by Lisa Prysock
Ambrosia Stanton sat on the floor near the fireplace in her wrapper and nightgown, brushing out her wet, long golden hair. Miss Flora sat perched on the parlor bench braiding her freshly washed hair, but she’d fully dressed into a simple calico dress and white apron, a complete change of clothing, as had all of the others. A book lay to her right on the wooden bench, and she’d already towel dried Cousin Mia’s hair, tending to the needs of her mistress before her own.
Fern sipped a cup of tea near the fire when she wasn’t winding a skein of yarn into a ball, appearing happy to have finished another week of providing delicious meals and various household tasks for Silver Aspen.
Hazel didn’t feel thankful or accomplished at all. She felt inconvenienced and out of place. She also didn’t feel thankful enough to go to church yet, and she hadn’t found any fondness for Wyoming whatsoever. Her emotions were far too complex to sit still through an entire worship service and attempt to feel something she didn’t feel.
The next morning at breakfast, she decided to feign illness to be excused from attending the service. “I’m sorry Cousin Mia. I’ve come down with some sort of influenza. I have mild nausea and a low fever alternating with chills. If you don’t mind, I’ll just wrap up in a blanket and sit by the fire in the sitting room a little while before I go back to bed.”
“Oh my, yes, of course. What can I do for you? Perhaps I should stay here and look after you. Should we fetch the doctor?” Mia stopped sipping her tea and stared at her cousin with a look of alarm.
Hazel shook her head. “No, that won’t be necessary. I’m sure it will pass. I only have minor aches and pains. You go on with your family and I’ll be fine. Nothing a little rest won’t cure.”
“You do look a little pale to me, but if you’re sure ‘tis only mild...” Mia sounded hesitant.
“I’ll be fine,” Hazel assured. “It feels like a bit of a head cold. I’m sure it will pass soon with a little rest.”
“Let me fix you a cup of tea with honey. I see you’ve barely touched your scrambled eggs,” Fern observed. Before Hazel could stop her, Fern left the breakfast table. Soon she’d returned with tea and found Hazel in the sitting room by the fire on the parlor bench, wrapped in a small quilt.
As the wranglers put on their coats and the ladies slipped on their wraps and secured their hats with pins in the main hall in preparation for the service, Hazel listened from the bench, hoping they would soon leave. Maclachlan, or rather the Australian sheepdog they called Mac, and Sable, the Old English sheepdog, followed Hazel into the sitting room and sat with their chins on her knees.
When she ignored the dogs, they placed their paws affectionately upon her knees and nuzzled against her with their chins. Hazel struggled to hide her laughter as she tried again and again to escape their playful need for attention.
It certainly wouldn’t do for her to look perfectly happy if she was supposed to be ill. However, as she quietly played with them, Wade poked his head into the sitting room to see how she was doing. He not only caught her stifling her giggles, but he saw her arm poised in the air as she tossed a ball of yarn across the room to play a game of fetch with the furry animals. He didn’t say anything, but she realized she’d been apprehended. Those steel blue eyes of his could see right through her and she was sure of it.
Resisting the urge to stick her tongue out at him, she settled into the parlor bench and tried to look as if she was not feeling playful at all, but rather ill. Perhaps if she held her breath she might turn a shade of green or pale blue. She turned away, sucking in a deep breath and holding it, hoping Wade would wander back into the main hall. When he did finally turn around and exit the sitting room to board the wagon bound for the Belle Lutheran church, she exhaled, thankful they were all gone. Turning back to the playful large dogs at her knees, she resumed playing with them and threw off the quilt smothering her.
“Have you seen Hazel?” Ambrosia asked on the next Thursday evening after dinner. Wade overheard the question as he wandered in the kitchen to find more sugar cubes for the empty sugar bowl.
“Why do you ask, Miss Ambrosia?” Miss Flora answered as Wade fished around in the pantry, one ear on the conversation.
“Well, I explained to her we ladies each take turns helping to wash the supper dishes to give Fern a break from the kitchen duties. It was supposed to be her first turn yesterday, but I washed them. So it’s her turn this evening.” Ambrosia crossed her arms over her chest as she surveyed the stacks of dishes waiting to be washed.
“I’m sorry, dear. I haven’t seen her.” Miss Flora then popped into the dining room through the square arch where most of the wranglers and family lingered around the table with their after dinner coffee and tea. Ambrosia and Wade, carrying the bowl of sugar cubes he’d found, followed Miss Flora, who repeated the question. “Has anyone seen Lady Hazel? It’s her turn to wash the dishes.”
Everyone looked around the room, but there was no sign of Mia’s cousin. They’d had the same conversation the previous night. How had she managed to slip out from among them so quickly, two nights in a row? Wade kept his mouth shut. Who was he to say anything about it? He was the new one on the ranch. It was probably best not to take sides in any family matters he reminded himself as he took his seat at the table. He added a few sugar cubes to his coffee, glad the mug was still steaming.
“I think she said something about going to her cabin,” the Earl replied. “I can tell she’s not her usual self yet, but she’ll come around once she becomes accustomed to Wyoming.”
“I saw her go out into the main hall about ten minutes ago,” Alfred remarked. “She’s been quiet this week. Taking everything in.”
“Is she coming back do you think?” Miss Flora inquired.
Patrick shrugged. “No idea, but would someone please pass me another piece of that apple pie?”
“Me, too.” Henry grinned. “Fern, you make the best apple pie I’ve ever had.”
“That’s because it’s the only apple pie you ever have,” Fern teased, causing everyone to laugh.
Wade took a few sips of his coffee and decided he’d investigate Lady Hazel’s whereabouts and perhaps try to draw her into the idea of helping the ladies. He had a soft spot for Miss Ambrosia. She was a nice kid and deserved a hand. Besides, all the ladies worked hard on the ranch, almost as hard as any of the wranglers.
He slipped out into the main hall. He had a feeling Hazel was completely inexperienced when it came to kitchen duties and manners about returning hospitality to one’s host. Titled Lady or no, she was shirking her responsibility and being a poor guest to the Stantons in his humble opinion. One thing about Silver Aspen, everyone pitched in. He frequently witnessed Lady Stanton roll up her sleeves and don an apron to help with the supper dishes and many other chores.
He reached for his worn work coat from the coat hooks near the door and then strode down the hall, stepping outside the French doors and onto the stone terrace as he swung the jacket over his head so he could slide his arms into it. The small cabin Hazel shared with Miss Ambrosia looked empty. No oil lamps were burning in the windows as they usually did when the ladies were inside. He looked around for footsteps in the snow and spotted a fresh trail of small boot tracks leading toward a patch of trees and beyond that, Henry’s cabin. He noticed the footprints veered off toward the creek. He followed the path, forcing himself not to shiver in the brisk, cold air.
A few minutes later, he found Lady Hazel standing near the edge of the creek. She appeared to be watching the water as it flowed over stones and lapped along the bank. As he drew near, he noticed she occasionally gazed up at the moon bathing everything beneath in a silvery light.
She turned as the crunch of his steps in the snow alerted her to his presence. However, she didn’t say anything; only glanced over at him as he stood beside her while they took in the scene together. He noticed droplets of ice melting on the bare tree branches, and the way the snow looked almost blue in the moonlit night, the sky above nearly
void of stars because most hid behind clouds barely visible to them in the darkness.
He didn’t want to break the silence either, so he stood still, but some part of him wanted to explain things to her, shake her in order to knock some sense into that pretty head of hers. Giving her the benefit of the doubt, he reasoned with himself that maybe she didn’t understand how things worked at Silver Aspen. Everyone pitched in and helped each other. It was one of the things he liked most about the ranch.
She was so young, maybe twenty-one or twenty-two. Perhaps she needed Lady Mia to nudge her along in the right direction. He didn’t want to overstep his boundaries between employee and employer’s family. Why should he care if she aggravated everyone with her pretentious airs and thoughtless ways? Thinking of sweet Miss Ambrosia with her arms up to her elbows in dishes, he’d decided it would be his job to enlighten her, against his better judgement. Then he thought the better of it, his gut telling him to take it slow and see where the conversation went.
He edged his way toward her until he was only inches away. The only thing between them was their breath hanging in the cold air. Maybe if he could be close to Hazel, she’d view him as more of a friend than enemy or stranger. From what he’d been able to gather, she viewed nearly everyone as the enemy or stranger in her world. They weren’t two people alone at a fine dining establishment trying to wait out a blizzard anymore.
“Pretty moon, isn’t it?” she finally said, her voice cheerful and soft.
He nodded, and then all of his words were gone. All he could see were those pouty red lips of hers, lips he had the strangest urge to kiss. For a long time, they stood there listening to the babbling creek. They heard a crunching noise in the snow and turned to their left in time to see a deer across the creek peering at them.
“Look,” she pointed, her voice a whisper. His eyes followed to see a baby fawn belonging to the doe, a few feet away, almost hidden by a scrawny shrub bare of its leaves.
He smiled and they remained still for what seemed like a long time, but was in fact merely a few minutes before the deer and her fawn skipped and darted away.
Finally he found a few words. “They’re looking for you inside.”
She sighed. “I needed some fresh air.”
He knew she was fibbing. She’d probably never washed or dried a dish in her life, but he decided to keep his mouth shut. In the end, he supposed she’d appreciate it more. He could feel his cheeks twitch as he clamped his jaw down.
She sighed again, and he caught a glimpse of her green eyes in the moonlight as she pulled her woolen, cream, fringed shawl close over her pearl gray linen dress. “The truth is, I’m not versed in matters of the kitchen. We had servants for such things. I’m entirely out of my element,” she admitted, each word thick with her British accent.
He nodded, trying to find something to say. At least she was being honest. He tried to imagine her world, to consider the shock she might be suffering.
Then she turned wordlessly toward the house, trudging through the snow in her tiny black boots, boots surprisingly adequate for the weather. Perhaps she’d borrowed a pair from Ambrosia or found them inside her trunks. He turned and followed, hoping she’d go directly to the kitchen. When she turned off ahead of him to hide in her small cabin and the door slammed shut, he shook his head and shrugged, returning to the main cabin. He’d roll up his sleeves and help Miss Stanton himself, but he prayed Hazel would soon adapt.
Chapter 8
* * *
But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, longsuffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, meekness, temperance: against such there is no law. Galatians 5:22-23
Lady Hazel felt herself growing to intensely dislike Mr. Wade Jefferson, the ranch hand who seemed to look right through her as if he was reading the intents of her heart. He was always around at the most inopportune moments, and the next incident was the worst of them all in her mind.
She could tell he thought she was a useless individual, and no matter what she did, he always seemed to be on hand to witness her shortcomings and failures. The next day, she received a letter from her dearest friend in all of England, Lady Mary Prater.
It was delivered by Joshua who’d gone to town to check for mail and pick up a list of supplies. He’d returned with letters, coffee, tea, sugar, flour, cornmeal, a barrel of salt pork, and the like. The wranglers emptied the wagon and brought the supplies into the kitchen.
Everyone gathered around to see if a letter had arrived for any among them. Joshua passed out the mail, and each looked happy to have some correspondence. When he handed Hazel a letter last, he added, “You’ll have to join us at church this Sunday so you can have a better look at Belle without blizzard conditions.”
“Yes, thank you, Joshua,” she replied, nodding, surprised he’d handed her a letter. Was that his way of commanding her to not find another excuse to miss the worship service? She observed him as he settled into reading a copy of the Friday edition of the Belle Gazette at the dining room table with a cup of strong black coffee.
Cousin Mia squeezed her hand warmly. “I’m so glad you’ve a letter, Hazel. We can spend the afternoon writing our replies to our hearts’ content.”
Hazel nodded, still surprised to be holding an envelope in her hands. Her cousin, Viscount Alfred Morley, had a letter from Lady Alice, his intended. Her uncle, Lord Charles Morley, settled into a seat to Joshua’s right, with Henry on his other side, to read a letter from a family friend back in England and another from his business manager, the man handling his affairs while he was out of the country.
Henry and Fern had no mail, but Henry enjoyed reading the newspaper pages as Joshua passed each page along. Uncle Charles would courteously pause from reading his letters and pass the newspaper pages on to Henry without any words. Miss Flora even had a letter from her family back in England.
Cousin Mia held in her hands a letter from a friend in England as well, detailing the account of her friend’s Christmas, and a letter from Mrs. Ada Smith in Virginia. She took the seat to her husband’s left to read her letters.
Patrick had a letter from a friend in Kentucky, and Edward, a letter from relations in Minnesota. Miss Ambrosia took a turn about the dining room as she read a letter from her aunt in Virginia, someone named Prudence, or Aunt Prudy. Wade had a letter from Cheyenne, but Hazel didn’t see where he wandered off to open the contents of the envelope in his hands or who it was from. She remembered he’d said he’d grown up in Cheyenne and briefly wondered who might be writing him. Did he have a pretty belle waiting for him back in his hometown? As handsome as he was, she wouldn’t be the least bit surprised.
Instead of the dining room, Hazel chose to find a quiet corner in the library across the hall and through the sitting room to read her letter in privacy. It was the first letter she’d had from England or anywhere since her arrival. She was overjoyed to have any mail at all since she’d determined not to write her father ever again.
Hazel sat down in a leather chair facing the rear windows overlooking part of the stone terrace. Her friend, Lady Mary, the author of the letter, was engaged to a Marquess, Lord Louis Heatherby, a handsome Duke’s firstborn son. It would be the match of the year. Anyone who was anyone would be invited. Hazel and Mary were both debutantes of sorts, and father had probably given Mary her address. Trembling, she opened the envelope carefully.
The letter had taken thirty days and two weeks to arrive in Wyoming Territory according to the date. However, as she read on past the news about Mary’s Christmas and her recent formal engagement to Louis, hopes for spring wedding plans, Hazel found herself jarred by other news. The one man she had ever loved, Lord Charles Filmore, had been seen accompanying another debutante—Lady Ruby Andrews—about London. They’d been to a play at the theater, followed by an opera, three rides in Hyde Park, and to one decadent party in Mayfair. Lady Mary’s letter went on to beg her to return to England at once if she didn’t want to see her beloved Charles, who shared the same first
name as her maternal uncle, lost forever.
Hazel was immediately gripped by the awful contents of the letter in her hands. She was visibly shaken. “No, this cannot be happening!” she breathed. “Not Ruby Andrews!” Her hands tightened into clenched fists. Lady Ruby was well-liked by those in popular circles. Her father was titled and she would have a dowry unrivaled by most.
Hazel spied a teapot with a red rose painted on it. The teapot sat upon a tray on the end table beside her chair. It was the first thing she saw. Hazel picked it up and threw it as hard as she could at the bookcase nearest her view. It crashed against the shelves, breaking apart into far too many pieces to ever be repaired. When she turned around to flee, she collided with Wade’s chest, her green eyes flashing a look of fire mingled with thunder and tears.
She literally bounced off of him as he steadied her from falling backwards. However, she did not wait to give him any explanation for her behavior. Clutching the letter to her chest, she left the teapot on the floor and retreated to her little cabin as fast as her feet could carry her.
Chapter 9
* * *
Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewal of your mind, that by testing you may discern what is the will of God, what is good and acceptable and perfect. Romans 12:2, ESV
Hazel flung herself on the quilt covering her soft double bed in the corner beside the fireplace, thankful the cabin was empty. Tears poured out of her like a river as she buried her face among the pillows. It wasn’t long before she heard the cabin door creak open and Cousin Mia’s rustling skirts skimming the floor as she came to Hazel’s side.
She could feel her cousin climb up onto the bed to sit near her. Mia didn’t say a word, but she laid a comforting hand on Hazel’s back until her sobbing subsided. Finally, Hazel sat up, needing to blow her nose. Her cousin handed her a handkerchief from somewhere in the hidden pocket of her skirts, ever the true lady Hazel wished she could be.
