Both women looked back to the door where, just at toddler height, a dark red smear marked the doorframe like the Passover in Egypt. A trail of blackberry jam led them through the parlor and down the hall, where the door to the Fairburn’s suite stood ajar. The door had been closed. She knew it had and the children hadn’t yet learned to open them. The jam smeared on the doorframe bore witness to the unhappy fact that she’d again underestimated Tommy’s proclivity for mischief.
“Oh no!” Jessie pushed past Lena into the room. The trail of tiny blackberry handprints made a direct sticky path to the quilt, where the children were curled up together squarely in the middle, sucking their thumbs, sleeping. “What are we going to do?” Jessie whispered. “They could be here any minute.”
Lena squared her shoulders and took one deep breath before slowly blowing it out. “First, we take the children upstairs. Then we take the clean bedding off the line and replace the quilt with . . .”
A thunderous crack split the sky wide open. Both Jessie and Lena jumped, and the children awoke crying. Lena reacted by running from the room with her own lament, “The laundry!”
Lena should have learned the lesson by now. In a heartbeat, Idaho weather could change—clear sky one minute and torrential downpours the next. In a matter of minutes, the clouds could dump an inch of rain—and a good percent of it fell now directly on the freshly washed bedding Jessie and Lena had hung on the line this morning.
By the time Lena had cleared the lines of sheets and bedspreads, she was as thoroughly soaked as the laundry puddling in her basket. She stepped onto the back porch and dropped the basket in front of a thoroughly dismayed Jessie.
“What are we going to do?” Jessie made a grab for Tommy’s shirt as he toddled for the porch steps. “No, you don’t!”
Lena wrung out her apron, a pointless exercise as the water from her skirt was forming a puddle around her feet. She sucked in her bottom lip, glanced down at the wet laundry and up at Jessie’s mournful expression. “We’ll get the children upstairs. Then we’ll take the quilt from our bedroom and use it in the guest room. It’s a little more worn than I’d have liked for them, but it’ll have to do. It’s better than having our guests think we let wild beasts wander through the house.”
“They do that often enough.”
As Jessie herded the children upstairs, Lena looked down the road leading to the river and on into town. No sign of Evan and their guests. Bad enough that she was drenched. What kind of a welcome would it be if they came down with pneumonia on the first day?
She shivered, glanced at her reflection in the window, and heaved a sigh. Hair plastered to her head and dripping water was no way to greet her guests. Well, a warm and welcoming smile would have to do. At a trot, she headed inside, lugging the dripping laundry basket. Regretfully, this was not the beginning she’d imagined.
***
“Let’s step in here.” Evan Hartmann held the door for his guests as they scurried inside the hotel’s entrance and out of the downpour.
Edward Fairburn removed his hat and a small waterfall cascaded from its brim onto the wood floor. “My! When you said rain was coming, you certainly knew what you were talking about!”
Mr. Hartmann grinned. “We don’t mess around with light showers in our part of the country. When it rains, it usually pours. No wasted effort here.”
Mr. Fairburn said, “I fear it’s my fault we were late ‘hitting the trail’ as I think you Westerners say. My interest in your local businesses caused us an unnecessary delay.”
A greeting came from across the room. A stout man with a face that reflected a life led with good humor rushed to assist them. “Let me help you with your coats.”
Mr. Hartmann made the introductions, explaining that Mr. Keller was the owner of the hotel. “I thought we might sit out the storm in your café, if that was all right with you.”
“Glad to have you. Come with me.” He led the way to a pleasant room with a view to the main street.
Dawn squirmed as a trickle of rainwater ran down her back. “This is a very nice establishment.” She caught herself from finishing her thought—for a frontier town. Instead, she asked, “Would I be correct in assuming Mr. Keller’s hotel is a competitor with your guest ranch?”
The rancher pursed his lips before answering. “Wouldn’t think I’d call the Keller Hotel a competitor. The people using Mr. Keller’s establishment are mostly businessmen or miners or folks visiting relatives in the area. Now the Guyer Hot Springs isn’t far, and it’s a place touring folk from the East visit. We could plan a trip over there if you might enjoy the mineral baths.”
Before she could inquire further, Mr. Keller returned with a pot of hot tea and a plate of scones. “Don’t forget The Hailey Hot Springs Hotel. That’s a fine place, and it’s fitted with all the modern conveniences.” He poured steaming tea into Dawn’s cup. “Here you go. This should take some of the chill out of your bones.” Mr. Keller nodded to the window. “Sure is raining buckets.”
As the restorative fragrance of Earl Grey wafted from her china cup, Dawn felt the tension in her shoulders relax.
“You see, Mr. and Mrs. Hartmann are trying something new here. They’re offering you folks some adventure.” Mr. Keller grinned, pushing laugh lines like wings pointing to his receding hairline. “Town could use more visitors. Mrs. Keller and I are just as pleased as we can be with their venture. And there aren’t nicer folks I’d want to call neighbors.” He clapped a hand on Mr. Hartmann’s shoulder. “Anything else I can do for you? If not, the wife needs me in the back. Seems there’s a raccoon who’s thinks the floor beneath our pantry makes a cozy home to raise a family. Gotta say, he’s not the kind of guest we like to encourage.” He chuckled as he left them.
“Mr. Fairburn, what interests bring you here all the way from New York?” Mr. Hartmann asked as he reached for a scone.
“Well, I’m tempted by everything you’ve offered in your brochure here.” Mr. Fairburn patted his jacket pocket. “Hunting, fishing, and I wouldn’t turn down a chance to take a dip in those hot springs you mentioned.” He turned to Dawn. “That seems like something you’d enjoy, Dawn.”
She winced as tea scalded her tongue. Sidestepping the suggestion, she gave her father a bright smile. “I would love to see you enjoy them, Father.”
“We have our own hot spring on the ranch that’s a little more private and might be more to your liking. Lena and Jessie like to take the twins there. It’s pretty nice to dip your feet in hot water after a long day with them stuck in boots.” The rancher helped himself to another scone. “But you have to be careful. Some can be like sticking your feet in a tea kettle of water. You could scald your—” He stopped himself and looked up, eyes wide with a look of mortification that Dawn found charming. “Sorry.”
“That’s all right, Mr. Hartmann. I understand, and I’m not offended. Your warning is appreciated and I will definitely heed it.”
Mr. Hartmann gave a glance to the street. “Looks like the rain’s passed through. We should probably head out. Mrs. Hartmann will be a mite upset if I don’t deliver you to the ranch in time for a hot meal.”
“It’s over?” Dawn turned to the view of the street where thin rays of sunlight made mirrors out of puddles.
Mr. Hartmann shrugged. “Like I said, we don’t have time for long-winded rain storms. The Lord knows there’s too much to do.” He pushed back from the table and strode to the front desk to settle their bill.
Dawn made her second assessment of Ketchum. The country and the people who lived here might share the same point of view. She wondered if they’d developed a state motto for it yet. If she were penning the campaign line, it might be something simple. Do it and get it done! Not bad.
As her father held open her coat for her, she entertained new thoughts for his upcoming campaign. “Do you remember what Ben Franklin said about wasting time?”
Her father rolled his eyes to the ceiling, his brow creased in concentration. “Lost tim
e is—”
“Never found again.” Dawn finished for him as she buttoned her coat. “It’s not a bad slogan. What do you think?”
He leaned close and tapped his finger to the tip of her nose. “I think you think too much.”
Dawn narrowed her eyes at him. “And who do I have to blame for that?”
His chest rose and fell, and his expression lost its earlier amusement. “We came here to relax and take some time for ourselves. I can’t do that at home. There are too many people to please, to debate, to court.” The crease on his brow deepened. “Can’t we put all that aside for a few days? Can’t we enjoy this?” He swung his arm out as though to encompass the entire new state. “This is a territory on the brink of statehood. It’s not unlike a child. The fingers of politics are poised to shape it, but at this moment, the future is bright and unwritten.” He guided her outside where the sun had reappeared and the clouds rolled south to the flat plain. “Do you remember that feeling when you were given a piece of white paper and some pencils and told to draw a picture? Do you remember how exciting it was? And a little scary. What do I draw? How do I draw it? Can I make it look like I want it to look?”
She sensed his excitement, knew that these could be the inspirational moments she loved to share with him. This was when he became the visionary, imagining his better world and how to lead others there. He had the unique ability to paint his vision with words.
“I was a terrible artist. I hated my drawing lessons,” Dawn said blandly, but the smile softened her self-appraisal.
He waved his hand, dismissing her comment. “Then think of a blank page in a journal. How does that feel? Words that haven’t yet been written, and thoughts unrecorded. What a moment!”
He wasn’t looking at her any longer, his eyes focused on the hills stretching north to where they’d been told jagged mountain peaks pierced the clouds, heights never explored by men. “Can’t you feel it, Dawn? The possibilities?”
Passion lit his blue eyes. A man with vision was exactly one to lead others. The pride that always coursed through her at times like these set her pulse racing. His fire sparked others to action, to bring about the reform needed in dark places like Hells Kitchen and the squalid, over-crowded tenements. “I can, when I see it through your eyes,” she said. These pressing needs of the populace were no mere topics of dinner conversation to impress a certain segment of the enlightened society. They were real and she shared his passion for reform.
“Mr. Fairburn? Miss Fairburn? I have the wagon seats dried off. Shall we get started?” Mr. Hartmann stood by the front seat of the wagon.
“Be right there, Mr. Hartmann.” Her father wrapped his arm around her waist and whispered, “We have two long weeks to talk about anything and everything. Let’s talk of anything but the election, shall we?”
She read the pleading both in his voice and eyes, and for the first time she noticed new lines fanning out around his mouth. The lump that suddenly rose in her throat swelled to the size of an egg. As much as she prided herself on her ability to read her father’s thoughts, she’d missed a page somewhere along the way. When or where it had happened, she didn’t know. More disconcerting was the what written upon the missing page. And why did it seem he was pushing her away just when he needed her?
Chapter Five
Unforeseen
“Write it on your heart that every day is the best day in the year.” Ralph Waldo Emerson
June 26,1890
As the wagon rolled beyond Ketchum’s last brick building, Dawn considered the long empty road stretching ahead where, when night fell, there would be no cheerful lights or familiar sounds of civilization. The brochure had proclaimed frontier adventure awaits. Such words couldn’t contain the reality.
She had not given much thought to how the frontier should look, but she’d imagined a small town with a room in a quaint, but comfortable inn, like the Keller Hotel. Her father would choose a few adventures while she stayed behind with a book, a cup of tea and a biscuit or hardtack or whatever people on the frontier ate.
But Mr. Hartmann seemed a capable host and guide, a gentleman in every way. So, she didn’t fear attacks by wild beasts or highwaymen. At least, not much. What troubled her was her father’s sudden change in manner, this talk of her possibilities, as though hers were separate from his.
His excited stream of questions directed to their host did much to ease her concerns. Maybe, he really did just want to immerse himself in this adventure, and she was only imagining something more.
“And you say you’ve had experience mining as well? Gold or silver?”
“Yes, sir. Worked for a big outfit up in Sawtooth a few years back. Had my small claim there, too.”
Dawn detected the subtle shift of tone. A note of sadness in the rancher’s voice? She suspected there was some deeper story to be told.
Her father seemed not to notice. His rapt attention reflected his appreciation for the man’s experience. “I have to admire you for that. Can’t have been an easy life. I’ve read accounts. Not sure which are accurate, and which are mythic, though.”
The lines on either side of Mr. Hartmann’s face deepened with his smile. “It’s not glamorous like stories I’ve read. Mark Twain made river life for Huck Finn sound exciting. I’d suppose my wife would use the word ‘romantic’. I suspect it was rough, dirty and dangerous, just like mining. A whole lot of work for little payout.”
“Hmm.” Her father swung his head and looked to the passing landscape, sharply etched with deepening shadows. “Like most things, until you experience them for yourself, you can’t possibly know the truth. Do you think we’ll be able to see any? Mines, that is. It’s such a topic of speculation back East, like investing in cattle. Many of my acquaintances have tried their fortunes with both. I’m curious to see how it’s all done.”
“Cattle we got. Suppose I could show you a mine close by. Not enough left inside to work it anymore. It might interest you.”
“Thank you. I’d like that.”
Dawn rested her head against her father’s shoulder and watched as stars winked on in the eastern sky. They, at least, were familiar. But not so very many. She lifted her gaze—incredulous. The longer she stared into the darkening sky, the greater the number shimmered across the heavens. The conversation of the two men slipped from talk of hunting to fishing and then faded into the night as fatigue weighted her eyes and she slipped into sleep.
“We’ve arrived.”
Dawn stirred at his voice and blinked, looking up into her father’s smiling face.
He whispered, “I think you’d be more comfortable sleeping inside, don’t you?”
She sat up and rubbed her eyes. A woman with a gentle smile and kind eyes stood beside the wagon. Behind her, a two-story house glowed with light, doors open and inviting. At that moment, Dawn felt she’d seen no place so charming.
“Welcome. I’m Alena Hartmann, Lena to my friends.” As she swept her gaze over Dawn, a look of sympathy creased her brow. “You must be exhausted. Please come inside.”
Evan waved away Edward’s offer to help with their luggage. “You folks go on and make yourselves at home.”
As weary as she had been seconds before, the astonishment she experienced upon entering the house drove thoughts of sleeping far away. Her concerns that the ranch might be more primitive than she’d understood from the brochure description vanished. From the library of books spreading out in cases on both sides of the stone fireplace, to the gleam of polished wood floors and scattered upholstered chairs arranged about the hearth, her impression was one of a highly cultured life, defying all her earlier presumptions. The lacking formality of eastern homes did not diminish the gracious furnishings or the perception of warmth and hospitality they offered.
“May I take your coat, Miss Fairburn? It looks to be still a little damp.”
Dawn turned to the new voice to see a slightly younger woman, closer to her own age, with freckles sprayed across the bridge of her nose and
a smile that spread nearly from ear to ear.
Jessie introduced herself as she helped Dawn remove her coat.
Mrs. Hartmann stood with an unassuming dignity at the far end of the room, hands folded before her. “We do have dinner prepared, and we’ve attempted to keep it warm for you. You may take a little or a lot, depending on your appetites.” She turned her gaze to Dawn. “Or settle into your rooms if you prefer. I could bring you a pot of tea and a sandwich.”
“You’re very thoughtful, Mrs. Hartmann.” Dawn gave her father a quick glance. “But if my father is not too weary to stay up a little longer, then I shall. I’m feeling quite revived just by stepping into your lovely home.”
The woman’s face showed how pleased she was by Dawn’s compliment. Her smile widened as she said, “Let me show you to your rooms where you can refresh yourselves. You can join us in the dining room later.”
Inviting them to follow, Mrs. Hartmann led them down a wide hallway to a suite with two bedrooms and a modern indoor facility. The relief Dawn felt upon seeing it was impossible to conceal from the observant Mrs. Hartmann. She leaned close to Dawn’s ear and whispered, “I insisted to my husband that I would not force our guests from back east to experience all the frontier has to offer.” They exchanged a secret smile while Dawn’s father strode to the doors, opening to a private entry from the porch.
“This is a fine house you and Mr. Hartmann have built. I’m very impressed.” He turned to their hostess with his hand on the door handles and asked, “May I?”
She nodded. “We added on to the original house, so the foundation was already in place before we purchased the land.”
He opened the door admitting a cool breeze, heavily scented with pine and lilacs.
Mrs. Hartmann moved to the door and slid the drapes to the side to reveal the full view of the valley now shadowed in moonlight. “My husband and I much prefer to sleep with fresh air on our faces in the warmer months. However, you might want to close the doors and windows before you go to sleep.” She turned to look at Dawn. “We do live at the foot of the mountains, you see.”
A Portrait of Dawn Page 4