Luke gestured to a store window filled with an artfully arranged display of books by women authors. He slowed his steps and turned to Nathan. “I met the young woman who manages this shop. She’s a writer herself.”
Nathan leaned over, reading the names on the book spines. “Interesting selection. Culture, too.”
Mrs. Reynolds, the woman Luke had met earlier, appeared on the other side of the window. She was placing a sign announcing a book club meeting when she looked up and saw Luke. She waved and held up her hand, palm out.
The shop bell gave a cheerful jingle as Mrs. Reynolds stepped out and onto the sidewalk. “Mr. Brennan, it’s nice to meet you again. I hope someday soon we’ll have a chance to speak at length instead of these brief encounters. I think we have some shared interests.”
Luke’s tension eased in the woman’s charming presence. “I do as well.” He tipped his hat, then nodded to Nathan. “Allow me to introduce my—colleague. Mrs. Reynolds this is Mr. Nathan Osborne.”
With a dazzling smile, Maddie offered her hand. “Welcome to Ketchum. I’m Mrs. Reynolds.”
Nathan’s features slid into an easy, affable smile, revealing that he’d be quite comfortable in the company of women. “Very nice to meet you,” He said smoothly. “Mr. Brennan told me you’re a writer.”
She brightened and dipped her head in affirmation. “An author. I do believe, there is a difference. Are you a newspaperman, too?”
“I’m no writer, but I am an illustrator, or at least I’m learning to be one.” He tipped his head in Luke’s direction. “Luke’s going to show me the ropes.”
“You make a literary reference. From Two Years Before the Mast, I think.”
“Actually, I was thinking of the theatrical reference to pulling the stage ropes,” Nathan said.
“Ah! Expressions are so intriguing.” She looked from one to the other and said, “Two of you sent here to cover our little town’s celebration. Well, this is a major event for Idaho. As for our nation, stars are not added to our flag often.” She folded her arms across her trim waist. “I hope we have a chance to visit while you’re here. Are you staying at the ranch, Mr. Osborne?”
“Yes. I’m very interested to see a working cattle ranch.”
“Excellent! I suppose we’ll see you in church on Sunday. In the summer months, we usually have a light picnic after services. We’d love to have you join us. The messages are succinct and the food succulent.” She gave out a light tinkling laugh.
Nathan slipped his hat back on his head and delivered a wide smile, showing off those perfectly white pearls. “I’ll look forward to that.”
She started for the shop door, then turned back. “This will make our Tuesday gathering at the Hartmann ranch much more fun. I do hope you gentlemen dance.”
As they headed down a side street leading to the livery, Nathan bubbled over with more questions about the town and the occupations of its residents. Luke assumed his answers were less than satisfactory for the intellectually curious Mr. Osborne. It was nearly half a block before he realized Nathan was neither asking questions nor following him.
Half a block back, Nathan stood quietly, his hands raised before his face, fingers forming a square through which he was peering at the brick building across the street. Nathan looked up, noticed Luke, and dropped his hands. He gestured to the structure. “That’s an interesting building. The façade is not something I’d have thought fit into these surroundings. But I think it’s oddly effective, don’t you agree?”
Luke glanced at the two-story. Someone had gone to the trouble of adding cornices reminiscent of the grander Victorians in St. Louis’s east end. It did have some modest architectural appeal. It might provide a nice backdrop for some of his own sketches.
Nathan caught up to him. “I’ve been studying photography for the past year. We’ve had assignments all over the city, parks, people, shipyard. As a result, buildings have become my favorite subject. I love the shadow play in the windows and doorways.” He was still staring at the building as he added casually, “I suspect that’s why they gave me the job.”
Luke gave him a tight smile. He didn’t say it but the response in his head was thunderous. That’s probably very true.
***
Dawn sat stiffly, concentrating on the valley languidly stretching to the river, trying to appreciate the pastoral view. She’d focused on it for the last ten minutes, willing her attention to the green hills, the horses grazing in the pasture, the hawks soaring overhead, songbirds singing a cacophony of tweets, twitters and trills her ear could not appreciate.
The expansive view to a horizon without buildings or improved roads had not the effect on her as it seemed to have for her father and others. It was too much. It was disquieting. She’d have preferred it framed to limit her perspective. No, her efforts at distraction weren’t working to relieve the tension that had besieged her through the night—the guilt for feeling anything but joy about her father’s happiness.
That she hadn’t even allowed him to explain his feelings for the woman, only further accused her of self-centeredness. He’d tried to answer her question—her question—the one about what Melody Corbyn meant to him. The truth, she said. Tell me the truth. She hadn’t let him.
He tried again this morning before he’d headed to town with Mr. Hartmann and Mr. Brennan. He said he needed to explain why he hadn’t told her, why he’d put it off. Instead of listening, she’d engaged Jessie in conversation about her little girl, foolish idle talk about braids and ribbons.
He was gone now, off to town, and she knew little more about how her father could keep such a secret from her for so long. More importantly, she still didn’t know why. She squeezed her eyes closed and rocked forward onto her feet. Perhaps she knew after all. He was afraid that she would react just as she had—just as she was continuing to behave—like a spoiled child—a pouting, self-centered child.
She reached for her sweater and wrapped it about her shoulders. Although the ground was uneven, she chose to walk across the lawn instead of following the smoother pathway. She took her time carefully placing one foot slowly before the other, watching for animal holes along the way. A small copse of white-barked trees with cheerful green leaves waving in their canopy offered a pleasant setting to wallow in her self-pity. With her eyes focused on the ground, she missed seeing Lena, who was a mere ten feet away.
“Good morning, Dawn,” Lena greeted her with no suggestion of annoyance at her intrusion.
Dawn startled at her voice. “I’m sorry, I didn’t see you.”
“That’s quite all right. I’m ready for a little company.” She patted the seat of the empty chair beside her. “Sit with me a while?”
“I . . .” Dawn wanted to say she needed to be alone as much as Lena. In fact, she wished to keep her moody ill-tempered self as far away from others as possible. She felt bad enough about spoiling her father’s day without compounding her guilt by drawing her gloomy cloud over someone else.
Lena reached out and took Dawn’s hand. “Come. You look like you need a friendly conversation.”
Her father was the one she’d usually gone to for such times. Dawn checked the smirk. She gave Lena a tremulous smile and took the proffered seat.
They sat for a time in companionable silence. Initially, Lena’s presence occupied Dawn’s thoughts as she wondered what would bring any woman so far from the comforts of eastern cities. But as the morning sun pierced through the leaves above them with warming rays, her thoughts drifted in other directions, along familiar paths—ones she didn’t wish to trod. Maybe she should marry. Maybe the most loving, selfless thing she could do was accept Jackson Wainwright’s attentions. She twisted her finger through the buttonhole on her sweater, back and forth, faster and faster. Her stomach quelled at the thought of a marriage to such a man. They’d run out of topics for discussion in the first week of marriage.
There was the St. Mary’s Shelter. She’d helped the sisters there on holidays. Surely, they�
�d welcome her assistance. Maybe she’d convert—devote her life to God. That would be selfless. Her finger stuck in the buttonhole, forcing her to jerk it loose.
“It’s such a lovely place to set your thoughts free.” Dawn felt Lena’s eyes on her and turned to meet her gaze. “Evan taught me to take time every day for myself. He calls it his solitude prayer. He says he likes to imagine the wind blowing in one ear, cleaning house inside, and taking all the refuse out the other side.” The woman’s throaty chuckle caught Dawn by surprise.
Lena cocked her head and tapped her temple with her forefinger. “Not all thoughts are worthy of staying in that cluttered closet. I know that I can’t waste the space, can you?” She gave a bright laugh.
The image brought a smile to Dawn’s lips as well. It would be nice to be free of many torturous thoughts and painful memories—to start with a clean closet.
“Do you ride?”
“Horses?” Dawn asked, then embarrassed she added, “Of course, you meant horses.”
“Why don’t you and I go for a short ride this morning. I have the perfect place to show you.”
“I don’t know.”
“Oh, that’s right. Your father took your broken shoe to Joseph, didn’t he?” Lena reached down and pulled Dawn’s skirt aside, exposing her shoes. “I think you might be more Jessie’s size. My feet are much larger.”
“But I need . . .”
“If you’ve had experience on a horse, then you know you need heels for your foot to fit securely in the stirrup. We can adjust the fenders easily, and I have the perfect horse for you if it’s been a while since you’ve ridden.”
Dawn could see there would be no deterring the woman. Besides, it had been a long while since she’d afforded the time, and she had once found pleasure in riding.
Lena rose to her feet and held out her hand to Dawn. “Let me introduce you to Virginia.”
“Isn’t she beautiful?” Lena slid her hand under the mare’s white mane and patted her neck. “I love the contrast of her stark white mane and gray coat.”
She was a petite, delicate animal. Dawn patted her shoulder, and the horse swung her head in Dawn’s direction. “She looks a bit apprehensive.”
“It’s to be expected, considering her recent history. Evan bought her off a man who had brought her from his home in Virginia. When he fell on hard times after his mining claim didn’t pan out, he just left her in a paddock to very nearly fend for herself. She was half-starved when Evan found her, but the man stubbornly refused to sell her, saying she was too sentimental to him to let her go. Wouldn’t set a price. Just refused to sell her.”
“How awful!” Dawn ran her fingers along the mare’s jaw. “You poor, dear.”
“Evan’s not one to give up on anyone or any beast in need. It’s who he is. Just like some people seem to be born mean, Evan was born kind.”
“So, how did he convince the man?”
“Evan is also stubborn. He kept coming back, day after day, until he wore the man down with badgering. I guess he realized the only way he could stop Evan from coming around was to sell the horse. He paid twice what she was worth in her emaciated state, but he was determined to save her. And he did.”
“It’s difficult to believe,” Dawn said. “Her coat is sleek. Her eyes bright. It must have been quite a transformation.”
“She got a new life with months of rehabilitation and a lot of love. In time, she learned to trust again. I think I learned by watching her that patterns of thinking really can be broken.” Lena handed a bridle to Dawn. “You know how to put it on?”
Dawn nodded.
“Good.” Lena’s eyes sparkled mischievously. “Let’s try Jessie’s boots on you and then saddle up.”
“You’re a skilled rider.” Lena loped up behind Dawn and pulled up by her side. “You have the seat of a huntsman.”
“I used to ride more when I was younger. The doctor said it would be good for me. Said it would build confidence and improve my balance.”
They’d climbed the slope south of the ranch house, coming out onto a high meadow. To the north, the hills reached higher and beyond were the tops of ragged, snow-capped peaks.
“This is amazing,” Dawn said.
“I’d certainly seen nothing to compare.”
“Is that Ketchum?” Dawn pointed south to the houses scattered as miniatures in some museum diorama.
Lena nodded. “Puts things in perspective, doesn’t it?”
Virginia’s stomach swelled beneath Dawn before the little horse bugled the breath from her lungs. It was a pleasant and familiar experience. She wondered why she’d ever stopped riding. There was so much freedom to move with ease, speeding across uneven ground, with head up to the wind and sun. The mare shifted her weight, and Dawn reached down to pat her neck. “Good girl.”
“Do you mind if I ask about your need for special shoes?”
Dawn sensed no pity in the woman’s voice, making it easier for her to answer. “I was born with my left leg two inches shorter than my right. Doctors couldn’t explain it. My mother had been ill before I was born. They postulated about the possibly affecting my growth.” She shrugged. “For a few years, when I was a teen and needed to understand everything, I wanted to know why. No one could give me a reason.
“Father never treated me like a cripple, never really lowered his expectations. Above anyone else, he helped me to accept my difference from others. In his eyes, I was special. And he made it clear that I was special for my ability, as he said, to rise above my limitations.”
“You love him very much,” Lena said.
There was more to tell, more she had shared with only her father—to explain the bond they shared. “That confidence of my childhood met with the cruelty of schoolmates in their worst years. Doubts shake even the best of relationships between parent and child when tested by those awkward years. When I was seventeen, I started looking for answers to my difference. I took the suggestion of a teacher to seek out a preacher.
“That summer, a revivalist preached in the park near our house. I didn’t tell my father, because he didn’t approve of the hell and brimstone, revivalist preaching of the day. But after the message, I found the evangelist and asked him why God had made one leg shorter than the other. The preacher studied me and shook his head with such a look of disapproval that I wanted to hide my face. He lay his hand on my shoulder and squeezed it until I cried out. Then he said, ‘I the Lord thy God am a jealous God, visiting the iniquity of the fathers upon the children unto the third and fourth generation of them who hate me.’ He leaned close to my face telling me I should ask my father what sin he had committed to bring this affliction upon me.”
Dawn, who had been gazing out to the mountain range as she remembered that day, turned to Lena to see the woman’s lips were parted, and tears welling in her eyes. She bit her bottom lip and closed her eyes.
“I knew my father was a good man. I knew the man’s words were false. I also knew that I would never listen to the counsel of anyone aside from my father ever again.” Even as Dawn said it, repeating the conviction she’d held for these past years, she wondered how much longer she would be in a place to rely upon his counsel as she had for all these years.
“Has anyone told you the words that Jesus spoke when he was asked a similar question? ‘Neither this man nor his parents sinned . . . but this happened so that the works of God might be displayed in him.’ That preacher should have spoken his words of encouragement to you instead of condemnation.” Tears wet on her cheeks, Lena reached across the space between them. “Oh, my dear child. What sin that man will have to answer for one day! To injure a lamb, such as you were . . .”
Dawn raced a full length ahead of Lena as they loped up to the corrals. Laughing and as winded as her mount, Dawn called back, “Do you think Evan would ever part with Virginia?”
Evan stepped out of the barn, answering with mock affront. “Not on your life. She’s a Hartmann horse now and forever.”
From behind her, Dawn heard her father’s voice. She turned the mare’s head so that horse sidestepped to face him. “Oh Father, why did I ever stop riding?”
“I think I asked you that very question a few times.” He stood before her with an uncertain smile.
“Dawn Fairburn, what a pleasant surprise!”
Dawn looked over her father’s shoulder to the man who’d called her name. In a moment, the rush of memories came flooding back as she looked into the face of a friend, a true friend. She laughed and asked, “Nathan Osborne? What brings you this far from your comfortable city life?”
“I could ask the very same of you.” Nathan stepped around her father and reached up for her. In one seemingly effortless move, he’d lifted her from the saddle and held her until she’d found her footing. He didn’t step away until she’d met his eyes. “It’s wonderful to see you again.”
***
Luke had looked up at the sound of hoofbeats to see Dawn racing to the barn with Lena’s horse close behind. The younger woman was scarcely recognizable as the same glum-faced guest who’d sat silently beside her father this morning. This version glowed with life, her face flushed from the excitement of the ride, her eyes bright. This woman who rode with such careless abandon was radiant. The sight of her startled him where he stumbled on the porch step and with his free hand was forced to reach out and grab the railing.
Behind him Edward and Nathan had turned at the women’s approach, stepping back out of the horses’ path. Edward moved forward when they’d slid to a stop outside the barn. He saw her chin upturned to expose the ivory whiteness of her slender neck. What had transformed the somber girl into this vibrant woman? But as Nathan called out to her, he saw her change once again, her face fully animated and her eyes widening at the sight of the man. That she knew him was obvious in her enthusiastic reaction at seeing him.
As Luke stood on the threshold to the house with Nathan’s bag still gripped in his hand, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the scene playing out before him. After Nathan had helped her from the saddle, she’d looped her arm through his in the way of intimate friends. And once again, Luke felt the lackey to his betters. He turned then, stepped into the great room ahead of them and dropped the bag unceremoniously inside.
A Portrait of Dawn Page 9