Man of the Mountain Ch. 01

Wyoming Territory, 1868

Beatrice

Moving with her sister and her new husband out west had once sounded exciting to Beatrice. However, the reality hardly matched up to her fantasies. Life on a wagon train was hard and tiresome not to mention dirty. For a Chicago girl who had been used to indoor plumbing and having maids to cook all of her meals, collecting buffalo chips and going days without having a full bath was something she found difficult to get used to.

Her sister, Clara, seemed content though. She and her husband Elam were expecting to have a child in a couple of months. At the present moment they both sat on a bench beside the wagon eating their dinner of beans and rabbit. Clara had met Elam during the last year of the war while she served as a nurse in the Union army. Elam was an escaped slave who ran away at the start of the war to join the Union. Shortly after it ended Elam tracked Clara down to Chicago and proposed to her.

It had taken her parents a lot of convincing before they would allow her to marry Elam. The Bell's belonged to the elite class of wealthy blacks of their city and their daughter marrying a poor soldier and former slave was almost unthinkable. Eventually, though, their father had been won over by Elam's character. Their mother, however, had never gotten over it. She was even more unhappy when a few years later the couple decided to travel west for a homestead in California and invited Beatrice to come along with them.

Despite all of their mother's warnings of illness and Indian attacks the girls had decided to leave the safety of their home and embark on this new adventure. It had not been easy at first. No guide had wanted to take blacks and any other wagon train wouldn't accept them. Eventually, Elam and a few other black families had managed to find a scout who was willing to take them for a higher price. The man was a drunk and had twice gotten them lost but despite that they were making good time and were looking to be past the Rockies before the first snowfall.

Beatrice walked towards the happy couple carrying a bundle of buffalo chips in her apron. Enough to last them until tomorrow.

"Hello Clara," she dropped the chips. "Elam."

"Bea." Elam said as he tipped his hat towards her.

They moved down to make room for Beatrice on the bench before getting her a plate of food. There were seven other families on the wagon train with them. At night they all turned their wagons into a circle around a large fire. The women were responsible for gathering chips, water, and cooking all of the meals while the men looked after the animals and drove them. They had all gotten close since leaving Missouri. Many nights they would play music or tell stories to the children. On Sundays Clara and Beatrice would read the bible since they were the only two who could read.

Beatrice looked across the fire to see a friend of Elam's named Cole staring at her. It had become clear to Beatrice over the last few weeks that he fancied her. During the evenings when they finished traveling he would often volunteer to help with her chores. Once when they passed a field of wildflowers he picked some for her. Clara gently elbowed her side before leaning her head close to Beatrice's.

"He's been making eyes at you ever since we left St.Louis." Clara whispered. "You know he likes you, right?"

"I know he's even older than Elam is." Beatrice whispered back.

"And would make just as fine a husband, think on it." Clara said before taking her plate over near the wash buckets.

Beatrice smiled back at Cole before dipping her eyes back to her plate. That night there was no music or stories. They were all tired after traveling sixteen miles that day. After the dishes were washed and the animals fed they all turned in for the night. Clara and Elam shared a tent with a goose down mattress, a wedding gift from their father. Beatrice slept in the wagon to give them privacy. Many nights as she gazed up at the stars through the opening at the back of the canvass she felt a sense of loneliness come over her. She wondered what her new life in California would be like and it saddened her that she was unmarried. What purpose would she have with Clara and Elam?

Beatrice woke before the dawn to help make biscuits, coffee, and bacon. Today was Sunday so there would be no traveling. However, that didn't mean there was no work. Back in Chicago Beatrice was a teacher but now her work involved cooking, washing, and keeping the fire going. She was slowly learning that a woman's work never ended and even Sundays were not restful. However, she could not say she hated her experience. Her days were spent under open skies and her nights around a campfire with friends. She had lost some of the stifling propriety since coming west and all in all life was much more enjoyable.

After breakfast they all sat around in their best clothing as Beatrice and Clara read the bible. Both of them wore simple cotton dresses with a few petticoats in order to fit in with the rest of the women and kept their finer clothing and hoop skirts in a couple of trunks in the wagon. When their sermons were over the men went to fish in a nearby creek while the ladies did the laundry upstream. Word was circulated that there would be a dance that night. Clara and Beatrice were both excited as they missed the balls and galas back in Chicago.

That night after supper Clara and Beatrice helped some of the other women in the train get dressed in some of the gowns they brought with them from Chicago. They had all taken a bath in the creek and plated their hair. The girls gushed at seeing each other dressed so finely. Many in the train were freed slaves who had traveled north for a better life. They never imagined wearing tailored dresses of silk and velvet. Clara wore a simple pink empire dress that allowed her to be comfortable with her baby bulge while Beatrice wore a gold colored silk dress with black lace trim. Her shoulders were covered but it left a little of her cleavage exposed.

Beatrice was in front of a small mirror fixing her hair into a chignon. She usually wore her thick hair in a braid and a bonnet on top but tonight she dressed it up for the dance. As she was pinning black pearls into her hair Clara came up behind her and hugged her.

"You look beautiful, Beatrice." Said her sister.

She smiled and hugged her sister back before leaning in to whisper to her.

"I thought about our conversation," she paused before going on. "and I decided if Cole asks for my hand I will say yes."

"Good," Clara responded. "He's talking to Elam right now."

Elam had a banjo, Clara played her flute, and another person had a violin. They all danced around the fire and enjoyed themselves. All except their guide who usually separated himself from them. The music slowed down and Cole asked for her hand. He held her close in his arms as they danced and Beatrice could feel her heart racing. Looking into Cole's dark, handsome face she could picture herself as his wife. He was a lot older than her but he was gentle and sweet. Beatrice knew she could trust him. When their dance was over he took Beatrice aside. He shifted nervously from foot to foot before going down to one knee and removing his hat. He took her hands in his and looked up at her.

"Miss Beatrice I know im older than you and ain't as smart as you is," he began. "But if you would agree to be my wife I would sho be happy."

Beatrice heart swelled in her chest and her breath caught in her throat. She grasped his hands in hers. Before she could answer she heard a loud whopping noise and a gunshot. She turned to see their guide fire another bullet before he was shot in the chest with an arrow. Blood sputtered from his mouth before he stumbled back and fell into the fire. Chaos erupted after that. Everything was a flurry of horse hooves and arrows. She saw Clara standing behind Elam as he poured gunpowder into his rifle. She was wide eyed and terrified. He raised his gun and shot a brave who had come charging towards them. He was shot in the throat with an arrow by another warrior.

She heard Clara shrieking and ran towards her. Beatrice and Clara managed to escape under a wagon and run towards the tree line. Beatrice had no idea how long they'd been running but she was exhausted. Clara had a hard time keeping up and kept falling pulling Beatrice down with her. They had to stop. Beatrice wrapped her arms around Clara as they both sobbed. Neither heard the footsteps approaching. Clara's head slammed into Beatrice knocking her over onto her back. Beatrice looked down to see an arrow planted in the side of her sister's head. A cold chill ran up her spine and she lay frozen to the spot.

An arrow hit her shoulder and Beatrice felt a searing pain spread throughout her whole body. A man painted red and black came into view. His eyes were black and full of rage. The man raised the bow and pointed it towards her. Beatrice heard a shot come from behind her. The bullet struck as he released his arrow. It grazed Beatrice's skull but the force was enough to whip her head back onto a tree trunk, knocking her unconscious.

Maison

Maison hated traveling through Arapaho territory but it was the only way to get to the trading post to sell his furs and buy winter provisions. At one time a man could live peacefully in these parts trapping and trading, making a living from the land. But that was drastically changing. With the coming of the railroad and the influx of settlers The Indians were becoming more vigilant against the threat of their land being taken away. Their way of life going with it. His way of life was coming to an end as well. The fur trade was not as lucrative as it used to be and the amount he could sell his furs for lessened each year. If Maison didn't love living in the mountains so much he would have found another occupation.

On his way back to his cabin he rode towards a creek to replenish his water supply. Maison saw a huge fire in the distance and rode closer to it. He recognized the chanting and saw wagon tops aflamed. He decided to steer clear knowing that he could not fight that many braves on his own. He rode fast towards the tree line. Beyond there his cabin was only a day away. The darkness was closing in and Maison wanted to put as much distance between him and the party of warriors as he could.

At some point he had to stop and let his horse rest for a bit. He heard a sound and grabbed his gun, already loaded. He realized the sound was sobbing. He walked slowly towards it, ducking behind trees as he did so. Maison came upon two women crying in each others arms. Quicker than he could make out two arrows flew towards them. One hit a woman in the head and another hit the other woman in the shoulder making her scream out. Maison crouched down and aimed. The painted man pointed another arrow and they both shot their weapons at the same time.

Maison's bullet sank right between the eyes of the warrior. He stood up and walked towards the women. He was surprised to find that they were both black. He hadn't seen too many coming out west to settle. They were dressed finely in party dresses and petticoats, completely out of place in this rough terrain. He knew the lighter skin one was dead for sure. He saw how soulless her hazel eyes were. But the darker on was still alive, having just been grazed by the last arrow. He lifted the woman up and put her on his shoulder. They had to get out of here fast before the other warriors came looking for their friend.

His horse, Dancer, weaved through the trees as if she had done this hundreds of times before. He didn't stop for the night but just kept riding on. It was as if Dancer instinctively knew they were in danger. She didn't slow down once and showed no weariness. Maison held the young woman close to his chest as they rode. They made it there right before the dawn broke.

He put Dancer in the stable not bothering to unhitch her or put up the supplies. He needed to see to the woman before she bled out. He got a fresh bucket of water from the stream and headed back towards his cabin. The woman was remarkably still passed out. He broke the arrow in two and slowly removed it from her shoulder. He had to take off her bodice in order to clean the wound.

It had been so long since Maison had been with a woman that the sight of her dark breast under her lace chemise made him instantly aroused. There were whorehouses in some of the towns and logging camps but Maison did not like to visit them. The thought of being inside a woman that so many other men had been in was not appealing to him. He was much too territorial to ever share a woman with another. It had been a long fourteen years without sex but he had managed to overcome his lust... until now.

The trickle of blood brought his attention back. He grabbed a bottle of whiskey and opened it before taking a swig. He cut open her corset not wanting to waste the time unlacing it then removed her lace chemise. He tipped the bottle to pour some onto the wounds on her temple and shoulder. The woman woke up and began screeching and clawing at him.

Maison tried talking to her but she wouldn't stop. When she clawed his face he reflexively punched her, knocking her out. He cursed himself but at least now he could stitch up her wounds in peace. Maison had become sort of an expert at treating various ailments. One had to be out here where the nearest doctor was usually a few days ride away.

At some point she had pissed herself and Maison knew he had to bathe her. It would be harder for her to heal if she was dirty. Plus he didn't want to share a bed with her smelling like that. He gathered some chopped wood and started a fire in his wood stove. He put on a kettle of water and went out to the stables. By the time he finished feeding Dancer and bringing in the supplies he brought from the store, the water was already boiling. Maison mixed it in with some fresh water and a little shaved soap. He started with her upper regions then put another kettle of water to boil. He removed her skirt and petticoats along with her pantaloons.

He felt himself rising again and just focused on the stench to try and control himself. He started with her feet and worked up trying to avoid her lady bits. Eventually though he had to wash her there. He propped her legs open to give him easy access. He dipped the towel in the bowl again and began washing her pubic hair. The black coils were soon smelling like the lemon soap he bought. The inside was pink like a budding flower. Maison resisted the urge to stroke it and cleaned it along with her backside as quickly as he could. He went to the leather trunk at the foot of his bed and took out the nightgown that belonged to his wife. He dressed her in it, glad to conceal her nakedness.

He made a stew and washed the woman's dress as she slept fitfully. Maison checked her and she was running a fever but at least her wounds were not bleeding. He had to keep the blankets off her in order to break the fever. He opened the door and avoided adding wood to the fire. The days were becoming colder and soon the first snowfall would be upon them. Maison sat in the corner of his cabin watching her, wondering where she had come from and where she was going. By the time she would be healed enough to travel winter would most likely be upon them. She would have to remain here in his cabin until spring. Maison didn't know how he would get through it.

Beatrice

Sometimes Beatrice felt as if she was being dipped into a frozen lake. Other times a lake of fire. The temperature of her body fluctuated from one extreme to the next, all except her shoulder which was a constant source of blinding pain. She drifted between sleep and half consciousness. Terrifying visions drifted back to her. Fires and screams. A man painted red and black with an arrow pointed towards her. Clara lying dead beside her on the forest floor.

Many times she screamed out from fear. Her mind failing to register what was real and what wasn't. She felt strong arms wrap around her and someone whispered soothing words in her ear. At first she thought it was Clara but the arms were too powerful. Then she thought it was Cole but the voice sounded so different. Whoever it was she was grateful to have him. That soothing voice was the only thing that kept those horrible images at bay.

After three days Beatrice woke to a whirring noise. It sounded like a snowstorm. They must not have made through the Rockies on time. When Beatrice opened her eyes she realized she was lying on a bed in a small log cabin. Sunlight streamed through a window above the foot of the bed. She could see a light dusting of snow on the pine trees. The door opened up and a man dressed in furs walked through with a bundle of firewood in his arms.

Beatrice tried to sit up but the pain in her arm made her cry out. Then man turned to look at her as if he was surprised to find her there. He wasn't a young man but he also wasn't old. He looked to be in his late thirties. The man had a dark brown beard and shoulder length hair with grey just starting to come in. They stared at each other for a long time before he finally spoke.

"Good, you finally woke up." He said in a gruff voice. "Been nearly four days."

He dropped the firewood in a wicker basket before taking a log and putting it in the stove.

"Where is Cla-?" She stopped mid sentence her voice dry and hoarse.

He brought a cup of water up to her lips and held the back of her hair as she sipped. His touch was gentle. He smelled of pine cones and coffee. She looked up into his face and saw that his eyes were grey. When she finished drinking he placed the cup on a log he used as a bedside table and took off his furs. When he finished he sat at the small table in the other corner of the room.

"Where is Clara?" She asked.

"From what I saw everybody in your train is dead," he said in a gentle voice. "Arapaho attack."

Beatrice had been taught growing up that crying was undignified but she could not stop the tears that pooled at the edges of her eyes from flowing over. Her heart felt as if it was breaking into a million pieces. All of those horrible images were real. She would never get to see Clara and Elam's baby be born. Never get to marry Cole and become a mother to his child. Never again would she see her friends she had grown to love as family. Gone, all of them gone. Beatrice turned her head to the log wall and tried to sob as quietly as she possibly could. Beatrice heard the man get up and leave and not too long after the chopping of firewood. She must have made him uncomfortable with her crying. Beatrice cried until she fell asleep again.

Maison

Maison had forgotten what it was like to be gentle. He wish he had found a better, softer way to tell the woman that everyone she loved was dead. Maison couldn't stand watching her cry. He wanted to hold her in his arms and kiss her forehead until she fell quiet, like he had done the past three days. Sixteen years ago he would have never imagined having such thoughts about a negro woman. It seemed living out west had stripped him of all his old convictions. One thing he loved about being in wild country was being free of rules.

"Hmph... good riddance." He mumbled to himself.

Maison had traveled west as a young man some sixteen years ago with his wife and daughter. Looking to escape the high price of land in the east. He and his wife built a homestead on the prairie but one bad winter of sickness took all of that away from him. Once his wife and child died he had gone further west seeking the solitude of the mountainous region. Living alone, trapping, and hunting had in some ways healed him but as the years progressed he found himself lonely and wanting the company of a woman. Perhaps this woman would be his wish coming true.