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Many things I have learned, yet what I don’t know still haunts me.
~ Mary
THE TREK TO GATHER wood had been just what Mary needed to invigorate her senses. Although it had winded her more than the simple hike should have.
She took over preparations of the food, dishing out the meat and leftover beans on the two trenchers Thomas had carved their first winter in the mountains.
Lockman took the dish she handed him and settled cross-legged beside the hearth. “It looks good enough to eat.” He raised his platter as if in toast and gave her a grin that showed smile lines at the corners of his eyes and even, white teeth.
Maybe it was the fact she hadn’t seen a grin like that in months, but his look raised a flutter in her chest. She dropped her gaze to her food. “Where are you headed from here, Monsieur Lockman?” That would be a better path for her thoughts.
“I’d planned to travel northwest, as far as I can go in a month’s time. Then I’ll come back and settle in a valley I found about a week ago.”
She jerked her head up. “A valley? Where?” She knew where he meant, even without asking. Anyone who laid eyes on the wide stretch of land a couple day’s ride to the east would long for a home there. Thomas had entertained notions of it, but he’d not been the type to settle down. Certainly not with a ranch and all its responsibilities that would tie him in one place.
Lockman motioned toward the east. “It was about five days’ walk, through a narrow trail between the mountains.”
That was the one.
She studied him, with his dark eyes and black hair. He had the look of a Frenchman, no doubt. His eyes held a touch of sparkle, and he seemed to always have those faint creases at the corners. Maybe she noticed it now because they lit with an inner enthusiasm. She knew that enthusiasm, had felt it when she’d first seen that stretch of valley four years ago.
But she’d let her dream die as she realized it would never come to pass. And now, she kept her expression impassive as she took another bite of beans.
“And what of you, Madame Standish? Were you from the Canadas before coming out here?”
Should she tell him anything? She had nothing to hide. He’d already realized she was here alone, so nothing else about her could lead to danger. She loaded beans onto a slab of meat. “I grew up in the States. Maryland. Came up here after I married.”
“Really? How long ago was that?” He was the curious type, for sure.
“About four years.” She took another bite, intentionally not looking at him.
“So you’ve lived in these mountains four years? What did your husband do to earn your living?” He spoke in the past tense, as though he knew Thomas had passed. But of course he would think her widowed. She’d given him her married name, and no decent husband would leave his wife to die in a blizzard if he could help it. Anyone would assume the man must be deceased.
“We trapped for the Hudson Bay Company.” She took a sip of the water she’d melted earlier from snow.
“Is your husband...?” And there came the question.
Should she answer him? Remove any doubt that she was alone with no one who might return for her? Maybe not just yet.
So she pretended to understand the question a different way. “We worked together. Took turns checking the traps and working the hides. Thomas handled the bartering, and I did most of the cooking. A decent living.”
He didn’t respond, but she could feel the questions that must be churning in his mind. How had she gone from the life she described to fainting on her own doorstep, starving and half-frozen? That wasn’t a tale she was ready to offer just yet.
“And what of you? You’re from Old France?” She eyed him, watching for signs he might cover up something in his story.
A look of amusement flickered through his eyes. “I am. And I am pleased you can tell me apart from these Canadian ruffians.” He paused as if waiting for her to explain how she knew his home country.
She shrugged. “It was a guess. Most French Canadians speak at least a little English. And the way you pronounce things is a bit different than I learned.”
He leaned forward. “And how is it you know my language? You speak it well for an American.”
She poked at her food, letting the memories filter back through her. “We wintered in a little fort a couple years ago. Most of the men there were Voyageurs from Montreal. They only spoke a little English, so we learned French. They would sit at night and tell story after story about their travels and the trading with the Indians.”
“I can only imagine the tales. I saw a few Indians at the forts on my way here. They appeared to be a regal sort of people, but the stories I’ve heard make them sound savage.”
The image of one of the women from the fort slipped into her mind, bringing a smile. “Their ways were different, but I never thought of them as savage. One of the trappers married a woman from the Ojibwa tribe. I never could pronounce her Indian name, so I called her Neengay like some of the others called her. She was the daughter of a great chief and did a lot of the trading with her husband. What she accomplished was exceptional.”
She glanced up at him, meeting his curious gaze. “But you didn’t finish telling me of your background, Monsieur Lockman. Why is it you came across the ocean?”
He nodded. “My apologies. France has become so...” He seemed to struggle for the right word. “There is much political turmoil. Everyone seeking power and willing to stop at nothing to obtain it. I was nearly caught up in another rebellion last summer and finally decided there must be a better place. A place without corrupt governments and constant uprisings.
“So, I boarded a ship for the Canadas and landed in Québec. I had thought to stay there, but the place reminded me too much of Paris, only less civilized. I boarded another boat to take me down the Ottawa River, then kept moving farther inland. I found Domino at one of the forts and knew he was meant to be my companion.” He had that look in his eye, the thirst for adventure she’d first seen in Thomas. That look could be contagious, she knew from experience. Yet it felt different on this man.
She forced herself to push aside those thoughts. “You have no family that would hold you to France?”
“Only a mother, but she’s been comfortably settled with my uncle and his family for many years now. She did not wish to leave her life there.”
No father? No wife and children? Perhaps that would be prying too far to ask.
She took another bite of meat, and silence settled over them as they ate. Each bite held such flavor, she almost closed her eyes to relish the taste.
As she scooped the last of the beans from her trencher, Lockman rose and moved toward the fire. He grabbed one of the last chunks of meat and turned to her, then placed it on her plate.
“Oh...no.” She tried to pull her tray back. “We should save that. You’ll need to take provisions with you.”
But he’d already dumped the food and returned to his seat, focusing on the trencher in front of him. “You need to eat to regain your strength. I’ve saved a lot of the meat for us tomorrow. What I cooked tonight is to be eaten tonight.”
He finally looked up at her, a defiant set to his jaw.
Well, she could be more stubborn than he. She lowered her trencher to her lap. “I’ll go out tomorrow and check my traps. They’ll provide me plenty of food for weeks to come.”
“That’s good. So you should eat up now to prepare your strength for that trek tomorrow.”
She squared her shoulders to fight back, but the words prepare your strength found home somewhere deep in her chest. It wasn’t her strength she had to worry about, it was the little one inside her. If the child had survived her near starvation, this little fighter needed all the strength she could give him.
She reached for the meat and took a bite.
~ ~ ~
THE NEXT MORNING DIDN’T dawn, it blew in with an icy fury. Adrien listened to the wind attack the cabin as he lay in his bedroll. Would the structure withstand the gusts, each seeming more intent on destruction than the one before? No doubt there was snow blowing on that wind, thick enough to block one’s vision.
At least Madame Standish wouldn’t expect him to leave first thing this morning, as she’d suggested the night before. She wouldn’t be able to check her traps as she’d planned either. It was a good thing he’d saved meat from that fox and still had a few supplies in his pack. He was starting to see how this weather could have driven her to the point where she had no food or firewood left.
He pushed his covers aside and sat up. A movement rustled on the pallet across the room, but he forced himself not to look there. He should probably hang a blanket to allow her more privacy. Later today, he’d get it done. There likely wouldn’t be much to occupy him if the weather was as bad as he imagined.
After stoking the fire, he bundled himself and took the pot outside. He could attend to personal matters, then gather clean snow to melt for breakfast.
He had corncake batter ready to scoop into circles by the time Madame Standish sat up on her pallet. The fire seemed to heat his face twice over as her gaze tracked his movements. What did she think of him? Based on her wariness, perhaps he didn’t want to know.
Still, surely he’d proven he didn’t plan to take advantage of her. Surely her suspicions were beginning to wane. Or maybe he needed to do more to convince her. Hanging the blanket to allow her privacy might be a step. He’d have to look for more ways, too.
For now, he allowed himself to glance her way. “Good morning. Sleep well?”
She nodded. Once again, she’d slept in her clothes and coat. In fact, he’d never seen her without the outerwear bundling her tight. But above the furskin coat, her face held a sleepy look that tightened his chest. Her rumpled hair had pulled loose from her braid, giving her a look of innocence that showed just how young she must be. Five and twenty? Maybe even younger.
And she’d been left to fend for herself in this massive wilderness. She’d not said what happened to her husband, but he could only assume the man had died. Had Monsieur Standish ever considered what would happen to this beautiful woman he left behind?
Her gaze wandered up to the rafters as another gust of wind howled through the space between the logs. He used the interruption to turn back to his work with the food.
“It sounds like another blizzard is here.” The sigh in her voice was plain.
“It’s not as bad as the other day. Only a little snow falling, and you can still see decently far.” He scooped a final circle of batter into the pot and positioned it in the fire near the thickest coals.
“For now. It’ll get worse before the day’s over.” She rose and straightened her fur coverings, then moved toward the door, probably to attend to her morning ministrations.
She might be right about the blizzard. Which meant he needed to gather enough wood early, while he still could. As soon as they’d both eaten, he’d get moving.
The corncakes cooked slowly since the fire was still regaining warmth, yet Madame Standish hadn’t returned by the time he scooped the second batch of cakes out of the pan.
Had the snowfall turned to a blizzard? Could she not find her way back to the cabin? Or maybe she’d been attacked by a wild animal starving from the intense winter.
After setting the plate of corn cakes on the corner of the hearth, he grabbed his gloves and pushed to his feet. Something wasn’t right. The woman might need him.
He scooped up his rifle on his way outside, then hung the latch string over the door as he closed it. The leather strip flapped as the wind gusted. He pulled his fur cap lower over his head and ears, then tugged his coat higher so the wind couldn’t slip under it.
A scan of the snow around them showed no sign of tracks, neither his nor Madame Standish’s. The wind and blowing snow must have obliterated them, leaving him no hint of where the woman had gone.
There was no movement around the lake in the far distance, nor the mountain ranges on either side of the cabin. So, he strode around to check behind the building.
She wasn’t there either. The blowing snow cloaked the distant mountains with a fog-like haze, but he could still make out the V in the cliffs that formed the gap he’d traveled through to get here. And a little farther to the right, the trees where he’d been gathering wood and made the shelter for Domino. Had she gone to check the mule?
He’d travel faster with snowshoes, but they took so long to lace on, he might reach the trees just as quickly without. And he didn’t have the patience for them right now.
Clutching his rifle in one hand, he started through the knee-high snow. Why hadn’t she said she was leaving before traipsing off?
A few minutes into the journey, he was huffing from struggling through the icy snow, the bitter air searing his lungs with each inhale. He should have grabbed his muffler to shield his face. He paused to catch his breath and check for any sign of the woman. The trees still looked to be at least as far away as he’d traveled.
He raised his hands to cup his mouth and called out, “Madame Standish!” His words tried to stretch across the expanse, but the wind and snow seemed to soak them in.
He had to reach those trees. Surely she would be there.
If not... Well, he couldn’t imagine what he’d do if not.
