The Trapper

He was unknown to me yet known to my father. The trapper had been coming to our village for many years to trade furs, information and stories. My father knew him to be a man of fairness, truth, and reliability. He knew the trapper could care for a wife well enough for male children to be born into the tribe. Many young men of the village had been lost and those that could provide for and protect a wife were now few in numbers. So the choice was made.

I knew little of those things at the time but my mother had been instructing me since the day I could walk on how to do my part in a partnership. Anxiety would overtake me as I thought about leaving my family but excitement grew as I knew I was becoming a woman. Ours was a bonding that was natural, practical and convenient. We would live in the mountains west of the tribe to tend traps and collect the furs. On occasion we would return to the plains and the village. Such was our life and cycle of the years we were together. 

We worked together. The two of us built a life. With each year, as we grew to know each other, there also grew a caring for and about each other. Love was an unknown word. But our connection and need for each other just grew stronger. 

There was a path along the ridge where we would stop and rest and take in the view of the valley below. A fallen tree trunk became our bench. He never learned more than a few necessary words of my language and I hardly knew any of his. So we sat in silence, resting, gazing at the vista. But each time we came this way and sat, his hand would search for mine and hold it. I felt his warmth flowing into me. He enjoyed being with me and me with him. I trusted him and he depended on me. When he was ready, he would stand and we would return to our cabin.

The cabin in the mountains was simple and small but provided the shelter and safety that was required. In that dirt floor log hut I gave us five children, two of which survived. The children stayed in the village with my mother until they were old enough to live in the mountains with us and work the traps. Life was good to us and we were good to each other, providing a caring safe place for the hearts of each to rest and be with each other. 
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Years ago when the trapper was old and died, my daughter and her mate took me back to the village to be with their children. Now that I am old I stayed in the village year around. As I lay in the tent and look out the opening into the sun, I see my daughter and her children. They are all my children and I am a child of the tribe. We all live for and take care of each other, providing a loving sanctuary where all may grow and learn to quietly create a caring future for each other. 
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As I rest now, I often reach to the side and search for his hand. At those times I often feel a warmth that was his. That warmth brings back the memories of  how the flow of our lives was good and we created a bond that lasts forever.