Calico Christmas at Dry Creek. Janet Tronstad

it.

      She took a deep breath. The coffee didn’t have the faintly bitter smell of green coffee, either. That’s what she usually smelled around the fort. No, this was the kind of coffee a man would buy special in the mercantile. That soldier had probably been hoarding that bit of coffee for months. And now he was celebrating something.

      Elizabeth frowned. The only thing around here to celebrate was his new camp. Why—she drew in her breath as she finally understood. That man wanted her place. Elizabeth’s needs had been pushed aside by others all of her life, and she’d accepted it. But now that she’d been cheated out of death too, something rose up inside of her. She refused to be pushed any longer. She didn’t care what her hair looked like.

      “This spot’s taken,” Elizabeth said as she stepped out of her tent. The canvas had kept the frost away from the ground inside, but the icy cold outside made her gasp when her foot touched the ground. She had worn a hole in her left shoe from all of the walking she’d done on the way here and the cold went right through her stocking. She saw her breath come out in white puffs again today.

      But she ignored all of that. As cold as she was on the outside, she felt a growing heat inside. For all this man knew, she was still dying. People needed to wait for the dead to be finished with their business before they took everything from them. She liked the spot where she was camped; she intended to keep it.

      “If you’re planning to set up a camp, you might try a little farther down the ravine. There are more cottonwoods and dry thistle down there anyway so it will be easier for fires and all.” Elizabeth forced herself to smile. If she stood in one place, the ground under her shoes grew a little warmer.

      “I’m not setting up camp.” The man stood up indignantly. His nose was red from the chill of the morning and his hair was slicked back with some kind of grease. He looked vaguely familiar. “I’m cooking you breakfast.”

      “Me?” Elizabeth was astonished. She forgot all about her manners and her cold feet. “Whatever for?”

      What would possess the man to do something like that? No one had ever cooked breakfast for her, not even the morning after she’d given birth to Rose. Maybe the doctor had decided she was going to die after all and this soldier had been sent to prepare her last meal. Really, that was no way to break the news to a person.

      “Who told you to cook me breakfast? That doctor?”

      “Nobody told me to do it. I just know women like to have breakfast cooked for them once in a while.”

      The man smiled, even though he didn’t look too happy.

      Elizabeth took a closer look at him. The man had shaved this morning. It wasn’t Sunday. Outside of God’s day, the men at the fort only shaved for special occasions like Christmas, the occasional dance and, of course—funerals.

      She swore she’d never listen to a doctor again. The man couldn’t even keep a proper log of days. He had probably lost track of time and, when he recalculated, discovered his error.

      “I’m still dying, aren’t I? Just tell me the truth. I won’t make a fuss.”

      Elizabeth braced herself even though it was what she had suspected all along.

      “No one’s dying. The doctor told me you were as healthy today as you’ve ever been in your life.”

      Elizabeth wasn’t really listening to the man anymore. She was looking around. The man cooking breakfast wasn’t the only soldier here. There were actually several soldiers standing to the left of her. They’d been hidden from her view when she was in the tent. They were certainly standing quietly. And they all seemed to be carrying big, tall bunches of dried weeds.

      “Is something wrong?” Elizabeth asked. Surely, the men would be worrying about their rifles and not those weeds if something was really wrong.

      The first man in the line stepped forward. The gold penny buttons on his uniform were all in place and his posture was straight. He’d recently shaved, as well. She could tell that by the whiteness of his skin where his beard had once been.

      Surely the doctor wouldn’t lie about whether she was expected to live.

      “I was hoping you’d like these flowers,” the man said as he handed her what looked like dried cottontails. Then he took a deep breath and recited something he’d obviously memorized. “They should be roses to match the roses in your cheeks.”

      The man gave an abrupt bow and turned to the side.

      “But Rose is—” Elizabeth swallowed. She hadn’t even said the name aloud since Rose died. She’d scratched it in the dirt several times when her longing had overcome her, but she’d never spoken it again until now. “That’s my daughter’s name.”

      The men weren’t listening.

      “Roses aren’t fair enough to compare to your loveliness,” the second man said as he thrust another bunch of weeds in her direction. At least, he’d had the foresight to tuck in a little sage so it smelled better. “I’m saving to buy some land when I finish up here at the fort. I’ve got prospects. This is going to be cattle country soon. You’ll see.”

      The third man stepped forward.

      Elizabeth finally realized what was happening. “You can’t be here courting me.”

      She wouldn’t have been more surprised if they had shown up to tar and feather her. She supposed it was flattering, but—“I’m afraid there’s been some misunderstanding. I’m not—that is, my husband and my baby, Rose—they’re, well…”

      Elizabeth gave up and pointed. Surely they could see the mound of fresh dirt near the edge of the ravine. She had carried over the biggest rock she could find to mark the place so the grave wouldn’t be lost in the vast expanse of land here. But now that she looked again, it didn’t seem as if it would be enough. The weather here would wear the rock down or someone would move it not knowing what it was.

      The third man took off his hat. “It’s sorry I am for your loss, but I was hoping you’d be willing to be my wife.”

      “Your wife! But I don’t even know you.”

      Never, in all of the years that Elizabeth had longed for a family, had she imagined that a man she didn’t even know would want to marry her. It didn’t seem quite decent, somehow. Matthew had taken her to church for months before he proposed. That was the way civilized men courted their wives.

      Elizabeth hadn’t seen Jake coming toward her until he was suddenly there. The sight of him, standing so solid before her was reassuring. He might have surprised her yesterday, but today he felt like safety itself. At least he could explain that she was not looking for a husband.

      “Tell them,” Elizabeth said to Jake. She could hardly think of what to say so she just gestured to the men.

      “You’re going about it all wrong,” Jake said to the men. “She sets a great deal of importance to names. You might want to introduce yourself before you propose.”

      “Well, it takes more than a name to—” Elizabeth stopped as she looked up at Jake for the first time. “Surely no one expects me to get married now.”

      Elizabeth didn’t know what to do. Maybe Jake didn’t understand the problem completely. She was going to explain it, but she noticed he had changed out of his buckskins and stood before her in a blue shirt and black wool pants. It didn’t seem right that the blue dye of the shirt should match his eyes so exactly. And, the color was evenly spread so she knew someone had used dyer’s woad to get the blue. It had probably been one of those big factories that dyed the cloth, but it was the same process and it looked good. Not that the man probably knew anything about how his shirt was made. Men never did.

      Elizabeth noticed her breathing was betraying her again as she looked at him. She realized she was actually gawking at the man.

      “I could still be dying,” she finally muttered and then turned to face the soldiers.