Lucas got up from the table and took his plate to the sink to wash, glancing at the sparkling morning that emerged outside after a hard rain. He was glad the skies had cleared for now; he planned to make good progress on setting in the rest of the new posts for the fence. And then he had some patients to check over in Greeley.
He turned his head as Eli and LeRoy came stomping in, the dog easing in beside them and heading straight for his bowl of food. Lucas chuckled. Sarah liked to describe her sons as a whole herd of buffalo on four legs. He said good morning to them, noting they even resembled a bit like buffalo this morning—shaggy, unwashed, and smelly.
Sarah didn’t miss a beat as she spooned eggs and bacon onto their plates and slid the food across the table as they sat down. “What pigsty have you two been wallowing in this morning? You could show the decency of washing up before coming in.”
“Too hungry.” LeRoy pushed his shoulder-length straight dark hair out of his eyes and set his hat on the empty chair beside him. He grabbed a piece of brown bread toast off the plate in the center of the table and talked as he chewed. “That rainstorm that rumbled over us this morning dumped at least three inches. We wanted to fix that gate early before we headed to Evans to pick up those two new water troughs—”
“And, Ma, we did wash our hands,” Eli protested, holding up his palms for her to inspect.
Sarah tsked and sat down across from her sons. Lucas dried his plate and set it on the cupboard shelf, then poured some more coffee into his cup from the pot percolating on the wood stove. The kitchen radiated warmth, chasing out the early morning chill.
LeRoy continued, a mischievous smile rising on his face. “And Eli had a little tussle with the latch.” He threw his brother a smirk. “The latch won.”
“So I slipped,” Eli said good-naturedly while stuffing eggs into his mouth. “So did you.”
LeRoy waggled his head and laughed as he reached across the table for the cream pitcher. Sarah slapped his hand.
“Where’re your manners? Haven’t you learned anything I taught you?”
LeRoy ignored her, and Sarah scolded him with her eyes. He pointed a finger at Eli. “Yeah, I only fell in the mud because you grabbed on to my sleeve to catch yourself. You owe me, Brother.”
Lucas allowed a slight smile, careful not to let Sarah know he enjoyed these antics in the morning. He was glad to see Eli in a good mood too. Maybe he wouldn’t have to have that little talk with him about stirring up contention with the cattle ranchers. If he and Sarah kept him busy enough, maybe he’d stay out of trouble. LeRoy wasn’t much help in that department. Although the older brother never instigated conflict, he wasn’t one to back away when it met him head-on.
The banter died down quickly as both young men stuffed food into their mouths and chased it down with coffee. Lucas used the dishcloth to take the hot skillet off the cast-iron stovetop and set it in the sink to wash. He threw Hoesta a piece of bacon, which the dog gobbled down in a flash without chewing.
“You can leave that,” Sarah called over to him.
“You made breakfast.” How many times had they said that to each other? Lucas knew Sarah considered the kitchen her domain, but she also ran a horse ranch of about fifty head, and helped her sons keep up all the property. She was strong and hale for being nearly fifty, but Lucas knew she pushed herself to exhaustion often, so he liked to lighten her load where he could. She’d drawn the line, though, when she caught him one time washing the floor on his hands and knees. She’d slapped him upside his head and whisked him out of the room.
After scrubbing the stubborn crust of eggs off the inside of the skillet, he leaned against the sink and sipped his coffee.
“When you think you’ll be back?” Sarah asked LeRoy.
He looked at his brother and shrugged. “If’n you don’t need us to pick anything else up, by mid-afternoon, I s’pect.”
She nodded. Like another four-legged herd of buffalo, Eli and LeRoy pushed their chairs from the table, took their dishes to the sink, and grabbed their hats. Although the brothers looked enough alike, Lucas guessed Eli took after his father. His hair was a light brown, streaked with gold from hours in the sun, and it curled where it hung above his amber eyes. Girls could hardly resist his boyish grin and unusually straight teeth. You could hardly tell he had Cheyenne blood; whereas LeRoy looked mostly Indian, with his gleaming bronze skin and nearly black irises. Both were handsome young men, just a couple of years younger than he was, and although they hadn’t seen the hardships or been through the suffering Lucas had, they had a tough, weathered nature to them. Lucas figured some of that was posturing, but the rest was the result of taming a hard land amid hard and often intolerant folks.
It often struck him odd how the West had gone through the war years practically untouched and unaware of the horrors of the battles raging east. While hundreds of thousands of men fought and died and lay bloated and rotting across a dozen states, those living life in the Western frontier had their own daily concerns over surviving. Yankees killed Confederates while white settlers killed Indians. And vice versa. Lucas had seen more death in a few short years than any man should ever have to witness in a lifetime.
He chewed his lip thoughtfully. No wonder there was such a big influx of folks from the East coming out west, buying up large parcels of land, and trying to start a new life—create a utopian society in which they could live peacefully and push away the ugliness of the war years.
“You are going to clean up and change your clothes.” Sarah made the declaration sound like an order instead of a question.
Eli feigned shock. “What? You think we’d head out looking and smelling like this? Wouldn’t want to offend the ladies.”
Sarah chuckled. “Heaven forbid.”
Lucas knew both her sons were wont to gravitate over to any pretty young woman who even glanced their way. And Eli especially knew how to butter them up and get them all flustered. Lucas had seen it on many occasions and was, frankly, impressed with his talent. But Sarah wanted him married soon. Both her boys. She felt that would make them settle down and defuse some of their wildness. Lucas wondered if that would do the trick.
“Well, bye,” LeRoy said. Eli tipped his hat at his mother and nodded to Lucas. Then they tromped out the door. Sarah sat sipping her coffee as the stampeding faded in the distance.
Lucas was about to grab his hat and coat hanging on the hook by the door, but Sarah stopped him with her hand as he passed her chair.
He looked at her, and she gestured for him to sit. He took the chair across from her and questioned her with his eyes.
“I had a dream last night. Ovaxe.”
Lucas knew that meant something more than just an ordinary dream. He imagined it more like a vision, or premonition. She sometimes had them, and they often portended unpleasant things. He gulped and waited to hear her out, knowing she might take a while in the telling.
Much to his relief, a smile tweaked the sides of her mouth. She stood and took something off the shelf on the wall behind her, and Lucas recognized it as her small wooden box in which she kept various dried plants and herbs. But these weren’t spices for food; they were ceremonial.
He watched in silence as she pinched out some gray crumbly matter and set it on a smooth, flat stone the size of her palm. She then used tongs to bring over a tiny ember from the stove, then dropped it onto the plate. The plant fibers smoldered and gave off a sage-dust smell that he found calming. She’d never burned anything in front of him like this, but he knew she did so at night sometimes in her room. He’d pass by her windows, outside the ranch house, and smell strong aromas of burning plants. He never asked her about it though, thinking to respect her privacy and traditions, figuring if she wanted to tell him about them, she would.
Clearly she meant to now.
As a tendril of smoke twisted up toward the ceiling, she looked at it instead of at him. “Two blue pools. Blue like the water under ice. Round and identical.” She waved her hand slightly in the air, spreading the smoke across the table. “But not cold. Although the ice covers the water, it is thin and will easily crack. It needs to crack for the blue water to flow freely. Under the ice is heat—great heat that will not only melt the ice covering the water but the ice chilling your heart.” When she spoke these last words, her head jerked up, and she caught Lucas’s gaze.
He startled as smoke canted into his face. Something flared in her eyes, like a spark.
“Your pain is like ice,” she told him in a strange faraway-sounding voice. “It encases your heart, and even the hottest summer sun cannot penetrate. But this heat—of the blue pools—can melt the ice.”
Lucas waited for her to explain. She shook off whatever spell she was under and let out a long sigh. “In my dream,” she said, “you stood next to the pools and stared in. You saw your reflection gazing back. But you also saw through the ice to the life-giving water. You longed for that water, and so you stepped onto the ice. And as heat from beneath rose up, it melted not just the surface you stood upon but also the ice holding your spirit trapped.”
A shiver ran down Lucas’s spine. He wasn’t at all sure what she was talking about, but he felt the ice around his heart. That, he was familiar with. It had appeared that winter three years ago, after he held his wife in his arms one last time and kissed his infant son’s forehead for the first and only time. He thought he’d left winter behind when he came down to the Front Range in the spring, but apparently he had taken it with him.
At that image of Alice, his heart clenched, as if unable to bear the cold fist tightening around it. Sarah nodded and stirred up the smoke more, and Lucas drew it into his nostrils, feeling in seep into his limbs all the way to his feet. He felt something crack, the way ice did under the spring sun. A tiny crack that dulled the pain.
He shook his head, as if flinging away these strange sensations. “What does it mean? Your dream—the two pools?”
“I don’t know about the pools, but I’m certain the understanding will come to you when it’s time.” She exhaled long and reached for her coffee, then sipped it thoughtfully, her ordinary action breaking the pall of mystery hanging over him. “But what I do know is it’s time.”
“Time?”
“To find a wife. To remarry.” She held up her hand as if expecting him to protest, but this time he didn’t flinch at her words. She searched his eyes, pinning him in his chair. “I think the dream means she is here, somewhere, and it is time for you to find her.”
Lucas blurted out a chuckle. He didn’t mean to offend Sarah, but her words evoked a funny image of him out tracking an elusive wife across the open prairie. “Did your dream tell me where to go find this wife?”
Sarah gave a quiet snort and shook her head. “You know it doesn’t work that way. But . . . maybe she’ll find you. Who knows. She is out there.”
“Two blue pools.”
“Yes.”
“Whatever that means.”
Sarah nodded.
Lucas couldn’t think of anyplace within a hundred miles where he’d seen two round, identical blue pools side by side. “Okay.”
Her eyebrows raised. “I have a dream for you, and all you can say is ‘okay’?”
Lucas stood, feeling a bit stiff and suddenly tired. “Thanks?” he tried.
Sarah grinned. “You’re welcome.” She stood then. “Well, time to get to work. I’ve got horses needing to learn some manners.”
Lucas laughed. She might not be able to get Eli and LeRoy in line, but she surely knew how to get a horse to listen to her.
“I’ll see you around suppertime,” he told her, stuffing his hat on his head and grabbing his coat. She nodded and smiled at him, then he walked out the door to the front yard that opened to miles of shimmering river and rolling prairie land. The dog stuck close to his heels, his eyes eager for some adventure. Lucas patted him mindlessly, glad for his company.
As he made for the storage barn to load up more fence posts onto the buckboard, he shook his head. Blue pools. Ice. Then he frowned. Marry? Again. He’d never wanted to consider it, but at the thought, a surge of loneliness struck him hard, filling him with yearning and need.
He brushed it away with determination and quickened his stride. There was a load of work to be done, and the morning was quickly slipping away.
“It’s a short ride from the train to your hotel,” Mr. Turnbull announced in a loud voice so they all could hear him over the boisterous noises of the train depot around them. “You’ll be pleased to see what a fine town we’ve built here, due to the dedication and industriousness of its hardworking citizens. Why, in just the last year we’ve seen the opening of a furniture emporium—which imports quality furniture from Chicago—and a proper tonsorial parlor, with a man who is the best tailor this side of the Mississippi. There is also a haberdashery, and for the ladies, Ashton’s Fine Fashions. We’ve brought culture and class to the West.”
Emma stood, tired and overwhelmed by the flurry of activity around her. When they got off the train, she’d met up with the rest of her family on the platform, Randall stiffening as he watched his father approach. Emma recognized Mr. Turnbull—he was a hard man to forget—with his large stature, round face sporting huge red moustaches, and wide shoulders that reminded Emma of some of the bulls she’d seen out the train window. He truly fit his name, Emma thought, hiding a sudden grin behind her hand.
She’d hardly had time to say two words to either her parents or Walter and Lynette before Randall’s father whisked them to the waiting carriages. She overheard her father talking with Mr. Turnbull, who reassured him that their possessions—including her Arabian horse that had taken the journey with them in one of the box cars—were in good hands and would be loaded up and taken to their new residence directly. Emma had learned a barn was being constructed in the back of their property and would be completed within the week. She hadn’t considered she might have Shahayla so close, instead of boarded at a stables she had to travel to, as she had in New York. This way she could go riding on a moment’s notice. The thought made her happy.
The town, from what she could tell, was not all that big. The train depot seemed situated right in the center, and the main street was lined with shops and other one-story wood buildings painted mostly white or beige. A wooden boardwalk fronted the shops on both sides of the wide street, and Emma made out a mercantile at the corner. A large two-story weathered building stood out a few blocks down the street. An effort had been made to give the main street of town some character. Benches were placed along the boardwalk, and elms and maples grew out of pretty brick planters on the corners. Their size attested to the newness of the town, but Emma could picture how full and pretty they’d look after a few years.
The afternoon sun shone warm on her shoulders, but she drew in fresh, crisp air that smelled sweet. Hay? She detected floral scents as well, and noticed the people of the town had planted flowers in small beds in front of many of the shops. Not a lot of people walked the streets, but Emma figured most would be busy at work—whatever it was they did.
As much as she’d have liked to explore the town, she was tired. She longed for a hot bath, to scrub the grime accumulated on her skin.
As if reading her thoughts, Mr. Turnbull bellowed to his charges, “No doubt you are all weary from your long journey.” He pointed to the two-story building she had just noticed. “That’s your hotel, and I’ve secured you the best suites. Used to be a barracks in Cheyenne, but it’s now the Hotel D’Comfort. Randall and I will see that you get properly settled, and then we’ll return to join you this evening in the dining room for dinner.”
Emma glanced over at Lynette, who was clearly pale and tired but perhaps none the worse for wear. But it was evident she longed for a hot bath and long nap on a soft bed as well.
“Lovely, lovely,” Emma’s mother said to Mr. Turnbull. “We are so thankful to you for arranging all this. For our houses, our hotel—”
“Think nothing of it, my dear,” he said, patting her hand, his chin jutting out in arrogance. Emma could tell her mother was anxious to get off the train platform and into her carriage. Josephine, her mother’s maid, came up to Emma’s mother, having just gotten off the train, and stood alongside her, carrying her mother’s handbags and a hat box.
The two carriages, each attached to one large draft horse rigged with breaching, looked very much like the ones in New York. Perhaps they’d been shipped out from there.
Mr. Turnbull led Emma’s mother and father to the first carriage, followed by Josephine. The coachman—who was dressed in only brown trousers and a button-down blue chambray shirt topped with a dull-brown leather vest—opened the side door and helped them board.
“Randall,” Mr. Turnbull barked, “please ride with Mr. and Mrs. Bradshaw, then help them to their rooms.”
Emma noted Randall’s sunken face. Maybe he had hoped to ride with her to the hotel. Mr. Turnbull then whisked her into the carriage with Walter and Lynette. Before another word was spoken, they were off.
The carriage bounced and shook as the horses trotted down the dirt street, their hooves kicking up dust. Lynette coughed and buried her head in Walter’s shoulder. Emma wanted so much to speak to them both and ask how they were doing, what they thought of the train ride, and their first impressions of the town, but seeing Lynette’s distress made her keep quiet. They would have time later to talk and catch up—over dinner. So she politely looked out the window at the passing storefronts and people, who were dressed much differently than New Yorkers.
Women wore simpler dresses—with petticoats and no doubt corsets underneath—but without any bustles. And some women wore what looked like plain cotton dresses, in checked or calico patterns—without any petticoats at all. All wore bonnets or sun hats, although hardly the latest fashions. And the men wore wide-brimmed hats and bowlers. None wore suits that she could tell, but she guessed these were mostly laborers or cowboys that worked in the fields and ranches. No doubt the men of upper classes wore suits, and were busy at work in the many offices they seemed to be passing.
When they arrived at the hotel, exhaustion hit Emma full force. She could barely walk in through the front door of the hotel without shaking. She imagined her legs were wobbly from days on the train. Hopefully she’d get both her land legs and her energy back.
As much as she’d have liked to talk more with Randall, he went off with her parents to their room. Mr. Turnbull strode into the lobby, not at all politely instructing the hotel staff what to do in order to see to her family’s needs. Two men who looked Chinese shuffled quickly at his command to unload the luggage from the carriages and take the bags to their rooms. The hotel was spacious, with high ornately trimmed ceilings and deep-red plush carpeting. Emma was glad to be out of the stuffy train and breathing fresh air once again.
Soon she was being led to her own room—around the corner on the first floor. The young housemaid in a pert black uniform dress with white ruffles at the hem handed Emma the key after opening the door to her room.
“Here you go, miss. Is there anything else you might be needin’?”
“A bath?” Emma now worried if she would get one.
“I’ve already set it up for you, miss.” The young woman pointed to the small room past her four-poster brass bed. “Would you be wantin’ some assistance?”
Emma breathed out a sigh of relief. “Oh yes, I would. Thank you so much. If you could help me undress and brush out my hair so I can wash it, I’d be utterly grateful.”
“Yes, miss.”
While the attendant went to prepare for Emma’s bath and hair washing, a knock came at the door. Emma opened to a porter, who brought in her suitcases. When he left, she locked the door and went over to the large ceramic claw-foot tub that sat steaming with hot water. A lavender fragrance filled the room, delighting her senses. Already she was unwinding from the stress of travel.
She undressed, thrilled to be out of her corset, and slipped into the glorious hot water that quickly soothed her aching limbs. The housemaid with her brilliant red hair pulled tightly into a bun on her head, whose name was Katy, hummed quietly as she brushed out Emma’s hair.
Excitement and worry mixed in her heart, but knowing Randall would be nearby to talk to, she felt more confident that she’d be able to weather the changes that lay ahead.
Emma closed her eyes and let the week’s tumultuous travels melt away, and as she drifted off in relaxation, her mind dwelled on the dinner she would attend later with her family and, hopefully, Randall.