Gretta paced. She couldn’t help herself. There was plenty to do, both in the cabin and out, but her muscles were strung tighter than a harp string.
Zeche still lay in bed. He hadn’t suffered any other nightmares that she was aware of, but he only woke when she prodded him to eat. He seemed coherent enough as she spooned soup or gruel into his mouth. He would answer her questions about his eyesight and pain levels, usually with the same vague responses. A little better. I think. Maybe.
Then he fell back to sleep the moment she left his side. How could he still be sleepy after—how many days since his accident? She wasn’t positive how long he’d been lying in the woods half-dead before Father found him, but it had to be at least three days since his battle with the elk.
Sleep and food were what his body needed, but that left very little for her to do between meals. She should probably bathe him with a damp cloth as she’d done with their battlefield patients. But would that be proper here? He was no different than all those men she’d cared for under the tents. Especially if she did the work this evening while Father read by the fire.
But this was Zeche. Everything was different about Zeche.
Maybe she’d hold off a day or two and see if he might be up to handling the task himself.
She reached the window and paused in her pacing. The sun was shrouded by a thick cloud cover. Not a dark sky, just pale gray. As lacking in inspiration as she was. What can I do to help him, Dio? The words squeezed from her heart, lifting to the clouds above. Maybe they could even break through the barrier that seemed to separate her from a God she’d once known well. It had been so long now since she’d prayed. Since those months after Mama’s sickness. God hadn’t answered then. Hadn’t found her in her grief.
But maybe now. For Zeche, maybe God would send an answer. Help me, Signore. Help me help him. The Italian names for the Father rolled out as if Nonna were here with her now, praying to a God she spoke to as if he walked beside her each moment. Nonna had been so certain. So grounded in her faith. And Mama, too. With them both nearby, it had been easy to believe God hovered close. Caring.
Nyx whined from his spot by Zeche’s bed, and she spun to see why the dog had stirred. She’d come to count on his warnings with her father.
“Gretta?” The word scraped through the stillness as if it had been dragged across a washboard.
“Yes?” She stepped closer.
Zeche’s eyes were parted in the squint that had become his usual look. He stared straight upward, not looking around. She moved toward him, easing onto her usual spot on the bed.
He let out a breath as his chin dipped toward her. “I didn’t hear you. I thought maybe you’d left.”
“I’m here. Are you hungry?” This was the first time he’d woken without her prodding. She couldn’t help the hope that budded in her chest. Had God actually answered her prayer?
“No. I need…” He paused, then fumbled for the blanket that covered him. “I need to get up.”
She gripped his shoulder as he tried to sit. “You’re not well enough yet. What do you need, Zeche? I’ll get it for you.” Surely he hadn’t recovered this quickly.
He fought against her hold, which couldn’t be good for his ribs.
“Calm down. Tell me what you need.”
At last he sank back against the pillow, expelling a frustrated breath. “I need the outhouse.”
A warm understanding crept through her. “Let me call Father. He’ll help you with the chamber pot again.”
“I don’t want the chamber pot. I need to get out of this bed.”
“Zeche.” She put on her most soothing tone. “You’re not ready yet. You have to take it easy so your body can recover. Is the blurry vision better?”
“It’s better.” But something about the set of his jaw made her think of a sullen boy, crossing his arms as he sulked in the corner.
“I’ll put some tea on to brew, then I’ll call Father to come in and help you.” She leaned down to catch his eye, but as she tried to find his dark irises, it seemed like he still couldn’t focus on her. “Can I trust you not to get up if I walk away?”
His response was more of a growl than anything, but from the scowl on his face, that was probably the best she’d get right now.
Her mouth pulled into a smile as she stood and moved to her medicine box. At least he was feeling well enough to want to get up. Pain probably contributed to his sour disposition, so another dose of willow bark tea might help. It would also make him sleepy, which would allow his body more time to recover.
She selected the right pouch and measured the powdered bark into the tea kettle. A glance at Zeche confirmed he was following orders. He held his right hand at arm’s length from his face and seemed to be studying it. Probably working on his focus. Was it good to exercise his vision? Or would that put undue stress on his eyes and brain while they were trying to heal? So much she didn’t know. And the not knowing made her feel helpless.
She pulled the door open and stepped onto the porch. Nyx slipped out behind her and loosed a happy yap as her Father rounded the corner.
“Perfect timing. Zeche needs your help with the chamber pot. I’ll stay outside for a few minutes to give you privacy.”
Father nodded. “All right.”
She took the steps down and patted her leg at Nyx, who danced a jig at Father’s feet. “You wanna walk with me, boy? We’ll see if the creek is thawed.”
Nyx ducked behind Father’s leg as if she’d just told him they were going up to the mountain where he’d be offered as a sacrifice.
Father chuckled. “Go on, boy. Take Gretta for a walk.”
The dog slinked toward her, his tail between his legs like a martyr. As if she wasn’t the person who fed him every morning.
She stooped to pet the rascal while her father headed inside. But as she stood and turned toward the woods that shielded the mountain creek, a movement captured her attention. At the same time, Nyx darted forward, stopping a few feet away to let loose three barks.
He stayed with his feet planted, his entire body straining toward the approaching stranger. He wouldn’t leave her side if he thought she would need to be protected.
Raising her hand to shield her eyes, she studied the tree line around the mountain.
A horse and rider rode into view. The man, wrapped in furs, sat atop a stocky paint. For half a second, her heart saw Zeche as he’d first ridden into her life. Tall and confident. And her crazy chest surged at the image.
But then she snapped back to reality as she made out a second horse trailing behind the man. A pack horse. Or maybe that was a mule. The animal let loose a high-pitched, airy sound as she confirmed the long ears and stilted stride. Definitely a mule.
Her gaze swept back to the man. A trapper maybe? One never knew what kind of person wandered these mountains. This was the perfect land to escape from past lives—including sins that had the power to haunt a man. But not every man left those sins behind.
Should she step inside for her gun? He was about thirty feet away now, so she couldn’t do it without being obvious. And reaching for a weapon wouldn’t be hospitable. She usually tried to give people the benefit of the doubt—without risking her safety—until she made an assessment of their character.
At least she could ease back up the steps so she’d be close to the door if she needed to dart inside. From his position by her feet, Nyx growled low in his throat. But his tail wagged at the same time, which meant he couldn’t be too worried about the man. Maybe he was just being cautious of a stranger.
The fellow reined to a stop in front of the porch. “Howdy, ma’am.” He paused, and seemed to be waiting for her response.
She nodded. “Hello.” Trying to keep her tone pleasant but guarded.
“I trap in these mountains. I didn’t know this cabin was back here until I saw the smoke.” He nodded toward their chimney. “Thought I’d stop in an’ say howdy.”
That was a request to come inside if she’d ever heard one. He was likely eager for a home cooked meal. Not that she could offer much there. Maybe if he had supplies she could barter for… Wheat flour in exchange for cornmeal? That might be an idea worth pursuing.
She moved toward the steps and motioned for him to follow. “My father is inside and would welcome a visitor. We’ll settle your animals then you can come in for something warm to drink.”
“Thank you, ma’am. I’d like that.” His voice was friendly, which matched the expression on his face. Nothing about him raised her internal alarm.
As his horse fell into step alongside her, Nyx kept himself between her and the visitor. She glanced over to get a better look at him. He didn’t seem as old as some of the mountain men who’d stopped to visit with them. Maybe in his thirties. Not much older than Zeche, actually.
The thought hitched her stride. Should she let Zeche and Father know they had a guest before she brought the man inside? Yes, she should have done that already, but now they’d already reached the back of the cabin. After they settled his animals, she could slip into the cabin first to warn the men.
He tied the horse and mule at the edge of the woods, and she carried hay over to them.
As he unstrapped a pack from the riding horse, she affected a casual tone in her voice. “I’m afraid we’re low on supplies right now—flour and such. You wouldn’t have any you’d be willing to barter, would you? I can offer cornmeal in trade.”
“Sorry, ma’am. Don’t have much except jerky.”
Her shoulders slumped. She’d almost been able to taste good wheat bread.
“I got some beans an’ a little bit o’ cornmeal, too.”
Beans? They might give her some variety to cook with. “I’d be willing to trade for beans, if you have any to spare. I have well-seasoned elk-meat, dried so it would travel well.”
“I suppose that’d work out.” He stepped to the mule and pulled a canvas sack from one of the packs. “This is all I have to offer, but you’re welcome to it.”
Her eyes locked on the sack, her mouth almost watering. “Thank you.”
They headed back toward the front of the cabin, and she raised a hand as she ascended the front steps. “Let me tell the men we have company.” Nyx circled her feet, and she had to push him aside to reach the door.
She was about to pull the latch string, but suddenly she remembered why she’d left the cabin in the first place. She raised her fist and knocked softly.
A voice sounded inside. Come in, maybe.
She pulled the latch string and cracked the door open an inch. “Father, we have a visitor. A trapper who stopped in for a visit.”
A single footstep sounded before the door pulled open, yanking the string from her hand. “A visitor?” Father’s voice was harder than normal, and she laid a hand on his arm.
“He saw the smoke from our chimney. I told him he’s welcome to come in for something warm to drink.”
His gaze took in the stranger, his hard expression softening a little.
The man extended a hand to her father. “Magnus Olsen. Pleased to meet ya.”
Father finally stepped forward and accepted the grip. “Antonio Michelly.”
As he took over the job of host, she slipped behind him into the cabin. Now she needed to prepare Zeche. Would he be up to a guest joining them for the evening? He should rest and ignore the activity around him. But she wasn’t too sure Zeche would do that.
If their visitor turned out to be a decent fellow, Father might offer him their floor for the night. This little cabin was becoming a regular inn, it seemed. They should probably build a second cot for Father so he didn’t have to sleep on the floor while Zeche recovered.
She crept over to the bed where Zeche’s form lay motionless. “Zeche?”
“Hmm?” His graveled voice was softer than normal.
“We have a visitor.”
He raised an arm to rest on his forehead, shielding his eyes from the light. “Who is it?” The words were sluggish, as though he were groggy from sleep. Or pain, more likely.
“A trapper. You don’t need to get up, I just thought I’d tell you.”
And even as she spoke, the door opened behind her. She spun to face it, backing against Zeche’s cot like a mother hen protecting him. The reaction didn’t make sense to her brain, but her body had already formed the motion.
“…about a year and a half. We like this stretch of land. And this little nook in the mountains was perfect for a homestead.” Father motioned toward the chair she usually occupied. “Pull up close to the fire. Warm yourself.”
The man’s gaze flicked to her where she still stood beside Zeche’s bed. He looked like he wasn’t sure he should take the offered chair. Then his focus lowered to Zeche.
She took one step to the side. “Mr. Olsen, may I present our friend, Zeche Reid. He’s staying with us while he recovers from an injury.”
The stranger nodded, and Zeche did the same. Despite the way his eyes squinted in the man’s direction, his face had taken on a hard expression.
“Pleasure to meet ya, Reid. Hope the recovery’s goin’ well.”
“It is.” Zeche’s voice had strengthened remarkably, and she had to bite her lip to keep from saying something to soften the bite in his tone for Mr. Olsen. She could explain how Zeche had almost died and was still in too much pain to leave the bed. But he’d probably not be happy if she said all that.
Instead, she crossed the room, skirting the chairs, and took her place at her work counter.
These men just might drive her batty.