At last Zeb had finished his sleigh, in time for Christmas. In fact, he had half a mind to take it to the Christmas Eve church meeting to show the Olsens and other friends. Sven’s input had been invaluable when Zeb was crafting the sled.
Now the runners were bolted securely to the frame, and Zebulon spent time rubbing oil into the wooden sleigh to seal the grain. The smell competed with the rest of the aromas in the snug barn, but the result from using the oil would make a sleigh last for generations. At least, he hoped so. A good sleigh meant good transportation in the winter, and this one looked much finer than the glorified box-looking wagon on flat runners.
One of the first trips he wanted to make in the sleigh was a dash through the valley, with Belle Murray at his side. He stood back, admiring the sleigh once again, and wiped his hands on a clean rag.
He’d overstepped a bit by kissing her the other day, and while the gesture had been brief, it had replayed in his mind over and over since.
He’d ended his book-learning days long ago, but a man could still learn some things after his formal education was over. He knew he was in love with Belle Murray, and he regretted the times he’d urged her to leave Jackson while she could.
Part of him regretted it, anyway. He cared for her, but he cared for her safety more. Although she’d shown spunk and determination in the time after her sister’s death, she wasn’t skilled in running a ranch.
His conversation with Gus had helped him see clearly. Despite his nerves and, yes, fear, he had so much to gain with Belle in his life. Despite everything that could go wrong, despite the unknown of life here in Jackson.
Getting this sleigh finished became top priority. When a man set out to woo a woman, he needed to take care that everything was perfect and proper. Belle deserved that much.
The jingle of a harness outside the barn drew him out to see Jake Smythe arriving by makeshift flatbed sleigh, with firewood stacked behind him.
“Good afternoon, Zeb.” Jake reined in his horse from his perch atop the wood.
“Afternoon, Jake. What brings you by the Covington Ranch?”
Jake frowned. “I wish it were better news.”
“What’s happened?”
“Abel Quinn showed up at Belle’s place, throwing his weight around. Turns out, Belle has no rights to the claim.”
“But she’s been there, even before Ham and Melanie died, and Melanie’s name was on the paperwork, too, wasn’t it?”
“Evidently not. Belle came by the house to talk to Mary and me, beside herself. I don’t see any resolution to this, unless there’s paperwork somewhere showing Belle could have at least half rights to the claim.”
“Nervy of him, showing up like that.”
“He’s putting her out, Zeb. Tomorrow.”
“Christmas Eve? Where she’s going?”
“She’s leaving Jackson. Gus Tolliver said she’s paying him to take her over the pass.”
“No. She can’t leave.”
“Well, she’s going to.” Jake paused. “I thought you ought to know.”
“Thank you. Thank you for telling me.” He turned the idea over in his mind. He ought to be glad Belle would be leaving, away from this setting she had no experience living in.
“So, what are you going to do about it?”
“Do?”
“Yes, do about it. Nobody’s blind to the fact you’ve taken a shine to her, and she to you. Poor Rosemary cried for a day when she realized it.”
Ah, poor Rosemary. “I’m sorry about your daughter, Jake.”
“She’ll be all right. I just pray she finds another man like you, Zeb. But you, you need to see about Belle. I admit I had my doubts about her staying. At first.”
“I agree with you there. I told her a long time ago she’d be better off leaving.”
“But now?”
“Part of me still thinks she’d be better off.”
“The first winter is always the hardest, you know.”
“I know. But I survived. You did, too.” Zeb shook his head. “I don’t know.”
“Well, you’d better know before tomorrow. Gus and Belle are pulling out at daylight, so she can get to the station in Idaho and get her a ticket east.”
Zebulon had been prepared to woo Belle Murray.
At a time like this, his decision had been transformed from wooing to something deeper.
Wooing Belle would have given them the opportunity to ease into what was blossoming between them. Yet to get Belle to stay would likely require something more drastic, and more permanent.
Belle had her trunk packed; it was all she’d brought with her and all she planned to take when she left. She wished she could unpack her memories and leave those as well.
She stood and faced the house her brother-in-law had built, small, snug, looking as large as a gnat when compared with the Teton Range. Their shelter might have been small, but oh, the view of God’s handiwork made a better backdrop than the finest home she’d ever worked in back East.
And because of Abel Quinn, she couldn’t keep it.
“Hire a lawyer,” the Smythes had suggested. But who could she find? She had no means to do so, and the papers she’d read over and over again told her she had no claim to the property.
She’d said her good-byes to them after selling Patch to Rosemary. Mr. Quinn had no rights to her horse, and judging by the condition of his own mount, she wasn’t sure how he’d treat him. She’d allowed herself a good cry after the Smythes had left with Patch. Now she couldn’t squeeze out another tear if she tried.
“I can’t help but think you’re making a terrible mistake,” Mr. Tolliver said as he loaded her traveling trunk onto the back of the wagon.
“I don’t see what other choice I have.” She shook her head. “I appreciate the trouble of you taking me. If I could wait until after Christmas, I would. But … it will make things all the more difficult, not to mention the weather is good today.”
“What about Zebulon?”
Belle hoisted herself up onto the wagon seat as gracefully as she could. “He told me from the very beginning, ever since losing Melanie and Ham, that I ought to leave. He was right.”
Part of her wanted to stay as long as possible, to have more time with the people she’d grown to care for, the Smythes, the Olsens, and Zebulon. Especially Zebulon. But she couldn’t ask anyone to put her up. No one had room.
Mr. Tolliver said nothing more but chirruped to the team, who stepped out, pulling them on the snow.
Finally, he spoke. “We’ll make good time today. You should make it in time to the station to buy a ticket to head out on the next train. Any idea where you’re going?”
“St. Louis.” If she could find her old friend Sadie, or the mission where she worked, perhaps they could put her up for a night or two, or even until she found live-in work.
They glided along in silence, with Belle taking in the sights around her. The sun on snow, the brisk air. The blue sky with the mountains reaching higher than anything around them.
The very idea of being in the city made her throat catch. Stifling, so many people around.
Belle allowed herself a glance back at the tiny house.
Mr. Tolliver caught her glance. “Don’t worry. The Smythes will head over straightway for the household items, and sell what they can for you. Quinn might think he has the property, but it doesn’t mean everything it contains.”
“Thank you.” She didn’t have any fight left inside her. The very memory of that horrid man and his outrageous marriage proposal made her skin crawl.
“I sure do appreciate you giving an old man some work. I’ll tell you this much: I’m not helping Abel Quinn with that land. He’ll get no favors from me.”
“Mr. Tolliver, you helped me immeasurably, and for that I’ll always be thankful.” Her throat caught. The wagon jostled as they headed toward the pass, to Idaho, and to the train where she’d leave it all behind.
“We’ll miss you, girlie.” His beard trembled and his breath made puffs in the frosty air.
Silence reigned again, until Mr. Tolliver started singing hymns in his gravelly voice.
Dear Lord, there must be some other way.
After a sleepless night filled with tossing and turning, Zebulon hitched the mules to the sleigh. He knew what he had to do; he only prayed he was in time. Gathering clouds to the west told him snow was coming. Not sure when, or how much, but Gus Tolliver had to be crazy to be taking Belle across the pass, no matter what she was paying him.
The mules pulled the sleigh along with their typical resolute plod. One day he wanted to have some fine horses to use for traveling. In the meantime, the mules were cheaper, sturdier—and slower.
No matter how much he chirruped and urged them to speed along, they merely pinned their ears back and continued the same plod-plod-plod along the trail to the pass.
The wind picked up, and Zeb pulled his coat collar more tightly around his neck. He had to reach them, had to.
After an hour of plodding, Zeb thought the sky looked as though it had dropped below the mountaintop, and the snow fell, a dainty white snowfall. But he knew that could change within minutes, and the weather wasn’t fit for anyone to be outside, let alone heading over the pass.
He caught sight of a wagon ahead, coming toward him.
Gus Tolliver with a passenger.
The old man pulled his team to a halt as Zeb approached.
“How-do, Mr. Covington.”
“I’d be doing better if I was somewhere warmer.” He spoke to Gus but kept his focus on Belle, who’d bolted up straight on the seat beside Gus.
“Zebulon.” She appeared as though she were ready to leap from the wagon but clutched the seat.
“I found you in time.”
“We decided to turn back; a bit of weather’s coming in.” As Gus spoke, the snowfall intensified.
“Good. Because … because I’m here to give Miss Murray a ride back to Jackson … to her home.”
“I don’t have a home in Jackson anymore.” She looked down at her lap, her shoulders now drooping.
Zeb hopped down from the sleigh and strode in their direction. He stopped at the side of the wagon.
“Yes. You do. Come, ride with me in my sleigh.” He glanced at Gus. “Mr. Tolliver, I’ll take things from here.”
The cold pulled at Belle with icy fingers as she and Zebulon headed back to Jackson, her traveling trunk strapped to the back of the sleigh.
But she was warm and snug beneath the fur robe he’d covered her with, and her shivering soon stopped. That and she let herself sit closer to Zebulon on the cushioned seat, closer than a lady ought to sit beside a man who wasn’t her husband.
Zebulon didn’t seem to mind, not one bit. And a warmth suffused through her, down to her toes.
“What do you mean, I still have a home in Jackson?”
“I … I was wrong, Belle. Flat out wrong in telling you all those times you should leave while you could.” She could feel the rumble from his voice in her side as he spoke above the sound of the wind. “Everyone starts somewhere. You might be green, but you’re not stupid.”
She wanted to thank him for that observation, but she had a more pressing problem. “But, Zeb, I have nowhere to go. I can’t live with the Smythes, I can’t afford—”
“Miss Murray, I have a solution, if you’re willing. But I must do this right.”
Do what right?
“What do you think of my sleigh?”
“It’s … it’s beautiful.” She touched the carved front panel, covered with elegant scrollwork. The sleigh wasn’t just for hauling things and doing inglorious work. It was meant for joyful times, for a couple riding together on a romantic winter outing. A labor of love.
“Well, I decided awhile back, I wanted the woman I love to be the first to ride in this sleigh with me.”
Love? The woman he loved?
“Oh, Zebulon.” He loved her. Yes, he’d stolen that kiss. Had anyone else tried such a thing, she’d have probably slapped the man. If he’d tried such a thing months ago, she’d have probably slapped him, too.
However, now she’d had time to see him and know him, and see what high regard people like the Smythes, the Olsens, and Mr. Tolliver thought of Zebulon Covington.
The sleigh had carried them closer, and the trip back to Jackson seemed as though it passed more quickly. Maybe because it was downhill, but the trip also carried her closer to her heart.
Zebulon pulled the team to a halt on a lovely portion of the trail. She could almost glimpse a few of the claims, spread out in the valley.
“Miss Belle Murray, I don’t want you to leave. You can’t. You won’t. I … I love you. But if you stay in Jackson, your home must be with me. Always.”
With him? She turned on the seat to face him.
He took both her hands in his. “I would get down on one knee. I would ask your father, were he around, before I spoke to you. Miss Belle Murray, would you do me the honor of becoming my wife? Not just for you to stay here in Jackson, but because I want you to stay. I said I didn’t need a wife. But I want a wife, and I want her to be you.”
She’d thought he was a confirmed bachelor, liking his solitude. Now he was preparing to give it up—for her?
She felt herself nodding. “Yes, yes, Zebulon Covington, I’ll marry you. I’ll be your wife. But … how soon? I have nowhere to stay.”
“The Smythes said they will let you bunk with Rosemary until the preacher arrives tomorrow.”
“On Christmas Eve? Tomorrow?”
“Yes. The preacher thought he might make it from Flat Creek in time for the service, and with the weather coming in, he’s not going to leave the area until after Christmas. So, yes, a Christmas Eve wedding.”
But it made perfect sense.
Absolutely perfect sense.
“All right, Mr. Covington.” She smiled at him. “We’ll get married tomorrow.”