Bridal Veil Read online

  Tanner knocked the dirt off his shoes. “They’re not kidding. The MacPherson kids wear shoes in the winter and to church and school, but until they’re old enough to do barnyard chores, nobody makes them wear shoes. Go over any evening in the summer, and the whole clan is barefoot.”

  “Nothin’ beats walking in fresh grass. Always makes me think on the Twenty-third Psalm ’bout God letting me lie down in green pastures and leadin’ me a-side still waters.”

  Peter nodded to himself. “It restores my soul.”

  Caleb wandered over. “Talk about restoring your soul. Could you believe the view from the top of El Capitan?”

  “So you’re back.” Gabe looked up at him. “How did today’s climb go?”

  “Great!” Caleb grinned. “I took ’em up the exact same route you led us on yesterday. I’d climb that every day of my life if I could, just to have five minutes of the view. Someday I’d like to bring Greta here and let her see it, too.”

  “I’ve spent my share of time, standing atop all sorts of places here.” Gabe let out a long, slow breath. “Being up there does something inside—the majesty of this place never fails to move me.”

  “Same feeling as kneeling at the altar,” Tobias said.

  I don’t see how that can be. But I’ve never knelt at the altar, either.

  Twelve

  “April,” Gabe called from the knot of men over on the edge of the campsite, “I’m ready for your shoes.”

  “They won’t fit you,” she called back.

  “Don’t bother her,” Peter said. “She’s making sticky buns.”

  “He knows she’s making sticky buns,” Laurel told him. “He brought the eggs for them and promised to polish her shoes and saddle if she made a batch.”

  “Well, now, that changes thangs.” Peter grabbed Gabe and hauled him over to the cooking table. “April, give up yore boots, or we’ll take ’em off of you.”

  “This has nothing to do with you, Peter MacPherson.” April turned away from him.

  He grabbed her waist, spun her around, and lifted her onto the table. “Guess again. I aim to do one of the boots and stake a claim on some of them sticky buns.”

  Caleb elbowed his way over. “Take your hands off of my sister.” He tilted her face up to his. “I’m doing the saddle, and I get first pick. Now give up your shoes.”

  “I already promised Gabe first pick.” April couldn’t stop laughing.

  Laurel stood back and watched as the men all put on a show about squabbling over April’s shoes and saddle so they could have more of her sticky buns. Though sweet as could be, April never managed to attract men or be the center of attention—and for once, she’d landed in the middle of their interest. Even if it was just her brothers and cousins, her blush tattled about how much she enjoyed it. Laurel decided to add to the fun. “Nobody’s going to want the sticky buns if she messes with her shoes. You’ll have to take them off for her.”

  “Laurel!” April shrieked.

  “Well, you have flour all over your hands,” Laurel said.

  “No use protestin’ modesty, neither. We all seen yore feet when you went wading,” Johnna added.

  “You boys get on with it.” Laurel pulled on her apron. “April needs to hurry up and finish with those so I can start supper.”

  Caleb untied one of her boots and handed it off to Peter. Peter held it up. “Where’s the rest of this boot? Looky how dinky this thang is.”

  “Well, it won’t take us long to polish them,” Gabe decided.

  “You brought the eggs. You did your share.” Tobias grabbed for the other.

  Laurel laughed at Gabe’s nonplussed expression and explained, “There’ll be enough for everyone to have two, but there are always a few extra.”

  Gabe snatched the boot from Tobias.

  “Hey!”

  “I’ve tasted April’s sticky buns.” Gabe clutched it to his chest. “They’re enough to make any man greedy.”

  “You’re getting dirt ground into that shirt. It’s expensive material, too.” Johnna shook her head. “You men jest don’t know how much quality fabric costs.”

  Gabe glanced down. “This would be about eight cents a yard in the East; eight and a half cents a yard on this coast.”

  “How did you know that?” Laurel asked.

  “You mean he’s right?” Ulysses gawked at Gabe.

  Gabe shrugged. “Family business.”

  “Well, that makes me feel a whole lot better,” Kate blurted out. “I’ve been worried about you.”

  “Worried?” Gabe’s brows rose.

  “Well, we couldn’t come out and ask you what you do. You said you’d been loafing about Yosemite since springtime.” Kate cleared her throat. “I couldn’t make it all add up.”

  “You never asked.”

  Caleb folded his arms. “We don’t. Code of the West is that a man might have shrugged off his past and deserves a clean slate. No one pries.”

  “I see.” Gabe’s brows knit for a moment. “There are things I wish weren’t part of my slate, but they’re nothing I’m ashamed of. My family owns a textile business back in Boston.”

  “Who’s running it if you’re here?” Tobias wondered.

  “My brother, Stanford. Actually, before I left, I sold my half of it to him.”

  “You left a family business? Why?” Paxton looked at him in disbelief.

  “I grew to hate it. I didn’t want to choke myself wearing a tie all day long while dealing with people who told bald-faced lies just to make a better bargain. Almost all of the people in the community judge one another based on their financial worth. Stanford finds the whole affair rather amusing; I didn’t want to be a part of it.”

  “So yore startin’ out with a clean slate out here.” Johnna nodded. “I cain understand that. Now you menfolk git back to yore boots. Dinner ain’t gonna make itself.”

  “What’re we having?” Calvin asked.

  “Ham and seven-bean soup.” Laurel started draining the water off the beans she’d put on to soak that morning. “Biscuits and honey.”

  “You were going to teach me to cook,” Gabe said.

  “I already mixed and soaked the beans.” Laurel plunked the cauldron onto the table. “If you add a gallon and a half of water to this, it’ll be about right.”

  “But you can’t touch a thing until you change your shirt. No dirt around our food,” April said as she hopped down from the table and started to sprinkle cinnamon and sugar on the dough.

  Half an hour later, Gabe gave Laurel a boyish grin. “Cutting out biscuits with a glass is fun. I never imagined it was this easy.”

  “You’re great with a cup.” She smothered a smile. “But I’m not going to praise you for how you handle a rolling pin.”

  “That contraption hated me.”

  “Well, you practically snapped it in half.”

  “I was showing it who’s boss.” He started arranging the biscuits in the bottom of the greased Dutch oven.

  “Oh, is that what you were doing?” April asked in an oh-so-innocent tone.

  Gabe surveyed the pans of sticky buns she uncovered and muttered, “I’d say that no one likes a show-off, but in this instance, I’d be lying.”

  “Hey, Gabe.” Tanner sauntered over. “Looks like you’re the new biscuit expert.”

  “Don’t say that until they’re done baking and you’ve tasted one.”

  “We voted and decided to pull up stakes in the morning and head for Bridal Veil.” Tanner paused and surveyed the table, then gave Gabe a cat-that-swallowed-the-canary smile. “That means you need to bake tomorrow’s biscuits tonight.”

  “I’ll take care of that,” Laurel hastened to say.

  Gabe looked at Laurel. “We will. You measure, I’ll mix. You roll, and I’ll cut.”

  Kate turned around from stirring the soup. “Johnna’s already taking clothes off the line. I’ll go help her pack up our stuff. Do you want me to leave out anything special, Laurel?”

  “Not
that I can think of.” She let out a sigh.

  “What’s wrong?”

  She gazed up at Gabe. “I’m glad to go on to Bridal Veil. From what you’ve said, I’ve been anticipating it a lot. I just hate the whole production of packing and pulling up stakes. Everyone’s short-tempered on those mornings.”

  He nodded sagely, then ordered, “Don’t do anything with these biscuits. I’ll be back in a minute.” Striding over toward Paxton and Caleb, he announced, “I have an idea.”

  April looked over at the men. “Gabe’s getting flour all over his sides from propping his hands on his hips.”

  Johnna’s arms were full of laundry, but she halted by the girls. “Puts me of a mind when Pa used to dust the babes with talc. Ended up a-wearin’ more’n they did.” She smiled. “Gotta like a man who ain’t afeared of holpin’ with the kitchen or the kids.”

  “Sis!” Caleb called. “How long before you’ll have the sticky buns ready?”

  “Twenty-five minutes,” April called back as she started to put the first pan over the fire. “Why?”

  “Gabe came up with a plan.”

  Gabe bustled back over. “We need to rush these biscuits. The men are going to pack everything they can, and half will travel on ahead to Bridal Veil. They’ll pitch the second tent and set up camp. With the sun setting so late, it’ll work. The rest of you will follow tomorrow at a more leisurely pace.”

  “Where will you be?”

  He smiled at Laurel. “I’ll go ahead, then come back and meet you in the middle.”

  ❧

  “Oh, your plan worked wonderfully.” Laurel rode into the new campsite at Gabe’s side. “It’s so nice to arrive and have the fire ring set up.”

  He nodded. “Some of the more seasoned scouts do that for wagon trains.” He nudged Nessie into Laurel’s dappled gray to force her to turn to the side. All day long, he’d waited to see Laurel’s reaction to the view he’d revealed.

  She didn’t move or make a sound. Nessie stepped forward, and Gabe peered under the brim of Laurel’s sunbonnet. Eyes wide and shimmering like pools of gold, she stared at the waterfall. Her mouth changed from a perfect O into a beatific smile. Unable to tear her gaze away, she reached out, touched his arm and whispered, “I’ve never seen anything this splendid.”

  He looked at the delighted flush on her cheeks, the delightful freckles speckling the bridge of her nose, and agreed, “I’ve never seen anything this splendid, either.”

  “Laurel!” Johnna hollered. “Lookie thar! Ain’t that purdy ’nuff to make the angels weep?”

  Laurel nodded.

  Gabe leaned toward her. “Where do the MacPhersons come from?”

  “Next door,” Laurel said in a vague voice.

  He chuckled. He’d never seen anyone so enraptured.

  She turned toward him. “What’s so funny?”

  “I’m glad to see you’re not disappointed in Bridal Veil.”

  Kate pulled up. “I know, I know. She’s besotted. Johnna and I’ll cook dinner. Go ahead and get out your sketchbook.”

  Laurel turned to her cousin. “Thank you.”

  “If,” Kate tacked on, “You promise to do a sketch for our cabin. Don’t you think it would be wonderful to hang a picture of that view by our back window?”

  “I’m not going to be a gentleman.” Gabe looked at her. “You’ll have to wait your turn because Laurel promised to paint a watercolor of this for me.”

  “You all plan to sit ahorse for the rest of the day?” Tobias called over.

  Gabe slid out of his saddle and helped Laurel dismount. Kate didn’t wait for assistance. He gathered the reins. “I’ll tend the horses. You ladies take a few minutes to get your bearings.”

  In no time at all, Laurel set up her easel and went to work. Absorbed in her art, she seemed oblivious to everyone’s actions. All around her, the Chances were pitching the second tent, cooking, and hanging provisions from the trees. Her focus remained on the waterfall and on her easel.

  Laurel didn’t join everyone for the meal. April fixed her a plate, and Gabe swept it from her hands. “I’ll take supper to her.” Staying away from Laurel had taken all of his resolve, but he didn’t want anything to disturb her. He wanted this picture to reflect what she saw. By now, she’d be close to done. It always fascinated him to watch as she put the finishing touches on her pieces.

  “Ready to eat?” he asked quietly.

  “Just a minute.” Her hand moved deftly. “Okay.” She started to rinse her brush.

  “Step aside, sweetheart. Let me see.”

  Laurel moved.

  It was his turn to fall silent. Gabe studied the watercolor in the waning light and knew he’d never be able to part with it.

  “If it’s not what you had in mind for your mother, I’ll—”

  “I want it. For myself. I’ve never considered myself a greedy man, Laurel, but I’m keeping this for my own and asking you to do another for Mom.”

  “You admitted to being greedy yesterday when it came to April’s sticky buns.”

  Gabe grinned at her. “I’ve lived a deprived life. Twenty-four years without the culinary or artistic masterpieces of the Chance women. You aren’t going to hold it against me, are you?”

  She took her plate from him. “I suppose it would be churlish for me to be that way when you brought me supper.”

  He picked up his own fork and ate a bite of beans. “What do you women do to these? My beans never taste like this.”

  “Do you add molasses?”

  “No. Just a lump of brown sugar if I happen to have some.”

  “Molasses is what makes brown sugar brown.” She smiled. “When we go, I’ll be sure to leave you a jar.”

  Gabe scowled. “Are you eager to go?”

  Thirteen

  Laurel gazed off at the distance. “I miss my family, but I’m not ready to leave here. Chance Ranch has always been home, yet in my heart, I feel—this may sound silly—but from the moment I saw this place, I felt as if I’d come home.”

  “It’s not silly. I understand. Since I arrived, I’ve felt Yosemite is where I belong.”

  They finished eating in companionable silence. Once done, Gabe offered, “I’ll carry your easel back to your tent.”

  “Thank you. Here. I’ll take your plate.”

  The next four days were the happiest of Laurel’s life. Gabe rarely left her side. He kept her company as she sketched and painted to her heart’s content. They rode or walked to several vantage points and took picnic lunches along. When they were alone, he’d call her sweetheart, and at night, by the campfire, he’d hold her hand.

  Her brothers and cousins cast her entertained looks. At night in the tent, the girls teased her—but Laurel didn’t mind. Gabe spoke of coming to visit Chance Ranch. Her heart soared.

  Nothing had been said yet, but when they would break camp tomorrow, she assumed Gabe would ride along with them as they traversed the remainder of the park on their way home. They wanted to spend every precious moment they could together.

  “Ready?” he asked after breakfast as he led their horses up.

  “Yes.” She hung a bag filled with her pastels and a sketch pad to her saddle.

  “Up you go.” He gave her waist a quick squeeze before lifting her into the saddle.

  They rode about a mile away—within sight of the camp. Gabe was always mindful of her reputation, and Laurel appreciated that he’d not tried to pull her behind a tree and kiss her as some of the boys back home had attempted. She’d always felt a kiss should be something special between an engaged couple, and he’d not yet asked Daddy for permission to court her.

  From the way Gabe acted around her and her brothers, Laurel felt sure he was bound and determined to pursue her. Her brothers obviously approved of him. Mama and Daddy would, too. He was honorable enough not to profess his love for her—but his eyes and the way he attended to her testified to of the depth of his devotion. Mama always said waiting for the right man would be well wort
h it—and she’d been right. Gabe made Laurel’s heart sing.

  “How’s this spot?” He halted the horses near a patch of grass. “Or would you rather be in the shade?”

  “This is lovely. I brought my hat, so the morning sun is fine.” She accepted his help in dismounting and for a brief moment, he drew her to himself in a tender embrace.

  “I don’t want to let you go,” he said.

  “I don’t want to go,” she whispered back.

  He sighed and turned loose of her. In no time at all, they sat together on a blanket. Laurel sketched the waterfall and surrounding landscape, then turned her attention on Gabe. Her pencil moved over the new sheet, forming his general outline and features.

  “Hey, what are you doing?”

  “Dabbling.” She bit her lip and continued. Capturing the essence of a person always challenged her. The slightest tilt of the head, the crook of a smile—the very nuances that conveyed personality made all the difference in the outcome. Other portraits she’d done had been for fun, but this one mattered. She wanted a picture of Gabe. Very few photographs were left on the camera, and she’d only taken one of him.

  “Stop drawing me and do a self-portrait. I need one of you.”

  “I have a hard enough time drawing others. Drawing myself would be impossible.”

  “Use a mirror.”

  “It doesn’t work that way.” She continued to work on her sketch of him. Concentrating on his eyes, she said, “A portrait has to reflect the personality of the subject. I notice the little details like the impish gleam in eyes or the odd habits like walking with fisted hands. It’s what makes a portrait look authentic, and I don’t notice those things about myself.”

  “I’d take whatever you drew.”

  “You’re not very picky.” She used her gum eraser and rubbed out the edge of one of his eyebrows. “I’m not good at portraits, anyway.”

  “I disagree. I’ve seen the ones you’ve done of your brothers and cousins.”

  Shaking her head, Laurel asserted, “I’m better at nature—landscapes, flowers, animals. When it comes to humans, I’m mediocre.” She glanced up at him and smiled. “I try to console myself with the fact that God started out with nature and man was His greatest creation.”