When Mountains Move Page 26

  River draws me back to the boulder. And then we begin again. He tells me how he left the gypsies, choosing to make it on his own. Started trading horses, in search of the Cauy Tucker ranch in Colorado, hoping to work his way across the country, one trade at a time, until he found me. He tells me Babushka is buried in Iti Taloa, in Hope Hill cemetery, where River and I first met. Where Babushka told stories and made me long for a tribe of my own. A place to belong. A family.

  I tell him about mothering and Oka and Firefly. I let myself rest against him. He holds me close, his strong arms wrapped around me. He sings a song to me. A gypsy song he translates: “The moon will shine, the stars will sing, and here with me, your heart will heal.”

  I tell River more about what happened with Mama and Jack. “Have you seen the cabins?”

  “Still there,” he says. “New tenants in all three. Kids were playing in the yard.”

  “And Sweetie?”

  “A girl was climbing her limbs. Just like you.”

  This makes me smile. The thought of Sweetie still offering safety and hope to a girl from that cabin. “It’s funny, isn’t it? How life can shatter into a million shards. And circle back around again.”

  River brushes my hair from my face, a gentle touch.

  “Ever miss Mississippi?” I admit I get homesick sometimes.

  “I guess,” he says. “You know what Fitzgerald says?”

  I smile. “Tell me.”

  “He says, ‘With people like us, our home is where we are not.’’’

  I’m relieved to hear him quoting books again. It’s one of my favorite things about him, his knack for language, his ability to capture a feeling, a mood with a single phrase from another story, another place and time. It makes me believe I’m not alone in this world. That it’s not up to me to figure it out all by myself.

  People like us. There will never be another who knows me like River does. The thought frightens me, and I stand quickly.

  “Isabel and Henry are probably up from their naps,” I say. “I need to get back.” No matter how much I want to, I can’t slow the passing of time. “Thank you,” I tell him, “Thank you for finding me. And for giving me this choice. And for letting me go.”

  “I’m glad we have this,” River says. “This day.” And then he kisses me again. Only this time, I don’t resist. I don’t hold back. I let him take one last gift from me, a kiss, unhindered.

  “Millie?” It’s Bump. He’s found us. River and me. How long has he been standing on the trail? What has he seen?

  “Bump? Oh, Bump! You’re back!” I rush to him, color flooding my face.

  “What are you doin’?” he snaps.

  River stands and holds out his hand. “You must be Mr. Anderson.”

  “That’s right,” Bump says, giving River a long, hard stare. “And who are you?”

  “River Greene,” he says. “Came to take a look at your yearlings. Brought some broodmares to trade.”

  “Don’t look like you’re doin’ much tradin’ up here,” Bump says. His teeth bite hard on the words.

  “Where have you been?” I bite back.

  A starched silence stills us all. No one seems to know what to say. So I begin to lead Firefly down the mountain path. River and Bump walk ahead. It’s an awkward trio, and neither man tries to make the other feel more comfortable. Tension builds with each step.

  “River Greene,” Bump says slowly, as we follow the trail. “Seems like Millie knew a River back in Iti Taloa. Wouldn’t by chance be the same River, now, would it?”

  “As a matter of fact, that’s me. I happened by here on business, and we were catching up on old times.”

  “So that’s what you call it?” Bump’s face is red and his hands are clenched.

  “There a problem?” River asks, calmly.

  “Problem?” Bump swings around to face River. “You show up when I’m out of town and don’t waste any time sneakin’ up here with my wife.” I pull Firefly’s reins and back away.

  “Oh, please,” I interrupt. “If anyone here has explaining to do, it’s you, Bump. For all I knew, you were never coming back.”

  He whirls toward me. “Are you kiddin’ me, Millie? For God’s sake, when are you ever gonna learn to trust me?”

  I hold up a hand. “No. Don’t do that. Don’t turn this around on me. You left, Bump. With Kat. And you know what everyone was thinking.”

  “I wasn’t with her, Millie. I was never with her. Not out west. Not in Longmont. Never. More than I can say for you.” His eyes flash fire.

  “Don’t talk to her like that,” River says, closing in on Bump as if I need someone to protect me. Before I know it, Bump rears back and slams his fist hard into River’s face, and within seconds, both men are throwing punches.

  “Bump! Stop!” I shout. “River, back off!” They don’t listen. They are too busy bleeding and panting, tumbling on the ground, wearing out their resentments. It doesn’t matter how much I yell or throw myself between them to block the fighting, they don’t stop until they’ve exhausted themselves completely.

  Eventually, River stands and spits a mouthful of blood. Bump looks worse. The first time he’s ever hit a man. Bump says nothing as he turns and walks down the trail. I pull Firefly, and we follow. River stays behind. I look back only once. He wipes his bloody nose with his sleeve and gives me a look as if to say, “So that’s your choice.”

  When we reach the ranch, I stall Firefly quickly and find Bump at the well, bloody and bruised. I can’t bear to look as he washes his face with water from the pump. I dip my shirt in the water and help clean his wounds. He lets me. “I thought you were gone,” I tell him. “For good.”

  He says nothing.

  “I’m glad you’re back.”

  “Coulda fooled me.” He turns and walks away, leaving me standing at the well. Alone.

  Within minutes, Oka meets me in the yard. “Bump find you?”

  I nod. It’s all too ridiculous to say out loud, and my mind is swirling, trying to process everything that has happened in the last hour. The kiss. The fight. Bump telling me he was never with Kat. Asking when I would ever learn to trust him. It’s what he’s been trying to teach me all along, since I first started working with him at the rodeo barn back in Mississippi. Maybe a marriage isn’t all that different from riding a horse. It only works if I trust Bump in return.

  “He tell you?” Oka asks.

  “Tell me what?” I’m distracted. My mind shoots thoughts in every direction.

  “Why he stay in Longmont?” Oka says, looking hard at me, trying to get me to focus.

  I shake my head.

  “He stay to surprise you. Pick up special guests.” She points toward the house.

  “What are you talking about? Is someone here?” Maybe Janine is waiting for me in the house. She’d be just the one to put this all in perspective for us, make us all laugh again.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Miller,” Oka says. “They come to buy horse. For Camille.”

  “Diana and Bill Miller?” The world tilts off axis, and I nearly fall to the ground. “They’re here?”

  Chapter 32

  Supper is tense. Earlier today, I prepared a large pot of chicken gumbo, so there’s plenty of food for everyone. I pass bread to Fortner with shaking hands and keep a close eye on Bill Miller at the other end of our table. He sits between Diana and Oka, smiling his banker’s smile, asking about investment potential with horses. “You raise any race horses?” he asks Bump.

  I place my hand on my pistol, a cold, hard handle of steel against my palm. I could shoot him. Right here. Right now. No one could stop me. I could put a bullet between his eyes, shatter his skull with one quick pull of the trigger. In a matter of seconds, I could put an end to the man who held me down with the bottom of his shoe and laughed as he tore into me. I remember Jack holding Mama down, pres
sing a silver knife blade to her neck and saying, “I could kill you, Marie. I could.”

  “So, Millie, how do you like living on a ranch?” Diana asks, smiling, trying her best at small talk.

  I keep my stare set on Bill Miller and say nothing. He turns to look at me. He gives me a smirk, a quick little wink, a sign that he still has all the power.

  “Millicent?” Oka repeats my name, but all sound is muffled, as if I’m underwater.

  “I like it just fine,” I answer Diana’s question, sharply, staring at Bill Miller, trying to imagine if he would die instantly, or if I would have time to stand over him first and tell him not to be late for supper.

  Diana clears her throat, uncomfortable with my rudeness. I want to tell them all the truth. Say it isn’t me who is making dinner so awkward. It’s Bill Miller, this horrible man, who dares show up in my house, smiling, laughing, eating my food, acting as if he has every right to march into my life with his expensive suit and his wallet full of money.

  “Camille sure won’t be happy when she finds out we came without her,” Diana tries again. “I warned Mabel not to let on. I want the horse to be a big surprise.”

  I know I should smile at Diana, answer, do something to make her feel better. But I don’t. Instead I turn my attention outside and stare through the window. River has not come in for the meal, but a lantern in the distance suggests he’s still camped beyond the fencerow.

  Fortner notices my gaze. “He should wait till tomorrow to break camp,” Fortner tells me. “It’s too dangerous for him to head out this time of night.”

  Bump shows no sympathy for River. No one mentions the fight.

  “Plenty extra,” Oka says, passing me another bowl of gumbo.

  “Go on and take him the food, Millie,” Fortner says. “Tell him to wait for sunup.”

  I look at Bump. There’s so much to say, and we’re stuck here at the table with a house full of guests, including Bill Miller. I’ve done just what I always said I’d never do. I’ve become my mother, choked by a web of secrets and shame.

  I take the bowl of gumbo and announce I’ll be right back. Bump holds Isabel and says nothing. I am happy to escape this house. I close the door and make my way to River’s tent.

  “You all right?” I hand River his supper.

  He nods, standing to meet me. He takes the bowl and says, “Thanks.” He has built a small fire, and he pats a log for me to join him.

  We sit together under the stars, looking at the lanterns lighting the house. Their flames flicker, making the windows move in waves against the night. I take it all in. The horses in the pasture. The cattle huddled tight against the trees. The bubbling spring that feeds the river. Behind us, an owl calls. Who cooks for you? Who cooks for you all?

  “I’m glad you came,” I tell River, “but when morning breaks, you need to leave.”

  “I know,” he says. “You can’t blame me for trying, though. I had to find you. I had to see.”

  “I have a good life here, River. If I haven’t ruined it all. I have a family. A home. And I wish the same for you.”

  Winds have begun to howl, suggesting a storm is brewing, something to soothe the spirits, soften the pain. I wait with River, side by side, sitting beneath the moon, until Fortner drives the Millers back to town. They’ve insisted on renting a room with “proper facilities.” Seems having an outhouse is a good thing after all. As the truck leaves our ranch, and I know it is safe for me to return, I stand to offer a final farewell.

  “Just think,” River says. “If Jack hadn’t banged up your mother. If I hadn’t left town without you. If Bump hadn’t swooped in with flowers at just the right time. It might all be different now.”

  I touch his face and smile. “Wait till sunup. Okay?”

  River watches me walk back to the house. I stop on the porch and look back at him standing in the distance. He is still a powerful presence. I think about all we’ve talked about today, and my life lines up in series, like dominoes. One tile falling into the next. An orchestrated turn here, a rising crescendo there. And yet, somehow, it’s all connected. Every single person. Every choice. This string has purpose—it all adds up to me.

  Later, in bed, Bump and I both lie on our backs, staring up at the dark, blank ceiling. Our bodies don’t touch, and the empty space between us feels as big as the sea. We say nothing. Isabel sleeps soundly in the corner crib. I pray, silently, to the heavens, and hope my husband can someday forgive all the hurt I’ve caused.

  There’s no doubt now, it’s Bump I want. Not River. Maybe it was the fact that Bump finally fought for me, or that I now have the closure I needed all along with River. Maybe it’s because Bump made it clear he was never with Kat. Or maybe it’s the fact that Bill Miller showed up and reminded me how bad things could really be. Whatever the reason, tonight confirmed my choice in a new way, and I’ll never doubt my love for Bump again.

  Outside, the elk call to their prospective mates beneath the night moon glimmer of the aspen leaves. Their loud bugling hits three main notes with each trill, piercing the skies with a message that sounds much like “I choose you! I choose you!”

  Bump takes my hand in his, and tears fall. Our bodies stay parallel, our eyes looking up, and I’m afraid to move. I don’t want him to let go of my hand. “I’m on your side, Millie,” he says. “Don’t you understand? I’ve always been on your side.” I fall asleep to the sound of Bump’s breathing. I choose you.

  Chapter 33

  River is gone. I will likely never see him again. Diana and Bill Miller spent the night in town, but now they’re back with Sheriff Halpin, who has come to pick up little Henry. Thankfully, Kat hasn’t joined him.

  As Oka welcomes everyone in for breakfast, a gray mood swarms the kitchen and no one tries to cut it. We let it weigh us down as we focus on eggs, sausage, milk. When I can’t stand it anymore, I excuse myself, pretending Isabel needs to be changed. I don’t have it in me to be polite. I’m sure Diana wonders why I’ve been so rude. It’s not her fault, and seeing her here, now, with such a beast for a husband, I feel sorry for her. But nothing can excuse Bill Miller walking boldly back into my world, my life. I refuse to give him the power he craves. Control.

  Instead, I do everything I can to steer clear of the Millers. I move through the day one task at a time, breaking sweat. Hardening calluses. Building blisters. And keeping Isabel as far from them as I possibly can. By late afternoon, clouds sprout, lightning forks, and the rain brings everyone inside. But I don’t join them in the house. I head for the barn.

  The rain falls hard for more than an hour, causing Isabel to miss her nap and giving me plenty of time to think. By the time Oka finds us, Isabel is fussing with a vengeance. “Millicent?”

  “Back here,” I call to Oka from the tack room. She shivers as she enters, the damp autumn chill getting to her. “Where’s Bump?”

  “At the house,” she says. “We have guests.”

  I sigh. “I know.”

  “You not happy they here?” Oka raises her shoulders and angles her chin in confusion.

  I’m tired of feeling afraid. Sick of Bill Miller feeling free to do as he pleases. It’s time for the truth. “Oka, you remember I told you about Isabel. How her birth wasn’t planned?”

  “Yes,” Oka says, taking Isabel from me now and trying to comfort her. “You glad to have her now though. See? Oka was right.”

  “You were, Oka. Thank goodness, you talked sense into me.”

  She kisses Isabel and rolls her fingers through my daughter’s soft black curls.

  “Remember I told you …” I lower my voice and try again. “Remember, I told you Bump wasn’t the father?”

  “Hush, child.” Oka says, rocking Isabel in her arms and covering her ears.

  “Oka, he raped—” My voice cracks on the word, and every cell in my body screams out, a violent eruption from within. I w
ill keep this silent no longer. I say, loud this time, nearly a yell, “He raped me!” All the emotions I’ve kept capped for so long burst free, exploding. Finally, I have found my voice. My body shakes. My knees grow weak. I try not to, but I begin to cry, more from the tremendous feeling of relief than any real sadness.

  Oka steps back, her brow furrowed, as if she doesn’t understand what I’m saying.

  I say again, even louder, determined to finish this. “That man in there,” I point, shaking. “Bill Miller. He held me down in the steeple of his church and had his way with me. And now he’s here. I don’t know what to do.” I am sobbing now, crying so hard I can barely breathe.

  Oka pulls me close and holds me against her chest, next to Isabel, until I finally manage to soften the sniffles that fuel my tears. “My sweet, sweet Millicent.” She rocks me back and forth. “Shh. I take care of you.”

  Bump has brought the Millers to the pasture for a final look at the paint pony he selected for Camille. I guard Isabel from a distance as my husband explains what to look for in a good horse. Waves of words follow the wind: “well-collected,” “full rear quarters,” “good saddle back.” Isabel and I scratch shapes into the mud with sticks as I teach her the words circle, square, triangle.

  Bump mounts the horse, bareback, proving the pony is full broke. He commands her to trot. Canter. Turn left, then right. He backs her. And gets her to spin. All with just a little pressure using his hands and heels. Bill Miller seems impressed; Diana, distracted. She surveys the surroundings and heads in my direction. It’s too late to escape.

  I draw an A in the mud and shift from teaching shapes to working on letters. “Up. Down. Bridge across.” Isabel tries to copy my lines.

  Diana approaches. She bends and rubs her hand through Isabel’s hair. I bring my daughter to me, an impulsive reaction. Protect her, Millie.