Aunt Dimity Goes West

by Nancy Atherton

  “Hey, Reg,” I said, touching the faded grape-juice stain on his snout. “Ever picture yourself in a cowboy hat?”

  Reginald’s black button eyes glimmered in a way that seemed to say, if only to me, that he’d never in his life imagined himself wearing anything as silly as a cowboy hat, but that, if I insisted, he’d put up with it.

  “Don’t worry,” I said. “I don’t think they make them in your size.”

  Reginald glimmered his relief. I gave his long ears a friendly tweak, took the blue journal down from its place on the bookshelves, and curled comfortably in one of the pair of tall leather armchairs that sat before the hearth.

  “Dimity?” I said, opening the journal. “Got a minute?”

  I smiled as the familiar lines of elegant copperplate began to flow gracefully across the page.

  I have all the minutes you need, my dear. How are you feeling today?

  “Fine,” I said. Then I recalled to whom I was speaking and instantly revised my answer. “Okay, so the nightmare woke me up again this morning, and I didn’t have a moment’s peace all day because of the parade, and my shoulder’s a little achy, but other than that I’m doing pretty well.” I glanced at the laptop and thought of Bill staying up half the night, planning every detail of the trip. “As a matter of fact, I’m feeling better than I have in a long time.”

  Splendid! To what do you owe your improvement? Acupuncture? Meditation? Hydrotherapy? Or have you decided to try something new?

  “Something new,” I replied. “How do you feel about log cabins, Dimity?”

  I can’t honestly say that I’ve ever felt anything about log cabins. Why? Are you planning to build one, as a form of work therapy? If so, I’d advise starting on something a bit smaller. A bird table, perhaps, or a simple bookshelf. One can never have too many bookshelves.

  “I’m not going to build a log cabin,” I said. “I’m going to stay in one. In Colorado.”

  You’ve decided to leave England for America? Good heavens. Have you told Bill?

  “It was Bill’s idea,” I told her. “It’s his surefire cure for what ails me. He’s convinced that a radical change of scene will exorcise Abaddon, so he’s sending me, Annelise, and the twins to stay in a log cabin in Colorado, while he stays here to catch up on work. Have you ever been to Colorado?”

  Never. It’s mountainous, I believe.

  “So I’ve heard. I’ve never been there, either. The thing is,” I added, voicing for the first time a concern that had been troubling me, “I was born and raised in Chicago, Dimity. I don’t really see myself as a mountain woman.”

  I sincerely doubt that you’ll have to chop wood, haul water from a creek, or kill wild animals in order to put food on the table, if that’s what’s worrying you. Bill wouldn’t send you to a place that wasn’t equipped with a full range of modern conveniences.

  “Bill’s never seen the cabin,” I said. “It belongs to one of his clients, a guy named Danny Auerbach, who never stays there. Danny likes to lend the cabin to friends, but not one of his friends has asked to use it this summer—not one!” I frowned anxiously. “I have a horrible feeling that there’s something wrong with the place, something that scares people off.”

  Pull yourself together, Lori. Bill’s clients are uniformly wealthy, and the wealthy do not own shabby properties. I’m sure the cabin will be lovely.

  “There must be a crazy neighbor then,” I insisted. “An old guy with a shotgun and a grudge against city folk.”

  Have you discussed your misgivings with Bill?

  “No, and I’m not going to,” I said quickly. “This is just between you and me, Dimity. I don’t care if the cabin has a dirt floor and a trigger-happy old coot living next door—I’m not going to say a word to Bill. He needs a vacation from his lunatic wife, and I’m going to give him one.”

  I’m quite sure Bill doesn’t see it that way, Lori.

  “I see it that way,” I declared. “Bill’s been at my beck and call ever since we got back from Scotland. It’s my turn to make a sacrifice, and if that means roughing it in the back of beyond for a couple of weeks, so be it.”

  Forgive me, Lori, but I was under the impression that you were feeling better. Did I misunderstand you?

  “I do feel better,” I insisted. “Will and Rob are out of their minds with excitement, Annelise can’t wait to leave, and Bill’s been walking on air ever since I agreed to go. How could I not feel better when there’s so much happiness swirling around me?” I wrinkled my nose. “I’m just a little worried, that’s all.”

  You wouldn’t be yourself if you weren’t a little worried about something, dearest Lori. Nevertheless, I’m glad Bill hatched such a delightful scheme. The brisk alpine air will do you a world of good. Besides, I’ve never visited the Rocky Mountains, and I’d very much like to go.

  “Good, because you’re coming with me,” I said. “So is Reginald. There are some sacrifices I’m not willing to make, and facing the vast, untamed wilderness without you and Reg is one of them.”

  I can’t tell you how pleased I am to hear it. We will face the wilderness together, my dear, but in the meantime, the hour is growing late. Don’t you think you should toddle off to bed? You’ll have lots to do tomorrow.

  When I thought of the work involved in packing everything the twins and I would need for an open-ended, outdoorsy sort of trip, I couldn’t help but agree.

  “You’re right,” I said. “It’s toddling time. Thanks for listening, Dimity.”

  Thank you, Lori, for allowing me to listen. Sleep well.

  “I’ll try,” I promised, without much hope.

  When the curving lines of royal-blue ink had faded from the page, I closed the journal and looked up at Reginald.

  “Well, cowpoke,” I said, in my best western drawl, “I hope Buffalo Bill hasn’t gotten us in over our heads. If I have to hunt for food, we’re a-goin’ to get mighty hungry.”

  I awoke with a gasp before dawn the next day, but I had too much on my mind to waste time shuddering, so I got up, dressed, and went downstairs to pull suitcases out of storage. I’d managed to dislodge exactly one duffel bag from its shelf in the utility room when Bill charged in after me, removed the duffel bag from my grasp, and shooed me into the kitchen to start breakfast.

  It soon became apparent that Dimity and I had grossly overestimated the amount of energy I’d need to prepare for the trip. Bill had promised that I wouldn’t have to lift a finger, and he saw to it that I didn’t. He and Annelise allowed me to watch them pack, but if I dared to tuck so much as a sock into a suitcase, they ordered me out of the room.

  Since the twins and I were clearly underfoot, I piled them into the Range Rover for a farewell tour of Finch. Our abrupt, unannounced flight to Scotland had started the rumor mills churning at breakneck speed among my neighbors, and I didn’t want our Colorado trip to start another frenzy of speculation. I wanted everyone to know that the boys and I were setting out on a pleasant vacation this time, not being chased from our home by a homicidal maniac.

  The villagers with whom I spoke were unanimously in favor of Bill’s big idea, except when it came to his choice of destinations.

  “Colorado?” said Sally Pyne, offering me a plate of fresh-baked scones. “It’s a bit rough and tumble out there, isn’t it? All prickly plants and vipers? Why don’t you ask Bill to find you a nice B&B in Cornwall instead? The sea air would put you right in no time.”

  “The Rocky Mountains?” said Mr. Barlow, wiping axle grease from his hands. “I had a cousin who went there once. Collapsed on his first day. Altitude sickness. Had to be airlifted to a lower altitude. I’d book a hotel in Skegness if I were you. The sea air’s like a tonic.”

  “America!” thundered Peggy Taxman, closing her cash register with a bang. “Wouldn’t go there if my life depended on it. Loud voices, fast food, vulgarity and violence everywhere you turn. You’d be better off in Blackpool. The twins’d love the donkey rides, and you’d be blooming after a week or two
of fresh sea air.”

  Shy, balding, soft-spoken George Wetherhead approved of Bill’s plan unreservedly, but only because he was a train enthusiast.

  “The Pikes Peak Cog Railway is the highest in the world!” he exclaimed. “The views from the Royal Gorge train are breathtaking! The Cripple Creek and Victor Narrow Gauge Railroad has an 0-4-0 locomotive! Oh, how I envy you.”

  I didn’t have the heart to tell him that a tour of historic railways was not on the agenda. Nor did I have the courage to disagree with everyone else. My neighbors were, after all, merely expressing my own doubts and misgivings.

  After we’d made the rounds in Finch, I took Will and Rob to Anscombe Manor to say good-bye to Emma Harris, who owned the manor, and to the boys’ ponies, who were stabled there.

  Will and Rob were identical twins who bore a strong resemblance to their father. They had Bill’s dark-brown hair and velvety chocolate-brown eyes, and they were, as he had been, so tall for their age that strangers couldn’t believe they were only five. Like Bill, they were bright, sweet-natured, and energetic. Unlike him—and most definitely unlike me—they were completely and utterly horse-crazy.

  When my sons weren’t galloping over hill and dale on their ponies, Thunder and Storm, they liked to draw horses, talk about horses, sing songs about horses, and pretend to be horses. They liked to play cricket, squelch through mud puddles, and pretend to be dinosaurs, too, but they were never happier than when they were with their ponies. They couldn’t leave England without saying good-bye to Thunder and Storm, and I, shaken by my neighbors’ observations, couldn’t face my well-meaning husband again until I’d had a calm, sensible conversation with Emma.

  I found her in the stables, cleaning stalls.

  “I used to think the lady of the manor had a glamorous life,” I said, stepping carefully across the straw-strewn floor. “Boy, was I wrong.”

  Emma gave me a jaundiced look, leaned her pitchfork against the wheelbarrow, and fetched apples from a nearby basket for the boys to give to their ponies.

  “Very funny,” she said, wiping the sweat from her brow as we walked into the fresh air. “Anyone who thinks living in a manor house is glamorous has never come face-to-face with an eighteenth-century drain.”

  “I may be able to match you on that score before the summer’s out,” I said, and told her about our impending journey.

  “It sounds fantastic,” she said when I’d finished. “You’ll have miles of trails to explore, and the mountains will be awash in wildflowers. It’s a beautiful time of year to be in the Rockies.”

  “I’m not so sure,” I said doubtfully. “Peggy’s got a point, you know. America is loud and vulgar and violent.”

  “Some of America is nasty,” Emma temporized, “but most of it is nice. The same could be said of England or anywhere else in the world, for that matter. And what would Peggy know about it, anyway? She’s never been to America.”

  “But what about Mr. Barlow’s cousin?” I asked. “He didn’t have such a great time in the Rockies.”

  “He’s the exception that proves the rule,” Emma said firmly. “Colorado wouldn’t have much of a tourist industry if visitors were falling over every five minutes from altitude sickness. You and the boys will be fine.”

  “What about the cabin, then?” I said. “Don’t you think there must be something wrong with it? Like bad drains?”

  “The drains will be fine, Lori,” said Emma. “Everything will be fine. You’ll see. You’ll come back from Colorado with roses in your cheeks. I wish I could come with you.”

  “You can!” I said, brightening.

  “No, I can’t,” said Emma. “I’ve got to run the riding school and tend the garden and repair the drains and…” She took a deep breath, then said in a rush, “And Nell is coming home.”

  “Nell’s coming home?” I cried. “When?”

  “Tomorrow,” Emma replied.

  Nell was Nell Harris, Emma’s eighteen-year-old stepdaughter, and the most exquisitely beautiful girl I’d ever seen or imagined. She’d been in Paris for the past year, studying at the Sorbonne.

  “Does Kit know?” I asked.

  “Not yet,” said Emma. “I’m going to break it to him tonight, after dinner.”

  Kit was Kit Smith, Emma’s stable master and the object of Nell’s unwavering affection, an affection he tried hard not to return because he was twice Nell’s age, and he thought the age difference mattered. No one else did. Nell was an extraordinarily mature eighteen-year-old.

  “Good grief,” I said faintly, then turned to grip Emma’s wrist. “What if Kit changes his mind? What if he proposes to Nell? I absolutely forbid him to marry her until I’m back from Colorado!”

  “I don’t think you have much to worry about,” Emma said dryly. “Kit’s as stubborn as you are.”

  I looked toward the stables. “Lucky for Kit, so is Nell.”

  Once Emma had promised that she wouldn’t let Kit marry anyone until I’d returned, and I had promised to bombard her with postcards, I rounded up the boys and left for home, feeling more despondent than ever.

  I’d been eagerly awaiting Kit and Nell’s reunion for over a year, and now it would take place without me. I didn’t want to be thousands of miles away while the romance of the century was taking place. I wanted to be on hand, on the spot, if possible, when Kit’s resistance melted and he gave in to the urgings of his heart. As we turned out of Anscombe Manor’s curving drive, I composed a suitable message for Emma’s first postcard.

  “Killed bear last night,” I muttered. “Skinned it this morning. If Kit and Nell elope while I’m away, I’ll skin you!”

  Four

  Since Will, Rob, Annelise, and I were a seasoned team of travelers, our flight from London to Denver would have been pleasantly uneventful if only I’d been able to stay awake. Unfortunately, I dozed off somewhere over the Atlantic and nearly caused an international incident when I woke up screaming.

  Annelise managed to convince the rattled cabin crew that I’d simply had a bad dream, but the other passengers watched me closely from then on, as if they were mapping out ways to subdue me if I suddenly went berserk and tried to break into the cockpit with my teeth. To avoid alarming them further—and because I don’t like coffee—I kept myself awake by eating chocolate and drinking many cups of cola.

  By the time we disembarked in Denver I was so hyped on sugar and caffeine I could easily have been mistaken for an amphetamine addict, so I put Annelise in charge of our passports. She got us through Customs without undue delay, and I collared a skycap to deal with our luggage. While he loaded our bags onto his cart, I put in a quick call to Bill to let him know that we’d arrived safely, carefully omitting any reference to screaming.

  It wasn’t hard to spot the driver Bill had hired. He was waiting for us at the end of the Arrivals barrier, holding a hand-lettered sign with my name on it; but it wasn’t the sign that caught my attention, it was the man himself.

  Because he wasn’t a man. He was a boy: a tall, lean, broad-shouldered boy with long white-blond hair, big blue eyes, and the smooth, innocent face of a cherub. He wore a bright-red waterproof jacket, an unbuttoned flannel shirt over a T-shirt that read ROCKY MOUNTAIN HI!, and a pair of hiking trousers with zip-off legs and many, many pockets. His trousers were spattered with the same reddish mud that caked his hiking boots and stained the blue day pack that lay at his feet. He looked as though he’d hiked from Bluebird to Denver, and for a brief, hysterical moment I wondered if he expected us to hike back with him.

  He’d evidently seen photographs of us because he stuffed the sign into his day pack and gave us a friendly wave as we approached. When we passed the barrier, he ushered us and the skycap out of the main stream of passenger traffic in order to greet us properly.

  “Ms. Shepherd, Ms. Sciaparelli,” he said, nodding to me and Annelise in turn. “Welcome to Colorado.”

  “James?” I said hesitantly.

  “No,” he replied. “Tobias. Toby. T
oby Cooper. I’m James Blackwell’s replacement.”

  “Replacement?” I said. “My husband didn’t mention a replacement.”

  “He probably doesn’t know about it yet,” Toby said. “I only found out about it yesterday.” He reached into an outside pocket of the day pack and produced a flimsy sheet of fax paper. “From Mr. Auerbach. It’ll explain everything.”

  I took the fax from him and read:

  Dear Ms. Shepherd,

  Welcome to Colorado! Please accept my apologies for the last-minute change in personnel. James Blackwell left my employment yesterday, rather unexpectedly, and Toby Cooper generously agreed to take his place.

  Toby’s father and I are old school friends. Toby’s a fine young man and will do everything he can to make your stay in Colorado enjoyable. If you have any questions, please feel free to contact me.

  Sincerely,

  Danny Auerbach

  I noted the phone number printed beneath Danny’s name, then looked up to find Toby anxiously scanning my face.

  “Why did James Blackwell quit?” I asked.

  Toby shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t know James, and Mr. Auerbach didn’t give me any details when he asked me to fill in. Maybe James just decided it was time to move on.”

  “I see,” I said. “Do you mind if I ask how old you are?”

  “Twenty-one,” Toby replied. “I go to college in Boulder, but I’m on summer break.”

  Annelise and I exchanged a glance that said, “Now we have three little boys to look after.” Our expressions must have alarmed Toby because he began to speak at top speed.

  “I know Bluebird like the back of my hand,” he said. “My dad was born and raised there, and I spent every summer there with my grandparents when I was a kid. I know the hiking trails and the best fishing spots, and I can fix things, too, like a leaky pipe or a broken window—my granddad showed me how—so if anything goes wrong, I’ll take care of it. I’m a good driver, too—no speeding tickets—and I’ve never been involved in an accident, not even a fender bender.” A note of desperation entered his voice. “I had a summer job lined up in the administration office at school, but it fell through, so I…I was really glad when Mr. Auerbach offered me this one. I may be a little younger than James Blackwell, but I’m a hard worker, Ms. Shepherd, and I’m very dependable. You won’t be disappointed.”