A Shelter of Hope (8 page)

He turned his mind back to the game and won a couple of hands before the ideas started churning once again.
Think of the money to be made
, he told himself.
The girl isn’t just pretty, she’s a real beauty
.

Of course, she’d fetch more money if he saw to it that she was taken care of. He could give her a nice place to stay to conduct her business. He could even see to it that she had nice clothes so as to attract a better-paying customer. The thought of sitting pretty in a city house with plenty of food on the table, maybe a servant or two, so captivated Louis that he again lost a round of cards.

“You don’t hardly seem yourself tonight, Louis,” Harley said as he took the pot.

“Well, you know how it goes, Harley. There’s a lot to think about when a man is making a new life for hisself,” Jervis commented before picking up the cards to deal the next hand. “Throw in if you’re a-playin’ this hand.”

The clink of coins on the wooden table caught Louis’s attention, but only long enough to make him throw his own coin in.

“I heard tell that some city feller found gold not far from here in one of those old abandoned mines,” Jervis continued to chatter. “Says he believes the whole mountain to be full of gold. Maybe that land of yours was a gold mine and you didn’t even know it, Louis.”

“Shut up, Jervis,” Louis growled, feeling ever more the fool.

He scarcely even noticed when Ada laid her hands on his shoulders and began to knead his knotted muscles. Gold in these mountains seemed unlikely, but the golden opportunity Simone represented was another issue entirely. With her looks, she could be his ticket to ease and comfort, and yet he’d thrown her away for a mere pittance of what he might’ve been able to make.

It was this point that settled the matter in his mind. He’d just go to Davis and take her back. He’d plead hindsight or some other notion, but he would persuade the man to see things his way. Of course, the man might need more than words to persuade him. It could very well take a good deal of the money Louis had in his pocket to settle the deal. Then again, maybe Davis could be convinced to see things Louis’s way without ever having to discuss money.

Louis smiled and absentmindedly studied the cards in his hands. Why barter at all? Simone belonged to him, and she was underage. He’d just go and reclaim her whether Davis liked it or not. He’d blame it on the whiskey and challenge Davis to see it otherwise. If the man gave him too much trouble, he’d simply give him a beating he’d not soon forget. And if that didn’t do the trick, he’d kill him. After all, Davis was a stranger to these parts. Who’d even give a second thought if the man came up missing?

Throwing in his cards, Louis got to his feet. “I’ve had enough of this. Don’t seem to be able to concentrate on cards.”

“You’ve lost a fair bit of money,” Gus commented. “You sure you don’t want a chance to earn it back?”

“I’ll figure another way to earn my money,” Louis replied, then nodded to Ada. For the second night in a row he was going to reject her offerings. Somehow it just didn’t hold the same intrigue anymore. Simone could clearly create a new future for him … and that was far more interesting.

SIX

SIMONE COUNTED TEN NIGHTS since departing her childhood home. She felt hopelessly overwhelmed by the vast territory she’d already covered. Especially given the fact that nothing of civilization seemed to present itself to her.

Aching and sore, Simone stretched beneath her blanket and moaned. Never had she been forced to sleep on the ground outdoors. Her father never took her anywhere that required them to be gone from the cabin overnight, so she had always enjoyed the modest comfort of her own bed or the furry softness of the pelt shed. Now, more than ever, she questioned the sanity of her choice.

Forcing her body to obey, Simone slipped out from beneath the warmth of her blanket and met the morning chill. The sun barely touched the morning sky, fading the blackness of night into a dull, gunpowder gray. Simone couldn’t help but sigh. She’d seen skies like this before, and usually they meant snow. Shuddering beneath her coat, Simone rubbed her hands together in a desperate attempt to keep warm. She longed for a roaring fire and a decent meal, but neither were to be had in the Wyoming wilderness.

Glancing around at the scenery, Simone felt little comfort. There simply appeared to be no sign of a town or village anywhere. Her stomach rumbled and ached in a way that made her feel sick. She’d had very little to eat in the past week and a half. After the biscuits were gone, she’d turned to nature for food. She managed to shoot a rabbit but had no way to cook it. After contemplating the horror of eating the meat raw or going hungry, Simone had forced herself to eat part of the animal. She’d also skinned the scrawny thing and used the pelt to form a makeshift cap for herself.

She knew she looked a fright. Upon gazing into the icy waters of the river she’d followed for the past three days she saw her reflection, where she appeared as a hodgepodge of cultural contrasts. Indian moccasins. Woolen skirt and faded calico shirtwaist, both handmade in a previous decade. And a coat so old and threadbare that it did little to cut the harsh cold of the mountain air. Simone had taken the beautiful fox and wolf pelts she’d stolen from her father and slipped them between the lining and outer material of her coat. She thought them better used there as they helped to ward off the biting wind. She’d even taken to wearing both sets of her clothes and wrapping the blanket around her coat for extra protection. It helped, but not much. The elements were simply too harsh and unyielding. The earth didn’t care if she died in a rocky crevice or was swallowed up in an ice-packed river. The earth didn’t care, and neither did any of mankind. She was the ultimate orphan. Abandoned and forgotten by all.

She hoped she was forgotten—at least by the people of Uniontown. She could only cling to the possibility that no one knew of her father’s actions, and that even if they did, no one would attempt to strike up a bosom companionship with Garvey Davis. No one ever bothered to come to the cabin, and with any luck no one ever would. It might be months before anyone thought to wonder what had become of Davis and Simone.

Reaching down to scoop up a handful of water, Simone grimaced at the thought of Davis. She again wondered how she could possibly live with the nightmarish images in her mind. She had condemned her father for murdering her mother and brother, and now she found herself no better.
But maybe Davis isn’t dead
, she reasoned with herself. Maybe the blow had only rendered him unconscious.

She closed her eyes, shaking her head. It seemed foolish to hope that Garvey Davis was still alive. There had been too much blood. Even now she could see it pooling on the floor of the bedroom. She could still remember the stunned expression on his face. It even haunted her in her sleep, so that the past few nights she awoke screaming—fighting off invisible intruders. Shuddering uncontrollably, Simone forced the images from her mind. There had to be something better to dwell on.

The sun peeked through the gray, and for a moment the rays seemed to touch Simone. Lifting her face to catch the warmth, she caught sight of the mountain range she’d gradually been making her way down. Her mind instantly went to the Psalms.

“I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help.”

The one hundred and twenty-first chapter of Psalms had been one of her mother’s favorites. Why she should remember such a thing at a time like this was beyond Simone. She wanted no part of remembering her mother or the God her mother had served. She wanted complete separation from anything that would remotely allow her to feel. Her heart was like stone, and Simone wanted it that way.

Oh, her heart still possessed an element of fear; Simone thought fear to be a healthy thing, however. Fear kept you always searching—always looking over your shoulder. Fear kept you from becoming too comfortable. Comfort, Simone had learned, caused a cascading effect on the soul. Comfort inevitably stimulated pleasure, and pleasure brought about true happiness. And if a person were happy, they could also be made sad—and Simone wanted no part of that.

But where is your well-being, Simone?
an inaudible voice seemed to question.

Simone went back to her bed of pine boughs and gathered up her things.
I won’t give in to such thinking. I won’t believe the lies that my mind would tell me
. But deep down, Simone knew that it was very possible that the words she had heard within her own soul might not be lies. She wanted them to be, because if they were, she could more easily stand back and point a finger at yet another way her upbringing had failed her.

Her mother’s faith would have her believe that God spoke to a person’s heart in order to offer them guidance and comfort. But Simone refused that nonsense. She knew her mother had cherished the psalmist’s declaration that his help came from the Lord who made heaven and earth. The Psalms shared words of comfort, with clear examples of times when the author had faced adversity and loneliness and had turned to God for help.

“But I won’t turn to God,” Simone declared, looking heavenward. “Because I don’t believe you really care. I don’t believe you even see me here, all alone. I don’t believe you’ve ever really seen me—otherwise, how could you have allowed me to suffer? How could you have left me alone with a man who would sell me to another?” Simone suddenly realized how her words very nearly sounded like a prayer. It startled her to realize she’d spoken the words aloud. Was she going mad?

Again she gazed up at the mountain peaks. She thought of Naniko and a portion of an old Ute saying. “My help is in the mountains where I take myself to heal the earthly wounds that people give to me.” Naniko believed healing came from the elements. The earth. The winds. The waters. Simone thought of how the Psalms and the Ute message shared a common interest. The mountains seemed to represent a fortress of strength. A haven from harm. The psalmist, however, knew his strength came from the One who made the mountains, while the Ute legend looked to the mountain itself. But these mountains seemed anything but helpful to Simone. In fact, she feared they might be her undoing.

The horse whinnied from where she’d staked him out. He pawed at the ground, as if impatient for them to be on their way. No doubt he was just as hungry as Simone. Gathering up her things, Simone resaddled the animal and led him to the water’s edge. She tried not to be discouraged by the fact that the sun had gone back under the blanket of clouds. The gloomy gray better fit her disposition anyway.

By the time Simone mounted her horse, a light snow had started to fall and the wind had picked up. It seemed futile to complain or even to shake a fist at the sky. Her surroundings wouldn’t heed her even if she pleaded her case, and neither would God. Shrugging down under her blanket, Simone urged the horse forward.

They headed downriver, seeking to put the mountains behind them. Simone believed that if she could get to flat ground, she would more easily be able to discern directions and other signs of life. She noticed the slightest warming of the temperature as the horse picked his way down the trail. The farther they traveled from the higher altitude of the snow-capped mountains, the more signs of spring emerged. Surely they weren’t far from a trading post or town.

When they came through a clearing of trees, Simone was shocked to realize they had come to the edge of a rocky drop. The horse nervously pranced and backed a few feet, sending bits of rock tumbling over the ledge. They could clearly go no farther. The ledge revealed no path that might allow Simone to navigate the steep incline. The view down below, however, held her attention in greater capacity than the obstacle of the ledge. Far in the distance, nearly beyond her field of vision, Simone made out the lazy rise of smoke. The snow had stopped, and now, looking out across the open valley, Simone possessed hope for the first time since leaving home. Smoke could only mean some manner of civilization.

She glanced around, trying to figure out how they might conquer the drop. It appeared that if she made her way back to the river and crossed over to the other side, they would have an easier path down into the valley. Of course, that meant getting wet, and Simone had no idea how deep the river might be. She could easily risk her life and that of her mount. But it was either that or waste time exploring in the opposite direction. Her reasoning told her the river would be a better way, and without giving it another thought, Simone urged the horse to retrace their steps.