Page 13 of Shoshone Sun

Peter frowned slightly. “She’ll be fine. She’s tougher than you think. She was working very hard. It’s likely just an adjustment for her to have more idle time to herself.”

Susan smiled, a little sadly. “I think she’s still heartbroken about the situation back home, with the breakoff of her engagement and the ruination of all the plans she had made for building a home and family with Fred Rowland. I do hope and believe that she’ll get over it.” Susan heaved a deep sigh. “It’ll just take time.”

“I hope so,” Peter muttered, his voice low. He didn’t speak of it often, but Jane’s recent unhappiness was starting to feel like an unspoken tension. She was a kind woman, and she worked hard, but it seemed that she just couldn’t shed her heartache. He hated seeing anyone so unhappy.

Jane lay on a small cot in the corner of her room, staring up at the unpainted beams of the cabin’s ceiling. Her long, blonde hair was loose, cascading in soft waves over the pillow where it had escaped its bindings. The air in the room was still, a quiet contrast to the bustle of the household just outside the door. But instead of taking part in the activities, Jane had retreated to the solitude of her room, needing a moment to herself.

She thought of England, of the cozy farm where she had lived for half a decade. She thought of Fred, the good times they had shared, their hopes and dreams of marrying and starting a family. Then she recalled the way he had broken their engagement:I’m sorry, Jane. I can’t marry you. My father insists I wed another.His voice had been kind but firm, and though she had tried to fight the tears, they had come anyway. He hadn’t loved her enough to fight for her, and that realization had left a bitter sting in her heart. She had told herself she’d get over it, but the wound still lingered, raw beneath the surface.

Even now, living here with Peter, Susan, and little Petey, she often found herself caught between joy for them and a gnawing sense of loneliness. She loved them both—her sister’s laughter, Peter’s quiet determination, and the softness of Petey’s baby smile—but sometimes, seeing the small family together made her feel like an outsider, like she was watching a life she could never have. She longed for the love of a husband to share her life with, for children of her own to cradle and care for. But that dream seemed to slip further and further away each time she saw the closeness between Peter and Susan, the warmth connecting them that she feared she’d never have for herself.

But then there were moments, as well, when Jane could look around and feel a swell of pride. They had worked so hard, all of them, to build this life from the ground up. The cabin, the barn, the fences—everything had been shaped by their hands, their sweat, their sacrifices. They had made it. She could still hardly believe it sometimes. There was a part of her that felt the deepest satisfaction in their accomplishments, but another part that still wondered if she was destined to be alone in it all, forever the spectator rather than the participant in the love and family that had come to define her new world.

The next few days passed uneventfully. Jane knew that it would be a long winter. She comforted herself with the fact that they’d done everything in their power to be ready for it.

As the days shortened, so did the length of time the family spent outdoors. The air grew colder, and the winds out on the plains began to bite. At night, they huddled close together in the cabin, the fire crackling cheerfully in the fireplace. Jane often kept company with her sister by the fire when the day’s work was done, watching and laughing at Petey and his tricks. It seemed that every day he learned something new.

Early one cold morning after the barn had been completed, Peter stood on the porch, squinting against the rising sun. He could hear the faint sound of a horse’s hooves coming from the direction of Paul and Mary’s farm. Eventually, his uncle came into view, jogging toward the cabin, his coal-black horse’s breath frosting in the cold air.

“Morning, Peter,” Paul called, tipping his hat as he rode up.

“Morning,” Peter replied, wiping his hands on his trousers as he walked toward Paul. “What brings you out this early?”

“Just a friendly visit. I came to see how you were doing on this, the brink of winter. I remember our first year in America, and that was the most difficult time.”

“I’m sure it must’ve been,” Peter replied.

“We had nobody to help us and didn’t have enough time to build a cabin. That first winter we spent underground in a dug out with a sod roof. We’d been able to throw together a rough shelter of logs for the animals we’d purchased, but that was it. It was a tough go.” Paul’s eyes clouded over as though remembering the hardship.

“I can’t imagine how grueling that must have been,” Peter said. “We are so lucky that you were already here, established, and able to help us. We will forever be grateful for that blessing.”

“You’d have done the same for us! Anyway, it’s wonderful to have another family nearby. Strength in numbers, you know. And Mary was getting lonely with just this old coot for company!” he laughed.

Then he dismounted. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but on the way over here, I noticed you have no cattle in your cattle pasture. Have you got them up in the barn?”

Peter looked shocked. “No, I don’t. Although the barn’s finished, I wasn’t planning on putting them in there for another week or two. There’s still green grass in the pasture, so I thought I’d take advantage of that and save feed.”

“Well, I guess you’ve got yourself a few missing cows right now then,” Paul said. “But don’t worry. I can help you look for them.”

Peter frowned. “Missing cows are the last thing I need right now. Do you think they were stolen?”

“My guess would be they slipped through the fence down by the river and strayed.”

Peter considered this for a moment. “Only one way to find out,” he said. He was praying that they just wandered off and that they hadn’t been stolen by cattle rustlers or Indians. “Let’s go.”

It didn’t take long for Peter to saddle his spirited brown horse, Willow, and ride alongside Paul, heading toward the creek. It was lucky that he’d gotten some horsemanship lessons from Paul on his gentle and trusty work horses before he acquired his own mares. Willow and Cinder were half draft and half mustang, young, and a bit of a handful at times. But Peter loved the challenge of working with them.

As they rode, Peter gazed over his land. Everything seemed quiet, the massiveness of wild country stretching out like a blank canvas, untamed and full of potential. But it also held dangers. Even a small mistake could have lasting consequences.

The ride to the creek was quick, but when they arrived, the cows were nowhere in sight. Peter cursed under his breath. He and Paul spent the next hour tracking the cattle through the tall grass, their horses’ hooves crunching the frost-covered earth.

Peter breathed a sigh of relief when they came around a stand of trees and saw his small herd. It appeared fate was still smiling on him and his family. By the time they rounded up the cattle and brought them back to their pasture, the sun had climbed high in the sky. The frost had melted from the grass, and the chill of the morning was replaced by a warmth that hinted at the last stretch of warmth before the bitter cold took hold.

The men worked together to repair the fence. When they were done, Peter felt a sense of peace wash over him—this was his land now.

“Winter is coming fast,” Paul said, “Look at those dark clouds!”

“We’ll be ready,” Peter asserted as he finished tying the last knot on the fence.

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