Faith in the Mountain Valley Page 5

  Straightening, she turned to him and strengthened her voice. "Now you see why it's important for me to keep my disguise as a man out here."

  He studied her as though trying to work something out in his mind. "I don't see. But on that topic, it would help if you tell me everything our companions know about you. That way I can be careful not to let on more than you want." His brows drew together. "They call you Mignon?"

  She nodded. She’d taken that name from a trader in one of the forts she’d skirted. "They really don't know much more than that. I’m a young man who wants to earn some money trapping. I'm willing to do my part in the group. I have a better gun than theirs and a small gunsmithing kit with extra parts. I've been working on Hawk Wing’s fusee as a little extra payment for allowing me to come along."

  His brows shot up. "You're a gunsmith now too?" His tone held surprise and maybe a little admiration.

  She certainly didn't deserve the latter. She shook her head. "Not a gunsmith. I learned by working on them. Not hard to do once you understand the mechanics. The fusee is a simple weapon."

  "And trapping? You learned that by doing it too? You taught yourself how to find the animal trails and where to place your bait? And how to skin an animal to leave the fur intact, then scrape and work the furs to make them the finest quality?"

  Now he was pressing too far. And that might have been a hint of derision in his tone.

  She shrugged. "Young Bear let me follow him the first few times he set his traps. Hawk Wing too. They’ve all given me helpful advice here and there."

  Jean-Jacques nodded and turned his gaze forward, toward the trees and the river beyond. "Those are nice traps you have. One of the best designs I've seen. They look like they were made by a blacksmith who specializes in snares. Must have cost you a pretty penny."

  What was he insinuating now? That she'd stolen them? She hadn't. Not really. "They were…" She stopped herself before my husband's slipped out. "…a gift from a friend."

  Raphael hadn't made them for her, but they'd been stock he was building up in preparation for the rendezvous. What was his had lawfully become hers at his death, right? Or maybe they should have passed along to his brothers. No way to change that now. Hugh and Louis would have taken everything else.

  "A fine gift." The tension in his tone eased, his voice sounding more like his old self. "Whoever made them must have been a talented blacksmith indeed."

  She nodded but couldn't trust herself to speak. Raphael had been talented with his work, his traps sought after by men all up and down the Hudson Bay line. If his drinking hadn't gotten in the way, he might have earned the riches he’d dreamed of.

  Silence settled again between them. She should go work some of her older furs.

  But Jean-Jacques straightened before she managed to. "I came out here to look for onion grass to add flavor to a stew. Guess I'd better get moving."

  He pushed to his feet, and she did too, but so much clumsier than he. The baby made it hard to bend as easily. "You volunteered to cook the evening meal?” If he knew what to add in the stew pot to soften the taste of wild game, she'd be happy to learn from him.

  "Volunteered to be the camp keeper. That means every meal." He bent down and scooped up her hat. Thankfully, he didn't step near her to place it on her head. Just held it out.

  "You really meant that? Have you spoken to Young Bear?"

  He dipped his chin in a nod. "Right before I came out here." Then that familiar smile tipped one side of his mouth. “Had to do something to sweeten the idea of me sticking around. If you can mend guns, I can do the cooking."

  A smile tickled her own mouth, but she pressed her lips to hold back. "Well then, far be it from me to stop you."

  But keeping her secrets from Jean-Jacques would prove much harder the longer he stayed.

  Chapter 6

  Colette’s belly roiled as she sat up in the early morning light. Would this nausea never end?

  She reached for a bite of meat from the pack behind her. Elk Runs, Hawk Wing, and Cross the River had already left to check their traps, and Left Standing slipped the strap of his carrying pouch over his head as he prepared to follow them.

  Young Bear sat on his pallet with a buffalo robe wrapped around his shoulders. The night had been colder than other recent ones, and the chill still lingered, clouding her breath in front of her.

  Jean-Jacques had risen with the other men and knelt over the fire. He'd already retrieved a pot of water from the river, and it sat nestled among the flames. Hopefully he was planning something warm to break their fast. What she wouldn't give for a hearty batch of Johnny cakes. Or even better, a freshly baked breton galette or croissant. The thought knotted a pain in her belly, and she tugged another bite of meat from the chunk with her teeth. At least roasted beaver had flavor, though she was sick to death of the taste.

  Or maybe just sick. The familiar nausea churned again in her middle, and she inhaled a deep gulp of chilly air. That usually made the sensation subside.

  After a few more minutes to fill her belly with meat, she reached for her hat. Without water, the dried meat was enough to choke a body. She rose and grabbed her cup from her pack, then stepped to the fire.

  Jean-Jacques turned a warm smile up at her. "Morning." His voice held an extra rumble from sleep, and its intimacy drew her nearer. As much as she wanted to crouch beside him, that wasn't such an easy task these days. Not with the way her balance shifted more each week. So she settled for returning his smile with her own "Good morning."

  Having him bedded down at the head of her pallet had been a comfort last night—just knowing he was near. She'd been a little worried he might pull out a flask during the evening meal, but he didn’t. And he showed no signs of carrying whiskey. That didn't mean he wouldn't drink when the opportunity arose, but at least she wouldn't have to worry about it every night. Jean-Jacques's father had been an awful drunk, which was one of the main reasons they'd spent so much time together early on—Jean-Jacques trying to escape the misery that consumed his home.

  He reached for her cup, and she handed it over. "I couldn't find coffee beans in the food pack. I'll keep an eye out for sassafras leaves for tea, but all I have to drink for now is warm water."

  She should've also been watching for some kind of leaves or bark to use for a tea. But she'd been more focused on survival than comfort. "Water is fine."

  As she sipped, she peeked over his shoulder at what he was working with on the flat rock. Some kind of batter.

  "I found some parched corn in a little bag at the bottom of the pack, so I ground it up for cornmeal. It won't make many corn cakes, but at least it’ll be hearty. Thought we'd have a bit of fresh meat with it.”

  Just the thought of some form of bread curled through her belly, tightening the ache of hunger. "That sounds wonderful."

  Her tone must've been a bit too dreamy—or maybe desperate—for Jean-Jacques tipped a smile up at her before focusing again on his work. "I hope it is. I guess we'll see."

  It would be several minutes before his fare was ready, and her morning needs pressed. She’d eaten enough meat from her pack to hold her a little while, so she headed toward the woods. After seeing to her ministrations, men's loud voices drew her toward the river.

  Angry voices—at least one of them. The other seemed calmer.

  When she stepped through the brush to the water’s edge, the four men who'd gone to check their traps stood in a loose circle. Hawk Wing spoke in angry tones, waving his hand toward his traps across the river. His Blackfoot words cascaded in a fierce ripple, so quick she had no chance of deciphering any sounds.

  A figure stepped through trees from the trail leading toward camp. Young Bear. Probably coming to see what the ruckus was about. Jean-Jacques followed him and cast a glance toward Colette. Was that relief in his expression? Maybe he thought the men were speaking so loudly to her.

  He raised his brows and shot a glance toward Hawk Wing, as if asking what the problem was.


  She shrugged, then turned her focus back to the braves.

  Young Bear asked a question, his tone commanding and calm. Always the voice of reason. He was one of the reasons she’d decided to join with this group. Men who were ruled by a calm leader would be easier to get along with. And the others seemed to respect him well.

  Hawk Wing answered his elder in a tone that held a little less anger, though indignation still rose off him.

  Left Standing noticed her then and took a step away from the group toward her. He sometimes translated when the others were speaking their native tongue. She closed the distance between them. Jean-Jacques drew near too, and Left Standing spoke to them both.

  "Three of his traps had the catch stolen from them. He says we should leave this place. Go to where predators are not so hungry."

  Leave again? They'd ridden for two days solid before finding this valley. And before that, they’d barely stayed in one location more than a day, or two at the most. So long in the saddle made her bones ache. Finding new places for traps took time. The thought of more travel, then starting all over again, made the strength seep from her bones.

  "How does he know the catch was stolen? Does he suspect what animal might've taken it?" Jean-Jacques’s tone stayed calm. Inquisitive. Would he mention her own trap where the catch had been taken? He'd even found the kill site, so maybe he had a suspicion what animal it was. But if he spoke of this, it would add more reason for the group to move on.

  Left Standing glanced at the others for a minute. Hawk Wing was still spluttering on, motioning across the river again. "He says there were bits of hair by the traps, proof the prey was taken. He found places where the catch was eaten. He says he lost three good beaver this night."

  Young Bear finally began speaking, and they all quieted to listen. Colette could pick out a few words, but nothing that made sense together.

  After a moment, the leader glanced their way. Maybe he was realizing they had no idea what he said. He switched to broken English. It seemed most of these men knew more English than French, so that was the mutual tongue they mostly used.

  "We have found good trapping here in this valley, better than any camp in the last moon. If we leave this place, we may not find so good again."

  "What good are full traps if we are not allowed to empty them ourselves?" Hawk Wing must have recovered control of his temper enough to speak English also.

  "We all will choose. Go or stay?" Young Bear pointed first to Elk Runs, who seemed to hold the position of second in command sometimes.

  "Stay and see if this bad thing continues."

  Young Bear nodded, then pointed to Cross the River.

  "Stay for now."

  The older man pointed to Hawk Wing, who’d done an admirable job holding his tongue until his turn. "Go. As soon as we dress our morning catch. We should find a new place to set our traps before dark."

  Young Bear turned and pointed to Left Standing.

  "I wish to stay here for now."

  Then Young Bear looked at her, and warmth slipped through her. They were giving her a voice, as an equal. Or…mostly so. She was being asked last, which would be the place of the youngest of the group.

  She adjusted her voice to the deeper tone. "Stay for now." She always tried to use as few words as necessary when speaking.

  The vote was confirmed then. But instead of stating that fact, Young Bear turned to Jean-Jacques. Was he being asked his opinion as well?

  Jean-Jacques gave a nod of acknowledgement. "I will be content with what you all choose. If I am given a voice, I would wish to stay here until we see whether this predator lingers." Well spoken.

  Young Bear seemed to think so too. With a nod, he turned back to the braves in front of him. "We will stay here for now. If this stealing continues, we will leave this place.”

  Relief swept through her. Let the varmint leave us, Lord. Please.

  French slid a glance at the gray clouds edging toward them as he used his knife to flesh a muskrat hide. Most of the group had already finished with their morning catch. Only he, Colette, and Left Standing still worked by the river.

  The air smelled of rain, but hopefully they could finish these last tasks before taking cover. There wouldn't be much shelter out here—only trees. He should have taken time to stretch an oilskin, but he hadn't.

  For his part, he didn't mind a little wet. He’d already draped furs over everyone’s packs so no water could soak them. But it would be nice to give Colette a place to stay dry.

  He sent a glance toward her. She wore that twisted grimace he was becoming accustomed to as she scraped her hides. The expression would be cute if it weren't for how hard she had to work at the job.

  Even if he made a shelter, she probably wouldn't take cover in it. Would probably think that made her look unmanly.

  The thought went down like sour milk. She didn't need to be out here suffering, not when he could take care of her. Not when he wanted to take care of her.

  Maybe he should simply tell her that. Tell her he still felt the same way about her as when they’d promised themselves to each other at thirteen. She didn't have to pretend to be a man and do such distasteful work. They could head north again, find the first town with a preacher, and get married.

  Or better yet, they could ride west across the mountains and catch up with his friends. Let Caleb perform the ceremony, since he was an ordained minister. Then go wherever Colette's heart desired.

  Certainty grew inside him with every stroke. That's exactly what he would do. Why hadn't he already done it? Maybe Colette didn't think he felt the same. Perhaps she didn't want to hold him to their childhood promise.

  To his right, Left Standing straightened from his work and eyed the darkening sky. "Rain comes soon." The man placed the bundle he'd been working on with his others from today and stood.

  As the fellow started down the trail to the camp, French glanced at Colette, but she hadn't lifted her focus from her work. "Want to head back to camp before we get wet out here?"

  She shook her head and didn't stop working. "We'll get wet there too. Need to finish this last one."

  Stubborn, as he’d suspected.

  He'd only made two more swipes on his hide before fat drops began peppering his face. "There it comes." He scooped up his hides and the meat that needed cooked. "Let's get under the trees."

  The drops fell faster now, turning into a deluge.

  When he shifted to help Colette, she was folding up the hide she'd been working on. He scooped up the stack of furs at her feet, and she grabbed her bundle of meat and her pack.

  Raindrops pounded in a thick curtain, as though a dam had broken in the sky. They ran toward the trees, moving into the densest part where the shelter would be best.

  By the time they reached decent tree cover, he was panting. So was she.

  Rain battered the new spring leaves on the trees above them, with some drops breaking through to pellet their heads. He lowered his bundles to the ground, then grabbed the largest fur he’d worked that morning, turning it hair side down.

  "Here, move closer." He held one end over his head, leaving a spot for her to tuck beside him under the shelter.

  She set her bundles on the ground. "I'm already drenched."

  Her hat had protected a little circle around her collar, but the rest of her buckskin outfit had turned dark. Clearly sodden.

  He shifted to widen the spot for her. "This is better than nothing."

  She stopped arguing and moved in close to his side under the fur. The leather of her sleeve brushed his own buckskin tunic, but she didn't press in beside him.

  He didn't bother with such carefulness. Just leaned over so the covering sheltered her more fully. His arm that held the fur looped behind her, and he let his elbow rest lightly on her shoulder. He had no idea how long this downpour would last, and it wouldn't be easy to hold the fur overhead longer than a few minutes.

  She must have realized that, for she reached up and gripped the hide
near his hand. "I can hold this side."

  The brim of her hat blocked her face from his view, and with the noise from the rain pattering around them, he couldn't hear whether there was tension in her voice from their nearness, or if she was simply being considerate.

  He dropped his hand from the fur but cupped the curve of her waist and shifted her a little in front of him, so they'd both be better protected. The rain was pounding fiercely, even under these trees. If she wanted to resist his touch, she would have to step into the torrent to do it.

  Though she didn't give in to his guiding easily, she didn't push him away. He kept his hand at her waist. Not a firm press. Light enough that maybe she didn't even feel it through her thick wet leathers.

  Still, with her warmth under his fingers, every one of his senses came alive and blazing. That confounded hat was in his face, but he could ignore it with the sheer pleasure of having Colette so close to him. Her shoulder pressed his chest. Barely a brush, but his heart pounded double time.

  The rain didn't last nearly long enough. Though his arm holding up the fur on his side complained, he would've gladly stayed in his wet clothes for hours to have her so near. If the rain weren’t pounding so loudly, this would be a good time to speak to her about the promise they’d made all those years ago. But something in her manner gave him pause. She didn’t seem ready quite yet.

  He breathed in a deep breath. He'd gotten used to the scent of trail grime a long time ago, but Colette’s flavor was sweeter than most. Everything about this woman drew him in. How long could he keep pretending she wasn’t a woman?

  Chapter 7

  As French had feared, the moment the rain trickled to a steady dripping, Colette stepped away from him. Far too quickly for his liking.

  She didn't look at him, just bent to gather her things. That hat still blocked his view of her face. Had she so hated being near him? What disease had he contracted that she no longer seemed drawn to him as she had when they were young? Why wouldn't she trust him?