followed had only served to confirm her first impressions.
Lord, if it be your will, help them learn to love each other. Give my girls a home with a mother and father who will cherish each other.
A lump welled in her throat, and her tears dampened her pillow.
And Lord, please let me love my girls awhile longer.
Emily awakened after a long restless night filled with disturbing dreams. Wearily, she pushed aside the blankets and rose from the bed. The previous night’s thunderstorm had been followed by a drenching rain, and the air in her room felt chill and damp. She shivered as she hurried toward the makeshift dresser, wasting no time selecting what to wear. The first dress her hand touched would be good enough.
Tying her hair at the nape with a narrow scarf, she slipped from her bedroom and out the front door, hoping the cool morning air would clear her troubled thoughts. Dawn had painted the lingering clouds the color of grapes, poppies, and dandelions. Moisture, crystallized by the crisp morning air, sparkled from every tree limb and fence pole. The horses in the corral huddled together, their heads drooping toward the ground, their breath forming white clouds beneath their muzzles.
Emily wrapped her arms around her middle as she hurried toward the barn, her teeth chattering with cold. She paused as the door closed behind her and drew a deep breath. There. That was better. The quick walk across the yard had helped.
“Morning, Miss Harris.”
She gasped in surprise.
Gavin stood inside a stall, looking at her over the top rail. “You’re up mighty early.” He opened the gate and stepped out.
“I . . . I wanted to see Sabrina’s calf.”
He wore a dubious expression. “I had no idea you were so fond of the little guy.”
She felt a blush rising into her cheeks and hated herself for it. “Sabrina’s fond of him, and anything that interests the children interests me.” She moved toward the stall that held the calf, head high, eyes avoiding his.
“I believe you mean that, Miss Harris,” Gavin said as he joined her.
“I do mean it or I wouldn’t have taken this job.” She risked looking at him then, daring him to disagree with her.
He didn’t. “You must be cold. You’d better get back to the house.”
“I’m fine. It’s not cold in the barn.”
“Go back to the house, Miss Harris,” he said in a low voice. “It’s colder out here than you think.”
She recalled the moment she’d imagined herself in his arms and felt a frisson of dread run through her. “Yes,” she whispered. “I’m afraid you’re right. I’ll go.”
She forced her feet to walk slowly, but in her heart she fled.
October 3, 1883
My dearest Maggie,
I’m sorry it has taken me so long to put pen to paper, but I have been very busy since arriving in this valley. Without the slightest danger of overstatement, I can say that this is the most beautiful place I have ever seen. The mountains cut a jagged swath against the sky, trees and rocks and even some glaciers in the highest peaks. Although the days are pleasant, the nights are already cold.
The journey to this summer range took a week. It reminded me of the months we spent on the Oregon Trail, sleeping under the stars, cooking over a campfire. I confess I was heartily glad to spend a night in a real bed once we reached the basin, but those days on the trail were a perfect time to get to know my employers better.
Mrs. Blake is warm and easy to like. She isn’t a strong woman. Whatever her illness is, it has sapped her energy. But there is life in her eyes, and when she talks about her daughters, joy can be seen on her face. Rather like you and your children, Maggie dear.
Mr. Blake, I’m sorry to say, is nothing like his wife. He doesn’t approve of me at all, and despite my assertion that I am up to the task, he believes I will fail and want to return to Boise. With me he is rather taciturn, but when he is with the children or caring for his wife, I see a
Lord, if it be your will, help them learn to love each other. Give my girls a home with a mother and father who will cherish each other.
A lump welled in her throat, and her tears dampened her pillow.
And Lord, please let me love my girls awhile longer.
Emily awakened after a long restless night filled with disturbing dreams. Wearily, she pushed aside the blankets and rose from the bed. The previous night’s thunderstorm had been followed by a drenching rain, and the air in her room felt chill and damp. She shivered as she hurried toward the makeshift dresser, wasting no time selecting what to wear. The first dress her hand touched would be good enough.
Tying her hair at the nape with a narrow scarf, she slipped from her bedroom and out the front door, hoping the cool morning air would clear her troubled thoughts. Dawn had painted the lingering clouds the color of grapes, poppies, and dandelions. Moisture, crystallized by the crisp morning air, sparkled from every tree limb and fence pole. The horses in the corral huddled together, their heads drooping toward the ground, their breath forming white clouds beneath their muzzles.
Emily wrapped her arms around her middle as she hurried toward the barn, her teeth chattering with cold. She paused as the door closed behind her and drew a deep breath. There. That was better. The quick walk across the yard had helped.
“Morning, Miss Harris.”
She gasped in surprise.
Gavin stood inside a stall, looking at her over the top rail. “You’re up mighty early.” He opened the gate and stepped out.
“I . . . I wanted to see Sabrina’s calf.”
He wore a dubious expression. “I had no idea you were so fond of the little guy.”
She felt a blush rising into her cheeks and hated herself for it. “Sabrina’s fond of him, and anything that interests the children interests me.” She moved toward the stall that held the calf, head high, eyes avoiding his.
“I believe you mean that, Miss Harris,” Gavin said as he joined her.
“I do mean it or I wouldn’t have taken this job.” She risked looking at him then, daring him to disagree with her.
He didn’t. “You must be cold. You’d better get back to the house.”
“I’m fine. It’s not cold in the barn.”
“Go back to the house, Miss Harris,” he said in a low voice. “It’s colder out here than you think.”
She recalled the moment she’d imagined herself in his arms and felt a frisson of dread run through her. “Yes,” she whispered. “I’m afraid you’re right. I’ll go.”
She forced her feet to walk slowly, but in her heart she fled.
October 3, 1883
My dearest Maggie,
I’m sorry it has taken me so long to put pen to paper, but I have been very busy since arriving in this valley. Without the slightest danger of overstatement, I can say that this is the most beautiful place I have ever seen. The mountains cut a jagged swath against the sky, trees and rocks and even some glaciers in the highest peaks. Although the days are pleasant, the nights are already cold.
The journey to this summer range took a week. It reminded me of the months we spent on the Oregon Trail, sleeping under the stars, cooking over a campfire. I confess I was heartily glad to spend a night in a real bed once we reached the basin, but those days on the trail were a perfect time to get to know my employers better.
Mrs. Blake is warm and easy to like. She isn’t a strong woman. Whatever her illness is, it has sapped her energy. But there is life in her eyes, and when she talks about her daughters, joy can be seen on her face. Rather like you and your children, Maggie dear.
Mr. Blake, I’m sorry to say, is nothing like his wife. He doesn’t approve of me at all, and despite my assertion that I am up to the task, he believes I will fail and want to return to Boise. With me he is rather taciturn, but when he is with the children or caring for his wife, I see a
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