I finally wrote a new chapter! Since Adam hasn't appeared in this story for a long time, I thought he deserved his own chapter about how he spent all that time alone at the trapping cabin. Thanks again to everyone who's reviewed, and I hope those who celebrate had an enjoyable Thanksgiving weekend.
When Adam rode off to his trapping cabin on the night of the avalanche, he never expected to actually make it there. He was sure that his brothers would come after him and stop him. He packed his gun, a blanket, and a few other supplies, and he saddled his horse, but it was supposed to be just for show. It was supposed to be just a reminder to his brothers that they couldn't manage without him. They tried to talk him out of leaving, of course – "You can't stay up there alone, don't go" – but when he wouldn't listen, they fell silent, glancing around at each other uncertainly, and they watched him ride away.
But even then, Adam never expected to actually reach the cabin. His brothers were handling it well enough right now, but he was sure that once he reached the tree-line and was out of their sight, they would panic. They would saddle their own horses and rush after him in a frenzy and beg him not to leave. Only then, after he'd made them truly desperate, would he return home. It would teach them a good lesson, and Adam smirked a bit, proud of himself for coming up with the idea.
A few yards into the forest, the smirk faded from his lips, and a few yards beyond that, he halted his horse, turned around his saddle, and took a long look behind him, listening. But there were no horses hurrying after him, no voices calling his name. He rode on in disbelief, and it took him almost the whole trip to accept that his brothers weren't going to stop him. They were just going to let him leave!
When he finally reached the cabin, Adam felt angry and betrayed, and he fumed silently as he unpacked his meager supplies. The family's trapping cabin was small and uncomfortable, with log walls that needed to be re-chinked, and there wasn't a barn, so he'd have to bring his horse right inside with him. Adam hadn't wanted to stay up here alone all winter, not at all, but it was too late now. His clever idea had backfired on him. Here he was, and he would lose face completely if he turned around and ran home with his tail between his legs. He'd told his brothers that he wouldn't be back until the mountain pass was open, and now he had no choice but to stick to it.
The next morning, his first full day alone at the cabin, Adam woke up to a silence deeper than any he'd ever known. He blinked his eyes open and lay in his pallet on the floor for a long time, listening. Never in his memory had he heard such a quiet. At last, he got up, opened the door, and stood in the doorway, looking out, as the grimness of his new circumstances sank into him. He was alone in a tiny cabin in a tiny clearing in a vast forest in the untamed mountains of Oregon Territory. He looked around at the bare, snowy trees, so tall and thick that the forest stayed dark even on the sunniest days, and he shuddered. It was as if the whole rest of the world had disappeared. He knew that in the Bible, Adam was the first man, and the idea tasted bitter to his mind, for he felt like the last man now – the very last man left on God's earth.
The solitude felt strange to him. Never in his life had he had spent so much time away from all six of his brothers. More than once, he forgot that he was there by himself, and he started to say something, sure that one of them was in the cabin or in the clearing with him, just out of sight. The first time he chopped wood, he called over his shoulder, "Say, Caleb, come lend me a hand, would ya?" and then he stood there, waiting to hear Caleb's footsteps behind him. He didn't understand why Caleb didn't come... and then he remembered and felt like a fool. It was as if he'd lost a limb, not having at least one of his brothers there with him. He had wanted to make them miss him... but it hadn't occurred to him that he would miss them, too.
Good Lord, he was a fool.
Having so much free time felt strange to him, too. There was work to be done at the cabin, of course – he chopped wood, tended to his horse, hunted and butchered wild game – but it was nowhere near the amount of work that he'd had to do back at his homestead. There were no brothers or crops or farm animals to tend to, and he suddenly had plenty of time on his hands to just sit and think. His mind wandered into strange territory sometimes, and Adam found himself remembering things that he hadn't thought of in years.
One morning, it was snowing too hard to go outside, and he moped around the cabin and thought back to old childhood memories of his parents. Adam didn't usually think about his parents so much – he was usually too busy – but now, there was nothing to distract him. He tried to remember the hymn that his mother used to sing around the house sometimes. Was it... Nearer My God to Thee? Yes, that was it. Adam worked through it slowly, line by line, in his memory, until he could hear his mother's voice again inside his head, singing out.
All that thou sendest me, in mercy given...
He was sitting on the floor in front of the fireplace, staring into the flames in a daze, hearing his mother's voice – and then suddenly, he was crying. Crying felt strange to him, too. Adam had never cried after his parents died. He'd shed a few lone tears here and there, when nobody was watching, but he had never cried like this, with these long, deep, chest-heaving sobs that left his face covered in snot and tears. He'd been too focused on being strong for his brothers to cry, and even back then, he was too proud. But now, there was nobody to be strong for, and he could cry freely, curled up on the floor like a little boy. And he cried for a long time, for there was nobody to comfort him, either.
Adam thought about his brothers and his parents... but most of all, he thought about Millie. How much he missed her was another strange thing. She had been his wife for just over a month, and yet, he missed her most of all. He missed the smell of her fresh-brewed coffee waking him up in the morning. He missed the sound of her voice calling him into supper in the evenings. He missed having her warm, soft body in bed beside him at night. And he missed her cooking, of course. Millie's cooking had been a big reason why he married her in the first place. Since then, he'd found other things to love about her besides just the meals she cooked, but he still missed those meals. No backwoodsman in Oregon Territory ate better than he had since he married Millie.
Adam remembered one evening, about two weeks after they married, when Millie used some stale bread to make bread pudding and served it for dessert after supper. Adam hadn't eaten bread pudding since his mother died, and having it again was like a miracle. After he'd finished his serving, he sat back in his chair and looked over at Millie in wonder, as if she'd just done magic, for that was what it felt like. Adam never would've believed it, but Millie's bread pudding was better than his mother's. He felt a bit guilty for thinking it, but it was undeniable. He had liked Millie well enough when he married her – of course, they barely knew each other when they got married – but looking back, he knew that he truly loved her for the first time after she made that bread pudding.
Thinking back to it now almost made him break down crying again. Millie would never want him back after what he'd done. He'd met the finest, prettiest woman on this side of the Mississippi, and he'd actually sweet-talked her into marrying him, and then he'd gone and ruined it all. He imagined how his parents would feel if they knew what he'd done, and the thought made him sick. How disappointed they would be with him! How ashamed.
"Well, maybe you shouldn't have gone and died, then!" he roared, clenching his fists.
Adam's loud voice echoed back to him from the tree-line, and his horse stamped and looked at him from across the clearing, startled. He hadn't meant to shout the words aloud, and he rubbed the back of his neck and tried to get his bearings. Screaming things at his dead parents... maybe he starting to lose his senses, spending all this time alone in such wilderness. And there was still so much more long, lonely wintertime ahead of him. What sort of man would he be when the spring thaw came and he finally returned to his family's homestead?
Millie had been leading Adam and his brothers in prayer before every meal, which had felt strange to him at first, but then he'd grown to like it. He liked the plain, simple way Millie had of talking to God. He used to think that praying was just for church-going, fire-and-brimstone folks, but Millie had put the idea in his head that praying could be for anyone, even for a backwoodsman who'd done the terrible things Adam had done.
Adam didn't know much about religion, but he recalled vaguely that in the Bible, men were always going off alone somewhere to face God. The children of Israel wandering in the wilderness, Jesus sojourning in the desert, Jacob wrestling the angel on the riverbank, prophets climbing up to mountaintops. Well, he was alone at a trapping cabin in Oregon Territory, and that wasn't so different, was it?
His horse's ears pricked in surprise as Adam dropped to his knees on the snow. He knew to clasp his hands and bow his head, but he was uncertain of what to do next. Then a psalm that Millie had once read aloud came to him, and the words seemed to fit perfectly. He cleared his throat, and his voice trembled a little as he prayed the words.
"Create in me a clean heart, Lord," he said, "and renew a right spirit within me."