A Grand Teton Sleigh Ride: Four Generations of Wyoming Ranchers Celebrate Love at Christmas (5 page)

The morning’s activities involved a few of the women fashioning handcrafted gifts for Christmas.

Scanning the room, she regarded each of her friends. They had families, warm places to be, and hearts to hold dear.

“We ought to discuss our plans for a Christmas program,” Mary said. “For some it might be an ordinary day. But for many of us, we still want to celebrate the Savior’s birth.”

“If we had enough young children, we could do a pageant and costumes,” Rosemary said. “I don’t mind performing a song, if no one objects.”

Belle had to agree Rosemary’s idea had merit. “Perhaps some of the adults could read parts from the Christmas story, for an adult pageant. That is, if any of them agree.”

“Or we could read from the Bible, and sing songs for Christmas.” Ivana paused. “Although, my English is not so good. I don’t know all the words. But I could sing in Swedish.”

The ladies murmured their agreement.

“Maybe we could find a small tree, and decorate it, with candies?” Belle asked. “I’m not sure what traditions are like here, but I’ve always missed seeing a lovely tree and gifts in the branches.”

“You must have celebrated quite grandly back East.” Eunice Woods looked over the top of her mending.

“When I worked for the Skinners, they always hung greenery throughout the main living quarters, the parlor, and the music room. It was lovely and smelled just like a forest.” Belle smiled at the happy memory of Christmases in the grand house. The family had bestowed kind gifts to her and the rest of the staff. However, a letter from her sister, on the heels of being lied to by a beau, had driven Belle west. No, her sister’s words had beckoned her.

“I’m not sure we’d have trees and greenery as you’re accustomed to.” Mary looked at her slyly. “I imagine, though, if you send Zebulon Covington out to search for a good Christmas tree, he would look high and low.”

“Ah, yes, Mr. Covington would cross the pass to find a Christmas tree if you asked him to.” Ivana’s expression matched Mary’s.

“Whatever do you mean?” Belle tried not to fidget as if she were a child.

“It’s quite clear that he’s taken a shine to you.” Mary nodded.

“He … he promised my brother-in-law he’d watch out for me, if anything ever happened to him.” She tried not to look in Rosemary’s direction but did so anyway.

“But you—but you—“ Rosemary sputtered. “I was the one …” Her cheeks flamed red.

“I—I— Oh, Rosemary, it’s not like that.” Belle wanted to deny her own interest in Zebulon Covington, but doing so would be a lie. Yes, he fascinated her. The morning he’d helped her with the livestock, she’d seen how gentle he was. And he’d never hinted at anything improper. He made her laugh. And more often than not, she found herself wondering what he looked like without the beard.

“You know I like him. And now I hear you’ve been encouraging his attentions.” Rosemary stood, her needlework tumbling from her lap.

“No, not encouraging.” Belle took in the other women’s expressions. “Rosemary …”

“My dear daughter,” Mary said, shaking her head.

“Oh, Mother.” Rosemary strode from the parlor and entered her room, closing the door behind her.

“I apologize for my daughter.” Mary sighed. “I’m not sure what’s come over her.”

“That might be partly my fault, Mrs. Smythe.” Belle frowned. “Yes, I’ve been tutoring her. But she also asked me to school her in how to carry herself as a lady, to, ah, gain the attention of a suitable man for a husband.”

“Well there’s certainly a wide selection of men here,” Eunice observed, “although I’m not sure how many of them are suitable.”

Mary glanced toward the closed door to Rosemary’s room. “Her father and I have considered sending her East in the spring. It’s been rather difficult for her here. She misses our family and friends. There are more opportunities for her, and yes, more suitable men.”

“That’s probably true enough.”

“Well, we can’t worry about it now. We need to weather through the winter, and in the meantime, we have Christmas to look forward to.” Mary beamed, but then her smile faded. “Oh, Belle, this year with Christmas coming, it must be especially difficult for you.”

Belle nodded. She’d pulled herself along, focusing on learning how to deal with the winter stretching ahead of her, questioning her decision to stay, and missing Melanie with an ache only the bereaved could understand. She glanced down at her black dress.

“I miss them, very much.”

“And you have no one else?” Ivana leaned forward, squeezing Belle’s hand.

“No. Ham … Ham has a brother over the pass. But he’s not my family. Melanie and I lost our mother a long time ago.” She didn’t add more about her lack of family, and the others didn’t ask further.

“Humph.” Mary frowned. “I’ve heard of that Abel Quinn. As lazy an incompetent as Hamilton Quinn was industrious and capable.”

“He and Ham had some bad blood between them a few years ago. Ham told him never to come back, asking for money again.” The man was lazy, given to much drinking and cards, and both Melanie and Ham barely spoke of him during the time Belle had lived with them. Even after his brother had perished, Abel hadn’t come to the funeral. What kind of a man would act in such a way, not paying his respects to his own brother?

“That’s the kind of man I want Rosemary to stay away from the most.” Mary shook her head and tsked.

Rosemary’s bedroom door clicked as it opened, and Rosemary reemerged, her shoulders squared and her head held high.

“Belle, Mother, Ivana, and Eunice, I apologize for my outburst a few moments ago.” Rosemary settled back onto her vacant chair and picked up her needlework. “I’m not sure what came over me.”

“I know you’ve been lonely for your friends.” Mary’s knitting needles clicked as she worked them. “Your pa and I have discussed it.”

“I do have a friend here, though.” Rosemary smiled at Belle. “Thank you, Belle, for being my friend. If Zebulon Covington prefers you, there’s not much I can do about that.”

“Oh, Rosemary.” Belle set down her work and crossed the parlor. “I’m glad you’re my friend. Don’t worry about Zebulon. I’m not sure that anything will come of it. In fact, he told me he doesn’t see the need for a wife.” She hugged the young woman, who responded in kind. She dared not mention that Mr. Covington said he would teach her how to ski on Sunday afternoon, if the weather held.

After church meeting on Sunday, Belle ate some leftover stew and bread and tried not to watch the clock until the hands read three o’clock, the agreed-upon time for skiing. Somehow, the subject had come up during the small gathering, and the Olsens said they’d like to join Belle and Zebulon for an afternoon excursion.

“More than likely, they’ll enjoy the diversion of seeing me slide around on my hindquarters,” Belle murmured to herself as she tied on her bonnet over top a woolen scarf. But ever since the conversation during the ladies’ gathering at the Smythe place, she found herself looking forward more and more to skiing with Zebulon. Perhaps Ivana and her husband and small child coming along to ski would be a diversion for her as well. She missed playing with little ones, and the Skinners had had an energetic band of children.

She fastened her coat, topped it with Ham’s overcoat, the warmest combination she could think of, then watched until Zebulon, along with the Olsens following by sleigh, arrived at the claim.

Belle went out to meet them. “Oh, a sleigh! How beautiful.”

“Yah.” Ivana nodded. “Sven finished it in time.” She climbed down from the sleigh then pulled her small daughter off the seat.

“Good afternoon.” Sven Olsen shook her hand. The tall blond man had few words but radiated love for his small family.

“Are you ready?” Zebulon dismounted from his mule and unstrapped the skis from the saddle.

“I suppose I am.”

“We skied quite often back home.” Ivana adjusted Tilde’s earmuffs. “This will be Tilde’s first time skiing, now that she’s old enough. I expect she will fall often.”

“It’s my first time, too, so I will likely be falling right alongside her.” Belle smiled at the petite toddler with blond curls, a round face with a peaches-and-cream complexion.

Sven and Zebulon stood near the Olsens’ sleigh, talking and pointing at its rails.

Zebulon crouched lower, examining something on the runners. He straightened to stand upright, his eyes bemused.

“I’ve been building my own sleigh,” he explained. “I’d hoped to have it finished sooner, because it’ll make hauling things a lot easier in the winter.”

“Not to mention we can all go on sleigh rides on fine Sundays like today,” Ivana said. “Here, Tilde. Let us put some skis on you.” She continued in Swedish, pointing toward the sleigh. The little child complied, chattering away in her family’s language.

The two of them stepped back as Sven drove the sleigh to a shelter beside the barn. He tied their horse to one of the hitching posts nearby.

“Here, I’ll help you with your skis first.” Zebulon held a pair of straight, narrow slats of wood, with the front ends slightly curved to form makeshift skis.

“Did you make these yourself?” She studied the curious-looking devices. She’d seen skis before but nothing made like these.

“I did. Now, step over here.” He gestured a few paces away from where Ivana stood with Tilde.

Belle followed him to a cleared but snowy expanse of the ranch yard. He knelt before her, much as he’d done when helping her with her snowshoes. His large roughened hands strapped the skis, his touch gentle, yet firm, as he tied the straps. Her foot, now firmly buckled into the ski, began to slide as she lifted her other foot.

“Whoa.” He grabbed her calf while she simultaneously gripped his shoulder. “Hold on, you can’t go anywhere just yet.”

Belle had no doubt he’d catch her if she did lose her balance but fought to keep her footing. Surely, she could ski and still keep some sense of dignity. But she’d never had a man grab her leg like that before. Most improper, yet unavoidable. Clearly, it was harder for a lady to stay proper in the West, not out of lack of regard for propriety, but out of necessity. She’d much rather have Zebulon touch her leg than she end up breaking a bone or her dignity by falling.

While the Olsens worked with their little one to cover some distance on the snowy ground, Zebulon worked with Belle.

“Aren’t you going to put your skis on also?” she asked.

“Not yet. I want to make sure you get your footing first. All right, you’ll need to bend your knees. Slightly; don’t squat.”

No, she wasn’t about to squat. She did bend her knees a little. “Like this?”

“Yes. Now push off with the poles.” He’d handed her a pair of poles, crafted from slim yet strong branches, to help her balance and steer. “Don’t tighten your knees. Keep them loose.”

How he had an inkling that her knees had stiffened underneath all her skirts and long johns, she had no idea.

Belle began to slide, the skis providing support for her. Yes, she could do this. She tried to keep the tips of the skis from touching, but her toes wanted to turn in. She kept going, gliding past the Olsens. Ivana scooped their little one from the ground. She’d slipped and fallen on her first try and sat on the snow, pouting.

Ivana leaned over her daughter, speaking to her in Swedish. Belle understood the caring, encouraging tone well enough.

Belle glanced over her shoulder. Immediately her balance shifted and her foot wobbled. Zebulon’s mouth gaped, likely to warn her, but too late. How did one stop with these things?

Her skis tangled together and sent her face-first toward the snow. The cold sucked the breath from her body, and she inhaled sharply as she sat up, brushing the snow from her face and coat.

At this rate, she figured until the spring thaw, she’d remain snowbound or use snowshoes to get to town in the worst of the snowy weather.

“Are you all right, Miss Murray?” Zebulon rushed to help her to her feet.

Their hands lingered as he helped her up, and the cold didn’t seem so hostile anymore.

“I’m quite all right.” Heat bloomed through her cheeks.

T
hey made for a soggy and wet group—at least two of them, anyway, as they sat in the snug Quinn kitchen after Belle and Tilde skied and fell, skied and fell. A few times, though, Belle even laughed out loud when Zeb passed her on the trail. After an hour or so, Belle suggested they join her in the house to warm up before they all left for home.

She’d capably added more wood to the stove and had the kettle heating for coffee. If she felt any wounded dignity after the hour of sliding and falling, she didn’t let on. Instead, she served up some shortbread cookies as if she were in a grand kitchen, offering the first cookie to little Tilde, who perked up at the mention of sweets by her mother.

“So, you will do the scripture readings on Christmas Eve?” Sven asked Zebulon.

“Yes, I will.”

“Good.”

“And we ladies will make our traditional Christmas treats, from our home countries, and bring to share on Christmas Eve,” Ivana said. “Do you know what you will make, Belle?”

Zeb caught a flicker of a frown across her face. Did she not have the means to make anything for Christmas Eve? She’d said she had provisions, but usually provisions didn’t include ingredients for a holiday meal.