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Chapter Two
Garrett sipped the terrible-tasting tea and mused on his journey so far. Having left Washington, he’d journeyed by train to Chicago, changed trains in Denver, and boarded another for Cheyenne. From there, he’d been surprised to learn it was the train’s last stop and he’d have to travel via stagecoach or horseback to his destination, Paradise. A few questions put to the conductor informed him that the stagecoach only ran twice a week, and wasn’t due in for another three days. Not wanting to wait, he chose horseback. The conductor sent him to the livery, where after negotiating a price for the mount and a saddle, he was advised by the owner that his thin-soled back-East shoes should be replaced by boots to protect his ankles from snakebite. Uncertain as to whether the man waspulling his leg or not, he’d counted out the coin owed and spent the night at a local boardinghouse. He set out at first light and spent the next two days atop the stiff, uncomfortable saddle and wearing the tight, ill-fitting new boots. He was then waylaid by a blizzard, thrown from the horse, and forced to walk. Between his wrenched knee and saddle-sore rump, a less determined man might be ready to return home at first light. Instead, he was seated with his belly full of the best stew he’d ever tasted in the cabin of the most unconventional woman he’d ever met.
Spring Lee was seemingly as untamed as the Wyoming mountains, and frankly, just as impressive. Unlike some of the women he knew at home, there was no artifice or pretentiousness. She was candid and frank. The question she’d asked about his sister had been unexpected yet sent the message she wanted to convey: if he got out of line she’d shoot him. He planned to mind his manners and be on his best behavior.
This was his first trip west of Chicago. Having learned of Dr. Colton Lee from a family friend, Garrett and his father thought their paper’s subscribers would be intrigued by a Colored doctor practicing medicine in a place not usually associated with members of therace. Spring mentioned a grandfather. Garrett wondered just how long the family had lived in the Territory and why’d they’d settled there. Their story would be a feather in the cap of his father’s struggling newspaper, theCrier. As far as Garrett knew, theWashington Wasp, the leading Colored paper in the District, had never run anything like the story theCrierplanned to publish, and that would no doubt anger its owner, Emmanuel Beal. Beal prided himself on having the most influential and most subscribed-to newspaper around and took great joy in poking fun at those lacking his funding and readership. If theCriercould show Beal up just once, Garrett’s being subjected to the stiff saddle and the agony of his new boots would be well worth it.
He’d exchanged a few wires with Dr. Lee to set up the interview, and hoped the man was still open to being questioned. He didn’t relish having come all this way only to return home empty-handed. If that occurred, he’d at least have the memories of Wyoming’s mountainous beauty and meeting the remarkable Spring Lee.
After downing the last of the tea, he set the cup aside and wondered how his hostess was faring outdoors. Hearing a scraping sound, he glanced around the room to determine the source. Whenhe heard it a second time, he turned to the snow-covered window beside him and saw a square piece of wood drag the snow down the pane. His hostess was clearing the windows. Aided by the light of the moon and bundled up in the hat, muffler, and burly brown coat, she resembled an eerie apparition. The gentleman in him felt guilty watching her work alone, then reasoned, she’d still have to accomplish the task were he not there, but it didn’t make him feel any better. Men worked. Women rested. At least where he was from. After a few more passes the window was cleared, and she moved on.
Although his nap had restored him somewhat after his long unnerving day, he needed more sleep. Much more. The weariness coupled with the effects of the bark tea and his full stomach had him on the verge of nodding off when he heard her return.
“I heated the boiler,” she said, freeing herself from her outerwear. “Water should be hot enough for a bath in a few hours if you’re willing to wait, or have one in the morning.”
That her cabin had indoor plumbing also raised questions, but he kept his curiosity for another time. “How long has your family been in Wyoming?”
“Since the twenties. My grandfather Ben wasa trapper. He and his friend Odell opened a trading post that eventually became the town of Paradise.”
Her response gave rise to more questions. He watched as she removed her boots and set them by the fire.
“Where was your grandfather born?”
“Canada.”
“Was he enslaved?”
She shook her head. “His parents were indentured servants to a French fur trader in Quebec. After they cleared their debt, they founded a small trading outfit of their own. My grandfather became a trapper and a guide for the French and English wanting furs.”
“And your grandmother?”
“What about her?”
The tight tone of her voice matched the frank, dark eyes. He almost told her to ignore the question, but his curiosity propelled him forward. “Who was she?”
“A Shoshone woman who left him soon after my father was born because Ben has always been a terrible person. Anything else?”
Her abruptness gave him pause. Having interviewed many people, Garrett had learned to delve beneath the surface of their answers to gain a truer sense of the response, and what hesaw and heard under her tough, no-nonsense exterior was bitterness and pain. “No. Nothing else.”
“Good. I’m exhausted and going back to bed. If you’ll be up for a while, make sure you douse the lamps and throw more wood on the fire. It gets cold in here at night.”
“I will. And thanks again for the rescue.”
She responded with a terse nod and left him alone.
As he sat there, the crackling of the fire played softly against the silence. There were so many things he wanted to know about Spring Lee. What kind of life had she led? How had she been shaped by it? She’d mentioned her grandfather twice now, giving Garrett the impression that they were at odds. Was the acrimony tied to more than her refusal to marry the man she’d described as an old snake? He had no answers. He was intrigued though. Yes, she was beautiful with her ebony skin, jet-black eyes, and the thick braid down her back, but what drew him more was the fierce granite-like strength. Deciding to head to bed, he remembered her request and added more wood to the fire before dousing the lamp.
The next morning, after a good, long soak in the tub filled with hot water, Garrett’s knee wasless stiff, his bones no longer frozen, and he almost felt human again. Spring had been correct about the cabin being cold. Overnight the fire in the grate had burned down to embers and he was surprised there weren’t icicles hanging from his nose. He quickly dressed, layering on as much as he needed to stay warm, and added more wood to the fire. Pulling his thin, back-East work boots out of his carpetbag, he put them on. Moving on the less painful knee he went in search of breakfast. The cabin was quiet. He didn’t see her or hear her moving about, so he guessed she was either outside checking on the animals or still asleep. Not seeing her big coat hanging from the peg on the door made him assume the former. The view through the window showed a blue sky and sunshine sparkling on a world covered in white. Wispy eddies of snowflakes danced in the breeze and off in the distance—the mountains.
In the small kitchen he found eggs, bread, and bacon. Being unmarried, Garrett was accustomed to taking care of his own needs. If he didn’t cook, he didn’t eat. Hoping he wouldn’t be shot for helping himself to her eggs, he cracked a few into a bowl and lit the stove. He was stirring a bit of cream into the eggs when he heard someone knocking on the front door. Unsure if he should answer, he waiteda few moments to see if Spring would appear. When she didn’t, and the knocking came again, louder this time, he left the bowl and made his way there.
He opened it to find an old man with a long white beard and a coat similar to Spring’s on the other side. Hair the color of the snow streamed from beneath his hat made of furs. “Who the hell are you?” the visitor asked pointedly.
“Garrett McCray.”
“Where’s Spring?”
“I believe she’s out checking on her animals.”
