Bridal Veil Page 9

  “We don’t even have telephone lines going through Reliable yet. I saw a telephone when I went to San Francisco this spring, but that was in a huge mercantile.”

  “I’ll bet they’re a lot more common in the big cities back East,” Tobias mused.

  Gabe scanned their surroundings. “The government was wise to set aside this national park. I hope they’re smart enough not to let the modern world intrude. It would spoil the natural beauty to have a tangle of telephone lines, paved roads, and electric lights here.”

  “I can’t see that happening.” Laurel shook head. “The big cities barely have a touch of those things. It wouldn’t make sense to run those services out this far.”

  “I dunno.” Tobias grinned. “I saw a string of those electric lights in Sacramento. They make for an astonishing sight.”

  Gabe leaned the easel against the tent. “I’ll take starlight over Yosemite over Broadway’s Great White Way any night of the year.”

  “You’ve been to New York City?” Laurel squeaked.

  “I’ve done a considerable amount of traveling.”

  “Have ya now?” Johnna tilted her head. “Like where?”

  “Today, I’m going to Wawona.” Gabe grinned at her. “I told Laurel I’d be happy to mail off letters, but you only have a little while to write them. You’d best get busy.”

  Caleb perked up. “Someone gimme some paper. I want to write to Greta.”

  April handed over some paper and teased, “After you’re done giving her all of your love, tell her I love her, too.”

  A few minutes later, Paxton and Packard sauntered up to Laurel. “Give Mom and Dad our love, Sis.”

  She leveled them with a glare. “Each of you sit down and write at least a few lines.”

  “Aw, Sis—”

  Pax looked downright smug. “Didn’t bring any paper.”

  “Aren’t we lucky I have plenty.” Laurel handed each of them a piece of her stationery.

  Packard shoved it back at her. “I’m not writing on paper that’s all girly.”

  “Me, neither.”

  Laurel accepted the violet-bedecked stationery. “Okay.” She paused for a moment, then pasted on an oh-so-innocent smile. “You may each take a sheet of my art paper. It’s plain as can be, so I’m sure it won’t offend your masculine sensibilities.”

  Paxton huffed and headed for the tablet still hanging from the easel. Packard stayed put and gave her a taunting grin.

  “Did you need something?” Laurel asked.

  “Nope. Just remember what Mom always says: ‘Be careful what you ask for.’ ”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “You want me to write, I’ll write. . .just a few lines.” His gaze shot off toward Gabe, then back at her. “I’m sure Mom and Dad will be very interested.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and whistled as he walked toward Paxton.

  Laurel stared at her brother’s back in horror. Packard could be teasing, but he could also be telling the truth. Only what his version of the truth would be. . .well, that was unpredictable. Pack accepted a sheet of paper from Paxton and said something.

  Paxton threw back his head and bellowed out a laugh.

  “Yore brothers are up to no good,” Johnna said as she took a place across the table from Laurel.

  “At times like this, I remember why I was so glad the Chance girls have their own cabin.” Laurel stared at her stationery and tried to figure out what to write. She’d planned to mention Gabe in her letter—now, she’d have to be careful what she wrote. Not knowing what her brothers intended to say only made it worse.

  “You gonna let yore folks know a handsome young buck’s brought you a courtin’ gift?”

  “What?” Her head shot up.

  “Gabe brung you that fancy soap. Made a special trip just to fetch it for you.” Johnna bobbed her head. “You done turned his head. Night after night, he sits aside you. I reckon yore brothers’ll spill the beans iff’n you don’t.”

  Laurel leaned across the table and whispered, “Soap is not a courting gift.”

  “Thank what you want.” Johnna shrugged. “Mind iff’n I use one of them fancy sheets of paper you brung?”

  “Here.” Laurel passed her several and pored over her letter. She’d already waxed poetic about the beauty of Yosemite and remarked on how well she’d taken to camping. Mentioning how the boys all went on climbs and she’d been drawing and painting ought to have been enough—but now, it wasn’t.

  What should I say about Gabe? If I say too much, Mama will read between the lines. If the boys make this out to be a courtship and I barely give him mention, Mama’s going to have a conniption.

  Steeling herself with a deep breath, Laurel started to write again. We met an interesting gentleman named Gabriel Rutlidge. He’s spent considerable time in Yosemite and gave us invaluable information so we have been able to use our time wisely. One night, he brought the cavalry to camp with us! He’s spent a little over a week in our company now, and I traded some of my drawings for his Kodak camera.

  There. She’d devoted a whole paragraph to him. Not that it said much. But she really couldn’t find anything more to say that wouldn’t cause problems. The truth of the matter is, I don’t know how to explain how I feel. I barely know the man. I don’t know what he does for a living, but I know how much he loves nature and Yosemite. He likes art and horses—and I know deep in my heart he likes me. He’s kind to the other girls, but he’s different with me. It’s thrilling. But it’s scary, too. He’s from a big city back East. I never want to live anywhere but Chance Ranch. Nowhere else could ever feel like home.

  Johnna tapped her pencil on the tabletop and sighed. “Tryin’ to describe what we’ve seen is harder’n talkin’ Pa outta the last piece of rhubarb pie.”

  “You can tell them it’s all breathtakingly beautiful, and we’ve taken photographs.”

  Perking up, Johnna nodded. “That’ll tickle ’em sommat fierce. We’ll have genuine photographic pitchers to show ’em onc’t they come back from gettin’ developed. I’ll say you’re paintin’ up a storm, too. Thataway, they cain see what we’ve seen, and I don’t have to trouble myself o’er trying to put hit all into words.”

  “I don’t mean to be rude, but I’m going to rush you folks.” Gabe started to saddle Nessie. “I plan to set out for Wawona in just a few minutes.”

  Laurel quickly scribbled, I can’t thank you enough for my easel. It’s been wonderful. Mama, you’ll want to borrow it when you come here next year. I love you dearly and miss you. God be with you all.

  “Anyone have an envelope?” Caleb waved his letter to Greta in the air.

  “I brought several,” Kate called back. “Come and get ’em.”

  Peter walked over and peered over Johnna’s shoulder. “Tell Ma and Pa that I love ’em.”

  She flipped the paper over. “Write it yoreself.” She flashed a smile at Laurel. “Hit’ll mean more iff’n it comes from his own hand.”

  Laurel nodded as she folded her sheets and slid them into the envelope.

  “Lookie thar. You already put a stamp on the envelope.”

  Handing Johnna another stamped envelope, Laurel smiled. “I can’t take credit for that. It was Mama’s idea.”

  Peter finished scribbling a few lines and set down his pencil. “Yore ma’s done a fair share of travelin’. I reckon hit’s one of them things she learnt along the way.”

  “Your mother travels?” Gabe asked as he walked up.

  “In her younger days.” Mama was still sensitive about having been a gambler’s daughter with the attending footloose lifestyle. Though Laurel loved her mother and was proud of her, she didn’t mention the cause out of respect for Mama’s feelings. “Now Mama is content to live on the ranch and tend her garden. The only time she leaves is to go to San Francisco for her art shows.”

  “You’ll have to hold a show of your own,” Gabe said as he accepted letters. “But I get first pick before anyone else touches your pieces.�
��

  “You’ve seen everything she’s done since she’s been here,” April pointed out.

  “The trip’s not over yet.” He looked about. “Any more letters, or is this it?”

  “Here’s mine.” Kate galloped up and handed hers to him. “Laurel, do you know what your brothers did?”

  Dread iced her spine. “What?”

  Eleven

  “Aw, c’mon, Kate,” Pack moaned.

  Kate folded her arms akimbo. “You tell her, or I will.”

  “I don’t want to know!” Laurel blurted out. After Packard’s threat earlier, she couldn’t imagine having him embarrass her in front of Gabe.

  “I do,” Ulysses said.

  A chorus of “Me, too’s!” sounded.

  Pack and Pax exchanged a look. Laurel felt heat creeping from her bosom to her hairline. When slow, rascally smiles quirked their mouths, she wanted to dive under the table.

  Pax cleared his throat. “We. . .uh. . .used your art paper, like you said we could.”

  “They used pictures, not blank pages,” Kate snapped.

  “Just little ones—like a picture postcard,” Pack hastily added. “You know the old saying—a picture is worth a thousand words. So I just wrote, ‘This is where we are. Having a good time.’ ”

  Laurel slumped and let out a shaky sigh.

  “You what?” Gabe thundered.

  Pax shrugged. “She’s got hundreds of pictures. She won’t miss a few.”

  Brows knit and face dark, Gabe widened his stance. “Your sister has a gift. You respect it.”

  “Gabe, thank you for liking my work—but it’s okay. Really.” Laurel patted his arm. “I should have thought to include pictures. Mama and Daddy will love to get a peek at what we’re seeing. I don’t begrudge my brothers a few little pictures.”

  Pax nodded. “Chances share.”

  Laurel flashed Gabe a smile. “Since it’s your mother’s birthday, why don’t you choose a picture and mail it to her?”

  He didn’t even blink. “How much for the one you did of the poppies?”

  “It’s a gift!”

  “I’m giving it, so I’m buying it.”

  “The man could teach stubborn to a mule,” Johnna declared.

  “Well?” Gabe prodded.

  “Eggs,” April said. “They have to be expensive up here, and we’re almost out.”

  “Yes.” Laurel gave him an exultant smile. “A dozen eggs. Can you get them?”

  “You sell yourself short.”

  “You’ve never tasted April’s sticky buns. She needs eggs to make them.”

  “Whoa.” Peter wound his arm around April’s shoulders and gave her a squeeze. “You’d make sticky buns?”

  “I will if Gabe pays for Laurel’s poppy picture with eggs.”

  Peter looked at Gabe. “I’d take it as a personal favor if you’d agree.”

  Laurel popped up. “I’ll go get that picture.”

  Gabe halted her by wrapping his hand around her wrist. “Only,” he said as he looked at everyone, “if Laurel gets first pick of the sticky buns.”

  Paxton slapped him on the back. “Being around us is rubbing off. We just might make a Chance outta you.”

  “You’re going to scare him off,” Laurel said.

  Gabe crooked a brow. “Not a chance.”

  ❧

  Balancing the keg across his thighs, Gabe rode back to camp. This was the second time he’d brought back a load of eggs. Packing them in straw this time was a whole lot lighter; last time, cornmeal buffered the precious eggs.

  While at Wawona, he’d run into the Kibbies, who lived in the far northwestern portion of the park. They were some of the few legal residents of the land. Mr. Kibbie saw Laurel’s picture of the poppies and fell in love with it. Unwilling to part with it, Gabe asked Laurel to make another. He’d ridden north from their current campsite by El Capitan to exchange the picture for more eggs.

  Yesterday, he’d climbed El Capitan with six of the men. Today, the others were climbing with Caleb and Tobias’s guidance. He had to give the Chances and MacPhersons credit; they never left their sisters on their own, even when they ached to explore.

  Since he’d joined up with them, Gabe had put himself into the rotation to stay with the girls. It was supposed to work out to be every third day—but in actuality, he often helped plan a day’s events to include a ride or hike in which the women could participate.

  As he approached the campsite, Gabe looked at all the clothes fluttering on the line. His own spare shirts and britches hung among them. Since coming to Yosemite, he’d taken to swimming in his clothes to wash them. That technique worked well enough; but after yesterday’s climb, they were filthy. Laurel had turned a fetching shade of pink when she told him to be sure to leave his laundry in the pile with everyone else’s.

  “Hey, Gabe!” Kate called to him as he drew closer. “There are still a few good hours left. Want to go fishing?”

  “No.” April shaded her eyes and looked up at him. “We don’t need fish for supper.”

  “No use catching what we don’t need,” Gabe agreed as he ducked under the clotheslines and came fully into view.

  Johnna’s eyes narrowed. “That’s some git-up you’ve got on ’round your boots.”

  “Johnna!” Laurel set down the shirt she’d been mending.

  “Well, it is. Take a gander.”

  “Better still, how about you ladies unstrap me?” Gabe glanced off to one side. “Mrs. Kibbie thought you might appreciate some fresh cream. I put a marble in each jar, thinking the ride here might agitate it enough to churn a little butter, too.”

  “That was clever.” Laurel reached up to take the keg from him.

  “I’ll hang onto this. If I swing my leg over Nessie, we’re liable to lose cream, so I’ll have to ask you to unwind the strips holding the jars to me.” He kicked out of the stirrups, and the marbles in the jars rattled.

  Kate started in on his right calf; Laurel bowed her head and began to work on his left. Kate grew impatient with the knots, pulled a pocketknife from her apron, and cut the jar loose while Laurel patiently plied the knots and let the cloth come free. Frowning, Kate remarked, “Those are some of the finest boots I’ve ever seen, but you need to take care of them. They’re awful sorry-looking. Want to use some of my saddle soap?”

  “I suppose I ought to. I’ll be wearing freshly-washed clothes, so I may as well get cleaned up from tip to toes.” He dismounted and settled the keg on the table. “April, I’ll gladly polish your saddle and shoes if you’ll make more of those sticky buns. You have plenty of eggs here.”

  “They’re best when made with cream.” She cast a quick look at Laurel. “But I might have to fight with my cousin for that. She’s started to freckle and was bemoaning the fact that we didn’t have any buttermilk here to fade them.”

  “Ever hear of anything so silly?” Johnna pried the lid off the keg. “Kate ’n’ me’ve got a bumper crop of freckles. Neither of us never did a thang to banish ’em.”

  “Freckled or not, you’re all lovely women.”

  Johnna shrugged. “I reckon if God put ’em thar, they b’long.”

  Laurel wrinkled her nose. “You and Kate were made with freckles. I’ll believe God put yours there. Mine? I can’t hold God responsible because I didn’t wear my sunbonnet.”

  April let out a theatrical moan and made a shooing motion with her hands. “Gabe, run while you can. They’re about to get into a theological discussion about God doing things or allowing stuff to happen.”

  “You mean you all don’t agree on everything?” He stepped back. “I’m not trying to poke fun. I’m just surprised.”

  “We agree on the foundational truths,” Laurel said. “But when it comes to some of the details, we interpret things differently.”

  “Happens all the time,” Johnna declared. “Parson Abe back home said we cain let those opinions tear apart our church or we cain respect how each of us follows the Lord accordin’ to t
he dictates of our hearts.”

  “When you boil it all down, the important thing is that we all belong to the family of God through the redeeming blood of Christ Jesus,” Laurel said.

  “Good. Now that you agree on that, I’m sending you back to your mending, and I’m making sticky buns.” April started to roll up her sleeves.

  Gabe found a shady spot, accepted Kate’s saddle soap, and set to work. The girls chattered as they mended, but he purposefully turned the other way. He had a lot of thinking to do.

  Back home, everyone at church was alike. He’d never once heard anyone accept the possibility of someone believing in the same God but viewing Him differently. God was God—unchanging, all-powerful. That much made sense. And Jesus came to be a peacemaker because men messed up. That’s what Laurel meant about the foundation. I agree with all of that. But I’m still not like them. They believe it, and it makes a difference in their lives. Me? Those things are just facts.

  “I can’t decide whether to love you or hate you.” Ulysses plopped down.

  Gabe looked up from the boot he’d been rubbing.

  “You brought eggs, so we’re getting sticky buns. You coulda stopped there. But since you’re tending your leather, the girls all think the rest of us ought to, too.”

  “I see.” Gabe worked on another deep scuff.

  Tanner plopped down next to Gabe and yanked off his boots. “I hear it was your idea for us to polish our boots.” He glowered at Gabe. “They’re going to get messed up again as soon as we put ’em back on.”

  Peter joined them. “I reckon we could all jist go barefoot. Ever notice in Genesis, when Adam ’n’ Eve figgur out they’re nekked, they make clothes, but there ain’t no mention of shoes?” He stretched his bare feet out and wiggled his toes. “I’m thankin’ God loves us too much to ’spect us to cram our poor feet into boots all day, ev’ry day.”

  Ulysses whooped and tossed a rag at Gabe. “Don’t look so s’prised. You seen us walking ’round the campsite barefoot.”

  “I thought you left your boots here to keep them dry when you went down to draw water or bathe.”

  “Nah. Think on it: Shoes oughtta be for protection. When we’re workin’ or climbin’, it makes sense to wear ’em. ’Round the house, a body ain’t got cause to box in his feet.”