A Grand Teton Sleigh Ride: Four Generations of Wyoming Ranchers Celebrate Love at Christmas (4 page)

“Well, thank you, Zebulon.” She reined in her horse and stopped at the gate. “And like I said, never mind about what I said about needing a wife. I have a young lady in mind who I think would be a most suitable wife for the right man. But she can’t entertain notions about just anyone.”

He didn’t wager but guessed the likely candidate was the nervous and giggly Rosemary Smythe he’d sat across from that evening at supper.

“Good evening, Miss Murray. Don’t forget what I said about the guns.”

“I won’t, Mr. Covington. Thank you for seeing me to the gate.”

He found himself wishing he could see her smile better in the deep twilight, because he could hear it in her voice.

No, he didn’t need a wife. But tonight, he almost found himself wanting one.

O
n Friday morning a week later, the snow began to fall, and it continued for the next twenty-four hours. The wind began, howling as it swept down from Grand Teton, the highest peak of the range.

Nobody had warned Belle about the sound it made, a wailing noise that made her want to plug her ears and burrow deeply under the quilts stacked on the mattress.

She cleaned the three rooms of the cabin until they gleamed then whiled away the afternoon watching the white world outside. The snow had stopped, and at last the sun broke out from behind the lead-gray clouds.

Not for the first time did she feel a mixture of grief and joy when bundling into her heavy coat and opening the front door. The snow came up to her knees, and that was in the meager path between the cabin and the snug barn a stone’s throw away. Patch was likely more than ready to eat, not to mention Daisy, the cow. Hopefully the small herd of cattle that had hunkered down near the barn had fared well in the storm. Mr. Tolliver was supposed to come to help with chores yesterday, but the weather had obviously kept him away.

The view outside made her stop and stare, even as a burst of cold air swept into the cabin. The mountains rose into the sky, jagged, wild, beautiful. She thought she’d seen mountains in Massachusetts and New York State. But these? Their height and ruggedness made her feel smaller than she’d ever felt in her life. The empty cabin made her feel more alone than she’d ever felt before.

What was she doing here? Helping young women become more refined? Or merely trying to survive and build a life like everyone else?

She needed to stop wondering and get set with the tasks ahead of her today. Last night, she’d found some snowshoes in the corner of Melanie and Ham’s old room, a place she’d left untouched since the horrible accident. She still recalled the sight of their broken bodies after their team bolted. She couldn’t bear looking at the horses and sold the team, but she’d kept Patch. Somehow, she knew Ham wouldn’t mind she’d sold the team, especially if she might need the money for replenishing supplies in the long months to come.

“Here goes nothing.” She managed to strap the snowshoes to her boots then grabbed the milk pail before stepping on paddled feet onto the snow. The sun hurt her eyes; the wind stung her cheeks. Melanie had done this for more than four years? Her sister had said the winters were long and cold; Belle said she knew what cold felt like. At the time, Melanie had laughed. If her sister could but see her now.

Belle took a few strides in the direction of the barn. One step at a time. She concentrated on the snow in front of her then stopped when she heard someone calling out.

“Miss Murray!” A figure in the distance came plodding toward her on snowshoes. “Halloo!”

“Hello!” she called out, squinting against the light. Zebulon Covington, of course. She continued along the path to the barn. He could catch up quickly enough if he wanted to speak to her. Why he’d trudged the distance from his next-door claim to hers, she didn’t know. But she knew he’d tell her soon enough.

Belle kicked at the snow in front of the doorway, a feeble effort. Then she dug at it with her milk pail until the door would budge open to allow her to slip through.

“You ever seen so much snow?” Zebulon asked, as he grew closer to the barn. The cattle taking refuge lowed as he approached.

“No, never.” She dug at the door a little more.

“Here.” He pulled on the door, and the snow wedged higher behind it. “You should have kept a path broken during the storm. Doesn’t take much time to do. Makes it easier to get your work done when the snow’s over.”

“I didn’t know.”

“I thought as much, which is why I came by.” He held the door open. “After you, Miss Murray.”

She hesitated a moment. She wasn’t accustomed to having a man follow her into an empty barn. Yes, the other evening at the Smythes’ they’d both gone to the barn, but they were both leaving, and she wasn’t exactly alone on the property as she was right now.

Belle glanced at him before entering the snug, warm space filled with the scent of animals.

“Miss Murray, my intentions are completely honorable. You need a hand with the chores, and I think a few suggestions to help you are warranted.” His eyes twinkled with amusement. “And you’d much prefer my help instead of any of the other eligible men, I guarantee it.”

“Thank you for saying so.” The barn felt warm with Patch and the milk cows inside. The horse greeted her, and she went to stroke his nose.

“He’s a good horse.” Zebulon headed for the pitchfork.

“Yes. Ham helped me pick him out. I bought him as soon as I arrived, from Sven Olsen.” She went for the wheelbarrow. “Here, you’ll need this. I’ll get to milking Daisy.”

At Belle’s words, the cow thumped on the wall.

“You got the easy job.” He grinned, grasping the wheelbarrow handles.

“You chose first.” She grinned right back at him. “You grabbed the pitchfork.”

“Quite right, quite right.”

They set to work in silence, and Belle leaned her head against Daisy’s flank. She’d never milked a cow before coming west, and found she didn’t mind the chore once she’d learned. Melanie had a daily war with Daisy at milking time and had gladly relinquished the chore when she saw Daisy preferred Belle.

Maybe it was because Belle talked to Daisy. During those moments in the morning and evening, she would chatter away to the cow.

“Hang on, girl. Almost done. That was quite a storm, wasn’t it?”

“Wasn’t so bad.” Zebulon’s voice came from the stall.

“Eighteen inches, at the lowest parts.” She kept squeezing and pulling the udders.

“Wait until it’s storm after storm, from January on.”

“I don’t want to think about it.”
One storm at a time, thank you very much
.

“Well, you ought to.” Zebulon’s voice grew louder, and she glanced behind her to see him leaning over the low wall. “Not thinking can cause frostbite, or worse.”

Belle tried not to sigh. “I’m well aware of that.”

“I don’t think you are.”

She stared at the milk in the pail and sighed. “Please, give me a little credit. I’m not about to go traipsing off into the wilds without preparing myself.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to sound harsh.”

“I accept your apology.” She stood, trying not to knock the milk pail over as she did so. “Thank you for your concern. I know I’m the greenhorn around here.”

He nodded. “I’ll be glad to put fresh straw down.”

“Thank you. I hope there’s enough for the winter. Ham was trying to set some supplies back before …”

Zebulon nodded. “I know he was. Your brother-in-law was a good man. A good friend. He, ah, he made me promise if anything ever happened, that I’d look out for you.”

“Oh, I see.” She hadn’t known that.

“Which is why I insisted on taking you to the train.”

Belle shook her head. “I can’t go back. Not snow or smelly barns or the cold will get me out of here. I’m going to file when the claim time is up and then maybe sell. I don’t know. I have no other options.”

“Surely there’s a ladies’ finishing school that would appreciate your services back East.”

Belle shrugged. “I don’t have a pedigree. No prospects. My parents never married. What woman in high society would want
me
teaching her daughter? No matter the quality of my services. But here, I can show young ladies how to be ladies.”

“Belle Murray, you are every bit a lady, even in Ham’s overcoat and wearing snowshoes and standing in a barn.”

Her throat swelled. “Thank you, Zebulon.”

She’d said his name again and somehow the space between them had shrunk, with only the stall partition separating them.

He nodded then turned away. “We’ll get them fed, and I’ll be on my way.”

“I do appreciate you coming.” Belle toted the pail of milk from the stall. “I haven’t seen to the cattle yet.”

“I guessed as much, judging from the greeting they gave us. Do you have enough to feed them?”

“For now.”

“They might find something to eat on the open range, but it’ll take awhile for the snow to clear enough, even with the wind’s help.” He didn’t know what else to say, but Belle was, self-admittedly, as green as they came.

“I understand. Maybe I can buy some hay, somewhere, if supplies get low?”

“Maybe. It’ll come at a steep price, the further along we get into winter.”

“Oh.” She stopped by the door. “I didn’t think about that.”

He had hay and feed for the winter and assumed Ham had done as much to provide for his small yet growing herd. “You could always sell off some of the herd. You wouldn’t get as much if you tried to thin the herd now, but you would have fewer mouths to feed.”

“I see.”

She stood in the doorway, waiting, while he threw hay out for the cattle. He returned.

“Here, let me help you with your snowshoes.” He knelt before her, strapping the shoes onto her booted feet. A hint of petticoat peeked out from under her long dark blue woolen skirt.

“Thank you. I had quite the time trying to get them on before coming out here.”

He grinned at the idea. “I imagine you did. First time using snowshoes?”

“Yes, first time ever.”

“I see. Well, you’ll likely want to learn another skill for getting around here in the wintertime.”

“What’s that?”

“Skiing.”

“Skiing?”

“For short, quick trips, instead of taking the horse.”

“Ah, how would I learn such a skill? I have no skis.”

“It’s fairly simple to fashion some makeshift skis, and poles.”

She set down the pail of milk. “You’re teasing me.”

“No, I’m quite serious.” He stood. Now they had no stable wall between them.

Her blue eyes narrowed slightly and a tiny furrow appeared between her eyebrows. “Huh. Well, I’ll think about that skill.”

“You want to learn, you’ll know where to find me.”

“Humph.” She picked up the milk. “A lady does not go calling on a man.”

At that, he tilted back his head and laughed. “Miss Murray, you’re painfully proper sometimes.”

With that, he left the barn, and she followed him.

“I know we’re far from the civilized East, but even so, we must remember our manners.”

“Ah, yes, we barbarians here are one step shy of degenerating into wildness.”

“Honestly, that’s an exaggeration.”

“I’m teasing, Miss Murray.”

“Of course you are.” She paused, blinking at him in the sunlight. “What you said, about other less savory types … what did you mean?”

He took the pail of milk from her. “Exactly what I said. You’re young, unmarried, inexperienced, and trying to keep a claim. I’m surprised the men haven’t been swarming around already.”

“Perhaps they’re waiting a respectable time during my … period of mourning.” She bit her lip.

“Miss Murray, some men aren’t respectable, and they won’t wait.” He didn’t want to cause her worry or fear, but truth was truth. Not many unmarried women in these parts, although the general population of Jackson had continued to grow steadily.

Someone like Miss Murray could fall prey to the wrong man. It bothered him in more ways than one.

A
lovely Friday morning, and Belle had ridden to the Smythes’ for a morning of needlework and chatting with several women from the Jackson’s Hole area. The social time did her good, even while memories of sitting with Melanie and working on mending pricked at her heart.

“Belle, how are you getting along, out there on the claim by yourself?” Mary Smythe asked as she worked her knitting needles.

“I’m managing. I’m more tired than I’ve ever been in my life.” Belle set down her own needlework. “Part of me wanted to stay home today, but I needed to get out of the house.”

“True, true.” Ivana Olsen nodded. “It is just me and the little one while Sven works with the horses; sometimes I must get to town. But this time of year, it gets more difficult.”

After the ladies’ morning of mending and needlework, they would have a simple lunch. Not high society, by any means, but the warmth of fellowship and sharing. The women’s conversation buoyed Belle’s mood. She’d struggled to shake the grief over losing Melanie and Ham. Nothing had turned out as she’d expected when moving to Jackson.

This morning she felt flickers of hope, even without her possessing any sense of anticipation for Christmas this year. The sensation of loss felt like a scab that had been freshly ripped open. For the first Christmas ever, Belle would be alone.