He forced her away from him. With his hand under her chin he forced her to look at him again. From the depths of his restless soul, from the center of his self, his yearning for an independent life poured out through his eyes and entreated her to understand him. His voice was hoarse with the intensity of his longing.
"Emma," he said. "I can take care of you. Trust me, dearest."
Something dissolved inside of her. She could not deny him any longer. He was begging her for his freedom to be his own man. He was begging her for space to grow in, and for their children to grow in. He was begging her to be brave for his sake, so that he could fulfill his deepest needs. Whatever her misgivings, whatever her terror, she must go with him into the unknown.
She put her hands on his shoulders and looked squarely into his eyes. "I do trust you, Joe," she said quietly. "We'll go west. We'll go just as soon as we can get ready."
CHAPTER FOUR
Mountain Man
Morning light was dim behind the windows when Joe slipped out of bed. He moved carefully, making no noise, and after he had dressed he kept his shoes in his hand. A worried frown creased his brow, for last night had been a bad one.
It had started as soon as Joe came home from Tenney's store, where he had gone in the early afternoon to see Lester Tenney. He had counted on Les, a wise and good man, to advise him correctly and to give him information which he needed badly. Joe wanted to find out more about the west and, though he might have asked Bibbers Townley, he wanted the truth and nobody could count on Bibbers to tell the truth about anything.
Joe wanted to find somebody who had been west and who would give a reasonably accurate account of what it was like, and just as he expected, Les had known someone to whom he might go. At Hammerstown, fifteen miles from Tenney's Crossing, there lived a man named John Seeley. He was a farmer like Joe, and with him lived his ancient father. Grandpa Seeley could do little nowadays except sit in the sun in summer and nod before the stove in winter, but his mind had not decayed when his body weakened, and he knew as much as anyone else about the west. The famed Mountain Men, Jim Bridger, Jim Clyman, Kit Carson, had been his close friends. More than a dozen years ago, though he had not been a young man even then, he had helped guide the Mormon wagon trains on their incredible, desperate journey between Nauvoo, Illinois, and the valley of the Great Salt Lake.