Twin Blessings and Toward Home: Twin Blessings / Toward Home

Chapter Four

“So how did you like a taste of Whoop Up Country?” Sandra asked as they left the stockaded fort known as Farwell’s Trading Post.

“Hot,” Bethany said, fanning herself with a brochure.

“Can you imagine what it was like in those days when no one had air-conditioning?” Sandra asked with a laugh. She lifted her hair from her damp neck, wishing she had worn it up.

“You girls would have roasted in those long dresses they had to wear in those days,” Logan added.

The girls groaned in sympathy.

“Men didn’t have it a whole lot better,” Sandra added, glancing at Logan’s short-sleeved shirt. “You look a lot cooler than Farwell, owner of the trading post. Or how about those poor Mounties in their red serge. Hot, hot, hot.”

Heat waves shimmered from the ground, attesting to how warm it really was. The short grass crunched under their feet as they walked toward the tour bus.

“I can’t imagine how the grass even grows here, it’s so warm.” Brittany poked the ground with her toe.

“This grass is very high in protein,” Sandra explained. “The buffalo survived quite nicely on it. That’s how Fort Benton, in Montana, got started. It was a fur and buffalo robe trading post stuck in the middle of buffalo country. From Fort Benton, traders for both furs and whiskey ended up taking the Whoop Up Trail into Canada where there was nothing but trouble. No law, no rules. People did what they wanted.”

“So how did that stop?” Bethany asked.

Sandra paused, looking at the hills. So peaceful, it was hard to believe that at one time the fear-filled cries of Lakota Indians rang through these hills. As she retold the story of the Cypress Hills Massacre, she tried to inject a feeling of humanity—putting a human face to the story—into what was often mere facts and history. She could feel the girls looking first at her, then at the hills. Even Logan listened intently as she spoke.

The silence that followed her story told her she had done her job.

“After the massacre the Canadian government sent the Northwest Mounted Police, later known as the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, to this area. They started out from Manitoba and ended up in Fort Benton to replenish their supplies and get some information on the massacre. When they came to the place Fort Macleod is now, the whiskey traders had taken off. Knew the Mounties were coming.” Sandra winked at Brittany, relieving the heavy atmosphere her sad story had created. “Knew the Mounties always get their man.”

She answered a few more questions the girls had, trying each time to work in some pertinent information. She knew that history told was one thing but history experienced meant much more.

She also knew that history, even when told in an entertaining manner, was only interesting for a short period of time.

“I guess we should head back to the main fort now,” she said, noticing the shuttle bus pulling into the parking lot.

Bethany and Brittany hurried toward it.

“Hey, girls. Slow down,” Logan called, but the girls didn’t hear. Or pretended not to.

“Relax, Uncle Logan,” Sandra said with a grin at how protective he was. “They’re not going anywhere we aren’t.”

“Maybe, but it’s still too hot to run.”

Sandra frowned. “My goodness, Logan, they won’t melt. From what they told me, they’ve been in warmer climates than this.”

Logan’s gaze sliced sideways, then back. “They told you about their parents?”

“Just a little.”

She waited to hear something, anything, more, but he didn’t offer any information. Merely stepped aside so Sandra could get on the bus.

Without looking at Logan, Sandra walked to an empty seat directly behind the girls and sat down. To her surprise, Logan sat beside her.

Brittany and Bethany glanced back and immediately moved to the front, but Logan stayed where he was.

She wanted to ask him more about the girls’ parents but didn’t think that he would be very forthcoming.

But with each lurch of the bus, Sandra grew more self-conscious, more aware of him sitting silently beside her. He said nothing, did nothing, but Sandra felt every time his elbow brushed hers, each time a hole in the road threw her against him.

She pulled herself closer to the side of the bus and away from him, turning to stare out the window.

The bus stopped, and the girls were the first ones out. By the time Logan and Sandra got out, the girls were waiting for them, full of good cheer. “Can we have some ice cream, Uncle Logan?” Bethany asked, tipping her head coyly. “Pretty please?”

Logan was already digging in his pocket. He pulled out a bill. He glanced sidelong at Sandra, his dark brows pulled together in a light frown. “These girls have an insatiable appetite for ice cream. Do you want one?”

Sandra shook her head. “No, thanks.”

“I’ll wait out here for you then,” Logan said, handing the bill to the girls. “And I expect to see the change.”

Brittany and Bethany flashed him demure smiles, shared a grin and ran into the building.

Without looking at Logan, Sandra turned and walked up the hill overlooking the valley, then sat down, determined to put some space between her and Logan.

But to her surprise, Logan followed her and sat beside her. She pulled her knees up, wrapping her arms around them. She resented the awkwardness he created in her, and she tried not to let it show.

The best defense is offense, she thought.

“So, you aren’t chafing to get back to your work,” she said, her heightened reaction to him giving her voice an unexpected bite.

Logan leaned back, resting his weight on his elbows. He looked over the valley below them. He seemed surprisingly at ease.

“I can do this,” he said, tucking his chin on his chest. “Even though I do need to get back to work.”

“Ah, yes. Uncle Logan the upwardly mobile man.” Sandra couldn’t stop the little gibe. It seemed better to put him on the defensive rather than to look at him and notice the faint wave to his hair, how it curled over his ears.

The way his sudden smile eased the harsh line of his features.

“Do you ever run out of smart remarks?” he asked.

“I think life is too serious to be taken seriously,” she replied.

Logan let out a short laugh. But he didn’t answer her question.

Note to self, she thought, biting her lip. No more smart comments. At least not to Logan Napier.

She wasn’t usually this flip. Usually she could carry on a normal, intelligent conversation, but Logan’s calm self-possession touched a nerve.

At any rate, she had better learn to put a curb on her tongue if she wanted to stay in Logan’s good graces and keep this job.

She looked over the sweep of the valley. The hills here were softened, smoothed by the wind that swept across the open plains of Montana and Saskatchewan and sifted around this oasis in the prairie. She sighed lightly, waiting for the utter peace of the place to slowly soothe the tension she felt sitting beside Logan. But try as she might, she couldn’t ignore his strong presence.

And he seemed content to just sit, saying nothing.

Once again, his silence unnerved her. In spite of her resolution, she sought to find something, anything to ease the discomfort he created.

“So how long have the girls been living with you?” she asked, resting her chin on her knees.

Logan plucked a blade of grass, twirling it between his fingers. “About a year and a half.”

“Did they come right after their parents died?”

Logan nodded, still looking away.

“That must have been difficult,” she said quietly.

“It was. At first. I think kids grieve differently than adults do. They dive in deep and hard, but they come out of it quicker. Their sadness is different….” Logan stopped, twirling the grass faster.

“Different than what?” Sandra prompted.

He looked at her then. “Different than adults, I was going to say.”

“Their mother was your sister, wasn’t she?” Sandra asked, holding his steady gaze, wondering at their relationship.

“She was my only sibling. Flighty. Strange. But still my sister.”

For a moment Sandra envied him even that. “How did you get along?”

Logan pushed himself to a sitting position. “Pretty good. When I was younger we depended heavily on each other. We switched schools so many times the only person we knew in school was each other.”

“Your parents traveled that much?”

Logan laughed, but it held no humor. “Endlessly. Every few months we would pack up and be gone again. My father died a while ago, but my mother still travels a lot.”

Sandra sighed, thinking of her upbringing. “Sounds kind of neat.”

“I’m sure to you it would,” Logan said dryly. He got up, held her gaze a moment, then looked down the hill.

“Here come the girls,” he said, brushing off his pants.

And once again Sandra felt as if she had been weighed and found wanting.

And once again it bothered her.

Chapter Five

Logan watched as the girls dawdled up the hill toward them. He was about to call to them when they suddenly turned and ran to the visitors’ center. He started off after them.

“What are they doing?” he heard Sandra ask as she caught up to him.

Logan knew all too well what they were up to and decided it would be better if everything was out in the open.

“My dear nieces can’t stand the idea that I don’t currently have a girlfriend,” he said dryly, glancing at her. “They’re avoiding us because they have grand visions of playing matchmaker.”

Sandra laughed.

To his chagrin, Logan felt deflated at her reaction. “What can I say,” he said, wishing he had her quick, glib tongue. “They’re young.”

“Some day they’ll grow up, Logan Napier.”

Logan sighed. “I pray for it daily.”

“Do you?”

He turned, looking fully at her. “Yes. I do.”

Sandra’s gaze flicked sideways then back. “I remember you said that you go to church.”

“Why does that always come out with a faint note of mockery?” he asked as he reached the sidewalk at the bottom of the hill.

“Like I told you before, I’m not a church person.”

“Why not?” He stopped, turning to face her. He wanted to know more about this part of her life. After all, she was teaching his nieces.

“It’s full of hypocrites,” she said airily.

“That’s the oldest excuse in the book.”

Sandra’s dark brown eyes met his, unable to conceal the sparkle that lit at his challenge. “What book?”

“Pardon me?” Logan asked.

“What book is that the oldest excuse in? Is there a book somewhere full of excuses? And if there is, how do you know it’s the oldest one? What if it’s the newest?” Sandra threw out the questions one after the other, a smile curving her lips.

In spite of his exasperation with her, Logan laughed. “I’m not even going to start a battle of words with you,” he said. “But I will challenge your hypocrite comment. You have to admit that using that excuse is pretty lame. There are hypocrites in every organization. Where there are people, there are failings.”

Sandra cocked her head as if thinking. “Okay. I’ll concede that point. Begrudgingly,” she added, pointing a finger at him. “Don’t want to let you off too easy.”

“So why don’t you go to church?” Logan asked.

“I believe in God, Logan. Just in case that’s what you’re really wondering. I just don’t believe that church fills any need of mine. I prefer to worship God in nature.”

Logan felt a stab of disappointment. He didn’t know what he had hoped for, but her answer brushed away some faint hope he had harbored. A hope that didn’t really have anything to do with his nieces’ well-being. “But nature doesn’t tell you of the need for redemption, Sandra,” he replied quietly.

Sandra’s answer was a dismissive shrug.

Right then the girls came out of the building, pretending surprise to see Logan and Sandra.

“Let’s look at the rest of the site,” Sandra said, forestalling any recriminations or feeble explanations.

The girls followed Sandra while Logan lagged behind, listening as she explained the history of Fort Walsh.

“Later, in the nineteen forties, the RCMP purchased this site and set up Remount Ranch to breed and raise their horses. They also raised and trained the horses for the Musical Ride here.”

“I’ve heard of the Musical Ride,” Logan said. “But what exactly is it?”

“A riding display developed from traditional cavalry drills. It’s very impressive. I believe 32 horses and riders are involved.”

“We saw that,” Bethany offered. “In Texas. At a rodeo. It was awesome. Those black horses. And the riders in those neat red coats.”

Logan wasn’t surprised at that. Linda and her husband traveled enough different places, they were bound to have crossed paths at one time or another with the RCMP’s Musical Ride.

The rest of the tour went fast. To her credit, Sandra could tell when the girls’ interest waned, and would quickly move on to the next place. They walked through barracks and living quarters, then took a picture by the flagpole in the center of the fort. Logan operated the camera, smiling as Bethany and Brittany crowded right up beside Sandra.

He looked through the lens and adjusted the zoom lens, bringing the little group in closer. Sandra looked up, smiling, and Logan couldn’t suppress the tug of attraction. Sandra’s open smile suffused her entire being and made him want to laugh along with her.

He snapped the picture, recognizing Sandra’s beauty and at the same time realizing that any man would be attracted to her. And that was all he felt, he reminded himself. Just a basic recognition of her appeal. He didn’t have the time or the inclination to take anything further from there. Not with someone like Sandra.

The drive back was quiet. Both girls slept in the back seat, which meant, Logan thought with a sigh, that they would be awake and giddy for most of the evening. Looked like he wasn’t going to get much done tonight.

Sandra didn’t say much. Just looked ahead, her expression serious. Logan couldn’t help but glance at her once in a while, wondering what she was thinking.

Logan wondered if his comment about church had made the usually loquacious Sandra Bachman retreat into silence. He doubted it. Someone as self-possessed as Sandra wasn’t the kind of person to be intimidated by someone else’s opinion.

But her silence made him feel uncomfortable. As they neared Elkwater, she picked up her knapsack, fiddling with the zippers and buckles.

“Just drop me off at the gas station,” she said as he made the long turn into the town.

“Tell me where you live and I’ll drop you off,” Logan said.

“No. Please. I want to go for a walk. Maybe even a swim,” she said with a forced laugh, pushing her hair from her face.

Logan slowed and stopped at the gas station as she had requested. “Are you sure you don’t want me to bring you to your house?” he asked once again, feeling most unchivalrous.

“No. Thanks. I really want to walk.” She glanced at the girls, who were still sleeping, their cheeks flushed with the heat and the sun. “Say goodbye to the girls. Tell them I’ll see them on Monday.”

Logan nodded, bending over as Sandra got out of the van. She paused, holding on to the door, and glanced at him. “Thanks for driving us to the fort,” she said. “I had a good time.”

“You’re welcome. I learned a lot today,” he said with a quick grin. “Thanks for that.”

“Nice to be able to put my expensive education to some use,” she returned. “Have a good evening.” She turned and walked away, her skirt swaying.

Logan knew he should drive away. Knew he shouldn’t be watching Sandra, shouldn’t be allowing his basic attraction to her good looks take over his common sense.

But he had enjoyed the day with her, and even though part of him disapproved, he had to laugh at her quick tongue, her pert responses. Once again he smiled at some of the things she had said.

Then he glanced at the girls, dismayed to see Brittany awake and looking at him with frank interest.

“What are we waiting for, Uncle Logan?” she asked, her voice radiating innocence.

“Traffic,” he replied, deadpan. Then, without a second glance, he drove to their house.

Sandra pulled out her last sheet of ruby glass, setting it carefully on the light table. With a felt pen she marked the places she would cut, working with the striations and the patterns inherent in the glass.

She smiled as she envisioned how the completed lamp would look, how the light would play through it.

So far she had enough glass for one lamp and a few pieces left over for a second. She had hoped to pick up her glass shipment, still sitting in a warehouse in Medicine Hat. But she would have to wait until she got her first tutoring paycheck. It surprised her that Logan was willing to pay her more than Florence had offered. Of course, he could probably afford it, she reasoned.

She didn’t know how long the job would last, but so far she calculated that if she worked one more day, she would have enough money to pay for the glass. Three more days would pay for her car, and four more days would earn a few more groceries that would last until the lamps were finished.

A small thrill of excitement fluttered through her at the thought of completing the lamp and what the job represented. Money earned on her own and maybe, perhaps, the beginning of a new career.

For now, it looked as if she would be able to prove her father wrong, after all. Her life was finally coming to a place of her own choosing.

She pulled out the patterns for the petals of the flowers, and as she laid them on the glass, she happened to look out the window.

If she angled her head slightly, she could see the front door of the church in Elkwater. She had never attended. As she had told Logan, her preferred place of worship was up on a hill, away from other people. Alone and away from the harsh expectations she’d grown up with.

But today she caught herself looking at the church more than once as she worked. Wondered what kind of people went. Wondered if they sang any of the traditional songs that were sung in her church.

She hadn’t been to church since she left home five years ago. She had thrown off the stifling expectations of her father, and church attendance was one of them.

She’d been in Elkwater for four months, and only in the last two had she started eyeing the church.

And that was mostly because Cora, her good friend and fellow traveler, had left again.

If anyone could talk her out of going, Cora could, Sandra thought, looking at the glass she was preparing to cut. She and Cora had been through a lot together. California, Minnesota and at the end, Hornby Island and Henri Desault.

Sandra shivered. Henri was too vivid a memory still. She wouldn’t be in the financial pickle she was in if it wasn’t for Henri and his smooth talking. A consummate salesman, she thought, curling her lip in disgust. She set the pattern on the glass, tracing it with quick, decisive strokes as if trying to eradicate the memory.