A Shelter in the Wilderness
1836, Southwest of Three Forks, in what would later become the State of Montana.
"Thy [God's] righteousness is like the great mountains; Thy judgments are a great deep: O
LORD, Thou preservest man and beast."
~ Psalm 36:6 ~
Leaving the Yellowstone behind, Josiah took Emma deeper into the wild territory of the Northern
foothills and mountains of Blackfoot country. By instinct, the trapper said very little, and made
no efforts at conversation with Emma. His eyes were focused on his surroundings, his ears
trained for signs of Indians, and his mind busy with thoughts of beaver and the approaching
winter.
Josiah's cautious silence had a very quieting effect on Emma. As they made camp before nightfall,
he realized she hadn't said a single word all day.
"You've bin mighty silent," remarked Josiah, as Emma unpacked some dried meat for their
supper.
"No more than you," she replied.
Josiah grunted. He took a bite of his meal and watched as the sun slipped behind the Rocky
Mountains.
The sky was almost dark when Josiah unrolled his buffalo robe and then settled down for some
rest. Emma huddled against him, for he had decided against a night fire that might betray their
presence to any Indians still nearby.
Before long, Josiah heard the soft breathing of the sleeping woman bedside him. With a yawn, he
checked his rifle and then shut his eyes to let sleep overtake him.
It was only the snapping of a twig, but Josiah's left eye popped open as though he had only been
resting and not sleeping at all. He quickly surveyed the campsite, saw it was a raccoon, and then
promptly went back to sleep. Josiah was used to being his own night watch when he trapped by
himself in the mountains, and felt more than capable of keeping guard while he slept.
The next several days showed little change, with Josiah and Emma barely exchanging a single
word between them. The nights were no different, for Josiah slept in the small snatches of rest he
was able to find between awakenings to check the camp.
Emma could no longer count the number of days she had been with Josiah, for one day seemed to
blend with another. Her back was sore from sitting in the saddle, and her eyes ached from
squinting at mountains, straining to distinguish the blurs to see if they were Indians. They kept
no fire at night, and fed on tough buffalo jerky and cold mountain water for supper. Sleep was
Emma's one escape, and she looked forward to it with eager weariness.
Then one day, as the sun began to set on the Western horizon, Josiah halted his horses at a creek
to make camp. "Look up yonder," he told Emma, pointing to a large mountain with a flattened
peak that towered above the others. "That's Ole' Hollowtop," he grinned. "We'll be at the lodge
soon."
Emma's face spoke of relief, even if her mouth did not. Soon, she would be enjoying a roof over
her head!
The next day, Josiah led his horses around the bend of a mountain and then up a gentle slope,
following the creek upstream.
Emma marveled at the vistas spread before her. This was an untamed country with strong
mountains and green rolling valleys, and all of it abundant with wildlife. It was no wonder the
Blackfoot were jealous to keep these hunting grounds for themselves!
When Josiah turned left, Emma saw the dim outline of a trail weaving through the thick trees. She
waited for the first sight of his lodge, and was surprised when Josiah unexpectedly stopped the
horses.
"Are we resting before we go on to the cabin?" she asked.
"It's right there," frowned Josiah, pointing with his rifle at the wooded area before them. "I know
it ain't much, but it'll do."
Emma could hear resentment creep into Josiah's voice, but she still couldn't see the cabin.
Dropping from his saddle, Josiah ordered her to dismount.
Wordlessly, Emma followed him to a pile of strewn logs, where several trees had toppled over
each other in right angles upon the ground. The sting of disappointment was great, when Emma
realized THIS was Josiah's lodge!
"The roof's caved in, but that's easy enough to fix," Josiah mused out loud. He knew Emma was
listening, although by the brave look on her face just now, he realized she had been expecting
something vastly different.
Helplessly, Emma sank down on a tree stump while Josiah picked through the jumbled logs.
"I ain't bin here fer several seasons, but this old trapper's cabin is a good place to winter." Josiah
glanced at Emma, and then let out a sigh of disgust. "You ain't gonna start crying again, are you?"
"I don't think so," Emma answered quietly. Josiah half expected her to burst into tears, but she
surprised him by instead going to the pack horse to make camp.
Grumbling under his breath, Josiah looked back at the shambles he had called a lodge. If he had
shown this to an Indian woman, she would have thought big of him for having such a place to
winter in-- at least, that's what he reasoned to himself as he went about setting the logs in their
proper place. The trouble with white women was they expected too much!
In spite of Emma's concerns that a campfire might betray their presence to the Indians, Josiah
started one anyway.
"This area of the mountains hides smoke well," he explained. "It's one of the reasons why Pa
liked it here."
Josiah spent the remainder of the day hard at work on the cabin, before quitting for his evening
supper. As he quietly ate his buffalo jerky, Emma took out a needle and thread to mend the hem
of her topmost petticoat. By the light of the campfire, her delicate fingers worked the fabric,
while the sky darkened with stars that seemed more numerous as the hours flew by.
Bedtime came, and since the fire was still going, Emma went to sleep without huddling beside
Josiah on the buffalo robe.
As Josiah slept that night, he felt something cold melting on his face. His eyes opened, and he
saw that it was snowing. So winter was here at last. It had been late in coming, and Josiah had
been glad for the reprieve. Somewhere in his heart he knew God had held back the snow so they
could make it to the lodge in time, but he refused to acknowledge the kindness and instead
congratulated himself on his good luck.
As the snow continued to fall, Josiah got to his feet and made sure the horses were picketed by
some trees for shelter. Then he returned to the buffalo robe, only to find Emma shivering in her
sleep. After throwing more wood on the fire, Josiah lie down and pulled one end of the buffalo
robe over his body and Emma's to shield themselves from the snow.
Emma was so tired she didn't notice when Josiah drew her close to his chest, nestling her in his
arms until he fell asleep.
When morning came, Emma was surprised to find Josiah's arms around her. She wriggled from his
embrace and then crawled from the buffalo robe only to find a world powdered in white.
"Snow!" she breathed in surprise.
Suddenly feeling his arms strangely deprived, Josiah's eyes opened and he found Emma was no
longer with him. He lifted the robe and saw her wrapping herself in one of the blankets.
"It snowed," she informed him, her cheeks turning a bright pink as the cold air kissed her face.
"Put more wood on the fire, Emma." Josiah climbed from the robe and then packed it away.
After a quick bite of jerky, Josiah continued repairing the cabin. With an ax swung over his
shoulder and a rifle in his free hand, Josiah went out from the thickly wooded area that hid the
cabin, and trod through the light layer of snow to some likely looking trees. After selecting a tree
that would suit his purpose, Josiah placed his rifle nearby so it would be handy, and set about
felling the tree. It was hard work, but soon Emma heard the loud swoosh of crashing branches and
breaking limbs as a tree fell to the ground.
Curious, Emma ventured from the campsite with her father's shotgun to watch Josiah as he
chopped the tree into logs for the roof.
Josiah's ax swung high, and when it came down, chips of wood flew as its sharp edge bit into the
wood. Resting a moment, Josiah looked up at the clouded sky. It was starting to snow again,
though it wasn't very heavy. Still, he knew he had to keep going, if the lodge was to be ready
before the heavy snows came. Catching a second wind, Josiah resumed his task with renewed
determination. Even if he didn't have to work to beat the snows, he had to keep going, for Emma
was watching.
After finishing with the first tree, Josiah went on to another, until he had an impressive collection
of great logs chopped and ready.
Contented that it was a good day's work, Josiah swung his ax over his shoulder and then grabbed
his rifle to start back for camp. He heard the scramble of Emma up ahead, thinking she had kept
hidden from him all that time, and now rushing to beat him back to camp.
When Josiah sauntered into camp, he put down his ax and then went to the fire to get warm.
Emma was there, preparing supper and saying not a word.
With a tired groan, Josiah sat down by the fire, placing his rifle across his lap.
"Hungry?" asked Emma, taking out some jerky and handing it to Josiah.
He smiled wryly, the growling of his stomach answering her question. Tearing off some meat
with his teeth, Josiah rubbed his sore hands while he chewed.
"What've you bin doing while I was felling trees?" he asked, wondering if he could catch Emma in
a lie.
Emma looked a bit trapped. "I'm afraid I haven't been doing anything at all," she confessed.
"Nothing?" asked Josiah. "Nothing at all?"
"I've been watching," she mumbled.
"Watching what?" Josiah prodded with a knowing grin.
"You." Emma looked discomfited to admit it, but she was obviously trying not to tell a
falsehood.
"Did you like what you saw?" he asked, his chest filling with pride.
Emma looked at him thoughtfully. "You're very handy with an ax," she finally replied.
Not the answer he had wanted, Josiah harrumphed and tore off another mouthful of buffalo meat.
When bedtime came, Josiah went to the buffalo robe and Emma soon followed. As Josiah was
covering the robe with blankets, Emma looked at him in concern.
"May I see your hands?" she requested.
"What fer?" asked Josiah. When he held out a strong hand, she felt the rough skin that she had
expected to blister from swinging the ax. "My hands ain't soft like yers, Emma. I reckon I'll hold
together long enough to finish the cabin fer you."
"I wasn't thinking of the cabin," she replied, pulling the blankets up under her chin to keep warm.
Yawning, Josiah covered himself and Emma with one end of the buffalo robe. "It'll probably
snow again tonight," he predicted.
In the morning, Josiah and Emma awoke to another inch of freshly fallen snow. After breakfast,
the trapper harnessed a team of horses to drag the logs back to the cabin, one by one.
Without getting in Josiah's way, Emma tried to be helpful wherever she could. She carried armfuls
of dead tree branches, pine needles, and other rubbish from inside the cabin, until the dirt floor
was clear and one could move about without having to climb over anything just to cross the one
room dwelling.
Now that the log walls had been lifted back into place, they still needed work plastering the
cracks between them. While Josiah hauled logs for the roof, Emma mixed a mud plaster to begin
repair work of her own on the walls.
Remembering his horses, Josiah chopped a few limbs from a cottonwood tree and then stripped
the limbs of their bark. His hungry ponies eagerly feasted on the sweet meal, nickering gratefully
as their master went back to work on the cabin.
Now it was time to make the clapboards, long boards that would lie on top of the logs,
overlapping each other until the entire roof could turn water. It was not an easy task, and Josiah
set about felling more trees. The snow was coming down heavier now, and Josiah didn't stop for
lunch when it came.
"I've got to git this roof finished," he explained, turning away Emma and her dried meat.
"The roof won't mean very much, if you won't be alive to use it," Emma replied, shoving his meal
into his hand.
"What's the matter?" he scoffed. "Afeared you'll be stuck out here by yerself?"
Emma stiffened with indignation, but she held her tongue.
The trapper harrumphed, and then started in on his lunch. Since she had already brought the
food, he might as well eat it.
The next day or two Josiah spent splitting logs to make clapboards for the roof. Then on the
third day, he constructed his hurriedly made roof and weighted the clapboards in place with
properly placed logs.
While the roof was being finished, Emma was inside the cabin arranging everything where she
wanted. Unpacking the buffalo robe, she spread it by the fireplace, close enough to keep warm,
but far enough to not be scorched by the heat. Though Josiah's skin wrapped packages were
heavy, Emma managed to stack them safely inside the cabin.
During her trips in and out of the lodge, Emma noticed holes augured on the inside walls. Getting
an idea, she went to find some sticks thick enough to poke into the holes to use as pegs. From the
positioning of the pegs, Emma suspicioned they had been used for this purpose in the past. Here
Emma planned to hang Josiah's powder horn when he wasn't wearing it, any spare clothing, and
things that needed to be kept handy.
By the time Josiah went to the doorway to tell Emma that the roof was finished, he was
surprised to find she had already moved in. Her progress pleased Josiah, but when he saw the
buffalo robe laying on the dirt floor, just as though it were beside the campfire, he frowned
disapprovingly.
The mountain man moved to his things stacked in the corner of the room, quickly locating what
he was looking for. Emma watched as he unfolded three more buffalo robes of varying
thicknesses, and then stacked them on top of each other to form a cushioned bed.
"I'm used to sleeping on the hard ground," Josiah informed Emma, "but I reckon you'll be a mite
more comfortable with some padding beneath you." He cast her a quick glance before finishing
the bed. "I'll be working on a corral next. I usually don't go to so much trouble fer my horses, but
seeing as we're setting up house fer the winter, I might as well do it up proper." Josiah stepped
back from the buffalo robes with satisfaction. "I'm thinking that'll be good, tonight. Maybe if
you're comfortable, you won't whimper so much."
"I don't whimper!" Emma exclaimed indignantly.
"When I'm handling you, you whimper," Josiah insisted.
With a sigh, Emma looked away from her husband. "I'll have supper waiting for you, when you're
hungry."
Giving an assenting grunt, Josiah grabbed his ax and his Hawken, and then headed outside to the
horses.
Shutting the newly made door behind Josiah, Emma was glad for some peace and solitude in her
new home. She set about laying a fire in the fireplace, and then arranging a small nook for herself
in the far corner of the cabin. Emma took a few logs of split firewood and stacked them to make a
small shelf that rested on the ground. On this she set her sewing box, the only earthly possession
she had besides her father's shotgun. This was close to the window, so she could have good light
to sew by during the day; Emma hoped Josiah would let her have this spot as her own.
When Josiah returned that evening, he entered the warm cabin, shutting the door noisily behind
him.
"Supper ready?" he asked.
Emma handed him his ration of jerky and the man stared at it with a dull sigh.
"I'm going hunting tomorrow," Josiah shook his head. "This here jerky is getting mighty
tiresome."
"It's better than an empty belly," reminded Emma. "Even so, I will be glad for something else.
This buffalo meat only gets tougher as it ages."
"People are the same way," chuckled Josiah, sitting down cross-legged by the fireplace to eat. He
looked about the cabin, noticing for the first time how different everything felt. He had lived here
before, but it had never felt like this. "You've bin busy," he muttered.
"I only started a fire, and tidied a few things," replied Emma.
Wondering what "things" she could have meant, Josiah anxiously looked over at his pile of
belongings. He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw she hadn't opened anything without his
permission. "I've got valuable pelts and trading goods in them skins."
"I haven't touched anything," she assured him.
"Good. See you don't." Josiah leaned back on his elbow to relax and finish his supper. He still
couldn't shake the feeling that the cabin was somehow different than he remembered it. Whatever
it was, he liked it.
Having already eaten, Emma went to bed while Josiah enjoyed the fire. It felt good to have four
thick walls between her and the wilderness outside, and she cozied into the comfortable buffalo
robes with relish.
"Thank you, God," she prayed in a hushed whisper.
Josiah turned his head to hear what Emma was saying. The man stewed in resentment when he
understood Emma was thanking God for what he, Josiah Brown, had done. Who had brought her
to this lodge, put a roof over her, and killed the buffalo she had just eaten?
"Mr. Brown?" Emma interrupted his brooding.
"What?" he barked tersely.
"Thank you for bringing me here."
Josiah noticed he was grinning.
Emma sighed happily. "It's lovely to have a home again."
"We're only here for the winter," he reminded her.
Emma was quiet.
"Don't be wishing fer things you can't have," warned Josiah. He stood up, stretching out with a
loud yawn. "Reckon I'm coming to bed now."
After placing his Hawken on some pegs on the cabin wall, Josiah proceeded to take off his
hunting shirt and kick off his moccasins.
Closing her eyes, Emma rolled onto her other side so her back was facing Josiah. Perhaps if she
could hurry and go to sleep, he might leave her alone tonight.
The robes moved as Josiah lie down and then covered himself. A few minutes later, Emma heard
him loudly snoring.
Morning came, and light peeked through the cracks of the split log shutters covering the single
window.
Emma stirred as she felt Josiah's breath hot on her neck.
"I was too tired last night," he breathed quietly. "I ain't had you in quite a spell, Emma." His lips
brushed her unresponsive mouth. "Ain't you going to do anything?"
Emma turned her head away from him, trying to still her heart. "I can't," she whispered.
"Why not?" demanded Josiah. "I'm yer husband, ain't I?"
"It's not that," Emma tried to free his hand from her shoulder, and whimpered when his fingers
only dug deeper.
"Then what?" he pressed.
"You aren't a Christian."
Emma's words grated on Josiah's ears. "What's that got to do with anything?" he reasoned,
frustration resonating in his voice.
"I can't give my heart to you," Emma emphatically shook her head. "I won't. I refuse to."
"I ain't asking you to love me," Josiah argued, "just to tussle me."
"I can't," Emma was sounding frustrated, herself. "Not without feeling more for you than I want
to. I was taught never to even look twice at a man like you, let alone to--"
"But I'm yer husband!" shouted Josiah.
"I never chose you," Emma tried to work through the inconsistencies of her rationale as honestly
as she could with only the verses of Scripture she could remember. "I never chose you for my
husband, and if I willingly give myself to you, then it's like I'm disobeying God by loving a
nonbeliever. When you took me, I never had a choice! But I have a choice in what I do."
"You're taking this too seriously, Emma. I'm only asking fer a wife, not a lover."
Emma looked at him with startled brown eyes. "What's the difference?"
"You can't love a wife, cause yer stuck with her until she dies," Josiah answered simply.
"Then why did you take me?"
"A man gits weary of sharing whores with everyone else," he shrugged. "I didn't want to share.
Besides, I kind of like having the same woman at my side every night. Makes me feel special.
Now, how about tussling me?"
"I've already told you I can't," resisted Emma, "not without love."
"What do you think I've been doing, every time I lie with you?" chuckled Josiah. "There ain't
nothing to it but convenience. Lovers can afford fancy sentiments, but we've got to be more
practical." He touched Emma's cheek until it blushed beneath his fingertips. "You might as well
git yer fill of pleasure, Emma."
Even though Emma didn't act upon Josiah's advice, he spent as much time with her as he wanted
that morning. As she always did, Emma accepted her husband's presence and let him do with her
as he pleased.
After Josiah was finished, he went to check on his horses and strip more cottonwood bark. He
was gone for about an hour, and upon returning, found Emma weeping on the buffalo robe.
"What've you got to cry about?" he scolded his wife.
Unable to speak, Emma buried her face in the robe and continued to weep.
Josiah was fast losing his patience. "Emma!"
The woman turned to look at him, her cheeks wet with tears.
"Git breakfast stirring," he ordered. "I'm going hunting after I eat, and then you can cry all you
want."
With a sniff, Emma dressed herself and then went to the waterproof skin where the dried jerky
was stored.
Josiah sat down with a weary groan. She had whimpered at his touch that morning, even though
he had piled the buffalo robes high for her comfort.
"Sometimes, I think I'll never understand you, Emma. For all those tears, I know you enjoyed
having me." Josiah accepted the dried meat from Emma's hand, but when she turned to go, he
caught her by the wrist. "Won't you sit with me fer awhile?"
"Please," sniffed Emma, struggling not to cry again, "I just want to be by myself."
With a sigh, Josiah let her go. "You ain't being very friendly!" he called after her.
Emma crawled into bed and then closed her eyes to hold back the tears that threatened to come.
She hadn't thought Josiah felt anything for her but convenient lust, and the words he had spoken
confirmed it. As this stark reality sank into Emma's heart, it only strengthened her resolve to
never love her husband.
Tossing the remainder of his breakfast into the fire, Josiah checked his Hawken.
"Bar the door after I'm gone," he instructed. "'An keep yer shotgun close by. Emma, are you
hearing me? Open yer eyes so I know you're listening!"
Emma sat up in bed. "I'm listening."
"I'll be back fer supper, so don't start fretting when I don't show up by midday."
"I won't fret," she promised.
Scowling, Josiah looked at his wife. "You don't have to sound so cold-blooded about it. Now that
you got a lodge fer the winter, I reckon you're thinking you don't need me as much."
"I never said that," refuted Emma.
"You didn't have to," harrumphed Josiah. "I'll be seeing you before sundown." Then he left,
leaving Emma to lift the bar back over the door.
Josiah's moccasin sank into the soft snow, compacting until it reached the ground. It was only a
few inches deep, so he had no need for snowshoes this early in the winter. Squinting as his eyes
traveled across the patches of white that reflected the sun's glare, Josiah searched for signs of
game. The corral needed to be finished, but his last few mealtimes had caused dissatisfaction with
the buffalo jerky and his stomach urged him to go hunting.
Descending down the slope of the mountain, Josiah entered the valley below. Game was more
plentiful here, and he was more likely to find deer. Josiah's mind wandered back to Emma, and he
had to force himself not to break concentration and expose himself to carelessness, simply
because of a woman's tears.
Back at the cabin, however, Emma was no longer crying. After Josiah had left, she found a
measure of peace in her solitude and was now sitting beside her small sewing shelf by the
window and mending yet another petticoat. She was ashamed that Josiah's words could have
induced such tears, for she had no illusions that he loved her. Still, it had jarred her to hear him
say it in such plain, uncaring terms.
Emma thought back to her girlish hopes of what married life would be like, and then compared it
to what she was presently enduring. Resentment welled in Emma's heart, and she could feel the
bitter tears sting her eyes. It was a great disappointment for which she could find no expression
but tears.
"Lord," she whispered, "have I waited so long for a husband, only to become the wife of this wild
man? Is this what I have been waiting so patiently for?" When Emma realized she was toying
with resentment toward God, she quickly put her emotions in check. She reminded herself that
she was God's to do with however He best saw fit. If He wanted her here, then she had to believe
there was a purpose to all this heartache. To believe otherwise, would be to call God a liar, for
His word had said, "All things work together for good." It was difficult for Emma to see any good
coming from this marriage, but she held fast to her faith and pressed on with her sewing.
The day wore on, and Emma ate her jerky alone in the cabin. She was too cautious of leaving the
safety of those four walls, and was content to remain where she was. As confining as the small
lodge was, it was far better than being exposed to every animal that approached their campfire
back in the Yellowstone. Emma's one liberty, however, was to keep the window shutters wide
open. She enjoyed looking at the wilderness surrounding her, all the while remaining safely
indoors. If trouble arose, she could quickly close the shutters and go for her pa's shotgun. Emma
prayed that would never be necessary.
The sun settled momentarily on the distant horizon, casting pink and orange hues onto the
glittering snow. Then, all too soon, the last of the warm rays slipped behind the Rockies, leaving
Josiah to tramp back to the cabin in the moonlight.
The tired hunter paused long enough to adjust the bundle of wet buckskins and fresh deer meat
slung over his shoulder. Perhaps he should have camped for the night, and returned the next day?
However, the thought of Emma fretting over his absence was enough to push Josiah onward. He
knew she had promised not to worry, and even though he guessed she worried about him less
now that she had shelter, he was loathe to risk more tears if he didn't have to.
Josiah trudged on, until the cabin came into view. He could smell the chimney and knew Emma
had a warm fire blazing inside.
"Woman!" he shouted to the lodge. "Unbar the door!"
One of the shutters peeked open as Emma cautiously determined who it was.
"It's me!" Josiah demanded impatiently.
The shutter quickly closed, and Josiah waited as he heard the sound of the bar being lifted. A
wedge of light cut through the night as the door opened.
For a moment, Josiah forgot his impatience and hesitated to step inside. The cabin was inviting,
with its brightly burning fireplace and a strong cozy feeling he could sense standing out there in
the snow.
"Aren't you coming inside?" asked Emma.
Josiah shook his senses back to reality. "I shot two deer just afore sundown," he announced,
stomping inside and then shaking the snow from his moccasins. He dropped the wet carcasses to
the floor, opening them to reveal choice cuts of venison.
"I want this fer my supper," Josiah hungrily told Emma. He glanced at the fireplace. "You eaten
yit?"
"No, not yet," replied Emma. Famished herself, she selected some cuts of deer meat and then
carried them to the fire to start cooking. "It's late, and I was beginning to worry about you."
"I'll just bet," muttered Josiah. Her words sounded sincere though, and he secretly wondered if
she was telling the truth.
With a tired groan, Josiah sat beside the fire to warm himself. He took off his buffalo hide coat,
and then removed his moccasins. Unwrapping the strips of cloth about his feet, (for he had no
socks), Josiah rubbed his skin until both feet felt warm again.
"This venison would taste good with some herbs," Emma sighed wistfully. "Next spring, I need
to lay in a supply."
Upon hearing this, Josiah went to his belongings to locate a small leather pouch. "Here, use this,"
he told Emma.
Reluctantly, Emma opened the bag and took a cautious whiff. Josiah had many such pouches,
filled with concoctions that smelled horrid, even though he insisted they all had a purpose.
However, this aroma was very different.
"Sage!" Emma exclaimed in delight. She poured some of the dried flakes into her hand and then
quickly returned them to the bag. Two eyes beamed up at Josiah. "Thank you, Mr. Brown!"
Grunting a little harsher than he intended, Josiah settled back on the dirt floor to rub his feet.
The cabin filled with the smell of savory venison, as Emma cooked their supper with her newly
acquired sage.
"Emma," beckoned Josiah, "come sit with me if that meat doesn't need yer attention right now."
Obediently, Emma went to Josiah's seat on the floor. Once beside him, she stared at the fire as
though her thoughts were far, far away from this tiny cabin in the mountains.
Without asking, Josiah possessively wrapped his hand about the back of Emma's neck. "Did you
really worry about me?" he wondered.
"Some," replied Emma.
Josiah's hand slid to her shoulder as he moved her closer to him. He pressed her head to his chest
and then settled back to enjoy the fire with his arm around Emma. She made no effort to move,
and tolerated his presence with something akin to indifference.
"At least yer not crying," mused Josiah. "If I tussled you right now, you wouldn't shed a tear,
would you?" There was no question in his voice, for he had his answer quietly resting her head
against his chest.
"I'll be your wife, Mr. Brown, but I won't be your lover."
"Meaning, you still won't return my kisses?"
"No."
"All right, Emma, if that's the way you want it," sighed the man. "Only," he peered down at her,
"if you could be a little more friendly when we're not on the buffalo robe, I'd count it a favor.
These mountains are big, but this cabin ain't."
"That sounds fair," agreed Emma. She sat up and expectantly looked at Josiah. "Supper should be
ready by now. Do you still want to bed me before we eat?"
Taken aback, Josiah studied Emma a moment before answering. "You've done some hardening
since I was away," he observed. "You can ask me that without blushing?"
"As you said, we've got to be more practical." The resolve in Emma's face was unmistakable, and
Josiah understood for the first time just how deep it went.
"I'm too tired for anything but food and sleep," he finally answered her question. "That venison
smells mighty good, though. I should've given you that sage sooner."
Emma practiced a smile for her husband. "Pa always said I was a decent cook, though I think he
was just being kind for my sake."
Going to the fireplace, Emma took the venison from the kettle hanging from a hook above the
flames and then placed the meat on the single tin plate in Josiah's possession. She had used the
sage sparingly, wanting to make it last for as many meals as possible.
Carrying the plate to where Josiah was waiting on the floor, Emma sat down and placed the food
between them.
"Tomorrow, I'll make you something to eat on," Josiah grinned as they shared the venison on his
battered tin plate. "I reckon you'll be wanting a table and chairs too."
"And a bucket to carry water from the creek," Emma brightened. "That way, we can wash before
mealtime."
"Washing ain't necessary," he informed her. "A little dirt won't do a body no harm."
"I've been needing to bathe for quite some time," sighed Emma, not even attempting to argue with
his reasoning.
"Bathe?" Josiah looked at her in horror. "Why would you want to wet yerself all over?"
Emma sighed patiently. He was obviously too backward to understand why bathing was
necessary.
"Some of my mountain friends practice bathing," grinned Josiah, "but not me. Blackfoot don't git
dirty!"
Suddenly struggling not to choke on her food, Emma couldn't help but laugh.
Seeing she understood his joke, Josiah grinned broadly. "I'll bathe if you want me to, Emma.
Maybe, it'll stop yer whimpering at night."
Emma's smile slowly faded. "I don't whimper," she protested.
Choosing to disagree in silence, Josiah resumed his meal.
The next morning, Josiah set about chopping logs to make a table for their cabin. After cutting the
logs down to the right length, he then split them in half, giving one side a flat surface for the
tabletop. After assembling the roughly hewn table, Josiah made two split-bottomed chairs, and
then carried his new furniture into the lodge.
Letting Emma decide where she wanted the table, Josiah returned to his ax to make a wooden
plate and a water bucket. The plate was simply made by splitting a log down both sides, and
then chopping it down to a square and carving out a center for food.
The bucket, however, took him a little more time to make. Josiah hollowed the center of a log by
burning out its interior, creating a large cup-like container. Then he added a rope handle to carry it
by. It was crudely fashioned, but it was watertight and would suit Emma's needs just fine.
When Josiah presented the bucket to Emma the next day, she put a blanket about her shoulders,
and then walked through the snow to draw water from the creek.
As Emma carried the full bucket back to the cabin, Josiah was readying to split railing for the
horse corral.
"You going to bathe?" he called to her curiously.
"If you call a wet cloth, bathing!" she exclaimed with a laugh.
Hopeful that Josiah's curiosity would not cause him to follow, Emma went into the cabin, closing
the door firmly behind her.
Setting down her bucket, Emma looked at the reflection staring back at her from the surface of the
water. Could that dirty woman possibly be her? Her hair was filthy, her face smudged, and for all
Emma knew, she probably smelled. With a groan of dismay, Emma shut her eyes and turned
away from the terrible reflection. "I'm glad no one back home can see me like this!" she sighed in
disgust.
Just then, the cabin door opened as Josiah entered with an armful of firewood.
"That water's going to be mighty cold," he explained, stoking the fire. "You'd best heat some in
the kettle, before you bathe."
"Thank you," nodded Emma.
"What's the matter?" frowned Josiah. "Thought you was eager to get clean."
"Do I... smell?" wondered Emma.
Josiah took a step toward her and sniffed. "I don't smell nothing strange. If anything, your
aroma's like mine."
"I was afraid of that," sighed Emma. "You could do with some cleaning, yourself," she remarked,
filling the kettle with water.
"If you survive yer bath," grinned Josiah, "then I suppose I'll risk one after supper." With a
chuckle, Josiah strode out the door to work on the unfinished corral.
After the cold creek water had been warmed, Emma wet one of Josiah's clean handkerchiefs and
then rubbed it against a block of soap. From the looks of Josiah, she wouldn't have guessed he
owned any soap, but she had gratefully accepted it and thanked him for it.
Removing her one-piece dress, Emma looked down at her three soiled petticoats. Her corset was
dirty, and even the chemise beneath her undergarments looked as though it had fared no better.
After Josiah finished the corral later that day, he turned his Indian ponies into the area and
watched as they trotted about, happy to no longer be picketed in one place.
Having watered and fed the horses, Josiah swung his ax over one shoulder and looked up at the
sky. His stomach told him Emma should have supper going by now, and he decided to follow his
instincts. Grabbing his Hawken, Josiah wearily lumbered back to the cabin.
"Emma, I'm hungry!" came Josiah's call, as he swung open the door. He heard a surprised cry,
and saw a blanket flying to cover its occupant. "You still bathing?" he asked in surprise.
"I made the mistake of cleaning my clothes, before myself," Emma explained, trying to fight back
frustration. "The water is dirty, and I can't go down to the creek because my dress is still wet!"
"Gimme the bucket," Josiah grinned with a shake of his head. "When's supper?"
Emma sighed patiently. "Would you mind terribly if we just had jerky tonight?"
"But, we still have venison!" he protested. "You mean you haven't started supper yit?"
"I've been busy."
"So have I!" he exclaimed.
"I'm sorry, but I forgot all about supper," apologized Emma. "If you'll fetch me clean water, I'll
start the last of the venison."
As Josiah trudged out the door with her bucket, Emma heard him swear beneath his breath. It
was the first time she had ever heard him take God's name in vain.
When Josiah returned, venison was cooking over the fire.
"Here's yer water," he grumbled, letting the bucket slosh as he carelessly dropped it at Emma's
feet.
"Thank you," she sighed.
Shrugging off his coat, Josiah hung his powder horn on a peg on the wall. "I ain't asking a lot from
you," he muttered. "I reckon I'm as yielding as a man can git!" He glared at Emma as she quietly
rinsed her hair in the frigid water.
"I'm sorry I forgot about supper," she apologized once more.
Josiah wanted to continue his grumbling, but he was noticing Emma's long wet hair. It was
unusual to see it hanging down her back, instead of her usual pinned up braids.
"You haven't let down yer hair like that since our wedding night," he reflected quietly.
"I wasn't the one who let it down," recalled Emma, "it was done for me. Those two Blackfoot
braves yanked out my hairpins."
Captivated by Emma's tresses, Josiah reached out to stroke the long golden mane. "Yer mighty
purty, Emma."
"If I am, it's because I'm clean," she tried to lightly shrug. "The bucket is yours, so you can bathe
before supper if you want. I'm afraid the venison will be a little late."
"I'll bathe," Josiah nodded, picking up the bucket to fetch more water from the creek.
Hugging her blanket to remain modest, Emma tended the venison until Josiah returned with his
water. He didn't bother heating it, but promptly set about taking off his buckskins.
Keeping her eyes from Josiah, Emma dried her hair by the fire and then returned to the venison.
"I finished the corral," informed Josiah, splashing water onto his arms in a haphazard manner.
"Don't forget to use the soap!" exclaimed Emma, afraid his greasy self would shed water and he
would remain smelling as he did before he started.
"I was thinking I'd like to take you up the mountain tomorrow," he offered, "'an show you a good
view of the valley below us."
"I'll come," she consented.
At the call for supper, Josiah quickly climbed back into his smelly buckskins, ready to eat.
Now able to freely look about, Emma was dismayed to find a large muddy puddle on the dirt
floor where Josiah had bathed. "At least you remembered to use the soap," she sighed.
As Emma had expected him to, Josiah took her to the buffalo robe when supper was over. He
didn't try to kiss her, but squeezed her shoulder, instead.
It was then that Emma whimpered.
"I even bathed!" Josiah exclaimed reproachfully. "Thought you said you didn't whimper, Emma."
"I didn't know I did," she winced in pain. "Mr. Brown, it hurts when you handle me that hard!"
"Why didn't you speak up sooner?" he demanded.
Emma sighed. "I didn't want to make you angry."
"You have a peculiar way of deciding what'll anger me," Josiah chuckled morosely. "So it wasn't
the buffalo robe being too hard, nor me being too smelly." Grinning, he held Emma close and
whispered in her ear. "It ain't in my nature to be tender, but I'll try."
The next morning, Emma was glad to find her clothing completely dry. She dressed herself while
Josiah slept, and then started breakfast. By the time he awakened, she had hot broth with
reconstituted jerky waiting for him.
Emma watched as Josiah took a sip. She wasn't surprised when he frowned.
"We're out of venison, so I fixed buffalo for breakfast," she explained.
"It's good broth," muttered Josiah, tossing back his blanket. "You still aiming to be friendly,
Emma?" He slanted her a sideways glance.
"I said I would," she reminded him, "when I'm not being tussled."
"I were just checking," he grinned. "You're like a wooden doll when yer in my arms. How about a
smile to let me know we're still friends?"
Emma smiled, and Josiah thought he saw her blush a little as well.
Sipping down the last of his broth, Josiah handed the cup back to Emma. "I'll fetch you after I
tend the horses. If you don't have nothing heavier than that dress to keep warm, use my blanket
capote [pronounced cup-oat']. It's in the large leather bag in the corner." Josiah stood up, and
then looked back at Emma. "You didn't whimper last night."
"You were tender," she smiled gratefully.
Picking up his Hawken, Josiah checked its priming, and then stepped outside.
Now that Josiah was up, Emma straightened the buffalo robes and smoothed out their blankets.
She washed the tin cup, tidying the mess she had made preparing breakfast.
Then Emma went to locate Josiah's capote-- a coat made from a blanket-- in his large bag, for her
woolen dress was not adequate to keep out the cold. Easily finding the hooded capote, Emma put
it on just as Josiah walked through the door.
Grinning, he looked her over. "I ain't sure if you're wearing that capote, or that capote is wearing
you!" he chuckled.
"You're a very large man," she observed, noticing how his capote came down to her ankles. The
long sleeves went well beyond her hands, and the broad shoulders hung heavy on her frame.
Though Emma was not a small woman, she felt like one beside Josiah. The top of her head only
came to his shoulder, and when he stood near, Emma was constantly looking up when he spoke.
"This'll keep you warm," Josiah grinned, tying the capote's sash about her waist to keep the
garment closed. He pulled the hood over her head and laughed when it hid much of her face.
"Should I take Pa's shotgun?" wondered Emma.
"What fer?" he asked. "You can't find yer hands in those sleeves to hold a weapon. Besides, I got
my Hawken."
Josiah swung open the log door, and Emma followed him outside into the icy air. It had snowed a
little the night before, only adding to the white layer that already covered much of the ground.
Heading up the mountain, Josiah led the way while Emma kept behind him. The hood continually
fell over her eyes, and Emma found herself constantly pushing it back to see where she was
going.
With some consternation, Emma watched as Josiah ascended the rocky slope with the ease of a
mountain goat. Her footing wasn't as sure, and more than once she grasped for Josiah's hand
whenever the terrain became too steep.
As Emma continued, she noticed her ears pop with the high altitude. The wind became colder, the
snow deeper, and the air thinner.
"Emma, keep up," Josiah ordered. "Yer falling behind."
"I'm coming as fast as I can," she panted.
With a sigh of impatience, Josiah turned to watch as Emma struggled in her long skirts and
oversized capote. "This snow ain't even deep enough to bother with snowshoes!" he chided.
Gasping for breath, Emma came to a halt. "Please, couldn't we stop for a rest?"
"I reckon, but only fer a moment or two," he reluctantly conceded. "Don't sit in the snow, Emma!
You'll git yer clothes wet!"
"How much further to the summit?" she panted, leaning against a tree for support.
"We ain't even halfway," Josiah wryly grinned. "It ain't like you to tire out so quick."
"You were snoring last night," smiled Emma, "so I had trouble sleeping!"
"Now that you've found yer second wind," mocked Josiah, "set yer feet to moving!"
The rock-strewn slopes grew more difficult the higher they climbed, so that Josiah had to stop
more than once for Emma to find her breath.
"We're almost there," he encouraged his tired wife.
Hanging to Josiah's strong hand, Emma finally reached the mountain's summit. The gusts at the
top were fierce, causing the hood on her capote to wildly flap at her back.
"Ain't it a view?" Josiah grinned, his face full to the wind.
Emma could barely hear him, for the blast howled so loudly she could scarcely hear herself think.
Squinting, Emma looked down from their high precipice. Far below them, she could see the valley
floor, covered in white and looking as rugged and as wild as anything she had ever seen. Her
eyesight couldn't see trees or rocks from this distance, but she was very aware of the sheer size
of the mountains.
Josiah tapped Emma's shoulder and then pointed upward to something behind her. "Hollowtop!"
he shouted above the wind.
Turning, Emma gasped at the tall peak of Hollowtop Mountain soaring above them. It dwarfed
the summit beneath her feet, giving her a feeling of vertigo as she looked upward.
An eagle's cry brought a grin to Josiah, and he watched the bird soar above the mountains as it
searched for its prey.
"I grew up in these here mountains, 'an in wilds like these," Josiah told Emma, his eyes fixed on
the eagle. "It's a grand life, living as you please 'an going where you want. Look, Emma," he
swept his hand across the view, "there ain't none to tell us what to do, or where to go. We can do
whatever we want, whenever we want. There ain't a man, woman, nor child as fer as the eye can
see." Josiah turned to Emma. "You don't have to keep to the white man's ways, cause there's
none here to see but me."
"What do you mean?" asked Emma, struggling to be heard over the wind.
"You can tussle me, 'an hold me, and no one will look down on you fer giving yourself to a halfbreed,"
reasoned Josiah.
"That's not the reason why," Emma shook her head resolutely. "I won't love a man who isn't a
Christian!"
"Bah!" Josiah dismissed her argument with a disbelieving wave of his hand. "I'm knowing yer
kind better than that! Even white whores don't want it known that they've tumbled with me,
'cause it'd be bad fer business!"
Emma's face paled, and she took a step back from the mountain man. "I'm not a whore," she
finally managed to speak. Her words were lost in the wind, but Josiah didn't have to hear to
understand what she had said.
Resting his Hawken in the crook of his arm, Josiah looked out over the valley. "Yer a hard one,
Emma."
Emma moved forward until she was sure he could hear her over the howling wind. "I beg you not
to push me beyond what I can do in good conscience," she pleaded. "Isn't it enough that I share
your bed and cook your food?"
"I reckon it'll have to be," groaned Josiah. "I had to try, though."
Breathing a small sigh of relief, Emma shuddered beneath Josiah's capote. She could barely feel
her ice cold feet.
"I'm ready to go down now!" she called to Josiah.
Nodding his willingness, Josiah led the way back down. He wasn't sorry he had brought Emma to
these mountains, instead of wintering with his white trapper friends. If Emma was this
determined while they were truly alone, then he would never had had a chance with her amongst
her own people.
Gravity helped Emma descend the steep mountainside, but since her feet were numb, it didn't
take long for her to trip over her skirts.
Handing his Hawken to Emma, Josiah lifted Emma into his arms. Without a word, he carried her
down the mountain, negotiating the way easier than Emma thought possible for someone with a
woman in his arms. Holding onto to his neck with one hand, and the heavy Hawken rifle with her
other, Emma waited for the terrain to get easier so she could walk on her own power.
"Can you feel yer feet?" huffed Josiah, his warm breath creating a long trail of vapor in the arctic
air.
"Just barely," she answered. "Mr. Brown, put me down. I think I can manage the rest of the way
on my own."
"I should've checked yer shoes to make sure they were sturdy," he scolded himself. "A good
friend of mine lost half of both feet to frostbite last winter. He walks about on his heels now."
Startled, Emma looked at Josiah as though he had just told a very poor joke.
"I was the one who done the cutting, and I ain't too eager to do it again." Josiah paused a moment
to fill his lungs with air. "Wiggle yer toes, Emma."
"They're wiggling," she soberly affirmed.
"Good, then you ain't in a bad way," he sighed in relief.
When they reached the cabin, Josiah put Emma in front of the fire and then carefully took off her
shoes.
"These are full of holes," he looked at Emma's footwear. "No wonder yer feet are blue!" Josiah
went to his large bag and pulled out a spare set of moccasins. He compared them to Emma's small
feet and then laughed at himself for even checking. Tossing aside his giant sized shoes, Josiah
took her small feet between his rough hands and rubbed them until her skin glowed a healthy
pink.
"Until I fashion some moccasins," sighed Josiah, "you'll need to keep out of the snow."
"My shoes will serve me just fine," insisted Emma.
Josiah frowned. "You reckon moccasins ain't fitting for a white woman?"
"It's not that," Emma stammered awkwardly. "They're simply not necessary. I can get along just
fine without them."
Discouraged, Josiah let her foot drop from his hands.
"Thank you for the thought though, Mr. Brown."
Josiah leveled his gaze at Emma. "You'll wear whatever I tell you to wear." He jumped to his feet
and then grabbed his rifle. "I'm going hunting. Stay inside and keep the bar over the door while I'm
gone."
"When will you be back?"
"When I feel like it," came his short reply. Putting on his buffalo hide coat and then filling a small
pouch with jerky, Josiah left the cabin to head for some destination known only to himself.
Alone once again, Emma put the bar over the door and then went to the window to do some
sewing. Her trembling needle refused to work, however, and Emma spent the remainder of the
day staring out the window deep in thought.
Instead of returning to the cabin that night, Josiah decided to camp beside the mountain. His
frustrations cooled in the winter wind, while his body enjoyed the night fire.
One question kept sounding over and over in his brain: "Do you want her?" The reply was
always the same: "Yes!" In fact, Josiah didn't know of anything else he wanted more than Emma.
The longer he was with her, the more he wanted her to treat him as her husband.
"If only she'd give in," he sighed glumly. "That woman is more stubborn than I am!" Josiah
quickly checked himself. "Almost as stubborn," for he would never admit a mere woman could
have a will stronger than his own.
The next morning, Josiah headed back to the cabin, eager to see Emma again. He pounded on the
door until she let him inside, and then produced the grouse he had shot.
"It'll be good eating," he told Emma, placing it in her hands and then going to the fire to warm
himself.
Quietly, Emma went to the table to set about dressing the bird while Josiah stood beside the
fireplace. He wanted to say something to her-- anything, to break this silence between them.
"Do you know what day of the week this is?" asked Emma.
"No, I don't," shrugged Josiah, glad that he didn't have to be the first to speak up.
"I think today will be Sunday," she decided. "Starting now, every seven days will be the
Sabbath."
"Why do you want to go and do that fer?" asked Josiah. "You ain't knowing what day this is!"
"I haven't had much time to keep track of months, let alone days," explained Emma, "because I've
been too busy staying alive. Even though I think God understands, it's time I put the Sabbath
back in its rightful place."
"This means you ain't fixing lunch?" Josiah asked in alarm.
"No, I'll cook lunch," answered Emma, "but if any chore can wait until the next day, I'd like to
put it off so I can rest on the Sabbath."
"The Sabbath!" he grumbled. Deciding to change the subject to something more agreeable, Josiah
pointed to the grouse Emma was plucking on her lap. "That's a big'un, ain't it?"
Emma forced a smile and nodded that it was.
Coming to Emma's chair, Josiah crouched down to look into her face. "I don't want to be yer
enemy," he sighed, touching her cheek with a large hand. "Don't fight me unless you have to,
Emma."
His gentle touch created a warm feeling in Emma that she couldn't escape. "I'll try not to," she
breathed quietly. "I don't want to be your enemy, either."
Smiling, Josiah kissed Emma's cheek and then went to the buffalo robe to stretch out while she
fixed his meal. "Wake me when the food's ready," he yawned. If this was Sunday, he decided to
make the best of it and take a good long nap.
With a yearning heart, Emma looked across the cabin to where Josiah was lying. "God," she
whispered into the silence, "if You could turn King Nebuchadnezzar's heart to righteousness,
then you can turn his."
Still awake, the mountain man's sharp ears caught every word of Emma's hushed prayer. The
"him" she had referred to obviously meant him. Josiah thought it a futile prayer, for he knew he
would never change.
Not even for Emma.
"The king's heart is in the hand of the LORD, as the rivers of water: He turneth it whithersoever
He will."
~ Proverbs 21:1 ~
"I [King] Nebuchadnezzar praise and extol and honour the King of heaven, all whose works are
truth, and His ways judgment: and those that walk in pride He [God] is able to abase."
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