A Grand Teton Sleigh Ride: Four Generations of Wyoming Ranchers Celebrate Love at Christmas (11 page)

Maybe he did have a better chance than her to win. If the mutterer somewhere behind her shared the same sentiment as others in the room, it shouldn’t surprise her.

Emily adjusted her hat with her free hand, the other clutching her few words of address to the townspeople.

After welcoming the assembled group, the mayor called for all interested in possibly running for office to raise his—or her—hand. A smattering of hands rose, some reluctantly.

The apathy of some in the crowd galled Emily. Everyone had complaints, but not everyone wanted to do something about them.

“Your turn soon,” Pa whispered in her ear. “You’ll do fine. Let the naysayers speak what they will.”

She nodded. Someone was standing, speaking about city improvements. Emily tried to listen as best she could, all the while tumbling her own words over inside her mind.

“Miss Emily Covington,” someone barked.

She’d never liked giving speeches in school, or standing before the class to spell. This was five thousand times worse. She recalled her mother’s coaching on how to stand and cross the room like a lady. She wanted to glance in Mother’s direction but thought better of it.

Her boots echoed on the plank floor as she stepped toward the makeshift podium. Once she reached it, she clung to it after setting her paper down in front of her.

The faces in the room blurred, then three came into focus: Pa, Mother—and Will. He gave her a slow nod.

“Good evening, good people of Jackson.” She paused. She’d just said
good
twice in the same sentence. No turning back now.

“I’m Emily Covington, and I’ve lived here my entire life. I’ve watched Jackson grow from the time I was a little girl. While our town has made some progress and advancements, I do believe there are areas in which we can improve.”

Someone snorted—or was that a cough?

Another nod from Will.

“Several things distress me, as I’m sure they distress some of my fellow residents. Chief of which, we need to improve the condition of our city’s streets. As you know, with the weather we have, snow, sleet, freeze and thaw, we end up with mud and pools of water. This makes it very difficult—and unhealthy in warmer temperatures—for people to walk along the streets. Standing water can cause illness for man and beast alike.”

“… science class …” Someone’s whisper drifted across the room.

She straightened her shoulders and stood a little taller. Mother gave an encouraging response with her own posture.

“We also want to go forward with a designated area for dumping refuse and litter, which does not include vacant lots in town. We want Jackson to be an example to cities in the East of how a western town can be run. The elbow room around here is decreasing, as my father, one of the early settlers here in Jackson, likes to say. We have a choice now to improve things, once and for all—if we work together. It won’t be easy, but I’m confident we can be successful. I thank you in advance for your vote.”

There. Her voice hadn’t quavered, and she’d found a voice she didn’t know she had. Applause rippled across the room, not from everyone but enough for the sound to buoy her spirits as she stepped back toward her seat.

“And now, from William Adams, Junior.”

Emily sank onto the seat she’d vacated moments before. Mother patted her hand. She’d done well. The rest was up to the Lord’s will and the votes of Jackson’s residents in the spring.

Part of her wanted to vanish down some back trail with her dogs, but she scanned what she could of the room while Will moved to stand at the podium. These were her people, the good and the bad of them, and those in the middle.

Will thought Emily had done a fine enough job speaking, but that didn’t mean she’d gain the favor of the voters. Being well spoken always helped, and Emily was far from the simpering female type. In fact, he considered her a formidable young woman.

He appreciated the sight of her, sitting mere footsteps away in the front row. A nicer dress than her usual Sunday-go-to-meeting, this one was a smoky-blue color with an off-white collar and sleeve cuffs, and lace on the bodice to match. Her hair, primly pinned up as elegantly as any eastern woman’s hair, was capped by a hat that matched the blue in her dress.

Just by looking at her, he forgot what he’d meant to say. He, who’d won awards for his diction and speaking in college and law school, couldn’t find the words.

Now she quirked half a smile at him. He wouldn’t fall prey to the distraction of her wiles. He tried to remember the trousers and fur overcoat she’d worn the other evening in the snowstorm, her hair sticking out from under her hat and hanging down in two long braids.

“My … my name is William Adams, Junior, and I’m honored to have the opportunity to set out my shingle for business back in the town I remembered so well from my younger years.” He went on to outline his education, his experience working in cities back East, and several of the ideas he planned to bring to the city, should he run for council.

Despite the apathy he’d sensed from talking to a few others at the general store earlier that day, he knew, with the right motivation and leadership, the city could clean up its act and progress even more.

He shifted his arm and paper rustled inside his suit-coat pocket, a letter from Mother he’d picked up that afternoon. He’d mull its contents later, but he couldn’t help but wonder now.

Someone coughed beside him, the mayor. Will’s voice drifted off as he tried to reclaim his distracted thoughts. But all was not lost. The town would have another meeting not long before the election, and he’d have another chance to speak. In the meantime, he’d focus on doing the best job he could at helping the folks with their legal matters.

“So, I thank you for your consideration and your time this evening.”

Applause, louder than that given for Emily, rang out in the schoolhouse.

Will grinned as he approached his seat, and he waved to the crowd before sitting down again. More applause. A man could get used to this.

One by one, the present candidates spoke their piece, and then the mayor took his spot behind the podium again.

“Now, the election’s a ways off, but if anyone else wants to step up, now would be a good time to do so.”

After a few more final words, the mayor dismissed the group for the evening. Emily moved from her place on the front row and stood before Will at the corner bench.

“Well said, Mr. Adams.” She extended her gloved hand toward him, which he shook.

“Likewise, Miss Covington.”

“Hold it, right there. I’m taking a photograph for the newspaper.” Stan Bullock motioned to the two of them. “Shaking hands, as you were. There. That’s good. May the best man—or woman—win.”

“We’ll see, won’t we, Mr. Adams?” Emily’s eyes sparkled as she spoke, then she smiled for the camera while the two of them shook hands again.

“We shall, Miss Covington.” Will paused, removing the envelope from his pocket. The reporter scurried off to another cluster of townspeople.

“Oh, what’s that?” She studied the envelope in his hand.

“A letter from my mother. She wants me to leave Jackson. She thinks I’ve made a mistake in coming here.”

“Do you think so?”

“No, I don’t. I haven’t felt quite at home anywhere else.”

“Good. I like having you here again. It … it wasn’t the same here without you.” Her cheeks took on a deep red hue.

He nodded. He didn’t dare tell her that his mother said his former fiancée was asking about him—regularly.

… Amelia has been asking about you, wondering when you’ll come to your senses and return to St. Louis. I told her I simply did not know. I hope and pray you’ll see your place is here, not in that wild and Godless place
.

I remain always
,
Your loving mother

P.S. There is still time for you to take the train back and be here for Christmas
.

C
hristmas.

Will smiled and folded the letter, shaking his head as he did so. Christmas was the furthest thing from his mind at the moment. Not that he didn’t want to celebrate. There wasn’t much hubbub here, no displays in shop windows like he’d seen on a visit to New York City while in law school. The Jackson General Store carried a few gift-type items, but the prices on some items made shopping a bit prohibitive at times, as anything and everything had to be literally carted over the pass from Idaho.

He remembered his favorite Christmas present from the old days, as he used to call them. His father had hand carved a prancing horse from a single piece of mountain ash, had buffed and oiled the wood until it glowed. The horse, a handmade woolen scarf from his mother, and a small sack of candy were his gifts that year. The last Christmas with his father.

Mother would be smiling if she knew his thoughts. He wanted the familiar, to look out the window and see the same landscape from his memories. But Jackson had changed, and so had he.

Yes, it was a wild place, the stuff of legend. Godless? No. He knew the scriptures.
Where can I go from Your spirit? Or where can I flee from Your presence? If I ascend into heaven, You are there; if I make my bed in hell, behold, You are there
.

Jackson had its rough-and-tumble reputation, but there were still good people here, and he had a chance to make a difference among them. Amelia had begged him to stay in St. Louis, but when he’d heard her and her father planning out the next half century of his life, he couldn’t breathe. The city’s buildings, too, closed in around him. Then came the arguments, him not wanting to stay and her refusing to consider the idea of moving west. He’d broken the engagement, given notice at the firm, emptied his account of his savings, and headed west to Jackson.

He’d breathed easier since.

The afternoon shadows had grown longer the closer the days slid toward December. He set the letter on his desk and stepped toward the window of the tiny one-room office. The door behind him led to a makeshift bedroom. He found the space a convenient spot to rent until his practice grew.

He gazed out the window at Jackson’s traffic, such as it was. People trying to get business done before sundown. He’d had one client today, someone wanting to prepare a will, Edgar Banks.

The start of the process itself had taken perhaps an hour, but then Edgar had remained, talking for almost an hour more. He’d known Will’s father, and Will allowed his own curiosity to be satisfied. In fact, Edgar had been the one to buy the homestead from his mother.

A familiar figure, riding a lanky chestnut astride, came into view. Emily Covington. He wondered what had brought her to town this fine afternoon. Maybe she was just like the rest of the Jackson folk, enjoying a sunny day as an excuse to leave the house.

He smiled as she kept her seat while keeping the horse reined in. A lesser rider would have been thrown. The chestnut gave a kick with its hind legs then surged forward. Emily’s lips moved. Her hat slipped from her head and dangled from a cord, slapping against her shoulders.

As if satisfied with himself, the chestnut tossed his head and continued at a trot along the street, mud flinging up from its hooves. Emily glanced in Will’s direction then maneuvered the horse to his side of the street and stopped at the hitching rail.

She dismounted then tied the lead to the post. Before leaving the street, she gave the horse a pat on the nose. Then she scaled the steps to the office door where Will had hung a simple hand-painted sign: W
ILLIAM
A
DAMS
, J
R
. A
TTORNEY AT
L
AW.

He answered the door after her soft knock.

“Miss Covington. Please, come in.” Will took a step back so Emily could enter the office.

“Thank you.” She wore trousers, a long overcoat, and a brown hat that dangled down her back. Her dark hair hung in a long braid, several shades darker than her boots.

Will tried not to stare; it wasn’t the first time he’d seen a woman in trousers, but after years of city life, he couldn’t help but take in the sight of her. Wild, western. Lovely, almost as lovely as she’d appeared the evening of the town forum.

“So, what brings you to town today?”

“Errands at the general store for Mother. And Pa, too. I’m on my way to pick up the mail; Pa asked that I stop in and see if you can come to the house to help him with some paperwork. He didn’t say exactly what but wants to know if you can come a week from Friday.”

“I can do that. Morning, or afternoon?”

“Afternoon, if possible. Perhaps around two o’clock or so?”

“I can put that on my schedule.” He moved to his desk. Not that his schedule was full, by any means, but keeping a calendar would be a good habit as his practice grew.

“Good. Pa will be glad about that.”

“I’m glad to help him. I should say that’s some young colt you were riding in on today.”

“It’s a filly; we call her Cinnamon. She’s four, still a bit green. But I wanted to give her a ride out to town. She’s sassy, but she’s learning fast.” Emily went to the window and looked down toward the street.

He joined her at the window. Cinnamon stood at the hitching rail, occasionally stomping one hoof or giving a swish of her tail.