Christmas Day dawned bright and glistening. During the night there had been a fresh fall of snow, and the cleaned-up-world shimmered in the rays of the winter sun.
The day began early with the glad shrieks of the children as they discovered the gifts that were in their stockings and under the tree. We enjoyed a leisurely morning of games, nut roasting and chatter. Dinner was to be served at one o’clock. Wynn joined us for dinner and he presented each of the children with a package. Jon, Mary and I were each given fur mittens made by Wynn’s northern Indian friends; I looked forward to using mine.
In the afternoon the children begged for a chance to try their new Christmas sleds. So, following Mary’s suggestion, Wynn and I accompanied Jon when he took them to the hill. We all bundled up—I was glad for this opportunity to wear my new mittens—until we could barely waddle and headed out, laughing and jostling, for the hillside.
At the hill we all rode on the sleds. I was soon exhausted after the breathless rides and long return climbs. I decided to sit down on a fallen log partway up the hill and rest while the others enjoyed another ride.
I could hear the shrieks and laughter as they sped downward, Jon and Sarah on one sleigh, Wynn and Kathleen on another, and William on his own.
A few birds fluttered in a nearby tree and two squirrels fought over winter provisions. I leaned back against a tree and enjoyed the sparkling freshness of the winter air.
I could hear the children’s chatter at the foot of the hill when Wynn suddenly swung into sight.
“Jon said that I should take you up to the top of the ridge and give you a look at the mountains.”
“Oh,” I cried, springing up eagerly, “can you see them from here?”
“From right up there,” he answered, pointing above and beyond us.
“Then lead the way—I’d love to see them.”
The loose snow made climbing difficult. Wynn stopped often to let me catch my breath, and a couple of times he held out his hand to me to help me over a fallen tree or up a particularly steep place.
At the top I discovered that the climb had been worth every step. Stretched out before us, their snow-capped peaks glistening in the winter sun, were the magnificent Rockies. I caught my breath in awe.
“Someday,” I said softly, “I’m going to visit those mountains—and have a picnic lunch right up there at the timber-line.”
Wynn laughed.
“That’s quite a hike up to the timberline, Elizabeth,” he cautioned.
“Well, I don’t care. It’ll be worth it.”
“How about settling for a picnic lunch beside a mountain stream instead—or at the base of Bow Falls or maybe among the rocks of Johnson Canyon?”
“You’ve been there—to all of those places?”
“Several times.”
“Is it as beautiful as I imagine?”
“Unless you have a very exceptional imagination, it’s even more beautiful.”
“Oh, I’d love to see it!”
“Then you must. I wish that I could promise to take you but . . .”
Reluctantly I turned from the scene of the mountains to make my way back down the slope to Jon and the children. My thoughts were more on Wynn’s unfinished sentence than on where I was placing my feet. He was so determined, so definite. He left no room at all for feelings, for caring. Somehow I felt that there should be something I could say or do to make him at least rethink his position, but I couldn’t think of what it might be—at least not while I was scrambling down a steep hillside behind a man used to walking in such terrain.
Suddenly my foot slipped on a snow-covered log and my ankle twisted beneath me. I sat down to catch my breath and test the extent of the injury. To my relief, nothing much seemed wrong. I knew that nothing was broken, and I was sure that there was not even a serious sprain—just a bit of a twist. I was rising to my feet to hurry after Wynn when he looked back to check on my progress.
“What’s the matter?” he called, his voice concerned.
I tried to respond lightly, “I’m fine—just twisted my ankle a bit.”
I took a step but he stopped me.
“Stay where you are, Elizabeth, until I check out that ankle.”
“But it’s fine—”
“Let’s be sure.”
He was hurrying back up the hill toward me when a strange idea entered my head. Maybe this was a way to delay him for a few moments until I had fully considered what I could say. I sat back down on the tree stump and stared at my foot.
Wynn had been only a few steps ahead of me, breaking trail, so he was soon down on a knee before me. “Which one?” he asked, and I pointed to the left ankle.
He lifted it with gentle firmness and removed my boot. Carefully he began to feel the injured ankle, his fingers sensitive and gentle.
“Nothing broken.” He squeezed. “Does this hurt?”
It did—slightly, though not enough to make me wince as hard as I did. I said nothing—just nodded my head in the affirmative. After all, he hadn’t asked how much it hurt.
Wynn surveyed the trail ahead.
“It’s only a few more steps until we are on the level. Can you make it?”
I knew that I could, but I didn’t say so. Instead, I murmured, “If you could help me just a bit . . .”
He replaced my boot, leaving the laces loose.
“Too much pressure?” he asked.
“No—no—that’s fine.”
“Good. We wouldn’t want to take a chance on frostbite as well. Are you ready?”
I had visions of limping down the trail with Wynn’s arm supporting me. Surely, I thought, under such conditions it should be easy to think of the right thing to say to this man. But instead of offering his assistance, Wynn swept me up into his arms in one quick, gentle movement. The suddenness of it startled me, and I threw my arms around his neck.
“It’s all right,” he reassured me. “It’s only a few steps down this bit of a bank, and we’ll be on the level.”
“But I—”
“I could throw you over my shoulder and carry you dead-man style,” he teased.
“I think I would prefer—” I was going to say, “to walk,” but that wasn’t true, so I lamely stopped.
“So would I, Elizabeth,” he said with his slow smile and looked deeply into my eyes.
That was when I should have made my little speech, but my brain was hazy and my lips dumb. I could think only of this moment—nothing more—and I rested my cheek against his coat and allowed myself this bliss that would in the future be a beautiful memory.
All too soon we were at the slope where Jon and the children were still sledding. Wynn put me down, cautious that I would not put my weight on my left foot. For one confused moment I could not remember which foot was supposed to be injured and had to look at my boot to see which one had the untied laces.
We had not spoken to one another for several minutes. As he lowered me to a seat on a log, his cheek brushed lightly against mine, and I feared that he would surely hear the throbbing of my heart.
“How is it?” he asked. “I hope I didn’t jar it.”
“Oh, no. You were most careful. I don’t see how you were able to come down there so—” I couldn’t finish.
“We’ll get you home as quickly as possible,” he promised, and he waved to William who came trudging up the slope with his sled.
Wynn insisted that I ride home on the sleigh, and I could hardly refuse. To insist upon walking would have given my ruse away, so I rode the sled, feeling foolish and deceptive.
When we arrived at the house, Wynn carried me in and deposited me on the couch. He suggested that ice packs might make my ankle more comfortable. Soon to be on duty, he couldn’t stay for the evening. After promising to stop by to check on me at his first opportunity, he left.
I feigned a limp whenever I moved around for the rest of the day. It was hard to keep Jon and Mary from calling a doctor. I would have been mortified if one had been summoned on Christmas Day to look at my “injury.” When bedtime finally arrived, I was relieved to take my perfectly fine ankle, and my guilty conscience, to the privacy of my own room.
I went to bed troubled. I could feel again the roughness of Wynn’s wool coat against my cheek, and the strength of his arms supporting me as he carried me. I realized that I unwillingly had fallen in love with the man; and I might have missed my only opportunity to plead my case. Still, if a man was determined not to care for a woman, what could she possibly say to change his mind? I had no idea, having never been in such a position till now. For a moment I wished that I had learned a few of the feminine ploys that Julie used to such advantage, then checked myself. I had already used more trickery than I could feel comfortable with. What in the world had ever possessed me to make me promote such a falsehood? Shame flushed my cheeks. Never would I resort to such devious tactics again.