She gave the lowering storm ceiling a worried glance. “It started yesterday morning. We’ve been here since early yesterday afternoon, but there was nearly a foot by the time we got here. It’s just coming down heavy and fast.”
He seemed to mimic her worried look as he said, “I don’t think your wagon load is going to make it to your valley this fall, Elle. I’m sorry, but unless it stops snowing right now and gets warm in a hurry, this wagon is going to be stuck here awhile.” After setting the grub box near the fire in the corner, he went back into the next cave to look around. “How did you ever find this place? This is great!”
Recounting what had happened after Trace was knocked cold, she ended with voicing her wish that she could have thanked Many Feathers and hoped he was somewhere warm and dry as well. Trace laughed. “That Indian is probably somewhere right close by, buttoned up as snug as we are, Elle. I doubt you need to worry about him. Where there’s one cave, there are probably several.”
“Oh, good. He was so good to help me. I’ll quit worrying about him and just worry about finding feed for the mules and cows now. And about how we’re going to get through this much snow to get to the valley.”
Trace put an arm around her shoulders. “Worrying isn’t going to help anything, Giselle. Let’s just do what we can and let the rest go. We’ll pack your stuff in here and wall off that back cave. Maybe, if we leave a medicine man’s talisman, it will still be here in the spring and we’ll come get it. Follow me and I’ll show you something. The animals are going to be fine. They’ll do the same thing the elk and deer do when the snow gets too deep to graze.”
He took her to the front cave and she watched as indeed, the mules leaned their heads over the rope she had used as a corral and were nipping at the willows and bushes that grew nearby. “They’ll browse off the tender branches of the bushes just like an elk would. We’ll be fine. It’ll be a trip you’ll always remember, but we’ll be fine.”
They went back into the second cave. He sat down on the grub box and stretched his hands to the fire. Rubbing the goose egg on the side of his head, he asked, “The single tree did this?”
She nodded as she dished him up some of the breakfast she had left warming. “That sweet-natured mule lunged just as you went to hook up the trace. You landed almost under its back feet, right in front of the wagon wheel. I was terrified you would be killed. Then I couldn’t move you. You weigh several thousand pounds, I’m afraid. I finally got you away from the mule and the wheels, but I couldn’t lift you into the wagon for anything, even with my grandfather’s pulleys and ropes. If Many Feathers hadn’t come and lifted you, we’d still be sitting there in the sage, with you buried in the snow by now. His showing up was an answer to my prayers.”
Trace stretched and groaned. “My head hurts, but so does the rest of me. I feel like I was run over by the wagon.”
Giselle smiled up at him sweetly. “That would be because Many Feathers threw you into and out of the wagon like a sack of flour. He helped me, but it was none too gentle. If I hadn’t been so incredibly grateful for him lifting you at all, I would have been outraged. He pretty well just dumped you in and then dumped you back out onto the floor there.” She pointed.
Groaning again, Trace laughed. “I am his competition after all.” He finished his breakfast and then climbed back into the bed to stretch out. Within minutes he was out again and she was back to square one of trying to get her mind on other things than him lying there. She dug out the knitting she had been struggling with this whole trip. If they were going to walk or ride the mules out, heavy stockings were in order.
She tried to untangle the needles and yarn and couldn’t help smiling to herself as she did it. There was no doubt that any stockings she succeeded in knitting would make for interesting wearing, that was for sure. It was a good thing warmth didn’t depend on how something looked or she would be in trouble.
She had been up and cooking for a while when Trace lifted his head again. The goose egg was down, but that look in his eyes when he looked at her was still there, and Giselle was sure that bringing the rocker in had been a good idea. When he got up, he surprised her by going out and bringing in Petja’s table and chairs as well. He set them up on the other side of the fire and said, “We might as well use them while we’re here since they need to be brought in and stored anyway.”
That was the first time they had ever sat across the table from each other to eat, and it was a surprisingly nice dinner there in the cave together. It was nice enough that she almost wished they could just stay there indefinitely and not have to face hiking out and telling each other goodbye.
That goodbye was on her mind again when she lay down next to him that night at bedtime. She was torn between enjoying his closeness and warmth and worrying that she should keep her distance and try to protect her heart from being crushed when the time came. Deciding that Trace had been right, that worrying wouldn’t help and that she was already going to be crushed, she snuggled over against him in spite of herself. When he turned and gathered her close, there was no hope of staying away anyway.
He was still slightly out of it and she woke up late in the night, nearly strangled in his arms. When she tried to loosen his grip, he sighed and leaned his head to begin kissing her neck again. This time, she was far too tempted and got clear up and stoked the fire. What was she going to do about him? She ended up wrapping a quilt around herself and attempting to knit by the firelight. Knitting helped. She was terrible at it even when there was good light. Between trying to concentrate on what she was doing, and trying not to laugh at the mess she was creating, she was somewhat able to forget about Trace’s kisses.
He woke her there in the rocker the next morning. He was rubbing her neck and shoulders. “What are you doing up in the chair, Elley? Were you having trouble sleeping?” She nodded sleepily and he asked, “Are you worrying about the snow?”
He was watching her and she wondered what to tell him. “No. Not the snow, exactly.”
He leaned down next to her chair. “What then exactly?” His voice was gentle and she worried he could read her mind and she dropped her eyes.
“Oh, just things, you know.”
“No, I don’t know. I’m not sure I like having a chair in here after all. You’ve never left me in bed to go worry by yourself before. Are we not good enough friends that you can tell me what’s wrong?”
She looked up, hesitating, and then leveled with him. “You’re just very affectionate when you have a head injury. I’m not entirely sure how to take you is all. I’m sure when you feel better you’ll be back to normal.”
Still meeting her eyes steadily, he asked, “What did I do?”
She shrugged and dropped her eyes once more. “It’s nothing really. You’re just more snuggly than normal. It makes me worry about how I’m going to tell you goodbye.”
“What did I do, Elle?” She went to shrug again and he asked more earnestly, “Did I offend you?”
“No!” She hurried to reassure him. “No, Trace. You just kiss me in your sleep sometimes and it makes me want to kiss you back. When you’re back to normal, it would embarrass you, I’m sure, so I just had to get up so that I didn’t… So that… I just had to get up is all. We’re friends, I promise. I just worry. Telling you goodbye is going to be hard as it is.” He stayed there beside her chair, searching her face for a few seconds and then stood up.
He squeezed her shoulder. “I’m sorry I make you worry, Elle. Please forgive me. I’ll try to do better.”
She shook her head. “I don’t think the problem lies with you, Trace. It’s just me. We’re fine, I promise.”
He leaned back down and cupped her cheek with his hand. “I know we’re fine, Elle. We always have been. We always will be. But don’t feel like you have to get up to get away from me. Just elbow me or something, and I’ll straighten up.”
It wasn’t exactly that easy, but she wasn’t going to tell him that. She smiled. “Okay, Trace. I’ll elbow you. What would you like to eat this morning?” She began to roll her yarn around her work and the needles.
He took it from her and unrolled it, and with a twinkle in his eye, asked her, “What exactly is it that you’re making?”
Knowing the glob of light pink yarn was completely unrecognizable, she sweetly smiled and replied, “Some lovely, warm stockings for you, Trace. I want you to be nice and warm for our trek out. You’re going to love them!”
He laughed and rolled the whole mess up again. “I’m sure that I will. Are they going to be finished in time?”
Still smiling sweetly, she assured him, “Absolutely. I will work very hard to have them done for you. Wait and see.” He chuckled and shook his head as he built up the fire.
Theirs had been a good theory, but bringing herself to elbow Trace that night in his sleep was next to impossible. Giselle had actually started to kiss him back before she caught herself and quickly got up and escaped to her rocker again. She was careful to be up and working by the time Trace awoke so she didn’t have to face him about running away again, but she knew that he knew something was up by the way he watched her warily that morning. She was almost shy around him today and didn’t want to have to admit why. By mid-afternoon she was decidedly tired, and when he sat at the table with Josiah’s journal, she climbed back into their bed with a sigh for a nap.
He was still at the table, completely engrossed in the book when she woke up and she was surprised that he would be so interested in a book that was written in Dutch. When he realized she was awake, he started to ask her questions again about the Church, and all that had transpired between their first meeting with the missionaries on a trip to England, and the time they ended up in St. Joseph, Missouri, ready to start across with the wagon train. For nearly two hours they sat like that, talking, until she finally got up and went outside to milk the cow. The bushes near the mouth of the cave were stripped to nothing, so she came back in and got a knife and went back out into the storm to cut branches and bushes for the stock to chew on. Trace appeared a minute or two later to help her, and in short order, they had the stock fed and bedded down again.
Back inside, they worked side by side to make dinner and then sat at Petja’s table to eat it. Trace brought the little book right to the table and began to ask her questions about it. She finally asked him, “I thought you said you didn’t understand Dutch. How can you read it when you don’t understand it?”
He looked at her like he thought she’d gone crazy. “I can’t read Dutch, Giselle. What are you talking about?”
Picking up the book, she began on the page he had open and read it aloud. It was written in Dutch. He looked shocked and snatched it from her hand and stared at it for a second. Then he looked at her in complete confusion. He paged back a few pages and then turned back to the first and looked up, still confused. He didn’t say a word, just looked at her, and then shook his head. “Giselle, I’ve been reading this book for weeks, from the very first day you collapsed on the wagon. I’ve been able to read it just fine. I’ve never even noticed that it wasn’t written in English.”
At first she thought he was kidding her, and then when she realized he was serious, the hair on the back of her neck began to stand on end. “You could read it?” He nodded. “And you understood it all?”
“Every word. Now that you pointed it out, it’s completely foreign.” She looked at him again, wondering if he was playing a joke, but he wasn’t.
Their eyes met for a long moment and she wondered out loud, “Is that some form of the gift of tongues?”
“I don’t know what it is, but I know I’ve been reading this journal for weeks and it has helped me.”
“What do you mean, it has helped you?”
He hesitated. “It has been very thought provoking. I’ve learned about your grandparents and their wonderful relationship and it’s helped me to understand more about your religion and why the Mormons have done the things they have. It’s definitely helped me to understand you better.”
Wondering what he meant, she looked at him, worried. “What has it helped you to understand better about me? What would there be about me that you wouldn’t understandanyway?”
“Oh maybe things like the fact that you are Dutch, or Mormon, or especially that you’re female. How’s a poor, uneducated lout like me supposed to understand that without a little help from Josiah and Petja?”
“Poor, uneducated lout?” She laughed at him, but then picked up the book to thumb through it. “What’s in here that would help you understand females?”
“This book,” He took it from her almost reverently, “has a great many pearls of wisdom for a simple boy like me.” He paused as he turned pages. “Whether I’ll ever be able to read it and understand it again is the question.” He glanced up at Giselle. “Will it come back? The gift of tongues? Will I ever be able to read and understand Dutch again?”
She shook her head. “You’re asking me, Trace? I thought this little book helped you understand me. If that was the case, you’d know I can’t answer a question like that. You’ll have to ask someone far more spiritually in tune than me.”
He thought about that for a minute and then gently said, “I’ve never known anyone more spiritually in tune than you, Elle. In my whole life, I’ve never been around someone with a spirit about them like you.”
She leaned across the table and patted his hand. “It’s kind of you to say that, Trace, but I’m sure you’re mistaken. Mose is the only friend of yours I know very well, but he’s far more in tune than me.”
Trace was quiet for a minute while he considered that. “I wonder if Mose would know if the understanding will come back.” He was thoughtful for another second and then asked, “Would you read it to me, Giselle? I’m almost done with it. I only have about a fifth of it left. Would you mind?”
“No, of course not. Do you want me to read it to you tonight?”
“Is there anything else you need to do right now?” She smiled, “Just knit your stockings. Here.” She got up and handed him the tangled, lumpy yarn. “I’ll read, you knit. It will probably look much better that way.”