Portraits

by Stef Ann Holm

  Later, when the supper rush had slowed, Wyatt was able to go into the dining room with Leo as he brought a plate of cookies to Leah’s table.

  “These aren’t Tu’s best,” Leo said as he set the dessert in front of Leah. “I don’t know what happened to them. They have lumps.”

  Rosalure and Tug immediately grabbed them while Wyatt awkwardly held back. He still wasn’t comfortable having Leah see him in an apron and with chapped hands, even though she’d never said anything derogatory about his job.

  Leo patted Wyatt on the back and grinned. “So you think Wyatt’s going to be a lucky buckaroo and win all the big purses tomorrow? He’s entered all four events.”

  Tug dropped his cookie to his plate. “You’re going to be a lucky buckaroo? The real thing? The one who rides on bulls and doesn’t get himself bucked off?”

  Wyatt had to admit, “I was planning on it.”

  The boy’s face lit up like a candle. “Gee!”

  Rosalure stopped eating her cookie and picked it apart. “There’s something in here.” A tiny piece of paper was revealed in the crumbles. “It has squiggly writing on it.”

  Leo took the paper from her. Wyatt recognized it as being one of Tu’s proverbs that had been floating around the kitchen.

  “What does it say?” Rosalure asked.

  Leo squinted at the tiny chicken scratches. “A well-known friend is a treasure.”

  Rosalure mused, “Pinkie Sommercamp is my best friend.”

  Tug pounded his cookie with his fist to get to the paper. “Mine. What does mine say?”

  Leo read, “Full-fledged birds fly away.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  Leah sighed and answered for Leo, “It means that you’ll grow up and be your own man.”

  “Oh. That’s nothing.” Then to Wyatt, he grinned broadly. “I’m going to be right in the front row so I can watch you win.”

  Wyatt held back the sinking feeling that was giving him a pain in his belly. He sure as hell didn’t want to fall short on showing the boy he was a capable rider, but he had no guarantee that he wasn’t going to fly off that horse’s back as soon as he was out of the gate. He didn’t want to let Tug down, and he didn’t want to look like an ass in front of Leah.

  “What’s your cookie say, Momma?” Rosalure asked.

  Leah picked up her cookie and broke it in half, handing Leo the scrap of paper.

  Leo took the proverb, reading the symbols, glancing at Leah, then returning his gaze to the paper. He hesitated before translating, “Words of unspoken love are not known.”

  Leah cleared her throat and abruptly stood. “Well that certainly doesn’t mean anything.” But as she was speaking, she stole a glance at Wyatt. He gave her a guarded stare back, thinking that the blush on her cheeks was far too high. Was she thinking loving thoughts about him?

  Wyatt wasn’t sure of anything at the moment, only that he had to win those contests tomorrow or Tug would never look up to him again. And he was getting used to having that boy thinking of him as larger than life.

  * * *

  September had begun to ignite the mountains the colors of glowing hearths: yellows, reds, and oranges. Warm, earthy tones were replacing the velvet greens of summer, leaving withering brown leaves to cartwheel through yards, streets, and alleyways. August’s kaleidoscopic of flowers faded to goldenrod and purple asters that inspired gentler moods and reflections on naked woods to come. A bounty of apples ripened to the core and were picked for ciders and pies. Orchard fruits had been plucked and put up to be brought to tables and savored during the long winter months ahead.

  Leah and the children had done their picking over the course of the week, and Hyrum Pfeiffer had stocked brimming baskets of juicy apples alongside her back porch to await canning. But Leah had never done the peeling, slicing, boiling, and sugar preparations all herself. She’d always had Geneva to help supervise; however, with Geneva’s having taken leave of her senses, the fruits were left alone to fill the air in the gallery with their delicious sweet smells for Tug and Rosalure to snatch and eat at their will.

  Saturday morning dawned clear, and with high cottony clouds slugging in from the east to provide a picture-perfect day for the annual Aspenglow River Stampede and Eternity Grange No. 321 Exposition. The event marked the last get-together before the frosts came, and the next social activity would be forced indoors into barns with cornstalks underfoot and jack-o’-lanterns lit on the hayloft rails.

  Everyone in Eternity came out for the crowning festivity of autumn. Chapter Twenty Order of the Eastern Stars set up wares in the cowhouse of the old Cloudtree Dairy Farm at the rural end of Ninth Avenue. Stanchions had been removed and became nooks with tables where there were culinary sweets aplenty to sample, sewing and stitchery handiwork to admire, and contests for largest and smallest garden vegetables to vote on. Leo would no doubt spend the entire day in the vegetable pavilion, talking about gardens with the local green-thumbs and Mr. McWhorter—who had taken first prize with his essay on gardening and her photograph as accompaniment.

  Half Pint Gilman and his crew came in every year to judge the hopefuls, and was known to hire several on if they were good enough for the arduous job. Mr. Gilman had put up the money to build the arena and grandstands, with donations coming from the citizens for concession booths and a first aid hut supported by Doc Hochstrasser and Reverend Bunderson.

  The fairgrounds were located across from Cloudtree Farm at the base of the Infinity Hills, the outcropping of sandstone from Eternity Ridge. In the flattened area below, meadow grass had grown taller than buggy wheel hubs, and a week before the exposition, men had brought out scythes and mowers to clip the blades down before bringing in Mr. Gilman’s cattle to clean up the job.

  By Friday evening, everything was in place that should be, and what wasn’t, usually was done at the last minute with a lot of laughter and good cheer.

  Leah bustled down the stairs to meet Rosalure and Tug, who waited on the porch, calling for her for the umpteenth time.

  “Yes, yes,” she breathed quickly. “I heard you.”

  “We’re going to be the last ones there,” Tug said with a sour pout. He had taken a bath earlier that morning and donned his freshly aired chaps and laundered vest. His cowboy hat hung behind his back from a cord around his neck. Leah had combed his hair to the side from a meticulous part, and the blondish brown tufts were slicked back behind his ears.

  Rosalure had made plans to meet Pinkie Sommercamp at the hoop toss game, and the two girls had decided to dress alike in rose dimity with matching hair ribbons.

  Leah paused to grab her gloves from the foyer table and gaze at her reflection for an instant to make sure her hat was pinned on straight. All looked as good as could be expected. She’d tried to dress fashionably but without appearing as if she were trying to catch Wyatt’s attention. She’d arranged her long hair into a neat bun with springy curls, which she’d painstakingly taken the iron to, framing her face. Her Eton jacket was smart, yet serviceable in case the weather took a turn toward a chill, while her polka-dotted silk skirt and challis waist were a nice complement to the sleeveless coat. Her aubergine-colored straw hat was the current style, with its trimming of cream chiffon, leaf-green ribbon, deep purple roses, and ostrich plumes.

  “Momma, I told Pinkie I’d be there by eleven.” Rosalure gazed at her chatelaine watch. “It’s five minutes until. We’ll have to run if I’m going to make it on time.”

  “Then let’s get going.” Leah shut the door behind her, not bothering to lock it. She seldom did. She figured if anyone wanted something badly enough to break in and steal it, they were welcome to whatever she had. Except her cameras. But no one in Eternity was going to steal them, as no one else would have any use for the complex devices.

  Hand in hand with Rosalure and Tug, Leah led them to the fairgrounds. Though she and Wyatt hadn’t made plans to meet up, she was hoping they would. She wanted to spend the day with him. Perhaps enter a few contests tog
ether and have fun before the rodeo. She still wasn’t keen on the idea of his risking his life on one of those untamed horses or bulls. The thought of his being thrown off into the fence scared her. She didn’t want anything to happen to him. She was . . .

  She was what?

  She was falling in love with him.

  How and why had her feelings taken such a turn? She hadn’t set out to fall in love with Wyatt; it was just happening. Maybe the feelings began the first day she saw him talking to Marshal Scudder and he’d said she had a smudge on her cheek. She’d about died when he’d told her, but had put on a straight face not to let him know she was flustered. Ever since, the heartbeats and tingles across her skin had been gaining momentum, until her blush was so easy to rouse in his company, it took everything she had to fight it off and remain calm and composed. Not to give her true feelings away.

  Beyond the physical attraction, there were many things that drew her to Wyatt. The way he looked at things. His sweetness with Tug. His patience with Rosalure. The way he’d encouraged her after her disappointing news from the academy. His suggestions about her photography. She hadn’t thought she needed a man, but she was astonished at the sense of fulfillment she felt when she was with Wyatt.

  Leah never thought she’d be feeling this way. She had never been bubbling inside with lightheadedness when Owen was near. With him, they’d fallen into a comfortable love that was neither passionate or stirring. But like a well-worn slipper, they had fit and complemented one another. She’d known him for so long before they’d married, their marriage was a natural course to take. Leah didn’t regret marrying Owen, but now she realized that by denying herself the same passion for a man that she felt for her photography, she had shorted herself.

  Would she . . . could she dare . . . an affair? There was a lot to consider. The smallness of the town, her children . . . her broken heart when he left. The unabashed thought continued to trouble her as they entered the exposition grounds.

  Tiberius N. Tee’s glossy Oldsmobile, equipped with three new tires, sat parked amid the horses and buggies beneath the shade of an oak. Apparently Standard Oil had come to town and he’d been able to fill his tank so the automobile was operable again.

  “I’ll meet you at one by the home-and-garden pavilion,” Rosalure said with a beaming smile.

  “Have fun, and stay with the Sommercamps.”

  “I will.”

  Rosalure went off, Leah watching. Her daughter was growing up, venturing into early womanhood with her dainty carriage and easy sprint. A few boys from school passed her by, saying hello and gawking after her as she left them behind. Oh, Rosalure . . . Leah mused. You’ll be getting married before I know it.

  “I want to see the horses and bulls,” Tug declared.

  Leah gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “There will be plenty of time to see the animals later.”

  Leah really should check in with Geneva at the booth, but for what purpose? Leah had none. She was still angry with Geneva for being so chummy with the salesman, and to actually have made plans to attend the exposition with him. Had she no shame? No commitment to her marriage? Leah had never cared much for what the gossips said about her being in business for herself, but Geneva was a central figure in the community and a prime target for loose tongues. Just to step out with another man while married wasn’t appropriate. It was scandalous. And Geneva had always loathed and despised scandal—unless it was about someone outside her immediate family.

  “When are we going to the barn and corral? I want to find Wyatt.”

  So did Leah. But she didn’t want to be obvious.

  Scanning the crowd for a glimpse of Wyatt’s familiar hat, she replied on an optimistic note, “Maybe we’ll run into him.”

  And ten minutes later, they did. Wearing his calf-length duster, scruffy boots, and spurs, Wyatt stood at the Independent Telephone Company’s display, examining a telephone that had been hooked up to a live wire. A temporary pole behind the decorated stand had a cable that dipped down to the table and the false wall where the phone was mounted. No doubt that fat black wire was generating power from the main office and was connected to the switchboard Leah had gazed at through the store’s window when the building had been completed just last week.

  A line of people gathered behind Wyatt, waiting for their turn to see how the phone worked.

  “Look, Momma, Wyatt’s talking on the telephone. Can we try it out, too?”

  Leah nodded and took his hand.

  Wyatt hung up the receiver, as per the instructions from the man demonstrating the telephone. Then a brrringg! sounded from the black instrument and the people moved in closer for a better look.

  “Pick up the handle, sir.” The vendor pointed to the ringing telephone. “See who it is.”

  Leah smiled as Wyatt reached out to lift the receiver and bring it to his ear. His eyes grew wide with wonder, then he held the receiver out and declared, “There’s a lady talking in there. Says her name is Tilly.”

  “Sure is. She’s operator number one down at Central. She can connect you with whomever you want to speak. Anywhere in the country that the party on the other end has a telephone.”

  “I don’t know anybody with a telephone.”

  “You will. Telephones are springing up everywhere, folks. Just think of the possibilities. We’ve got two models to choose from down at the store. Installation is nothing more than a wire run to the house and a hookup. Then you can enjoy hours on the line with those you love.”

  Wyatt cradled the receiver back on the phone mount, then let the person behind him crank the handle to ring the operator.

  “Was there really a lady in that talking machine, Wyatt?” Tug burst out, catching Wyatt’s attention and causing him to turn in their direction.

  “Hey, Tug.” Seeing Leah, he gave her a smile that melted her to her toes. “There was somebody on the other end. Somehow. Don’t know how they make her voice come through that wire.”

  Tug yanked on Leah’s jacket hem. “I want to hear!”

  Leah directed him into the line, and they waited while Wyatt stayed off to the side, his hands in the front pockets of his duster. “You sure look pretty today, Leah.”

  He stood so close, she could feel the heat from his body. Her answer was a rapid thud of her heart. “Thank you.”

  He toed a rock on the ground, gazing down, then lifting his eyes and giving her a casual shrug. “I wasn’t going to look at that telephone, but I had nothing else to do.”

  She didn’t feel the need for him to play down his curiosity about the phone. She herself was curious about how it operated. Though she doubted she’d ever install one, listening in as the operator spoke to her would be an experience. “You don’t have to defend yourself,” she said. “I’ve been wondering about it, too.”

  “I never thought I would,” he confessed.

  “I believe you’re a tad smitten with progress.”

  Minimizing her observance, he sounded nonchalant when he replied, “Maybe a little.”

  Leah smiled, and the line moved forward. When Tug’s turn came, he gripped the receiver to his ear and grinned so widely, Leah had never seen the like on his face. “She’s jabbering away at me, Momma! Said she can see the flag on the top of the dairy from where she’s sitting.” Tug swiveled around to gaze at the American flag waving softly from the stout pole on the top of Cloudtree’s.

  “Here, Momma, you try.”

  Leah extended her hand for a listen, amazed with the female voice on the other end as she identified herself. “Tilly Vandermeyer, operator number one. Eternity, Colorado. Who may I connect you with?”

  “My . . .” she sighed, then gave use of the telephone to the ladies next in line and stepped away.

  “Can you take me to see the bulls and horses?” Tug pleaded, not to his mother this time but to Wyatt.

  Wyatt inched his hat back some, giving Leah a questioning gaze. “It’s up to your mother.”

  “Only for a minute
. We don’t want to get in the way.”

  “Yippee!”

  The attendees had thickened to the point where casual strolling was almost impossible. Tug loped next to Wyatt’s right, not looking where he was going half the time, so Wyatt grabbed him and lifted him onto his shoulders for a ride. A large group of people had stopped by the fiddler’s platform and were holding up the flow to listen to the music.

  Leah accidently bumped arms with Wyatt and shot away from him before she could catch his reaction. Veering in a different direction, she held on to the smell of his shaving soap and the dusty scent of his hat. The second time she made contact with him, it was the fault of the man striding quickly to her left, jostling her toward Wyatt and causing her to brace her hand on his shoulder. Without a word, Wyatt took her elbow and kept her close to him.

  A companionable stride flowed between them as they stayed together. She gave him a tentative look, soaking in the hard edge of his profile, where determination marked his brows and the corners of his mouth. She sensed his demeanor had nothing to do with concentrating on steering them through the crowd, but rather the courage it was going to take him to ride in the rodeo.

  Though she didn’t see the logic in self-made suicide, she did sort of thrill at the prospect of seeing him holding on until he won. Her skin prickled pleasurably at the thought of his standing in the arena afterward to thunderous applause, and his seeking only her in the crowd to wave his hat high as if to dedicate his win to her. It would be a communication that needed no words. And the moment would be theirs alone.

  Leah’s near-step on a discarded candy apple made Wyatt lurch her to the right.

  “Head in the clouds?” he asked with a glint of humor.

  Flushing, Leah stammered, “Ah . . . yes. I guess. I was thinking about that telephone.”

  “Could we get one, Momma?” Tug chirped.