A Scotsman's Promise

Chapter 5

Calen cut his fishing short and went back to camp with Will. As they neared the fire, which was blazing cheerfully, they could hear soft weeping.

"What do we do?" Will asked.

Calen wracked his brain. This was not a situation that he had ever dealt with and he could think of no solution. He ran his fingers through his hair in a nervous gesture, and shifted his weight to his other foot.

"Well?" Will persisted.

"I don't know!," Calen whispered exasperatedly, "We should cook the fish. She'll stop soon."

But she didn't stop. Before five minutes were up, Calen couldn't take any more. He went to where Will was cleaning the fish outside of camp.

"I've decided what we do," he said, "You go get her trunk and bring it to her, and I'll get a rope and stretch it between two trees so she can dry her clothes."

Will swallowed loudly, "One thing," he said.

"What?"

"You get the trunk and I'll stretch the rope."

"Why?"

Will shot a quick glance at the tent. "Her crying makes me nervous."

Calen frowned. Micara's tears made him nervous too, but he wasn't about to let Will know that. "Fine," he said, "But get the rope as close to the fire as you can."

Will left the fish and jogged down to the canoes for a rope. Calen followed him at a slower pace. He paused, looked at the tent and then hurried down to the river. Will came jogging past him as he started down the embankment. He seemed eager to have his task completed.

Calen muttered to himself and kicked a pebble on the beach. He crossed his arms and surveyed the situation. Micara's trunk was in the back of Will's canoe and Calen would either have to get his buckskin leggings wet again or drag the whole onto the shore to get to it without tipping as Micara had done.

He looked heavenward as he sighed and slipped out of his moccasins. He went into the water, stepping carefully on the slippery pebbles. The day may have been warm, but the water was it's typically icy May temperature.

Calen felt a tad bit sorry for Micara being drenched the way she had been. He heaved the trunk from the stern of the canoe with a grunt.

Fool woman, he thought as he shouldered it, she likely packed the whole house in this wee trunk.

Again he felt remorse, even if she hadn't gotten dumped into the water, she still could not have hefted the trunk, not a woman of her stature.

Calen trudged out of the water and stopped by his moccasins. He bent, carefully balancing the trunk on his right shoulder, and picked up the moccasins with his left hand. No use getting them wet too.

He walked sluggishly, telling himself that he was just being careful. He knew that was not the only reason. He was scared. He didn't want to face Micara. Truth be told, he'd rather face an irritable grizzly bear. He'd had his share of sobbing women, living with first six female cousins and then his Mum and two sisters, he'd heard a lot of crying, some of it he had caused, but he'd never had to quiet any. His Uncle or Da had done that.

As he approached the tent, his throat went dry and his stomach knotted. The sobbing stopped at the sound of his footsteps.

He set the trunk down and cleared his throat. "Ma'am?" he asked hesitantly.

The sound of cloth rustling as she came towards the tent entry made him want to high tail it out of the whole clearing. He put his hands behind his back, concealing his moccasins, and glanced down at his bare feet that were hidden behind the trunk.