Trudy

by Debra Holland

  Then in a swath of mud, several paw prints followed the horseshoe shapes. A frisson of fear raced down Seth’s spine. Panther. He pulled out his Colt, resisting the urge to knee Copper into a gallop. Instead, he eyed the trees ahead of him, looking for a sturdy limb jutting from the trunks near the path—one large enough for the big cat to lie in wait for his prey.

  His heart pounded so loudly, the sound thumped in Seth’s ear. He had to rein in the desperate urge to rush to Trudy.

  Up ahead, a disturbed area of leaves showed a skid of deep paw prints where the panther had leaped from its perch. Blowing out a relieved breath, Seth realized the panther must have missed its target, but that didn’t mean the animal hadn’t given chase. A female cat with young to feed might be desperate enough to pursue a woman on a horse.

  About to urge Copper to continue on to Chappie’s, Seth saw a spot of red along the game trail heading toward the left. With a swift glance toward Chappie’s to make sure he couldn’t see his wife, he guided the horse down the small path.

  The sight of Trudy’s shawl dangling from a branch kicked fear into his gut. “Trudy!” he yelled. “Trudy!” Seth peered though the falling snow, trying to see her and listened for a sound in response. The stillness of the woods was his only answer. The hushed silence pressed in on him. Untangling the shawl, he examined the threads, but couldn’t see any signs of blood. Relieved the cat hadn’t injured her, Seth wrapped the scarf around his shoulders and rode after his wife.

  But his sense of relief was short-lived, for he spotted a layer of white where the flakes now stuck to the ground. By taking a game trail, Trudy could easily lose her direction. Soon the snow would cover up any trace of his wife’s passing. His gut clenched.

  Dear God, please help me find her!

  * * *

  A cold wind blew through the trees, setting the branches waving and tossing a flurry of snow into her face to sting her nose and cheeks. Trudy shivered, hunched her shoulders, and realized she’d lost her hat and her shawl.

  There was no help for it. Trudy knew she needed to backtrack. But the thought of facing that cat again made her spirits quail.

  Never run from trouble, Birdie girl. How many times had her father said that? How she wished he were here now. Even better, Trudy wished she were safe at home in St. Louis in front of the fire. Dreaming of adventures wasn’t the same as living them.

  But then I wouldn’t have Seth. Her heart squeezed at the thought.

  She saw a dead branch, as long and thick as her arm, laying on one of the rocks in front of her. Nudging Saint forward, Trudy leaned over and grabbed one end, then banged it against the rock, testing to make sure the wood wasn’t rotten.

  Feeling a little stronger with a weapon in her hand, she reached down and stroked Saint’s neck. The horse seemed to have calmed down. “You ready to go back, boy. Face that big cat?”

  Neither horse nor woman was ready, but Trudy kneed the gelding toward the trees, riding with the reins in one hand, holding up the stick like a club in the other. The back of her neck prickled, and her shoulders tensed. She scanned the trees, searching for the cat.

  Her arm began to tire, then to ache, and Trudy briefly lowered the club to her lap. She saw her hat, sodden on the ground, and rode on by, too scared to dismount and pick it up.

  Saint shivered, tossed his head, and backed a few steps.

  “What is it, boy?” But her racing heart told Trudy the answer. She raised the stick before she saw the animal in front of her crouched to pounce. “Hey!” She yelled and brandished her weapon.

  The cat didn’t move, just flicked its tail, yellow eyes intent on her.

  Saint’s muscles tightened.

  Before the horse could bolt, Trudy threw the stick with all her might.

  The animal leaped to the side. The stick hit the ground and bounced, but the end hit the cat’s side.

  With a yowl, the cat vanished into the trees. Trudy heard the sounds of the animal’s retreat as it crashed through the underbrush.

  Saint didn’t wait for Trudy’s command, springing forward and racing down the trail as fast as the terrain would allow. They came to a fork, and the horse slowed.

  Right or left? The snow fell thicker, covering the ground. As the heat in her body caused by the charge of fear dissipated, Trudy started to shiver. She tried to think through the way they’d come. Had they taken two forks or three? If I chose wrong, the consequences may be dire.

  Saint let out a whinny, echoed by another horse out of sight along the right hand trail.

  “Trudy!”

  Seth! At the sound of his voice, relief burst through her. “Seth, I’m here!” She headed Saint in the direction of his voice.

  Rounding a bend, Saint and Copper came nose to nose. Seth rode forward until the two horses were squeezed side by side. He leaned over and gave her a fierce hug. “Thank God, I’ve found you.” He kissed her, then unwrapped the shawl from his shoulders and tied it around her head. Grabbing a bundle from behind his saddle, he handed her the coat and two blankets. “Put this on,” he commanded. “Then wrap the blankets around you. Hurry, Trudy. There’s a panther on the prowl.”

  “I saw it. Threw a stick and hit that cat. Chased it off. Went that way.” She pointed behind her.

  His tight expression relaxed. “Good for you, Mrs. Flanigan.” His eyes showed a glint of humor. “Sounds like that panther figured you were too bothersome to make a good meal. But just in case, let’s move on out.”

  Trudy shrugged into her coat, pulling the welcome warmth around her, and draped one of the blankets in front of her, covering her hands and legs. She wouldn’t be able to manipulate the reins as well, but with Copper’s reassuring presence, Saint had settled down to his normal placid self.

  Seth tucked the other blanket over her head and shoulders. “I’ll back Copper. There’s a wide spot behind me a few feet, and I can turn her. You stay put,” he ordered. “Follow as soon as I’m in the right direction, pass me, and ride in front.”

  Trudy obeyed. Just having her husband behind her eased her fear. She relaxed, feeling the pain in her shoulders and neck from holding herself so stiffly.

  Within a few minutes, they reached the bigger path.

  Saint plodded to the right.

  She heard the sound of Copper’s hoofbeats trotting to catch up, until Seth rode at her side.

  With a narrowed gaze, Seth studied the sky. “The snow’s lighter. Think this storm’s about done. We’re almost as close to home as to Chappie’s. So it’s best we keep going.”

  She nodded her agreement.

  “Tell me what happened, Trudy. Why did you set out alone?” There was a serious note in his voice that she’d never heard before.

  Is he angry with me? The thought made her stomach tighten. “Seemed like a good idea at the time. Mrs. Murphy came today wanting more yarrow and sage for her husband.” Trudy hurried through the tale, the words tumbling out. She couldn’t tell what Seth was thinking, for his hat shadowed his expression.

  The snow lessened, then stopped. In the distance, the clouds parted and a sliver of sky appeared. Trudy watched the strip of blue widen. “I had no idea it would snow.”

  “It’s always best to be prepared for snow.”

  “But this is May.”

  “But this is Montana,” he echoed. “We can get snow all year around. ’Cept July.”

  “I had no idea.” She glanced at him and away. “Are you angry with me?” she asked in a timid voice.

  With a shake of his head, Seth sighed. “No. But, I’ve never been so scared in my life as when I saw those panther tracks.” He lifted off his hat. “Did you turn my hair white?”

  Trudy laughed in relief. “No.” She sobered. “I’m sorry, Seth. Truly, I am.”

  He replaced his hat. “I was afraid I’d to have to write Mrs. Seymour and request she send me a new bride.”

  Trudy swatted his leg. “If you do that, be sure to ask for Prudence Crawford.” She grinned at him, glad to have their
relationship back on an even note. “Well, I said I wanted adventures, and now I’ve had one.”

  Seth halted Copper, reached over, and pulled on Saint’s reins. The gelding stopped. He leaned close and dropped a kiss on her lips. “Maybe next time you get a hankering for an adventure, we can go together.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  A week later, carrying an armful of Seth’s clothing and her sewing basket, Trudy stepped out onto the porch and took a seat on her grandmother’s rocking chair, which her husband had uncrated a few days after her arrival.

  Henry lifted his head from where he rested on an old blanket nearby and gave her a doggie smile. His tail thumped a welcome, but he didn’t move from his spot.

  Trudy set the clothes and sewing basket on the bench beside her, rose, and went over to the dog. She scratched behind his ears. She’d become very fond of Henry, finding companionship in the old sweet-tempered hound. Her gaze drifted to the barn, to the pasture, to the distant fields. Holding back wasn’t in her nature, and she’d already invested herself in this place, animals and all.

  Not seeing her husband, she took a seat and opened the lid of her sewing basket. She took out her thimble and slid it on her finger, pulled a needle from the pincushion, and sorted through the spools of thread until she found a blue one. She unwound a piece, and then cut it off.

  Today was the first time since marrying Seth that Trudy felt caught up—not that a woman ever caught up on the daily round of cooking, cleaning, sewing, gardening and all the other endless tasks to keep body and soul together. But all her boxes, except for the ones in the barn, were unpacked and her possessions sorted away. She’d planted the garden, and the seedlings she had growing in the house would be ready to transplant in a few days.

  They’d had several visitors—people bringing gifts of seeds and cuttings or plants, preserves, cakes or pies. Their generosity had resulted in flowerbeds in front of the house and Trudy not having to bake anything beyond the deep-dish apple pie and the gingerbread men she’d made in her first days here. One more dessert remained. After they’d eaten the molasses pie, she’d be making her own desserts. Again, not that she minded. She’d found true domestic enjoyment in keeping her own home. Seth was so appreciative of her efforts.

  Now if only there was some time to explore. Trudy gazed longingly at the mountains. Be patient, she told herself, not for the first time. Seth had promised to take her sightseeing when the press of spring planting and calving had eased. She knew that time was drawing near. Having, Jethro, the hired man, back at work had certainly sped things up.

  Trudy held up a flannel shirt to the light, checking to see if she could just mend the tear or if she needed to apply a patch. She threaded her needle, knotted the end, held the fabric flat, and began to stitch the edges together. As her fingers worked the tear, she pondered something that had been nagging at her for the last week or so—not enough to make her stop and think on it, but enough to keep niggling at the back of her mind. Something she’d been too busy during the day and too tired at night to mull over.

  Seth.

  She’d found far more happiness and satisfaction in her marriage than she’d thought possible. True affection was growing between them. Trudy didn’t see her husband much, with him being out in the barn or the fields. But she enjoyed his company when they ate meals together and loved sitting on the porch with him after supper, talking and watching the sunset.

  She set another few stitches, trying to figure out what bothered her about him. He was kind and attentive. Like any man, he had his quiet periods when he needed to think. Yet there were instances when she sensed something else was wrong.

  He seemed fine on the surface—maybe even too fine—talking and joking with her, but… Trudy carefully thought over the events of their marriage. In retrospect, she remembered the first dark mood happening when they’d been in town buying the chickens. Then, their second evening together… During the meal, everything had been lovely. He’d left to repair a fence, and returned changed—quiet on the inside, even though on the outside, he acted just as attentive as before.

  Slowly, Trudy pieced though the weeks of her marriage and came up with several other occasions when she’d felt something was wrong. But since all had seemed fine on the surface, she’d told herself she was just being silly. A man certainly had a right to his moods just as a woman did.

  And really, she had no complaints. She should be moving toward sharing a more intimate marriage with him. She certainly enjoyed Seth’s kisses, and in fact had almost come close a time or two to inviting him to share her bed. But before she could, one of those odd moods would happen, and she’d change her mind. Not, Trudy told herself, that the circumstances were that cut-and-dried for her to even have realized she’d made a decision. She’d just gone with her feelings, not thought about what she was doing.

  Why am I being so picky? No man’s perfect. Considering, this is a mail-order marriage…I’m lucky to have found such a wonderful husband.

  Evie’s warning to refrain from falling in love floated into her mind. Trudy knew if she and Seth took that next step, she would have a harder time keeping her emotions in check. She finished mending the tear and knotted the thread. After reaching for her scissors, she snipped off the end.

  I have to just accept Seth will have these odd moments and not let it bother me. It’s not that he’s angry or critical or withdrawn.

  Trudy folded the shirt, running a hand over the fabric that would cover her husband’s body and set it on the bench. Rising, she went into the house. In the kitchen, she picked up two pieces of wood to add to the fire in the stove. The chicken she was roasting for dinner looked golden and crispy.

  She heard the pound of Seth’s boots on the steps to the porch. That’s strange. At this hour, he should still be in the fields. He sounded like he was in a hurry, and a sudden spike of anxiousness made her shut the oven door and turn to observe him.

  Seth dashed inside without stopping to take off his boots. His gray eyes blazed with excitement.

  Seeing no sign of blood or injury, Trudy relaxed and opened her mouth to scold him for startling her. But before she could get the words out, he swung her into a bear hug.

  Flustered, Trudy gasped, “Seth Flanigan, whatever are you about?”

  With a chuckle, he set her down. “The crops are sprouting. The calves are born. The fences mended,” Seth continued to check off a list. “The chicken coop built. The garden planted. The kitchen cupboard is hung, and I even have a second rocker on the porch. It’s time, Mrs. Flanigan.” His gray eyes danced.

  “Time for what?” Trudy asked, bewildered by his strange behavior.

  “Time for us to take off for the rest of the day. Jethro is going to stay late and handle the milking. I have it in mind to show you some scenery. I know you’ve had a hankering to explore, and now’s your chance.” He patted her fanny. “Go change into riding clothes and pack us a picnic while I saddle the horses.”

  Trudy clasped her hands together. “Oh, Seth, really?”

  “Really,” he echoed. “So you’d better get a move on, Mrs. Flanigan. Time’s a wastin’.”

  Trudy scurried to obey. She rushed into her bedroom to don her riding outfit.

  By the time she’d finished changing, the chicken was cooked, and she set it to cool while she buttered rolls and spread them with jam. Then she wrapped the chicken in brown paper, followed by a layer of wax paper, and tied the parcel with a length of string. She made a similar package for the rolls and set both on the table. Tapping her mouth with one finger, she tried to figure out if they’d need water. Should she bring a jar?

  Through the open door, she heard the sound of horses and hurried to pluck her straw hat from the antler rack. As she tied the ribbons under her chin, Trudy vowed to buy herself a Stetson like Seth’s to go with her Western riding outfit. She snatched the food off the table and scurried out the door, shutting it behind her.

  Seth had already tied the horses’ reins to the por
ch rail and crouched in front of Henry, still curled up on his blanket. “Sorry, you can’t go with us, ole fellow. Your roamin’ days are over. You stay here and guard the house.”

  As if understanding him, the dog dropped his muzzle onto his paw, his expression dejected.

  Seth rubbed Henry’s head. He stood, a sorrowful look in his eyes. “Henry always trotted along with me when I went exploring. It seems strange…” He pressed his lips together.

  “I understand.” She touched his arm in sympathy. “I’m sure the Good Lord knew what He was doing when He gave animals a shorter lifespan than ours. But when you love one, it’s hard to bear, nevertheless.”

  “That it is.”

  “Should I bring water?” Trudy asked, hoping to turn his mind from his dog’s aging.

  “Nope. There will be plenty where we’re going.” He held out both hands. “Let me take the food.”

  Trudy handed over the packets, and he tucked them in Copper’s saddlebags.

  For the first time, Trudy noticed both horses carried burlap bags slung across the backs of the saddle. Copper had a blanket roll, with what looked like a folded-up shovel wrapped inside. She pointed to the paint horse. “What’s that for?”

  Seth’s eyes twinkled. “A surprise.”

  Relieved to see he’d thrown off his melancholy, Trudy tried to guess what kind of surprise would require a shovel but gave up when Seth took her hand and pulled her toward Saint.

  Seth untied Saint’s reins and handed them to her. He laced his fingers together. “Up you go, Mrs. Flanigan.”

  Oh, how she liked when he called her that. Trudy set her foot in his hands and swung her leg over Saint’s back, settling in the saddle.

  “Wait right here.” He trotted up the steps and into the house, returning in just a minute carrying the rifle that normally hung over the door.

  Trudy eyed the gun and shivered. After her encounter with the panther, the reality that their adventures might involve danger took an edge off her excitement.

  Seth caught her eyeing the rifle as he slid it into the scabbard on Copper’s saddle. “I doubt I’ll need this, Trudy. But just in case… I’d rather be prepared than sorry.”