by Freda, Paula
Next, he removed a leather satchel containing hand-sized white satin cushions edged with fine lace and dotted with tiny bows, each bow a different pastel color. He announced proudly, “My mother sewed these.” From another satchel he took a large white satin star stuffed to the points with cotton. “This was a gift from my grandmother,” he said, reverently. He held the ornament up for Leatrice’s inspection. The white satin caught the light from the hearth and glowed. “There are also store-bought ornaments in the box. Want to trim the tree?” he asked eagerly, boyishly.
Leatrice nodded.
Together they walked over to the tree that had been set up in an obliging corner of the room. Once again they became as children, frolicking and teasing each other as they decorated the tree. And later, with the room reflected from a dozen angles in the eggshell-thin, brightly colored Christmas balls hanging prettily on the branches, Leatrice and Seth relaxed on the couch, side-by-side, yet discreetly apart. Leatrice’s eyes were closed. Her mind was on the future, and moments like this that would never be hers again after her allotted year came to an end. Seth watched the firelight shilly-shallying across her features, casting them in dark shadows one moment, then brilliance the next. Very soon he would want to make love to her even though his future was pledged to his country sweetheart. The thought frightened him to the point of anger. He rose abruptly. “Everything is lovely, Leatrice, but I’m beat. We had no luck finding that crazed bull. He broke through the fence to the south pasture. I’ll be leaving early in the morning to resume the search. Good night, Leatrice.”
Leatrice smiled and he saw in her eyes resignation and an unrequited love that refused to die, yet accepted his decision without ill feeling. This was not the reaction he expected, not from Leatrice. She was fire and brimstone, or ice and snow, not this shimmering peacefulness.
“Good night, Leatrice.” He said, unaware he was repeating himself.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The Aubreys, long-time friends of the Driscolls, invited Leatrice and Seth to share the Christmas Holidays with them. Seth asked Leatrice to go with him into town for some last minute shopping. In town the two visited a bakery and purchased fruitcakes and cookies for themselves and to bring to the Aubreys. Their next stop was a florist. Seth purchased a dozen long-stemmed roses. Leatrice did not ask for whom he intended the roses. His parents had died some years ago, and Seth was an only child, therefore she reasoned the bouquet was his gift to Linda.
The sun was touching the top of the hills and polishing the snow a dark yellow when Seth halted the pickup in front of a pair of iron gates. Behind the black grillwork, a cemetery angled softly upward. Seth’s parents were buried here. “May I come with you?” Leatrice asked. “I’d like to pay my respects as well.”
“Sure. You can do the explaining,” he said.
“Do you think she would have liked me?” Leatrice asked. Seth didn’t answer her question. He climbed down from the pickup and Leatrice followed him and watched him reach into the wagon for the box of roses. At the cemetery’s summit, tombstones shone taupe under the setting sun. His parents had long ago chosen this spot. Seth knelt before their grave. He lifted the top off the box and parted the green tissue paper. Carefully he removed each long-stemmed rose and placed each one lovingly upon the snow-covered ground in front of their stone inscribed with “Here lie Sandra and Calvin Driscoll, gentle people.” “Roses were my mother’s favorite flowers,” Seth explained. “And from the day I earned my first dollar, I bought her a dozen each Christmas.” Leatrice knelt down beside him. “I wish I’d known her.” Somehow she felt that his mother would have understood and forgiven her for what she had contrived to remain close to Seth for a little longer.
“She was a kind, hospitable person,” he said. “Loyal and faithful to Dad. She gave so much of herself, and the only reward she asked was to know she had caused another living creature to smile.” A raspy sob escaped his throat. Unexpectedly he sought the comfort of Leatrice’s embrace. She responded wholeheartedly and wrapped her arms about him, tenderly caressing his sandy-colored hair.
The grief of his parents’ death had never left Seth. His mother had died five years ago of a heart attack on Christmas Eve, and his father five years before. Seth never brought anyone to the cemetery, not even Linda, preferring to suffer his loss alone and not burden others with it. Except for his mother, he’d never opened up to anyone. She always understood what he felt, even before he told her. For the first time since his mother’s passing, he felt comforted. Leatrice was gentle inside, like his mother, and though he would never admit it to her for fear of reinforcing her plan, she had the same stubbornness that kept his mother loyal and faithful to his father through the years of poverty and the times of illness. Certainly his mother would have objected to their arrangement, but she would have understood and she would have offered Leatrice that understanding. And Leatrice would have sincerely and earnestly accepted it. The two women would have been friends. He knew enough about Leatrice now to make that judgment, for just possibly, this spoiled, rich Easterner was not a snob, nor selfish. The hauteur and sophistication were merely excessive polish to enhance the golden aura of one more human being wanting to be loved and needed. Leatrice held him close, her gloved fingers cradling the nape of his neck. “Seth, dearest, you mustn’t grieve this way. You haven’t lost her. Bet she’s watching us right now. I believe in that other world. I always have. I believe there is more than what the realists claim, Seth, or I would never have dared so much to be close to you.”
The man and the woman, two silhouettes against a vast amethyst sky, remained entwined in each other’s embrace for a long time. The sky was dark blue and starlit when at last Seth raised his head. Taking Leatrice with him, he stood up. “There’s no need to go back to the house and change,” he told her, his voice steady. “Christmas Eve at the Aubreys is always informal.”
Leatrice followed him down to the gate. No more was spoken about his mother and father. The evening was spent pleasantly with hospitable friends and the Christmas spirit of love and sharing.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The Aubreys invited Seth and Leatrice to attend Midnight Service with them in the small country church that had served the ranchers in this area for over a hundred and fifty years. Under the beamed ceiling, the meetinghouse resounded with melodious hymns. A hundred candles lit the room and a score of pine needle wreaths and poinsettia blooms scented it.
Leatrice and Seth worshipped beside the ruddy-faced Aubreys and their four young boys. A year ago Leatrice would have judged the Aubreys, poor land folk, but of late she’d learned to think differently, and it was plain to her from the earnest expressions on their jovial faces that their wealth lay in their willingness to extend without reserve their affection and trust.
After the Service they returned to the Triple R and in the morning after breakfast Leatrice asked Seth to join her in the parlor for a few minutes. “Please sit down, Seth,” she urged, avoiding his inquiring gaze.
From under the Christmas tree she took a small gaily-wrapped package and handed it to him. “It’s not what I’m used to giving, but I know that flaunting my wealth is the last thing you’d appreciate. I hope you like it. I hope I chose right.” Seth opened the gift. It was a tan leather wallet. Pleased, he said, “It’s practical and attractive. And I do need a new one. Mine’s about worn out.” It was a poor gift, Leatrice felt. But anything more lavish might appear to him as though she was attempting to buy his affection. “Thanks for being kind,” she said in earnest.
“There was nothing in our agreement requiring I be kind to you.”
“No there wasn’t,” Leatrice said.
Those blue eyes that could rivet and mesmerize lowered humbly. Seth had to catch his breath. Humility was a trait he did not expect of his spoiled heiress. “You haven’t asked about your present,” he said.
“My present?”
For the first time since their unorthodox agreement, Seth accepted her reaction as authentic; not
something rehearsed and planned. The surprise on her face was genuine. “Yes, your present. Thought I wouldn’t bother getting you one, didn’t you?” He was right; she had not expected a gift from him. She was not here by his choice. Neglect and indifference were what she expected. His love and dedication were what she longed for. What she daily experienced was his unpredictable behavior — mental detachment and moments when he reached out to her, as he had during their visit to his parent’s grave.
Seth rose and went into his bedroom. He came out a moment later holding a large foil wrapped box. He handed it to Leatrice. “Merry Christmas,” he said with a broad grin. Excitement flooded Leatrice’s features. All through her years as a rich man’s daughter, she had received hundreds of gifts — costly, extravagant gifts. She had experienced pleasure, a mild sort of eagerness, but never the sense of yearning and wild expectancy she felt now, holding Seth’s gift.
“Well, what are you waiting for?” he asked.
During the past few weeks she had mopped floors, washed dirty clothes in a washing machine that was older than her grandmother, cooked and earned her temporary status in Seth’s home. She resembled an excited little girl as she tore off the wrapping. A tense humility emanated from her as she lifted the top off the box and parted the tissue paper. She gasped with awe. The yellow round-necked bodice of a dotted Swiss frock literally leapt at her.
“Oh Seth, it’s beautiful!” she cried. She pulled the dress out and held it against herself. Hurriedly she checked the size. “Yes, it should fit. I’ll wear it today to the Aubreys for dinner.”
“I was hoping you would.”
“I’m going to try it on right now.” She bounded, and clutching the dress headed for her bedroom.
The dress fit perfectly. Leatrice gazed at herself in the mirror over the bureau, but a young woman she did not recognize stared back at her. She sat down on the bed and dug her nails into her palms. Linda’s shorter, thinner figure and her country air of innocence would fit the dress far better. What was Seth trying to do? Something inside Leatrice threatened to detonate. She was Leatrice Meredith, tall and broad of shoulder, proud and sophisticated. The type of woman who wore silk bloused dresses and slim high heels, diamonded earrings, necklaces and bracelets. Yet Seth was attempting to cast her in a role of his own choosing. The dotted Swiss fabric, the cotton tatting daintily edging the deep round collar, the full pleated skirt, all were indigenous to the sweet country girl look.
It was Linda he was attempting to recreate in the dress! Leatrice wanted to tear the dress off and rip it to shreds. The stiff material scratched her skin. She snatched it off and flung it into the closet. That evening she wore a bright red chiffon fitted dress. She told Seth the dress didn’t fit right. It needed alterations. But her facial expression and the tone of her voice betrayed her. She avoided his eyes when they filled with suspicion. “Not good enough,” she heard him mutter, as he turned away.
They spoke little that week. Seth did his chores, ate his meals and joined his men in the bunkhouse after dinner until bedtime, long after Leatrice had retired.
CHAPTER NINE
February promised no respite from the brutal winter that settled on Seth’s part of the country. The wind howled and whistled and beat against windowpanes and ice frosted them. Seth and Leatrice had their chores to perform — the running of the two ranches, the cattle, the horses and all the rest that went with the operation, hard, routine work, neverending. To Seth who had been reared to this life, it was a matter of how busy he was and how much he accomplished. To Leatrice, nurtured on a life of opulence and ease, it was a matter of how much effort and labor she had to expend between getting up in the morning and going to bed at night. With the land buried in snow, the two were out daily scattering feed. And still despite their efforts, many were the times they brought in some starved critter near frozen to death. Life in Seth’s part of the world was not an easy one during the winter months for the rancher or the farmer, or for the animals living off the land. Everyone on the two ranches was kept busy making sure they had stock left to run in the spring when the snow would melt and the ground thaw and the sun warm the country to a glistening, rustling green.
The matter of the Swiss dotted frock had long been forgotten. Seth had never been one to carry a grudge and Leatrice, in spite of all the hardships, her hands cramped from the long hours bent about the reins of her horse, while the brutal cold penetrated her gloves leaving her fingertips split and bleeding, was loving Seth more and more. This surprised her; especially when her back hurt and her legs were stiff and practically frozen from long hours on horseback. And she had meals to prepare and the house to care for, and clothes to wash. It surprised her that she had not by now become disillusioned with Seth and the hard, unremitting life he led. But instead, the stamina of the man, the unquestioning striving to keep body and soul together for one more day for himself and the stock, awed her. All the comforts and bred-in expectations of her wealthy upbringing palled before the simple reality of Seth and his country. One particular winter’s day she would never forget ...
Heavy winds lashed the house and snow swirled down from the sky like streamers from skyscrapers in a ticker tape parade. The wind chill factor had cut temperatures to forty below zero. Perkins, one of Seth’s ranch hands, reported a bull gone plum loco in the east sector, probably from the cold and hunger. The crazed beast had been battering down barbed wire, uncaring or unaware that the spiked fencing was tearing his face and his hide to shreds. Armed with rifles, Seth and Perkins set out immediately after breakfast to see what could be done. It was now long past suppertime and neither of the two had returned. Leatrice peered through the window for the hundredth time. Visibility was a howling mass of white. She was frantic with worry. Seth was out there in this. He had sent Linda and most of his men home early because of the storm. And as chance would have it, Binney and the others who shared the bunkhouse were nowhere nearby at present. The telephones were dead; the lines knocked down by the hurtling blasts of icy winds. There was no one to turn to, and no manner left to recruit help. Utterly alone, her concern for Seth’s safety overrode any concern for herself. She dressed in her warmest clothing and opened the back door intending to set out and search for Driscoll herself. A blast of icy wind and prickly snow whipped at her face and penetrated even the thermal underwear she wore. She forced the door closed against the storm.
She sat down at the kitchen table. She must be insane to imagine going out into that weather. It would be suicidal. All right, she would search only along the perimeter of the ranch and perhaps a little further. She simply could not remain inactive while Seth might be trapped or hurt. What if his horse had suffered a mishap and Seth was on foot in this foul storm. She bounded to her feet. This time she would be better prepared. She readied a thermos of hot coffee to take with her for Seth and Perkins. Then ran into her bedroom and searched through the drawers in her bureau. Taking a wool facemask, she slipped it quickly over her head. She returned to the kitchen, took the coffee thermos and braved the back door again, this time successfully. Using all her strength she closed it shut behind her. Patches of brown earth and wood visible through the furiously swirling snow showed her the way to the stable.
Jasper was not too happy to leave the safety and comfort of his stall, but once bridled and saddled, and then mounted, the coffee thermos packed inside the saddle bag, he conceded, albeit grumpily, to force his way into the storm and circle the ranch. When that yielded no evidence of the two men, Leatrice urged Jasper further out. Her plan to stay close to the ranch was discarded as she headed in the direction in which Seth and Perkins had started out.
Leatrice and Jasper knew where they were going. The mass of swirling snow was a white blindfold across their eyes; nevertheless, from daily working with Seth, both knew the layout of the land by heart. Rider and horse were covered in thick layers of snow by the time they had left the east gate behind them. Jasper moved very slowly. They had followed the fence. Leatrice’s legs had los
t most of their feeling and it was becoming increasingly hard to kick and keep her horse going forward. She was constantly wiping her eyes to free them of the thick freezing wet snowflakes. By the time they arrived at an area crowded with spruce and fir, Jasper was snorting and blowing, attempting in vain to repel the chill wind and snow filling his nostrils. Leatrice knew she would have to dismount. Her legs had altogether lost their power to kick, and Jasper, continuing to blow and snort, had come to a halt, and was shaking his head vigorously.
She climbed down slowly. Her legs felt as though they were encased in splints. Once her feet touched the snowy ground, she hung on to the saddle horn and the cantle because her legs would not support her. With the coming of night the storm had doubled in intensity. Wind and snow lashed furiously about her, stifling her breathing, spearing into her nose and throat and lungs. Holding the reins tightly in her left hand, she buried her face against the side of the saddle. She remained like that for a few minutes, hoping to regain her strength, but quickly realized that without movement, her legs would stiffen all the more. She inhaled deeply against the leather now moist and warm from her breathing, then pulled herself away and began stamping her feet and slapping her arms to get her blood circulating.