amount into the feed bucket and pumped water into a trough, grateful that some previous owner had had the foresight to put a pump here as well as in the cabin. She surveyed the building and small fenced corral. It would do for now.
The morning passed swiftly, and by noon she felt reasonably satisfied about her progress. Bread dough was rising, and the food sacks and tins had all been stowed away. She eyed the sturdy broom in the corner. This afternoon she’d sweep and scrub the floor before beginning repairs on the dilapidated furniture. Somehow, she vowed, she’d make the place not only habitable, but homey.
She carried a mug of fresh coffee out onto the porch, taking a moment to soak in the glorious view. No matter the state of her cabin, she knew this panorama of meadow and mountain would nourish her soul. In the quiet she heard the trickle of the nearby stream that fed into the pond. She looked heavenward. “Charlie, do you see me? Even though this isn’t where we imagined being, for the first time since you left this earth, I sense you all around me.”
The sun warmed her as she reflected on the people who had brought her to this time and place. Her family, of course. The dear Hurlburts. Even Tate Lockwood. Beneath his all-business exterior, she sensed an innate kindness he seemed to prefer not to expose. His warnings to her suggested a protective nature, as did his act of supplying the buffalo robe. In some ways, he reminded her of her father—both of them men rearing young children alone.
Later, on hands and knees scrubbing the rough pine floor, she admitted it was going to take more than this one day to put the furniture to rights and refurbish the cabin. The windows needed cleaning, the dresser drawers had to be scoured and set out in the sun to eliminate the musty odor clinging to them and that didn’t begin to take into consideration whitewashing, filling chinks and inspecting the roof for leaks. She sat back on her heels, dried her hands on her apron and let out a deep sigh. “Work your way out,” she muttered to herself, unable in her weariness to begin to picture what “out” might look like.
Dusk came early, and with it, the drop in temperatures that had Sophie restoking the stove. After a supper of bread, sardines and applesauce, she huddled at the table and read from the book of Acts by lantern light. For the first time in her life, she could relate to the early disciples who set off for strange lands to spread the Gospel. She, too, was in a “foreign” land, dependent on herself and the kindness of strangers.
Bundled in several layers of clothing, she lay down on her pine-bough bed, reminding herself that she needed to take the thin mattress outdoors tomorrow, beat it and air it and then determine if it was usable. As she planned her chores, she heard horses neighing outside, followed by heavy footsteps on the porch. “Anybody here?” a gravelly voice roared, followed by a loud knock and the insistent barking of a dog. “Hush, Sarge.”
Everything Tate had told her about mountain travelers flashed through her mind as she vaulted to her feet and seized the rifle that in her busyness she had forgotten to load, despite his advice. She crept to the door, holding the gun in front of her. “Who’s there?” Her voice sounded small.
“Lady, lemme in. I could use a cup of coffee.” A man laughed uproariously. “I’m Grizzly, and I won’t hurt you.”
Sophie’s heart beat like a trip-hammer while she considered her options. The man could break down the door with one stroke of his arm. What was the code of the mountains? Was this Grizzly person just a passing traveler or was he one of the few who would prey upon a woman living alone?
“You waitin’ fer kingdom come?”
“Just a minute,” Sophie yelled, before edging her way to the cubbyhole where she’d left her ammunition. Quickly chambering a shell, she uttered a silent prayer and opened the door. If a man’s appearance could be designed to intimidate, his had been. Well over six feet tall and clad in a fur hat and long coat, the stranger, with matted hair and a gray beard that frizzed in all directions, studied her. Beside him, a huge wolflike dog sat, eyeing her with interest. With a gulp, she noted that the animal’s tail was not wagging. “Once again, sir, who are you and what are you doing here?”
“Bein’ neighborly. You’re new to the valley.” He doffed his fur cap. “I’m Terence P. Griswold at your service, but everybody hereabouts calls me Grizzly. And this here—” he nodded at the dog “—is my pardner, Sarge. Say hello, fella.”
To her amazement the dog lifted his paw for her to shake. Still cradling the rifle, she bent over. “Sarge, nice to meet you.”
When she stood back up, she noted a glint of humor in the man’s bright blue eyes. “You that gal of Lockwood’s?”
She bristled. “I would hardly put it that way. Mr. Lockwood was kind enough to escort me here from Denver.”
“Wouldn’t have minded that chore myself.” He peered over her shoulder. “You gonna invite us in or what?” He edged closer. “Oh, and, honey, you don’t need that there gun. I’m about as harmless as they come.”
It was the moment of truth—to trust or not to trust. She lowered the rifle. “Let me get you some coffee.”
He signaled the dog to wait on the porch and followed her inside.
She put more wood on the fire and set the water to boil. “Would you care for some bread and applesauce? I’m afraid that’s all I can offer as I am newly arrived here.”
“Wouldn’t object to those vittles.” He set his hat aside and unbuttoned his coat. Sophie preferred to focus on the aroma of the coffee. The man was ripe. “You prob’ly was scared when I knocked.”
“I’m frightened of very little, but your arrival was a bit alarming.”
“Know how to handle that gun?”
“Yes, and I’m relieved I didn’t have to prove it to you.”
He laughed again, and she found the sound pleasant and relaxing. “You’re a smart gal to be cautious. I always say, ‘Shoot first and ask questions later.’”
Sophie handed him a plate of food, poured two mugs of coffee and offered him sugar. “No cream, yet.” She sat down across from him.
“Do you need a cow up here? I know where you might could get one. Or if you’re planning to gallivant at all, I reckon you could buy milk and such from a neighbor.”
“I’m obliged for that information.”
“You probably need a lotta hints I can give you. Don’t reckon Lockwood was a fount of information. He doesn’t take too kindly to women.”
“I welcome any help. I’m not naive enough to think I don’t have a lot to learn or that I won’t make mistakes.”
“What’s yer name, by the way? Can’t be real friends till I know that.”
“I’m Sophie Montgomery.”
“Sophie?” He closed his eyes as if deep in thought. “Wisdom, right?” He opened his eyes and grinned at her. “In Greek. Good for you. You’re gonna need it.”
Sophie grinned. A mountain man who knew Greek? That would teach her to judge solely by appearance. “At least I’m not Pandora.”
He threw back his head and roared. “We don’t need no one opening a bag of ills up here.” After wiping his eyes and taking a big gulp of coffee, he leaned across
