Tamera Alexander - [Timber Ridge Reflections 01] (46 page)

Turner jerked and his grip on her went slack. She looked over at him. His eyes were wide, his mouth frozen in surprise. Blood issued from a hole in his chest. Choking, she pried his hand from her hair and quickly moved away. Disbelief whitened his face as he staggered back. And plunged into the ravine.

Only then did she hear the report of the Whitworth rifle.

42

T
hey’s ready for the photograph, Miz Westbrook. And gettin’ a mite impatient too, if you askin’ me.”

“Thank you, Josiah. I’ve almost got things ready.” Focusing the image, Elizabeth wished there were a way to capture the golden brilliance of aspen and the burnished red of maples skirting the Maroon Bells in the distance. Not certain yet which season would prove to be her favorite in the Rockies, she had a feeling it would end up being autumn.

She knew the science behind the leaves changing colors as the trees went dormant, “dying” for a season, but the transformation represented a time of reflection for her. A time when that which was once hidden was laid bare, and she couldn’t help but wonder if that had been part of God’s design in this particular season—giving people a chance to see the intricacy of His design. That’s what He’d done with her in recent months. He’d stripped away, layer by layer, until He’d shown her what was most important.

She bent to peer through the glass viewer again. Residents of Timber Ridge had turned out en masse for the dedication of the new school. Now all they needed was a teacher. James had placed newspaper advertisements for interested parties in all the major cities back east, and the town council was currently accepting applications.

It had taken some time, but she’d finally penned the details of that day on the cliff with Turner. Though she had dreaded doing it, the process turned out to be cleansing, and she thought she’d laid that memory, and that man, to rest. Yet she wasn’t naïve enough to think she would never be bothered by it again—she knew about Daniel’s dreams.

“That’s a mighty nice bustle on that dress, ma’am.”

She felt a bold hand on the small of her back and slowly straightened. She’d worn this dress—her favorite, the red with the black cummerbund—for him, remembering how he’d commented on it in the store when she’d first arrived in Timber Ridge. “Mr. Ranslett, as a Southern gentleman, you really ought not to be looking at my bustle, sir.”

A scoundrel-worthy smile tipped his mouth. “I reckon you’re right, but tell me now . . . just why are you wearing such a thing if not to attract a little more attention to it?”

She bit her lip to keep from smiling. “Don’t you have someplace you’re supposed to be?”

He tipped his hat and turned to go, but not before she felt a swift tug on her backside. That man . . . She bent again to peer through the camera’s lens only to see him walk straight into her line of vision, along with Beau.

Daniel took a place beside Rachel and her boys. Not too close. Mitchell and Kurt smiled up at him, but Rachel did not. Her face showed her struggle, though Elizabeth guessed she tried hard to hide it. Rachel was, after all, a proper Southern belle. Her hands on her sons’ shoulders, she moved away from Daniel, ever so slightly. No one else seemed to notice, but Elizabeth did. And so did he.

Seeing Josiah waiting, Elizabeth motioned for those occupying the left side of the lens to scrunch closer. The Tuckers and their children scooted in, and she noted Rand Brookston standing by them. That handsome young doctor had worked a miracle for her, and it seemed he was working one for little Davy too.

The afternoon she’d walked into her room at the boardinghouse and discovered her equipment destroyed, she thought her dreams had been destroyed as well. What she hadn’t known then was that God loved her enough to intervene in her dream—to shatter it, to shatter
her
—only so He could put her back together and give her an even bigger, better dream.
His
dream for her life.

She’d thought her coming to the Colorado Territory had been for her career. And who knew, maybe it would still turn out that way, in part. But her real passion lay with Daniel Ranslett in a shared dream—one they hoped would gain the attention of Congress.

The photograph she’d taken, the one James had hoped would reveal a clue about Travis Coulter’s murder, had revealed nothing. But in the end it didn’t matter. Going on a tip from the letter she’d read, the one Turner had destroyed, James traveled to New York and tracked the sale of Coulter’s pistol to a gun buyer there, who had acquired it from an unsuspecting employee at Brooklyn Land Development. Coulter had made a deal with Turner to sell his land to the New York–based company, but apparently changed his mind at the last minute. And the decision cost him his life. Turner had also had a contact inside the Denver Commissioner’s Office who was going to swing the bid in the auction to his favor. He would’ve gotten away with murder, if not for her curiosity.

Daniel smiled at her through the camera lens, and she knew it was time. Certain the image was focused, she carefully slid the protective plate holder into place and removed the slide. She reached for the lens cap.

“I know what’s to do now, ma’am, so you just run on.”

She pulled her hand back. “I’m sure you do, Josiah. You’re a quick learner, and the best assistant I’ve ever had. But are you sure you’ll know how long to—”

“Trust me, ma’am.” He gestured. “Now you just get on over there on that side for once.”

She hesitated, then did as he bade.

Daniel held out his hand. “You’re the loveliest thing I’ve ever seen, Elizabeth Westbrook, and I have a spot for you right here beside me.” He pulled her close. Kurt and Mitchell smiled from where they stood, and she reached over and tousled their little red heads. Wordlessly, she reached behind her for Rachel’s hand. Rachel gripped hers tight and held on.

“All right, everybody, stop all that talkin’ and hold them smiles.”

Everyone grew quiet except for a stifled giggle here and there throughout the crowd.

Josiah removed the brass cap from the lens, and Elizabeth was certain she saw his lower lip tremble before he began. “ ‘Four score and seven years ago our fathers brought forth upon this continent a new nation, conceived in liberty and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal . . .’ ”

E
PILOGUE

S
ENATE
C
HAMBER
N
ORTH
W
ING OF THE
U
NITED
S
TATES
C
APITOL
F
RIDAY,
J
ANUARY
21, 1876

E
lizabeth reached for Daniel, seated beside her. His hand was warm and large and rough, and enveloped hers completely. “Are you ready?” she whispered.

He stroked the underside of her wrist with his thumb. “Thanks to you . . . I am.”

She looked around the chamber. Nearly a year had passed since she’d been in this room, and it was every bit as resplendent now as then but felt far more intimidating to her today.

People filled the hall and conversation rose to a hum. Every gallery ticket was spoken for, the clerk had told her. Men occupied every elected seat. But someday—she held hope—women would fill these seats as well. Perhaps in her lifetime. She thought of the days ahead, then just as quickly thought of those most recently past.

She and Daniel had married at his family plantation in Franklin in early December, then had spent the following weeks there in the family home where he’d grown up. They’d walked the now peaceful fields where Benjamin and so many others had died years ago. It was hallowed ground beneath their feet, and as they’d traced those paths—all the way from his home to nearby Carnton Plantation, where so many were buried—they’d spoken in hushed tones, when they’d spoken at all.

The pound of a gavel from the front of the chamber drew everyone’s attention, and everyone took their places. Gradually, the din of conversation fell away.

“The Senate will now come to order.” The president of the Senate presided from the central dais, with the assistant secretary, the journal clerk, parliamentarian, and legislative clerk on the tier below him. “On this twenty-first day of January, in the year of our Lord eighteen hundred and seventy-six, we yield the floor to Senator Garrett Eisenhower Westbrook, of the grand state of Maryland.”

Elizabeth looked on as the president of the Senate nodded in distinguished fashion to her father, who made his way to the podium, and she could not have been prouder. Not only of him but of what he was about to do.

Her father looked out over the crowd. “President of the Senate, distinguished colleagues, and honored guests . . .” He found her in the audience and a look of pleasure moved across his face. “I am present before you today to propose a bill designed to protect one of our nation’s grandest vistas. Being distributed to each of you now”—he nodded to clerks at the side, and Elizabeth smiled as Daniel squeezed her hand—“is a gold-embossed volume that contains nine of the finest photographs on record of the untamed splendor of the Colorado Territory and the sacred Ute tribal lands of Mesa Verde. These photographs were captured by one of the—” He stopped and cleared his throat. “By one of the most gifted and . . . extraordinary photographers of our day, Mrs. Elizabeth Westbrook Ranslett.”

Elizabeth’s throat swelled with tears, and she was grateful she didn’t have to make a presentation today.

“These bound volumes are presented to each of you as a gift in the hope that you will see for yourselves the magnificence and unequaled grandeur of this nation’s Rocky Mountains.”

The creak of fresh bindings filled the chamber, and Elizabeth leaned forward in her chair to catch the senators’ expressions. Collective awe and amazement accompanied their hushed whispers, and an unequaled depth of pride swept through her for Daniel and his accomplishment—for
their
accomplishment.

“I am proud to introduce to you a gentleman,” her father continued, “whose acquaintance I am most pleased to have made at this particular point in my life.”

She heard Daniel’s deep breath beside her and felt her own chest rise and fall.
Thank you, Father, that these two men, so dear to me, didn’t cross paths at an earlier and more fateful time in history.

“A gentleman who has dedicated himself to the preservation of these lands, and who has written to many of us in this very room over the past seven years. It is with deep regret that I tell you he never received a single reply. And as much as many of us would like to cast that blame on our illustrious Postmaster General . . .” Laughter filled the chamber. “The blame is laid at my feet . . . and yours.” The laughter slowly faded. “Only now are we recognizing the significance of his selfless endeavor.” Her father nodded in their direction, their signal. “Mr. Daniel Wayne Ranslett is here today to tell us about this land and the magnificent cliff dwellings you see in the pages before you. . . .”

Daniel leaned close. “We made that journey together, Elizabeth.” Amid applause from the chamber, he rose, inviting her to stand with him. “We’re going to make this one together too.”

Elizabeth paused outside of Rachel’s barn, and Daniel took her hand. “You ready?”

Gripping her reticule, she nodded and blew out a breath. “I think so.”

Josiah looked up when they walked in. He laid aside the cloth in his hand and stepped back from the saddle on the workbench. Elizabeth first read surprise in his expression, then endearment, and was certain she’d never forget how he grabbed them both in a huge bear hug, his arms nearly wrapping around them both.

“Welcome home, Mr. and Missus Ranslett. I got your letters while you’s gone.” His grin stretched wide and was true to the man he was. “Them letters was just like sittin’ round the fire, talkin’ to you both. ’Cept your letters didn’t go on as long as you do in person, Missus Ranslett.”

She nudged him in the arm. “Plainspoken truth . . . I’ve missed that from you.”

“There ain’t no other kind, and I reckon I’s too old now to change.” He dipped his head. “Sure is good to have you back, the both of you. This place ain’t been the same with you gone.”

Daniel motioned to a bench and stool. “Can we sit for a minute, Josiah, and talk?”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Ranslett, sure we can. I likes to hear all about your trip. Missus Ranslett told me in her letters that you done real good in Washington ’fore all them important white men.”

Daniel smiled, settling on the bench beside her. “They were more impressed with Elizabeth’s photographs than they were with me. Which is as it should be.”

She scoffed. “That’s not true. Daniel did a marvelous job. I was so proud of him.” She briefly described that day, giving Josiah the high points.

“That sounds real fine, ma’am. Maybe someday, sir”—he turned to Daniel—“you might give me that speech you gave that mornin’. I sure like to hear it.”

“Uncle Daniel—” Mitchell appeared in the doorway. “Uncle James wants to know if you can help him with something for a minute.”

“I’ll be right there.” Daniel turned back. “I kept a copy of the speech for you. We’ll read it together after dinner tonight.” Slowly, he stood and extended his hand. “I’d consider it an honor . . .
Josiah
.”