Montana Snowfall, page 3
part #7 of McCutcheon Family Series
Sally reached for her own travel bag and tore off a chunk of bread from the large loaf she’d purchased at the Willow Tree Restaurant in Waterloo, knowing she needed to keep something more than crackers in her stomach, for the baby’s sake.
As Mr. Slater had mentioned, the coach began an uphill climb. They were going along at a nice clip when the stage jerked violently, sending Sally’s heart lurching up her throat. The bread on her napkin-covered lap tumbled to the floor, and her carpetbag skittered to the opposite door. The sleeping woman by her side let out a loud shriek.
Gasping, Sally grasped the edge of the seat to keep from falling to the floor. Outside, a large cougar dashed into the bushes. A shout from the driver was followed by a string of unintelligible words.
The coach tilted precariously, as if the wheels on one side had dropped off the road where the earth fell away a few feet. It jerked to a stop almost on its side, and then a loud screech was followed by a crack that rang out from underneath.
Sally’s scream was drowned out by the old woman’s and the child’s. She gripped the windowsill and struggled to keep from sliding onto the others below her.
Chapter Six
Sally couldn’t hold on much longer. A few frightening moments passed before she heard Mr. Slater’s voice over the wailing of the little boy.
What had happened? Were they under attack?
Mr. Slater appeared at the window, on the upside of the tilted coach. A gash split his forehead and blood flowed down his temple, but he brushed it away from his deathly white face. He yanked the door open. The frightened mules’ braying filled the air, and a loud scraping sound made her grimace as the coach moved forward a few inches.
“Let’s get you out!”
He took Sally under her arms. She had no option than to let him, even though a hot lance of fire raced up her spine at his touch. She stifled a groan and scrabbled with her feet to find something solid. Once she found purchase with one toe, Mr. Slater hefted her out. She grabbed onto anything she could find to keep from falling. He climbed down, making it look easy, and then assisted her to the ground.
“Go wait over there.” He pointed.
“You’re hurt.”
“Go on. I’d need to know you’re out of the way. Don’t argue.”
Sally backed away. Worried about the driver, she started around to the front, giving the conveyance a wide berth as sounds inside said Mr. Slater was hefting someone else out the door.
She gasped and covered her mouth. The driver lay crumpled on the ground, his sightless eyes staring into the heavy gray clouds. She’d never seen a dead person except at a funeral. Wide eyed and numb, she took a step back.
Fredrick’s head appeared through the door of the crippled stagecoach. Sally rushed back to the side of the contraption and put out her arms, thankful for anything to get her mind off what she’d just seen. “Come on, Fredrick. Don’t be scared.”
Mr. Slater’s head popped out the door. He kept hold of the lad until she could get a grip on him, helping him climb off. Once she had him, Mr. Slater disappeared back inside.
“Don’t cry,” she crooned, struggling to lift him into her arms. Tears streamed down his jelly-smeared cheek. As she rocked him, his grandmother’s head appeared in the doorway. Mrs. White was disheveled, and blood covered her chin.
Sally set Fredrick on a rock. “Sit here and don’t move a muscle. Do you understand?” she said sternly. “I don’t have time to worry about you right now. I need to help Mr. Slater. If you run off, it’s to your own peril.” She felt a twinge of guilt being so stern after the harrowing situation they’d just been through, but there was no help for it.
The child nodded, and she hurried away.
Mr. Slater was having a difficult time getting the older woman through the small door. Sally edged up the outside of the coach, praying it wouldn’t tip any farther. She reached up until her fingertips touched Mrs. White’s arm.
“Come on, ma’am. Can you climb out? I can help you once you’re through the door.”
“I don’t want to leave Gertrude!”
“You need to come out so Mr. Slater can help Gertrude.”
That seemed to sink in. The woman scrambled, and Sally figured the shotgun messenger was pushing from below. Sally assisted her to the ground. Once Mrs. White’s feet hit the dirt, she rushed over to Fredrick, who was sitting on the rock where Sally had left him.
Sally cupped her hands around her mouth and leaned into a burst of cold wind. The temperature had dropped even more. A few snowflakes floated in the air. “Mr. Slater, what do you want me to do now?”
“Not sure.”
Several moments ticked by. Surely he couldn’t carry Gertrude’s deadweight and climb out with her.
“Fetch me the coiled rope tied to the back of the coach,” he called.
With trembling hands, Sally worked at the tether until she had the rope in hand. Gathering her skirt, she scrambled up the side of the leaning stage and gazed inside. “Here.”
“Good. Hand me the end.” He tied the rope around Gertrude’s body.
“Do you want me to pull?”
“You’re not strong enough. I’ll have to hoist her out. You wait with the others.”
“Would it be better with me pushing from behind?” Sally asked.
“I’d rather do this myself. You’ve helped plenty.” The bleeding on his temple had stopped, but his face was still pinched with pain. Blood had dried in a long streak from his temple to his chin, and an egg-sized lump was forming.
Sally climbed down, being mindful of the fabric of her skirt. The last thing she wanted to do now was fall from clumsiness. After a few minutes of work, Mr. Slater had Gertrude out and cradled in his arms. He carried her off the road and laid her under a tree. Her mother and son gathered around.
Sally joined them as well. The poor woman looked horrible, but she was alive and awake.
“I’ll have to go for help,” Mr. Slater said, wavering on his feet. “We can’t risk waiting for another stage. With the weather turning, they’ll hold them on either end. Y Knot is closer, so I’ll go that way.”
“What about the driver?” Mrs. White asked in alarm. “Can’t he go and you stay with us? I’d feel better with you standing guard.” Her face tightened and she began to shake. She gazed at her daughter, and pulled her grandson protectively to her side. The boy was conspicuously quiet.
“He can’t go, ma’am. He’s dead,” Mr. Slater said.
“Dead! What happened?”
“A cougar spooked the mules. Jimmy fought to keep the stagecoach on the road, but something happened. He took a big gulp and went stiff. Before I realized something was wrong with him, he’d flopped off the side and hit the ground. He said he had a bad ticker, but I thought he was saying that to get attention. Guess it was true.”
“That’s horrible,” Sally said. “The poor man. Can we get the coach out of the ditch? I don’t much like the thought of spending the night out here in the wilds.”
He shook his head, looking younger than he had before. “’Fraid not. The axle is broke. That coach isn’t going anywhere.”
“Oh my.” Mrs. White wailed, bringing a round of tears from her grandson.
“We’ll just have to wait until help arrives.”
The grandmother pointed to the dark clouds. “We can’t wait. We’ll freeze to death by the time help arrives. Someone has to go and let them know we’re out here.”
Wheezing, the old woman eased down on the ground by her daughter, and gathered her body in her arms. Her eyes were larger than the saucers of Aunt Tillie’s best tea set.
Fear snaked through Sally as well. “Mr. Slater can’t go. I think he has a concussion, ma’am. He wouldn’t make it very far.”
Mrs. White’s eyes darted around, looking for a solution. “Miss Stanford, you’re as fit as a fiddle. Yesterday, you told me how you used to ride through the park with your sisters. Surely you can handle a mule for a few miles. You go for help.”
Sally blinked when Mr. Slater looked at her. It was true; she did know how to ride. Quite well, actually. Not only Sundays in the park, but sometimes the animals her father and brothers had shod before their owners picked them up. She was no wilting violet. It was early enough in her pregnancy that it wouldn’t hurt the baby—unless she fell off.
“I don’t know…” Mr. Slater’s expression was doubtful.
“She’s correct, I can ride.”
“Bareback?”
Sally nodded. “How far is it to Y Knot? You’d said a few hours, but won’t it be faster riding?”
“Not unless you gallop the whole way. I can’t see you doing that without a saddle. You still won’t make it before dark.”
Or before the storm hits.
Chapter Seven
At the sound of Cinder’s small voice jabbering away from her bedroom, Amy McCutcheon knew her toddler had awakened from her afternoon nap. Any thought of Cinder always brought a smile to her face. Amy set aside the rolling pin in her hands and removed her apron. If she didn’t hurry, Cinder would become impatient and start to fuss.
“Mommy? Mommy!”
Her daughter’s singsong voice reminded Amy of the tiny golden bells dangling from the tips of the Christmas stockings Mrs. McCutcheon hung each year on the fireplace mantel. The McCutcheons were such an incredible family. Her years married to the second-oldest McCutcheon son had been the happiest of her life.
“Nappie wet. Nappie we-e-e-t.”
Amy hurried up the stairs and through the child’s bedroom door, ignoring the ache in her back caused from the new child she carried. She scooped her daughter from her crib and into a hug, and breathed in the warm aromatic blend of soap, apples, and powder. “How’s my little sweet pea? Did you sleep well?”
Cinder nodded, her two middle fingers planted firmly in her mouth. With the other hand, she patted her soaked diaper. “Wet,” she whispered, her brow pulling down in consternation.
“Don’t you worry about that. We’ll take care of it zippity-quick.”
Amy carried her over to the small bed on the other side of the room, the one Cinder would move to once the new baby was born. Laying her on the multicolored log-cabin-patterned quilt, Amy quickly unfastened the safety pins and stripped off the soaked material, then dropped it into a tin bucket. Diapers soiled with more than urine were marched straight out back immediately—much to Cinder’s amusement.
In moments, Amy had a new diaper firmly in place and pulled on a snug pair of wool pants. She hoisted Cinder up by her arms.
“Would you like to help Mommy with the pie? I’m rolling out the crust now.”
Cinder’s eyes brightened. When she nodded, her wispy black hair floated around her face like feathers.
“Auntie Charity is coming over tonight for supper, as well as Auntie Faith, Auntie Rachel, and Grammy. We’re going to start planning the Christmas social. December will be here before we know it.”
“Da?”
Amy kissed her daughter’s head. “No, sweetie. Remember, Da’s gone to Waterloo. But he’ll be back soon enough—and he’s bringing you a surprise.”
Mark’s return couldn’t come fast enough for her. She’d had to convince him to go, promising she and Cinder would be fine in his absence. He watched over her like a mother hen now that she was again expecting. She’d seen the excitement in his eyes whenever the men talked about the six new mares they were buying, and didn’t want him to miss out. As much as the brothers had protested against going, the three had been happy for their time away. She stifled a smile. But why not? Most of the ranch work was completed, and Mark hadn’t had any time away for over a year. At least going together, they could keep each other out of trouble.
Cinder scrunched her legs and tried to bounce.
“Oh no, you don’t.” Amy laughed and picked the toddler up, heading back to the kitchen. “After the pie is in the oven, we’ll go catch and pluck—”
Amy snapped her mouth closed. Cinder loved the hens, all fifteen of them. I should have taken care of the butchering while Cinder was asleep. Well, she’d just have to think of something to distract the toddler while she got the job done. Perhaps she’d bring in the mama cat and her three kittens.
“Here you go,” she said, setting Cinder down. Amy reached for her apron and put it on, tying the bow behind her back.
“Up, Mommy,” the child said, lifting her arms.
“All right.” Bending, she lifted Cinder but gasped as a white-hot pain zipped through her abdomen. She all but dumped Cinder next to the piecrust on the flour-sprinkled countertop. Alarmed, she pressed her hand to her stomach as the pain quickly subsided.
She knew that pain all too well. She’d lost her and Mark’s first baby several months after they’d married. The heartrending experience was one she never wanted to go through again. The whole family had been devastated. As much as she tried not to think about the miscarriage, the possibility of the same happening again was never far from her mind.
Chapter Eight
“You’ll take Dolly,” Mr. Slater told Sally, unhitching one of the front mules from the team, then leading her forward. “She’s gentle and rides well. She won’t give you any trouble.”
He took out his knife and sliced off the long reins, leaving enough length that he could tie them in a knot at the mule’s withers. The rim of his hat was buffeted by the afternoon wind that was gaining momentum.
He threw a small blanket he’d fetched from the driver’s seat over Dolly’s back. “Stay to the main road and you won’t get lost.”
Indecision shone in his eyes. He was obviously as unsure of her going on alone as she was, but what other option did they have? Weather was changing. They needed to get over this mountain and into Y Knot.
Sally glanced at the others huddled under a blanket at the foot of the tree, the small boy clinging to his grandmother’s side.
She’d changed into an extra pair of Mr. Slater’s pants and made a makeshift belt from a short piece of rope. Mrs. White, looking apologetic for having suggested Sally for the job, wound her own wool scarf around Sally’s neck and then kindly patted her cheek.
Mr. Slater packed some food into a saddlebag, as well as a gun with a handful of bullets after showing her how to load it and pull the trigger.
“I don’t need a gun, Mr. Slater. I can’t even shoot.”
“Take it anyway. Just in case.”
“Are there any other roads I should be careful of?” Nervous energy rolled around inside her. “Different ways to go?”
He thought for a minute. “Not really.” He took off his hat and scratched his head. “Actually, there is a split or two, now that I think about it.”
“Are they marked?”
His long delay made her swallow.
“Not that I recall. Just take the first split to the left…”
“The first split to the left,” she repeated, making a mental note.
He looked down at Dolly’s hooves for several seconds. “No, that’s wrong. Take the first split to the right.”
Filled with alarm, she gaped at him. “This is important, Mr. Slater! Do you even know? I don’t want to get lost.” I have my baby to think about.
“I don’t want you to get lost either,” he said stiffly. “It’s just I’m always riding shotgun, you know, keeping watch around, forward and behind. I’ve never paid much attention to the route. But don’t worry, Miss Stanford, I’m sure it’s the first split to the left.”
“You just said right!”
“That’s what I meant! You’ve got me muddleheaded with your questions. I’m absolutely positive on my pappy’s grave you take the first split to the right, and the second split to the left. Once you do that, it won’t be but an hour before you come to the outskirts of Y Knot. You may even see a traveler or two. For now, you’ll be climbing steadily until after you’ve passed the two splits.” The mule turned her head and looked at them. “And don’t let the saddlebag slip off.” He gave Sally a quick once-over, then added, “If you have to dismount to fetch it, you might not be able to get back on.”
She nodded. Anxiety swirled within. It wasn’t only the issue of the route that had her worried, but all the other dangers she knew Mr. Slater wasn’t mentioning. Like outlaws, Indians, and wild animals. Hadn’t a cougar frightened the mules and caused the crash in the first place?
Her brother’s face popped into her mind. “Don’t let fear stop you from doing anything, Sally. Always do your best, with a strong heart. You’re a Stanford.” Travis had been giving her a talk after he’d found her crying over the math problems she couldn’t figure out, not preparing for a ride through the wilderness. Still, his words fortified her. She was a Stanford, and she’d make it through and get her baby to safety. She would be like him—and Morgan! And Heather. Her sister had traveled this same road herself.
“And you’ll be sure my trunk gets on the wagon as well?”
“Yes, don’t you worry about that.”
Even with the extra clothes Mr. Slater had made her layer on, as well as the dead driver’s thick leather jacket, the chill in the air couldn’t be denied. It would snow tonight. She had to make it to Y Knot before that happened. The small leather gloves her mother had given her for the trip were of little protection, and her fingertips were already cold.
“Now, up you go.” He cupped his hands together, and Sally slipped her boot inside.
Once situated on the animal’s back with the saddlebag set behind her, she tried to smile. This felt wobblier than she remembered. “I’ll get there, Mr. Slater. You can count on me.”
He looked up at her, his crooked smile endearing. “I know you will, Miss Stanford. Just keep riding. Y Knot’s not that far away. Tell the sheriff our quandary, as well as the stage office. Go on now, and don’t dally. You don’t want to spend the night alone in the woods. You’ll make it to town right after nightfall, so that won’t be too bad.”
Not too bad? She hoped he was right. It had been almost a year since she’d ridden, and about six since she’d ridden without a saddle. She felt timid on this rangy animal. The fuzzy gray ears rotated front to back, and when the mule swished her wiry tail, it was long enough to slap Sally on the foot.
