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“And look where it got you—on the bad side of the most dangerous man in the territory.”
He did have a point, I grudgingly admitted. Not aloud, though. I did have my pride.
“What if I promise to let you come to town with me next time?” he said. “Can we then call a truce?”
“Truce,” I agreed happily. “And I’m sorry if I’ve been disagreeable. I know you’re only trying to help.”
“I am. Truly.”
Food eaten and enjoyed, along with a shared bottle of applejack, I sat back contentedly and turned my face up to sun, soaking in the warm beams, allowing the cool breeze blow across my skin and neck. It was a beautiful spot, the perfect place and day for a summer picnic.
“This is nice,” I sighed. “We should do this more often. Why this place though? We didn’t have to ride this far. The falls near the village would have been just as good, if not better. We could have invited Crow and Dove and the girls, too.”
“I had a purposed for coming here. I wanted to show you something,” Bryant said.
He stood and held his hand out to me. I took it and followed him to the edge of the hillside, then gazed out at the magnificent view.
“See that mountain, the one with the three peaks?” Bryant asked, pointing to the one to the west of us.
I shaded my eyes with my hand and nodded, looking at the craggy, snow-capped mountain. “Very pretty.”
“I explored the area about a month ago, the mountain and valley below it,” he said. “It has great possibilities.”
“Possibilities for what?” I asked.
“For settling,” he said.
I frowned at him. “Aren’t you happy where you’re at?”
“For myself, yes,” Bryant said. “But I was sent here by my father to find a place for my family and those who followed us. We’re a small community now, just a few families, but we’ll grow. We need enough space to expand.”
“Our own mountain has plenty of space.”
Did I just sayourmountain?
“Not enough,” he said. “And it’s too close to Silver Falls and the Snoqualmie village. Our clan needs space that’s more remote from the general civilization.”
Bryant went on to explain that his family had broken from a larger community in Ireland and ventured to America, temporarily settling in North Carolina. As a historian, I knew that many people groups traveled in bands like this. There was always safety and more successful outcomes in greater numbers.
“What is it called? Your mountain,” I asked.
He lifted a shoulder. “Doesn’t have a name that I know of. Still unclaimed and unsettled.”
“Bryant’s Mountain then.”
He snorted. “You and your names. I suppose that would do. It will be up to my father though, if he chooses to purchase it. I plan to write him about it tomorrow, but wanted your opinion first.”
I studied the mountain in question. He was right. It would be perfect for a growing community.
As if looking through his eyes, I could imagine a wagon train of pioneer families rolling through the pass and down into the expansive valley. There were fields and streams and a river where the settlers could build houses, businesses, an entire town.
It dawned on me that Bryant’s community could very well exist in my own time. Once I returned, I could actually visit the place, drive down their streets, dine at their restaurants, watch the several-times greatgrandchildren playing baseball at the local school ballfield.
Odd to think about.
“It’s beautiful, Bryant,” I said, smiling and taking his hand companionably. “I think it would be a lovely place for your people to settle.”
He nodded, gazing out at the mountain. “I hope so. My father entrusted me with this task, and I don’t want to let him down.”
