Cristy sighed as she blended a too-sharp line on the boulder with her fingertip. If she were ever lucky enough to find a man half as wonderful as David, she would never allow him more than a year after his proposal to change his mind. Her mother had once told her that she and her father got married within a month of meeting. Cristy had never seen a more suited — or loving — marriage.
"Aunt Cristy?" Tracie asked.
"Hmmmm, darling?"
"Am I bothering you?"
"No. Not right now, Tracie." Cristy turned to a clean page in her pad and began a new sketch from a different angle. "It's only when I start putting colors on canvass that I'll get distracted and involved so deeply I might forget where I am. I promised you could go stay with Katie when it comes time for me to actually paint."
"Katie's nice." Tracie discarded the paper dress she held up to her cardboard doll in favor of another one. "And she's fixin' punkin pie for Thanksgiving tomorrow. I gets to go over when we get home and help her do that."
"Pumpkin's your favorite, isn't it?"
"Uh huh. 'Cept for blueberry." She paused for a moment, and Cristy glanced at her to see a contemplative frown on her face. "And maybe shock-o-lat."
Cristy laughed and shook her head. "Chocolate," she corrected. "You know, Tracie, honey, your daddy and I haven't even talked about getting you into school here. I understand the classes close down pretty soon, though, until in the spring. You and I could set aside some time each day for lessons. Would you like that?"
"Yeah. Mama taught me to count and say my A-B-C's. I can read little words, too, 'long as they aren't real long. I'd like to learn some more, but I thought maybe Daddy wasn't gonna put me back in school 'til he figured if we was gonna stay here or not."
She gave a dramatic sigh and smoothed yet another dress on her doll. "I hope we does stay here. I don't like leavin' everythin' and going off. 'Specially when it worries Daddy so bad."
Concerned over Tracie's unusual melancholy, Cristy left her sketch pad on the easel and settled on the floor beside her niece. Sunbeams streamed through the window, warming them in addition to the heat from a huge pot-bellied stove in the corner of the room. She held her arms out to Tracie, and the little girl crawled into her lap.
"Your daddy wouldn't want you to worry about stuff, Tracie. He's the daddy, and that's his job. But we women do worry sometimes, don't we?"
"Uh-huh. I think Daddy's afraid Gramma might's come after us and try to make me come live with her. When I stayed at Miss Vickie's that day right a'fore me and Daddy left Alaska, her nasty little brother tol' me that's what was goin' on. He said Daddy had to go see some man called a ju . . . judge, who might take me 'way from Daddy."
"How did you get out of town?" Cristy regretted the question the moment she asked Tracie, feeling a stab of guilt and disloyalty to Sandy. But she also believed she should know, and after all, Sandy told her a little of the story this morning.
"All's I know is we was on one of the ships when I woke up the next mornin'." Tracie shrugged her small shoulders. "We came to get you, then got on the train."
"Sandy must have had some friends help him," Cristy mused.
"Daddy used to have lots of friends." Tracie's voice grew softer. "Him and Mama both. But he don't got none's here. He's 'lone lots, 'cept for Miss Laura."
"We'll have to see what we can do about that."
The office door opened and Tom Goodman walked in, followed by David. For a moment it appeared they didn't see the two figures on the floor, and David's face grew concerned. When he came around the desk and spotted them, his eyes lit up.
"Hey, I should commission you to paint that picture for me, Cristy," he said. "Look, Tom. Isn't that a great sight, the two of them in front of that window, looking like a couple flowers in the spring?"
Tracie giggled. "It's winter, Davie. Not spring."
"Yeah, Davie, it's winter," Cristy said, embarrassed at being caught on the floor and attempting to rise. David hurried over and held out a hand to assist her. It would have been rude to ignore him, but she dropped his hand the instant she got to her feet.
"We're going to quit work early today," Tom said. "That is, if you're done here, Cristy. Katie gave me a list of things to pick up at the store for her, so she can prepare the food for dinner tomorrow. I don't know how she thinks we'll eat all that stuff, but we always manage to put a big dent in it."
"Just let me gather up my things. And Tracie, put your dolls in their box, please."
"I already did, Aunt Cristy. Can I go to the store with Mr. Tom? Katie told me to make sure he gets stick cinnamon for the punkin pies and not that there kind they's puttin' in them tin boxes already ground up."
"Please let her go with me." Tom gave a mock shiver when Cristy hesitated. "I sure as darn tootin' wouldn't want to get the wrong type of cinnamon and have Katie not make her pies. Punkin's my favorite."
"Mine, too!" Tracie said excitedly. "I won't let you get the wrong kind, Mr. Tom. Katie showed me what she wants."
"Go on," Cristy said with a tolerant laugh. "I'll meet you at the store as soon as I gather my things."
She was aware — very aware — that David stayed behind when Tom hefted Tracie into his arms and strode from the office. Though she didn't normally allow anyone to see her work in progress, she handed him the sketch pad in order to have something to talk about.
"Uh . . . you probably won't get much of an idea of what I have in mind from these, but it's how I work."
"I'm sure the final painting will be wonderful," David assured her. "I've seen some of your other work, remember? And I'd like you to look at my office when you have time. See what you could come up with for it. The other day one of my women clients said my office had less character than the general store. I have no idea why my office should have character, but if it makes my clients more comfortable, I'm willing to work on it. Or have you work on it, if you will. It seems more and more women these days are taking an interest in things like wills and owning their own property, and it's to my benefit for my clients to want to return to my office."
When Cristy only nodded and picked up her box of charcoals, he continued, "I'll pay you for your input. And of course for the additional paintings I hope you'll do. In fact, I saw a couple paintings in among those you brought with you that would be perfect — at least in my mind. You might have some different ideas."
"Don't you think Laura should be the one to help you redecorate your office?"
David laughed that deep, playful sound, which always warmed her heart. "Laura did re-do the cabin you and your brother live in, but she had several people's opinions to give her input. She'd probably bring in pictures of her dogs from days gone by for my place. I'd much prefer something different."
An idea flickered in Cristy's mind, but first she had to confirm something. "When people come to you for legal help, it's confidential, right?"
"I can't even tell a woman's husband what she talks to me about without her permission."
"What if she talks to you about someone else's situation?"
"Same thing, as long as she doesn't want me telling anyone what we discuss behind closed doors. It's called attorney-client privilege."
"Then maybe we can work something out about the paintings and decorating," Cristy mused.
#
On Thanksgiving Day, Laura wandered out onto the back porch of her house, snugging her cloak around her against the cold. The temperatures continued to fool them, dropping well below zero when the winds blew in off the huge lake, but hovering at tolerable levels on days the wind died.
She recalled a visit from one of her friend's cousins during a past holiday season, when the snows had been especially heavy and the wind at times vicious. Living in a southern state, the cousin had never experienced that type of sometimes violent weather, and at first, tried to huddle inside. However, she soon learned that these sturdy northern people didn't hibernate with the animals in the winter time. They accepted the weather and dressed for it.
They made the best of the transportation they had in the way of sleighs and dogsleds. They dug out from the storms and continued to celebrate the season — visit friends and exchange presents — dance into the wee hours at parties and bundle up well to face the bitter-cold rides home.
They co-existed with nature and her fury in the winter, respecting her, but not submitting to her.
In the kitchen behind Laura, Tracie giggled wildly at something Katie said. Laura had been not-very-subtly ousted from there a few minutes ago, when she almost dropped the canister of salt into the pan of stuffing Katie was preparing. She and her granddaughter, Meg, who had arrived early this morning to help, not only tolerated but also enthused over Tracie's bumbling efforts to learn to cook. Laura had lasted five minutes longer than Cristy, she thought just a little smugly. Cristy had dropped one of Katie's pie crusts when she started to lay it over a preparation of blueberries, and Katie shooed her into the dining room to polish silver.
She wished Cristy had been banished outside, however. The men were in one of their man-thing discussions, standing outside the kennel door in a group, their faces looking as though they pondered the problems of the world. She didn't imagine her father, Pete, David, Buck and Sandy would appreciate a mere female adding her opinion. Just then they all strode over to one of the bitch sled dogs and studied her. She hoped they didn't get any ideas about having input into her breeding program. That was her sole domain.
She really felt left out of things, rare for her. She probably could sneak around the house and tap on a window. Get Cristy's attention and ask her to come on out for some "girl" talk. Instead she closed her eyes, allowing the surrounding sounds to wash over her.
The chattering and murmurs from the kitchen, intermingled with the clunk of pots and pans. A splash of water, the snick of a knife being sharpened. Someone opened the window near her slightly, and spice and roasting turkey smells drifted to her. She'd barely touched her breakfast in anticipation of one of Katie's feasts, and she'd be starved by mealtime.
Men's boots crunched across the snow in the yard. Sounded like they were heading over to Sandy's dogs now. She'd considered cross-breeding a careful litter or two of the different breeds herself, so she didn't care that the idea had occurred to the men also. They'd have to get her permission, however, for any of her dogs to be part of it.
Where would she be next Thanksgiving, she wondered? What sounds would she hear then, and who would be making them? David's family home was in town, and he lived in only the downstairs of it at the moment. Less than two years ago, his parents had died within a week of each other during a virulent influenza epidemic. She and David both knew Laura would never be happy in town, but they'd put off deciding to place the Hudson house on the market. Her father once casually mentioned there was plenty of land in the Ladyslipper Landing tract to build another house upon, and she supposed they could get something built over the summer.
She wanted a house like her present home — huge windows, lots of light and an airy feel of freedom about it. Private, yet near enough to people for companionship when she desired it.
Her children should have lots of playmates nearby, and she tried to envision her and David's children in her mind. With her auburn hair and David's black hair, they would surely have dark locks, perhaps with reddish highlights. Maybe their eyes would be hazel, a mixture of her green and David's brown.
Suddenly she opened her eyes so fast and so wide she almost became dizzy. The curly-headed moppet in her mind had grinned at her, teal blue eyes sparkling in the urchin's face! The child could have been Tracie as a baby.
She definitely needed to find Cristy — occupy her mind with something besides thoughts of the other woman's brother. Before she could act on the thought, a horrible series of growls and howls of pain rent the air.
Laura's hand flew to her neck and she stared out into the yard. The men already raced toward Blancheur, their shouts lost amidst the clamor of dozens of other sled dogs, who'd caught the tension of the fight in progress and responded accordingly. Laura couldn't tell what dog had broken loose and attacked Blancheur, but the faint traces of logic lingering in her panic told her it had to be one of Sandy's dogs. The two teams had never gotten along.
When she raced from the porch, her foot slipped in a patch of ice on the step, wrenching her back and nearly sending her to the ground. Regaining her balance, she ignored the slice of pain and headed for the brawling dogs. Before she reached them, David and her father grabbed her, easily holding her between them when she tried to break away.
"Let me go!" she shouted. "I need to handle Blancheur!"
"Sandy and Buck will take care of it," Tom soothed. "With Pete helping them. You'll only end up getting bit."
Helpless to do anything else, she stared at the melee. Sandy sidled close to the two animals and his arm flicked out. He hauled back on one of the animals, and Laura recognized Sandy's lead dog, Keever. Buck leapt forward to grab Blancheur, but before he reached the dog, Blancheur tumbled over on his side. Laura gasped in horror at the red splotches spreading on his white coat.
"Oh, my God!" Tom and David's hold on her slackened, and Laura shook them off. As Buck dropped to the ground beside Blancheur, sobbing and reaching for the dog, she raced forward. Tom and David followed her, and when she knelt beside Buck, Sandy ordered Pete to tie Keever back up.
Beside her in an instant, Sandy stayed her hand when her trembling fingers sought to touch Blancheur's head. The dog's different-colored eyes pleaded with her, and his tail flopped weakly once.
"Let me carry him into the kennel," Sandy said. "We can examine him there."
She nodded slightly, and Sandy scooped Blancheur up in his arms. With Buck walking beside her, sniffling in misery, she hurried after Sandy's long strides. He paused at the kennel door, and she opened it for him, rushing inside and grabbing blankets from the supply cupboards to arrange in one of the wooden boxes they used for dog beds.
Sandy tenderly laid Blancheur down. The dog feebly licked Sandy's hand as he withdrew it.
Without looking at Buck, Laura said, "Buck, go get Dr. Erik."
"Yes, Miss Laura."
Buck stumbled away, and Tom moved to the other side of the dog bed. "I sent David to the house to tell the women and Tracie what had happened, and ask them not to come out here," he told Laura. "They heard the disturbance and were on the back porch."
"Maybe you should let your father take you into the house," Sandy said. "I'll . . . ." Laura gave him a scathing look, and he shrugged. "No, I guess that's not a viable idea. You won't leave your dog. Will you at least fetch some warm water and bandages?"
"Father knows where everything is," Laura replied. Steeling herself, she parted Blancheur's blood-soaked fur, examining the deep wounds. One of them was deep on his neck.
"Get padding to staunch the bleeding first, Father," she said.
They cleaned Blancheur up the best they could, slowing the bleeding but not completely stopping it over the deep neck wound. "Eric will have to stitch this," Laura said at one point, and Sandy nodded agreement.
When everything was done except enduring the wait until the vet showed up, Sandy rose to his feet. Laura glanced around to see that her father had left sometime during the last fifteen minutes.
Retrieving another blanket from the supply cabinet, Sandy spread it on the floor beside Laura. "Sit on that and try to calm yourself," he said with a frown of concern. "You won't help the dog by being so tense. He can sense your distress."
Laura complied — at least with the directive to sit. If her life depended on it, she couldn't have forced her muscles to relax. The horrible growls and howls of pain kept echoing in her mind.
"How did Keever get loose?" she asked as Sandy crouched beside her and leaned back on his heels.
"I don't know," he said grimly. "But I'm sure Pete's out there now examining the chain. If he finds anything suspicious, he'll let me know."
"He'll let us know," Laura said harshly. "It's my dog lying
here hurt."
"Keever had some pretty bad looking wounds himself, but since he was free while Blancheur was chained, he probably came out a little better. Keever outweighs Blancheur, too. I should go check on him, though."
Laura's anger dissipated. "I'm sorry. I forgot Keever was hurt, too. Go on. I'll stay here with Blancheur. And if we need to move Keever into the kennel also, we can put him in the office. That way we can keep the door closed and the two of them won't be able to get at each other."
"I'll put Keever up in our cabin if necessary. They'll both heal a lot faster if they can't even smell each other."
He rose again and left the kennel. Mentally pleading with Eric to hurry, Laura laid a hand on Blancheur's head. He would probably anesthetize Blancheur before he stitched the worst wound and cleaned some of the other areas with antiseptic. As much as Blancheur loved her, she feared he would bite her if she tried to put a stinging compound on his cuts, and her father had found only an empty tin when he searched for the salve they normally kept on hand. She recalled putting it on a list of items to restock the cupboards with, but she didn't remember buying any.
Rubbing her back, Laura vaguely recalled the wrenching stumble on the back steps, then dropped her hand and sighed in anxious relief as the tall, rangy vet came in.
"Buck was blubbering so bad I sent him up to the house for Katie to take care of," Erik said without preamble. "He loves that damned dog of yours. You need to give him a pup fathered by Blancheur one of these days to lead that team of his."
Winter Dreams Page 9
