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When the service ended, Elliot led Ellen by the hand up the aisle, where the minister parted from them. Ellen and Elliot exchanged a conspiratorial smile. Elliot patted her hand. “Why don’t you go change out of your dress while I bring the wagon over. The porter’s still outside. He can load up your luggage and we’ll get on our way.”
Ellen glanced around the empty church. “Just like that?”
“Just like that.” Elliot cocked his head on one side. “Was there anything you wanted to do in town? Anything you need? We probably won’t come back into town for a few weeks.”
“A few weeks!” Ellen gasped.
“I told you in my letters that I lived out of town,” Elliot remarked.
“I didn’t realize you came to town so rarely,” Ellen replied.
“I can’t take the time off from work to come into town,” Elliot told her. “Every time I come into town, I have to take the whole day off work. I can’t afford that. I’m only here now to pick you up. Sometimes I don’t come to town for a few months at a time.”
“Months!” Ellen cried.
Elliot compressed his lips. “You’ll have to get used to that. You’ll have to learn how to make due between trips to town. You just have to plan ahead.”
Ellen squared her shoulders. She could handle anything this Western Frontier threw at her. “I’ll manage. You don’t have to worry about me. It’s just that I won’t know what I need until I get to the house.”
“I’m sure you’ll be fine,” Elliot told her. “I’ve been living out there all this time without coming into town every time I want something.”
“Don’t worry about me,” Ellen replied. “I’ll be fine.”
“Good,” Elliot exclaimed. “Then let’s get going.”
Ellen retreated to her closet, where she changed from her wedding dress into her grey wool travelling dress. She packed up her wedding dress in the trunk.
She gave herself one more look in the mirror. So now she was married. Instead of little old Ellen Mortimer, she was now Mrs. Elliot Wilkins. Did she look different? Did she look more mature? Had she lost any of her youthful attraction?
It didn’t matter now. Now that she was married, she didn’t need youthful attraction anymore. Now she needed grit and adaptability. She needed to rise to any challenge Elliot or his life offered her. If she found herself out at his homestead with nothing but a thimble to her name, she had to make due with available resources.
She couldn’t expect Elliot to go out of his way to make her comfortable. Well, she would show him what she was made of. She wouldn’t complain, and she would never ask for special treatment.
Some mail-order brides married men living hundreds of miles from the nearest town, and they didn’t go to town more than once or twice a year. Even when they did, they didn’t have money to spend on frivolities. They had to make everything they wanted by hand. If they could do it, she could do it, too.
The moment she stepped out of the closet, she ran into the porter waiting in the aisle. The minute she appeared, he brushed past her into the room, hoisted her trunk onto his shoulder, and carted it out of the church. Ellen cast one last look around the church. It was the first and only time she ever really had a good look at it. And now she was leaving it. She might never enter it again.
Elliot waited for her on the steps of the church. A wagon stood in the street at the foot of the steps. Ellen recognized it as Elliot’s because her trunk rested in the wagon box. But she screamed in horror when she saw a massive wolf standing astride her trunk.
Ellen always thought of wolves as big dogs. She’s never seen a wolf before, but this one was bigger than she ever imagined. Its silver and coal grey fur bushed out around its huge neck and shoulders like a lion’s mane. To her amazement, it didn’t growl or attack, but just stood there, staring at Ellen with penetrating ice-blue eyes.
Elliot started in surprise, but when he realized what made her scream, he burst out laughing. “Don’t mind him. He won’t hurt you.”
Ellen stared back and forth between Elliot and the enormous wolf. “You mean—you know him?”
“Of course, I know him,” Elliot retorted. “He’s my dog, Laird.”
“Your dog!” Ellen gasped. “He’s a wolf!”
“He’s a hybrid,” Elliot told her. “He’s half wolf, half St. Bernard. That’s why he’s so blamed big. But he’s a pussy cat. He wouldn’t hurt a flea.”
“He’s a monster,” Ellen countered. “I don’t want to ride in the wagon with that...that thing in there.”
Elliot stiffened. “You don’t have to ride in the wagon with him. You can stay here if you like. But I’m riding home in the wagon with him. He’s the best dog in the world and he won’t hurt you. I’ve had him since he was a newborn puppy, and I’ve never met a better dog in my life. Watch.”
Elliot climbed up into the driver’s seat. He picked the reins off the brake handle and collected them in his hands. Then he turned around and pointed to the floor of the wagon box. He locked eyed with the wolf and snapped, “Lie down, Laird.”
The wolf lowered his head and hopped down from Ellen’s trunk. He slunk to the opposite corner of the wagon box and flopped down on the bare boards. He crossed his front paws in front of him and blinked around at the world with bored superiority. He really did look like an aristocrat.
Elliot turned back to Ellen. “You see? Come on. I don’t want to wait around here all day.”
Ellen glanced back at the wolf. He didn’t seem even the slightest bit interested in her. She took a tentative step forward, and he didn’t move. He gave her the briefest glance when she climbed up into the seat and settled herself next to Elliot.
She couldn’t stop herself from checking over her shoulder ever few minutes to make sure he was still lying down at the other end of the wagon box. He never moved.
Elliot watched her until she turned around again. “Are you satisfied now? He won’t hurt you. He looks like a wolf, but he’s a dog. He’s no more dangerous than a Yorkshire Terrier.”
Ellen folded her hands in her lap. “I think he might be a little bit more dangerous than that if he wanted to be.”
Elliot called, “Giddup,” to the horses and slapped the reins on their backs. The wagon started forward and they drove out of town. “You’re right. He’s a lot better at protecting me and my stock than a Yorkshire Terrier would be. Two years ago, a bear came after me when I was camped down on the river. Laird went straight for him.”
“Did he fight a full grown bear?” Ellen asked. “He sure is big, but I didn’t think he was that big.”
“He didn’t fight it,” Elliot told her. “He tried to. The bear slapped him away with its paw and sent him flying. Gashed open his side something awful. Laird jumped straight up and went after him again. All his growling and snarling drove the bear away, so they didn’t finish the fight. But he saved my bacon, and he’s done it often enough that I’ve learned to value him. He’s a rare dog, and I wouldn’t trade him for the world.”
