A Grand Teton Sleigh Ride: Four Generations of Wyoming Ranchers Celebrate Love at Christmas (17 page)

“I’m ready, Pa. So, so ready.” She squeezed his arm, and he clutched her hand; his eyes seemed very bright in the sunshine today. She’d only seen him cry once, when her little brother was born. Today made the second time.

“You know, I’m not quite ready to let you go.”

“We’re not leaving Jackson, Pa. Not ever.”

“Aw, I know that.”

They scaled the three steps to the double doors. Miss Etta was plunking out the strains of “The Wedding March.”

“Oh, and that legal matter I had your Will help me see to? I’m giving you a few acres of the spread … for your future home.”

“Pa … I don’t know what to say.”

“I’m not planning to kick the bucket anytime soon, but I want you to choose a spot now, for you and your Will to build a home.”

You and your Will
.

The music grew louder as the doors were flung open, and she caught sight of her Will standing by the preacher.

My Will, always
.

Will stood there, smiling, his eyes gleaming. He tugged at his tie then his cuffs. No doubt, he loved her. She wanted to pick up the hem of her skirt and rush down the aisle to him, but it wouldn’t be entirely proper.

Instead, Emily held her head high, let her smile flow unrestrained across her face, and began the walk down the aisle, into her future.

by Elizabeth Goddard

Jackson’s Hole, Wyoming, September 1929

S
heriff, I want this man arrested.”

Ann Kirkland pressed her correspondence with Mr. Jeremiah Frankston on the sheriff’s desk before she lost her nerve. Lose this battle and she might as well return home in defeat.

“What’s this?” The stocky Sheriff Daniels wore a warm smile beneath his spectacles. He lifted the papers and tilted his head back, just so.

“I sent Mr. Frankston money to secure his services as a guide. I arrived this afternoon after an arduous trip from New York, I might add, only to be told he’s taken up with a different client and won’t return for another week. Now what am I supposed to do?”

The train to Victor, Idaho, and then the drive over the Teton Pass had left her drained and devoid of patience.

Though the pristine mountain range had taken her breath, she hadn’t realized how isolated this valley was from the rest of the world. She couldn’t have dreamed how completely different the natural setting and the culture would be from her life in Manhattan.

Oh, but she had, in fact, dreamed of this.

Dreamed of a complete change of scenery.

Just like so many others who’d come to this valley searching for a taste of the Old West, only in Ann’s case, she needed to free herself from the embarrassment of a broken engagement. Daddy would have been furious with her had he thought she’d suffered from anything other than a broken heart—but she couldn’t abide with how Tom thought of her. How he planned to treat her once they were married—he cared nothing for her photography or career, but only of Daddy’s money.

The sheriff eyed her. “You say you came all the way from New York?”

She nodded.

He gave an understanding nod. “Frankston wrangles cattle and horses but converted to a partial dude ranch about a year ago. We got all manner of writers, artists, and moviemakers coming out here to get their fill of the Wild West, or what’s left of it. In fact, a bunch of Hollywood people were here filming a movie.
The Big Trail
, I hear it’s called. Lots of wealthy folks from all over come out here, too. So I figured you for a dudine from back East when I first saw you, except you aren’t outfitted like some fancy drugstore cowgirl.” A grin then. “Not yet.”

Ann stiffened.

The sheriff cleared his throat. “About Frankston. Best I figure he took a client out on a long packing trip and got delayed. You staying at the ranch in a cabin? You could wait there for a day or two.”

Daddy was very specific when he told her she couldn’t stay at a dude ranch. At twenty-three, she was more than old enough to make her own decisions, but since he footed the bill, she had to concur with his wishes. Never mind he didn’t want her in Jackson, Wyoming. Technically speaking, she wasn’t staying on a dude ranch. “Actually, I made arrangements to stay in Jackson proper for the duration of my business.”

Good thing Daddy was on a two-month-long honeymoon in Europe. Her mother had been buried for five years now, and Daddy had found someone new. Ann had taken her own vacation from the magazine to get over her broken heart; at least, that had been her excuse, though it was only partly true. Too bad she couldn’t stay long enough to witness the winter wonderland this would become once it snowed, but she couldn’t risk getting stuck here—if the stories were true about the pass. She had to be back in New York before Daddy’s return.

“I see.” He studied her. “And you wanted him to take you riding, hunting, or fishing?”

“I secured his services to escort me safely into and out of the newly established Grand Teton National Park, into the mountains, and perhaps Yellowstone, so that I could take photographs. Places unattainable by automobile, of course. He assured me he could take me places as yet unseen.”

“Unseen except by him, you mean.” He angled his head and looked as if he might laugh, but he brushed his hand over his chin discreetly enough.

Despite his effort, she was a photographer and had an eye for detail. She wasn’t sure if his reaction had to do with Frankston—perhaps he’d told a tall tale—or with her, for believing the man. Or was it something entirely more chauvinistic?

“Sheriff, I know of Wyoming’s history. Specifically in this town regarding women. I thank you kindly to take me seriously, too.” Women had the right to vote in Wyoming a half century before they had the right to vote across the nation. The town of Jackson was equally progressive with the first all-woman city council. She’d done her homework.

She couldn’t abide by a man who wouldn’t take her seriously, and that’s why she couldn’t marry Tom.

“You’re right, Miss …”—he glanced at her letter and contract—“Kirkland. You’re right.”

He looked over her shoulder and grinned. “While I can’t arrest Mr. Frankston until he comes back—”

“I’m sorry, Sheriff, do you find this amusing?”

“No, miss. But understand I’ll question him about his reasons for leaving you high and dry. In the meantime, I suggest you secure another outfitter for your needs. They’re aplenty around these parts.”

“But I’ve already paid,” she said. “And I’ll need that money back before hiring someone else.”

At least the deposit, but she needed the deposit back, too, in order to pay the full amount when services were rendered.

“Leave that to me. I know Frankston, personally. He likely hasn’t spent your money, but intended a refund and might have placed it with someone else in case you arrived.”

“Or sent it back to me in New York. Only I’m not there now, am I?”

Retaining her papers, he opened the door that exited onto the boardwalk. “I have an idea. Would you follow me, please, Miss Kirkland?”

“Where are we going?” Ann walked through the door and stepped onto the wooden sidewalk, or boardwalk—championed by the women’s city council, she’d read—so unlike the bluestone sidewalks she was accustomed to in the city. The town bustling with people, the businesses were situated to form a perfect town square, the center of which was nothing more than dirt and sagebrush.

What had she been thinking to come here? And against Daddy’s wishes? She hoped her flapper younger sister, Edith, kept her mouth shut. Part of Ann wanted to catch the next ride out of town and head back home, where she knew her way around with her eyes closed.

“I’m trying to help, Miss Kirkland, that’s all. I’m sure there’s a simple misunderstanding. Despite our reputation as being the last of the Old West, we aim to please and want to present ourselves as modernized to the rest of the world, at least where it counts.”

She followed the sheriff as he strolled the boardwalk, passing Miller’s Bank, Harry Wagner Insurance, Jackson Valley Telephone Company, and even a movie theater. They made their way around the square to the other side where a taxidermy shop and Jackson Meat Market took up the corner. The sheriff stopped in front of J.R. Jones Grocery.

Ann decided she’d best apologize. She certainly didn’t need to make enemies here.

“I didn’t mean any disrespect,” Ann said. “I’m a photojournalist, you see, from
View Magazine
.”

Ann wished she’d kept that tidbit to herself until she understood this man better. Photography had gone a long way in developing this area. The town’s namesake, William Jackson himself, took the first photographs of the region. Those same photographs aided in persuading the government to create the world’s first national park in Yellowstone. Photographs had alerted people about the starving elk due to severe winters and led to the establishment of the US Biological Survey Elk Refuge.

And this year, Grand Teton National Park was created. Ann knew she wasn’t the first photographer here, nor would she be the last. But she wanted to make a name for herself, becoming a renowned woman photographer. Daddy loved her, she knew that, but he wasn’t any better than Tom, her ex-fiancé. Didn’t see her, didn’t recognize her talents, even though he was a progressive thinker in his own way as the managing editor and owner of his magazine featuring the lifestyles of the rich and famous.

Ann wanted to earn her way based on her own merits. Daddy could hardly complain that she’d gone to Jackson, Wyoming, against his wishes when he saw her photographs. Of course, there were plenty of photos, what with all the brochures and articles about Jackson’s Hole—the valley between the Teton Range and the Gros Ventre Range—but Ann’s talent lay in capturing the new and fresh, seeing past the obvious. Once she got her photographs, then he’d have no choice but to publish them in
View Magazine
. In keeping with the tone of the magazine, she’d slip in as many photos of the rich and famous in the valley, all the dudes and dudines, men and women who stayed on the dude ranches and dressed in flamboyant western wear, many of them rich and famous, indeed.

Still, she couldn’t exactly show him any if she couldn’t hire a guide.

Sam Covington replayed last night’s argument in his mind.

Why couldn’t his stubborn father see that they could keep the cattle ranch and let the dudes help and accomplish two things at once? The dudes would pay Covington Ranch for the chance. Worst case, Sam could do like Dick Randall had done on the other side of Yellowstone with his homestead—he started the first dude ranch in the country. Sam could start by outfitting and guiding hunters through the Rockies, too.

He almost wished he hadn’t already put the word out. He hadn’t expected his father’s reaction. The man had been anything but happy to hear the news from someone else first.

Thank goodness, his mother had sent him on an errand in town this morning until they had calmed down. Sam hadn’t figured calming down would take him all night and through the morning. He wasn’t sure what to expect when he got back to the ranch, where he was doomed to live out his days under the rule of his father and older brother, John, if he didn’t change something.

Boots clanking against the wood floors in Joe Jones’s Grocery, he made his way to the back of the store to the soda vending machine—newly purchased a month ago. Bob, the store clerk, busied himself tallying up a woman’s supplies, so Sam didn’t bother him with small talk. The soda cost Sam a pretty nickel. He probably paid more than anyone in the rest of the country, because Joe loved the store motto, “It’s all got to be brought over the hill.”

The Teton Pass was a harsh overlord, closing the road, cutting off the valley residents’ ability to get in and out for far too long, at times. But no matter. Didn’t look like Sam would go anywhere anytime soon. He opened the bottle and guzzled the soda, a rare treat for him, but he needed the burn down his throat before heading home to face his father.

Problem was, Sam was too progressive a thinker to work under his father, and one day under his brother. Of that, he could be sure. The way they’d laughed at his proposal last night had said it all.

Cattle ranching had been in a slump for years until about three years ago when the price per head started to rise. But it was too late because Sam had already started dreaming about another future. He couldn’t let it go. Never mind the price per hundredweight had reached over twelve dollars.

What was wrong with diversifying? He wanted more from life than taking orders from his brother just because he’d had the misfortunate of being born last in the family. Sure, he’d get an inheritance, but he wouldn’t get the main ranch—the family business. And that had cost him Rebecca, he was sure. In the middle ages, he would have been sent off to the abbey to become a monk. He could see the future as clear as the stars on a moonless night.

Tourists had already transformed the valley. Wealthy easterners, and even royalty from across the Atlantic, came to experience the West. Sam figured it wouldn’t be long before they came by the droves to see the national parks, heading through the town of Jackson if they wanted to see the Tetons and Yellowstone’s volcano.