Come Spring

by Jill Marie Landis

  “And then Papa walked up to the door...” Annika prodded.

  “I was so scared,” Analisa went on, “I had taken opa’s gun from the wall and pointed it at the stranger’s heart.”

  “Thank heavens you didn’t use great-grandfather’s gun to kill Papa.”

  “Only because Caleb passed out before I could decide to do so.” Analisa laughed.

  “Then you dragged him inside the house...”

  Analisa nodded. “Ja. And then I saw that he had the measles. Many had been sick with it that winter, but not so sick as the Indians on the reservation to the north. Your Papa might have died.”

  “But you nursed him back to health and he married you, adopted Kase, you two had me, and we all lived happily ever after.”

  Analisa smiled wistfully and straightened the corsage at her daughter’s shoulder. “Which I wish for you, Annemeke, this happy ending, but this will never be if you do not soon go downstairs. Papa is trying to entertain the guests, but he will not be able to do so much longer. And poor Richard looks so worried. Will you come down now?”

  Annika shook her head. “No, Mama. Not now that I’ve talked to Aunt Ruth and she told me what’s in the charts.”

  For the first time her mother looked truly worried. “Charts?”

  “Yes.”

  “Annika, God is in charge of your life, not the stars.”

  Ruth cleared her throat, bustled over to the bed, and quickly spread the pages she’d carried in with her around Annika, who bent to study them curiously even though the symbols were indecipherable to her.

  “Now where are my glasses?” Ruth asked, patting her bosom.

  “You have them on, Auntie,” Annika informed her gently.

  “So I do.” Ruth lifted a page and wagged it beneath Annika’s nose. “This is what I was talking about earlier. Your stars are in the wrong positions for this marriage to work. The planet Jupiter is rising and Pluto—well, since you don’t understand I won’t go into Pluto. And then there’s Saturn. My goodness, let’s just say that getting married today would be one of the biggest mistakes of your life.”

  “A moment please, Ruth.” Analisa stood up without trying to make sense out of the circles with their neat pie wedges drawn on the various pages.

  “She asked my advice, Anja,” Ruth said.

  “That’s true, Mama. I told Ruth I didn’t want to marry Richard before she told me the stars were all wrong.”

  “Don’t want to marry him? But, Annika—”

  A swift knock interrupted the women’s argument. The door swung open and Caleb Storm stuck head and shoulders around it and asked, “What’s going on? Are we having a wedding today or not?”

  “Come in, Papa.” Annika smiled weakly. Her father had always treated her like a princess, so much so that ever since she could remember she had had everything her heart desired. She knew she had no need to fear his reaction to her decision, but she did wish she could have saved him the expense of the aborted wedding.

  “So, what’s going on?” Caleb shoved his hands into his pockets.

  She couldn’t help but feel proud each time she looked at him. Not only was he well educated, a lawyer and a former undercover agent for the Bureau of Indian Affairs, but also he was well connected in Washington, still fighting for Indian rights. Now, as she looked at her father, she smiled. At fifty, he looked ten years younger. A tall, striking man with waving coal black hair sprinkled with gray and startling blue eyes, his complexion, like her half brother Kase’s, was of a rich cinnamon hue. Today Caleb appeared quite dashing in his swallow-tailed coat and formal white shirt adorned with ruffles. An orange blossom boutonnière similar to the corsage on Annika’s shoulder, graced his lapel.

  “Papa, what would you say if I told you I don’t want to marry Richard?”

  Caleb exchanged a quick glance with Analisa before he asked, “What did your mother say?”

  “Nothing yet. I’ve just now made up my mind for certain.”

  Analisa, her face grave with worry, gave her husband a perplexed half smile. “She asks if we have still the passion for each other.”

  Caleb’s cheeks colored with embarrassment. He bit back a smile and cleared his throat.

  “You don’t even have to answer, Papa. I can see it with my own eyes whenever you look at Mama or she looks at you.” Annika stood up and began to pace the room, no easy task with her six-foot train trailing behind.

  “Why is this passion so important now?” Analisa asked.

  Forgetting the train, Annika spun around and nearly tripped. She righted herself and said, “Don’t you see?”

  “No.” Analisa shook her head.

  “Not a bit,” her father said.

  “You’d best explain it, dear,” Ruth advised as she picked up Annika’s train and began to follow her around the room.

  Annika attempted to put her feelings into words. “I want to share that same kind of passion with the man I marry and it’s just not there.”

  “I thought you loved him,” Caleb said.

  “I do. But it feels more like the way I love Kase and you and Mama and Auntie Ruth. Richard is more like a brother or a good friend. I don’t come alive when I see him, I don’t feel sparks fly when he kisses me, my heart doesn’t beat itself to ribbons when he walks into a room. After all, I’ve only known him six months.”

  “He kisses you?” Analisa wanted to know.

  “Anja,” Caleb said softly, “of course he kisses her.”

  “And that is all, I hope,” Analisa said, looking Annika over carefully.

  “Of course, Mama,” Annika assured her. “It’s just that Richard seems like a comfortable old shoe.”

  “More like an expensive boot,” Ruth mumbled.

  “Auntie Ruth’s arrival is a sign, Papa. I was uncertain, and now here she is telling me the stars are all wrong for this. That only confirms the way I have been feeling; it explains my doubt,” Annika told him.

  Caleb paused, at a loss for words. He looked at his wife, who was waiting for him to utter sage words of advice. He glanced at Ruth, a hopeless romantic, who was watching Annika carefully, nodding agreement with her every word. Finally he turned to his daughter. “So you want to call off the wedding?”

  Annika felt overwhelming relief just being able to admit as much to him. “I do. At least for now. I’d like to go to Wyoming and visit Kase and Rosa. By myself,” she added quickly when her mother started to speak. “I’ve never been any place by myself. Why, look at Aunt Ruth, she’s traveled the world alone.”

  “Now, Annemeke—” Her mother looked truly frightened but Annika had no time to wonder why as she argued her case.

  “Rosa invited me to visit when they were last here for Christmas. Maybe if I put some distance and time between Richard and me, then I might miss him so much that I’ll be dying to see him again. Maybe in a few months I’ll want to marry him so badly that I’ll be about to burst.”

  “Maybe you’ll feel that missing passion,” Ruth added, her expression hopeful. “Six months from now your stars will align correctly for love and marriage, but until then, there’s only trial and tribulation in store.”

  Annika was most concerned about Analisa. Her mother, whose face had drained of all color, had not said much at all. “Mama? What are you thinking?”

  As if struggling to find her voice, Analisa swallowed and said softly, “It is your decision. Of course, you must not marry if you are not ready, but Annika, I think that perhaps you are acting a little bit crazy.” She cast a frustrated glance at Ruth. “You know nothing of life except what you have lived here in Boston. You have been sheltered, spoiled by all of us.”

  “Then don’t you think it’s time I experienced life on my own? Goodness, Mama, it’s almost the twentieth century, not the Dark Ages! I want to see something of the world and form a few opinions of my own before I give myself over to a man.”

  “You aren’t exactly selling yourself down the river,” Caleb reminded her. “Richard Thexton is
the kind of man any woman would be proud to marry. He comes from a fine family—”

  “Papa—”

  He held up his hands and quickly added, “But it’s up to you.” He turned to his wife and took her hand in his. Indeed, the passion they shared still lived. It was a silent, vibrant thing that was almost tangible as they exchanged a smile. “Let’s go downstairs, Anja, and start the party. There is no need to let all that food and champagne go to waste.” Caleb then turned back to Annika and Ruth, who waited expectantly. “We’ll make excuses to the guests, Annika, but it’s up to you to break the news to Richard.”

  Annika felt as if a great weight had been lifted from her. She ran across the room with Ruth in tow and hugged her parents each in turn. As she did, she felt truly lighthearted for the first time in days.

  Head high, in a voice filled with determination, Annika said, “Send Richard up, Papa, and I’ll tell him the wedding is off.”

  2

  February 1892, Rocky Mountains

  A brilliant full moon hung over the mountain peaks, casting the valleys into dark shadows while it bathed the open, snow-covered hillsides with silver blue light. The air was still and cold, the forests that covered the base of the hills and lined the valleys silent. Moonlight illumined the high scattered clouds that floated like lost spirits across the night sky.

  Near one particular valley floor, tucked amid the lodge-pole pines and stands of leafless aspen, an old cabin stood beside a rambling creek. Its weathered split-rail walls looked as ancient as the mountains that surrounded it. Golden lamplight spilled out of the small, uneven windows that flanked the door, above which hung an enormous pair of elk horns. Hides were tacked to the outer walls of the cabin, lush fur pelts of wolf, bighorn sheep, and beaver. The snowy ground around the place was littered with wood chips scattered from the woodpile, a chopping block for splitting kindling, various bits of animal hooves and horns, and much-trampled earth. There was a small lean-to shed behind the cabin; and even more than the main dwelling itself, it appeared ready to fall over. A footpath through the snow had been cleared from the door to the edge of the nearby woods.

  Inside the sparsely furnished dwelling, two men sat in hushed conversation before a fire that popped and crackled in a stone fireplace that covered one entire wall of the cabin. One of the men was a visitor. He was old. His grizzled white hair and full beard attested to his age as much as the deep creases etched across his full features. Faded hazel eyes that had seen more in one lifetime than ten men could remember paused for a moment to watch in silent contemplation while the flames licked at the logs in the fireplace. Seated on a straight-backed hand-hewn chair, the old man leaned forward with both elbows resting on the crude table that separated him from his host. His clothing, an assortment of tanned hides and nearly threadbare wool, was as rugged as the life he led. His coat was made broad at the shoulders, for he was a big man, and it hung open to allow for his wide girth. He was known simply as Ted, Old Ted to be exact, his surname long since forgotten. Like most mountain men, Ted traveled alone, except for a scroungy, balding, long-haired Chihuahua he called The Mouse and carried inside his jacket. He’d had the dog ever since the day he had traded a Mexican a mule for it, and most folks agreed the Mexican had made the better end of the deal. The Mouse, who had a great aversion for anyone but its master, lay snuggled against Ted’s chest beneath his beard, snoring.

  The younger man, Buck Scott, stared not at the fire but at Old Ted. Buck fidgeted in his chair, his gaze often roving to the big bed in the far, shadowed corner of the cabin’s only room. He alternately tapped his thumbs against the edge of the table while he leaned against the wall, balancing the chair on its two back legs. As he chewed on his lower lip, he frowned, but his worried expression was barely visible in the dim firelight. Buck took stock of his home and possessions, trying to see them the way a stranger might. More to the point, the way the woman he would bring home with him in a few days’ time might view them.

  Brown was the color that first came to mind when he thought of having to describe the place to his new bride. Brown and dingy. The wooden walls were bare, except for the patch above the mantel that had been papered with newspaper and in the spots where they were chinked with mud. The floor was as brown as dirt, because it was dirt. He’d meant to save enough grain sacks to stitch together to form a makeshift floor covering, but by the time the idea came to him he’d used the sacks for other thigngs. A bag of potatoes slumped tiredly against a side wall. Shelves lined the space above and beside the bag. Tins of staples—dried beans, cornmeal, honey, molasses, yeast, soda, and baking powder—stood in a row like culinary soldiers. Buck hoped the woman would find everything to her liking.

  He knew for certain that he wouldn’t miss doing his own cooking and cleaning; and as his thoughts turned to the tasks, he hoped he had everything she might need. He’d never seen a fancy kitchen nor did he know what a city woman might think she ought to have in one. Since his sisters had been gone, he hadn’t paid much attention to such details and had lived on a diet of meat, biscuits, canned vegetables, and dried fruit. There was a turnspit for meat in the fireplace, heavy iron kettles, a Dutch oven, and a skillet for frying. He’d made a new broom by tying dried brush to a smooth pole with a strip of rawhide.

  Besides the table of split logs and the two real chairs, there were two stools fashioned from nail kegs that had been padded with moss and covered with canvas.

  The huge bed took up nearly one side of the room. Buck had made it for himself because he figured a big man deserved a big bed. There was plenty of room in it for him and the woman both to sleep comfortably—even if she didn’t take to him right off.

  When his thoughts drifted in that direction, Buck quickly drew his gaze away from the bed and looked across the table at Ted. As he watched the old man take a sip of whiskey, Buck hoped he’d done the right thing when he asked Ted to look after the place while he went down to Cheyenne to meet the train. Dropping the front legs of the chair back to the ground, Buck straightened and ran a hand across his chin. His half-grown beard felt rough against his palm. He reckoned he should shave it, then decided to wait until he got to Cheyenne where he could have a real barber attend to it for him. He’d have his hair cut too, since it had grown thick and so far past his shoulders that he wore it tied behind him with a rawhide thong. He had the same wild blond mane that had made his father stand out from the other trappers. Even now, whenever Buck ran into some of the old buffalo hunters they knew who he was because of his great height and his abundance of wild blond hair.

  Ted belched. “You leavin’ at first light?”

  “Soon as I can see my hand in front of my face.”

  “Thought about it a long time, have ya?”

  His impending marriage was all Buck had thought about for weeks. If he had any choice he wouldn’t be getting married at all. But he didn’t, so he shrugged and said, “Nothing else I can do. It will all work out.”

  “You don’t look as sure as you sound, but I ‘spect it will. What’d you say her name is?” Ted leaned forward and rested his stubbled chin in his hand.

  “Alice Soams.” Buck tried to conjure up the image of the woman he’d been writing to for six months, but even though she’d told him she was blond, thin, and taller than most women, nothing came to mind. He guessed fear clouded his mind’s eye.

  “How’d you find her?”

  “Remember that paper you carried up last year? The one Jonesey gave you from Boston?”

  “No.”

  “Well, you did. Anyway, I saw an advertisement in it and answered it. A lady from Boston wanted to move west, was looking for a husband. Said all she required was a home of her own and someone who could provide for her. She picked my letter.”

  “Seen a pitcher of her? Hear tell most men that gets a bride by mail has seen a pitcher,” Ted said knowledgeably.

  Buck shook his head. “No. No picture. She said she’s blond. Said some might say she’s attractive.”

&
nbsp; Old Ted looked skeptical. “‘Spect it’s too late now, anyway.”

  “I guess it is, since she’ll be in Cheyenne day after tomorrow. Coming in on the noon train.” Buck tapped the shirt pocket where he kept his last letter from Alice Soams that gave the date and time of her arrival. “It’ll take me four days there and back.”

  “You ain’t stayin’ over in Cheyenne?”

  “No time.” Buck glanced across the room and back at Ted. “We’ll be married soon as she gets off the train and then pack up. I hope she doesn’t have a passel of trunks with her.”

  “I hear women don’t often go anyplace without such. Need ‘em for their geegaws.” Ted took another sip of whiskey and smacked his lips. “It’s been a mild winter, but what if the pass gets snowed in and you can’t get back in the valley?”

  Buck set his jaw. “It won’t.”

  “Hell, it’s only February. It might.”

  “I’ll get through. I’ll be back in four days.”

  “Draggin’ a woman behind you? Why didn’t you tell her to wait till the spring thaw? Why’s she comin’ out here in the dead of winter?”

  “Because I sent her the money and told her to decide when she wanted to leave Boston.”

  “Well, I hope to Christ for your sake you don’t let her make too many more decisions, then,” Ted said.

  Buck ignored the old man’s comment and stood up. “I guess we better be turnin’ in.”

  “I’ll sleep on the floor,” Ted volunteered. “You don’t need to wake me when you go, just stir up the fire. I ‘spect I’ll be up soon enough after you leave.”

  “Yeah, you will.” Buck stood in the middle of the room and stared down at Ted, who hadn’t moved yet. “You sure you’ll be all right looking after things here?”

  “Don’t you worry about a thing. The Mouse and I will do all right. You jest hurry on back, though, and do your sparkin’ here. My achin’ joints tell me there’s a storm a comin’. I can’t guarantee how long I’ll be able to keep things runnin’ aright if you’re gone too long.”