Sophie's Daughters Trilogy

by Mary Connealy

  It didn’t matter. They were right. No one, least of all her, was going anywhere today.

  “I get food as soon as you’re comfortable.” Wise Sister straightened Sally’s blankets with quick, gentle movements.

  While Wise Sister fussed over her, Sally looked at Logan. “Your painting is important? Wise Sister thinks so.” Sally could not imagine how a sensible woman like Wise Sister could be so foolish.

  Sally did her very best to keep her expression bland so as not to let Logan see that she thought he was an idiot.

  It was obvious Sally thought his painting was a waste of his life.

  “It’s the highest compliment anyone has ever given me. Wise Sister not just liking my paintings, but believing there’s value in them.” Logan nodded to Wise Sister. “She has an artist’s soul. The dye she’s used to color her weaving, the porcupine quills to create pictures in a basket, the softness of the furs and the supple leather she works with, all of it is art. It’s not practical, but she can’t deny her love for making things beautiful.”

  Wise Sister sniffed.

  Logan studied Sally for a few seconds. “I want you to see some of what I’ve done. You thought you were up to a long ride in the cold rain. How about a fifty-foot walk across to my cabin?” And if it hurt her, it might calm her desire to go anywhere for a while.

  “Okay, I reckon I’d like to see what whiles away your time, leaving all the work for Wise Sister.”

  It pinched, but Logan was able to smile at her. He’d had plenty of practice at smiling through insults. “Can we take her over to the other cabin?” He glanced at Wise Sister.

  She was silent for a moment—but then, Wise Sister was silent for most moments. “We try.” Wise Sister picked up a slicker, one left from Babineau, and slipped it over Sally’s head. With the slicker in place, Wise Sister pulled Sally’s blankets back.

  The slicker was large enough to cover Sally from her neck to her moccasined foot. Sally began to inch off the bed.

  “Don’t move.” Wise Sister jabbed a finger at her.

  “Now do you get why I think she’s scary?” Logan whispered, not even pretending to be quiet enough to keep Wise Sister from hearing him.

  Wise Sister rolled her eyes.

  Sally smiled.

  Logan’s fingers itched for his pencil to capture the gentle curve of Sally’s lips.

  “Tell me to stop if it hurts.” Logan eased one arm behind Sally’s slender waist and another under her knees, cautious about every move. He kept his eyes on her face, knowing her well enough already to understand that she wouldn’t admit to pain. She’d fainted from it without a word of protest only moments ago. Gently, he lifted her in his arms. She didn’t cry out, didn’t even flinch, but he saw lines deepen around her mouth. “Are you sure you want to go?”

  Her jaw was clenched so tight, Logan didn’t think she was up to speaking. But she nodded, the faintest of motions. Then, an inch at a time, she slid one arm up and wrapped it around his neck. For a second their faces were close … very close.

  “Are you sure?” He hadn’t meant to whisper. But on the other hand, no sense yelling when someone was only inches away.

  “Sure about what?”

  Their eyes held and Logan found something for the first time in years that seemed more important than painting. Sally’s arm around his neck moved restlessly and Logan felt himself pulled closer.

  His gaze flickered to her lips and back to her sky blue eyes. “You’re so beautiful.”

  A tiny smile perked the corners of her lips. “I am?” The words were little more than a sigh.

  “More beautiful than the mountains and waterfalls and soaring eagles.”

  The moment eased a bit when Sally’s smile stretched wide. “I’m prettier than jagged high-up hills; running water; and a hook-nosed, bald bird?” The smile turned to a laugh. “I reckon you think that’s flattery, don’t you?”

  Somehow, put like that, it did seem less than a compliment. But her laugh took the sting out of his usual incompetent ways with people, women especially. Despite his upbringing, Logan knew he had an uncivilized streak, especially when good manners came between him and his art. He belonged out in these mountains alone. “Wait’ll you see more of the Rockies. I’d love to take you and show you Yellowstone. You’ll know I’ve just given you the highest praise.”

  “I’ve seen enough. Rich hunting land and good grazing, but too rocky to grow a crop. I reckon a body would find a spot for a garden here and there.”

  Wise Sister draped Logan’s coat over his shoulders and dropped his Stetson on his head. He’d have walked outside without either if the elderly woman hadn’t thought of it.

  He moved slowly in the rain, leaning forward so the broad brim of his hat sheltered Sally. Maybe he should just give it to her and let the cold water soak in and cool his overly warm thoughts about this pretty woman.

  Wise Sister went ahead. The two of them lagged behind, protected and dry in the soaking rain until Logan felt like they were in a cocoon, wrapping them away from the rest of the world.

  He had to round the cabin to go in the front door, and he stopped under the wide eaves of the house. “I like that you’ve come out to my land, Sally.” Logan’s whisper wasn’t necessary now. But his voice wasn’t working just right and that was all he could manage.

  “I was passing through, heading to see my sister is all.” Her arm flexed on his neck and seemed to pull him closer.

  “I’m so sorry you were hurt. It’s nothing short of a miracle that your buckle stopped that bullet and you fell all that way and survived.” Logan’s throat swelled as he thought of what a close thing it had been.

  “And that you were there to find me and care for me.” Her fingers shifted and slid up his neck, touching his hair.

  He’d let it get ridiculously long since he’d come out here. “It wasn’t your time. God wasn’t ready to take you home yet.”

  Sally nodded, almost imperceptibly, but Logan saw it and liked that she had a solid acceptance of life and death.

  It would be so easy to lean just a bit closer. To see if Sally’s smile tasted as pretty as it looked. Logan closed an inch and then another. Sally did some closing of her own.

  A sudden gust of wind blew water straight into Logan’s face, and it worked as well as if Sally had slapped him. He straightened. “What am I doing?” He shook his head as if he were a wet dog. “I can’t get involved with a woman out here.”

  Stiffening in his arms, Sally said, “Involved? You think I want to get involved with a man who paints pictures instead of doing proper work?”

  “Just because he saved your life?” Logan relaxed and smiled. He actually liked her in a safer kind of way—when she insulted him. He understood insults. They were so common. It was Wise Sister’s approval that confused him. Sally’s pretty smile confused him more.

  “Well, yes.” She sounded less belligerent. “You did do that, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, I did.” An impulse made him do the very thing he’d already decided not to do, thanks to that God-given splash of cold water in the face. He leaned down and kissed Sally right on the lips.

  He lifted his head. Their eyes met and held.

  “You are way, way prettier than a hook-nosed, bald bird.”

  “Thank you.” Sally smiled and the intimate moment passed.

  Gone but not forgotten, Buckskin Angel.

  Logan moved on toward the cabin.

  Wise Sister had already thrown a chunk of wood on the burning embers. She moved to grab a pot, fill it with water, and set it on to cook. Wise Sister never seemed to move quickly, but she got everything done with almost frightening efficiency. She looked up from the fire and smiled.

  It took Logan aback some. Wise Sister didn’t show much of what she was feeling. As far as he could tell, she’d never pined for her husband. If she missed Babineau, Logan didn’t know. She’d never once complained. Of course the man came and went some, prone to heading for the hills a few times every
summer. Maybe she was used to his absence.

  For the first time, Logan felt bad about the way he’d treated Wise Sister. He considered her far more than a cook and housekeeper. He thought of her as a fellow artist and his friend. But he hadn’t been a very good friend. He was just so used to her not talking much. It had never occurred to him to try and draw her out.

  “She needs rest.” Wise Sister went to the dry sink and began skinning potatoes. Wise Sister was a genius at drawing food out of this rugged land.

  There were papers and pencils, paints and paintbrushes all over. Noticing how cluttered it was, Logan felt embarrassed at his housekeeping, but he wasn’t negligent of the things that mattered. All the brushes were carefully cleaned, all the pots of paint meticulously sealed. He knew he’d need every drop of the paints and each bristle in his brushes. They could be ruined so easily.

  Logan settled Sally on the chair next to his kitchen table. He took a moment to be glad that he had a separate room for his bedroom because it would feel awkward to bring Sally into the place he slept.

  Logan cautiously slid his arms away from her, watching for any sign she might not be able to sit alone. He hurried to get his other chair and carefully propped her foot on it. “Are you all right?” He put a folded blanket on the chair to cushion it.

  “I’m fine, but why did you—” Her eyes went past him and landed on Blazing Land.

  The shutters were closed on the oversized windows that covered most of the front of the cabin, one on either side of the cabin door. There was no glass in them. Glass would have been hard to get in here without it breaking.

  Besides, Logan wanted lots of natural light and he wanted to hear and smell the outdoors, as well as see it. When the shutters were open, it was almost like the whole front wall was missing. Babineau had thought he was foolish to ask for those huge openings, but the man had grudgingly followed Logan’s instructions. Now, as Logan always did when the windows were closed, he’d moved Blazing Land to lean in front of the window on the left side of his door. It brought the outside in for him.

  Other, smaller paintings leaned against the wall, surrounding the room. Logan had worked feverishly since he’d arrived in early May. The desire to capture the unspoiled beauty here drove him like nothing ever had.

  He thought of the murder he’d happened upon and the evidence that it had happened before. Logan had ridden that same trail to come into the area in the spring. Yet he’d had no idea of the danger.

  Babineau had often preached to him about it being a lawless place. And Logan had learned to be mindful of the world around him. But he’d never caught a hint of danger beyond what was normal—grizzlies, mountain lions, rattlesnakes, and steep trails. Logan trod the trails carefully and wisely, and because of that, he’d believed he had no cause to fear this land. It saddened him to know those days were over.

  Sally studied the painting, and Logan waited, hardly aware that he’d quit breathing. For some reason, having Sally believe in him meant everything.

  “That’s it? That’s what you’ve spent your time doing when you should have been helping hunt for food?”

  Maybe it meant a bit too much. “Well, I have done other—”

  “Quiet,” Wise Sister cut Logan off. She said to Sally, “Look again. Give it time.”

  Sally glanced at Wise Sister and something passed between them that Logan couldn’t interpret. He was never much of a hand with women. In fact, he’d never been much aware of anyone around him. His head was in the clouds, always searching for beauty so he could express it through his paintbrush.

  Sally turned back to the painting with a shrug. Logan decided maybe she needed a lot of time. Hours. Maybe days.

  Remembering how Sally had chastised him about his treatment of Wise Sister, he left Sally and went to Wise Sister’s side. “Can I help you?”

  She dropped a whole potato in the pot and splashed hot water on the front of Logan’s shirt.

  He stepped back, waving a hand at his shirt, pulling it out from his stomach.

  “Sorry.” Wise Sister studied him a few seconds then must have decided he’d live. “Help?”

  “Yes, help you make supper. I never help around here, and I’m sorry for that. I didn’t realize quite what a huge job I’d given you, without Pierre around. That was unkind of me.”

  “Can you cut up a parsnip?”

  “I don’t even know what a parsnip is.”

  Wise Sister jerked her head in the direction of several whitish vegetables lying on the table.

  “I—uh—suppose I could learn.”

  “Thank you.” Wise Sister gave him a smile that was a bit sad around the edges. “Some days, yes, help. Not today. Easy meal today.”

  Logan stared at her and she looked back, solemn but kind and serene. Finally he shrugged. “Okay, but I’m serious. I’m going to start helping more.”

  “Rain has slowed. Open that window.” Wise Sister pointed at the shutter on the right side of the door, the side that didn’t have Logan’s painting leaning on it. Logan thought that might qualify as helping. He didn’t remember Wise Sister giving him very many orders before. Well, occasionally she ordered him to get out of the cabin. But this was different.

  He obeyed her quickly, going outside to work under the broad eaves. The shutters hung from leather straps and they were heavy to swing open. Wrestling with them, Logan got one side open and looked in to see Sally still looking at Blazing Land.

  He finished quickly then came back inside. Even with the day overcast and rain dripping heavily, the gloomy cabin was considerably brighter when the shutters were open.

  Maybe Sally would like the painting better in good light. Logan couldn’t stand the suspense, which was really stupid of him. Why be in a hurry to have this pretty woman cut his heart out?

  He pulled up the one other chair in the room and sat beside her. She cast him a look out of the corner of her eye then went back to Blazing Land. He couldn’t decide if that was because the picture drew her back or because she was obedient to Wise Sister. He was sadly afraid it was the latter.

  “Ever since I was old enough to pick up a pencil, pictures have come out of me.” Logan felt compelled to try to make Sally understand. “My mother says I was drawing dogs and kittens when I was three years old.”

  When would he learn it was useless to try to explain? But, like a fool, he kept trying. “I don’t know why. I only know it’s a gift God gave me. Not just the talent for it, but a love for it, too. I feel more alive when I’m painting than any other time. I can’t claim any credit for it because it was simply mine from birth. Colors and shapes almost shout out to me, asking me to capture them on canvas. I see a color I love, and I start mentally mixing the paints, trying to figure out how to get that exact shade.”

  Logan rarely tried to make anyone understand. His family on occasion. They loved him and worried about him. Wise Sister seemed content to go about her life, doing her job, caring for Logan and his home, without making much effort to understand him. But he wished wildly that Sally would. “Painting isn’t something I do.”

  Sally turned from the painting, and Logan regretted he’d distracted her. “What’s that mean?” Her brow furrowed. At least she was listening.

  “It’s something I am. It’s how God created me. He gave me a love for art and a longing to draw and paint that is almost like—like thirst. Not many people understand. They think I should do something more … useful. The simple truth is I can’t stop any more than I could stop drinking water. I know it’s not a practical way to spend my life. If I could stop, I would. It would be much more comfortable to live on a doctor’s income, in a modern house back East, with easy access to water and food. I’ve got four brothers and they all followed my father into the medical profession. They all live in warm homes in New York City. I miss them.”

  “Lots of hills and trees to paint back East, aren’t there? Why here?”

  “A good question.” Logan smiled. “I read about it. The geyser in Yell
owstone, Old Faithful, is what drew me to begin with. They mostly write about that in newspapers back East, but there were several articles that talked about the unusual sights. I just had to see them. Then I got here and, yes, it was spectacular but there was more. I wanted to get into the mountains. I met Pierre, and he brought me to this place where he’d lived with Wise Sister for years, said it was the most beautiful place he’d ever seen. That’s what you were doing out here, wasn’t it? Looking at the scenery?”

  “The group I was with was excited about the scenery. I only wanted to take the shortest route to my sister’s house. One of the men in our party used to scout in this area and he knew about those red canyon walls, and the colonel and his wife wanted to see them. I didn’t want to veer right nor left on my way to Mandy’s house.” Sally’s expression closed and Logan thought of the people who had died with her. “I thought it was foolishness. I need to get to my sister. She’s gonna have a baby anytime. My folks said I could go and stay with her awhile. My ma thinks she’s married to a no-account man.”

  “No-account because he doesn’t work the land, hunt for food … because he doesn’t provide well?” Logan had just described himself. Sally’s parents wouldn’t approve of him either.

  Not that it mattered. Despite that kiss under the eaves, that moment of closeness that was more than he’d ever shared with another human being, this wasn’t a life any woman wanted to share with a man. He accepted that.

  “Sidney’s rich, for a fact. But there’s lotsa ways to be no-account that don’t have a thing to do with money. And by all reports, Sidney is all of ’em.”

  For some reason, that came as a relief to Logan. It sounded like Sally had a good grip of what really made a man “no-account.” If only he didn’t rank as one …

  Sally’s eyes wandered to Blazing Land.

  “I know this isn’t a … a … normal painting.” Logan looked back at his much-loved creation. “I’ve got lots that are more traditional. But this is a new technique. I studied it over the winter. Some people are calling it Impressionism. It uses the sunlight, how it shadows things at the exact moment you’re painting. Instead of mixing colors to make a shade, you put the colors side by side. It’s bolder. The paint is thick in places, translucent in others. I use a knife for most of it instead of a paintbrush. I’m trying to catch more than a view. I’m trying to put—right on that canvas—how I felt as I watched that sunrise.”