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The turmoil swirls both within and without. Set my mind on You, Father. Press Your seal upon my wayward heart.
~ Monti’s Journal
AS MONTI NEARED THE Indian camp with the priest, the knot in her middle twisted tighter. What if Thunder Rumbles grew angry at her refusal? Would he be violent? She knew so little about these people and their customs. Her response would likely be a great insult to him.
She glanced over at Antoine. Should she ask him about it? If Joseph were here, this knot of fear would untangle. She never felt anything but protected by his side.
But, no. She couldn’t discuss another man’s marriage offer with Joseph. Not when she longed for the proposal to be from him. She jerked her back straight. Where had that thought come from? She was married to her Lord now. She had no need for a man.
When they entered the camp, the place seemed quieter than normal. At the lodge where Hollow Oak’s family lived, no men sat around the fire as they had before. The woman met them at the door flap and motioned them inside.
Monti’s chest squeezed as she saw the empty pallet where the girl usually lay. Then a movement from the side caught her attention.
“Monti.” The girl cried her name as she launched herself into Monti’s arms.
Monti held her close, breathing in the sweetness of the pudgy arms around her. “How are you? Has the medicine helped you feel better?”
Hollow Oak chattered in her little-girl voice, and Monti dropped to her knees to watch the girl’s expression as she spoke. It was impossible to understand a single word, but the animation on her face proved how much better she seemed to be feeling than she had the last two times they’d visited.
At last, Monti turned to Antoine and the young squaw. “How has she been?”
Antoine spoke up. “Her mother says she has taken the tonic steadily and has seemed better, little by little. She’s been up and playing with the others for three or four days now.”
The good news eased the tension in her chest, but only a little. “Too much activity may not be good. She should take lots of rests.”
He nodded and began signing to the woman.
Monti turned back to the girl, who grabbed her hand and spoke again as she pulled Monti outside.
A commotion seemed to be coming from the outskirts of camp, and Hollow Oak dragged her to a spot where they could see between the teepees. A group of Indians rode at a fast clip over the hill, slowing their horses as they reached the lodges.
People came pouring from the teepees and clamored around the riders who paraded through camp. Hollow Oak pulled her forward to join the group, although she wasn’t altogether sure she wanted to be caught up in the throng. Still, she couldn’t help but be curious.
The riders were all men, all tall and regal on their horses. A war party, perhaps? She didn’t see any paint on their faces or the horses like she’d heard they applied before battle. A few men pulled extra horses with large packs over their backs. Maybe they’d just returned from a long journey. That would explain the enthusiastic greeting.
Then she saw the deer draped across the back of one of the horses. Some of the other packs began to take solid forms as she studied them differently. Perhaps this was a hunting party then?
She scanned the men’s face, and her breath caught when she recognized one. Thunder Rumbles. About fifty paces away, his gaze locked on her as the group moved her direction. Even from this distance, she could see the way a smile played at the corners of his mouth.
She wanted to shrink back, to spin around and hide behind a lodge. Or better yet, run back to their horses and ride home. But instead, she offered a kind nod and moved her gaze away from him.
There were a dozen or more riders, maybe closer to twenty. Another figure near the rear of the group caught her attention. It couldn’t be who she’d thought at first glance. Her mind had so latched onto her heart’s longing for Joseph, she was seeing him everywhere now. The figure wore a fur skin coat like the other men’s, although it seemed fashioned more like a white man’s coat than the loose robes the Indians wore.
It was probably the copper colored horse he rode that made her see Joseph in the man. And that special set to his shoulders she’d studied for day after day on their journey from Fort Hamilton.
As the Indians moved nearer, the lead horses began to pass her. Yet she couldn’t take her gaze from the man in the back of the group.
People thronged around her, and Antoine’s voice sounded just behind her. He spoke in French, the words roughly translating to “I cannot believe my eyes.”
She spun to look at him. Did he think it was Joseph, too? Or did his comment refer to something else entirely?
Antoine’s gaze dropped to hers with an absent-minded smile, then raised back up to the Indians. Or rather, to the man in the back who looked like Joseph.
He was within twenty strides of her now, his posture relaxed as he scanned the crowd, somewhat bemused by the excitement. She’d seen that look on Joseph’s face before. It had to be him.
Then his gaze landed on her, locking with hers. The shock that swept over his face lasted only a moment, then slipped behind a mask as he pulled his focus from her and pointed it at the horse in front of him.
She kept her focus on him as he passed by and until several horses and riders separated them. Soon, the riders disbursed as the throng swallowed them up.
Monti turned to Antoine, who gave her a knowing look. “We must talk to Fighting Elk and his brother. Then we will seek out our friend.”
She nodded. Give me strength, Lord.
When they reached Fighting Elk’s lodge, the young squaw stood outside gesturing to the two men with one hand while she held the ropes of their two horses with her other. The animals dozed behind her, loaded with bundles wrapped in animal skins. All three people seemed to see Antoine and her at the same time and ceased talking as they approached.
The squaw walked toward them, leading the horses behind her. She came near Monti and touched her arm, then motioned for Monti to accompany her.
What now? Monti glanced at Antoine, who nodded.
“Go with her. I think she wants to give me a private moment to discuss matters with the men.”
The woman motioned again, and Monti forced herself to turn and follow. They walked in silence toward the edge of the camp where a cluster of horses stood. When they neared the other animals, the woman handed one of the ropes to Monti, then started to unfasten the leather bindings holding the furs on her horse’s back.
She motioned toward the animal Monti held, apparently wanting her to do the same. Within a few minutes, they had both horses turned loose with the others and were carrying the packs back toward the lodge. It might have been easier to remove these when the horses had been standing by the teepee, except that the squaw had been in such a hurry to get her away.
As they walked, Monti pointed toward herself and spoke her name. The woman jabbed at her own chest and spoke a string of syllables that sounded something like “Dashanashi.”
Monti tried to repeat the sounds back to her, but she must have butchered the word.
The Indian woman smiled, then pointed at herself again and said, “Dashi.”
“Dashi.” Monti repeated the shortened version. Much easier to pronounce.
The squaw smiled again, then nodded. Apparently, that was close enough.
As they neared Dashi’s lodge, Monti forced herself not to drop back. The braves still stood outside and seemed to be talking to Antoine with hand signals.
Dashi motioned for Monti to place her load at the edge of their camp, which she did.
Antoine motioned her over. “I have told them of the importance of shared faith between man and wife. Thunder Rumbles understands, as his beliefs are important to him, as well.”
A weight seemed to slip off her shoulders, and she glanced at the man in question. He eyed Antoine, as though trying to make out his words. Not once did his gaze slip to her.
Antoine touched her arm and leaned closer as his voice softened. “They have invited me to smoke the pipe and tell of our faith. Why don’t you find Monsieur Malcom while I share with these men?”
She nodded, trying to keep her expression passive. Not an easy feat with her emotions swirling like a windstorm.
~ ~ ~
JOSEPH STOOD TALKING to Three Shadows, the brave who’d invited him to join their hunt. It had seemed like a good way to get his mind off Monti. The last thing he’d expected was to run into her here in the camp.
He should mount his horse and ride off now before she approached him. Except that would be the coward’s way of handling this situation. He did enough things he hated. He didn’t need to add being a coward to the list.
There. Monti appeared around the corner of a lodge, every inch the French princess she’d always been. She saw him then, her chin notching up as she marched straight toward him. So brave and pretty and headstrong.
She stopped in front of him, and he had to fight the urge to step forward and pull her closer. Press his mouth to hers and taste the sweetness he’d dreamed about for a week and a half. A breeze blew the loose tendrils of her hair across her face, adding to the stubborn independence plainly showing there.
He had to be the one to speak first. He knew that. He’d left without a farewell, an insult that was his to make right. He swallowed to summon moisture back into his mouth. “Hello.” A great orator, he was not.
“Hello.” Her voice wasn’t harsh but lacked its usually softness. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“I saw Three Shadows in the mountains.” He motioned toward his friend, but the man had walked away. Probably to give them privacy. “He invited me on the hunt. What brings you to this village?”
She raised her brows. “We were checking on Hollow Oak and had some other business.”
It might have been the cold, but her face seemed to color with her words. “How is she? Do you still think it’s a heart condition?”
She nodded. “Simeon sent a concoction of herbals that seem to have helped some. At least she’s up and moving now.”
He frowned. “She’s been abed all this time?” That would be unusual for any youngster, especially a hardy Indian child.
“For almost a week I think.”
His chest squeezed at the thought of the little one in pain. “What else can be done for her?”
Lines formed across her brow. “We’re doing everything I know, and she seems to be progressing. I hope it’s enough. I pray it’s enough.”
Silence settled between them, and he struggled for something to say. There was so much, but everything he thought of brought his mind back to their kiss.
At last, he asked, “Where’s the priest?”
She glanced behind her, as though checking to see. Then she turned back to him. “He’s speaking with Thunder Rumbles...and Fighting Elk.” She didn’t meet his eye. “They have asked...about his faith.”
Something wasn’t right there. The way she wouldn’t meet his gaze, her hands clasping tightly around themselves. And more color seemed to have flooded her face than could be attributed to the cold. His gut told him to dig deeper.
“Fighting Elk is the father of Hollow Oak?” He waited her response.
She nodded.
“And Thunder Rumbles is...?”
She glanced behind her again. Was it so he couldn’t see her face? “He’s the brother of Fighting Elk.”
“Do you know these men?”
“I’ve only met them a couple of times.”
“It’s a wonder they’ve agreed to hear Father Bergeron. What happened to encourage them?”
She did meet his gaze then, raising her chin in a stubborn jut. Something about the look in her eyes made his gut tighten. “Thunder Rumbles asked for my hand in marriage. Antoine let him know our faith discourages yoking with an unbeliever, so he asked for details of our beliefs.”
Even though he’d prepared for a blow, her words slammed into him, shaking him all the way to his core. So many thoughts churned in his mind, but he forced his voice to remain calm. “You aren’t considering marrying him if he converts?” Perhaps his tone was too calm. Almost lethal in its lack of emotion.
She still held his gaze, but her eyes softened a touch. “I hadn’t planned to marry anyone.”
He couldn’t begin to explain the relief her words brought on. Yet, not completely.
A commotion sounded behind him. Someone yelling, a child screaming.
He whirled, trying to decipher the Indian words. Children were running from the trees, waving and calling frantically. When he caught the word dead, his instincts came alive.
Sprinting toward the children, he signed for them to tell him what was wrong.
The youths crowded around him and pulled at his arms, but couldn’t seem to calm enough to answer him.
One of the older children motioned him to follow and said something that sounded like Hollow Oak’s Indian name. A pit of dread filled his stomach, and he glanced backward to see where Monti was.
Right behind him.
She’d grown especially attached to the child. If something had happened to Hollow Oak—if she’d died—the last thing he wanted was Monti with him when he found the scene.
He motioned her back. “Stay here. I’ll go see what’s wrong.”
She shook her head. “I’ll come too. Maybe I can help.”
Other Indians were running from the village now, and every moment might mean the difference for the child.
He turned back to the youth. “Show me.”
They ran through the snow, into the forest of lodgepole pine and cedar. The other children straggled behind, but the youth he followed ran like a mountain lion. Long strides stretching as he wove through the trees.
At last, they reached a narrow river. The surface had frozen over except for a small hole at the bank where the ice was broken.
A hole just the size of a little girl.
He slid down the steep part of the embankment, then dropped to his knees on the jut of land at the edge of the water and peered in. The ice was three or four inches thick, and the water underneath looked dark from the shadows, but relatively clear.
No sign of a person.
He turned back to the youth, pointing into the water. “Hollow Oak is in there?”
The lad shook his head and motioned down the river a little, where the steep embankment met the water. The river’s flow had eaten away at the lower part of the earth, making a sort of ledge under which a small figure now lay slumped on the ice.
Monti saw her first and rushed to the place where the jut of land ended, still four or five feet from the girl. They would have to crawl out on the ice to reach her.
“Don’t, Monti.” He made it to her and grabbed her waist so she didn’t do something foolish. “The ice won’t hold you.”
“I have to get to her. She’s passed out. If we don’t do something to fix her heart, she’ll die.” She struck at him, landing a hard blow in his chest. Harder than he’d expected, and it punched the breath out of him.
She took advantage of that slight distraction to squirm free from his arms. She dropped to her knees and scooted onto the ice.
“Monti.” He sank to his own hands and knees, then grabbed her skirt, barely registering the familiar brown wool he’d bought at the Fort Hamilton trading post all those weeks ago. “Come back.”
She reached the girl and gathered her into her arms. The child’s head hung backward as Monti cradled her, all her limbs falling limp.
He eyed the ice, but no cracks seemed to be working out from beneath her. Of course, he knew from experience the ice could suddenly give way without any previous sign of weakness. He’d almost lost his sister from a sudden fall through the ice, and the memories created a swirl of panic in his chest. “Monti, please. Ease your way back now.”
She did as he asked, and he didn’t breathe until she and the child inched onto solid ground.
He helped her settle Hollow Oak in her arms. The girl still lay unconscious, and her body was cold, so cold. The bile churning in his gut rose up into his throat.
She couldn’t be... Surely she was not dead.
