Tracie Peterson - [Heirs of Montana 04] (15 page)

Burying his face in his hands, Cole sighed. Nothing had gone right since coming to Kansas. His father had died, his mother had set demands upon him that seemed impossible to live up to, and the only people he knew he couldn’t live without were quickly becoming strangers to him.

“Oh, God, help me.”

CHAPTER 11

M
ORGAN COULD EASILY SAY THAT OUTSIDE OF FAMILY
,
HE’D
never met a man he liked more than Teddy Roosevelt. The man had a passion for living that Morgan found contagious. After days in the woods, tracking goats and enduring grueling climbs up sheer cliffs and down razorlike rocky paths, Morgan had figured the man who hoped to soon be mayor of New York City would give up. But he didn’t. Neither Roosevelt nor his man Merrifield was inclined to stop.

The first two days, incessant rain poured from thick dark clouds. The only good thing about this was that it put out a small fire that a group of Flathead Indians had started in the woods nearby, possibly to clear some brush. The smoke had been a bitter companion on the first leg of the journey, so Morgan wasn’t all that upset with the rain.

When the rain finally stopped, it hardly made a difference, as tall stands of spruce, fir, and hemlock nearly blocked the sun from their sight at times. It made tracking difficult, although Morgan knew no respectable goat antelope would be down this far. They came across tracks of cougar and bear, and vast herds of deer could be seen for the taking. They ate well on venison steaks each night, but the goats continued to elude them.

They camped one night along a glorious stream that plunged and danced in foamy white rapids as it made its way to the valley below. Here, Morgan pointed out water wrens—thrushlike birds that actually made their home along and in the shelter of this brook. Roosevelt was greatly impressed with them.

“They warble sweetly,” Roosevelt said, “yet they live right in the torrent.”

Morgan thought it rather an interesting point. “Perhaps they thrive on the excitement and exhilaration of that torrent.” Some folks were like that too. He thought of his sister. Dianne always seemed to be at her best when the chaos of the world was dealing its worst. He’d seen her in their younger days happily helping with a cattle drive, completely calm and collected even when facing a stampede.

“Well, these moccasins are done for,” Roosevelt declared as he looked over the tattered pieces. “When I hunted in the Big Horn Mountains, moccasins such as these were sufficient. But this territory is quite unforgiving, and my feet have paid the price.”

“I hope you brought some boots with you,” Morgan said, feeling bad that he’d not made himself more clear on what to expect.

“I do have a sturdy pair of shoes with a nice stout sole that has been studded with nails. Merrifield, however, is less fortunate. He has only a pair of cowboy boots. Sufficient for our days on the ranch, but certainly no good for climbing.”

“I would offer you my spare pair, but I can tell Merrifield’s foot is much larger than mine, and they’d never fit.”

“We shall bear it the best we can,” Roosevelt said, still not discouraged by the conflict that had been presented.

When they broke camp the next day, Morgan knew they would need to move rapidly to higher ground. From here on out the journey would only get harder, and it might not be long before snows set in. They packed a light lunch in their pockets and gathered their rifles.

“I thought we would have at least found tracks by now,” Morgan told Roosevelt. “I’ve been here before and the goats are definitely native to this land.”

“This place is quite beautiful,” Roosevelt said. “It makes the hunt all that more acceptable. I shall be disappointed if we find no goats, but I shall not fault this land. Although I must say this task is as hard as any I have ever undertaken.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Merrifield said.

They continued to climb higher up the rocky mountainside, skirting ledges and helping each other across crevices. From time to time a rocky slide would start because of their disturbance, but always they managed to secure themselves to something solid to avoid being swept away.

By now, Morgan actually feared he might not be able to locate any game for Roosevelt. The northern reaches of the Coeur d’Alenes were well known for the quarry they sought, but the trip was becoming increasingly more difficult, and the Idaho temperatures were turning brisk. Especially at night.

Morgan was about to devote himself to prayer on the matter when he finally spotted a goat on the rocks above. He examined the ground around them. “Look here!” He pointed to the large rounded hoof prints at the edge of the trail. “We’re on the right path.”

The deeply worn path had been created by the herds in search of the clay licks. The goats loved the salty taste and would continually come back to these places for as long as they proved safe. Morgan was encouraged by the signs around them.

They moved up the path for another hour before coming to a tremendous slide where rock and gravel lay strewn across the path, along with the trunk of a large pine.

“We can rest here a bit,” Morgan suggested, hearing the winded breathing of his companions. The men quickly agreed, and Roosevelt dropped to the ground to ease his back against the tree.

“Ah, a comfortable chair to be certain.”

Morgan smiled. He loved the man’s spirit. A noise above caught Morgan’s attention. He glanced cautiously, not making any sudden move. It was a goat.

“There!” he said in a low whisper.

Roosevelt was in no position to fire, but he strained to see the animal and then to adjust his position. Pebbles broke loose beneath him and the goat startled.

Roosevelt managed to fire off a shot, but it went low, missing all vital organs and instead only hitting the leg of the goat. It seemed not to matter to the animal at all, as it scampered off quickly, seeming to head straight up a smooth-faced rock wall. Morgan was not one to leave an injured animal to fend for himself, so he took off after the beast, and to his surprise, so did Roosevelt.

They must have scrambled after the goat for over an hour before the animal showed any signs of slowing. Morgan was able to track the blood let off by the animal, so he slowed his pace just a bit in order to let Teddy regain his breath.

“We’ll get him,” Morgan promised.

“Indeed we will,” Roosevelt said in a manner that suggested any other option was not acceptable.

By the end of the day, however, they had only managed to get another shot fired at the tenacious beast, and again, Roosevelt only managed to skim the animal, this time slicing through its back, apparently missing the spine. A night of rest put them in good spirits to track the wounded goat and capture it once and for all. And the following morning that was exactly what they did. Morgan had never seen a man prouder of his accomplishment.

“It’s a fine specimen,” Roosevelt announced, and Merrifield agreed.

Morgan enjoyed their camp that evening. With at least one goat kill under his belt, Roosevelt was more confident, even cocky in his actions and attitude.

“I consider this a good sign,” he told them as they built up the fire for the night. “It didn’t come with ease, but good things seldom do. I believe I’ll return to New York and win that election. I’m the right man for the job—none better.”

“None better to be sure,” Merrifield said with a nod.

“And will you make great changes there?” Morgan asked, trying hard to suppress a yawn.

“I intend to see the city completely remade. I’m tired of and sickened by the corruption. We’ll make it a better place, I assure you, Mr. Chadwick.”

Morgan smiled and stretched out beside the fire. No doubt the man would do just what he said, for Morgan couldn’t imagine anyone saying no to Teddy Roosevelt.

Roosevelt smiled. “I will be as those wrens in the stream. Conscious of my surroundings but unwilling to be defeated by them.”

“Why can’t we talk about Papa?” ten-year-old Winona asked her mother.

Ardith rubbed her head. “I told you, I don’t want to discuss him. He’s dead and gone and that should be that. I won’t have you continuing to pester me with questions.”

“But sometimes I can’t remember him,” Winona said, her face crestfallen. She pushed back her long black braid. “I can’t remember the way he looked.”

“Good,” Ardith snapped. How she wished it might be so for her. Levi’s image still managed to haunt her sleep most every night. She saw Winona’s wounded expression and regretted her tone. Softening the edge to her voice, Ardith continued, “It’s best you just forget. Forgetting will help ease the pain, and your papa would not want you to hurt over him anymore.”

“But I don’t want to forget,” Winona said, jumping up from her bed. “I loved Papa. I wouldn’t want him to forget me if I died.”

“But you didn’t die. He did.” Ardith forgot all intent to be tender. She knew her voice had risen to a level that could probably be heard by Mara and her brother, but she no longer cared. She was tired of the child’s constant desire to drag her into discussions about the dead man. “He’s dead,” Ardith said, unable to stop herself. “He’s dead and gone and never coming back. The sooner you get over his memory, the happier we’ll all be.”

Winona’s lips trembled as her face puckered and tears began to fall. “You’re a mean mama. I hate you!”

Ardith slapped her daughter across the face. It was the first time she’d ever laid hands on her in this manner. The action caught them both by such surprise that they fell silent for several minutes. In her heart, Ardith wanted to apologize to Winona. But truth be told, the look on the child’s face had reminded her too much of Winona’s father. The thought caused her to tremble so violently she had to move to the chair in order to support her shaking body. Easing down, Ardith drew a deep breath to steady her nerves.

“I wanted to break the news to you in a more gentle way, Winona, but I’m going away. I’m going to New York City and you’re going to stay with Koko on the ranch until Aunt Dianne gets home from Kansas.”

Winona rushed across the room and threw herself at Ardith’s feet. “Don’t go, Mama. I didn’t mean it. I don’t hate you. Please don’t go.”

Ardith could see the red imprint where her hand had hit her precious daughter’s face. “I have to go, Winona. I’m no good to either one of us like this. I can’t offer you comfort about your papa because I have no comfort for myself. I can’t answer your questions, and I can’t bear to hear you crying at night because you miss him. Because I miss him too.”

“I promise I won’t cry anymore, Mama. I’ll be a real good girl, just please don’t leave me.”

“I can’t stay,” Ardith said, feeling as though her wind were being cut off. She struggled to draw a decent breath. “I … can’t.”
I wish I could
. She pushed Winona back and jumped to her feet. Straining to breathe, she rushed for the window and opened it.

The cool air helped Ardith to regain her composure. She panted, longing to be at ease … at peace.

“Mama, don’t go. I don’t want to live with Aunt Koko or Aunt Dianne. I love you. I want you, Mama,” Winona said as she wrapped herself around Ardith’s waist. She clung so tightly that Ardith thought it would be impossible to break the child’s hold.

“Winona, look at me,” Ardith commanded.

Winona raised her head, her expression hopeful. “Yes, Mama?”

“I know you don’t understand. I can’t say that I understand either. But I have to go away. I can’t stay. You have to be brave and strong about this. I have to go away so that I can get better. Maybe when I’m feeling less angry, I’ll send for you and you can live with me in New York. Would you like that?”

Winona pushed away, the look of betrayal on her face more painful to Ardith than her looks of sorrow. “No. I wouldn’t like that. I want to stay here. I want to live with you here.”

“I’m sorry, Winona. I can’t.”

The child looked as though she might say something more; instead she turned and fled. Ardith wanted to go after her, but in truth, she was glad to finally be left alone. Ardith rubbed her temples.

“What’s wrong with me? Why can’t I be like Dianne? She’s such a good mother. She has so much love to give. Why can’t I give love? Why must I only cause pain?”