Mail Order Runaway

by Julianna Blake

  “That’s true.” He set a basket by the door, hung up his coat and shed his wet boots, leaving them by the back door. “I’ve got all the animals in, watered, and fed. And I collected what eggs were in the nests, and laid out extra straw for all the animals, including the chickens.”

  “I’m sure Gideon will appreciate that.” Madeline peered out the back window at the falling snow. “I hope everyone is alright.”

  “I’m sure they are.”

  Grace knelt on a chair at the kitchen table, eating a roll.

  “Clay, could you feed Grace some stew while I finish getting things ready?”

  “Sure thing.”

  She handed him a half-filled bowl for Grace, and a full one for himself. He sat beside his daughter and scooped up a spoonful of stew, which Grace greedily devoured.

  “Well, Gracie likes it, but I’m a little nervous. Gideon did say Elinor couldn’t cook.”

  “If that’s the case, then she’s improved over time, because I tasted it and it was just fine. I added a little pepper to it and a little salt, but other than that, I think she did an admirable job.”

  “I trust you.”

  He dug in, glad to find that she was right.

  Madeline disappeared into one of the bedrooms and returned after a minute with an armload of wool blankets. She looked a bit pale and tired, and he wondered if maybe she should take it easy.

  “Don’t wear yourself out, Madeline. You sit and eat with Grace, and I’ll do that.”

  “Oh Clay, they’re blankets, not boulders.”

  “I didn’t mean that you can’t handle blankets—I just don’t want you to wear yourself out running around.”

  She laughed at that. “Running around after Grace is far more tiring than fetching some blankets and tea.” She laid each of the three folded blankets atop the cookstove’s warming closet, taking great care to be sure no corners hung off, or that none of the blankets would slip down onto the hot surface of the stove.

  “You know, I can see that she’s a new housekeeper.” Madeline glanced around as she drew water from the stove’s reservoir, filling the iron tea kettle. “Things could be more orderly, and there’s a bit of dirt in the corners that she missed when she swept, but it’s really not all that bad, from what I see.” When the kettle was full, she wiped it with the apron she’d donned, and set it on the stove top. “If she started out as terrible as Gideon said, then she’s improved dramatically.”

  “I guess she’s been working hard to live up to his expectations.”

  “I do hope they find her safe, and that if they do, that Gideon is able to look past her faults. She doesn’t seem like a bad person. Maybe just a little bit…off track.”

  “She did hurt him pretty bad.”

  “I know.” She wiped her hands on the apron. “But when you’re coming out of a situation that you’re desperate to get away from, you can make really poor errors in judgment. I should know.”

  “Don’t compare yourself to her.” He turned away in irritation, and offered Grace another spoonful. “You never compromised your morals or values.” His wife was as honest as they came, and he couldn’t imagine her having deceived him like that.

  “No, but I was willing to commit myself to a miserable existence because I was too prideful to marry someone ‘beneath’ me, in front of all my peers, and be judged for it.” Madeline took four teacups from the shelf and lined them up, then got out a tin of dried ginger, and spooned a bit into each cup. “I’m embarrassed about the whole thing now, and I shudder to think of what might have happened to me if I hadn’t met you.”

  Clay’s heart raced just thinking about it. He still had nightmares once in a while, where he didn’t make it back to Croft’s ranch in time to save Madeline. He shuddered, pushing such dark thoughts away. Then he reached out and took Madeline’s hands and squeezed it. “Let’s not talk anymore of all that. We overcame our differences and our obstacles, and if they truly love each other, I’m sure Gideon and Elinor will do the same.”

  Madeline caressed his cheek. “I’m sure you’re right.” Then she dropped her hand and looked toward the window. “At least, if they find her in time.”

  “They will.”

  “I promised we’d pray. Let’s do that now.”

  ***

  Gideon and Emmett went as fast as they dared. They didn’t want to obliterate the tracks, or accidentally start following the tracks of another horse or animal that crossed the tracks of Elinor’s horse.

  It was becoming more difficult to distinguish the tracks as the snow fell harder. Both men were bleary-eyed with fatigue, and it took every ounce of concentration to stay focused on the prints in the blinding onslaught of snow.

  Emmett hadn’t said anything, but Gideon had noticed the hoof prints were spaced even closer together than before, and how they were less distinct—the horse was dragging his feet through the accumulating snow, rather than picking them up and crunching through the snowy blanket.

  “Emmett, I want you to head back to the house. I think we’re near one of the trails that leads straight back to the barn. It’s a well-marked riding trail, and if you hurry back now, before the visibility gets any worse, you might be able to make it.”

  Emmett looked back at him in shock. “No! I’m not leaving my only brother out here in this weather. I’m staying.”

  “Listen to me. It’s getting worse. You said yourself if we stay out here much longer, we won’t make it back. What if she really is back there already? Or what if she somehow makes it back, and I don’t? Who will take care of her? She can’t be alone. And we’ve got Hattie and Nina to think about.”

  “They have husbands to take care of them.”

  “But we’re all the family they have left.”

  “I can’t leave you out here. And you need me to find her.”

  “Look, either this trail will lead to her, or it won’t. If the trail gets covered up, I’ll come back home.”

  “No you won’t,” Emmett said, in the sullen tone he used as a boy. “I know you. You’ll stay out here ’til you freeze to death.”

  “Please. Emmett. I’m asking you to do this for me. It’s my fault if Elinor dies out here because of me. If I die, I have no one to blame but myself. Don’t let there be anyone else’s blood on my hands. Please.”

  Emmett looked away, his jaw clenched. Then he looked back, giving a curt nod. “You better come back in one piece, or I’ll never forgive you.”

  Gideon twisted his mouth into a wry smile. “You think I want to leave you behind so you can sell off my farm to buy more mining equipment? Forget it.”

  Emmett smirked and shook his head. “Stay right up next to her trail, and remember to stop every once and a while to call out for her once you’re close, and make sure to listen in case she yells back. The snow is going to swallow up the sound, but if she’s nearby, you just might hear her, if you stay real still.”

  Gideon nodded. “I will.”

  Emmett fixed him in his gaze. “I’ll see you when you get back.”

  Gideon nodded, too choked up to speak.

  Emmett wheeled his horse around and veered off to the right, toward one of the larger of the young pines that dotted the area…the only one they could actually see.

  “Emmett!” Gideon called, as his brother faded behind the lace curtain of snow.

  His brother’s shadowy figure turned back, waiting.

  “You’re a good brother,” he yelled, hearing his voice disappear into the snow, the sound of it dampened by the snowfall.

  “You, too. The best,” came the reply. Then his dark shape was enveloped by the silent white storm.

  Gideon’s horse crunched on through the snow. The flakes falling had long ago changed to the drier, grainy snow that was more typical of Montana—it didn’t clump as well as the snow that he remembered from his youth, before his family had made the trip west, and made for terrible snowball fights most of the time. As a child, he remembered the satisfying plop of a heavy, wet sno
wball on his brother's chest. If he made it heavy enough, it would knock Emmett backwards, and he’s soak the seat of his trousers when he fell in the snow—much to Gideon’s delight. But the Montana snow—when it was wet enough to pack together—often broke apart as soon as it touched its target. If not before.

  It also meant that tracks weren’t quite as distinct, when the snow was drier, as it was when the snow was heavy and wet. As the winds blew, fresh snow drifted over the surface of the old snow, much like fine sand or fresh-milled flour, filling in the crevices of the hoof prints.

  The choppy drag-marks of Elinor’s horses’ tracks soon gave way to smoothed-out, indistinct lines in the snow.

  This is it, he thought. They’re going to disappear…and so will she. Would they find her body? Or would it not be discovered until the next thaw? Or would animals get to her?

  Bile rose in his stomach at that thought, and he thrust the notion away. It’s not over yet, Gideon. Until you find her, there’s still a chance.

  Will they find my body? The intruding thought sent a thrill of fear up his spine.

  Then the tracks stopped.

  What? That’s not possible! He scanned the snow, sure he must be wrong. The tracks would peter out as the snow covered them…not just end abruptly.

  But they had.

  Fear seized his chest, like a giant’s hand squeezing the life out of him. He looked to his left, then to his right, then advanced a little farther. Then farther.

  There was nothing around him but snow, snow, and more snow—the shroud of flakes edging ever-closer to him.

  He’d lost the trail.

  He’d lost his wife.

  Chapter 33

  Desperation gripped him, and in agony, he called out for her in a strangled cry. “Adelaide! Ad—” Then he stopped himself. Not Adelaide…Elinor. The woman he loved…the woman he’d held in his arms as he fell asleep every night…her name was Elinor. She was going to die—was probably dead already—all because of him. And he probably would follow her close behind. The least he could do is remember her name—her real name.

  He tilted his face toward the sky, the flakes whirling down on him. His head spun like those flakes as he sucked in an icy breath and bellowed: “ELINOOOOOORRRRR!”

  His voice died away, contained, as if he’d hollered down a dry well. How strange, that he should be in so wide-open a wilderness, and yet feel restricted…almost claustrophobic. The wind lessened, then died away, and only silence met him. Silence, but for the almost imperceptible hissing sound of the flakes hitting the ground.

  Then somewhere, a soft snort.

  He whirled around, unsure of where the sound had come. “Elinor? Elinor!” He began to call again, but remembered what Emmett had said. So he stopped.

  And waited.

  And waited.

  Nothing.

  Had he heard a wild animal? He couldn’t be sure. But it sounded like a horse to him.

  Then a thought struck him, and he called for the horse instead. “Pepper! Pepper! Come, Pepper. Come home!”

  He waited again.

  Beneath him, he felt Penny tense. She, too, was waiting.

  Then he heard it. The soft, whimpering snicker of a horse. He twisted his head this way and that, trying to determine which direction it had come from. “Pepper?”

  It came again, and he saw Penny’s ears perk up, stretching backward. He thought it had come from behind, but he wasn’t sure.

  Gideon loosened his grip on the reins. “Find Pepper, Penny. Find Pepper.” He loosened his grip even more, and after a moment, Penny seemed to understand. She turned slowly, heading back the way they had come. A few halting steps. Then she stopped, and they both listened. Then a few more steps.

  “There!” Gideon cried, elated. Off to his right, he saw the tracks—they must have veered off to the left, and Gideon hadn’t realized it in the driving snow, and kept on going. The tracks were almost gone, but as he took the reins up and wheeled Penny around, urging her to hurry, he saw the fuzzy shapes of trees emerge from the curtain of snow, growing larger and more distinct as he approached. As the clump of young pines materialized, he saw movement, and realized that a horse’s rump poked out from between two of the trees. Pepper must have taken shelter there, too tired to go on.

  He nudged Penny in the flank and she tried to trot through the thick blanket of snow. He could hear her tail swishing behind him. She was glad to see a familiar friend out on this desolate landscape.

  “Elinor!” he called as he came up behind Pepper. He could see a flash of blue along Pepper’s back. Pepper shuffled in place, and his head slowly appeared to the side as he turned around to look bleakly at Gideon.

  He swung himself off of Penny and held onto the reins as he trudged up to Pepper. He could see Elinor’s coat, its bold blue color barely diffused by the light dusting of snow that lay over her. Even her head was coated in ice crystals—her bonnet lying askew—and Gideon’s heart lurched. It meant her body was no longer giving off enough heat to melt the snow as quickly as it landed on her.

  He lashed Penny to a nearby branch, in case she decided to make a break for home, then he approached Pepper from the side. “How are you boy? You’ll be alright now. I’ve got you.” He sidled up to Pepper slowly, dragging his feet like lead blocks through the snow. He was relieved to find her, but a sick dread rose in him as he approached. The hair she had twisted up into a bun had come loose and hung half-gathered to the side of her head. Her wool bonnet was knocked off and to the side. The dusting of snow clung to her coat and dress. She lay huddled against the horse’s neck, her face turned away from him, listing to the left. If it weren’t for her right leg still nestled into the upper pommel and left foot still wedged in the stirrup, she’d have slid right off, into the snow.

  “Elinor?” He croaked out a whisper. He pulled off his gloves, stuffing them in a pocket, and held his hands out before him…but he couldn’t bear to touch her. Afraid to feel her pale skin and find it as icy-cold as the snow around them. “Elinor?” He took one step. Another.

  Pepper eyed him ruefully, but perked up his head a bit, the hope returning to his eyes. Gideon rubbed his neck, comforting the miserable beast. Then he touched Elinor’s beautiful red-gold hair. It was brittle with ice crystals. “Elinor?”

  She didn’t move.

  He swallowed, then circled around the front of Pepper. The horse watched him, then shifted his feet again.

  “Easy boy. Easy.” He slipped to the horse’s left side and saw strands of Elinor’s hair hanging limply, coated in snow, along her cheek. Her eyes were closed, and she lay still, her hands frozen in position where they clutched Pepper’s mane, her cheek resting on the horse’s neck.

  Her skin was pale as cream.

  “No.” His heart lurched, and tears stung his eyes. “Please, Elinor, please,” he murmured. He willed her eyes to open—visualized those wide, lash-fringed eyes to pop open and look at him, and see her smile.

  She didn’t move.

  He was afraid to touch skin—afraid to confirm what he already feared…that he was too late.

  “Please, Elinor, please wake up.” He touched the strand of hair that had fallen loose and tucked it behind her ear. “We’ve only just started our lives. You can’t leave me now. We’re supposed to have children and grandchildren and…sheep. Lots and lots of sheep. Just like you wanted. Remember? You…you can’t leave me now.” He touched her arm, but couldn’t feel whether there was any warmth through the layers of clothing.

  If only he hadn’t run her off. If only he’d been more patient. If only he had told her sooner just how dear she was to him…how much he loved her.

  At last, he touched her cheek, feeling the cold, smooth, ivory skin. There was no hint of warm breath coming from her nose.

  She was gone.

  Something deep inside him crumbled, and he felt his chest squeezing tight. He couldn’t take in a breath, and heart beat erratically in his chest. He doubled over from the empty, cavernous ache
inside him, and the tears finally came. In coughing, retching sobs, he cried, bracing his hands on his knees, barely able to keep himself off the ground. Part of him just wanted to curl up on the snow and let the cold and darkness come for him, until he could no longer feel the pain. He gasped for air, and knew now what his mother must have gone through after his father had passed. Even though he’d been a wretch of a man, she had loved him until the end, and his death had meant the beginning of the end for her. Now he knew what it meant to have a broken heart. It felt like his heart was being torn from his chest.

  Pepper shifted nervously beside him from the outburst, and out of the corner of his eye he saw that Elinor’s body was shifting as well—slipping from the saddle.

  He dragged in a ragged breath and lunged, catching it just in time and sliding it back into place.

  “Mm.”

  The sound shocked him, and he wasn’t sure if he’d heard it, or imagined it. It…it sounded like it had come from Elinor’s body.

  “Elinor?” Her head had tilted further to the side, and he took her by the chin and tilted it back. Her skin was, indeed, cold, though it was hard to tell how cold, because his own fingers were going numb. “Elinor?” The pain receded from his chest a little, as the slightest bit of hope leaked into his heart. He still couldn’t feel any breath coming from her. He slapped her cheek. “Elinor!”

  “Mm, Gid’n…my sheep.” Her pale lips barely moved as she mumbled the words.

  His heart soared—she was alive! He laughed—a wild, insane laugh. One that would surely have any doctor committing him to an asylum if he heard it.

  He brushed the hair back from her face, caressing her skin, and slapping her cheek lightly. “Elinor? Elinor? Can you hear me?”

  “Not Addie,” she mumbled. “Always…call me…El’nor.”

  “I know,” he chuckled, hot tears of relief mixing with the cold tears of sorrow on his cheeks.

  “Where...my sheep?” Her eyes were still closed.

  He didn’t know if she was delirious, dreaming, or confused. He didn’t care. “Leave it to you to almost die, and have ‘sheep’ be the first thing out of your mouth.” He pulled her from the saddle and gathered her in his arms, carrying her carefully over to where Penny stood.