Outside her window, the vast Wyoming sky blazed with more stars than she'd ever seen in Boston. The silence was profound. No carriages on cobblestone streets, no neighbors voices through thin walls, just wind through grass, distant cattle loing, and somewhere in the house below, the solid footsteps of the stranger who might become her husband. Morning arrived with golden lights streaming through curtains Amelia had forgotten to close. For a disorienting moment, she couldn't remember where she was.
Then the events of the previous day flooded back, and she sat up quickly, dismayed to see the sun already well above the horizon. She dressed hastily in a practical brown work dress, pinned up her hair, and hurried downstairs, expecting to find Carrick impatiently waiting. Instead, the house was empty save for Rusty, who thumped his tail in greeting. On the kitchen table, she found a note written in a surprisingly elegant hand. Miss Foster gone to check the north pasture.
Back midm morning. Coffee on the stove, bread and preserves for breakfast. Rest well. CM relieved she hadn't offended with her tardiness on her first morning, Amelia poured herself coffee and stepped onto the front porch. The view in daylight was breathtaking rolling grasslands stretching toward distant mountains, cattle grazing peacefully in the nearest pasture.
The ranch buildings were more extensive than she'd realized in yesterday's fading light. Beyond the barn, she could see a chicken coupe, smokehouse, and what appeared to be the beginnings of a new structure. Finishing her coffee, Amelia decided to make herself useful. She returned inside and took inventory of the kitchen, making a list of supplies they might need from town. Then she rolled up her sleeves and began a thorough cleaning of the already tidy house.
By midm morning she'd swept every floor, dusted every surface, and was kneading dough for fresh bread when she heard a horse approaching. Through the window, she watched Carrick dismount a fluid, graceful movement that spoke of years in the saddle. He removed his hat and wiped his brow before leading the horse to the barn. Amelia quickly checked her appearance in the small mirror by the door, smoothing loose strands of hair and brushing flour from her cheek. She wasn't entirely sure why she cared what she looked like after a morning of housework.
When Carrick entered, the scent of fresh baking filled the house. His eyes widened slightly at the transformation. Gleaming surfaces, organized shelves, dough rising by the stove. You've been busy, he said, hanging his hat on its peg. I hope you don't mind, Amelia replied.
I want it to be useful, mind. It looks better than it has since. He trailed off then finished quietly since my mother visited three years ago. Something in his voice made Amelia pause. "Are your parents still in the east?"
Carrick shook his head. "They passed on father just after the war, mother in 70." "I'm sorry," she said sincerely. He acknowledged this with a nod. "What about your family?
Your letters mentioned parents in Boston." Amelia's hand still on the dough. My father is a merchant. Mother manages their social calendar. I have two younger sisters.
She hesitated. They They don't know I've come west to marry. They believe I've taken a teaching position in Chicago. Carrick's eyebrows rose. You didn't tell them.