Chapter 3
When they got back from Fairplay, Cole took care of the wagon and the mules and set to splitting some wood while Mary got supper started.
He enjoyed splitting wood. It was good work, rhythmic and repetitive, almost like music. By the time he finished, he’d sweated through his shirt despite the cold breeze coming off the mountains.
He’d told Mr. Blye he’d have the barn up by first snow. Looking up now at the jagged, snowy peaks of the Mosquito Range, watching them sparkle in the blood-red blaze of the setting sun, he reckoned maybe he’d been a little optimistic in his claim.
But he’d do what he could. So would Mary.
As he so often did, Cole glanced around, smiling at what they were building here. Sure, the place was rough, a cabin of raw timbers and a makeshift stable and corral where he meant to build the barn, but it was taking shape.
Clearwater Creek flowed close by, clear as glass and cold as snowmelt, chuckling in agreement.
This was a good place. And more importantly, it was their place.
Mary came out of the house to gather laundry from the clothesline strung between aspens. A cold wind blew across the meadow. The white sheets billowed and snapped, looking pink in the crimson light of the setting sun.
Smoke rose from the stovepipe and broke apart in the wind. Some of it curled down and around, bringing Cole his favorite smell on earth: bacon. He knew the smell would grow even richer once he stepped inside, joining the smells of boiled cabbage and potatoes.
He nodded with satisfaction. This was indeed a good place, a blessing, a heavenly high meadow safe in the embrace of the stately and seemingly eternal mountains, as if God Himself had planted Cole and Mary here to make a good life and guard what little peace and prosperity a man might carve out of the world.
This spread wasn’t much, not yet, but it was theirs, a good place and more than that, a promise between Cole and Mary and a promise from them to the children they couldn’t wait to have, a promise written in sweat upon the parchment of dreams.
That evening, at dusk, after supper, Cole rose from the table, ready to go outside and tend to their animals.
“You didn’t eat much tonight, Mr. Sullivan,” Mary said with a playful smile. “I hope that fancy lunch at the Barton Inn didn’t spoil you. I wasn’t the best cook to begin with.”
“The meal was great.” Cole grinned. “Besides, I didn’t marry you for your cooking.”
Mary smiled back at him and arched one eyebrow. “No? Why did you marry me, then?”
“Because you handle your end of a saw like a Canadian lumberjack,” he joked, though she did work hard and was, indeed, a good partner when sawing thick timbers.
Mary’s mother had died when Mary was just six. Her father, a gruff but loving man, had raised Mary and her younger brothers the only way he knew how, teaching them to work and build and think.
Which was funny, because she was the most beautiful girl Cole had ever seen. She was equally comfortable in britches or gowns, and although his wife’s feminine curves filled out a dress most fetchingly, the flesh beneath those soft curves was firm with work-hardened muscle.
But she really wasn’t much of a cook, and she was the first to admit it.
Cole didn’t care. He’d eat just about anything if he got to share the meal with her.
“That is a terrible thing to say to your tender, new wife,” Mary said, pretending offense. He knew by the twinkle in her blue eyes that she was having fun.
“Well, that’s not the only reason I married you.”
“No?”
“No. There was another reason.”
“Pray tell.”
“Well,” Cole said, “I not only married you because you work like a mule but also because I love you like I never knew I could love anyone or anything in the whole world.”
Now, Mary was beaming. It made her face even prettier. And that was saying something.
“Thank you, Mr. Sullivan. I love you, too.”
“Quit interrupting me, Mary. You got me started, and now, I’m gonna have my say.”
Mary laughed. “My apologies. You go ahead.”
He gave a slight nod and said, “I loved you at first sight. You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, and then, when I got to know you?” He shook his head. “I loved you even more. Way more.”
“Well, that’s very kind of you to—”
“Hush, Mary. I told you I’m gonna have my say.”
She laughed again, a beautiful sound, and told him to go ahead and say what he had to say.
“I love everything about you. I love your smile and your laugh. I love the way you look and sound and smell. I love your sense of humor and your ideas and yes, the way you work so hard. And I love knowing that you are going to be the best mother a man could ever hope to have for his children.”
“Thank you, Cole,” she said, coming into his arms. “I feel the same way about you.”
He grinned down at her, loving the way she felt beneath his big hands. “You think I’m gonna make the best mother in the world?”
“Quit,” she laughed and slapped his chest. “You know what I mean. You’re perfect for me, and I love everything about you, and—what is it, Cole? What’s wrong?”
He released her and crossed the room and pulled the curtain aside and peered out the window. “I heard a horse whinny.”
“A horse? Could it be the delivery?”
He shook his head. Something was wrong. He could feel it in his bones. “No, you heard Mr. Diems. The delivery won’t be for a few days.”
Suddenly, she was beaming again. “Could it be your brother?”
“Maybe, but I don’t think so.” He started for the window. Then, thinking of Mary, he said, “Stay clear of the windows.”
“Why? What is it?”
He shook his head again and went to another window, and there, in the gathering gloom, he saw several riders grouped close, standing twenty yards from the house, facing the front door.
One man’s horse stepped out in front of the others.
Even in the gloom, Cole could see the man was the shortest of the bunch.
Who were these people? And what did they want, showing up with night coming on fast?
For every one that doeth evil hateth the light, he thought, neither cometh to the light, lest his deeds should be reproved.
“Mary, you’d better get down in the cellar.”
“Cole, you’re scaring me. What’s wrong? What’s out there?”
“Men.”
“What men?”
“I don’t know, but there’s a bunch of them.”
Out in the fading light, the short man spoke to the others. Some rode around toward the back of the house.
They’re surrounding us, Cole thought. Then, with a start, he recognized the short man.
“It’s the man from the hardware store.”
“Mr. Diems? Maybe he brought the shipment early.”
“No, not them. One of the men who came out into the yard then followed us back inside. Do you remember?”
She nodded. “A short man and another one who was sort of average height.”
“Right. That’s the short one out there. Get in the cellar, Mary. If anything happens, you know what to do.”
Her eyes grew huge, shining in the candlelight. “If anything happens? What do you mean? What could happen?”
“There’s no time, Mary. Get down there. Everything will be all right. I just have to talk to these men and see what they want. But if anything happens, you know what to do.”
“The tunnel? That was for Indian attacks. You—”
“Tell me you know what to do, Mary.”
“I know what to do. But Cole, I don’t want to leave you.”
“You gotta get down there, Mary. You gotta get down there, now.” Saying this, he knelt under the table and pulled the rug aside and opened the hatch.
“Take your rifle, Cole.”
He shook his head. “That will only stir them up. I will talk with them hospitably. I just pray to God that they are good Christian men.”
Which he doubted. But he did not share this doubt with Mary, who was frightened enough already.
She kissed his cheek and told him she loved him and started down the steps.
“I love you, too, Mary,” he said, and handed her a candle before shutting the hatch again and dragging the rug back over it and returning to the window.
Just as he looked out, the short man called, “Hello, the house.”
Cole was tempted not to answer. Maybe they would just ride on.
But half a second later, he shook his head.
They wouldn’t ride on. Not if they were here for what he reckoned they were here for.
The thought had a curious effect on him. It chilled him to the bone but also lit a white-hot fire in his heart.
He knew this was bad, knew that he and Mary and everything they owned, everything they had built together, and all of their dreams hung in the balance.
These men were not the welcome wagon.