Dawn immersed herself in the exhilaration of an entire community. She recalled what her father had said when they’d first arrived. He’d sensed it then, this energy of a people standing on the threshold of tomorrow’s expansive dreams, as far-reaching as Idaho’s horizons. That hopeful expectation was what she read in the faces of each person she met. From the barber to the town mayor, they were all children this day. She scanned the crowd for the artist. Did he feel it too, this undercurrent of hope?
As the last wagon passed, Lena stepped up behind Dawn and touched her sleeve. “I wanted to be here for Dr. Reynolds’ speech. He’s such a quiet man. I’m surprised he’s one of the speakers.”
Dawn pointed to the stage and said, “He’s next to Maddie to the right side of the stage.
When Edward noticed Lena beside Dawn, he rose to his feet and held the chair for her. “Please, Mrs. Hartmann.”
She nodded her thanks. “My feet are a little weary. Thank you.” She slid with a sigh into the chair, then leaned close to Dawn’s ear. “Dr. Reynolds is a brilliant man with foresight, and many here are looking to him for leadership. It wouldn’t surprise me to see him receive a call from this community to step into representing our interests in the capitol. I personally think it would be our best opportunity to be heard, and I’m not alone in that opinion.”
Dawn wondered just how much Lena knew of politics, how demanding it could be on a man’s personal life, his wife. She scanned Mrs. Reynolds’ face, smiling and speaking softly to her husband. Did she?
When Dr. Reynolds took the stand, shoulders back, eyes surveying the crowd, she had the sense of strength that would not show itself until called upon. He arranged his papers before him, then lifted his head once again. His gaze lifted to their balcony and she watched him give a slight nod of his head. Lena returned the recognition in kind, an encouraging smile spread wide.
He spoke then, in a voice that carried well. His words were of the past, of the tough men who found treasure in the mountains and stayed, turning to ranching and farming when the mines became too costly to exploit. He spoke of the present, of the railroad, the courageous pioneers, and all those who now staked a claim on the land. Then he spoke to the future.
“Some say that our expectations for tomorrow are too grand, that we are scarcely more than a territory, scarcely heard in our state capitol, let alone our nation’s. But I believe we are a community of hopeful people or we would not stand here with our feet planted in this frontier. We’ve endured hardships. We’ve endured loss. But most important, we’ve endured.
“I think if we refuse to plan for tomorrow because we fear disappointments, then our quality of life is diminished. We do not want to merely exist. We want to thrive. We want to be known as a people of hope and perseverance. We want to be leaders in a country that may have forgotten its first fathers and the hope that brought them to our eastern shores—the risks they took, the sacrifices they made for the next generation. They built this nation on those hopeful expectations.”
He smiled to the assembled crowd. “This is a day to celebrate with abandon. We stand on the threshold of our children’s future. Let’s continue to stand together on this significant day and all those to follow.”
His final words met with thunderous applause. Hats soared into the air. Gunshots rang. Voices, young and old, cheered.
Dawn caught her father’s eye, and she arched an eyebrow in question. The smile he gave her in return confirmed her suspicion that he and Dr. Reynolds had discussed his speech. It was her father’s dream, and it was now a state’s great expectation for generations to come. Her heart swelled with the voices still cheering about her. People unafraid of imagining tomorrow, of dreaming what might be. She wondered if she still held that kind of courage in some deep place within her. Hope rekindled.
From a balcony two buildings down the street, Dawn glimpsed Luke. He wasn’t sketching. Instead, he was on his feet clapping. As if he’d felt her eyes on him, he turned, smiling across the space that separated them, his face effervescent—a portrait of hope.
The remainder of the day resolved into a flurry of activity, games, eating, ladies’ quartets, eating, men’s quartets, fiddlers, more eating. Luke appeared and disappeared, moving like some man-sized dragonfly sampling this scene and that, staying rarely more than a few minutes as his hand skittered across the page.
When he’d stopped long enough to eat a slice of Jessie’s prize-winning berry pie, Luke told her he’d met with the editor of the local paper. He’d promised to share his drawings with them for publication in the Ketchum Keystone. Dawn caught the light in his eyes, the energy she knew he’d transferred to his drawings.
She longed to speak with him at length about so many things. Mostly, she longed to spend time in his company. That realization both thrilled and frightened her. She wondered if she were simply caught up in the enthusiasm present all about her. Would this hopeful expectation possibly last beyond today?
When the last brilliant rays of pink and gold slipped behind the western hills, the Hartmann company of weary revelers pulled up in the wagon before the ranch house. The twins hung like rag dolls on their parents’ shoulders, requiring no lullabies to put them to sleep. Jessie stumbled upstairs carrying Rowena, while Bart stole a sandwich from a basket of leftovers, stuffed it in his mouth, and carried Tommy upstairs a few minutes after Jessie.
Edward excused himself for the evening, saying he was too tired and too full to consider anything other than a good night’s rest. As he passed Dawn, he leaned over and kissed her cheek. “It was an amazing day. I’m glad we shared it.” He lifted her chin with his knuckle and whispered, “I love you very much, little girl.”
“I love you too, Daddy.”
Dawn knew sleep would not come as easily for her. The events of the day had stirred to life a whirlwind of emotions within her, unlike the storm that failed to develop on this first day of statehood. With throbbing feet, she made her way to the great room where Evan was lighting a fire.
“It was a day to remember,” he breathed.
She wasn’t sure his comment was a personal observation or one to draw her into conversation. With her mind and heart so full, she remained silent and seated herself in one of the comfortable stuffed chairs before the fire.
Lena had managed in the short time they’d been back to not only brew a cup of tea but toast some of Jessie’s biscuits. She set the biscuits and a jar of honey on the table in front of the hearth. “If you’d like something a little heartier, I can cut some cold ham.”
Evan wagged his head as he stood and stretched. “You know you rarely hear this from me, but I could not manage it. Toast and tea sound perfect. I had the impression that there was some wager made between the members of your Ladies Aide Society to see how many pieces of pie they could get me to consume today.”
“If there were such immoral ventures, I had nothing to do with them,” Lena said with a firmness that suggested such an activity was in the realm of possibility.
“Do you play, Lena?” Dawn gestured to the upright piano at the far end of the room.
A shy smile was her answer. “Ely’s been trying to teach me. I’m afraid I don’t have the natural skill, but I do have the desire.”
“She’s better than she lets on,” Evan said as he moved behind Lena’s chair and squeezed her shoulders.
“When you aren’t so tired, I’d love to hear you play,” Dawn said.
“You might regret asking.” Lena’s head swung to the door. “I think I heard someone ride up. I hope it’s Luke.” She rose to her feet again and headed for the kitchen. “I’ll cut a few slices of ham. He might be hungry. Evan, will you bring in some more wood for the kitchen stove? Jessie won’t want to go out in the morning.”
Dawn sympathized for Evan as he ambled after Lena into the kitchen. She suspected he’d set the fire with aspirations of sitting before it with his feet propped up.
After a few minutes alone in the large room with only the fire for compan
y, Dawn was aware of a tension drawing her body into a tight knot. She squeezed her shoulders close to her ears and released them by slow degrees. Why hadn’t Luke come in? If it was Luke who had ridden in. It could have been one of the ranch hands, of course. After a few more minutes passed, she rose to her feet, walking over to the piano. She pressed a few keys and shook her head. It’d been too many years.
A sound outside—horse hooves on hard dirt. She turned, listening. Fresh air would help clear her mind. She stepped out onto the porch into silvered moonlight, enough light to outshine the brightest stars. The air carried the heady scent of lavender. She breathed in and closed her eyes, concentrating on the soothing fragrance.
Lantern light streamed through the open door to the barn. Whoever had just ridden in would be brushing down his mount, throwing in a portion of grass, and no doubt, checking on the water trough. She looked down to see her fingers digging into the porch railing, white in the moonlight. Why was she so tense?
“Pretty evening isn’t it?”
She jumped at the sound of Luke’s voice coming from behind her. She turned to see his eyes reflecting the moon in perfect orbs of white. “I thought you were in the barn,” she mumbled.
“That’s Benjamin. He offered to take care of the horse so I could clean up. See?” He held up the collar of his white shirt. Didn’t want to traipse my dirt through the Hartmann’s front room. Cleaned up down in the bunkhouse and slipped into my room through the porch. Noticed there weren’t any lamps lit in your rooms. I thought perhaps you’d turned in.” He dropped his gaze to his feet, adding, “I’m glad you didn’t.”
Her mouth was suddenly so very dry, and she regretted not bringing her cup of tea with her. “Did you have a successful day?”
Luke nodded and stepped up beside her, dropping his hands to the porch railing. “I hope I have a few my editor will choose to run. The local paper picked a fair number they’re willing to pay me for.” He threw a glance at her, then turned it back out to the night. “Did Nathan come back yet?”
“I haven’t heard.”
Luke shifted his feet. He seemed uneasy, unlike this morning.
“Dr. Reynold—” Dawn started.
“Dr. Reynolds’ speech—”
They laughed in unison. Luke said, “Go on. You were saying?”
“No. Please. After you.”
“I was about to comment on his speech and how well it was received. I think he captured everything, the excitement, the challenges, the hope! Makes you want to be a part of it, doesn’t it? What he said about standing on a threshold to tomorrow was brilliant.”
Dawn felt the same warmth she had when Dr. Reynolds repeated her father’s words. “Yes, brilliant.”
“It was that hope for something more, that brought the first settlers, wasn’t it? It’s what brought my parents from Ireland. Dreaming is something we do every night. We wake. We start fresh. We sleep. We dream. It’s our natural rhythm, isn’t it? Without it, we’re as good as dead.” He turned to her, his eyes somber and shadowed. “You were right. Everything you said about my excuses was true.”
“I’m sorry, I—”
“No.” He lowered his voice. “Don’t be sorry for saying what’s true. Never stop being honest. I am the biggest obstacle in my own path.” He caught her eyes and held them. “I don’t want to live a life of regret. I don’t want to look back and wonder what might have been—if I’d had the courage. You helped me see that.”
Dawn had no words akin to his impassioned ones. His thoughts pressed more heavily upon her than her own.
Piano music drifted from the house. Dawn turned her head to the window. She saw Lena sitting at the piano. Evan stood behind, turning the pages of her music. What risks had these two taken to find each other?
Luke leaned forward, arms resting on the porch railing, relaxed now. He recalled for her scenes he’d captured that day. His voice was soft, even subdued. She took a step closer to his side, not wishing to miss a single word. He told her how he hoped to add watercolor to a few of the better sketches.
Caught up in his creative revelry, she saw them through his eyes, his clear, sky blue eyes. His words painted in the missing color from his black and white sketches, becoming a kind of poetry.
“I know that tune,” Luke said. He turned to the window, watching Lena and Evan for a time. “When my father’s drinking friends had taken a bit too much of the bottle, they often sang it from the street below my window.” He nodded to the house. “There. Listen. Evan knows the words.”
It was not a tune she recognized, simple but painfully sweet.
Evan sang the words in a rich baritone, a love tune.
Way down in the meadow where the lily first blows,
Where the wind from the mountain ne’er ruffles the rose;
Lives fond Evelina, the sweet little dove,
The pride of the valley, the girl that I love.
“Sweet Evelina. Nice, isn’t it?” He reached for her hand and squeezed it. “May I have this dance, Miss Fairburn?”
Dawn’s lips parted, aware of her accelerating heartbeat. The words to explain, to excuse, wouldn’t come. The greater wonder was that she didn’t want to refuse him. She dropped her gaze. “It’s difficult.”
“But not impossible?” he said, drawing her eyes back to his. “Only an obstacle to be navigated. Isn’t that what you told me? Haven’t you lived that kind of courage all your life?”
She searched the depths of his fair blue eyes, looking for the pity that wasn’t there.
“You inspire me, Dawn, and you make me ashamed of my own cowardice.”
He brought his other hand to her waist and drew her close. His smile rose to his eyes as he whispered, “I promise. I won’t let you fall.” His words brushed her cheek with warmth. “Trust me?”
He took her silence for an affirmation, taking a single step to the right and another to the left, guiding her one slow step at a time. One step, then two. Forward, then back. She stumbled, but his hand, firm at her waist, steadied her. Her neck grew warm, but not with embarrassment. She imagined the warmth of his hand a charge of energy flowing through her. One step forward. Two steps to the side. Front step. Turn. And still, he held her close.
Sweet Evelina, dear Evelina,
My love for thee shall never, never die.
Dear Evelina, sweet Evelina,
My love for thee shall never, never die.
She allowed herself to step outside her carefully constructed, safe world, trusting someone other than herself to navigate the obstacles. As his chin pressed against her head, she lay her cheek against his shoulder.
Under the light of a full moon where no one but the stars were watching, they danced. To the heavens, it mattered not at all how her steps lacked grace. They danced while Evan sang of sweet Evelina, and their clumsy steps carried them across the threshold into their unwritten tomorrow.
Chapter Eighteen
Missteps
“This world is but a canvas to our imagination.”
John Ruskin
July 4, 1890
Independence Day dawned with plans for a picnic. The men rode east of the ranch along the meandering creek. On the shore of the small lake where Lena had taken Dawn and Evan days earlier, they made their camp.
A fire blazed close to the shore, where Bart and Evan had erected a spit for cooking beef. Bart was consigned to chef. Jessie, having quipped earlier, “Outdoor cooking is man’s work. We aren’t traveling on the frontier anymore where women had to do everything from shooting at marauders to cooking the meals over an open fire. If it’s cooked outside my kitchen, it’ll be Bart’s job. We’re starting a new tradition!”
On the slope, well up from the lake, the women laid out a patch quilt covering the prickly grasses. Lena and Jessie deposited the children in the middle, along with two rag dolls and wooden blocks. Jessie reasoned that in their distance from the lake someone could easily catch up to Tommy if he sprinted for the water. With some amusement, Dawn not
iced that Lena critically positioned herself between the toddler and the shoreline.
Dawn settled near Rowena, attempting to tell a story to the child using her dolls as the characters. She quickly learned she was positively devoid of skills to hold the child’s attention for more than a few minutes. As they both lost interest, Dawn let her eyes rove their surroundings. When Luke disappeared soon after they’d arrived, she’d felt a pang of disappointment. She reasoned with herself that it only made sense that he would want to go off sketching somewhere.
“Aren’t they wonders?” Lena whispered, her fingers stroking Tommy’s fine strands of pale red hair.
“To be honest, they often unnerve me. I don’t know how to converse with them,” Dawn said, surprised by her own candor. Perhaps it was not a prudent thing to say, especially around women who prized motherhood above all other worldly endeavors.
Lena smiled. “Perhaps you shouldn’t worry so much about conversing with words. I think that’s what I find refreshing about being with them. Words are unnecessary. A child is happy if you’re simply with them. They want to know you see them. Little more.” She leaned close to Tommy’s face until he looked up at her. “I see you, Tommy. You’re clever and you have a sweet spirit. You’re a special, dear boy.”
Although Dawn knew little of a child’s psychology, she doubted he comprehended what Lena had said. But when the child rose up on his knees and threw his arms around Lena’s neck, there was no mistaking he understood the love in her tone and expression.
Dawn watched the interplay between Lena and the children, wondering why she was childless. She couldn’t have been much more than her mid-thirties. Unlike Dawn, Lena was comfortable with children and clearly loved the twins.
A Portrait of Dawn Page 17