Beyond the Mountain

By Kalli Deschamps

Shadows of the past return to blanket the lives of the family who live in the ranch below the mountain. One tragedy after another threatens not only their lives but their lifestyle as well. The two young officers from the sheriffs department assigned to guard their lives cast a ray of light through the clouds to let the brilliance of the mountain shine through.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jun 30, 2016
• ISBN: 9781524514457

Kalli Deschamps

After many years of moving between Arizona and Montana, Kalli Deschamps has made a permanent move to southern Arizona. Her life as a teacher and professional artist has prepared her to chronicle life in the contemporary west. The characters in her novels reflect the joys and frustrations of today’s rural residents as they strive to cope with the needs and wants of an increasingly urban population. At trip to Montana during her sixteenth summer was the beginning of a love affair with the state she has never lost. It’s reflected in her education (MSU in Bozeman and U of M in Missoula), her marriage to a Montanan, and her subsequent careers. Montana is also home to her family: three married children, twin great-granddaughters, and one of her four grandchildren.

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Beyond

The Mountain

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Kalli Deschamps

Copyright © 2016 by Kalli Deschamps.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 06/30/2016

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Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Epilogue

PROLOGUE

T he valley was long and narrow with a laughing, sparkling stream winding its way from the high mountain pass to its eventual absorption into the calm, wide, island strewn Bitterroot River. There were places along its course where it was almost hidden by the timber-covered mountain ranges protecting the valley from intrusion.

There was, however one break in this interesting scene. Seven miles up the creek a higher peak thrust its way to the sky. It was shaped much like a pointed ice cream cone covered in snow.

For thousands of years the valley was home to a variety of animals and fish. At point about 10,000 years ago it felt the intrusion of humans. In time, the early hominids were followed by Native Americans who peopled the wide and fertile Bitterroot valley. The first white men arrived in 1805, but not to stay. Lewis and Clark, on their monumental exploratory trek to the Pacific Ocean were guided by the Salish Indians across the Continental Divide and thus out of the valley.

Years pasted before the narrow valley was discovered by farmers and ranchers, many of whom claimed free land from the US government through the homestead act of 1862. This allowed the head of a family to claim 160 acres of surveyed land. No money paid and five years was granted to build a house and prove up on the land.

Last but not least came the story-tellers. Laura Lanvin is the best and she will relate the tragedies survived by the last family to occupy the ranch below the peak. There may or may not be a happy ending.

CHAPTER ONE

M y name is Laura Lanvin. My reputation as a story-teller has grown beyond all reason. Reluctantly, at the insistence of my family and friends I shall tell you of one tragic summer season at the Rafter D.

It is important that I describe the layout of the ranch and ranch yard to help you to visualize the events as they happened.

When you leave the town of Lolo you turn right on to Lolo Creek Road and drive seven miles west. You are paralleling the creek on your left. Just after you pass the pond meadows you will see a bridge across the creek on your left and a set of buildings on your right. Drive a few hundred feet and on your right is a tall overhead with a set of very large, old wagon wheels on either side of an open gate. You have arrived at Rafter D Ranch. As you enter you will see on your right, a very old, very large, dark red barn surrounded by corrals and outbuildings of various types including a machine shed, a workshop and a bunkhouse, all painted dark red. If you look straight ahead you will see the beginnings of Anderson Gulch and Lick Gulch surrounded by tall, colorful, massive rocks. Just below the rocks at the upper end of the yard is a chicken house and yard. If you look to the left, tucked into a small forest of pine trees you will see a beautiful log home with a set of tall pointed windows facing Lolo Peak. In front of you as you enter you will see a huge grassy oval surrounded by a gravel drive. An antique buggy seat used to occupy the upper end of the oval facing the mountain. It was a wonderful place to visit or relax and enjoy the beauty of the peak. Just inside the gate to your left is a three-car garage. Keep this picture in mind as I start my story.

Forty years have passed since the disastrous forest fire destroyed our hundred-year-old home on the Lolo Creek Ranch. Our three children have grown to be successful young adults. Our initial response in the aftermath of the tragedy was to sell to a millionaire from Chicago who had badgered us for months. We would leave, perhaps forgo the dream of a ranch, build a new home somewhere else and start over.

We spent a discouraged and fitful night in a motel. The girls had finally shed enough tears to put them to sleep. Pete, having been part of the forest service fire-fighting team, both at the schoolhouse and here at home, tried vainly to hide his tears. Wasn’t he almost a man? Ginny and Lisette had no such qualms. They woke red-eyed and blotchy faced trying still to absorb the unbelievable events.

Meantime, Greg and I shared our thoughts. What had we actually lost? There was a hundred-year old house. It was an antique and not that efficient for today’s world. There was some furniture and household items. There were no antiques unless you counted the upright piano that had been left in the house by some past owner. Most of the rest of our stuff consisted of well-worn items aching to be replaced. Our clothes should be considered a loss. Probably the most difficult items to replace would be our library of books and music. Some could be duplicated. We had not lost the memories of our life before the fire. As the fire raged up the creek, thanks to the help and foresight of a good friend and neighbor, I was able to box together some albums, diaries and keepsakes. She piled them in her old, worn-out jeep and carted them to her house.

We analyzed our assets. The house and furniture could all be replaced. But where would we find a more beautiful place to live. We had developed our delightful small ranch to suit our needs. Were we going to let that bastard have his way after all? Insurance would pay to replace the house. Maybe now we would have an excuse to build the log home of our dreams. We could revamp the remaining bunkhouse to make it livable for a family of five. It would be a little cramped but we had always enjoyed camping and this was larger than a tent. We still had a working ranch with our cattle and our horses. None of the farm equipment had been damaged. Our beautiful hundred-year-old barn with the new roof was sound as ever. The same was true of the working sheds and corrals. In the end it was an easy decision. He would be livid, but he already owned most of the property on the creek from Lolo Hot Springs east to our ranch. He didn’t need ours, too.

Satisfied we had made the right decision, we made plans to build our log home. The cattle business grew and was successful. We finally decided to partially retire so we could spend our winters in Arizona. Life has been good.

We had just returned from our 4-month stay in Green Valley, Arizona. I woke that morning harboring a sense of joy and exhilaration. It was so good to be home. The sky was blue. The sun was shining. It was the beginning of a perfect spring day in Western Montana.

I looked across the breakfast table at my wonderful, exciting partner of these many years. He is still a handsome man in a rugged, western way. His many years of out-door living had touched his face with a ruddy complexion and a map of wrinkles. He had been very self-conscious of his early baldness when we met in college. I didn’t mind. I was attracted to his devil-may-care attitude toward life in general. He was the best dance partner I had ever had! He is 5'6 tall and somewhat husky. I’m sure we have both shrunk a bit through the years, but we are still healthy, strong and athletic. We sport no stooped, crooked backs, but admit to an occasional minor ache or pain. Greg’s hands have suffered the most. Extreme work with the cattle and particularly halter-breaking the heifer and bull calves for the show-ring took their toll. Breaking horses, repairing machinery and general ranch labor helped cripple his hands causing him to suffer the onslaught of arthritis. Although he ignores it I know at times it is very painful. His eyes are twinkling as he looks at me. His next question will be, What are you thinking?"

My answer, "When