Tamera Alexander - [Timber Ridge Reflections 01] (13 page)

A curl of smoke rose from the cabin’s chimney, making the scene idyllic, in a rustic sort of way. She could already see the caption—
Primitive Colorado Territory Homestead, photograph by Elizabeth Garrett Westbrook.

Silently, she framed the scene through the eye of her camera lens. Ranslett was already delivering on his promise of finding something
impressive
for her camera lens, not that she was going to tell him. She still wanted another bull elk.

And she still needed to broach the subject of his escorting her to the cliff dwellings. She would know when the timing was right, and this morning wasn’t it. But soon. It was mid-April, and she wanted to be on her way no later than the first of May. Goldberg had set September first as the date to have all the photographs and articles into his office, and then the board would review the three candidates’ work and make their decision. Allowing a month each way for the journey—perhaps longer if the terrain was difficult or if weather didn’t cooperate—then a good two weeks to photograph the dwellings and the Indians, and then time to develop the prints and ship everything back to Washington, she should be able to have her submissions in around mid-August, with time to spare. Everything was going according to plan.

The door to the cabin swung open before Ranslett brought the wagon to a halt. A woman stepped out onto the front porch, wiping her hands on her apron. Her hair looked entirely silver, but her movements belonged to those of a younger woman.

She squinted and tilted her head. “Daniel Ranslett, is that you?”

“Yes, ma’am, it’s me.” He set the brake and jumped down. “Hope you don’t mind us just showing up like this.”

“Well, I’m expecting President Grant any minute for tea, but you can stay until he arrives.” The woman’s seriousness dissolved into a smile.

Elizabeth liked the woman’s humor and was mildly impressed that she knew who the current president was. Except for Rachel Boyd and Drayton Turner, she’d gotten the impression that people in Timber Ridge didn’t care much about what was happening back in Washington. Or back east, in general.

A child scampered out the door of the cabin, a little girl judging from the ragged dress. She worked her way into the folds of the woman’s skirt, sucking her thumb and peeking out every few seconds. Another girl followed, a little older if her height was any indication, and not so shy. She was lithe of build and had hair the color of honey that hung straight down her back. She stared open-faced and curious. Three boys appeared from around the side of the cabin, all barefoot and dark-haired. They looked to be near the same age—could’ve been six or seven years old, or maybe ten. Elizabeth wasn’t good at judging such things.

She’d have thought the woman on the porch to be beyond the age of having children so young, but people out here didn’t seem to operate by the same rules as society back east. And apparently neither did the birds and the bees.

“Hope you don’t mind some meat, Mrs. Tucker.” Ranslett shoved his hands into his pockets. “Lolly had some extra again and asked me to bring it on out. I think Mrs. Mullins might’ve sent some gumballs along too—for you and your husband to enjoy, of course.”

Elizabeth’s interest piqued at the gentle lie he’d told. So this was what he was doing with all that meat from the bull elk. He should have said as much.

The older girl clapped at the news, while the boys whispered to each other. Mrs. Tucker laid a gentle hand on the tiniest girl’s shoulder. “If Mathias can still manage a gumball, then I’m sure the president’s carriage will be arriving any minute.” She laughed and nodded to Elizabeth, then peered beyond her to Josiah. “Let me tell Mathias you’re here. Then I’ll call the rest of the children to help unload.”

The rest of the children? Elizabeth stared. How many more could there be?

“I’ve got something for Davy too.” There was a subtle change in Ranslett’s voice. “If he’s well enough to come out. If not, I can bring it in.”

Mrs. Tucker paused in the doorway. “If it’s what I think it is, we’d better bring him out here.” She smiled and shook her head and disappeared back inside.

All five children shadowed her like little ducklings. Which, when thinking of her father’s letter, gave Elizabeth an idea . . .

Ranslett made his way around to her side of the wagon, and she quickly laid her pack on the floorboard and got a foothold on the rim of the wheel. Halfway down, she slipped. She caught herself and regained her footing, noticing how Ranslett didn’t come to her aid. Once on the ground, she brushed the road dust from her skirt and finally braved a look.

Ranslett wasn’t exactly smiling, but his expression said he was thinking about it. “You made such a point of getting up there all by yourself, ma’am. I just figured you wanted to show me how you could get back down too.”

Doing her best to appear indifferent, she glanced at Josiah and was certain she’d caught him about to smile. He quickly turned to untether the mule.

She retrieved her camera from the seat. “I might as well make the most of the opportunity. . . . I’ll set up over there and get an image or two of the house and the mountains while we’re here.”

“So you wants me to set it all up, Miz Westbrook?”

“Yes, please, Josiah.” She looked back down the road they’d traveled. “Right about there.” She pointed.

Josiah tugged the mule’s reins, but the animal went lock-kneed, obviously making a stand. Josiah walked back to the animal and scratched the place between its ears and whispered in a low voice. Never once had Elizabeth seen him whip the mule or treat it in brutal fashion. The mule finally relented, and the beagle shadowed Josiah’s steps.

“Miss Westbrook, about the Tuckers . . .” Ranslett removed the blanket covering the rack and wadded up the cloth. “I’d like to ask something of you, if you don’t mind.”

Seeing the rack up close gave her pause. She’d seen similar ones, of course, but smaller, hanging in statesmen’s quarters back home. The set of antlers looked even bigger separated from the animal, but definitely less impressive, and Elizabeth chose to remember them as she’d seen them the very first time. How she wished she hadn’t dropped that glass plate.

“You were saying?” She raised a brow to remind him.

He stuffed the blanket into a corner of the wagon bed. “The Tuckers and their children are fine people. You won’t find any better.” He glanced back at the house. “Mrs. Tucker sometimes asks me to stay and take a meal with them, and I feel the need to—”

War cries and high-pitched squeals cut off the conversation, and they both turned in the direction of the house. Children ran full out toward them—Elizabeth counted seven, eight . . .
ten
in all—followed by Mrs. Tucker and a man she assumed was the woman’s husband. He carried another young boy in his arms. That made eleven children!

The children’s squeals quieted when they reached the wagon. The girls stared wide-eyed at the antlers, while the boys reached out to touch the points. Elizabeth studied Ranslett, trying to make sense of what was happening. Surely this family wasn’t the buyer he’d referred to earlier. Some of the boys weren’t even wearing shoes.

Ranslett met the parents by the front of the wagon.

Mr. Tucker balanced the boy in his arms and stuck out a hand. “Daniel, it’s good to see you again. It’s been several months.”

“Yes, sir, it has been. I don’t get to town as much as I used to.” It seemed like a long time before Ranslett spoke again. “Davy, how are you, buddy?”

The boy shifted in Tucker’s arms. “I’m good, Mr. Daniel.”

Elizabeth saw something pass between the older gentleman and Ranslett, a look calling the boy’s response into question. She studied the child more closely yet didn’t see any signs of illness. She noticed his hair was the same honey color as the older girl she’d first seen with Mrs. Tucker.

Davy strained to peer over Ranslett’s shoulder. “Did you bring Beau with you again?”

“I sure did.” Ranslett motioned back behind him to where Josiah was setting up the dark tent. He put his fingers to his mouth and gave a sharp whistle. The dog came running.

Mr. Tucker took care when kneeling down with Davy, but Elizabeth caught sight of the wince on the boy’s youthful face. Yet all evidence of pain vanished when Beau reached up and licked his tiny chin.

Davy giggled and the rest of the children gathered round him, doing the same. It was odd—from what she remembered about children she would’ve thought they might have crowded close and pushed and shoved to get a chance to touch Beau. But not these children. Each took their turn, and the older helped the younger ones who acted shy.

When the moment quieted, Daniel motioned toward her. “Mr. and Mrs. Tucker, I’d like to present Miss Elizabeth Westbrook of Washington, D.C. Miss Westbrook, my friends Mathias and Oleta Tucker, and their children.”

“Welcome, Miss Westbrook.” Mr. Tucker included his wife. “We’re glad to make your acquaintance.”

One of the dark-haired boys raised his hand as though in school, and spoke when Ranslett acknowledged him. “Do you still remember all our names, Mr. Daniel?”

“Well, let’s see. I remember Abby and Libby—” He lightly touched the heads of the first two girls they’d seen on the porch. “Luke, Mason, and Nathaniel.” He frowned as though having trouble recalling a name, then tousled the hair of the boy who had asked the question. “And Zachary!” He smiled and the boy giggled. “And Bradley, Caroline, Ansley, Marshall . . . and Davy!”

Everyone clapped, and Elizabeth couldn’t help but stare. Josiah had led her to think this man was a hermit, and he seemed anything but. The same dark-haired boy who had asked Ranslett to name them caught her eye and smiled. Her chest constricted. What if he asked her to recite their names? She’d just heard them but would never be able to remember them all. Except for Davy and Libby, with the golden blond hair.

She took a step back and looked away.

“Davy, I’ve got something special for you.” Ranslett motioned for Mr. Tucker to follow him to the back of the wagon. “It’s something you asked me about a while back. You didn’t believe me when I told you how they felt.”

The other children smiled and watched for Davy’s reaction. Elizabeth moved to where she could see his face too, and found herself tearing up.

Davy’s bottom lip quivered. “You did it. You got it for me.”

Mr. Tucker leaned him closer so he could feel it. “It’s soft! Just like you said. You’re the best hunter in the whole wide world!”

A shadow accompanied Ranslett’s smile. “That’s hardly true, but I may be the most persistent.”

Mr. Tucker instructed the children to follow Ranslett’s orders about unloading the meat, and they all started in on the task. Elizabeth felt a touch on her arm.

Mrs. Tucker leaned close. “I hope you can stay for lunch. Daniel said it’s fine with him, if you can spare the time. It’s not often we get to visit with guests. Especially one from so far away.” She nodded toward Josiah. “We’d be honored to have all three of you share our table.”

“That’s very kind of you, but I really need to—” She felt a tug on her skirt and looked down.

The girl she’d admired earlier, Libby, stared up. “I like your hair. It’s pretty.” Her diminutive mouth tipped in a smile.

Elizabeth reached up and touched a wayward curl at her neckline. She couldn’t recall anyone having ever said that to her before. Women with her type of hair usually had it ironed straight, which was more the fashion. She hesitated, considering Mrs. Tucker’s question and thinking of the hunting trip and all she’d hoped to accomplish today. Then she considered again how many children there were. Enough to start a school . . .

She turned to Mrs. Tucker. “We’d be honored to stay for lunch. Thank you.”

11

A
s soon as Mathias said amen, the chatter of conversation filled the cramped kitchen. Daniel tried to catch Miss Westbrook’s attention from the opposite end of the table, but she wouldn’t look his way. As long as she didn’t ask what the meat was, he thought they’d be okay.

While he’d unloaded and stored the elk meat earlier, she’d gotten a photograph of the homestead and the barn. And, oddly enough, one of Beau. He was amazed the dog had sat still long enough. Meanwhile, he’d helped Mathias and the boys store the meat frozen in Lolly’s icehouse into a box snugged into a hole out back. They’d packed it with snow and ice. With temperatures as cool as they’d been, and the nights still hovering at freezing or dipping just below, the meat would last the family for weeks. Made him feel good to be able to help them out.

The meal Oleta and the girls had prepared was simple, as always. Boiled potatoes, bread that never seemed to have gotten the chance to fully rise—no surprise with this many kids—and squirrel. He’d grown up catching and killing the rodents and broiling them over an open flame. It was a sweet meat and plenty tender, but he doubted Elizabeth Westbrook from Washington, D.C., had ever been introduced to the Southern “delicacy.”

He’d counted four squirrels for sixteen people. Oleta had divvied them onto plates before everyone sat down, and she’d divided one squirrel among him and Elizabeth and Josiah alone. Daniel hadn’t interacted much with the Negro but could read the man well enough to know he’d eat whatever was put before him and be gracious about it.

As Elizabeth eyed the meat on her plate, Daniel silently offered up another prayer. He didn’t want her to do anything that would offend Mathias or Oleta. To say that the woman could be demanding was like saying that Colorado winters could get a mite chilly.

Mathias passed the bowl of boiled potatoes. “Miss Westbrook, did I hear you tell Oleta that you want to get a picture of the children?”

“Yes, sir. If you don’t mind.” Elizabeth picked up her fork and peered on either side of her plate, presumably looking for a napkin. Knowing she wouldn’t find one, Daniel was glad when she finally gave up the search—then cringed when she picked at something on one of the tines.

“Don’t mind one bit. They’ll have fun with it, I’m sure. What caused you to set about learning such a thing?”

Elizabeth made a dismissive gesture. “I happened into it, you might say. It’s a hobby I’ve studied for several years now.”