Tracie Peterson (5 page)

Logan Reed came to mind. He, too, had misjudged her and her kind. Americans seemed more than happy to lend their opinion to a situation. Even this young woman gave her opinion at every turn. But, where Logan had made her feel quite the snob, this young woman made her feel like royalty. Then a thought crossed her mind and she frowned. “Did Mr. Reed pay for you to assist me with my hair as well?”

“Oh, no, ma’am. I was just thinking you might want some help what with it coming down in back and all. I can’t do it up fancy like you had it, but I can help pin it up.”

Amelia nodded. “Yes, I’d like that very much.” The girl turned away while Amelia stepped into her underthings. There were a little damp and this seemed to make them cooler. Light was fading outside and Amelia knew it must nearly be dinner time. These Americans had the barbaric custom of eating a full meal not long after the time when she was more accustomed to tea and cakes. Supper at home was always an affair to dress for and always served late into the evening—sometimes even after nine.
Alas, yet another American custom to adapt to.

The girl instructed Amelia to sit on a stool while she combed out the thick, waist-length tresses. Amelia prided herself on her hair. It was a light, golden blond that most all of her peers envied. To be both blond-headed and blue-eyed in her society, was to be the picture of perfection. Added to this was her,
how did Mr. Reed say it?
robust figure. Amelia smiled to herself. Many a glance had come to her by gentlemen too well-bred to say what Logan Reed had issued without the slightest embarrassment. She was robust, or voluptuous as her dear friend Sarah would say. When corseted tightly, she had a perfect hour glass figure, well nearly perfect. Maybe time ran a little heavier on the top half than the bottom.

“There, how’s that?”

Amelia took the offered mirror and smiled. The young woman had done a fine job of replicating her earlier coiffure. “It’s exactly right, Miss …”

“Oh, just call me Emma.”

“Well, thank you very much Emma.” Amelia got to her feet and allowed Emma to help her dress. “Are the others going to bathe?”

“Oh, the menfolk went down to the steambath at the barbershop. The other womenfolk didn’t seem to take kindly to my trying to offer up help, so I pretty much left them alone.”

Amelia nodded and smiled. She could well imagine her sisters’ snobbery keeping them from accepting the assistance of this young woman. And no doubt, Lady Gambett and her pouty brood had taken themselves off to a private wash basin. With a final pat to her hair, Amelia gathered up her things and followed Emma from the room. “You should see my father, Lord Amhurst, for the cost of this bath and my clothing being cleaned. Mr. Reed is no more than a hunting guide to our party and certainly has no call to be arranging my affairs.”

Emma smiled. “Oh, that just Logan’s way. He’s friendly like that.”

“Well, I assure you that I am not in the habit of allowing strangers, especially men, to be friendly like that with me. Please see my father with the bill.”

Supper that evening was a surprisingly pleasant fare of roasted chicken, sage dressing, a veritable banquet of vegetables—mostly canned, but very tasty, and peach cobbler. Amelia had to admit it was more than she’d expected and only the thick swarm of hovering black flies kept her from completely enjoying her evening. That and Logan Reed’s rude appraisal of her throughout the meal. He seemed to watch her as though she might steal the silver at any given moment. Amelia grew increasingly uncomfortable under his scrutiny until she actually found herself listening to Sir Jeffery’s soliloquy on the founding of the London Medical School for Women and the obsurdity of anyone believing women would make acceptable physicians.

“Why the very thought of exposing the gentler sex to such grotesqueries is quite abominable,” Jeffery stated as though that would be the collective reasoning of the entire party.

Normally Amelia would have commented loud and clear on such outdated thoughts, but with Logan apparently anticipating such a scene, she chose instead to finish her meal and quietly excuse herself. This was accomplished without much ado, mainly because Lady Gambett opened the matter and excused herself first, pleading an intolerable headache.

Amelia soon followed suit and very nearly spilled over a water glass when she got to her feet. Her hands were shaking as she righted the glass. Looking up, she found Logan smiling. She had to get away from him quickly or make a complete fool of herself, of this she was certain.

Unfortunately, she was barely out the front door when Jeffery popped up at her side.

“Ah, Sir Jeffery,” she said stiffly.

“Good evening, Lady Amhurst,” he said, pausing with a smile, “Amelia.”

She stiffened even more. Eyeing him with complete contempt, she said nothing. There was no need. She’d often heard it said that with a single look she could freeze the heart right out of a man and Jeffery Chamberlain was certainly no match for her.

“Forgive me, Lady Amhurst,” he said bowing low before her. “I sought only to escort you to wherever it is you might be going. The familiarity is born only out of my fondness for you and your good father’s desire that we wed.”

Amelia nodded. “You may be assured that those desires reside with my father alone. Good evening.” She hurried away before Jeffery could respond. She hadn’t the strength to discuss the matter further.

The evening had grown quite chilly and Amelia was instantly sorry she’d not stopped to retrieve a shawl. She was grateful for the short-waisted jacket she’d donned for dinner and quickly did up the remaining two buttons to insure as much warmth as possible. After two blocks, however, she was more than happy to head back to the hotel and remain within its thin walls until morning sent them ever upward.

Upward.

She glanced to the now-blacked images of the mountain range before her. The shadows seemed foreboding, as if some great hulking monster waited to devour her. Shuddering from the thought, she walked back to the St. Vrain Hotel and considered it no more.

I
t was the wind that woke Amelia in the morning. The great wailing gusts bore down from the mountains causing the very timbers around her to shake and tremble.
Was it a storm?
She contemplated this for a moment, hoping that if it were, it would rain and drown out each and every pesky fly in Longmont. All through the night, her sleep had been disturbed by the constant assault of flies at her face, in her hair, and at her ears. It was enough to make her consider agreeing to marry Jeffery if her father would pledge to return immediately to England.

A light rapping sounded upon her door. Amelia pulled the blanket tight around her shoulders and went to answer it. “Yes?” she called, stumbling in the dark.

“It’s me, Emma.”

Amelia opened the door with a sleepy nod. “Are we about to blow away?”

Emma laughed softly and pushed past Amelia to light the lamp on her night table. “Oh, no, ma’am. The wind blows like this from time to time. It’ll probably be done by breakfast. Mr. Reed sent me to wake you and the other ladies. Said to tell you it was an hour before dawn and you’d know exactly what that meant.”

Amelia frowned. “Yes, indeed. Thank you, Emma.”

“Will you be needin’ help with your hair and getting dressed?”

“No, thank you anyway. Mr. Reed made it quite clear that simplicity is the means for success on this excursion. I intend only to braid my hair and pin it tight. From the sound of the wind, I suppose I should pin it very tight.” Emma giggled and Amelia smiled in spite of herself.
Perhaps some of these Americans aren’t so bad.

“Lady Gambett was near to tears last night because Logan told her that she and those youngun’s of hers needed to get rid of their corsets before they rode another ten feet.”

It was Amelia’s turn to giggle. Something she’d not done in years. “Surely you jest.”

“Jest?” Emma looked puzzled.

“Joke. I merely implied that you were surely joking.”

“Oh, no! He said it. I heard him.”

“Well, I’ve never been one to abide gossip,” Amelia began rather soberly, “but I can well imagine the look in Lady Gambett’s face when he mentioned the unmentionable items.”

“She plumb turned red and called for her smelling salts.”

“Yes, she would.”

Glancing to where Penelope and Margaret continued to slumber soundly, Emma questioned, “Will you need me to wake your sisters?”

Amelia glanced at the bed. “No, it would take more than your light touch. I’ll see to them.” Emma smiled and took her leave.

“Wake up sleepyheads,” Amelia said, pulling the quilt to the foot of the bed. Penelope shrieked a protest and pulled it back up, while Margaret stared up in disbelief.

“I believe you’re becoming as ill-mannered as these Americans,” she said to Amelia.

“It’s still dark outside,” Penelope added, snuggling down. “Mr. Reed said we start at dawn.”

“Mr. Reed said we leave at dawn,” she reminded them. “I for one intend to have enough time to dress properly and eat before climbing back on that ill-tempered horse.”

Margaret whined. “We are too tired to bother with eating. Just go away, Amelia.”

“Have it your way,” Amelia said with a shrug. And with that she left her sisters to worry about themselves, and hurried to dress for the day. Pulling on black cotton stockings, pantaloons and camisole, Amelia smiled privately, knowing that she was quite glad for the excuse to be rid of her corset. She packed the corset away, all the while feeling quite smug. She wasn’t about to give Logan Reed a chance to speak so forwardly to her about things that didn’t concern him. Pulling on her riding outfit, now clean and pressed, she secured her toiletries in her saddlebags and hurried to meet the others at breakfast.

Much to her embarrassment she arrived to find herself alone with Logan. The rest of her party was slow to rise and even slower to ready themselves for the day ahead. Logan nodded approvingly at her and called for the meal to be served. He bowed ever so slightly and held out a chair for Amelia.

“We must wait for the others, Mr. Reed,” she said, taking the offered seat.

“I’m afraid we can’t,” Logan announced. “You forget I’m experienced at this. Most folks refuse to take me seriously until they miss at least one breakfast. Ahhh, here’s Emma.” The young girl entered bringing a mound of biscuits—complete with hovering flies—and a platter of fried sausages swimming in grease and heavily peppered. It was only after taking one of the offered links that Amelia realized it wasn’t pepper at all, but still more flies.

Frowning at the food on her plate, it was as if Logan read her mind when he said, “Just try to think of ’em as extra meat.”

Amelia almost smiled, but refused to. “Maybe I’ll just eat a biscuit.”

“You’d best eat up and eat well. The mountain air will make you feel starved and after all the hard work you’ll be doing, you’ll wish you’d had more than biscuits.”

“Hard work?”

Logan waited to speak until Emma brought two more platters, one with eggs, another with fried potatoes, and a bowl with thick white gravy. He thanked the girl and turned to Amelia. “Shall we say grace?”

“I hardly think so, Mr. Reed. To whom should we offer thanks, except to those whose hands have provided and prepared the food?”

For the first time since she’d met the smug, self-confident Logan Reed, he stared at her speechless and dumbstruck.
Good,
she thought.
Let him consider that matter for a time and leave me to eat in silence.
She put eggs on her plate and added a heavy amount of cream to the horrible black coffee Emma had poured into her cup. She longed to plead with the girl for tea, but wouldn’t think of allowing Mr. Reed to see her in a weakened moment.

“Do you mean to tell me,” Logan began, “that you don’t believe in God?”

Amelia didn’t even look up. “Indeed, that is precisely what I mean to say.”

“How can a person who seems to be of at least average intelligence,” at this Amelia’s head snapped up and Logan chuckled and continued, “I thought that might get your attention. How can you look around you or wake up in the morning to breathe the air of a new day and believe there is no God?”

Amelia scowled at the black flies hovering around her fork. “Should there have been a God, surely He would not have allowed such imperfect creatures to mar His universe.”

“You don’t believe in God because flies are sharing your breakfast table?” Logan’s expression was one of complete confusion. He hadn’t even started to eat his own food.

“Mr. Reed, I believe this trip will go a great deal better for both of us if you will merely mind your own business and leave me to do the same. I fail to see where my disbelief in a supreme being is of any concern to you, and therefore, I see no reason to discuss the matter further.”

Logan hesitated for a moment, bowed his head to what Amelia presumed were his prayers of grace, and ate in silence for several minutes. For some reason, even though it was exactly what Amelia had hoped for, she felt uncomfortable and found herself wishing he would say something even if it was to insult her.