her surprise at the kiss quickly evolved from questioning to responsive, as she felt the pressure of his lips on hers. She tightened her grip on his leather shirt. The tickle of his mustache was pleasant and his lips were warm, respectful and gentle—particularly gentle.
He lifted his face from hers slowly and straightened up. Sarah dropped her arms, wrapped them around his waist and hugged him. She felt him wince and realized his ribs, broken in hand-to-hand combat at Two Otters Creek, were still sore. “Sorry,” she whispered, the side of her face pressed against the bottom of his chest. Neither said a word. In the distance, the wolves again sang their calls to one another under the faint glow of a silver moon. Sarah trembled slightly. “They won’t bother us, Sarah.
It’s just the male and the female talking to one another.” He paused, looked up at the sky and then down to her, clearing his throat. “They mate for life, ya know.”
With her head still pressed to his shirt, Sarah could feel the rumble in his chest. “I’d never let you fall, Sarah, in the darkness or otherwise. The kid neither.” Her eyes fluttered open; she jerked and began to pull away but he held her to him, his grip tender but strong.
“Yep, I know. You bein’ sick and all. Knew for sure that day in the wagon, back there on Two Otters Creek when…when I helped you with your clothes.”
Sarah relaxed into him and quietly began to cry. My first real kiss and he knows, but can I ever trust a man again?