Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty-Five
“Give us an hour, Miss Sheila, and we’ll be ready to get on the road again.”
“Take your time,” she told Gabe as he and Paddy ran off to go and check on the livestock. Imala’s lumber and her supplies from Mr. Lewis’s store were loaded on the wagon, ready for delivery, and her friend wasn’t expecting them until the afternoon.
As the wagon approached the ranch, Bear had run up to greet the boys, bouncing along beside the pair of mules and barking. Once Gabe and Paddy got busy with their work, however, the dog chose Sheila as a companion.
“I’m happy to see you too, boy. I enjoy coming here.”
Bear jumped up and put his giant paws on Sheila shoulders. She had to brace her feet so he wouldn’t knock her down. Grabbing the ruff of the excited animal, she talked some baby-talk to him before finally pushing him down.
“I’d come more often if your master showed even a fraction of your enthusiasm.” She smiled, patting him on the head.
Stretching her back, she breathed in the fresh air and admired the view. The mountains and the forests that surrounded Elkhorn were truly majestic, and the land that Caleb’s ranch sat on had a clean, glorious charm to it. So different from New York.
Manhattan lacked this sunshine and clean air. Here there was no smoke from legions of factories and hearths to blot out the sky and the sun. The deep blue sky above the valley was unblemished, but for a few wisps of gray and white skirting the edges of the distant mountains far to the south.
She could see the boys running down through the high grass of the broad meadow toward the herd of cattle grazing along the sparkling river.
On the far side of the water, the groves of cottonwood trees had burst into leaf, and the residue from the recent rains still caused the pines to shimmer in the sunlight.
The entire valley was contained by high forest-covered ridges that ran southward toward New Mexico territory, a land that Sheila knew very little about.
She knew that the spirit of adventure was in her. In part, it was what brought her out here to Colorado. But as she turned and looked at Caleb’s cabin, she felt other stirrings within her as well.
Reaching into the wagon, she picked up the packet of cookies and the shirt she’d bought for Caleb at Mr. Wilson’s general store. The one he’d been wearing when he was attacked at their house last week was ruined, though she was certain he would have worn it—stitched hole, blood stains, and all.
Bear tagged along as she headed toward the cabin.
Feeling the warm sun on her shoulders, she realized it would be very easy to get used to this. The more times she came here, the more time she spent with him, the harder it became not to daydream about what might and might not be.
Sheila sensed that Caleb Marlowe was attracted to her, but he was not too adept when it came to courting. In New York, all it took was an afternoon walk in the park, followed by a conversation with the family. With Caleb, though, something held him back.
She wasn’t the prying or the swooning sort.
She’d tease but never confront, and she’d never beg for his attention or affection.
Still, she thought about him too much when he was gone.
She’d talked her father into playing chess with her in the evening, hoping to improve her skills.
She was intent on challenging him to a game when he returned.
Sheila had also been practicing her marksmanship, with the sheriff coaching her, though she was already better with a six-gun than Zeke was from any distance.
She knew that she was constantly searching for ways to impress Caleb.
And she realized that had a lot to do with how he’d thought she acted irrationally when she first arrived in Elkhorn.
Riding alone to his cabin after dark when her father had gone missing was reckless.
She understood that now, but he wasn’t willing to let that go.
He’d told her she wasn’t suited for the frontier life, but she’d made up her mind to prove him wrong.
And she would, for there had never been a man in her life that she was so taken with.
But as much as that seemed romantic and missish in a person who’d never professed love to another, it worried her too.
After all, she was content the way she was.
No husband. No attachment. Finally, here in Colorado, she had her father’s company and her life was her own.
“I just don’t know, Bear,” she said to him. The deep brown eyes in the black face looked up at her. “The more I think of your master, the more confused I get.”
The massive dog grinned, mocking her.
The porch and entry still gave off the smell of new-sawn wood. She unlatched the door and pushed it open, letting Bear go in first.
She felt like an intruder, and a slight thrill ran down her spine. The first night she met Caleb—the night he shot all those rustlers trying to steal his cattle—she’d fetched a lantern for him from above the fireplace. Since then, he’d never invited her to come inside.
Looking around the interior as her eyes adjusted to the shuttered darkness, she now knew why. The cabin consisted of one very large room, but almost as unfinished now as it was then. The place was as stark and austere as a hermit’s cell.
Nothing decorative on the walls. No curtains on the windows.
No real furniture but a small rough-hewn table with a bench and a three-legged stool, and a wood platform of a bed with a mattress and a coarse blanket on top.
A couple of shelves had been put up for a half dozen tin plates and cups, an iron frying pan and a cooking pot.
And a stove that must have been brought over on the Mayflower. That was it.
His clothes, the little that he had, were either hanging from a few pegs by the door or stacked neatly next to the bed. She’d heard Caleb tell her father that the plan was to build a second cabin when his partner was let out of jail.
But as she looked at the one-room house now, another thought occurred to her. The cabin looked like it belonged to a man who didn’t know if he’d made up his mind to leave or stay and make a home out of it.
Yet she saw signs of him everywhere. The careful stack of split firewood by the stove. The rifle cleaning cloth folded beside a box of cartridges. The books on the shelf arranged with almost military precision. Nothing was wasted. Nothing was decorative. Every object had a purpose.
It struck her that Caleb lived exactly the way he spoke—plainly, honestly, and with no room for foolishness.
She’d heard that Caleb only came to Elkhorn and bought this property five months ago. He’d built this cabin by himself. Alone.
Alone. The word lingered in her thoughts.
For years she'd imagined independence as the highest form of freedom. Yet standing here, she wondered if there was another kind of freedom entirely. One that came from belonging somewhere. To a place. To a family. To another person.
Thinking of that, Sheila felt a little better.
It was actually very impressive, what he’d done.
She pushed open the shutter of a window on the back wall and studied the interior more closely.
She paced around the inside of the building, her fingers touching the walls.
His craftmanship showed. No other daylight peeked through between the logs. The roof seemed to be tight and dry.
This was a rustic life, compared with what she’d known.
With her mother deceased and her father a doctor for the Union army, Sheila had been placed in the care of her grandparents when she’d been only nine years old.
Even as a child, she’d known that the affluent life in which she was being raised was not one that everyone shared.
So often, she was embarrassed by how she lacked for nothing, no matter how big or small.
The neighborhood where her grandparents’ brownstone mansion stood, at the corner of Fifth Avenue and Twelfth Street in Manhattan, was a far cry from the areas just a few blocks away.
In the Bowery and the Lower East Side, the poverty and the filth was heartrending.
But she didn’t need to leave their house to see the vast difference in how people lived.
Sheila had every human comfort while hungry, soot-covered boys were jammed into the chimneys for the monthly cleaning. The girls who served as helpers to the maids and other servants were no older than she was. And yet, they worked from before dawn until darkness fell.
From her earliest years, she watched and she listened.
From her grandfather’s carriage and even from her bedroom windows, she saw them.
The streetwalkers who would appear at dusk by the wrought iron gates of the parks.
The ragged immigrants hawking their wares.
Children selling flowers and newspapers and pies and trinkets.
And what had she done to deserve the comfortable life she’d been given? As the years passed, New York society became more and more of a nightmare. Her father assumed she was safe there, well cared for, secure. But in the end, she had to escape from it.
The final push came when her grandfather, J. T. Spencer, told her flatly that she should accept the offer of marriage from his financial partner. Rudd Hughes was a man in his fifties with daughters older than Sheila.
She left without even telling her father that she was coming. And she managed to make her way to Colorado.
Sheila blinked back the past and stared happily at the emptiness of Caleb’s cabin. She found Bear lying on his master’s bed and she smiled.
“There’s a lot I can do with this place, you know. But do you think I’ll get the chance?”
The dog flopped onto his side, offering no reply.
“He has to ask. I won't be throwing myself at any man. Even Caleb Marlowe.”
Though if the stubborn fool ever did ask, she suspected her answer would come far too quickly for dignity.
The sound of running footsteps coming toward the cabin stopped her.
“Miss Sheila!”