The Promised Land (Destiny's Dreamers Book 2) (12 page)

Maggie still shuddered when she remembered her possible fate among the mud huts of the Pawnee village so far behind. They’d seen a few Flatheads from a distance around Fort Hall, and had heard much of the feared Blackfeet in the vicinity, but the Whitmans had actually settled themselves smack in the midst of the Cayuse. Any missionary sentiments Maggie may have had at the start of the journey were now radically changed. She no longer itched to bring the words of the Bible or anything else to the Indians of Oregon. The results might only be grief for all concerned.

It was now Maggie’s studied opinion that the Indians should be left to their own devices. They had, after all, been thriving in their own ways for eons. She was not the last to admit, though, that a good piece of damage had already been done. One rarely saw an Indian who was not swathed in a trade blanket. And each of the forts they’d visited had featured tin saddlebags~shaped to drape over a horse’s sides, shaped to carry quantities of the white man’s liquor home to the Indian villages. The white man had already done his worst in offering
civilization
to his red brother. Could a handful of missionaries undo this work with words of God?

The Blue Mountains brought new stresses and new reliefs. The rapid rises and descents were horrible on wagons and stock alike. Unshod animals developed sore feet and hobbled in pain. More wagons were lost, tumbling like acrobats down mountain sides. More family treasures were left along the way, wept over by the women to whom they represented mothers, fathers, friends and relatives never more to be seen in this lifetime.

But the mountains also brought berries: hawthorne, gooseberry and serviceberries. Such sweets soothed many tempers, particularly among the children. The bears, though, were a complete surprise.

They were nooning in a small hidden valley between ridges, and Maggie and Jamie were halfway up the next mountain, foraging for more of the sweet hawthorne berries that were as large as cherries and tasted like mealy apples. Maggie had grand plans for making fritters out of them with the absolute last of the communal flour for that evening’s supper. Johnny was back at camp with the baby, fussing with Sam over the recent inroads the mountains had made on their wagon axles.

“Over there, Ma. A whole big clump of them!’’

“Good work, Jamie. There might be just enough to fill our sack! Careful on that sharp rock, son.’’

“You needn’t worry about me, Ma. My feet are like iron now.’’

“Yes, and they’ll nevermore fit into your boots from Independence. Not after the past months barefoot.’’

“Not to worry, Ma. They’ll fit mighty nice into those moccasins you’re finishing off for me. I can’t hardly wait till it’s cold enough to try ‘em out.’’

“Never wish the winter upon us, young man. This September sky already has the look of snow about it, and we’ve a few more ridges to get over yet.’’

“Uh, Ma~’’

“Find more berries, Jamie?’’

Jamie was slowly backing away from the bushes, toward his mother, whose back was turned to him.

“Maaa . . . !’’

Maggie straightened up and swiveled. Facing Jamie from the far side of the clump was a very large, brown bear, equally intent on getting its fill of berries. Jamie bumped into his mother and they both stood frozen, staring. The bear was no more than ten or twelve feet away from them, calmly ambling from one fruit to another, pausing to stuff each into its mouth. It was on all four feet, and it was hard to tell its precise size, but it looked
big
.

“Jam-ie!’’ Maggie’s voice rose to a squeal, then descended to a whisper. “Jamie. Get your father and his gun. Run!’’

The boy turned tail, and his mother followed, careful not to upset the bear with too much noise. She paused once to verify that the animal was still eating before speeding her steps.

Maggie skidded into camp in time to watch Johnny and Sam take off in the direction from which she’d just come. That they would shoot the animal was too much to hope for. The meat was badly needed. Surely the beast would amble away to hide. It had been so fat and sleek~so happily, almost sleepily, munching for its winter nap. Maggie was torn between wanting it, and hoping it would escape. In a flash of recognition she knew how Johnny had felt when he’d killed those first buffalo.

Maggie hauled a protesting Jamie back within the confines of the camp. She verified that Charlotte was, indeed, resting in her hammock. She studied the mountain several times during all of this. Finally could stand it no longer. Instinctively grabbing her cooking knife she hiked back up the ridge to find Johnny and Sam and the bear.

The first shot reached Maggie’s ears when she was halfway to the berry bushes. She waited for a second, but it never came. Could it be done so quickly? Maggie pushed ahead, ignoring the sudden stubbing of toes where her shoes had given out and her feet poked through worn leather. When she came to the little cleft in the mountain she stopped stock still. They’d shot the bear all right, but it had only been grazed. Now it was mad.

Johnny and Sam were both backed up against a rocky wall, useless rifles at their feet. The bear was roaring at them, stumbling closer, favoring it’s right paw, but still intent on revenge. Both men had their hunting knives out, but they and their knives were dwarfed by the eight foot beast. Intently as the three were locked into their life and death drama, none of them saw or heard Maggie’s approach.

Thoughts flew through Maggie’s head. She ought to run for more men and guns. No. The trip would take too long. Johnny and Sam would be horribly mauled or dead by the time she could return with help.

Even as she considered these things, the bear’s paws were raised, two-inch-long claws outstretched to rake his enemies. The hump of fur behind his thick neck bristled. He was awesome in his fury. Magnificent. The spell was broken when the animal uttered a cry from deep within its chest and lumbered forward for the kill.

Maggie did the only thing she could. Her tense limbs finally free again, she raced forward to thrust her knife into the behemoth’s back. It was not easy. She struck as hard as she could, into tight muscle and bone. While she was struggling to pull the knife out for another thrust, the bear pivoted, loosing the weapon. Maggie felt the beast’s breath on her face. She smelled the berries it had eaten. She saw too closely the incredible size of its teeth. She looked on the hatred in its eyes.

Yes, it was pure
hatred
, not the dumb bewilderment of a buffalo cow. Maggie quailed for a split second, then her courage tripled. No one, and especially not a vicious brute like this, would get the better of Margaret McDonald Stuart. Her hand on the knife was like rock. The bear’s paw swung again, toward her.

“Johnny!!’’ Maggie ducked the swing, thrust upwards with the knife, and felt the hilt close in on rough, sticky fur. She was enveloped by a world of black as the bear embraced and fell upon her.

Maggie was suffocating. The entire weight of the world had descended upon her. She could feel nothing. No fingers. No toes. Nothing would move. She tried to cry out, but the words were muffled in her mouth. What was happening?

Slowly she remembered. The bear. The pleasant, innocently berry-munching bear. He’d gotten his revenge after all. She tried for more breath, and slowly, very slowly it came. She attempted raising an eyelid. Light began to filter into her heavy cave. Next came sounds.

“Meg! Meg, love! Can you hear me?’’ It was Johnny.

“Tryin’ to move the bear, Maggie. Feels heavy as a buffalo.’’ That would be Sam.

Slowly, pieces of Maggie were released. A weight was removed from her chest and she breathed easier. The lower half of her body was still trapped.

“Sam, Sam! I
know
you’re stronger than that! We’ve got to free the rest of her. God, if she’s hurt badly~’’

There was a huge grunt from Sam, and the bear rolled free. Maggie lay there, unmoving. Sam was sitting by her side, winded. Johnny knelt by her head and cradled it in his lap. Tears of worry and relief were streaming down his sunburned face.

“The bear’s off now. You killed it good and proper.’’

“Did I do as well as a squaw, Johnny?’’

“Better. Much better. It was a grizzly, Meg. A black or a brown would’ve run off. Grizzlies fight to the death.’’

“Was it really as big as it felt?’’

“It must be near to nine hundred pounds. The skin will be yours, and the teeth, too. I’ll make you a necklace.’’

Her face was being wet by his tears as he rocked her. “Please try to move now, love. Tell me you can move.’’ It was a plea straight from his heart.

Maggie smiled up at her Johnny. He did love her. Any fool could see that he truly loved her. She wanted very much to make him happy, to do what he asked. She sent a message from her head to get her body moving. The message must have gotten mixed up along the way. She was so tired . . . so dizzy. Johnny’s face was moving about above her. There were two of him. Now three. How nice. There couldn’t ever be too many Johnnies.

She blinked and tried to concentrate. What was she supposed to be doing? Yes. That was it. Move her body. Well, maybe just a little bit of it. Try an arm or a finger. Left hand or right? The decision was too complicated. Maggie blinked again, tried focusing once more on Johnny’s three heads, and closed her eyes.

“Sam!!!’’

Johnny clung to his wife in desperation. She was warm, she was breathing. He had seen the love for him in her eyes. But now she wasn’t there. She’d just wandered off in her mind. Had she hit her head? His eyes searched the ground for rocks. There were too many of them. What would he do?

“Sam!!’’

“I be right here, Johnny.’’ Sam was still breathing deeply, fixed on Maggie with a look beyond awe. “Sure didn’t marry you no wilting violet. I never seen anything like her taking on that bear. It was scarier than you settin’ atop that buffalo bull. Stared right into his eyes, she did. Like she was his equal.’’

Johnny cast aside the words of praise distractedly. “Maggie’s equal to anyone or anything she wants to be equal to. She didn’t need the bear to prove that. But Sam. What will we do now?’’

“For starters, get her back to camp. For seconds, call a break for the rest of the day. The animals is beat, and the grass is decent here. There’s no telling ‘bout the next side of the mountain. Then we’ll come fetch Maggie’s bear.’’

Grandma Richman worked over Maggie’s entire body limb by limb. Finished, she directed herself to the crowd surrounding Maggie’s figure, prone upon a buffalo skin by the caravan.

“I can’t rightly tell what’s the problem. Don’t seem to be nothin’ broken. It could be she’s just had the wind taken outen her, good and proper. It’s best we let her rest till her senses return.’’

Johnny held his two children to him. He was bereft. It was worse than when she’d been abducted by Red Eagle. At least that time he’d had somewhere to ride off to, something to rant over, someone to fight. Now he felt useless. He should have been able to hold back that bear.
They
should have together, he and Sam. But his first shot had been bad, and Sam’s gun had jammed. They should have called in the other men before they’d run off like that, half cocked. Yet they’d both known the food situation. They hadn’t dared to take the time to get up a proper hunting party and chance losing the game. They’d been cornered, with no way out.

Charlotte chose this moment to speak her first word.

“Ma-ma?’’

She tried to pull away from her father’s arms, to go to Maggie.

It was Jamie who comforted the baby. “It’s gonna be all right, Charley. Mama’s just tired. Gonna be all right.’’ He looked into his father’s eyes, begging him to make it so. Johnny held both children tighter.

Gentry rendezvoused with a dozen of his brother Danites just outside of Fort Bridger. It was a relief to be gone from that filthy place, to be freed of the Donner Party at last. It was a relief to strip off his gambler’s silks and dress like the man of action he was.

After the backslaps and general greetings he wasted no time getting down to business.

“What news have you?’’

The eyes of his brother Avenging Angels shone out of faces browned to hard leather from the heat and sun.

“It is as Brigham prophecized. We have found the place! A vast bowl of a valley next to the Great Salt Lake.’’

“With protecting desert on all sides.’’

“And water to be had for the digging. With irrigation, our people will prosper.’’

Gentry grinned. “I wish I could have been with you, but my mission was different. Do you bring me any other intelligence from the East?’’ He turned to the leader. “Come, Hoskins. Do we have a name yet for Smith’s murderer?’’

“We do at that.’’

“Don’t keep me on tenterhooks, man. Out with it!’’

Hoskins gave the information, carefully watching to see if it meant anything. “The Reverend Josiah Winslow.’’

“Damnation! The man gulled me good and proper! But I’ll have him now. Who’ll join me to the banks of the Columbia? Joseph Smith shall have his revenge at last!’’

They all wanted to be in on the kill, but common sense held sway. Half the group headed back to give their surveying report to Brigham Young waiting in Iowa. Hoskins and five others joined Gentry to pick up the trail of the Stuart Party.

Maggie lay like the dead for three days. It was her turn to be jounced in a wagon over mountain trails. Irish took over her oxen while Gwen walked the Hardisty’s own. A recovering Hazel and other neighbors pitched in with the children and the chores. The group closed in to help its own once more.

Through it all Maggie lay feeling nothing. She was a sleeping beauty straight out of one of Johnny’s fairy tale books. On the fourth day the party made the precipitous descent that bypassed Ladd Canyon. They emerged from the worst of the Blue Mountains.

Johnny stepped into the caravan during the nooning. He bent over his wife as he always did, to kiss her face, her lips. This time her eyes fluttered open.

“Johnny. The bear~’’

His face broke into a smile like the rising sun. Lines newly etched upon his forehead eased away. “Thank the good Lord!’’

“What is it?’’

“You’ve been far away from us, Meg. Far away for too long. Can you move now? Can you feel?’’