Blizzard: Colorado, 1886 (2 page)

Hadyn stood up. His bag was on the luggage shelf. He slid it down, fitting the strap over his shoulder. Stepping from the train, Hadyn looked around. His father had assured him that it wouldn't be difficult to hire a wagoner to drive him the rest of the way.

Hadyn hitched his bag higher on his shoulder and started down the street. He had to ask directions twice, but finally found a livery stable off an alleyway near the outskirts of town. A circle of men sat around an overturned crate, playing cards.

“I'm looking for a driver to take me up into Estes Park.”

A tall man with piercing blue eyes stood up. “I can take you, but you're about two months early for the summer season, aren't you?”

“I'm going to visit my uncle,” Hadyn said tersely. One of the things he hated about the West was people's interest in other people's business.

“I'm Jeffrey Cole,” the man said, extending his hand. Hadyn shook it, then stepped back toward the door.

Mr. Cole left his card game, to the complaints of his friends. “A job is a job, boys, especially this time of year. Besides, I have to earn back what I've lost here.” They all laughed as one of them shuffled, then began dealing a new hand.

Hadyn stood uneasily, leaning against a stall as Mr. Cole harnessed his team and climbed up onto the driver's bench. Then the boy threw his bag in the back of the wagon and got up beside him.

“Now, this is not like taking a buggy ride through the park on Sunday,” Mr. Cole said as he worked the team around in a tight turn and started down the alleyway.

“I've been here before,” Hadyn said.

“When?”

“About two years ago.”

“That's not what I'm asking. When did you come? Summer?”

“It was June tenth,” Hadyn told him, puzzled. The wheel on Hadyn's side of the wagon dropped into a pothole. The jarring startled him and he grabbed the edge of the bench.

“June tenth is summer,” Mr. Cole said, guiding the team around a frozen puddle. “If you've only been up this road in the summer, then you have no idea what it is going to be like today.”

Hadyn didn't respond. This was another thing he remembered hating about Colorado. Everyone who lived in these little towns was so eager to impress any visitor with how rough their country was. Outhouses and bad roads seemed like stupid things to be proud of.

Mr. Cole slapped the reins over the horses' backs, and they rose into a reluctant trot on the muddy,
uneven road. He didn't speak again until they were on the long, steep slope that led out of town. “It's better today than it has been. We got a cold spell in here starting three days ago. Before that the mud was deep. Now it's frozen again.” Just as he finished speaking, the wagon hit a rut and jolted.

Hadyn tightened his grip on the edge of the driver's bench and nodded, hoping the man would keep talking. Anything was better than thinking about how much he wanted to go home.

“There's nothing a horse hates more than deep mud.” Mr. Cole shook the reins. “Unless it's wading belly-deep in snowdrifts. I had a team once that plunged into a deep drift, then stopped dead. Not even the whip could convince them that the only way out was to keep wading.”

“What happened?” Hadyn asked, feeling every bump in the road through the hard driver's bench.

“Got dark. All six of those horses froze solid that night.”

Hadyn looked at the man's profile. There was no trace of a smile, or any other sign that he was joking. “Really?”

Mr. Cole turned to face him. “We broke them up
with hammers and ice picks and brought them back down to the livery.” Hadyn stared, then shook his head. Mr. Cole burst out laughing. “You aren't near as easy as most,” he assured Hadyn. “Some of the Easterners believe every word I say, no matter how big a lie I make up.”

Hadyn didn't say anything. He kept his eyes on the road ahead. Mr. Cole chuckled to himself, then fell silent, too. At the top of the rise, the road made a sharp, hairpin turn. The wagon swayed so close to the edge that Hadyn held his breath.

Mr. Cole was intent on his driving. The road rose steadily upward and Hadyn sat rigidly still. Two summers before, he had ridden in a canvas-topped wagon sandwiched in between six adult travelers. He had been able to see breathtaking glimpses of the mountains and the sky from beneath the wagon cover—but this was different.

Hadyn swallowed and looked down the steep drop on his side of the wagon. If the horses shied, if the wagon tilted and went over, they would tumble a thousand feet to the creek at the bottom of the slope.

“Do me a favor, son?”

Hadyn glanced at Mr. Cole. “What?”

“It's easy enough. I need you to sit over that rear axle, will you? A little weight can help keep us from skidding.”

Hadyn looked into Mr. Cole's face for a long moment.

“Go on back, son. I wouldn't joke about a thing like this. I usually load a bag or two of sand, but I forgot.”

Hadyn stood up and swung one leg over the driver's bench, straddling it awkwardly for a few seconds before he managed to bring his other foot over. He hesitated, then took two more steps, bent over in a half crouch. The wagon heaved, jerking over a rut as he sat down.

Mr. Cole grinned at him. “Thank you, son. Just holler if you need anything.”

Hadyn nodded, then looked aside so that Mr. Cole would watch the road in front of them. It was getting steeper and steeper. The horses slowed, blowing out great clouds of steam as they labored upward. At the next hairpin turn, Hadyn nearly cried out. The road switchbacked so tightly he was sure the wagon couldn't make it.

“Have to maneuver on this one,” Mr. Cole said, and pulled the horses to a stop.

Hadyn stared out over the wagon gate as the team began to back up. At first, Hadyn was amazed to see how far above the town they had come. Then, as the wagon angled to the side and he could see down into the valley floor so far below, he was uneasy. Inch by inch the wagon kept creaking backward, rolling from one deep rut into another, then lurching free. The edge of the road seemed to disappear beneath the wagon, leaving nothing but air between Hadyn and a killing fall.

Hadyn took in a quick breath. “Mr. Cole?”

“Yes, son? You need something?”

“Can't you see how close we are to the—”

“Speak up, son,” Mr. Cole said over his shoulder. “I can't quite hear you.”

“Stop!” Hadyn nearly screamed. He stared, transfixed, at the curve of the stream far, far below. The wagon bed was slanted and the drop seemed to pull him toward it.

“The wagon hasn't moved for a full minute, son,” Mr. Cole said quietly, and Hadyn heard him chuckle.

“That's why you really wanted me back here, isn't it?” Hadyn demanded. “To scare the pants off me?”

Mr. Cole turned around. “Now, why would I want
to play a trick on a nice, mannerly boy like yourself?”

Hadyn stood up and walked to the front of the wagon, fighting the sickening pull of the precipice behind him. He clambered over the driver's bench and sat down, facing front. His stomach subsided and he felt himself beginning to calm down.

“Ready, son?”

Hadyn nodded, refusing to look at or speak to Mr. Cole.

“I charge double if you can't take a joke.”

Hadyn kept his eyes fixed on the road, ignoring Mr. Cole's muffled laughter.

“Don't you worry. I'll have you to Cleaves before you know it.”

“Take your time,” Hadyn said. “I'm in no hurry.”

Maggie sat at the kitchen table. She rolled her eyes as she listened to Hadyn describe his wagon ride up the mountain one more time. He seemed to think he was the first one ever to brave the Lyons road. And his story kept changing. The day before, walking back to the ranch from Cleave's store, Hadyn had sounded scared and angry. At dinner last night, nothing had bothered him much. Now, as they sat eating breakfast, he was laughing about how the wagon had almost gone off the edge.

“Maggie, finish your plate,” her mother said.

“And a fine meal it is, too, Aunt Fiona,” Hadyn said, smiling.

Maggie tried to keep the look of disgust off her
face. Hadyn had been polite and complimentary to her parents—in other words, completely insincere—since he'd arrived. And both her mother and father seemed to be taken in by his act. How could they not see what he was really like? He had complained about having to sleep on the cot in the storeroom, groused about using the outhouse, and whined about carrying in firewood. He was worse than the finicky New York debutante who had come with her parents the summer before. At least she had
tried
to enjoy herself.

Maggie glanced at her father. He was folding his napkin, scraping back his chair. “I think I'll ride the north pasture and check the cattle. I want to break the ice on the creek up there if it's frozen over.”

“Can I go, Papa?” Maggie asked, crossing her fingers beneath the table.

Her father shook his head. “Hadyn just got here yesterday. Surely you want to stay and visit with him.”

Maggie made a face, and her father frowned. It was a fierce look and she knew it well. She immediately smoothed her own expression. “I just thought you might need help.”

“Your mother might, since you are kind enough
to offer.” He leaned close to whisper in her ear. “And you might change out of those old work trousers into your blue wrapper. Young ladies wear dresses.” He kissed her nose, then got his jacket off the coatrack and jammed his hat down firmly over his ears. He winked as he closed the door shut behind himself.

Maggie's mother smiled. “There are walnuts to crack. Perhaps you two can do that while you talk.”

Maggie averted her eyes as she got up quickly to help clear the table. Hadyn waited, his chair pushed back, an expression of pleasant patience on his face.

Maggie's mother bustled back and forth, bringing out a basket of nuts once the table was clean. “Here are hammers and the nutpicks,” she said, laying them down. “Keep the mess off the floor, you two.” She set out an empty basket for the shells and a clean bowl for the nutmeats.

Maggie sat down opposite Hadyn. She picked up one of the hammers. It was small, the perfect size for nut cracking; her grandmother had given it to her mother years before. Without looking at Hadyn, she went to work. She broke open five walnuts, then set down the hammer and reached for the slender steel pick.

“We have servants to do this at home.”

Maggie flashed Hadyn a false smile. “You should have stayed there, then.” She pried a walnut-half free of its shell and dropped it into the bowl.

After a long time, Hadyn began cracking walnuts, too. To avoid looking at him, Maggie glanced out the windows every time she raised her eyes. Twice, the sun dimmed as clouds chased across the sky.

Maggie's mother finished up in the kitchen and came back out. She settled into a chair by the fire and opened her sewing basket, then pulled out the tablecloth she had been working on since Christmas. It was cream-colored linen. The intricate embroidery was all in gray, vines and leaves bordering the edge. Maggie got up to stoke the fire so her mother wouldn't have to. When she came back, Hadyn was chewing. She glared at him, but he ignored her.

“Fiona!”

Maggie's whole body reacted to her father's anguished shout. She jumped up from her chair, breathless and afraid. Her mother was already at the door, flinging it open, the linen tablecloth on the floor where she had dropped it.

“Joseph! Oh, God!”

Maggie followed her mother onto the porch. Her heart froze when she saw the blood on her father's shirt, the unnatural angle of his right arm.

“It's bad, Fiona.” Maggie heard the pain in her father's voice. Her mother whirled around.

“Maggie, hitch up the team. Hadyn, help her.”

Maggie stood for a second, watching her father as he struggled up the steps, hunched over his bleeding arm.

“Maggie!” her mother snapped. “There'll be barely enough daylight to get down to Lyons as it is! Hadyn, move along!”

Maggie ran toward the barn, hearing Hadyn's footsteps behind her. Her hands were trembling as she got the harness from its hook. “The two bays in the first stall,” she shouted at her cousin. “Here!” She threw two lead ropes at him. “The one with the blaze will kick you if he gets the chance.” She made sure Hadyn was headed in the right direction, then turned her attention back to the harness. By the time he led the horses out, she had everything laid out over the corral fence near the wagon.

Maggie harnessed the blazed gelding first. He was restless, and Hadyn had a hard time holding
him still. The mare was easy. Once the team was hitched, Maggie got up onto the wooden bench, her knees shaking as she grabbed at the reins. Ignoring Hadyn's shouts as he jumped out of her way, she whipped the team into a trot and crossed the yard, hollering at the top of her lungs. The gelding reared as she jerked the horses to a halt.

Maggie's parents came out of the cabin. Her mother put two blankets and an extra overcoat in the wagon, then ran back inside. Her father looked as pale as ivory as he struggled up onto the driver's bench. “Maggie. There's a cow with a new calf up there. Bring them down or that cat will smell the birth blood and get the baby tonight. And find my mare. She spooked after she threw me. Be careful.”

“Don't worry, Papa.”

Maggie's mother emerged carrying a covered basket. “I'll get word back to you. We'll be home as soon as we can.” She hugged Maggie, then released her. “Hadyn, you listen to Maggie and help any way you can, you hear?”

Standing numbly on the porch, Maggie watched as the wagon rolled over the patchy snow, wincing when she saw it buck and jolt across the ruts at the
end of the ranch road. She saw her mother reach out to steady her father, then the wagon rounded the corner and was gone, hidden by the pines.