The Knight Before Christmas: A

Mountain Man Holiday Short Story

Sierra Hill
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 THE KNIGHT BEFORE
CHRISTMAS
A MOUNTAIN MAN HOLIDAY SHORT STORY

SIERRA HILL
 CONTENTS

Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Epilogue

About the Author

Also by Sierra Hill
 Copyright 2020 by Sierra Hill
Ten28 Publishing LLC
A Flirt Club Novella

Cover Designer: Poppy Parkes

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or

transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or
other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of
the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews
and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are
products of the authors’ imaginations. Any resemblance to actual persons, things,
living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.

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 CHAPTER 1

I vy
My high-pitched and woefully off-key rendition of We Wish You
a Merry Christmas is interrupted when the red check engine light on
the dash of my old Jeep Wrangler flashes its warning sign.
And then stalls abruptly, leaving me to stare blurry eyed at the icon
that flashes an angry blinking red. Not the holiday red I enjoy
watching flicker and flare on my Christmas tree, but the kind that
blurts out, “Oh shit. You’re hosed.”
“Great. Just great,” I grumble a curse to myself, hitting the steering
wheel with my open palms. “Why does the universe hate me?”
After having driven sixteen hours from Chicago, the city I once called
home, two hours of which were treacherous, white-knuckled driving
around switchback slopes of this mountain, I don’t have the energy
or wherewithal to handle this level of emergency right now.
I’d hoped to be tucked safely in my new mountain home tonight that
I’d recently taken ownership of on Knight’s Mountain and enjoy the
holiday week ahead licking my wounds and mending my broken
heart while I snuggled by the blazing fireplace. The point of coming
here was to decompress from the life-changing and chaotic past
three months of my life.
An out-of-the blue divorce forced upon me by my husband of three
years was not something I expected to deal with leading into the
holiday season. Nor had I thought I’d be alone for the first time ever
over Christmas.
But alas, here I am, alone on Christmas Eve, and now have to figure
out how to make it to my destination before the storm grows any
bigger.
Pushing all of the other worry aside for the moment to focus on the
new crisis at hand, I check my navigation and GPS to see if I’m
anywhere close to the town of Knight’s Falls.
My map pings with my location and I see there’s a diner or café
coming up just a mile ahead. Good ol’ Google maps. At least
something in my life is trustworthy and reliable.
Coaxing my Jeep back to life, I give her a little boost of
encouragement. Or maybe the words are really meant for myself.
“Come on girl. You can do this. You’ve come so far not to make it
now.”
Snow begins to fall as I round the final bend and see the old,
tattered sign of the ‘Round the Bend Café, and nearly burst into
song again, this time with a dopey version of She’ll Be Coming
‘Round the Mountain. My spirits lift marginally as I pull into the snow
dusted lot, sprinkled with two cars and a tow truck.
“Well that must be a good sign,” I mutter, turning off the engine with
a sigh and a boost of confidence that maybe everything will turn out
okay in the end.
I glance at the time on my phone which reads nine-fifteen p.m. and
then notice the Open sign is still illuminated in the window, a friendly
welcome in its neon-lit lights.
“Thank you, Baby Jesus.”
Grabbing my purse off the seat and the white down puffy coat
Hayden gifted me the previous Christmas, citing that I was always
cold (okay, that’s thoughtful enough), and then ruining the gift when
he claimed he hated having to warm up my frigid body (not so
thoughtful), I trudge through the snow packed lot toward the café
door, pushing thoughts of Hayden out of my mind for more pressing
matters.
Stepping inside is like being transported in time to an old classic
holiday movie. The one’s my mom would always have me watch with
her, like It’s a Wonderful Life or White Christmas. It fills me with
nostalgia and an ache for home.
The bell above the door clangs loudly, and the sweetest hello comes
from behind the counter from a woman who has a tight blonde
updo, a cheery smile and a red Mrs. Claus apron covering her hefty
bosom. I breathe in a sigh of relief and get a whiff of the delicious
fragrance of apple, cinnamon, and spice.
“Merry Christmas, honey. You’re just in time for the last piece of
bourbon pecan pie.” She waves a saran-wrapped plate in the air
toward me.
I stomp off the snow from my boots over the mat and walk toward
the counter, peering around the room to catch a glimpse of a few
remaining customers in booths and one extra-large, bearded man at
the far end of the counter, his face and eyes cast downward
underneath a bright orange knit cap.
Whoa. Don’t get on his bad side.
I return my attention to Mary, as the tag on her apron says, and
shake my head politely to decline the offer.
“Merry Christmas to you, too. But no thank you, I don’t want any
pie…I…”
She waves me off as if it’s the most foolish thing she ever heard.
“Nonsense, sweetheart. You look like you could use a good, home
cooked meal and a slice of my heaven-sent pie. Now grab a seat and
I’ll get you something. Coffee, too?”
I lean over the counter, trying to grab her sleeve before she runs off.
“Wait, no, really. I’m actually in need of a tow truck. My car—” I flip
my thumb over my shoulder—“The engine light came on and I don’t
think I’ll make it to my place tonight in this weather without some
assistance.”
You’d think I just informed Mary she got everything she wanted for
Christmas with the look of pure joy that transforms her already
perky face. Mary claps her hands together and steeples them
together underneath her chin, staring at me expectantly, like I
should know what she’s so happy about. My forehead wrinkles in
wary confusion.
“Well, you poor dear. That must’ve been terribly frightening outside
on this blustery night coming up this mountain pass. But luck is on
your side, honey, because Knight’s Falls one and only towing service
just so happens to be right here at your service.”
With a swivel of her hips and the sweep of her arm, my eyes follow
in the direction of her hand as they land on the scowling, mountain
man at the end of the counter, hunched over his plate of food like
it’s his last meal. The man doesn’t bother to look up from his plate
until Mary slaps a loud palm against the countertop.
“Ahem, Anderson. Did you hear me? This young pretty lady is in
need of a tow.”
The man – Anderson, I presume – lifts his hooded gaze, scans me
for a second and then drops his chin down again, cutting off any
direct eye connection. With one loud grunt, he claims, “Sorry. It’s a
holiday and I’m closed for the night.”
Too stunned to say anything, I stare silently aghast at his attitude
and poor customer service skills. Luckily for me, I seem to have
Mary’s charitable demeanor on my side for some unfathomable
reason, who stomps over to the end of the counter and pokes the
big bear in the shoulder.
“Anders, I just so happen to know that your towing service is, and
always has been, a 24x7 service. You are most certainly not closed!
And you will help this young lady with her vehicle.”
Mary stands back and crosses her arms, as Anders cocks his
eyebrow high, eying me with disgust and then grimaces.
With a reluctance of a moody child who was just scolded for his
behavior, he rolls his eyes with a scoff. Then his head snaps to me
and he stares me down with a menacing scowl.
“Fine,” he grumbles, his voice deep and thunderous. “But it’s gonna
cost you double because it’s Christmas Eve and you’ve interrupted
my dinner.”
Poor Mary turns to me with an apologetic shrug of her shoulder and
pinches her lips together.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart. Anderson’s our town grouch. But I’ll throw in
the pie for you on the house.”
 CHAPTER 2

A nders
Jesus Christ, this woman smells like a fucking warm tropical
breeze. And her scent permeates the cab of my truck in every
lungful of air I suck in and breathe out.
I can’t stand it. I guess I’ll have to keep my mouth closed and hold
my breath through the remainder of this ride.
As we left the café, my mother shot me a look that told me
everything she was thinking with one hard glare.
Be nice to her. It’s Christmas. She’s all alone and is sweet and pretty.
I could argue the first thing because I’m not nice to anyone
anymore. But the other facts couldn’t be disputed. Yes, it’s Christmas
Eve, a night I despise and generally do my best to avoid as few
human interactions as possible. My mother being the only one I can
deal with these days. And even so, tonight she grated on my last
nerve, with her less-than-obvious match-making attempt.
And the undeniable truth is that this girl is extremely pretty and too
goddamn sweet for my taste. Like a candy cane dangling from the
crook of Santa’s finger, begging to be plucked off and devoured.
My thoughts are interrupted by Candy Cane’s voice. Also sweet,
which gives me visions of eating out her sugar plum for dessert.
Fuck, this is what happens when you haven’t been with a woman in
over three years.
“Thank you so much, Mr…” She swivels and gives me a look of
confusion. “I’m sorry, I don’t think we were properly introduced. Is it
Mr. Anderson?”
I ignore the hand she offers between us, and the warm, welcoming
smile, wanting to avoid any unnecessary contact or conversation,
and grunt my response.
“Just call me Anders.”
I return my eyes to the road, gripping the steering wheel tighter in
my grasp to keep my focus on the curves of the mountain and not
on the curves of her breasts which are visible under the down of her
coat.
And do my best to ignore the bouncy strawberry red hair cascading
over her shoulders from underneath her knit cap. From the corner of
my eye I see her shove her dainty hand back into her mitten, and
then both land on her lap, her thumbs twiddling nervously together.
Good, I make her nervous. Then she’ll leave me alone.
“I’m Ivy. Ivy Foxx, by the way. And thank you, Anders, for saving me
tonight. I drove from Chicago and didn’t expect my night to end like
this.”
She turns to stare out the passenger window and mumbles
something that sounds like, “Or my marriage.”
Ignore it. Ignore her, I reprimand myself.
I won’t allow her to break the vows I made to myself to never care
for anyone - or any woman - ever again. Or let her sweet sadness
rip down the mask of the heartless man I’ve worn for three years
ever since Shawna left me with a hole in my heart.
I remain silent, the swishing noise of the wiper blades across the
windshield the only sound inside besides our breaths that blow out
around us in frosty vapors.
Before we left the café, I mounted her Jeep to my towing rig and
she’d given me the address to the place where I was to drop her off,
with the agreement I’d have her car fixed and returned after the
holiday.
I have to admit to the surprise she gave me when she told me
where she was staying, considering the mountain home she
mentioned has remained empty and untouched for the past three
years. It belonged to some out-of-town wealthy family who had a
son around my age.
I remember when we were kids, when they would visit over the
holidays, we’d sled down the hills or ski together, forging somewhat
of a friendship, even though he was a brat and once even tried to
bury my head in the snow when I beat him skiing down Knight’s
Mountain.
Although for the life of me, I can’t remember his name…
“This will be my first visit here. The home belonged to my husband,
Hayden, and his family. One of the only good things I got out of my
divorce.”
Ah, that was it. Hayden. What was this sweet woman doing with a
douche like that guy? I mean, I guess he could’ve changed since I
last saw him over fifteen years ago, but doubtful. A Zebra never
loses its stripes.
Ivy continues the incessant chatter, maybe more to herself than to
me, but I let her ramble. Her voice is like a warm cinnamon roll on
Christmas morning. Sweet and fragrant, with a hint of spice.
“I don’t even know what I saw in Hayden now,” she murmurs, her
head hanging low out of shame or disappointment. “I never
belonged in his world. It was so cliché. I was his administrative
assistant and he was my boss. I fell head over heels and when he
proposed, I was so madly in love with him, I didn’t see all the
warning signs. He turned out to be just like his father.”
Ah, I remember his father, too.
A conceited, arrogant prick, if I recall. When my father, Langston
Knight, a general contractor, did some work on his home when I was
about twelve, my dad brought me along a few times to learn the
trade. I recall the man made passive-aggressive comments to my
dad the entire time, alluding to the intelligence (or lack thereof) of
laborers and blue-collar workers. I didn’t understand it at the time
because my dad was one of the smartest and most talented men I’d
ever known.
But later I realized, after meeting a lot more out-of-towners, that
Hayden’s father was a privileged, upper-class asshole who thought
he was far superior to anyone who didn’t have a degree from an Ivy
League school.
Ivy sighs a dejected noise. I suppose most men in this situation who
are far more empathetic than me would say something to comfort
her. To placate her with all the right phrases, telling her that “It
wasn’t your fault” and “You weren’t to blame for his behavior.” Or
even the, “You deserve so much better than him.”
But I don’t. I remain unapologetically silent.
This doesn’t seem to deter Ivy from sharing more, however.
“Oh well,” she flaps her mittened-hand toward the mountain side,
barely visible in the blinding snow and icy darkness . “I guess it’s
true what they say. Some lessons are meant to be learned the hard
way. And I’ll come out stronger for it. Even though it hurts as much
as it would if I hit my head against the side of this mountain.”
She snorts out a chuckle and I almost – almost – want to say
something in kind. Tell her that she has a kindred spirit in me and
my grief is just about as miserable. But I bite the inside of my cheek
to stop myself from saying anything.
“I suppose I could have traveled a bit farther and gone out to visit
my sister in California, but we aren’t really close. She never liked
Hayden, anyway, and didn’t even attend our wedding. I guess I
understand why now. And I don’t feel much like hearing “I told you
so,” right now, ya know what I mean?”
I give her sidelong glance and sniff. That’s the best I can do.
“I just couldn’t stay in Chicago, either. There’s nothing there for me
now, anyway. The only thing I have is this house.”
Just as she says this, I turn down the narrow, gravel drive,
surrounded on both sides by white, snow-covered pine trees, so
thick you can’t see between them. Ivy gasps when we near the
property, which opens up to a stunning, sprawling log-cabin exterior
estate that must be roughly nine-thousand square feet.
My lights flash on a trio of deer sitting off to the right of the house
and they stare at us as though we’re the interlopers interrupting
their evening meal.
“Whoa, this place is massive!” She remarks, covering her gaping
mouth with her hand, her gaze zeroing in on the dark house and
then whipping to me in shock and surprise. “I don’t know why
Hayden even offered to give this place to me, since we never used
it, but now I’m glad he did.”
Folding herself over to pick up her bag by her feet, she sets it on her
lap and begins riffling through it in search of something. I hear the
jingle of the key set before she pulls them out and dangles it
between us.
“Well, I guess this is it. Thank you so much for assisting me tonight
and I apologize again for interrupting your Christmas dinner. Just call
me when my car is fixed and ready to be picked up and let me know
how much it’ll cost. I’m sure I can get an Uber or cab to get around
until then.”
I can’t help but snort at her assumption. Does she really think those
services exist on Knight’s Mountain?
Without waiting for an answer, which she’s probably learned she
won’t get from me, anyway, she gathers her things and opens the
door, the blast of cold snowy air taking her by surprise. She rears
backwards, bumping my shoulder, barely hard enough to wound a
bunny, but the shock it gives me could likely spark a forest fire even
in the coldest of climates.
“Whoa,” I blurt, shifting to awkwardly cradle her in my hands. Her
slight frame, even underneath the puffy down jacket, is warm and
enticing and touching her is the best thing I’ve felt in years. I quickly
set her back upright as she laughs nervously.
“Sorry about that. You’d think I’d be used to cold winds being that
I’m from Chicago, but that was arctic-level cold. I hope the property
management company turned on the heat like I requested.” She
shivers dramatically and it’s almost enough to make me crack a
smile. But not quite.
“Anyway, thanks again, Anders. Have yourself a Merry Christmas.”
I stare after her mutely, not offering any form of goodbye or
returned holiday sentiment and watch as she closes the door, slowly
trudging through the thick snow, her arms weighted down with bags
and totes, toward the front door. I probably should have offered to
help her carry things inside, and if my mother learns I didn’t, she
would tan my hide good, even though I’m a thirty-two-year-old man.
But because I’m not completely lacking of any chivalry, I don’t drive
away just yet and instead keep the headlights on and directed
toward the house, giving her some much needed light in this deep
wooded, moonlit night to unlock the front door.
I’m not sure what she’s doing or what’s taking so long, but she
finally throws her hands up in the air and shouts up into the sky
above, loud enough to spook the deer who have now scurried off in
a panic.
I heave an exasperated groan because it sure sounds like I’m not
going to be getting out of here anytime soon when I hear what she
screams.
“Damn you, Hayden Stone! You mother effer!”
 CHAPTER 3

I vy
I stomp off the front porch and back through the heavy, snow-
packed walkway to Anders’s truck. I’m cold, angry, without
transportation of my own, and now, without a place to stay for the
night.
Instead of going back to the passenger side, I head toward the
driver’s side as he rolls down the window anticipating my approach.
I dangle the worthless set of keys above my head.
“These don’t work.”
Anders growls his response. “Of course, they don’t.”
I stare at him expectantly, waiting and hoping for him to offer up
some form of encouragement or a solution. Maybe offer me a ride
back to town. Something! Anything to help ease my frozen nerves
and ire over being locked out of the house.
Instead, his dark navy-blue eyes, almost the color of the sky above
us, pins me with a death glare.
“Well?” he finally says, as I stand rooted in the deepening snow,
which accumulates by degrees. “Are you going to call someone who
has a set of replacement keys?”
I spread my arms out wide, bouncing my head right to left with
exaggeration, before raising my shoulders and pinching my mouth
together.
“Like who? If I had someone to call don’t you think I’d be
somewhere else right now? I. Have. Nobody.”
As if the words are made of heat from a blazing fire, Anders’s face
seems to melt with softness right in front of me, transforming his
expression from gruff mountain man, to the Santa Claus in Miracle
on 34 th Street.
His voice, however, is still brusque and stern. “Fine. Get back in.”
There’s only a moment where I think better of it. He’s obviously
completely put-out by my presence and for ruining his holiday
evening. But then again, he does save stranded motorists for a
living. It’s his job and the least he can do for a customer who is
apparently paying him double this evening.
I hurry around the hood of the truck, as Anders leans over the seat
bench and opens the door for me. I have to grasp the handle on the
hood to hoist myself up into the cab, resetting myself and dusting
off the fallen snow, throwing all my bags behind me.
“Thanks,” I whisper. “I’m sorry to have caused you so much grief
tonight. I’m sure you have much better places to be.”
And then a thought dawns on me.
What if he has a wife and family he should be with right now? All of
them sitting by a warm, cozy fire, singing Christmas carols and
drinking eggnog, watching a holiday special on TV, the kids ready to
open their gifts under the treat.
No wonder he’s so grumpy with me.
I place a hand over my heart and the other on top of his shoulder,
my palm cupping over the heavy denim of his jacket. He wrenches
away from my touch and it feels like he’s just kicked me in the gut
from his impolite reaction.
“I am so inconsiderate. I’m probably keeping you from enjoying this
special night from your family. I’m so sorry. Just take me to town
and drop me off at a hotel and I’ll be out of your hair until after the
holiday.”
With a flick of my wrist, I gesture behind us toward the road in
which we just came. The road we’d take back into town. Anders,
however, rolls his eyes and scoffs. A gesture and sound I’m
becoming quite acquainted with.
“No, I don’t have a family to return to. You met my mother who was
at the café. And no, I’m not taking you back into town.”
I’m surprised by both the content and the quantity of words he
speaks, considering it’s the most he’s shared since we met tonight.
But then I consider his refusal to take me back into town and I’m
about to lose it. Or cry. It’s a toss up.
“Um, yes, you are going to take me to a hotel. I need a place to stay
tonight.”
His reply is swift and brooks no argument. “I said no. You’re coming
home with me.”
I shake my head. “Yeah, no, I don’t think so. I’m not staying with a
stranger tonight. A male stranger, at that.”
The truck suddenly skids to a stop, the back fishtailing and narrowly
missing a snowbank.
Anders snaps his head to me, eyes dark and moody. “We are not
going back into town under these conditions. It’s practically a white
out and that five mile stretch down this mountain is not drivable. My
place is a quarter mile up the road. It’s either that or you can sleep
in my truck. Your call.”
He leans over me, his masculine scent deliciously tantalizing my
senses, and pushes open the door, indicating the way out.
Perhaps it was the long drive today, or the broken down Jeep, or the
fact that it’s Christmas Eve and I have no one to share it with, or
that my ex-husband was an ass and locked me out of the home I
gained in my unwanted divorce, but Anders’s fuck-all demeanor and
surly attitude flips a switch in me.
And it detonates in an explosion so big, I’m surprised it doesn’t
cause an avalanche.
With both hands, I grab his arm and wrench it off the door handle
with a loud, unladylike grunt.
Then I unbuckle my seat belt, as he stares at me with wide-eyed
astonishment, as I shift in my seat and cup his bearded face in my
hands, smashing my mouth to his in a crushing and dare-I-say, crazy
stupid kiss.
I mean, here I am, on a dark, deserted mountain road, sitting in a
truck with a handsome stranger, kissing the sleigh bells out of him.
What in the world has gotten into me?
There’s only a moment of pause, when Anders seems stunned by my
rash decision, but the moment I open my mouth, parting my lips in
invitation, his tongue takes a tentative glide over my bottom lip,
eliciting a sexy moan from the depths of my throat.
I’m suddenly airborne, his hands deftly lifting me with his hands at
my ass to situate me over his lap, as he leans back, tipping his head
to allow me to bend over him and continue our kiss.
It’s savage and hungry. Delicious and thrilling.
There’s no room for niceties here. All my pent-up frustration from
the days, weeks and month leading up to this moment have led me
to doing something I’d never have done in the past.
Kiss a complete stranger.
A sexy, bearded stranger who came to my rescue tonight.
Like some kind of mountain man miracle.
A Christmas knight-in-shining armor.
Anders breaks the kiss, his thick thighs moving underneath me, so I
get a very indecent glimpse at his package nestled in the V of my
crotch. A very big package that seems eager and ready to be
opened.
Our lips remain close, the heavy steam from our breaths fogging the
windows, when he murmurs,
“I’ve never met an honest-to-God Christmas angel. But damn, if
you’re not it.”
And I melt right then and there.
 CHAPTER 4

A nders
Very few things surprise me these days, mostly because I’ve
shut down my emotional bank after losing the love of my life three
years ago. Or finding out afterwards that she was pregnant with our
unborn child.
Life has dished me one of the most horrific tragedies any man can
withstand and from that I’ve been reborn a solitary, withdrawn
asshole, careful to avoid human contact at all costs. Steering clear of
conversations that require thought and participation, and most
importantly, dodging any form of relationship with a woman.
I haven’t been with another woman in over three years. I’ve had no
desire to get close to anyone, not even for sex. I’ve stayed in my
bubble, which included work, eat, sleep, and everything on rinse and
repeat ad nauseam. I haven’t gone looking, which is just as well,
considering there isn’t much to choose from in Knight’s Falls. But
even the few women who’ve seen me around town in the tourist
season have stayed away from me on account of my disinterested
hostility.
Except for Ivy. Whether out of desperation or loneliness, fatigue or
frustration, she doesn’t even ask if I want it.
She just takes. And holy shit, I like what she gives.
I find myself giving it right back tenfold. Giving into her touch.
Giving into her candy cane kisses and the electric warmth of her
delicate body that chips away at the hard exterior and block of ice
inside my heart like an ax, turning me into a crumbling mess.
Everything that’s been kept locked up for years comes tumbling
loose, falling like boulders from the mountaintop, careening off the
cliff.
My body remembers what it needs and how to get back what it
wants. I break our kiss once again and stare up into her light green
eyes, twinkling with surprise and dancing with eager anticipation. My
cock jumps against my zipper, seeking the heat of her pussy.
“Angel, I’m not going to fuck you here in my truck.”
It’s like watching a balloon deflate, her wet lips turning into a pout
and her shoulders sagging in defeat. She nods, looking away as she
wiggles off my lap, maneuvering herself over my legs. But I stop her
with my calloused hands at her waist, garnering a look of confusion,
her eyebrows disappearing underneath the brim of her hat.
“That came out wrong,” I acknowledge, running my thumb over her
swollen bottom lip. “I’m still going to fuck you. But I’m taking you to
my place. Now get your ass over in your seat and buckle up.”
She giggles a soft mewl before this time hopping off my lap,
snapping the buckle secure. From the corner of my eye I see her dip
her head in my direction, her eyes locked on my bulging cock. It
makes it intensely hard to concentrate as I start the engine and try
to maneuver the bends and curves in the mountainside that I’m
wholly familiar with, but difficult to manage with a raging hard on.
I’ve grown up on this mountain. Born and raised and never been
anywhere else. It’s my home. It’s also named after my family.
Knight’s Mountain. This mountain has brought joy and laughter, loss
and sadness throughout generations.
And right now, it’s brought me an angel I hadn’t expected on this
cold, Christmas night.

“W ow, this isn’t what I expected,” Ivy notes with

surprise as we step through the front door of my log
cabin home that I built with my own two hands, with the help of my
father when he was alive.
I crowd behind her, pressing her forward into the main room so I
can shut the front door, swinging her around to face me. My fingers
begin swiftly unzipping her coat, as I stare down into her beautiful
evergreen gaze.
“You don’t even know me. What could you have possibly expected?”
She shrugs off her coat, catching it in her hand and draping it over
the back of the chair at the kitchen table.
Biting the corner of her lip, she peers up at me underneath soft
reddish-brown eyelashes, her pert nose scrunching up adorably.
“Well, it’s very well appointed…not exactly the décor known for
mountain men, with all the cute throw pillows and curtains.” She
gestures between us, then hooks a thumb at the large bay window
behind us, and the shimmery silver curtains Shawna made.
“My wife’s touch.”
Ivy’s eyes grow wild, unconsciously taking a giant step back from
me, holding her arms out in front of her.
“You’re married? Oh geez.” Her voice is filled with agonizing panic
and terror. “Sorry, I’m not into married men. I got burned by one
already.”
She reaches to grab for her coat but I snag her arm, my thumb
pressing gently into the crook of her elbow.
Suddenly, I feel the loss just as acutely as I did three years ago. The
pain that has diminished slightly over time has risen back to the
surface like a fiery demon, scratching and clawing its way out.
Ripping loose and unearthing itself from where I’ve worked hard to
keep it buried.
Something akin to a vice grips my lungs and chest, squeezing and
pummeling the air out of me, as I drop my hand to the back of the
couch to hold myself up, trying to drag in air to breathe.
Ivy places a worried hand on my shoulder. “Anders, are you okay?
Are you sick? Talk to me. Tell me what’s happening right now.”
The room spins and my eyesight blurs, and fuck, I think I’m going to
pass out. Careful to keep my hold on the security of the couch, I
move to sit, as sweat begins pouring down my face. I remove my
cap and jacket and bend forward placing my head between my legs.
“She’s gone. She’s dead.” My voice is a harsh, bitter croak that
doesn’t even sound like my own.
Well, the bitterness, yes. That’s only increased with ferocity over the
last three years.
This confession stops Ivy in her snow-boot tracks. She was about to
bolt but now stands crestfallen in front of me, her expression a mix
of pity and something else. Empathy? Understanding?
Taking tentative steps forward, she lifts a petite hand and cups my
beard-lined jaw, her fingertips slipping behind my ear, trailing over
the sensitive skin there, inducing shivers down my spine. It’s a touch
meant to quiet my inner turmoil, not arouse, only a trace of
remaining desire remains behind.
“Oh, Anders. I’m so sorry for your loss. You must be so
heartbroken.”
Ivy kneels on the floor at my feet, her hands landing on my thighs in
a gesture of kindness and comfort. Yet, even so, it restokes the fire
inside of me. The yearning for intimacy and wholeness.
When I lift my eyes to her beautiful face, I notice a sheen of glossy
wetness there, which serves to make me feel like a complete idiot
for having this poorly timed breakdown in front of her.
My heart lurches with something I haven’t felt in far too long. A ping
of desire, yes, but also a connection. A pull of longing, of
excitement, and the ache for female affection.
As she did before to me, I cup her cheeks, still rosy from the cold,
and bring my lips to hers, tasting her and the saltiness of her tears.
“Ivy, I don’t know what it is, but I believe there’s a reason you’re
here tonight. Just your presence alone has made me…” I take her
hand and place it over my chest, where she can feel the racing
spasms of my once dead, but now clamoring heart. “Alive again.”
Her smile brightens and she wraps her arms around my neck, pulling
me into her, the weight of her breasts pressing heavily into my body,
my pulse skyrocketing with need.
“I feel the same way. Now, perhaps we could finish what we
started.”
 CHAPTER 5

I vy
All my life I’ve always followed the rules and stayed within the
lines. I don’t take unnecessary risks and I certainly don’t sleep with
men I don’t know.
But the moment I dared to kiss Anders in the front seat of his truck,
something inside my heart unlocked and then clicked into place. A
key finding its rightful owner.
That’s why I know that being here tonight in Anders home, in his
bed, is not some random hookup for two lonely hearts on Christmas
Eve. It’s something so much stronger, the force of it almost divine
and cosmic, written in the stars that shine above. Like someone up
there is guiding this union, insisting on the fulfillment of our destiny.
Like attracting like.
Anders shucks off his outerwear, leaving him in a dark blue Henley
that matches his navy-blue eyes, the top buttons undone to show a
V of dark blond hair at his chest. Leaning in, I can’t help but trace a
line over the cut of the shirt, where my tongue meets his skin and I
inhale the spicy male scent of him. A crisp soap fragrance combined
with a heavy pine musk.
My belly meets the heavy bulge between his legs and the weight of
it is intoxicating and heady. Anders is a big man, in every way, and
he’s already demonstrated that he has a big heart underneath the
exterior wall that has been erected for reasons I could never fathom.
Due to my current position, I make things easy for us both and
begin to unbutton his jeans, ridding him of this barrier as he frees
himself and I’m staring at the biggest, girthiest cock I’ve ever seen
up-close in my life.
His erection jumps between us as I enclose him in my fist, taking
him in my hand and then flicking the tip of my tongue over the
massive head of his cock.
Anders hisses through his clenched teeth. “Ahh, angel. It’s been
three years. I’m not sure I can endure much of that.”
This makes me insanely happy to hear this. To learn that I’m the
first woman he’s been with since his late wife.
“I just want to taste you. Just for a bit.” I don’t give him time to
argue as I stretch my lips wide and take him into my mouth.
The powerful, headiness of his taste overwhelms me, and I hum
around him, pumping him in my fist as I do. His body relaxes and
tenses, coming alive under my ministrations, as I lavish attention on
every sensitive part of his erection. My fingertips graze his balls,
already tight in anticipation of release, and my tongue glides over
the hard, pulsing vein on the underside of his cock.
When I circle the sensitive tip with my tongue, Anders jerks back
and then forward, grabbing me underneath my arms to lift me in the
air as he stands, carrying me down a short hallway into his bedroom
with a growl that could scare off any living creature outside this
cabin.
He tosses me on the mattress with a grunt, removing his shirt with a
fluid yank of his arm, and then stands over me gloriously naked. I’ve
never seen a man so strong, and so virile as Anders. The veins
running up his forearms and the carved shoulders and cut of his
pectoral muscles that flex under the wispy mats of light hair have my
fingertips twitching to touch him.
And the accentuated dips and valleys of his abdomen, bisected with
a line of masculine hair that I follow all the way south to his ramrod
hard-on, have me licking my lips ready to feast on him.
I swallow, watching as he removes my boots, socks, wrenching me
free from my jeans and then slowly, with agonizing precision, peels
me out of my sweater, leaving me only in my bra and panties.
I look down as a thought occurs to me. Due to my travel plans
today, I chose my most comfy bra and panties, which don’t even
match nor are they anywhere in the vicinity of sexy. But the
reverence in Anders’s eyes, and the sweeping touch of his fingertips
over the cups of my bra, indicate he has no qualms over my choice
of lingerie.
He silently studies my body, learning the curve and shape of it as he
glides his calloused fingers over my distended nipples that poke
through the cups, exploring the skin at the plunge of my cleavage
before he draws a path down my belly.
He flirts with the heat of my center, dipping a finger underneath the
elastic band of my panties, flicking over the wetness there, drawing
it up to my belly to circle my navel before he leans over and licks it
away with his tongue.
I buck at the bolt of pleasure he evokes and awakes in me. The
sensual arousal that accelerates and burns between my legs and the
tension that grows tight like a rubber band, has me ready to snap.
And the feel of his beard against my sensitive skin is like nothing I’ve
ever felt before. The delicious scrape of it over my tummy and then
up to my breasts has me squirming with pleasure. While I fill the
room with quiet gasps and noises from the hunger building inside
me, Anders is quiet in his exploration. But he then lets out a deep
exhale and his breath accelerates, growing louder and more
pronounced, when he removes my bra and suckles a nipple in his
mouth.
A growl emits from his chest and I feel the rumble of what sounds
like thunder between us.
“Fuck, you taste sweet.”
I literally light up like a tree topper under his compliment. He’s less
vocal of a lover than I’m used to, but words aren’t what does it for
me. It’s actions. It’s the sexy sounds that drive me wild. That push
me closer to that elusive summit of the mountain.
I’m soon divested of all my clothing and he presses his length into
the juncture between my legs, sliding through the wetness of my
folds, each of us holding onto one another in preparation for what’s
to come.
Anders reaches between us, gripping his cock in his hand, the head
at my entrance, as he takes me in a blinding kiss, thrusting inside
me as he does. My body accepts him willingly – greedily enclosing
around his erection, my palms squeezing his ass cheeks as we
simultaneously moan in pleasure.
Words can’t effectively describe the feeling of fullness or
completeness that washes over me. It’s shocking and unbelievable,
but so damn perfect.
I lose all sense of space and time with each slide of his cock, with
each wild and passionate kiss, and with the pleasure that exists with
Anders inside me.
As his mouth locks on my neck, the whiskers of his beard teasing
and tickling my sensitive skin, he pins me in place with his hips. And
then the world stops turning, and time stands still when Anders
wedges his hand between our bodies, as his tongue glides over
mine, sweeping over my teeth with deep, probing flicks, as his
fingers flick my clit in the same circular motion.
My body reacts with eager anticipation, as a fireball of sensation
whips through my limbs and erupts from my core. I buck and
scream a tortured but desperate cry.
With a croaked curse, his eyes bore into mine with such intensity
that it seems like I’m looking into his soul, as if he’s baring his entire
heart in our locked gaze. As if he’s saying to me, “You’ve found me.
Don’t ever let me go.”
I beg, I thrash, I come undone as the intensity of my orgasm rocks
through my core and causes an avalanche of pleasure crushing over
me wave, upon wave.
“Anders…I’m coming. I need you to come with me.”
As if that was the signal he’d been waiting for, Anders lets out a
savage snarl, throwing his head back in rapturous ecstasy as his
body tightens and then shutters, releasing hotly inside of me.
I close my eyes and ride the aftershocks of pleasure, as we both
come down from this unexpected high together.
Both quiet in the lingering afterglow, wrapped up in each other’s
arms, silently reflecting on the surprising gift we’ve both been given
on this Christmas Eve night.
A gift of human touch, a break from the loneliness and a brief
moment of peaceful bliss.
 CHAPTER 6

A nders
I watch her sleep, curled up against my chest, her
strawberry blonde locks fanning out over my pillows. The soft,
relaxed expand and contract of her chest indicates a sign of
contentment.
It fills me with a peace inside my soul that has been missing in
action for years.
And then a moment of intense grief and guilt hits me like a boulder
to the heart. I am cheating on the memory of my dead wife.
I’ve fucked and am now sleeping with a stranger in the bed I once
shared with Shawna. Every pleasurable married moment we spent
together has just been overshadowed and replaced with my sexual
exploits with a woman I just met.
She’s not a stranger. Your heart knows her.
I shake the thought free that came to me unbidden while we were
making love. I couldn’t get past the feeling that I’m somehow
connected with Ivy in some strange, phenomenal way. As if we’d
been together in another life or in my dreams.
Ivy sighs in her sleep and I can’t help the small smile that it brings
to my lips. A smile I haven’t experienced in a very long time.
Her naked body lies motionless next to me, and it beckons me to
feather my fingers over her collarbone, down her arm, slipping in
front to toy with her pert nipple. She moans huskily, eyes still closed
and still in slumber.
A lock of her hair tumbles free over her cheek and I whisk it away
with the lightest of touches. I’m in awe how this angel came into my
life so unexpectedly. Whether right time and right place, or just
serendipity, it fills me with a joyful happiness just to have her warm,
naked body next to me. And whether she’s gone tomorrow or stays
for a while, I’m just glad we had this moment.
Her soft voice startles me. “Are you staring at me like a creeper? Did
I fall into bed with a serial killer?”
She laughs huskily and rolls over, propping herself up on an elbow
and arching an eyebrow with humor.
I shrug a shoulder and toss her hair back behind her shoulder to
expose the delicate skin that I bend down to pepper with kisses.
Gently suckling her neck, I work my way up her jawline and then
find her lips, pulling her on top of me with a lasso of my arm around
her back.
When she’s settled nice and snug over my hardening length, she
eyeballs me with a sexy smirk and then teases me with the rock of
her hips, extracting a low groan from the depths of my throat.
“Not a murderer,” I insist, flicking her supple nipple, teasing it
between my thumb and finger as she gasps and pushes forward.
“But I think you might kill me with this body of yours.”
She’s so hot and slick between her folds, and I lose my fucking mind
at the seductive way she moves over me, swiveling her hips as she
rides me, seeking her pleasure.
“This has never happened to me before.”
I open my eyes, entranced at her fluid motion, as she arches her
back and I cup both of her breasts in my hands. Fondling and
plumping the firm pair of tits before greedily sucking them in my
mouth, one and then the other.
She undulates, picking up speed as the friction grows, the intensity
continuing to climb.
“What hasn’t happened? You’ve never ridden a lonely, horny recluse
on Christmas Eve before?” I say wryly, dropping my hands to her
hips to assist her in her endeavor to orgasm.
I want to come, as well, but enjoy the slow and easy ride, and the
wet glide of her pussy over my cock. It feels incredible and I want to
worship her all night long.
Ivy chuckles and smacks her hands over my chest, nails digging my
pecs, as the position now enables the head of my cock to meet her
entrance. And my god, the heat that awaits is a gift from heaven.
Her pace increases, her breaths becoming harsh pants, her lips
parting in a subtle request to be kissed.
“Anders… I meant I’ve never slept with a stranger before. This is…”
She pauses mid-sentence, chasing a release that’s ripe for the
taking.
I decide to help her along, guiding my cockhead to her entrance,
thrusting inside and simultaneously circling her clit with my thumb.
She spasms around me gloriously, letting go to seek her fulfillment
and release.
I come as soon as I feel her walls clench around me, capturing her
breast in my mouth as I let go a torrent of curses, shooting long and
hard, releasing inside her for the second time tonight. After a three
year hiatus from sex, my body is reclaiming its glory days and each
time I come with Ivy is the gift that keeps on giving.
Replete and utterly satisfied, Ivy drops her head to her shoulder with
a soft moan, the change in position causing my now semi-erect cock
to slip out of her. I shift her to my side, now sated and sleepy, and
run my hand up and down her spine.
“Stay with me for the holidays. Come to my mom’s tomorrow for our
family Christmas dinner.”
She snuggles in, warm and soft, and murmurs her reply before
falling sound asleep once again.
“Only if there’s pie.”
 CHAPTER 7

I vy
I wake up to the smell of breakfast cooking and the scent of
maple syrup.
Is Anders making breakfast for us? I’ve never had a man cook me
breakfast.
In bed alone, my naked body shivers in the cold bedroom, and I tug
the blanket up to cover my exposed breasts. As I do, I glance down
and notice the remnants of the beard-burn, red and blotchy over the
tops of my breasts. I raise a hand to cup the curve of my breast,
soothing and plumping the flesh that was well tended to last night
by Anders.
Deciding I should go in search of a bathroom and help him with
breakfast, I spy a discarded plaid shirt on the floor by a chair and
toss it over my head, poking my arms through as I get swallowed up
in the oversized material.
While I was focused on other things last night, I didn’t get a very
good look around his bedroom in the dark. But now in the light of
day I see how gorgeously appointed everything is, and how the dark
granite tile of blues and greys in the master bath marble together to
complement beautifully with the cherry pine of the cabinets. And the
shower is a work of art that makes me want to step in and never
come out.
I take care of business and wash up, opening a medicine cabinet in
search of some mouthwash to get rid of my morning breath. As I
open the door, the first thing I notice sitting alone on the middle
shelf is a pregnancy test stick.
A positive one. With a note attached in swirly handwriting that says,
“I love you, A. You’re going to be the best daddy.”
My stomach tumbles with acid and bile, as I slowly back away, my
heart stopping the moment I hit the wall that wasn’t there a second
ago. It’s a wall of mountain man, heat and tension penetrating
through his T-shirt. I gasp and spin around quickly, raising my hands
as if caught in the act of snooping.
“I’m sorry,” I sputter. “I was looking for mouthwash…I didn’t mean
to snoop.”
Anders raises his hands and grabs me gently by the shoulders. I’m
worried he’s going to march me right out of his house for being a
nosy woman.
But instead, he pinches his full lips together and flicks a glance
behind me. I know he’s looking at what I just found.
His voice is gravely with sorrow and pain. “Shawna – my wife – was
three months pregnant with our first child when her car was thrown
off the side of the mountain in an avalanche.”
My mind reels with the horror of his wife’s death and what he must
have gone through in the aftermath of her death. I can’t form
words, I just gape up at him, unshed tears stinging my eyes as I
stare into his thoughtful and remorseful blue gaze. They look
bottomless, like the deep blue sea.
“Anders. I can’t even…”
He nods his head. “Yeah, either could I. I haven’t always been a
loner asshole.” He chuckles with self-deprecating humor.
“There are days I wake up and still expect to find her here. But then
realization hits – this lonely existence without her and I remain
submerged in bitter disappointment and anger.”
I enclose my arms around his middle, holding onto him as if my hug
will make everything better. Will purge all of the pain and grief of
everything he’s lost in life. His wife and his child.
“Anyone would be angry over that loss, Anders. You must’ve been in
so much pain. It’s unimaginable.”
Taking his hand, I lead him out into the A-frame style living room,
and we sit down on the couch where we were last night. He remains
thoughtful and silent, as I hold onto his hand, thumbing over the
ridges of his knuckles, tracing patterns over his hand. In quiet
solidarity and support.
Finally, he raises his eyes and glances around the room.
“You know, she really loved the holidays. This place was always
decorated like a winter wonderland. We’d cut the tree from our
property and trim it with all these handmade ornaments that she
made and that were passed down from generations before her.”
I follow his gaze, imagining the ginormous tree that would be set in
the corner by the floor-to-ceiling window, lights flickering and
dancing festively.
Taking a chance, I ask him to consider the possibility.
“I know my skills in decorating won’t come close to your wife’s, but
I’m happy to help you if you want. I’ve never cut down a tree
before.”
The thought actually excites me and by the expression on Anders’s
face, it seems to invigorate his spirits, as well.
I stand up and hold my hand out and invite him to do the same.
“Come on, Mountain Man. Let me see how sexy you look wielding an
ax.”

W e ate the breakfast he’d cooked before donning our

winter gear to head out to the property behind his
home, trudging through the thick, white snow that had fallen
overnight. I watched in giddy awe as he worked every toned and
ripped muscle in his arms, back and legs to chop down a massive
Douglas Fir, before dragging it a quarter mile back to his house.
While Anders got out all the decorations and tree lights that had
been stored away in his attic, I showered and made us hot cocoa
with mini-marshmallows and turned on the local radio station that
was playing 24-hours of Christmas music.
With the bright white of the snow and sun outside, I stare out the
front windows with a view of the mountain ridge, basking in the
warmth and glow, as I wonder more about Anders’s life since his
wife died.
“Have you always lived here on the mountain?” I ask, as Anders digs
through box upon box of tree trimmings and ornaments, handing me
a few to begin strategically placing on the tree.
“Yeah, born and raised. This is my family’s mountain.”
His comment gives me pause, and I spin on my socks to gape at
Anders, who grumbles over the set of tangled lights he holds in his
bear paw-sized hands.
“This mountain and the entire area belong to your family?”
He lifts his gaze to mine, eyebrows narrowed in an expression of,
“don’t you know?”
“Well, yeah. Knight’s Mountain and Knight’s Falls were founded and
established back in the late 1800’s by my great-great-grandfather.
My last name is, after all, Knight.”
A bubble of laughter I can’t contain bursts from my chest. “You
really were my knight-in-shining armor last night. How lucky I was
that you were forced to come to my aid.”
Anders stops fiddling with the string of matted lights, places them on
the floor, and step in close, his hands sliding behind my neck,
cupping my cheeks to lock eyes with mine.
“I’m the lucky one and I’m sorry I was such an asshole at the café. I
haven’t done well with people outside my family. But you’re like this
angelic light that somehow shines through to blot out the darkness
within me. You truly are my angel.”
Tree-trimming duties neglected, Anders makes love to me by the
roaring fire, as the song Silent Night plays on the radio.
 CHAPTER 8

A nders
“Oh Mary, everything was so delicious. I don’t think I’ve ever
eaten a better holiday meal in my life. I’m absolutely stuffed.”
My mother’s grin is a mile wide with pride at Ivy’s compliment, who
sits next to her at my family’s holiday table. Mom was tickled pink
when I called earlier and asked her to include one more place
setting in our already full-to-the-brim table. Two of my uncles and
their wives and families are all gathered around, as per the usual
Christmas tradition, where mom and the aunts make all the food for
everyone to enjoy.
No one even batted an eyelash when I introduced them to Ivy,
except my aunt Marguerite, my mother’s younger sister, who tittered
animatedly over our new beautiful guest, turning things into the
Spanish Inquisition on Ivy’s background and history.
My mom reaches over and squeezes Ivy’s shoulders with a side-
armed hug, smiling from ear-to-ear.
“I’m so glad you enjoyed it, sweetheart. I can’t tell you how
wonderful it is to have such a beautiful young woman with us at the
table this year. And I’m so glad my son finally remembered his
manners and invited you to join us.”
She flashes that knowing motherly stare and I shrug a shoulder
blandly. I know she’s just kidding and has always been
understanding of the toll my grief took on me after Shawna died. It
nearly killed her, too, because she’d known Shawna her whole life.
My uncle Henry pipes in. “So tell us, Ivy. Will you be returning to
Chicago after the holidays?”
His question hits me like an upper cut to the jaw. My body grows
tense, wondering what will happen to me if Ivy leaves. It’s like a gift
that’s been given to me, only to be taken away again.
Ivy gives me a side-long glance, perhaps thinking the same thing,
and then answers noncommittally.
“Oh, I hadn’t really put much thought into it yet. I guess I first have
to wait until after my Jeep gets fixed. Technically, I own the house –
once I’m able to unlock it, that is. I don’t have a job to return to,
since my ex took that away from me, too. The only things that
remain in Chicago for me are a handful of friends. I guess I’ll just
have to see how things play out.”
Ivy shoots me a look and suddenly, I’m filled with visions of a future
where every Christmas and every holiday is spent with Ivy by my
side. A renewed sense of hope blooms in my chest as I consider the
possibilities of a full life ahead of me, instead of the emptiness of the
past.
I reach for her hand under the table, bringing it to my thigh,
stroking over her palm with my thumb. Telling her without words
that I want her to stay. Indefinitely.
Uncle Jonas cackles, combing his bristly beard with his fingers and
waggling his eyebrows salaciously. “If I were you, Anderson, I’d
consider losing that car part you need to fix her car. If you catch my
drift.”
Everyone around the table laughs and I shake my head, leaning in
to whisper in Ivy’s ear.
“Ignore him. After two martini’s he’s an incorrigible idiot.”
Ivy giggles quietly, turning toward me with a cock of her head. “I
might be persuaded to stay longer. No tampering with missing car
parts required.”
God, this woman. She’s too incredible for words.
We spend the next several hours after dinner clean-up, opening
family gifts around the tree, and sharing stories of past holiday
fiascos. Like the one when I was a kid and a raccoon was in uncle
Henry’s tree, requiring us to spend hours trying to rustle him out,
creating a mess that looked like a war zone in their family room.
And then a comment from Aunt Susan, Jonas’s wife, stops my
laughter and brings me falling back to earth, the acute pain of my
loss stabbing me in the chest once more.
“Remember that Christmas when Shawna baked everyone loaves of
banana bread as gifts, but because she was so tired from her
pregnancy, that she didn’t realize she doubled the salt in the
recipe?” She hoots with laughter, slapping at her knee like it’s the
funniest memory in history. “Oh my God, they tasted horrible!”
No one else laughs, their faces turning white with horror. They stare
at me like I’m a fragile glass ornament about to break. Because no
one has dared to bring up Shawna’s name with me in conversation
since she died.
It’s almost comical the expression that replaces Susan’s smile when
she realizes her guffaw.
“Anders, oh honey, I didn’t mean…”
I shake my head, waving my hand dismissively, trying to remain
unaffected by her comment. Knowing it was an innocent mistake
and not meant to hurt me.
“It’s fine,” I acknowledge, but stand up, ready to bolt if and when
the levee breaks inside of me. Maybe my heart is still that fragile
ornament. Perhaps Ivy wasn’t the answer to freeing me from my
pity-party of one. “But we should probably get going. I’m sure Ivy
has had enough of the Knight clan for one day and wants to get into
her new home tonight.”
I smile solemnly, reaching for Ivy’s hand who accepts it willingly, but
with hesitation and uncertainty in her green eyes.
Earlier today she’d received a message from the property
management service that they’d leave her a new set of keys under
the mat and she was able to get in at any time.
While it has been a much-needed respite from my troubles to be in
Ivy’s presence the past 24-hours, I think I need some space to work
through the emotional turbulence that rumbles loudly in my head,
messing with my state of peace.
Ivy takes the hint and says her goodbyes to my family, expressing
her gratitude for welcoming her into the family gathering. She pays
extra attention to my mother, exchanging hugs and promises to get
back together soon.
And before we leave, my mother wraps me in a hug and plants a
kiss on my cheek before saying, “Don’t lose this girl, Anders. You’ve
already lived through love and sorrow before, now you need to
mend again. This may be your one last chance at a happy ending.”
 CHAPTER 9

I vy
I’ve spent the last two days cleaning out my new house and
organizing my pantry now stocked full of food. One that thanks to
Mary Knight, is well stocked with all the essentials and more. She
even shared with me a few of her recipes that I’ve tried hard to
replicate.
But no matter how much time and effort I put into these household
chores to keep my thoughts otherwise occupied, nothing seems to
get Anders out of my head.
Or out of my bruised heart.
It’s funny, actually, because I thought I came to Knight’s Mountain to
rid my broken heart of Hayden and reclaim my life after the
devastating divorce.
Yet here I am, picking up the shattered pieces that broke apart when
Anders dropped me off on Christmas Day evening, after spending an
amazing day with him and his family. But since then, he’s turned into
the ghost of Christmas past. And that hurts almost more than
Hayden divorcing me out of the blue.
I asked Mary about him when she stopped by earlier with the food.
Inquired whether Anders was okay. She offered me a pitying smile
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arrive, so that by morning the place was covered with tents and
wagons, and swarming with people, horses, mules and cattle.
7th.—At an early hour we were again moving, in order to reach the
Elkhorn Ferry before any of the trains should take the precedence,
whereby we would have been detained. We had first to cross the
Papilion on a bridge, and as it was very narrow, and the road leading
to it very steep, we were obliged to unharness the mules from the
wagon, lest they might, by pushing one another, precipitate the
wagon and themselves into the stream and mud below. The wagon
was then pulled across the bridge by hand. Ascending the opposite
hill, we were again on the high prairie. Before us, twelve or fifteen
miles distant, could be discovered the timber of the Elkhorn, which
we expected to cross before noon;—to our right we could yet
perceive the timber of the Missouri, and the Old Council Bluffs,
where formerly there was a fort for the protection of the traders;—
and to our left the timber of the Platte.—
Arrived at the Elkhorn, we saw a considerable number of
Pawnees, who all appeared glad at our coming to visit them. Here
we learnt that a slight affray had taken place the day before,
between some Pawnees and a train of emigrants. The readers of the
Miscellany have perhaps read of such cases in the newspapers,
headed: “Depredation of the Pawnees (or some other Indians) upon
a train of emigrants,” and the like, where the blame is generally
attached to the Indians. I think it is due to the Indians to state here
that the fault does not always lie with them, but very often with the
whites. The road of the emigrants lies through the country belonging
to the Indians;—their hunting-grounds are traversed by the long lines
of white-covered wagons, and the buffaloes, the principal
subsistence of the Indians, are thereby chased away to more distant
and more secluded pastures, perhaps to regions where it would be
unsafe for them to hunt, on account of other tribes inimical to them;
and they have thereby been reduced to poverty and want. For all
these privations they have been promised presents, as a
compensation, from our Government, but thus far they have received
nothing. So when the emigrants are passing through their country,
they frequently apply to them for tobacco, or some other small
presents. It seems that in the above instance, while the Pawnees
were hovering around the train, they were refused a present, and
one of the men, with the ox-whip, struck an Indian, who came near,
which, of course, roused the feelings of the Indians. These
accordingly drove off a beef or two, which were then despatched.—
The Elkhorn at this place is a deep and rapid stream, about 20
yards wide. Two French halfbreeds are living here, in order to keep a
ferry for the emigrants.—Having passed over the Elkhorn, our road
lay across a bottom prairie extending between the Elkhorn and Platte
rivers. We now turned off from the wagon road, taking the village for
our landmark; without any track across the prairie, and soon arrived
on the north bank of the Platte.—The grass being somewhat more
advanced in the bottom than on the high bluff on the opposite side,
where the village is situated, the Pawnees had turned their ponies to
graze in the bottom, watched by the women and children.—Many
women were also engaged in digging for roots with their hoes,
provisions being at present very scarce among them. We were soon
surrounded by a crowd of young men, women and children, who by
their smiling countenances seemed to bid us welcome.—It is difficult
to describe our feelings on the present occasion. We were now in
sight of the village, where the people lived, whom we had come to
visit, in order to give them the opportunity of accepting or rejecting
the offer of having Missionaries to live among them, to lead them to
the Savior of sinners. A wide stream, over a mile across, separated
us from the object of our journey, and could not be crossed without
getting assistance from the very people, for whose benefit we had
come. From the conversation of Mr. Allis and Mr. Sharpee with the
Indians there seemed to be some difficulty in getting help, originating
in a jealousy existing between the Chief in our company and the
principal Chief of the village. Meantime it commenced raining, and a
strong, chilly wind was blowing, which forced us to wrap ourselves in
our blankets. In this perplexity nearly an hour was spent. At length a
messenger was despatched across the river to inform the principal
chief of the village, Siskatuppe, of our arrival, with the request that
he would send us some men to assist us to cross. After another
hour’s patient waiting we were cheered by seeing the chief with
about twenty men coming to our help.—The ford of the river is only
about four feet at the deepest places, but what makes this river
peculiarly perilous in crossing is the shifting quicksand at the bottom,
so that, while crossing, it is necessary to keep constantly moving;—
for the moment a person stops he begins to sink on account of the
uncertain foothold.—Our baggage was placed upon the backs of
Pawnees, who immediately started off with their load. The mules
having been unharnessed, and the harness placed in the wagon, a
long rope was tied from the end of the tongue of the wagon to each
single-tree. The Pawnees then took hold of the rope, while some
pushed behind at the wagon, and thus proceeded into the river. Mr.
Sharpee kindly offered br. Smith his horse, while he and br. Oehler
each took a mule, and Mr. Allis borrowed a pony of the Pawnees, the
mounted men taking up the rear. A full half hour was consumed in
crossing, and passing over two islands on our route. At length we
reached the opposite bank, where we were greeted by numbers of
Pawnees, who were awaiting our arrival. A difficulty which now
presented itself before us was to get the wagon up the steep bluff,
the sides of which had become slippery by the falling rain. To obviate
this difficulty it was necessary to go nearly a mile down the river,
through their cornfields, in the bottom, to a place where it was not
quite so steep as elsewhere.—At length, being arrived at the village,
we found, in spite of the rain, crowds standing around the chief’s
lodge, to receive and to welcome the missionaries.—
Having secured everything loose about the wagon that might be
liable to be stolen, and entrusted our baggage, harness and animals
to the care of the chief, we entered the lodge of our host. We were
not a little surprised, when we came in, to find that it was a spacious
apartment, a description of which will be given at another time. We
had hardly reached the place when a young gentleman in the
employment of the Government arrived in company with the United
States interpreter at Fort Kearney, a black man, who speaks the
Pawnee fluently. They had travelled the whole distance, without an
escort, alone;—Fort Kearney being about 150 miles further up the
Platte river. This young man was sent out to the different tribes of
Prairie Indians, the Pawnees among the rest, in order to invite them
to attend a General Council of Tribes at Fort Laramie, to be held
about the beginning of September.
 While Mr. Allis and ourselves, and the above-named persons from
Fort Kearney lodged with Siskatuppe, the principal chief of the
village, Mr. Sharpee put up at the lodge of the chief Gatarritatkutz,
who had travelled with us, and with whom he is accustomed to tarry
whenever he comes to the village to trade.
After we had spent an hour in drying our clothes, smoking, and
conversing with some of the chiefs and braves, a messenger arrived
from Mr. Sharpee, inviting us to be present at a feast of coffee and
crackers, which he had prepared for the chiefs, during which he
intended to make inquiries respecting his stolen horse. When we
arrived Mr. Sharpee informed us that, as the principal men were now
assembled, it would be a convenient opportunity for us to hold a
council with them. We accordingly commenced by informing them of
our object. The jealousy between the chiefs, however, became
apparent, and after some consultation among themselves
Siskatuppe intimated that some of the chiefs were not present, and
as the business before us was of great importance to the whole band
they ought also to be summoned. It was, therefore, resolved
immediately to adjourn to his lodge, in order to receive our
communications. Accordingly all the chiefs and braves having been
assembled, we were informed that they were now ready to hear us.
Br. Smith then in a speech, which was interpreted by Mr. Allis,
informed them of the object of our visit. Hereupon Siskatuppe made
an address, welcoming us in the kindest manner and hoping that we
might send missionaries among them. Br. Oehler then, in an
address, explained to them more particularly the object which
missionaries have in view, and that it was especially our present aim
among them to find out whether they were desirous not only of
having their outward condition bettered, but of having the
missionaries among them to teach them about a Savior, who came
into this world to save us from our sins, to preach whom was our first
and principal design. Several other chiefs and braves then made
speeches, expressive of their satisfaction at our coming to see them,
and welcoming us to live with them, promising us their protection; so
that we should in no wise be hindered by any of their people; and
that we might rest assured that our cattle and all other property
which we might bring along with us should not be destroyed or
molested by any one. Moreover, they acknowledged that they
needed instruction, and that they would all be willing to listen to us.
We were very much pleased with the apparent earnestness with
which these remarks were made, and have no doubt that they made
these promises in good faith. Before us were thus assembled the
nobility of the village,—the chiefs and braves, besides numbers of
the common people, at least 500 in all, sitting in solemn council.
What a spectacle for the humble missionaries of the cross! Here
were the representatives of a village, numbering at least 2,500 souls,
deliberating upon the acceptance or rejection of missionaries,—
holding a council, unconsciously, whether the time in the providence
of the Lord had at length arrived, when they should again be
instructed in the knowledge of the “Unknown God,” whom they, and
their fathers and forefathers have worshipped, though in great
ignorance and superstition. O, how cheering to our hearts, when we
were not merely coldly permitted to make our abode with them, so
that they might derive from us some temporal good, in supplying
their wants when hungry and destitute; but when we were hailed and
welcomed among them as the “Medicine men of the Great Spirit,” to
have whom among them, would better their outward condition, and
perhaps (as we ardently hope and pray, through the blessing of our
Lord,) make them a happy and christian nation. Of what vast
importance may have been this solemn hour for these people?—the
future, we humbly trust, will develop many happy results from the
decision of this council; but Eternity alone may reveal, that the
happiness or misery of many a soul, bought by the precious blood of
Jesus, was connected with the results of this occasion!
Our business with them being over, the above-named young man,
in the employ of the government, also made known to them that their
Great Father at Washington had invited them to a grand council of
the different nations, to be held at Fort Laramie for the purpose of
defining the territories of the different prairie tribes, who were also to
receive presents there from him, as a compensation for the losses
which they have in later years sustained, on account of the scarcity
of the buffaloes, occasioned by the great emigration to the far West,
etc.,—at all which they expressed their great satisfaction. After the
crowd had somewhat dispersed, a dish of soup, made of hominy and
beans, was placed before us, with two spoons, made of buffalo
horns, in the dish. Having fasted since sunrise, we could not
complain of our appetites, and the dish, though not attractive in its
appearance, was soon emptied of its contents. We then prepared
some coffee, and having supped, gave our chief and his family a
feast of the remaining coffee, with some crackers and slices of ham.
We had hardly finished, (much time was not consumed in washing
our dishes,) when a messenger arrived, inviting us to a feast, which
one of the chiefs had prepared for us. When we arrived, and had
seated ourselves on mats around the fire, (for there are no chairs in
a Pawnee lodge,) a dish of soup, made of corn, was again placed
before us. As our appetites had previously been satiated, we could
merely partake of a few spoonsful, to please our kind host. We had
hardly entered into a conversation when an invitation came from
another chief;—and so we were led from lodge to lodge, till we had
partaken of about a dozen feasts. At last we returned to the lodge of
Siskatuppe, and, having wrapped ourselves in our blankets, and laid
ourselves down on mats on the ground, were soon in the land of
visions.
May 8th.—Early in the morning we were awakened by the shrill
voices of the Pawnee women, who were engaged in cleaning up the
lodge, and collecting their hoes, previous to their going out to the
fields to prepare the ground for planting corn. Our breakfast being
over, and having had our animals brought from the pasture, we,
together with the gentleman from Fort Kearney and his interpreter,
started for the upper village, distant about 25 miles, accompanied by
our old friend Gatarritatkutz and another Pawnee. Our road was
again for several miles across the high prairie. We then descended
into the bottom prairie of the Platte, travelling about five miles in sight
of the river, when we made a halt near the stream in order to prepare
dinner. The situation here pleased us very much, as very suitable for
a mission station, should the Pawnees be permanently located
where they at present reside. The timber on the islands in the Platte
is very easily obtained here. The prairie bottom is from two to three
miles wide, gently ascending to the bluffs, and extends about ten
miles along the Platte, before the bluffs again approach the river. A
mile or two from where we took our lunch a beautiful spring of never
failing water gushes forth from the bluff. After dinner, having
permitted our animals to graze a while, we proceeded on our
journey, travelling partly on the high prairie, after ascending the bluff,
and partly in the bottom. At a certain place, as we were travelling
along, we noticed, that our Pawnee friends rode aside to a spot,
where their attention seemed to be rivetted upon something on the
ground. Inquiring what it was, they informed us, that at that place
about nine or ten months ago, a Sioux chief had been killed by the
Pawnees. It seems, he had made a hostile incursion upon the
Pawnees, with a company of his people, and having found some
squaws engaged at work in their fields, he had killed them. The
Pawnees, irritated at this unprovoked attack, immediately made up a
party, who hotly pursued their enemies, and, the horse of the Sioux
chief being wearied, and not able to keep up with the rest, he called
to his men: “Stop not for me, but save yourselves; I shall die
fighting.” His pursuers soon came up with him and killed him, fighting
bravely. The spot where he had been killed still presented the marks
of Indian barbarity; stones, arrows, and small pieces of the skull,
which had been cleft by their tomahawks, lying around,—the bones
having been carried away with the carcass by the wolves of the
prairie. We turned away in disgust from a place, which had been the
scene of such a barbarous atrocity, praying only the more fervently
to the Lord, that the passions of these poor people might be softened
down by the all-subduing influence of His blessed gospel, through
the happy effects of which alone, we have been made to differ.—
As we were approaching the upper village we observed sentinels
standing on the highest bluffs, posted there, it seems, to watch the
approach of any strangers. The first that we observed was at a
distance of five miles from the village. In the bottom prairie, numbers
of ponies, the property of the village, were grazing, watched by
women and children. As we approached the village, young men and
boys joined our caravan, and when at last we arrived there a dense
crowd of children surrounded us, eager to see the visitors of their
village, so that it was necessary for a chief to come to our aid, who
opened a way through the immense throng for our wagon to proceed
on to the lodge, where we were to put up. We were here, as well as
at the other village, struck with the large proportion of children, a
circumstance not generally observable among Indians. Mr. Allis
informed us that visiting them a few months previous (the smallpox
having appeared among some of the Indian tribes) he had
vaccinated about 1,500 under 14 years of age (in a population of
hardly 6,000); the last time that the whole tribe had been vaccinated,
having been 14 years ago.
The village stands on a rising ground, about three miles from the
river, and consequently the same distance from the nearest timber.
In a valley near by flows a beautiful stream, from which the people of
the village are supplied with water.
The lodge, where we were to remain, was the medicine lodge of
the village, and just as we entered it we found a company of about a
hundred men engaged in dancing a medicine dance, in order to
propitiate the Great Spirit, to grant them prosperity in the
approaching buffalo-hunting season, and protection from their
enemies. Their naked bodies were painted in the most grotesque
manner, their hair and weapons plumed with eagles’ feathers, and
thus armed with bows and arrows, spears, and shields, they were
dancing to the beat of the drum, intermingled with songs. Their yells
rent the air, while the very earth seemed to shake under their feet.
After we had sat in the lodge a few minutes, a dense crowd of two or
three hundred children filling up the space at the entrance, whose
curiosity was probably more attracted by us than by the dancers, a
chief came forth from the dancing party, with a whip in his hand, at
sight of whom the children made for the door, but as it took some
time before the crowd could get out by the narrow opening he
commenced plying his whip most unmercifully on the naked backs of
the poor children till the entrance was cleared. We were then
informed that on account of our arrival, out of deference to us, they
would now dance outside; if, however, we wished to look at them
while dancing, we were welcome to come out and see them.—After
a little while we went out and looked at them for some time, while
they were engaged in these religious exercises. Our hearts melted,
and our eyes filled with tears at the thought of the benighted state of
their minds, living without Christ, and without hope. We were not
long engaged in these mournful reflections, when a messenger
arrived inviting us to a feast. We followed the messenger, who led us
to a lodge, which we entered. Our host, who had prepared a feast for
us, was no other than the chief of the Grand Pawnee Band, and
principal chief of the whole Pawnee nation. He received us in a very
warm and affectionate manner, embraced us, and welcomed us
among his people. His name is Asseruregarrigu;—he seems to be
extremely old, on the verge of the grave, yet, in spite of his great
age, is still very much respected by his nation. After being invited to
sit down on mats, a dish of green corn soup was placed before us,
which was very palatable. The old man complained, that the corn
had not been sufficiently boiled, as he had ordered it to be put over
when he heard of our arrival, and had been anxious to be the first to
welcome us by a feast.—
Our repast being finished, we were yet invited to several feasts
prepared by the chiefs of the village, whereupon we returned to the
medicine lodge. In the evening a council of the chiefs and braves
was called, in order to inform them of the business upon which we
had come to visit them. We were received in the most cordial
manner, embraced by several of the chiefs, and after informing them
of our object the principal chief of the Pawnee tribe, aforementioned,
made a reply to the following effect: “It appears to me this evening as
though I had been dead a long time and had suddenly to-day risen
from the dead,—so glad am I to hear the news that teachers are
willing to come among us, in order to live with us and instruct us. We
shall welcome you among us, and the chiefs will see to it, that your
property and cattle shall be protected;—I hope you will come soon to
live with us. I am now a very old man,—I must soon go hence;
therefore come soon that I may behold the missionaries living among
my people before I die.” Speeches to a similar effect were then made
by Leezikutz, chief of the Republican band, Terrericawaw, chief of
the Topages (pronounced Tuppay) band, and two or three other
inferior chiefs, which were all interpreted; and finally a chief named
Lalogehanesharn (or Fatty, as he is called by the whites, from his
corpulence, something very unusual among wild Indians) closed by
making a long appeal to the chiefs, delivered in a very loud and
sonorous voice, exhorting them to keep the promises which they had
just made. “Don’t cheat,” said he; “don’t act deceitfully. You have now
promised these men that if they come to live among us you will take
them under your protection, and will always restrain your people
from molesting their property. Remember this, and now since you
have made these promises, see to it that you also keep them.” The
council then dispersed, not, however, before several chiefs had
again embraced us, whereupon we laid ourselves down in our
blankets upon the mats in the lodge for repose.
May 9th.—After breakfast we were invited to the principal chief’s
lodge, to attend a council which had been called for the purpose of
listening to the invitation sent to them by the President of the United
States through the above-mentioned agent, to attend a general
council at Fort Laramie. The Pawnees declared themselves satisfied
with the offers of government, and several speeches were then
made expressive of the prospect that ere long the condition of their
people would be bettered, especially since they might now indulge
the hope of soon having teachers among them to give them
instruction. During the council a severe thunderstorm was passing
over, and while the chief, Fatty, was speaking, after a loud peal of
thunder: “See,” said he, “the Great Spirit is pleased with us this
morning and expresses his satisfaction by speaking loudly to us!!”—
At the close we were yet invited to partake of a feast with them. A
large dish of corn-soup was brought in and set before the chiefs;—
the medicine man then came forward, and, taking a spoonful of the
soup, went to the fire, and making a small hole in the ashes he
poured it in. After putting the spoon back again into the dish he
returned to the sacrifice at the fire, which was blessed thrice by
holding both hands over it; then, turning round to the assembly, and
fronting the chiefs, looking up to heaven, he stretched out his hands
thrice in silent benediction, and then returned to his seat. The dish
was then passed round, each person partaking of a mouthful or two
of the soup.
The council being over, and the thunderstorm having somewhat
subsided, towards noon we started on our return, the object of our
visit to the Pawnee villages being now fully accomplished. We had
now only to retrace our steps, as that was the nearest way for us to
travel. We prepared our coffee and lunch at the same beautiful spot,
where we had halted yesterday. In getting a fire, however, to boil our
coffee, we had considerable trouble, the matches in our pockets
being damp, and the grass and wood being all wet from the rain,
which was yet falling. But at last our Pawnee friends succeeded in
finding some dry rotten wood, which, by means of paper and powder,
we succeeded in igniting. In the evening we arrived at the Lower
Village, where we staid over night at Siskatuppe’s lodge.
May 10th.—Towards morning a very heavy thundergust passed
over the village, and the water came pouring into the lodge, from the
small opening above (which is made to let out the smoke), and the
shrill voices of the women, who seemed to be scolding one another
while engaged in cleaning up the water, disturbed us considerably in
our slumbers. In the morning the Pawnees informed us that the
Platte was rising; we, therefore, hastened to get ready for travelling,
and crossed the river without much difficulty, in the same manner as
at the first time. Arrived at the opposite bank, we made a present of
some tobacco to our Pawnee friends, for assisting us in crossing the
river. A large company of Pawnees followed us, who intended going
to the Omahaw village in order to trade for corn. When we arrived at
the ferry of the Elkhorn, a heavy gust was threatening to overtake us,
and we had hardly crossed, secured our baggage, and got into the
hut of the ferrymen, when a furious hailstorm passed over us. The
rain having detained us so long, that it was impossible to reach
another camping ground by daylight, we pitched our tent here for the
night.
May 11th.—During the night, another gust passed over us, but our
tent kept us dry and comfortable. One of the ferrymen, who had
arrived during the night from Council Bluffs, informed us that the
bridge across the Papilion, over which we had passed, had been
washed away by the high water occasioned by the heavy rains, and
that he had been obliged to swim the stream, which had swollen to
the size of a river. We, therefore concluded to take another route,
which would lead along a high ridge between the Great and Little
Papilion, and strike the former opposite the Omahaw village, at the
confluence of the two streams, where we hoped to get assistance,
should we find any difficulty in crossing.
 When we arrived at the place, we found both streams very much
swollen by the heavy rains. Collecting some wood together, we
made a fire, and prepared our dinner, while the party of Pawnees,
who had followed us, were busied in crossing the Little Papilion, in
order to get to the Omahaw village. After we had finished our meal,
and had come to the crossing of the Great Papilion, preparations
were made for getting our wagon, baggage, and ourselves on the
other side and here we found Mr. Sharpee, who has travelled several
times to the Rocky Mountains, and was accustomed to meet with
such exigencies as the present, to be of invaluable service to us.
Under his direction the tent-cloth was spread out on the ground,
upon which was placed the wagon-body. The corners of the cloth
were then laid over the body, and around the whole a rope was
tightly tied to keep the cloth firmly adhering to it. Thus a boat was
soon constructed, in which the forewheels and tongue were put, and
then launched in the stream, with Mr. Sharpee and Mr. Allis on
board. A rope had previously been attached, the end of which an
Indian took in his mouth, and swam across, the boat being drawn
after him. The contents being quickly taken out on the other side, it
was towed back again by the Indian with Mr. Sharpee still in it. The
second load consisted of the hindwheels with Mr. Sharpee and br.
Oehler. Meanwhile another Indian had formed a boat of a buffalo-
skin, stretched out by sticks placed crosswise, in which the baggage
was all safely transported to the other side. The animals were driven
into the stream, and forced to swim across. Finally, the boat was
brought over the third time, and br. Smith and a lame Pawnee man
were taken to the other side. When the boat had made this its last
trip, it had not leaked more than about an inch of water. During the
whole time, while we were crossing, the rain was pouring down in
torrents upon us. Having now safely gained the other shore with all
our effects, and put everything in travelling order, we proceeded
about three miles farther, when we came to a slough, which had also
been filled up by the rains. It was impossible to ford it, at the place
where the road led across. After reconnoitering a little, we found a
place where the water was fordable, but with an almost
perpendicular bank of about ten feet on the other side. The mules
having been unharnessed, Mr. Sharpee and br. Oehler took them
across, although they almost stuck fast in the mud. Mr. Allis and br.
Smith then pushed the wagon into the slough, thus forming a bridge
for them to cross over. All hands were then employed in pulling the
wagon out of the mud up the bank, till the end of the tongue reached
the top, to which the doubletree was then tied. The mules being
reharnessed, and all the other available muscular power being
applied in pushing up the wagon, we finally succeeded in getting it
up on the bank. We had now yet two miles to travel, in order to reach
the Presbyterian mission station at Bellevue, and were truly thankful
that there were no more streams or sloughs to cross. About
sundown we arrived at our station, and were heartily welcomed by
Mr. McKinney and the Mission family, though our outward
appearance was not very prepossessing, our clothing being
bespattered with mud, from the various adventures of the day.—
On the 14th of May the steamboat El Paso came up the Missouri
to Council Bluffs, and on the morning of the 15th we took passage in
her down the river. On the evening of the 16th the boat arrived at
Weston, and in the afternoon of the 17th left there for Kansas, where
we arrived at dark. After breakfast on the following morning, the
18th, we proceeded to Westfield, eight miles, on foot, where we
arrived just as the congregation were leaving the church after the
service, which had been held by the national assistant, Frederic
Samuel—truly thankful to the Lord to find all well at home, after an
absence of nearly four weeks.
 DESCRIPTION
OF THE MANNERS AND CUSTOMS OF THE PAWNEE INDIANS
(By Br. D. Z. Smith.)

Bands or Clans.—All the Indian tribes are subdivided into bands

or clans. The Pawnees have among them four distinct bands, viz.,
the Loups (pronounced Loos), the Republicans, the Topages
(Tuppays), and the Grand Pawnees. Each band has at its head a
Chief, among whom, however, the Chief of the Grand Pawnees,
Asseruregarrigu, is considered the Principal Chief of the whole tribe.
Villages, Localities, former Missionaries, &c.—The Pawnees
live in two villages at present, both on the South side of the Platte or
Nebraska river. The lower village lies about 50 miles from Bellevue,
and about 10 or 15 miles above the mouth of the Elkhorn river, the
first important tributary of the Platte from the North; and the upper
village is situated about 20 or 25 miles above the lower, nearly
opposite the mouth of the Loup Fork of the Platte, the next branch of
any consequence above the Elkhorn. Both villages are situated on
eminences, so that the approach of an enemy can easily be
observed, and a sharp lookout is constantly kept in order to guard
against any sudden surprise from a hostile force. Sentinels are
constantly posted on all the surrounding heights, who can
immediately by signs, known among the Indians, transmit
intelligence in case of impending danger. During the night, sentinels
are constantly perched upon the tops of the lodges, to guard against
any unexpected nocturnal attack. When we were on our return, and
remained over night at the Loup village, a report, probably a false
alarm, had reached there during the day, that a large war-party of
Sioux had lately been seen near the head waters of the Elkhorn
river. During the night sentinels were as usual posted upon the
lodges, a little more noisy, however, than generally, yelling to one
another and singing, nearly the whole night. Upon our inquiring why
the sentinels made so much noise, we were informed that it was to
let the Sioux know, should they be near, that they might not expect to
find them off their guard.
Thus it will be observed that a certain kind of military organization
is constantly kept up at each village, rendered necessary by their
wars with their enemies. This unpleasant state of things can only be
removed through the benign influence of the Gospel, when “they
shall beat their swords into plough-shares, and their spears into
pruning-hooks: nation shall not lift up a sword against nation, neither
shall they learn war any more. But they shall sit every man under his
vine and fig-tree; and none .” (Mic. 4:3, 4.)
As hinted in a note in a previous communication, the Pawnee
villages are not located on their own land. Formerly the land on both
sides of the Platte river belonged to them. But about the year 1835
they concluded a treaty with the United States, in which they ceded
to the latter all their territory on the South side of the river. Their
villages were then situated about 150 miles further up the Platte on
the North side. The missionaries of the A. B. C. F. M. were then
residing with them, their mission stations being situated in the vicinity
of these villages. When the Pawnees were at their homes, which is
only four or five months of the year (the remaining months being
consumed on their summer and fall hunts), the missionaries were
engaged in teaching such of their children as could be induced to
attend school, and in instructing the people in the truths of religion,
as well as they could according to their limited knowledge of the
language. About six years ago, the powerful Sioux made repeated
incursions into the Pawnee country, and the strength of the latter
being very much weakened by their frequent wars with their
enemies, they were obliged to succumb, and at length forced to
leave their former location on the North side of the Platte, and to
remove to the South side, nearer to the white settlements on the
Missouri river. The missionaries, too, found it unsafe to remain, and it
was thought advisable to suspend their missionary operations
among them. Mr. and Mrs. Allis are remnants of this noble band of
missionaries, and, still cherishing the desire, that these benighted
but very interesting people might be enlightened by the gospel, have,
while their fellow-laborers have long ago left for other fields of
usefulness, still lingered behind—and toiled on, amidst many self-
denials, privations and discouragements, in doing whatever lay in
their power for the good of these Indians. Lately the government has
established Fort Kearney, not far distant from their former villages,
which, it is hoped, will be a security against future incursions, and
prove a safeguard, when our mission will once be established
among them.
Language.—The Pawnee language is said to be altogether
different from the languages of the surrounding prairie tribes. The
Otoes, the Ioways, the Osages, the Kanzas or Caws, the Omahaws,
the Puncaws, etc., seem all to speak dialects of the same language,
the Dakota; while the Pawnee language seems, by its great
difference, to point back to the earliest periods of the residence of
the Indians in this country, when a disruption may have taken place,
that formed them into a distinct nation.
Population, Lodges, etc.—The lower village consists of about 80
lodges, with a population of nearly 2,500; and in the upper village
there are between 140 and 150 lodges, the population amounting
perhaps to 3,500. On approaching a village, the lodges have the
appearance of so many small hillocks, of a conical form, huddled up
together in the closest possible manner, with only narrow passages
between for walking, and the rest of the space filled up by pens,
formed of stakes, for confining their ponies during the night, to guard
them from being suddenly taken off by a warlike party of another
tribe.
The Pawnee lodges are of a circular form, large and spacious in
the interior; many of them being 50 feet in diameter. Three and
sometimes four circular rows of forked trunks of trees are placed
upright, at appropriate distances from each other. The row nearest
the centre consists of only four such upright timbers, about 15 or 20
feet high, while the crotches in the more exterior rows are shorter
and more numerous, in proportion as the circumference is greater.
These forks or crotches support thick crossbeams, upon which a
frame of long poles is laid, extending from the ground at the outer
circumference of the lodge to the top, leaving only an opening at the
apex, of about four feet in diameter, to answer the double purpose of
letting in the light, and letting out the smoke. Upon the frame work of
poles, willow osiers are laid, and the whole is then covered with
prairie-sod from 12 to 18 inches thick. Immediately below the
opening above, a hole is sunk in the centre for the fire-place,
common to all the residents of the lodge. From five to ten families,
generally related together, have a common occupancy of one lodge,
governed by a head man, who may be styled the lodge chief. Around
the circumference of the lodge are recesses for sleeping, partitioned
off for each family, resembling the berths on board of steamboats,
many of which are screened in front and on the sides by willow-twigs
laid above each other, tied fast to a frame, which, partly with the
reddish bark on, and partly white from having the bark taken off,
exhibit considerable taste in those who wrought them. When thus
ornamented with twigs, a small opening about two by three feet is
left in front to admit the occupants. The bottom of the berth is raised
about two feet above the ground by means of large hewn sills,
overlaid by thick willow twigs, which are then covered with buffalo-
robes. The entrance of the lodge is always on the East side,
protected by a passage, closed above and on the sides, of about 15
feet in length—the door being a large buffalo robe, or several sewed
together, hanging before the inner entrance. On the side opposite to
the door of each lodge, a recess is reserved, for depositing the skull
of a buffalo, surmounted by shields, quivers of arrows, spears, bows,
skins, feathers, etc. used for hunting, for medicinal or religious
purposes, as the case may require. In the intermediate space
between the recesses and the fireplace, mats, about three by five
feet, made of rushes, are laid, at convenient distances, for seats;
while an extra supply of them, rolled up, and set aside at different
places in the lodge, are reserved for extraordinary occasions, as for
instance councils or feasts.
Subsistence.—What the seal is to the Greenlander the buffalo is
to the Pawnees and other Prairie Indians; and many of their songs,
in which reference is made to the buffalo, show that this animal is
held in high estimation among them. It will no doubt be a difficult
undertaking to wean them from an occupation, which is at the same
time a gratifying and exciting sport to them, and which imparts to an
individual who distinguishes himself in its pursuit, a character of high
standing among his tribe. The great scarcity of the buffalo, however,
of late years, since the immense emigration to the far west, has
pinched them with want and hunger, and it is evident that they
cannot subsist much longer by depending mainly upon this animal as
heretofore. This circumstance, though calling forth our warmest
sympathies in behalf of their wretched condition, may perhaps be the
means, in the hands of an Allwise Providence, of shaking that
tenacity and attachment so strongly developed in the Indian
character, for long cherished customs, and making them more
pliable in adopting the arts of civilization. Their attention must soon
be directed to agriculture and the raising of stock, or they must
starve.
While on the hunt, in the buffalo country, the Pawnees generally
have a good supply of fresh meat to subsist on. That portion of their
meat which is intended to be jerked, in order to take home with them,
they cut into narrow slips, and dry it over the fire, without any salt,
where, by the action of the smoke and sun, it soon dries. Several
slips are then plaited together, when it is put away into a skin, and
reserved for future use. The reason why no salt is added is probably,
first, because it is a scarce article, and secondly, because anything
that is salted and dried, imbibes moisture in damp weather, and
sooner becomes rancid than meat dried without salt.
Besides the buffalo, as their main subsistence, they raise some
corn, beans, and pumpkins. As they use no other agricultural
implements than hoes, their fields are not very extensive. For
suitable spots of cultivation they generally select the mouth of a
ravine, or any spot where, by the washing of the rains, the ground
has become loose and mellow, and consequently the sod may more
easily be extirpated than in the prairies generally, where the ground
can only be prepared by turning the thick sod by means of a large
prairie plough, and three or four yoke of oxen.
 Their fields are not enclosed by fences or any other kind of
protection. Having no other stock but horses, which are constantly
herded and watched during the day time, and shut up in enclosures
in the village during the night, fences are unnecessary. While absent
from their homes, their fields are subject to depredations from prairie
wolves and deer, which however no ordinary fence could restrain.
Because these poor people have no other agricultural implements
than hoes, the spots which they are obliged to select for fields are
often at great distances from each other, and frequently from five to
eight miles from their village. When abroad, to prepare and plant
them in the spring, and gather the corn in the fall, they are often
exposed to attacks of their enemies. While the husband is watching
from some neighboring eminence to guard against the stealthy
approach of any hostile force, the wive is engaged in the labor of the
field. With fear and trembling their field-labor is thus performed, and
many a one, while so employed, is suddenly fallen upon and killed
by a marauding party of enemies.
When we visited them, they particularly requested us “to beg their
Great Father, the President, that he should be so kind and again
break up some ground for them, as he had done in former years,
that they might be able to plant more corn.” We have brought in the
petition of these destitute people before the proper Department at
Washington, and it is greatly to be desired that our benevolent
Government may do something for them in their wretched state.
As has already been remarked, they were in an almost starving
condition when we visited them. The hunt had proved unsuccessful,
so that in the lower village they had no meat whatever, and had to
depend upon the little corn that they had raised the preceding year.
In the upper village they were also in a miserable condition, for,
though they had yet a little dried buffalo-meat, the Sioux had during
their absence on the hunt, destroyed their village (their present
lodges had been rebuilt since their return) and carried off a portion of
their corn, burnt another portion, and thus very little remained
concealed in the “caches,” which are made in their lodges.
Hospitality.—The Indian has always been renowned for his
hospitality. This trait of character is noticeable among all the tribes.