FLAT NOSE EMORY YARNS A YARN
Chapter 8
A week and a half on the trail back to their cabin, Catherine went into labor. Wrapped in a huge buffalo robe, they were asleep beside the fire when she was jarred awake by a severe contraction as her water broke. Instantly awake, Vincent knew at once that the child was coming. He had seen many an animal born, as well as a few babies, and knew what was needed. He helped his wife deliver a healthy, squalling baby boy who was perfect in every way. It was a remarkably easy first birth. He laid the child in her waiting arms. The blue eyes and yellow gold curls proclaimed him to be Vincent’s son, and she sighed with delight as he opened his eyes and blearily looked up at her.
"He’s beautiful, my love," she exclaimed.
Kneeling beside her to give her a kiss, he agreed, saying, "Yes, he is, Catherine. Thank you." Then he stood back proudly, beaming at his radiant wife holding his son to her breast for his first feeding. "I know we’ve never discussed a name for him, but I would like to call him Jacob, after my father."
"It’s a good name, Vincent, one to be proud of. Jacob . . . Charles after my father?"
"Yes, that is a good name also."
***
He let her rest for two days and then, through necessity, got her and his son on the trail. "I’m sorry, my love, but we must go. I can’t take the chance that we might be followed."
"Even after I left a note for my father?"
"I don’t trust Bouchard."
"Oh," she gasped, "I don’t either."
"Besides, Flat Nose told me that they think I’ve put a spell on you."
"Well, you have," she purred. "A spell of love."
"I don’t know who put a spell on whom, my love, but I can see the results of that love every time I look at our son."
Packing quickly, they were on their way. Arriving at the looted cabin, Vincent decided to spend a couple of days there until Catherine had regained some of her strength, as the trip back to the cabin had been very hard on her. Delving into his packs, he silently blessed his old friend. From his own goods, Flat Nose had replaced most of the articles looted from the cabin. Vincent made a pallet for them in the ruined bedroom, put Catherine to bed with Jacob beside her, and fixed a quick supper for them. Catherine spent most of the time asleep or resting. Gradually, her natural buoyant health returned.
"We have stayed long enough, Catherine," he said one evening. They were sitting on a bench that was attached to the east wall, watching the rising sun and playing with their son.
"Yes, I know."
"I’m sorry that you won’t see your father anymore, but it is not safe for us here."
"Vincent, you are the most important person to me in the whole world. Where you go, I go. We must never be parted again. I wouldn’t live through it. I’ve lived most of my life without my father; I think he will survive. Let’s pack and be ready to go tomorrow morning."
"Have I told you just how much I love you?" he exclaimed.
"Yes, every time you look at me." Taking his hand, she led him into the cabin.
***
As soon as the sun rose the next morning, they were on their way. Just before the cabin passed out of sight, Catherine turned in her saddle with a deep sigh.
"What is it, Catherine?" Vincent asked, pulling his horse to a stop beside her.
"It’s such a lovely place; I found the meaning of my life there. I hate leaving it to someone else, who may not care for it as we do," she said sadly. "I was happier there than I have ever been." Bending a loving look on him, she added, "All due to you." She reached across her horse to caress his cheek.
"It is a magical place, indeed. But if we stay we will be harassed continually. The mountains are changing, too many strangers are coming in. And strangers are a danger to me, Catherine. They are not as the men who watched me come of age, who taught me all they knew of survival, who accepted me as I am, and who were always kind to me. In a few years, they all will be gone then the danger will be tripled."
"Where will we find a safe place?"
"I know of a small, easily missed, and seldom used valley deep in the mountains. We would be safe there. I promise you: we will be happy again, my love, when we are safely hidden in our own little valley."
"Then let us be on our way to our new home . . . now," she cried as she urged her horse into a trot, leaving Vincent behind. Smiling at her eagerness, he prodded his horse into action.
In his papoose cradle board, Jacob was strapped to the horse behind his mother’s saddle. Too young to notice what was going on around him, he slept, soothed by the motion of the horse’s gait, safe in the love and protection of his mother and father.
Catching up with his family, Vincent led them up the Judith River into the mountains and into legend.
***
There was a collective dreamy sigh, and the girls began to jabber among themselves. He heard, "So romantic." "So sad." "Almost like ‘Romeo and Juliet.’" This last was from Corey Flint whose father was a teacher.
The boys commented on Vincent’s teeth, claws, and ability to roar and his trapping and tracking capabilities. Caleb loudly boasted that he would sure like to meet him. All the other boys chorused that they would like to also.
Looking up from the fire, Flat Nose saw that they were surrounded by a large crowd of the older folks from the wagon train who were as immersed in the story as the children. "Wagh, ah reckon it’s time fer yu all ter git ter bed," the lanky trapper said to the children. "We got us a bizzy day, t’morrer."
"Thanks for the story," Julia said, the other children nodded in unison, and they scattered to their respective wagons followed by their parents.
"What a fanciful tale," the wagon master’s wife scoffed. "I’m sure there’s not a word of truth it."
"You know what they say about the mountain men: they are nothing but dirty tall tale tellers, and they love to put the shuck on us ordinary people. He’s no better than the rest of them." This negative comment came from Mrs. Flint, Corey’s mother.
The unfavorable remarks faded as the adults approached their wagons and, in a short while, Flat Nose was alone staring into the fire. Let ‘em think whut they wants; he knowed the truth o’ hiz tale. They wuz a legend ‘n’ he hed been right proud ter he’p ‘em. The legend wud last longer’n him, thet wuz fer shore. The face of his friend, the lionman, appeared in the flames along with that of his family. "Wal, my frien’, ah shore hope yu air happy wi’ yore wife ‘n’ son," he mumbled softly. "‘N’ ah shore hope ter see yu when ah git back ter the mountains."
Returning to the lead wagon, he rolled up in his buffalo robe and was soon fast asleep, dreaming of a mountain meadow with a clear, cold stream running through it, and his friend, Vincent, standing by a large fir tree waiting for him.
Fini