Tracie Peterson (11 page)

“Mary’s right. That’s probably just what I need.” Logan said with a knowing look at Amelia.

“If you’ll excuse me, Mary, I’m going to go clean up and take my walk. I appreciate your lessons this morning.” Amelia untied the apron and put it across the back of a nearby chair, her kid gloves forgotten in the pocket.

“Come back tomorrow morning and we’ll make cinnamon rolls,” the heavyset woman said with a smile.

“Now there’s something every good wife should know,” Logan piped up. “Mary’s cinnamon rolls are the best in the country. Why, I’d walk from Denver to Estes to get a pan of those.”

“If time permits, I’d be happy to work with you,” Amelia said and then hurried from the room.

Images of Logan Reed followed her back to the cabin, where Amelia hurriedly grabbed her journal and pencil, as well as a straw walking-out hat. Balancing the journal while tying on the bonnet, Amelia quickened her pace and determined to put as much distance as possible between her and the smug-faced Mr. Reed.
Why couldn’t he have just taken her party on the hunt and left her to herself? Why did he have to show up and see her wearing an apron and acting like the hired help?
But she’d enjoyed her time with Mary, and she never once felt like hired help. Instead she felt … well, she felt useful, as though she’d actually accomplished something very important.

Making her way along a tiny path behind the cluster of cabins, Amelia tried to grasp those feelings of accomplishment and consider what they meant. Her life in England seemed trite when she thought of Mary’s long hours of work. She was idle in comparison, but then again, she had been schooled in the graceful arts of being idle. She could, of course, stitch lovely tea towels and dresser scarves. She could paint fairly well and intended to sketch out some pastoral scenes from her hike and later redo them in watercolors. But none of these things were all that useful. Mary’s work was relied upon by those around her. She baked their bread and kept them fed. She braided rugs and sewed clothes to ward of the mountain chill. She knew all of this because Mary had told her so in their chatty conversation.
Mary’s is not an idle life of appearances. Mary’s life has purpose and meaning.

Before she realized it, Amelia was halfway up the incline that butted against the Lewis property. She turned to look back down and drew her breath in at the view. The sun gave everything the appearance of having been freshly washed. The brilliance of the colors stood out boldly against the dark green background of the snow-capped, tree-covered mountains. The rushing river on the opposite side of the property shimmered and gurgled in glorious shades of violet and blue. But it was always lighting which appealed to her painter’s eyes. The light here was unlike any she’d ever seen before. It was impossible to explain, but for a moment she felt compelled to try. She sat down abruptly and took up her journal.

“There is a quality to the light which cannot be explained. It is, I suppose, due to the high mountain altitude and the thinner quality of oxygen,” she spoke aloud while writing. “The colors are more vivid, yet, if possible, they are also more subtle. The lighting highlights every detail, while creating the illusion of something draped in a translucent veil. I know this doesn’t make sense, yet it is most certainly so.” She paused and looked down upon the tiny village. She would very much like to paint this scene, but how in the world could she ever capture the light?

Beside her were several tiny white flowers bobbing up and down in the gentle breeze. She leaned over on her elbow, mindless of her gown, and watched them for a moment. She considered the contrast of their whiteness against the green of their leaves and wondered at their name. Plucking one stem, she pressed it between the pages of her book, jotted a note of its location and got to her feet.

The higher she climbed, the rougher the path. Finally it became quite steep and altogether impassable. It was here she decided to turn away from the path and make her own way. The little incline to her left seemed most appealing even though it was strewn with rocks. The way to her right was much too threatening with its jagged boulders and sheer drops. Hiking up her skirt, with her journal tucked under her arm, Amelia faced the challenging mountainside with a determined spirit. She was feeling quite bold and was nearly to the top when the loose gravel gave way beneath her feet and sent her tumbling backward. Sliding on her backside and rolling the rest of the way, Amelia finally landed in a heap at the foot of the incline. Six feet away stood Logan Reed with an expression on his face that seemed to contort from amusement to concern and back to amusement.

Amelia’s pride and backside were sorely bruised, but she’d not admit defeat to Logan. She straightened her hat and frowned. “Are you spying on me, Mr. Reed?” she asked indignantly from where she sat.

Logan laughed. “I’d say you could use some looking after given the scene I just witnessed. But, no, I didn’t mean to spy. I live just over the ridge so when I saw you walking up this way, I thought I’d come and offer my services.”

Amelia quickly got to her feet and brushed the gravel from her gown. Seeing her book on the ground, she retrieved it and winced at the way it hurt her to bend down. “Your services for what?” she asked, hoping Logan hadn’t seen her misery as well.

“To be your hiking guide,” he replied coming forward. “It would sure save on your wardrobe.” He pointed to a long tear in the skirt of her gown. “Why in the world did you hike out here dressed like that?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“At least that riding skirt would have been a little more serviceable. You need to have sturdy clothes to hike these hills,” he chided.

“I will hike in whatever is most comfortable to me, Mr. Reed.”

“And you think corsets and muslin prints are most comfortable?”

Amelia huffed. “I don’t think it is any of your concern. I’m quite capable of taking care of myself.”

Logan rolled his eyes and laughed all the harder. “Yes, I can see that.” He shook his head and turned to walk back to the lodge, leaving Amelia to nurse her wounded pride.

A
melia spent the rest of the morning making notes in her journal and contemplating Logan Reed. As much as she tried to forget him, she couldn’t help thinking of his offer to be her hiking guide.
Logan knows every flower and tree in the area. He would certainly be the most knowledgeable man around when it came to identifying the vegetation and landmarks. If I am going to put together a book on the area it seems sensible to utilize the knowledge of the most intelligent man.

The book idea wasn’t really new to her. She’d been considering it since speaking with Lady Bird long before departing for America. Lady Bird told Amelia she should do something memorable with her time abroad.
Writing a book and painting dainty watercolor flowers seems very reasonable. Falling in love with a barbaric, American guide does not.

Closing her book with a loud snap, Amelia got to her feet. “I’m not in love,” she murmured to the empty room. “I will not fall in love with Logan Reed.” But even as she said the words, a part of Amelia knew that it was too late for such a declaration.

At noon, she made her way to the lodge house, where the hunting party had returned to gather for a large midday meal. Amelia saw the hunt was successful, but for the first time she wondered about the business of cleaning the kill and how the skins of the animals were to be used afterward. She’d never given such matters much though in the past. There was always someone else to do the dirty work.

“I say, Amelia, you missed quite a hunt. Sir Jeffery bagged a buck first thing out.”

Amelia glanced at Jeffery and then back to her father. “How nice.” She pulled out a chair and found Jeffery quickly at her side to seat her.

“It was a clean and easy shot, nothing so very spectacular,” he said in false humility. “I could name a dozen animals that present a greater challenge to hunt.”

“Perhaps the challenge comes in bagging a wife, what?” Lord Amhurst heartily laughed much to Amelia’s embarrassment and the stunned expressions of the others.

“Indeed true love is the hardest thing on earth to secure,” Lady Gambett said in a tone that suggested a long story was forthcoming. She was fresh from a day of napping and eager to be companionable.

“Papa had a good morning as well,” Penelope declared quickly and Margaret joined in so fast that both girls were talking at once. This seemed to be a cue to Josephine and Henrietta, who began a garbled rendition of the hunt for their mother’s benefit.

Jeffery took a chair at Amelia’s right and engaged her immediately in conversation. “I missed your company on the hunt. Do say you’ll be present tomorrow.”

“I’m afraid I didn’t come to America to hunt. Not for animals of any kind,” she stated, clearly hoping the implied meaning would not be lost on Jeffery. The sooner he understood her distaste for their proposed matrimony, the better.

“What will you do with your time?”

Amelia folded her hands in her lap. “I plan to write a book on the flowers and vegetation of Estes Park.” The words came out at just the exact moment that her sisters and the Gambetts had chosen to take a collective breath. Her words seemed to echo in the silence for several moments. Stunned faces from all around the table looked up to make certain they had heard correctly.

“You plan to do what?” Margaret asked before anyone else could give voice to their thoughts.

“You heard me correctly,” Amelia said, taking up a thick slice of bread she’d helped to make that morning. “The flowers here are beautiful and quite extraordinary. Nothing like what we have at home. Lady Bird told me I should use my time abroad to do something meaningful and memorable. I believe a book of this nature would certainly fit that suggestion.”

The earl nodded. “If Lady Bird believes it to be of value, then I heartily agree.” With Mattersley nowhere in sight, he filled his plate with potatoes and laughed when they dribbled over the rim. “Waiting on yourself takes some practice.” The dinner party chuckled politely and the mood seemed to lighten considerably.

As everyone seemed intent on eating, Amelia’s declaration passed from importance and escaped further discussion. With a sigh of relief, Amelia helped herself to a thick slice of ham and a hearty portion of potatoes. Jeffery would think her a glutton, but let him. She was tired of worrying about what other people thought. She found it suddenly quite enjoyable to be a bit more barbaric herself. Almost guilty for her thoughts, Amelia’s head snapped up and she searched the room for Logan. She knew he wouldn’t be there, but for some reason her conscience forced her to prove it.

“So how will you get about the place?” the earl was suddenly asking and all eyes turned to Amelia.

“I beg your pardon, Papa?”

“How will you travel about to gather your flowers and such? Will you have a guide?”

Amelia felt the ham stick in her throat as she tried to swallow. She took a long drink of her tea before replying. “Mr. Reed has offered to act as guide, but I told him it wasn’t necessary.”

“Nonsense,” her father answered. “If you are to undertake this project, do it in a correct manner. There is a great deal to know about this area and you should have a guide, what?”

“I suppose you are fair in assuming that,” Amelia replied. “But I hardly think Mr. Reed would be an appropriate teacher on flowers.”

Mary Lewis had entered the room to deposit two large pies on the table. “Logan’s an excellent teacher,” she said, unmindful of her eavesdropping. “Logan led an expedition of government people out here last summer. He’s got a good education—a sight more than most of the folks around these parts, anyway.”

Everyone stared at Mary for a moment as though stunned by her boldness. “It seems reasonable,” the earl said, nodding to Mary as if to dismiss her, “that Mr. Reed should direct you in your studies. I’ll speak to him this afternoon and make certain he is reasonably recompensed for his efforts. Perhaps this evening at dinner we can finalize the arrangements.

Amelia said nothing. In truth, she had already decided to speak to Logan about helping her. She knew herself to be a prideful woman and what had once seemed like an admirable quality now made her feel even more of a snob. Lady Bird had lowered herself to even help harvest the crops of local residents. How could she resist the help of Logan Reed and possibly hope to justify herself? But just as her feelings were starting to mellow toward the man, he ruined it by joining them.

“Looks like you did pretty good for yourself, Amhurst,” Logan said, taking a seat at the table.

Mary Lewis entered, bringing him a huge platter of food. “I saved this for you, Logan.”

“Much thanks, Mary.” He bowed his head for a moment before digging into the steaming food.

Everyone at the table looked on in silent accusation at Logan Reed. Even Mattersley would not presume to take his meals at the same table with the more noble classes. Logan Reed seemed to have no inclination that he was doing anything out of line, but when he glanced up he immediately caught the meaning of their silence. Rather than give in to their misplaced sense of propriety, however, Logan just smiled and complimented Mary on the food as she poured him a hot cup of coffee.