Bridal Veil Page 2

  “We could have been most of the way there by now if you girls weren’t intent on totin’ along half of your worldly belongings,” Ulysses ribbed.

  “You’d do well to hope we packed the right half,” Laurel said. “And when you see how much food April is taking, you won’t grumble another word.”

  They all walked toward the four wagons. Ulysses took the sack and shoved it into a less-packed spot and informed Laurel, “Food is essential.”

  She smiled sweetly at him. “And just think: Since our party has four women, we’ll be allowed some firearms. Otherwise, as soon as you entered Yosemite, the cavalry would confiscate your sidearms.”

  Peter steered April and Kate to the nearest wagon. “I, for one, am glad you gals are going.” He cupped his hands around April’s ample waist and lifted her into the wagon quite easily. Pax hovered by Laurel. He gave her a brotherly glare. “You can still stay home. Last chance, Sis.”

  “I’m going.” She had no difficulty proclaiming that with great assurance. For the next six weeks, she’d have brand new vistas to sketch and paint.

  His frown darkened. “I’m not bringing you back partway through the trip if you change your mind.”

  “There’s no danger of that,” she reassured him.

  “Only,” Caleb muttered, “because she’s already out of her mind to go.”

  ❧

  “Squatters are going to ruin the whole valley,” Captain Wood growled as his men tore down yet another sign inviting tourists to stay at a tent-style hotel and eat at the restaurant.

  “If it’s not the businesses, it’s the sheep,” Gabe agreed.

  “Sheep.” One of the cavalrymen swore. “Stupid animals are grazing all the plant life clear down to the roots. Nothing left for the bighorn.”

  “Well, we ate mighty good mutton last night,” another said.

  Gabe shrugged. The squatters had received written and verbal notification to remove the sheep. The national preserve was for indigenous flora and fauna; not for flocks of sheep that grazed by cropping the grasses so close to the ground that the plants couldn’t renew themselves, destroying the valleys. The cavalry didn’t poach on the natural four-legged creatures for food, but sheep had been declared fair game. Since provender never rated as adequate, mutton became part of the menu. Gabe had to agree; the mutton came as a welcome change from the jerked beef he’d been eating for the past several weeks.

  As a matter of fact, he’d ridden into Wawona to buy supplies. The proprietor of the store and log hotel there charged relatively reasonable prices, so the cavalry tolerated his business.

  Captain Wood ordered his troops, “Pay a visit to that encampment. Confiscate weapons.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Gabe said nothing as the horsemen rode off. Their job demanded much and paid little, but each of them showed admirable diligence. They’d been like children when their cook discovered gumdrops in Gabe’s supplies. He resolved to pick up more in Wawona.

  “Where are you headed?” Captain Wood inquired.

  “Wawona. Supplies. From there, Half Dome.”

  “Got enough ammunition?”

  Gabe crooked a brow. “Same as always. Have yet to spend a single bullet.”

  The captain grinned. “That’s why I allow you to keep arms.”

  “I’m grateful.” With that, Gabe rode off, his packhorse obediently trotting in his wake.

  The closer he drew to Wawona, the more tourists Gabe spotted. Some were here to enjoy the beauty, but most irritated him. Groups of men came in hopes of proving to one another who was more masculine by trying daring feats on the rock faces of the majestic formations. More than a few had fallen, but still the challenge drew those with nothing better to do than prove their boasts. The cavalry had to confiscate firearms because those same men couldn’t get it through their thick skulls that the animals within the confines of the preserve were to be left alone. Sighting a deer, bighorn, or bear, men automatically grabbed for a rifle. Left to their own devices, those men would hunt the fauna to extinction in just a few years.

  His irritation turned to disgust when he rounded a bend and spied a group of wagons. Seated by the man driving the lead wagon was a dark-haired beauty dressed in more frills than most Boston debutantes. Above her head, she held a lacy shade parasol to protect her porcelain complexion. A lady like her had absolutely no business out here. Oh, she’d fit in perfectly with his mother’s crowd. He could envision her embroidering pillow slips for the unfortunates while ensconced in a comfortable chair near the fireplace in a well-appointed parlor.

  The other three wagons, well, they just reinforced Gabe’s opinion. Three women dressed in simple calico, a dozen strapping young men, enough supplies to last the entire U.S. Cavalry for a season—she’d brought all of the comforts of home, including servants, to assure her ease during this grand adventure.

  Why did people like her bother to come here at all? Yosemite’s beauty was wild; a tame miss like her wouldn’t dare soil her kid slippers by hiking up a path. She’d quake in those same slippers at the mere thought of standing on the precipice of one of the cliffs. And the idea of wind blowing through that oh-so-perfect coiffure? Never. She might as well send one of her servants into the store, have him buy some of the stereopticon pictures of the park, and head back home. She could technically say she’d been to Yosemite—even if she hadn’t actually seen a bit of it.

  Irritated with himself for wasting thoughts on a woman, Gabe kneed his mount toward the store. He swung out of the saddle, hitched the mare, and gave her an appreciative pat before going inside.

  “Rutlidge.” The proprietor greeted him with a curt nod.

  Gabe looked about. “Business is booming, I see.”

  “Had several big parties come through in the past week. I’m expecting fresh stock in a few days or so.”

  Neither piece of news pleased Gabe. He wandered about, trying to piece together supplies from what little remained while resolving to create a few caches of supplies the next time he got his hands on decent provisions.

  Half a dozen cans of smoked oysters, a gallon-sized rectangular tin of hard tack, five pounds of cornmeal, and matches. He thumped his basket on the counter. “Any gum drops?”

  “Nope.”

  “Lemon drops or peppermints?”

  “Nope. Cleaned out. I did get in a nifty new candy. Looky here.” The storekeeper pulled a box from beneath the counter and opened it. Lifting out a black shape, he boasted, “Licorice. See?” He held it to his lips. “Shaped like a pipe, no less. I’m betting little boys’ll pester their parents to buy ’em. They’ll sell like hotcakes.”

  “No doubt.” Gabe thought about the cavalrymen. “I’ll take three dozen.”

  “That’s the whole box!”

  “Then I proved your point—they’ll sell like hotcakes. On the other hand, I don’t know why you’d sell something like this to children. Smoking might well be fashionable for men, but I’ve always considered it a filthy habit. Children don’t need to be encouraged toward such vices.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with boys wanting to be like their fathers.”

  “Agreed.” Gabe gave him a bored look. “But fathers need to be good examples.”

  “And you have children?” The proprietor’s voice took on an edge.

  “Not a one,” Gabe admitted in a pleased tone. “I’m not the type to be tied down.” He paid for his order, left the store, and proceeded to pack the odd collection onto his spare horse.

  Once done, Gabe looked up just in time to see the princess sweep into the Wawona Hotel.

  The sight didn’t surprise him in the least.

  Three

  “Oh, this is marvelous!” Laurel stretched out on the big iron bedstead. The featherbed billowed around her, then settled enough for her to turn and study the beautiful view out her window.

  “Enjoy it while you can.” April bounced on the other side of the bed. “Tomorrow we’ll be roughing it.”

  Kate stood ove
r at the window. “Come here, Johnna. Look at this.”

  Johnna limped across the plank floor. “I got me a blister bigger’n Noah’s ark. Any of you bring ’long doctorin’ things?”

  April laughed. “Are you kidding? Mama Lovejoy put together a box from her herbal room, and Polly and her husband made a whole medical kit. Polly said it’s the Dr. Eric Walcott nothing-you-can’t-treat crate.”

  “Now jest you all hold yore horses.” Johnna held up a hand. “Ain’t puttin’ one of them plasters on my blister. I heared they make a body itch sommat fierce.”

  “Not,” Laurel announced, “when you use the special talcum powder that goes along with them.” She got off the bed. “Kate, come with me. We’ll go to the wagon and get what we need. April, you and Johnna freshen up. We girls are going to have tea this afternoon down in that restaurant. I aim to have us enjoy all the luxuries available before we head deep into this wilderness.”

  Johnna whirled around. “We’re gonna eat in the restaurant? For true?”

  “Absolutely.” Laurel bobbed her head. “Mama slipped me some extra money for us girls to enjoy ourselves.”

  Kate giggled. “Mama gave me some money, too.”

  April twined her arm with Johnna. “Now how do you like that? Laurel’s mother is a famous artist, and Kate’s mother is an heiress. The two of us are just poor tag-along relations who will have to pity one another.”

  “Pity’s gonna taste right fine at a restaurant tea table,” Johnna declared. “I ain’t niver gone to a fancy tea afore. S’pose I oughtta fix up my hair, even iff’n it’ll all be ’neath my hat.”

  Laurel swept her shawl about her shoulders. “April will help you with your hair. I’ve taught her all my tricks, and she’s great at making hair look quite fetching. Before she does, though, we’re going to get one thing straight: There’s never any pity at our table. We always share.”

  “We most certainly do,” Kate agreed. She smoothed up her stocking and tugged her skirts back into order. “So after we have tea, we’re going to shop at the store.”

  “My treat,” Laurel inserted.

  Kate obligingly nodded and kept right on talking so the others couldn’t protest. “I heard they don’t have much in the way of food left in the store, but who cares?”

  “I packed enough food to feed a shipload of passengers for a month,” April declared.

  “Exactly. So we’re going to look at the other things the proprietor has.” Kate spread her hands wide. “What’s a trip without a souvenir?”

  “What’s a souveneer?” Johnna wondered.

  “A keepsake,” April told her. “Something special you take home from a trip or a visit to remind you of the grand time you had.”

  “A heartful of memories’ll do me jest fine,” Johnna stated. “I don’t need some expensive doodad to remind me of where I’ve been.”

  “But think about your brothers and sisters and cousins back home.” Kate reached for the doorknob. “You, Peter, and Ulysses are the only ones to come this year. It’ll be a couple of years before anyone else from MacPherson Ranch visits Yosemite. Don’t you think they’d all like to see a little something from this place?”

  “You gotta point,” Johnna allowed. “But then I’m gonna cook extry to make up fer it. I don’t take no charity. None of the MacPhersons do.”

  Laurel whipped off her shawl. “You listen to me, Johnna MacPherson. We’re family. Oh, I know—maybe not legally, by blood, but by heart we are. We share our family picnics, celebrate things together, and have wept in grief beside one another. After all of that, do you think money matters one whit?”

  Johnna winced. “Guess not.”

  “Good. Then no more nonsense. None from you, either, April Chance. In fact. . .” She grabbed her reticule. “You’re each going to have your share of money to spend as you wish so we don’t have to go through this absurd conversation again.”

  “You mean I’ll be paying cash money at the restaurant, all by myself?” Johnna gaped at Laurel.

  Laurel paused a moment. “No. After all, it was my idea, and I’ve invited you to be my guest. You’ll be shopping in the store.” She peeled out two five-dollar bills and gave one to April and the other to Johnna. “No being practical. Mama specified that we were supposed to fritter this money away because vacations are for fun.”

  “Fritter away five whole dollars?” Johnna looked at April, then back at the bill in her hand. “I ain’t niver had one dollar all my own. I cain’t ’magine what to do with five!”

  “Mama was a gambler’s daughter,” Laurel reminded Johnna. “She knows what it’s like to wish for something and not get it. That’s why she wanted us to all have some cash to spend. Money isn’t any good if all you do is hoard it. If we go home and haven’t spent it, she’ll be hurt.”

  “But five whole dollars,” Johnna half squeaked.

  “Mama painted a picture specially, just to make the money for us girls to spend. You know how much fun she has painting. It’ll make her so happy to know someone’s enjoying her art while we’re enjoying ourselves.”

  “Well”—April tugged the pins out of Johnna’s hair—“we’ll have to hurry to fix ourselves up for tea. Afterward, we’ll shop extravagantly to make Aunt Delilah delirious.”

  “If this ain’t the backwardest way of thinkin’, I don’t ken what is.” Johnna flopped down into a chair.

  Laurel and Kate slipped out the door, down the hall, and out to the wagon. Kate giggled. “Oh, you did a great job back there.”

  “You were a wonderful help. I was serious—we’re family, and we’ve always shared. I’d love to see April and Johnna fritter away the money on silly things, but they won’t. I bet they fret over every last cent.”

  “We won’t let them.” Kate grinned. “Even if they do that today, it’s my turn to give them money on the way home. Their pride sure gets in the way of fun, doesn’t it?”

  “Not today.” Laurel winked. “Now let’s find that talc and Johnson & Johnson plasters. I hope they have stockings and shoes in the store. Johnna’s blister is because she’s wearing boots that are too big.”

  “Oh—is that why she’s clomping like a two-ton mule?”

  Laurel covered her mouth to keep from laughing. “Oh, Kate! Only you would say it that way.”

  “It’s the truth.”

  ❧

  “It’s the truth,” the storekeeper told Gabe. “I checked the back room. You’re welcome to go back and see for yourself.”

  Gabe groaned. He’d forgotten salt. Of all the necessities, how could he have forgotten that? He’d turned his horses around and come back, only to discover the store was out of it. A man could do without a lot of things, but salt rated as an absolute necessity.

  “Restaurant might spare you a bit,” a red-haired gal said from across the store. She gave him a guileless smile.

  Gabe nodded. “Obliged for the thought, miss.” The gal seemed downright pleasant. She’d been practical as could be, trying on sensible boots. Although he wasn’t supposed to notice such things, Gabe also spied the stockings she’d draped over the arm of the chair. A man couldn’t fault a woman for seeing to such basic necessities.

  Then he compared her to the “princess” he’d seen earlier. She stood a row over, looking at a bunch of idiotic little gewgaws that held no value whatsoever. “Excuse me,” she called to the proprietor. “Do you have more of these? I’d like. . .two, no three dozen. They’re darling, don’t you think, Kate?”

  “Huh? Oh, yes. Darling.”

  “And don’t you think Mama will love this cedar wood box?” The princess held up a box far too dinky to hold anything reasonable. “The fragrance is enchanting. It reminds me of the Bible verses about the great temple.”

  Gabe turned to Mr. Hutchings. “Well, I’m thinking of Lot’s wife. All I want is a pillar of salt. Guess I’ll head toward the restaurant.”

  “We just dined there,” the princess said. “The food was fabulous.”

  “I don’t know
.” The young woman next to her shook her head. “April’s strudel back home is better, if you ask me.”

  Gabe headed out as the women continued to chatter about all of the fancy food their cook back home made. He wanted to be away from these tourists. Yes, he reminded himself, the preserve was for everyone to enjoy—especially those who lived in the city and couldn’t appreciate nature on a daily basis. But some of these people—they simply didn’t get it. They came to nature and dragged the worst parts of civilization along. They represented everything he’d come here to escape.

  ❧

  Mmm-mmm-mmm. The early morning breeze carried the aroma of food—real food. Woman-cooked, mouth-watering, heap-your-plate-full, my-mouth-died-and-went-to-heaven fixings. Gabe closed his eyes and told himself he didn’t need it. Didn’t want it. Then called himself a liar.

  He’d come back late last night and made do with jerked beef, even though he smelled the tempting fragrance of stew. The noise of several young men and the higher, softer voices of women kept him away. If it weren’t so dark, he would have packed up and skulked off. He wanted nothing to do with rowdy campers. Tossing off the thick wool blanket he used as a bedroll, Gabe told himself to ignore the smell of bacon. Except his nose forgot to obey, and he sniffed again.

  That did it. He wasn’t going to stick around here another day. This amounted to torture. Stomping off toward the stream, he tried to decide where he ought to go to avoid the crowds of tourists. Peace, quiet, and a lack of tempting food smells—that wasn’t asking so much, was it? He tossed his towel around his neck and twisted the ends in frustration. Once done with washing up, he’d dismantle his simple camp and—

  He pulled to a dead halt.

  Four

  Sitting on his rock by his stream, a dainty woman in pale pink ruffles with a parasol over her shoulder hummed in a lilting alto.