Tracie Peterson (4 page)

“You look pretty tolerable when you smile like that,” Logan’s voice sounded in her ear.

Startled, Amelia instantly drew back and lost the joy of her self-reflection. “Haven’t you better things to do, Mr. Reed? As I recall, we were to be on our way by now. What seems to be keeping us?”

Logan smiled. “Loose shoe on one of the horses. Should have it fixed in a quick minute.”

Amelia hoped this would end their conversation, but it didn’t.

“You gonna ride in that?” Logan asked seriously, pointing to her windblown navy-blue skirt, which blew just high enough to reveal matching bloomers beneath.

Amelia felt her face grown hot. “I assure you I will be quite able to ride. This outfit is especially designed to allow a woman to ride astride. Just as you demanded.”

“Good. I don’t want any of you dainty ladies to be pitched over the side.”

Amelia jutted her chin out defiantly and said nothing. Logan Reed was clearly the most incorrigible man she’d ever met in her life and she wasn’t about to let him get the best of her.

“Logan!” A man hollered and waved from where the others were gathered. “Horse is ready.”

“Well, Lady Amhurst, I believe we are about to get underway,” Logan said with a low sweeping bow.

Amelia was hot and dirty and very unhappy when the party at last rode into Longmont, Colorado. The day had not been a pleasant one for Amelia. Her sisters had squabbled almost half the way about who was going to wear the blue-veiled straw riding bonnet. Penelope had latched on to it in Greeley, but Margaret had soon learned the benefits of her sister’s veil and insisted she trade her. Margaret had protested that as the youngest, at sixteen, she was also the more delicate of the trio. Josephine, Margaret’s bosom companion, heartily agreed. Pushing up tiny round spectacles, Josephine was only coming to realize the protection her glasses offered from the dust. While the others were delicately blotting their eyes with lace handkerchiefs, Josephine’s eyes had remained a little more sheltered.

This argument over the bonnet, along with Logan’s sneering grins and her father’s constant manipulation to see her and Jeffery riding together, made Amelia want to run screaming in the direction of the nearest railroad station. But of course, convention denied her the possibility of such display.

Glancing around at the small town of Longmont, Amelia was amused to see the townsfolk apparently could not even decide on the town’s spelling. Some signs read
Longmount,
while others gave the title
Longmont.
The name St. Vrain seemed to be quite popular. There was the St. Vrain Café, the St. Vrain Saloon, and the St. Vrain Hotel, which looked to her to be an oasis in the desert. Brilliantly white against the sun’s light, the two story hotel beckoned the weary travelers forward and Amelia couldn’t wait to sink into a hot bath.

Upon alighting from her horse, it was instantly apparent that Longmont suffered the same plague of black flies that had held Greeley under siege. The flies instantly clung to her riding habit and bonnet, leaving Amelia felling as though her skin were crawling. The Gambett girls and her sisters were already whining about the intolerable conditions and although Amelia whole-heartedly agreed with their analysis that this town was completely forgotten by any kind of superior being, she refused to raise her voice in complaint.

“I assure you ladies,” Logan said with a hint of amusement in his tired voice, “this place is neither forsaken by God, nor condemned. The people here are friendly and helpful, if you treat them with respect. There’s a well-stocked hardware store down Main Street, and if you ladies wish to purchase another veiled bonnet, you can try the mercantile just over there.”

The words were meant to embarrass her sisters, but as far as Amelia could tell, neither Penelope nor Margaret were aware of Logan’s intent.

“Remember, this is one of those trips where you’ll have to do for yourself,” Logan said, motioning to the pack mules. “You might just as well get used to the fact here and now. No one is going to care for you, or handle your things, but you. You’ll be responsible for your bags and any personal items you choose to bring on this trip. Although, for the sake of your horses, the mules, and even yourselves, I suggest you greatly limit what you bring along.”

Jeffery immediately appeared at Amelia’s side. “Never fear, Lady Amhurst, I am your faithful servant. You find a comfortable place to rest and I will retrieve your things.”

Amelia watched Logan’s lips curl into a self-satisfied smile. Obviously he had pegged her for one of those who would choose to be waited on hand and foot. What further irritated her was that if Logan had not been there, she would have taken Chamberlain up on his offer.

“Never mind that,” she said firmly. “I can manage, just as Mr. Reed has made clear I must.” She pulled down her bedroll and bags without another glance at Logan.

“Surely there is no reason you cannot accept my help,” Jeffery spoke from her side. He reached out to take hold of her bedroll. “I mean to say, you are a gentlewoman—a lady. It is hardly something Mr. Reed would understand, but certainly it does not escape my breeding to intercede on your behalf.”

Amelia wearied of his nonsensical speech. She glared up at Jeffery harshly and pulled her bags away from his hands. “I am of sturdy stock, I assure you. I have climbed in the Alps without assistance from you.” She couldn’t help remembering the bevy of servants who had assisted her. “I have also barged the Nile, lived through an Indian monsoon, and endured the tedium of life at court. I surely can carry baggage into a hotel for myself.” The chin went a notch higher in the air and Amelia fixed her gaze on Logan’s amused expression. “Perhaps Mr. Reed needs assistance with
his
things.”

Jeffery looked from Amelia’s stern expression to Logan’s near-laughing one. Appearing confused, he neither offered his assistance to Logan, nor did he protest when Amelia went off in the direction of the hotel, bags in hand.

The St. Vrain Hotel was no cooler inside than it had been outside. If anything it was even more stifling because there was no breeze and the flies were thicker here than in the streets. She turned at the front desk to await her father and struggled to contain a smile when he and Mattersley appeared, each with his own bags, and her sisters struggling dramatically behind them.

“Oh, Papa,” Margaret moaned loudly, “you simply cannot expect me to carry all of this!” The earl rolled his eyes, bringing a broad smile from Amelia. The clerk at the desk also seemed amused, but said nothing. Amelia was thankful Logan Reed was still outside with the horses.

Jeffery strode in, trying hard to look completely at ease with his new task. He put his things down in one corner and announced he would go with Mr. Reed to stable the horses. Amelia was stunned by this. So far as she knew, Jeffery had done nothing more than had his horse over for stabling since his privileged childhood. How she would love to watch him in the livery with Mr. Reed!

Amelia gave it no more thought, however, as the clerk led them upstairs to their rooms. She would share a room with her sisters again, but this time there were two beds. One was a rustic-looking, double-sized bed. It looked roughly hewn from pine, yet a colorful handmade quilt made it appear beautiful. The other, a single bed, looked to be even more crudely assembled. It, too, was covered with a multi-colored quilt, and to the exhausted Amelia, looked quite satisfactory. Other than the beds, the room was rather empty. There was a single night table with a bowl and pitcher of water and a tiny closet that was hardly big enough to hang a single dress within.

“Oh, such misery!” Penelope exclaimed and Margaret quickly agreed.

“How could Papa make us stay in a horrible place like this?” Margaret added.

“I think it will seem a great deal more appealing after you’ve spent two or three nights on the trail,” Amelia said without asking her sisters’ permission to take the single bed. She tossed her things to the floor and stretched out on top of the quilt, still dressed in her dusty clothes.

The bed isn’t half bad,
Amelia thought.
It beats being on the back of that temperamental mount Mr. Reed had insisted she ride.
Twice the beast had tried to take his own head and leave the processional, but Amelia, seasoned rider that she was, gave the gelding beneath her a firm understanding that she was to decide the way, not he. No doubt Mr. Reed had intentionally given her the spirited horse.
He probably hoped to find me sprawled out on the prairie ground,
she mused.
I guess I showed him that I can handle my own affairs.
It was the last conscious thought Amelia had for some time.

She had no idea how long she’d laid upon the bed. Her sisters had begun arguing about who would sleep on the right side of the bed and who would go to search out another veiled bonnet. The noise was something she was used to—it was the silence that seemed to awaken her. Staring at the ceiling for a moment, Amelia tried to remember where she was and what she was to do next. She had not time for further contemplation, however, when a knock sounded at her door.

“Yes?” she questioned, barely cracking the door open.

A young woman wearing a starched white apron stood before her bearing a towel and bar of soap. “We’ve a bath ready for you, Lady Amhurst.”

No announcement could have met with her approval more. Amelia opened the door wide and grimaced at the stiffness that was already setting into her bones. It had been a while since she’d been riding, what with the boat ride to America and the constant use of trains and stages thereafter.

“Thank you. Will you direct me?”

The woman, hardly old enough to be called that, motioned Amelia to the room at the end of the hall. “I can get you settled in and take your clothes to have the dust beaten out. I’ll bring you something else to wear if you tell me what you want.”

Amelia stepped into the room and thought the steaming tub of water too good to be true. She immediately began unfastening the buttons of her half jacket. “You are very kind to arrange all of this for me. I must say the service here is quite good.”

“Oh, it’s my job,” the girl replied. “‘Sides, Logan told me you’d probably want to clean up and he gave me an extra coin to make sure you were taken care of personally.”

Amelia’s fingers ceased at their task. “I beg your pardon? Mr. Reed paid for this bath?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Amelia hesitated, looked at the tub and considered her pride in the matter. The steaming water beckoned her and her tired limbs pleaded for the refreshment. She could always settle things with Logan Reed later.

“Very well.” She slipped out of the jacket and unbuttoned her skirt. “If you’ll bring me my black skirt and a clean shirtwaist, I’ll wash out these other things.” She would show Mr. Reed just how self-sufficient she could be.

“Oh no, ma’am. I can take care of everything for you. My mother does the laundry and she can have these things ready by morning. Pressed fresh and smelling sweet. You’ll see.”

Amelia reluctantly gave in. “Very well.” She sent the girl off with her riding clothes, keeping only her camisole and bloomers. These she washed out by hand and hung to dry before stepping into the tub. With the window open to allow the breeze, the items would dry by the time she finished with the bath. That was one of the nice things about the drier air of Colorado. Things took forever to dry back home in England. The dampness was nearly always with them and it was better to press clothes dry with an iron than wait for them to dry on their own. But here the air was crisp and dry and even in the heat of the day it was completely tolerable compared to what she’d endured when they visited a very humid New Orleans.

Sinking into the hot water, Amelia sighed aloud. How good it felt! Her dry skin seemed to literally drink in the offered moisture. Lathering the soap down one arm and then the other, Amelia wanted to cry with relief. The bath was pure pleasure and she felt like the spoiled aristocrat Logan Reed thought her to be. After washing thoroughly, she eased back on the rim of the tub and let the water come up to her neck, soothing and easing all the pain in her shoulders. It mattered very little that Logan Reed had arranged this luxury. At that moment, the only thing that mattered was the comfort at hand.

When the knock on the door sounded, Amelia realized she’d dozed off again. The water was tepid now and her muscles were no longer sore and tense.

“It’s me, Lady Amhurst,” the voice of the young woman called. “I’ve brought your clothes.”

“Come ahead,” Amelia called, stepping from the tub to wrap the rough towel around her body.

The girl appeared bringing not only the requested shirt and shirtwaist but also Amelia’s comb and brush. “I thought you might be needin’ these too. I can help with your hair, if you like.”

Amelia smiled. What a friendly little thing. She’d make a good chambermaid if she were a little less familiar. But that was the way of these Americans and Amelia found herself growing more accepting of it as the days wore on. To be friendly and openly honest was not a thing one could count on in the finer classes of people. Women of high society were taught to keep their opinions to themselves, and in fact were encouraged to have no opinion at all. From the moment she was born, Amelia was strictly lectured that her father, and later her husband, would clearly do her thinking for her. Amelia had other ideas, however, and often she came off appearing smug and superior in her attitudes. People misjudged her confidence and believed her to think herself better than her peers. But it wasn’t true.