Chapter 6
At first glance, the river had looked nearly covered over by the snow piled up along both banks. But now that Kate stood at the edge, the expanse of ice they’d have to cross stretched as wide as the Missouri.
Snow fell in thick curtains now, swirling over the frozen mass and blurring the far bank into gray nothingness.
How long had it been snowing? Half an hour?
Longer? The flakes had started as occasional visitors, but now they came in earnest, whipping around her shoulders and catching in her eyelashes.
“We crossed this two days ago on the way to Butte.” James’s voice carried from where he stood by the horses’ heads. “Ice was solid then. Should be even thicker now with the cold we’ve had.”
Should be. The words did nothing to ease the knot twisting in her middle.
The white coating over the river’s surface should be reassuring. But all she could see was the dark water that must flow beneath—cold enough to kill in minutes if the ice gave way. Cold enough to swallow Clara whole before Kate could reach her.
“I’d like to walk for a bit.” The words came out steadier than she felt. “Take a bit of exercise.”
James glanced back toward the wagon, then at her. “You’ll want to keep close. Snow’s coming down harder.”
“I know.” She turned to the wagon bed where Clara sat bundled under blankets, her face barely visible beneath the hood of her cloak. “Clara, come walk with me.”
Her sister’s nose wrinkled. “I’m finally warm. Can’t I stay here?”
The refusal shouldn’t have stung—Clara had every right to prefer the relative comfort of the wagon. But the thought of crossing this river with her sister trapped in that heavy rig made Kate’s chest tighten until breathing hurt.
“The fresh air would do you good.”
“I’m better here.” Clara pulled the blankets higher. “Really, Kate. I’m comfortable.”
Kate opened her mouth to argue, then caught the shadows under Clara’s eyes. Three months of travel had worn them both down, but Clara looked more exhausted than Kate had seen her since Fort Benton. Forcing her to walk in the snow and cold just to ease Kate’s own fears seemed cruel.
“All right.” She stepped back from the wagon. “Stay warm.”
Thomas appeared beside her as James guided the team toward the ice. When had he climbed down from the bench? She hadn’t heard his approach over the wind.
“Mind if I walk with you?” He didn’t wait for an answer, just fell into step as she moved to follow a few steps behind the wagon.
The last thing she needed was company—especially his. But sending him away would require conversation, and she had no energy for it.
The wagon’s wheels hit the ice with a hollow sound that carried too well across the frozen expanse. The knot in her middle pulled tighter.
“There’s a frozen waterfall about five minutes upriver.” Thomas’s voice cut through her spiraling thoughts. “Beautiful this time of year. The spray freezes as it falls, creates these formations like icicles but wider. Fan-shaped.”
She glanced at him. His breath formed white clouds in the cold air, and snow had already gathered on his hat and shoulders. The bruise on his cheek stood out darker against his wind-reddened skin.
Was he trying to distract her? Did he actually see how nervous this situation made her and was trying to ease the worry? The realization settled over her like the snow—cold and unwelcome but undeniable.
“That’s nice.” She kept her eyes on the wagon ahead, watching the way it swayed across the ice. Did it always creak so much? Or was that just her nerves making every sound ominous?
“The formations catch the light when the sun hits them.” Thomas kept talking, his voice carrying that easy quality men used when they thought words could smooth over reality. “Like diamonds. Though I suppose you can’t see much in this weather.”
She couldn’t. The snow had thickened until the far bank disappeared entirely into swirling white. Even the wagon ahead had started to blur at the edges, though it couldn’t have been more than ten steps away.
The groaning sound came again—not the wood maybe, but something deeper. Something beneath the wheels. Her breath caught, and panic rose in her middle.
“It’s just settling,” Thomas said beside her, though she hadn’t asked. “Ice does that. Makes all kinds of noise when there’s weight on it, but that doesn’t mean—”
The crack split the air like a gunshot.
Her heart stopped. The wagon lurched, its back end dropping with a sickening crunch as the ice gave way beneath it. The rip of splintering wood mixed with Clara’s scream, and Kate was running before her mind caught up to her body.
“Clara!” The name tore from her throat as her boots hit the ice. She slid, caught herself, and kept moving.
Snow whipped her face, burning her eyes, but she could see the wagon—tilted at an angle now, its rear wheels disappearing into black water that churned around the broken ice.
Clara. Clara was in that wagon.
Her feet went out from under her. Her hip slammed against the ice, and a burst of pain shot up her side. Scrambling forward on hands and knees, she clawed at the slick surface. Her gloves did nothing—just slid uselessly across the frozen river.
“Kate, stop!” Strong hands grabbed her shoulder and arm. Holding her back.
She twisted against his grip, but his fingers dug into her coat sleeve. “Let go!”
“The ice won’t hold you.” His voice cut through the wind and her panic. “You’ll go through too.”
She didn’t care. Clara’s scream still echoed in her head—that terrified sound that cut through every rational thought. Her sister was in that wagon, and the wagon was sinking into water black as death.
“I have to—” She wrenched away, gained a single step before Thomas hauled her back again. Her boots scrabbled against the ice, slipping. “Clara!”
James had reached the horses’ heads, fighting to keep them focused as they screamed and threw their weight against the traces. The front of the wagon stayed on solid ice, but the back end tilted lower with each passing second.
At the front of the bed, Clara’s head rose above the tarp. Kate couldn’t breathe as her sister climbed up on the bench, Rose following close behind. As James fought with the horses to pull the rig out of the churning water, the two women slipped from the death trap and crept onto the ice.
Past the horses. All the way to the safety of the far bank.
Kate’s lungs burned, her breath coming in sharp gasps that tore at her throat. Clara stood on snowy ground now—alive, whole, not drowning in black water. The relief hit so hard her knees buckled. Only Thomas’s grip around her kept her upright.
Then the ice beneath her feet shifted.
Not a crack—not yet—but a slight movement that sent her stomach plummeting. Every instinct in her screamed.
“Ease backward.” Thomas’s voice came urgent near her ear. “Slow. Don’t run.”
Her body craved to run. To bolt toward the bank, toward safety, toward anything solid. But her boots stayed planted, frozen by fear as much as sense.
“Kate!” Clara’s voice carried across the ice, high and terrified. “Get off the ice!”
She took one step backward. Then another. Each movement felt like walking on glass about to shatter. The snow swirled thicker, coating her eyelashes and blurring everything beyond a few feet. She could barely see Clara anymore—just a dark shape on the shore.
And the wagon. Had the horses pulled it out of the water?
She couldn’t tell through the snow. The shapes had dissolved into a gray and white blur—horses screaming, James shouting, the dark bulk of the wagon…but she couldn’t tell if it was tilted at that horrible angle.
Another step back. Thomas moved with her, his hand locked around her waist now. His breath came hard beside her. A glance up showed his face had gone pale beneath the bruising. But his grip never loosened.
Another step. Her heel caught on something—a ridge in the ice, maybe, or just her own clumsiness born of terror. She stumbled, and Thomas’s arm tightened around her middle, keeping her upright.
“Steady.” His breath hit her cheek, warm against the biting cold. Then, under his breath, “God, help us.” It sounded almost like a prayer.
Kate swallowed. She’d stopped looking to God a long time ago. Stopped expecting Him to answer.
And yet Thomas spoke like help was as real as the frozen earth under her boots.
They kept edging backward. The shore felt impossibly far away, though it could be only a few more steps. Every handsbreadth of ice between here and solid ground might as well have been a mile.
The wind shifted, and for a moment the snow cleared enough that she could see the distant shapes more clearly.
James had gotten the horses under control.
And somehow…miracle of miracles…they’d pulled the wagon up onto solid ice.
The rig eased forward, one slow step at a time, to cover the final distance to shore.
Rose stood with Clara on the far bank, both of them dark silhouettes against the swirling white.
Safe. Clara was safe. The others were safe. Even their belongings.
The knowledge should have brought relief, but all she could feel was the wrongness of the ice beneath her feet and the way Thomas’s breathing had gone ragged beside her ear.
Her boot hit something solid—not ice but frozen earth covered in snow. The shift registered somewhere in the panic clouding her mind, and her knees gave out completely.
She hit the ground hard, the impact jarring through her already-sore hip. Snow cushioned the fall some, but not enough to keep her teeth from clacking together.
Thomas went down beside her—or maybe she’d pulled him down. His arm still gripped her waist, his weight heavy against her side.
“Are you hurt?” His voice came out tight.
Was she? Everything ached, and yet she could feel nothing, her body caught in that strange numbness that came after terror.
Her hands shook where they pressed against the frozen ground, trembling so badly she couldn’t make them stop. “I’m fine.” The lie scraped her throat raw.