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"I avoid looking forward or backward, and try to keep looking upward."
—Charlotte Bronte
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THE STALLS IN THE BARNS at The Sweetwater were filled to capacity with the new foals descended from Old Butch and four of Logan’s broodmares. Gallant Thunder, Liberty, and Dutch were the three new colts, and Duchess, the new filly. Bronson had placed a soft leather halter on the foals within the first three days of their lives and continued to play a big role in caring for them through the weaning process. Every morning since they were ten weeks old, he’d stocked the creep feeders to help the foals adjust to eating feed and grains. As he hoisted a heavy feedbag onto his shoulder, today was no different.
“Good morning, Mia. Good morning, Gallant Thunder. How are you two on this fine morning?” Bronson poured some of the feed into foal’s specially designed feeder, patted Mia on her back, and did the same for the foal. Mia’s tail flicked and she gave him a look that could’ve almost passed for a smile before he headed to the next stall to fill the next feeder.
The bag he’d hoisted onto his shoulder contained creep feed packed with exactly the right amount of vitamins for foals. The boss, Buck, had purchased the creep feeders from a tack shop. These special feeders were plastic bins with lids featuring feeding holes at a smaller size for foals. They attached to the walls of the stall and later, the lids could be replaced with normal feed saver lids, making them adaptable for yearlings and up. The feeders allowed the foals to remain with their mothers for a longer period of time. They prevented the mares from eating the foal’s supply of food, but made the weaning process less stressful for the foal while they learned to eat hay and grains.
“It’s a beautiful day, Queen! How are you, Duchess?” Bronson scratched the broodmare, Queen, and her filly, Duchess, behind the ears. The filly didn’t stand on such wobbly legs anymore and grew stronger each day.
Logan had been overjoyed to have three new colts and a filly among the quarter horses of his herd. Immediately after the births, he and Jill had brought two bottles of non-alcoholic sparkling cider to the barns to celebrate with the wranglers and the delivering veterinarian. The vet had also returned a month later to do the proper vaccinations for the foals.
Bronson also remembered the phone call Logan had made to his cousin, Chase, thanking him. His cousin had inherited Old Butch, the crowning glory to the Haven herds, but he’d had no problem putting Old Butch to stud to help grow Logan’s herd. Bronson admired the way the Haven cousins operated—generous and considerate—always willing to share tips and exchange ideas.
“I know, Dutch. You want to go outside to play with the other colts today. Only if you promise to be more careful not to run into Duchess this time. She’s a filly, so you need to be extra sweet and gentle. I know, it’s hard to understand at your age, but someday you’ll understand more. Ruby, you look as though you’re ready for breakfast.” He patted them both on their long noses after filling the creep feeder and headed for the next stall.
He finished the task of making sure the feeders and troughs were filled with fresh water and food for the horses, hoping to find some free time to make some notes about organizing the upcoming Pioneer Days. Maybe he’d have time later that morning when McGuire and Jed promised they’d tend the barns for ranchers who would trickle in, coming and going on the trails for horseback riding. The Sweetwater was currently filled with all of those contestants for the beauty pageant and a huge troop of Girl Scouts. They’d keep McGuire and Jed hopping for sure. They were surrounded by girls and women everywhere, at least this week, and every time he turned around it seemed someone needed something. Buck found it amusing, McGuire was too in love with Katie to notice, and Jed was hopelessly distracted; though not a single beauty queen noticed him. The Girl Scouts, however, kept him hopping with running for horses, saddles, and all kinds of requests for help with how to ride the trails. Poor Jed! He just wanted to find the nerve to ask a single beauty queen out on a date. So far, it hadn’t gone very well for him. He clammed up whenever they entered the barns or came within five feet.
“Good morning, Virginia! Look how big Liberty has grown. He’ll be in his very own stall soon, just you wait and see! A fine colt you are, Liberty, yes indeed.” Bronson chuckled as Liberty’s front hooves stomped and Virginia took a step closer to nuzzle his arm.
Though Buck was preoccupied with matters pertaining to his wife, Ella, it seemed as though today would be a good morning to finally put some thoughts on paper. Maybe he’d even be able to make a few phone calls, if he could figure out where to begin looking for pioneers. They sure didn’t list them in the phone book wearing costumes and making homemade soap, at least not in Lander’s phone book. There were pioneer museums and trails in the phone book, but apparently this project was going to require some seriously creative thinking.
If there was one thing he wasn’t, it was creative. All he could do was pray he’d somehow become creative in time to pull the project together and not disappoint the ranch owners and his boss. They were all counting on him.
FORTY MINUTES LATER, Bronson was seated on a wood bench beyond the little white church beneath a clump of trees on The Sweetwater. A pen tucked behind one ear and a notebook in his hands, he was stumped and no closer to achieving any sense of organization to the Pioneer Days idea.
And then he heard music! Was that the sound of a violin wafting over the meadow? Had he died and shown up in heaven? The melody streaming into his ears was perfection and one of his favorite hymns. “Be Thou My Vision” drifted from a direction deeper in the meadow. He felt genuinely compelled to go in search of the source.
Some thirty paces farther into the meadow through taller grass thick with wild flowers, he paused to behold the girl with the scarf, Miss Tory Johnson, playing a violin. Only she wasn’t wearing a scarf today and her hair was pulled back into a fancy bun at the nape of her neck. She sat on a quilt spread out in a clearing in the meadow, facing a tree line beyond them, wearing a purple summer dress with a white belt and pink cowboy boots. What a surprise to find the beauty queen possessed such talent! He knew a thing or two about music from his college days, and he was sure Tory was among the best violinists he’d ever heard.
He listened for about a verse more and then decided to make her aware of his presence by joining her in song with the lyrics, hoping he wouldn’t startle her or cause her to stop the sweet sounds. She glanced over her shoulder at him with that sweet, shy smile, continuing to move the bow along the strings of the instrument she held in her arms. He sat down on the edge of the quilt and continued to sing the lyrics until she completed the song.
Bronson let out one of his whistles again. “Wow! That was absolutely amazing!”
Tory’s sweet laughter sounded like a meadow lark to him. “We make beautiful music together. You’re not so bad of a vocalist yourself.”
“Thanks,” he replied. “We do make a great team.”
“Where’d you learn to play the violin like that?”
“Practice,” she answered, tucking a stray hair behind one of her ears. “Many years of lessons and practice, since about age five.”
“You should be like on tour or something,” he continued, praising her.
“It’s very kind of you to say so, but I don’t think I’m quite that good.” Tory blushed, but this time she didn’t look down. “Where’d you learn to sing like that? You’ve got a very nice voice.”
“Oh here and there, I guess. I heard the music and had to find the source,” he remarked. “It’s nice to encounter you again, Tory.”
“It’s nice to see you again, Bronson.” She blushed again, but this time with a beautiful smile looking up into his hazel eyes as she held the shiny violin in her lap.
“So why aren’t you riding horses today with all of the other beauty pageant contestants?” He tossed the notebook in his hands onto the quilt, the pen still tucked behind his ear. “Are you settled comfortably into your cabin with the other girls for the duration of the pageant?”
“Yes, I’m all settled in. The cabins are very nice. I don’t have much privacy there to practice, though. I thought I’d practice for the talent portion outside since some of the girls are trying to take an afternoon nap. They’ve kept us busy with meetings since the other morning when you saved me from my scarf. I haven’t played this song in a while, so I’m going to need to work on it a bit, that is if I don’t end up choosing some other melody for the big day,” she explained. “I’m kind of undecided as yet.” Glancing at his notebook, she asked, “How about you? Are you a writer? Someday I plan to be one, and you’ve got me curious with that notebook and the pen tucked behind your ear.” She gave him one of her shy smiles, tilting her head with a curious look.
Bronson laughed and shook his head. “No. I’m not a writer. I’ve been trying to work on a project and I’m at a loss as to how to begin.”
“What sort of project?” Her head tilted to the other side as he began to explain Logan and Jill’s vision for Pioneer Days at The Sweetwater.
She listened carefully to all he had to say. “Maybe I could be of some help to you. I’ve read a lot about the pioneers. I’m a voracious reader type.”
“Sounds like it, with wanting to be a writer and all. That’d be amazing if you’d want to help, but it’d have to be on your free time, and you’d kinda have to keep it under wraps. It’s all supposed to be a big surprise for Lander folks. I like history too, but I can’t think where to find any pioneers in historic garb for rent.”
Tory giggled. “No, you probably won’t find them in the phonebook, but I’ve got some ideas. First off, we’ve got to find someone who can sew pioneer garb and also, some volunteers to wear the costumes and do demonstrations.”
“Ah! Good thinking! I think I know exactly who we need to talk to.” Bronson’s wheels were clicking. “You free tonight? I’ll take you to meet Betty Anne. Well, Katie lives there, too. They’re the best seamstresses in Lander. Plus, Jackie’s there.”
“Who’s Jackie?” she asked.
“You’ll meet her tonight. Say, around seven? I’ll pick you up in my truck. No need to worry about dinner. Betty Anne feeds everyone who stops by and boy can she cook!”