He picked up a strand of her hair in his fingers, giving it a gentle tug. It was a familiar sign of affection he’d often given when all was forgiven. His voice came to her husky with emotion. “I love you, little girl.”
“I know.”
She did know, but she feared her love might not be strong enough to forgive him completely.
Chapter Eleven
Perceptions
“When one tugs at a single thing in nature, he finds it attached to the rest of the world.” John Muir
June 29, 1890
Sunday morning brought the same boundless, azure blue sky they’d enjoyed for the last two days. The winds tousled the bright green leaves in the grove where Lena spent her morning time of solitude. Her shoulder touched and illuminated by a narrow beam of sunlight revealed her in the dappled shade.
This morning, Dawn wouldn’t bother her hostess. Instead, she made her way to the paddock outside the horse barn where Virginia was munching her morning ration of hay. The mare lifted her head and extended her neck toward Dawn, snuffling her hand for treats. Dawn liked the smell of the mare’s earthy breath, the fragrance of sweet grass and peat.
Thoughts of her conversation with her father intruded on her own moments of solitude. Her father wished for her to make a good marriage match, convinced happiness would follow. She’d tried to imagine the possibility, even as her father sang Nathan’s praises this morning. But Nathan? It was laughable. Her father didn’t know him as well as she. She doubted that any woman could hold him for longer than his passion ran its course. He thrived on freedom. She’d more easily find some common ground with the more somber, Mr. Brennan.
She laughed to herself, reminded of Lena’s comment yesterday. Some thoughts should just pass on through, interesting to contemplate, but only for a moment.
“What’s got you up at the break of day?”
She started at his voice, turning to it.
Nathan stepped up beside her, holding out a half-filled cup of steaming coffee. “Sorry, I spilled some.”
Dawn smiled and accepted the cup, pleased to see swirls of cream—just the way she liked it. “Thank you.”
He propped his arms on the top rail. “Pretty country. Just not for me though. I like my vistas sprinkled with interesting architecture and even more interesting people.” He winked at her. “Perhaps a few more cafes.”
She knew the reference he was making. Dawn took a deeper drink of the strong coffee, feeling the tension of the morning ease as warmth spread through her. “I heard Evan and Luke mention shooting practice today. Are you going with them?”
“No, I think I’ll keep you ladies company in town. Lena said we’re invited to church, and I heard there’s a picnic after. I’ll take along my sketchbook just in case I’m inspired by a few faces.”
She allowed her gaze to rest on her friend. Her thoughts traveled back to that summer. She’d always appreciated that Nathan was a handsome man with sculpted good looks and a winsome, natural good nature. His spontaneity and quick wit could make her laugh, and he was never lacking for an interesting topic to discuss or, more often, debate. She’d never thought of him as anything more than a friend, but knowing now what her father most desired for her, should she rethink their relationship? Perhaps she should wonder if he might rethink their relationship. He’d seemed to enjoy her company for just that and nothing more. Of all the men she’d known, he was the least objectionable candidate. She smiled to herself at the left-handed compliment she might have given him.
For him, their union would relieve the pressure to marry that he was likely receiving from his parents. Even if it were a short-term arrangement, couldn’t she accept that? When he tired of her, she could give him his freedom, and her father would be married and none the wiser.
Nathan turned to her. “You’re uncharacteristically quiet this morning. What weighty matters are you contemplating behind that clouded expression? Surely, you wouldn’t be entertaining romantic thoughts about a handsome artist.”
Dawn blinked and felt her cheeks warm. She stuttered, “Why would you say that?”
“Well, Mr. Brennan is a serious romantic with these ideas of adventuring into the wilds, following in the footsteps of Audubon, tracking down bears and lions.”
She laughed softly. “Is that what you think? Really? I thought you knew me better.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “People change. Even Audubon had a wife waiting for him when he returned from the wilderness. Sounds like a very nice life for a woman who appreciates her freedom.”
“Is that how you view me? Am I a suffragette, now?”
He gave her a long look that ended in a knowing smile. “You are the model of an independent woman, the kind that does not offend when she speaks her mind, one who is tactful but direct. You are a portrait of the ideal woman of the coming century.”
***
Luke sighted down the barrel, drew in a slow breath and held it, then pulled the trigger. The impact of the stock against his shoulder shocked him again. Unfortunately, the frying pan target remained silent and untouched.
“What did I do wrong this time?” Luke asked, frustration simmering to nearly boiling temperature.
Evan scratched his jaw. Suddenly, his eyes went wide, and he reached over laying his hand on the barrel of the gun, pushing it to point away from his gut. “First, keep your barrel facing the target.”
“Sorry.” Luke dropped the barrel.
“Did you pull or squeeze the trigger?” Evan asked.
Luke reimagined the shot. He remembered the jerk. He sighed.
“Thought so. It takes time and a lot of practice,” Evan said.
Luke tucked the Winchester rifle in the crook of his arm. He strode to the tree stump and found the box of cartridges nearly empty. How much practice would it take? In the hour they’d been here, he’d only twice heard the satisfying plink of metal when his bullet tapped the side of the pan. “Looks like I owe you a box.”
Evan gave a snort that slid into a chuckle. “You should’ve seen how many I went through teaching Lena.”
There was small comfort in that. After all, he was a man and expected to know how to do something like this, wasn’t he?
“I’ll go rustle some sandwiches from the kitchen. Meet me in the barn later.” Evan watched Luke loading and added, “Just keep at it, and try to remember to breathe. Don’t have the answer, but that seems a challenge for most.”
Luke wasn’t as sure of himself and the decision to tag along on Evan’s mission today as he’d been at sunrise. Then, the idea of heading out in search of a mountain lion sounded thrilling. Now, he wondered if he’d only serve as bait for the cat.
They rode north along the same trail as yesterday, but heading farther up the valley. It was easy riding, and Evan wasn’t much for small talk, so Luke relaxed into the slow gait of his horse. At that easy pace, he could study the surrounding landscape in a way his artist’s eye could appreciate. On either side of the trail the monochrome blues of the distant hills stretched out, growing lighter in tone as they faded to gray farther into the distance.
Evan glanced over his shoulder, pointing to a fence post a few feet from the trail. “That’s the northwest corner of our ranch. Bart saw the cat’s tracks about a mile from here. They led up there.” He gestured to a hill rising steeply to the east.
Luke pressed his knees to the horse’s side and moved up beside Evan. “So, what does it mean? I understand your need to protect the herd, but there must be hundreds of predators up here. Surely, you don’t hunt them all.”
“We don’t. We’d have time for little else if we did.” He tugged the brim of his hat lower on his brow. “This cat’s become a problem. Got a taste for beef. They usually hunt the deer, and that’s good, cause if they don’t, the deer will overpopulate the area and just die of starvation come winter.”
Luke hadn’t considered that. “So, that’s why you don’t just kill off all the ones you find.”
Evan gave a slow nod.
“Every creature has its purpose.”
“How will you know which cat to hunt down?”
“First, we’ll locate the tracks Bart saw yesterday. They should still be fresh enough. Then we’ll follow her trail.”
“Her?”
“The tracks Bart saw were small, not big enough for a male, unless it’s a young one. Doubtful.”
Luke eyed the open areas beneath the trees. “Do they hunt people?”
“They’re naturally shy of humans. Although if they were hungry enough.” Evan pulled up and dismounted near a stream meandering across the trail. “Gonna take a look.”
Evan stooped at the edge of the stream, studying the muddy shore. Rising again, he walked upstream surveying the ground on both sides before returning. “Looks like a female. Tracks go up the valley.” He looked up at Luke. “You still want to come along? You can turn back here. No shame in that. Don’t’ think you signed on for this.”
Luke shifted his gaze to the wooded hillside. His imagination started off without him, and he pulled in the reins of it before he lost his nerve. “Let’s go.”
One thing Luke learned from picking his way through the forested hillside was the need to let the horse find its own footing. Whenever Luke tried to redirect the buckskin’s path, he got them both into trouble encountering either head-decapitating, low-hanging branches or slippery rock slides. A few hours in, both the horse and rider were weary, and he finally stopped fighting the horse’s keener senses.
It was an hour or so after midday, when Evan waved them to a stop. Luke slung his leg over the saddle and dropped to his feet with a groan. “How long does it take to get used to it?”
Evan’s upper lip twitched. “You mean your backside hasn’t formed callouses yet?”
Luke scowled. “Someone should cushion these contraptions of torture.”
Evan dug into his pack and pulled out a sandwich for Luke, then settled himself on a flat rock with his. Luke chose to stand.
“There are plenty of tracks around here, so we may be in an area that territories cross. We may need to backtrack to follow the one we’re after.”
“They’re two of them?” Luke asked.
“Another one looks like it crossed into this one’s territory. That’s what I’m thinking. They’re solitary animals, so this was no social gathering.”
The hairs at the back of Luke’s neck prickled uncomfortably. He tugged at his collar, throwing a glance over his shoulder.
“Good thing. Her territory’s pretty big, so she probably doesn’t have cubs.”
“That matters?”
“Don’t like to orphan any beast if I can avoid it.”
Luke stuffed the last of his bread into his mouth. He pulled the rifle from its scabbard and checked to reaffirm that he had a cartridge ready to chamber. At the same time, he wondered if he’d have the presence of mind to pull the trigger if needed. He started when Evan stepped up to the gelding’s head, laying his hand on its neck.
“Good idea,” Evan said. “Assume nothing, except the unexpected.” He scratched the buckskin behind the ear. “And trust your horse’s instincts, especially for sensing danger. Watch these ears. You’ll learn a lot.” He didn’t smile when he said it, and from the firm line of his mouth, Luke knew he was deadly serious.
When Evan mounted his horse again, he lay the rifle across his lap, one hand on the action. Luke reached down and pulled his from the scabbard. It was awkward at first, holding the reins with one hand and gripping the rifle with the other, but he caught onto it after a few slips.
They retraced their tracks. Evan dismounted a few more times, checking the ground. Each time, Luke forced his eyes to scan the surrounding area instead of watching Evan. He wouldn’t be much use to the man if he didn’t provide a second set of eyes focused in a different direction.
“I’ll head over to the south facing slope,” Evan said as he pulled himself back into the saddle. “It’s a little rougher. Remember, let the buckskin watch the ground for you.”
With each step, Luke marveled at the horse’s agility. Had he been on foot through these boulders, he’d have made much slower time. Like his horse, he’d been watching the ground for some time when the buckskin snapped its head up, ears flat. Luke tightened his grip on the rifle and searched the thick brush and boulder strewn slope.
A few feet ahead, Evan had dismounted, his back against the flank of his horse, the butt of his rifle stock up to his shoulder.
The buckskin shifted nervously beneath Luke. It occurred to him that aiming from the back of an anxious animal would be far more difficult than from the ground. He kicked free of the stirrups, swung his leg over and, like Evan, slid to the ground in a crouch. Should he hold onto his horse’s reins? He glanced over to where the rancher stood.
Luke took in a sudden breath, the hairs on his neck rising again.
It was beautiful with its sleek, golden coat caught in the afternoon sun. Not more than thirty feet away from Evan and his horse the cat crouched on a boulder. With his back to his horse, Evan couldn’t have seen the cat. But Luke had a direct line of fire.
In seconds, he had to make a half-dozen choices. Lifting the gunstock to his shoulder, he propped the gun’s barrel on the rump of his horse, sighted and squeezed the trigger. There’d been no time to consider his breath.
With the explosion, Luke had fallen back as the buckskin jerked back. With the rifle still in his grip, he gained his footing and swung back to take aim at where the cat had been. Gone now. He shot a glance to where Evan had been earlier. His horse stood farther up the slope pawing the ground, but the man crouched, his rifle at the ready, facing in the direction of where the cat had been and Luke had fired.
Luke called out, “Where’d it go?” He scanned the surrounding rocks and brush line.
Evan eased forward, one cautious step at a time.
Luke followed, swinging his rifle as he swung his head, left and right, up then down.
“You hit her.” Evan was squatting on the rock where the cat had been seconds earlier. He lifted two blood-covered fingers, then straightened and surveyed the area. He was frowning when Luke met up with him.
Luke’s heart restarted beating at a more normal pace. He hit the lion. He’d actually shot her.
Evan looked up with a dark expression. “Have to go after her.”
Luke asked, “Won’t she just leave the area now or die from her injury?”
The lines around Evan’s mouth deepened into a distinct look of disapproval. “It’s not our way.” He turned to his horse, and drove his rifle into the scabbard, then swung into the saddle gathering up the reins. “You can find your way back.”
The elation at his successful shot suddenly deflated. From Evan’s reaction, Luke knew he’d violated some silent code of the west. He also knew that he needed to understand that code, and that this man was the one to teach him. He trotted back to his horse, grabbed the gelding’s reins and pulled himself into the saddle. The buckskin responded, stepping up at the pressure of Luke’s knees.
Evan glanced back, met Luke’s eyes, then turned and started off. Luke followed speechless as Evan.
The sun’s rays slanted low through the pine branches striking the tree trunks along the western slope when Evan made the call to turn back for the ranch.
As Luke turned his horse’s head to retrace their path, the optimism that had him thinking of following in the steps of frontier artists seemed less likely over the course of the day. He was city born and bred, except for those brief childhood years in Ireland. What did he know of the wilderness and what it demanded of a man? He was learning that it might be more than he could muster.
Trail weary as they were, they spoke not at all through the falling dusk. Luke held to his conviction that the cat would have sprung at Evan had he not taken the shot. Although Evan didn’t speak of it, Luke also realized his inadequacies had turned what might have been a triumph into a defeat.
Chapter Twelve
Perspectives
>
“If you could kick the person in the pants responsible for most of your trouble, you wouldn’t sit for a month.” Theodore Roosevelt
June 30, 1890
Dawn took a tentative step and then another until she’d crossed the bedroom to the exterior door of their suite. She straightened her shoulders, lifted her chin, and crossed the room again, faster this time. With her eyes on her feet, she marveled that the blacksmith could do such work! She recalled the price she’d paid the Austrian shoemaker on Third Avenue and felt peeved that this man had charged so little. Maybe she should take all her shoe needs to blacksmiths. The thought amused her, when she sorely needed to think of less weighty matters.
She adjusted the wool split skirt Lena had loaned her, tipping her head from one side to the other as she considered her reflection in the vanity mirror. The cut was rather flattering, and without the annoyance of a bustle, quite daring as well.
Dawn’s father had left before sunrise for another fishing trip, this time with Nathan and Bart. She’d heard him try to slip out without disturbing her and allowed him to think she was sleeping. In truth, she didn’t feel ready to put on her brave face and pretend she was glad for the disruption to her world.
But with the light of another sparkling day streaming through her windows, her spirits lifted. Nathan’s words might have helped as he spoke of her as a woman who appreciated her freedom. Was she? Had she appreciated just how much freedom she had enjoyed under her father’s roof and manner of indulgent child-rearing? Wasn’t she the very image of a modern woman that the suffragettes celebrated? This was a new and interesting notion to ponder as she looked to an uncertain future.
A Portrait of Dawn Page 11