West of Here

West of Here Read Online Free PDF

Book: West of Here Read Online Free PDF
Author: Jonathan Evison
Tags: Fiction, General
what
I
think. And do you know what I think? I think that you don’t inspire confidence. I think that you cast ideas out in front you like an angler, then fall asleep with your hat pulled over your eyes before you ever get a bite. I think you have the commonsense of a puppy. I think you have the —” Eva stopped herself short when she saw Ethan slumping miserably on the divan. She turned toward the hearth and the light of the fire. “That was unkind,” she said. “Forgive me.”
    Ethan saw her softening before his eyes; he could feel her caving. She took the two short steps to the divan and ran her fingers through his hair. “It was unfair of me to say those things. I could just as easily say that you’re as guileless as a puppy. Or as affectionate. And, oh, Ethan, I know you want to be an extraordinary man, and that’s admirable. I know you feel you have something to prove, but I’m not asking you to prove anything, not to me, or my father, or anyone else. I’m only asking you to understand. I just … oh, I don’t know … I want to make my way in this life on my own power — not my father’s and not my husband’s. The very idea of marriage seems so … I’m a
journalist,
Ethan. That’s what I do. A
real
journalist. I’m wedded to my work.”
    “But I’ve seen the clippings, Eva. ‘Cow Gives Birth at Megg’s Farm,’ ‘New Bridle Path Proposed for Ennis Creek.’ This is hardly the stuff of Helen Hunt Jackson!”
    “It’s a start, Ethan. An opportunity.”
    “You’re going to be a mother, Eva. I’m going to be a father. Does this not change things?”
    She heaved a sigh, and left off stroking his hair, and moved to the corner of the room and lit a lamp, whereupon she returned to the divan and sat down beside him. “Oh, let’s not talk about it. I’m famished,” she said. “Have you eaten?”

crooked thumb
     
    DECEMBER 1889
     
    From the mouth of the Elwha to the base of the foothills, the settlers trail cut a muddy, circuitous path through a dark tangle of vine maple and alder. The path was rutty and obscure in places but relatively free of downed timber, and Ethan soon shook the chill of dawn as he scooted on his way toward the unknown. Occasionally he’d pass a claim, marked by a small clearing and a crude cabin, but never any sign of life. The land grab had begun. Men were claiming land but not making the requisite improvements, and Ethan knew well that he would have been within his rights to squat on these claims and call them his own. But he saw nothing in the periphery of these wooded bottomlands to inspire a claim. The timber was inexhaustible, and the river was close at hand to move it, but Ethan longed for something grander than timber.
    In spite of a rather limp mustache and a watch-sized blister on the ball of his right foot, Ethan met the first leg of his journey with the ease of a purposeful stride. Neither the dank light of the understory, sodden and brittle with winter, nor the squelchy ground beneath his feet could temper Ethan’s optimism. Twice the trail met with the confluence of a small stream, and on both occasions a tree had been felled for the purpose of crossing.
    At mile four, Indian George Sampson had a claim in a small meadow along the near bank where the river ran wide. Unable to ford the high water, Ethan drank coffee with the old Indian in the murky light of the cabin, where he soon deduced that Indian George did not share his love of easy conversation. But at the very least the old fellow seemed to endure it with a certain enthusiasm, frequently nodding and raising an eyebrow on occasion. When Sampson did speak, the Salish wasto Ethan an indecipherable cascade of sharp syllables, mostly with
q
s and
k
s, and Ethan found himself nodding his own head and raising his eyebrows. In the end, resorting to crude pantomime, Ethan was able to elicit George’s aid in crossing the river by canoe, only to discover during their crossing that the old man was not only in
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