Wildflower Harvest: Includes Bonus Story of Desert Rose

by Colleen L. Reece

  “I don’t know.” She looked at the ruined gown. “It spread so far. We’ll probably have to take out a panel and make it straighter but it won’t be as pretty.” She sent a sympathizing glance toward Laurel.

  Thomas took the frothy pink gown in his big hands, careful not to let their roughness mar the delicate material. “Laurel, this dress is yours from now on. Ivy Ann will wear the blue until it is worn out, once it’s been fixed.”

  Mutiny sprang to Ivy’s face and protest caught in Laurel’s throat. Before either could speak, Thomas spoke in the voice he reserved for only the most portentous times. “The matter is settled and no one is to say another word about it. Laurel, put the pink dress away. Ivy, put the blue gown to soak or whatever it needs.”

  Ivy Ann stumbled out, her eyes glazed with tears. Laurel took her new pink gown upstairs and reluctantly stowed it in the big trunk destined for Antelope. Could she ever wear it without remembering this awful day? She must. She had no other beautiful gown, just simple clothing and outgrown dresses.

  The power of Thomas Brown’s ultimatum had an effect on both twins. Neither mentioned the dress but it hung between them like a gauzy curtain of misunderstanding and resentment. Laurel wearily counted the days until she could slip away. She watched and waited until one afternoon both parents and Ivy Ann were absent from Red Cedars. Then she hurriedly arranged for her trunk to be taken to the railway station and shipped west. If her calculations proved right, it should reach Antelope just before she arrived.

  Now every day became bittersweet. Saying goodbye to the horses and rolling hills and mountains brought pain. So did the gnawing knowledge of her deception. She had sworn to secrecy the old friend who picked up her trunk and shipped it. Nothing remained except a few days that stretched like an eternity in her heart.

  In the closing chapter of her life at Red Cedars, Laurel often wondered if she should forget the whole thing, confess her sins to her parents, and have her father retrieve the trunk.

  The sight of Ivy Ann as blithe and selfish as ever hardened Laurel’s plans. “It isn’t like it’s forever,” she mumbled to a swaying laurel clump already showing signs of swelling buds. “Someday I’ll come back.” She firmly refused to examine Adam’s possible reaction to a madcap young woman who ran away from home and traveled West unchaperoned. Time enough to consider that on the train journey that loomed like forbidden fruit.

  Before sunup that fateful spring morning Laurel’s tears fell on the carefully written notes she placed on the tall chest of drawers. After tying the strings of her plainest dark bonnet, Laurel walked the miles to Shawnee and began her journey. She kept her head down so the few curious passengers wouldn’t ask where she was going so early on a midweek workday. Once on her way, no one would know or heed her, she thought, never realizing that her lovely eyes and well-bred manner would attract attention all the way from home to the Wyoming Territory.

  Laurel hadn’t known what a mess of contradictions she was until she left Red Cedars and headed West. At times her heart quailed and she fought the desire to get off at every stop. Yet part of her exulted at her new freedom, and a fierce pride in breaking away from Ivy Ann sustained her. Months earlier Adam Birchfield had opened wide his dark eyes at the changing country. Now Laurel Brown gasped and frankly stared. How ignorant she had been of anything outside her own county, her own state, her own little world!

  How many rivers did they cross? How many miles of free swaying grass? How many spring freshets and sunny days gave way to the relentless clack-clack of the wheels? How many small children did she wave to, barefooted, gap-toothed urchins whose longing for adventure clearly showed on freckled faces that watched the train out of sight? Each time Laurel hugged close to her heart that she actually was on this adventure. Once she secretly pinched herself to make sure it wasn’t all a dream. Then she laughed until those around her gazed at the fresh face set off by the plain dark bonnet and traveling gown.

  Cramped at times and wishing for a bath, nothing daunted Laurel for long. When she grew irritated at the lack of all the comforts she had taken for granted at home, she privately reminded herself how lucky she was, as Adam had said, to be riding a snorting iron horse all those miles instead of following in the dust of a creaking wagon.

  Her first sight of the distant Rockies left her speechless. Never had she felt as insignificant as the moment her gaze beheld the jutting peaks that looked determined to pierce the bottom of heaven. Mountain after snowy mountain loomed until at last she heard the charmed call: “Rock Springs!”

  She had done it.

  Stiff from the long and tiring journey, Laurel stepped into a world she wouldn’t have believed existed. A world of bellowing cattle being driven in for shipping, of dusty men in boots with impossibly tall heels, of curses and the jangle of spurs.

  Suddenly her joy faded. Why hadn’t she thought things through better? How on earth could she get from Rock Springs to Antelope? She grabbed her dwindling courage in both hands as she timidly queried a fellow passenger. “Where is the stage to Antelope?”

  His open face showed astonishment. “Stage? There ain’t no such thing, miss.”

  “Well, people go there. How?”

  He scratched his head. “Blamed if I know. I never lost anything in Antelope so I never wondered.”

  Laurel wanted to scream with laughter. If Ivy Ann could see this friendly but simple fellow she’d absolutely die.

  She wasn’t Ivy Ann, so she’d best start wondering even if this man never had. Yet no one seemed to be able to help until a slender young man whose spotless linen and grooming made him stand out like sunflowers in a violet patch strode toward her. His high heels gave him the appearance of height but Laurel guessed him to be only a few inches taller than her own five foot six inches. Blond, cleanshaven, and thoroughly dapper, he could have stepped into any West Virginia home.

  “Miss, did I hear you say you needed to go to Antelope?” Curiosity lit his glowing amber eyes.

  For a second Laurel recoiled. Those eyes reminded her of the eyes of a tiger she once saw in a book—wild and dangerous. She hesitated.

  “The reason I ask is that a crude wagon road has been built to haul in supplies. I’m taking a wagonload in tomorrow morning. A couple of men are going with me and one woman.”

  Laurel’s joy knew no bounds. “A woman?”

  The man smiled. “She’s not exactly your type, but she’s good-hearted. Storekeeper’s wife. She came out for a burying.”

  Relief washed through the tired girl. “Where can I find her?”

  “Boardinghouse.” The man jerked a tanned finger with its scrupulously clean nail down the street. “You can stay there overnight. One thing—”

  Her heart pounded. What now?

  “It’s a real bumpy ride.” White teeth gleamed in his sun-warmed face. “Where’s your baggage?” He glanced at the reticule she carried.

  “I sent a trunk ahead.”

  “Must be the one the agent said was bound for Antelope. I’ll see to it. It’s been here a few days but we don’t rightly have a schedule into Antelope. By the way, I’m Dan Sharpe.”

  She didn’t offer her hand but she smiled. “I’m Miss Brown.” Five minutes later she followed her self-appointed protector into the parlor of the boardinghouse.

  “Mrs. Greer, meet Miss Brown. She’s going to Antelope with us tomorrow.”

  The double-chinned face dropped open in surprise but Mrs. Greer snapped it shut and quickly smiled. “Why, nice to meet you!” Her eyes almost closed when she smiled. Laurel appreciated the way she obviously refrained from asking why a young woman from the East would be headed toward Antelope. Instead she merely chatted after Laurel paid for her supper, breakfast, and night’s lodging. She told the girl they had about a hundred miles of the wildest Wyoming country ever to travel. They would put up at ranches that welcomed the chance to buy fresh supplies and get outside news. Mama would approve of Mrs. Greer, Laurel thought.

  At last the good woman ran d
own. Laurel felt she must explain at least a little. “Dr. Birchfield visited our family in West Virginia,” she said. Her heart pounded in her ears. “He said Antelope needed Christian women and families and that his brother was making it a place for decent people to live.”

  “Land sakes!” The moon face opposite her positively glowed. “Are you Dr. Birchfield’s young lady? Why, Miss Brown, he and that brother of his are doing more to bring common decency to Antelope than you can ever imagine.” She rushed on and mercifully spared Laurel from having to answer her question.

  Dan Sharpe’s promise proved true. Much of the misnamed road to Antelope jolted Laurel until her bones ached. Mrs. Greer laughed her cushiony laugh and told the weary girl, “You need more padding, like me.”

  All Laurel could do was grin feebly and hang on. When they came to places laboriously widened to accommodate the supply wagon, she gritted her teeth, closed her eyes against the canyons that plunged on both sides of them, and prayed. Only once did her sense of humor break through her misery. When Mrs. Greer cheerfully boasted how fine it was to have a road instead of having to ride horseback the whole way or be born in Antelope to get there, Laurel secretly wondered if she’d have the courage to leave it once she got there.

  “We’re going to make this into a real road one of these days,” Dan Sharpe promised and lifted a tawny eyebrow. Again Laurel thought of that tiger. She sensed that like his feline counterpart, Dan Sharpe had the potential to spring.

  The other two men said little but fixed their gaze on Laurel until she wished they’d fall asleep or off the wagon or something. Yet she found nothing sinister in their stares, just a frank-eyed admiration. When she smiled they turned rosy and hastily averted their gaze.

  A warm welcome, hot water for washing, and a clean bed after a bounteous supper that left her ashamed of her unusual appetite did much to restore Laurel’s optimism. Besides, if Mrs. Greer could placidly knit in spite of the narrow ledges and rushing streams they crossed, the danger couldn’t be as great as Laurel feared.

  An eternity later, but actually a few days, the wagon swung around the same bend that had hidden Antelope from Adam’s view months earlier. Little had changed except more people now thronged the dusty street and a few new cabins had been built. To Laurel’s fascinated, horrified gaze any expectations or romantic beliefs about the hamlet died an instant death. Antelope itself showed what a mirage her ideas had been. Here lay naked substance, a small but sprawling town at her very feet.

  Mrs. Greer, sensing Laurel’s dismay, calmed the troubled girl’s whirling brain. “Look up, child.”

  Laurel automatically obeyed. Jagged mountains guarded the town and offered security, something to cling to in this strange place. They felt like old friends, friendly in spite of their scarred, snow-clad surfaces. Small wonder the Psalmist had looked to the hills for the strength that cometh from God, Laurel thought.

  She inhaled and felt a rush of exhilaration renew her inner self. No matter what lay ahead, or behind, no matter where she went or if she stayed, those mountains had been etched permanently into her heart, mind, and soul.

  “You’ll want to see the young doctor right away,” Mrs. Greer whispered when Dan Sharpe reined in his team.

  Sheer panic destroyed her serenity. “Not yet,” she said breathlessly. “I-I want to bathe and—and—”

  “Of course.” Mrs. Greer chuckled then frowned. “Hmmm. The hotel, such as it is, won’t do for you. Let’s see.” Her face brightened and her double chins quivered. “The Widow Terry has a spare room since her daughter married. She’s particular about who she takes in but she’ll be glad for company.”

  Laurel had little chance to protest. Mrs. Greer swept her along in the falling dusk. They rounded a corner.

  ‘Well, look who we’re running into.” Pleasure dripped from every word.

  Laurel stared at the roughclad but unmistakable figure just ahead. Her intentions to dress up before letting Adam see her became futile. She gathered her travel-stained skirts in one hand, raced down the narrow lane off the main street, and clasped the dark-haired man’s arm. Her heart pounded more from anticipation than exertion. “Hello!”

  The man turned and looked into her face. “Excuse me, miss. You must have mistaken me for someone else.”

  Laurel nearly collapsed. Adam’s steady voice was denying her. She turned to stone.

  “What’s all this?” Mrs. Greer hurried up, her pleasant face distorted by shadows dancing in the dusk.

  “This young lady seems to feel she knows me. I’ve never seen her before in my life.” Swiftly and surely he removed Laurel’s clutching, desperate fingers.

  Chapter 8

  This couldn’t be happening. Laurel had expected shock, disapproval, and even a reprimand from Adam but not a refusal to acknowledge their acquaintance and friendship! Her knees felt lifeless. Would they give way any minute?

  “Now, Reverend Birchfield, how could you not know her? This is Miss Brown, come all the way from West Virginia. She knows the doctor, and—”

  The man Laurel belatedly realized was not Adam but an older version of him threw back his head and laughed. “And in this half-dark she thought she’d found him!” He laughed again and even in the dimness she could see Adam as he would be a few years from now. Relief and surprise left her stunned. At least Adam hadn’t rejected her presence.

  “I’m taking her to the Widow Terry’s,” Mrs. Greer said as she firmly grasped Laurel’s arm. “Tell Dr. Birchfield Miss Brown will see him in an hour or whenever he’s free.”

  “Gladly and a delayed welcome, Miss Brown.” The minister whose voice and appearance so reminded Laurel of Adam left the two bewildered women.

  “It will take a good hour for you to get freshened,” Mrs. Greer said in her practical way. “Soon as I introduce you to Mrs. Terry I’ll trot back and have Dan drop off your trunk. No girl wants to have her beau see her looking bedraggled from a long journey.”

  Again, Laurel didn’t have the wits or heart to deny that Dr. Birchfield was her beau. All she wanted was time to settle down before he came.

  Mrs. Terry turned out to be as welcoming as Mrs. Greer had foretold. She not only heated water and helped Mrs. Greer unpack Laurel’s trunk—with many an ohh and ahh—she quickly heated irons and pressed the fluffy pink gown. She also announced that she’d just walk a piece with Mrs. Greer since the doctor would be there to keep her new boarder company. “If you want to work, my dear, I can tell by your gowns you are a good needlewoman and I need help in my business.”

  “I’d like that.” Laurel thought of her dwindling resources, the birthday and Christmas money now depleted by her journey.

  The two chattering women, one billowy, one thin almost to the point of gauntness, but both unmeasurably kind, vanished through the door.

  Ten minutes later a rapid knock on the peeled pine log door announced Dr. Birchfield’s arrival and set Laurel shivering.

  Every day Dr. Adam Birchfield lived and worked in Antelope he more clearly saw the need for his skills and rejoiced. How much more opportunity to give real service here than back home in Concord, especially since it had grown and attracted other doctors. The long rides out to ranches and the ever-changing Wyoming mountains, hills, and valleys continued to thrill him to the soul. He rode in at dusk one snowy afternoon, content and at peace.

  A blast of music from the Pronghorn saloon, defiantly mocked by another from the Silver, upset him as usual, but much of his business stemmed from saloon patronage. He rode down the street, turned his mount, and trotted toward home, feeling more peaceful with each mile. Being here with Nat had turned out to be everything he had hoped for and more. Adam led his horse into shelter, quickly rubbed him down, and strode into the sweet-smelling log cabin.

  “Hmmm,” he sniffed, “something smells good.”

  Nat’s wide white smile flashed. His dark eyes twinkled. “Venison stew, hot biscuits and—” He triumphantly waved a glass jar. “Wild berry preserves.”

&nbs
p; “Donated by a grateful parishioner?” Adam shrugged out of his snowy coat and boots before making for the welcome warmth of the fireplace with its roaring flames.

  “Not exactly.” Nat turned the tables on his brother and his sparkling dark eyes showed how much he enjoyed doing so. “Sally Mae Justice made them with her own little hands and wants our good doctor to have them. It’s the only way poor little her can show her appreciation and respect for the man who saved her brother Mark.” Instant contrition replaced Nat’s faithful imitation of Sally Mae’s simpering. “I shouldn’t mock her. Sally Mae really loves that cowboy brother and I’m sure she’d be grateful to whatever doctor saved his life. Even if he weren’t ‘the best catch Antelope’s seen in many a year,’ “he couldn’t help adding.

  “Forget that stuff!” Adam growled, but a reluctant grin found its way over his storm-wet face the same way the kitten Inkblot, yet another gift, always found herself close to the hearth. “Besides, I’m only the second best catch, you know.” He clasped his hands in a ridiculous pose, gazed skyward, and said in a high falsetto, “Isn’t it just too, too wonderful that with all Mr. Birchfield has to do he’s getting up a choir for Christmas?”

  Nat’s face turned red and he muttered something that clearly told Adam his brother knew what it was to have to minister to silly young women who trailed and set traps for him.

  “With all the cowboys and ranchers around, why do the few nice young women concentrate on us?” Adam asked later. Filled with good food and the prospect of a free evening together—a rare occurrence—the brothers lounged in front of the fire, safe from the pelting storm.

  “We represent the East many of them knew and they haven’t yet started to realize some of the cowboys and ranchers out here are among the finest men on earth.” Nat’s eyes glowed and he leaned forward. “I don’t mean the hard-riding, hard-shooting, loud-mouthed showoffs. I mean those who will find a place in the pages of western history books. Not for deeds of daring but for their relentless refusal to let a new and untamed country beat them.”