Love by Accident

by Rosey Dow

Chapter One

On December 23, 1882, Liza Wainright was covering a large pan of bread dough, so it could rise when she heard the first rumble. It was an odd groan, followed by a muffled sound almost like a man’s shout. Ten seconds later the floorboards shook beneath her feet.

Her seventeen-year-old brother, Caleb, burst into the cabin, his boyish eyes wild, “Liza, it’s the Hogback! Avalanche!”

With a small cry, she dashed onto the front porch of the cabin in time to see the side of Hogback Mountain disintegrate and slide into the valley below. Though almost a mile away, the rumble was deafening, the power horrifying. Ten feet of snow since the first of December, then a warm spell yesterday and today had made conditions ripe for this.

Liza stared, unable to move a single muscle. That morning her other two brothers, Bryant and Harvey, had gone to the canyon to check on their cattle wintering there. Every other day the boys had to pull out bales of hay and break the ice on the stream, so their longhorns could survive the harsh winter.

So weak she could hardly stand, she whispered, “Did it get into the canyon?”

Caleb’s muscular arm circled her shoulder in an awkward hug. His chin touched her right cheekbone though he was only five feet six. “I’ll saddle Midnight and ride out there,” he said. “If Bryant and Harvey are in trouble, they’ll need me.” He stepped off the porch and trudged across the ranch yard. The front doors of the barn and the cabin faced each other separated by a stretch of earth, now covered with eighteen inches of partially frozen snow.

As Caleb disappeared into the dim interior across the way, Liza noticed a trickle of black smoke rising from the avalanche area. It grew until it was a wide dark column.

Heading back inside for her coat, she returned to the porch. She couldn’t take her eyes off the sooty plume in the distance. She stood and watched, absently pushing her brown hair behind her left ear where it had sprung loose from her bun.

When Caleb reappeared, he was in the saddle. Liza pointed to the smoke. “Is that a train?”

“Looks like coal smoke,” he said. He squinted as though he could peer through a mile of misty morning. “It’s got to be a train. I wonder if it got caught in the downfall.”

“Check on the boys, then go and see if anyone’s hurt,” Liza said. “If someone’s stranded out there, they’ll be desperate for help. You’ll have to bring them back here.” A feeling of deep dread filled her midsection. This was the third bad year for the Running W ranch, and the larder had barely enough food to last the four Wainright children through the winter. How could they feed a large group of hungry people for even one day?

She hurried inside, took a dozen long steps through the kitchen and dining room, then onto the back porch. In a closet-like room to the left (known to the family as cold storage) a frozen side of beef hung from the rafters. Although useless in summer, this place was mighty handy in winter. Hacking off a ten-pound chunk, she heaved it into the kitchen to chop it up for stew. Despite her five-feet-two stature, she could work alongside women twice her size. She had been hauling and carrying since she could remember.

She partially filled two large pots with water from the pitcher pump by the kitchen counter and dropped the meat inside them. She added more wood to the cook stove to get the oven hot enough for the bread. Narrow and squatty, it was a cast-iron relic her great-grandfather Matthew Wainright had hauled into the Colorado foothills more than sixty years before.

Matthew and his partner, Harold Anderson, had framed this cabin with their bare hands and lived in it while they tried to build a herd of longhorns. Even after Matthew married Priscilla Connolly, Harold had stayed on. Later, Harold had also married. He and his bride had lived in a cabin where the bunkhouse stood now.

Coaxing the cranky stove to full heat, Liza wished for the thousandth time that Great-grandpa Matthew had picked out a nickel-plated Empire stove with a hot-water reservoir instead of this wheezing, gasping iron crate.

Holding her skirts high and to the left, she climbed the loft stairs to search for quilts and woolen blankets. The loft was an entire second story with a small hole cut into the floor for the ladder to come through. It was mainly one large room with one end sectioned off for storage.

She found the blankets in an old trunk and threw them down the ladder, carefully climbing down after them.

As soon as the bread was fully risen, she put it in the oven, then pulled on boots and her coat. The bunkhouse had been empty for more than a year. She must light the stove and sweep it out in case the worst happened. At least there were eight beds out there that could be used for stranded passengers.

Liza was back in the cabin and eight loaves of bread sat on the table, hot out of the oven, when a rider finally came into the yard. She caught a glimpse of him through the front window over the kitchen counter and hurried out to hear the news. The rider was nineteen-year-old Harvey, her middle brother who was one year younger than she. He had a smooth, wide face and piercing dark eyes.

A small boy huddled against him in the saddle. All that could be seen of the child was a brown coat and matching hat. He had his face buried in Harvey’s chest.

“Train wreck!” Harvey called. “We’re having to bring the passengers out on horseback. There’s no way to get a buckboard or even a sleigh in there. The trails are too muddy, and the tracks are buckled on the mountainside.”

He rode up next to the porch steps. Holding onto the boy by his upper arm, Harvey eased him to the porch floor. “This is Mikey O’Bannon,” he said. “His grandmother will be one of the first to come. We promised him that.”

“That’s my sister,” Harvey told the child. “Go into the house, and she’ll give you something warm. Your Grandma will be coming soon.” He straightened and said to Liza. “I’m changing to a fresh horse, then I’m off to the neighbors. We’ve got to have food and blankets for about two dozen passengers. There’s no way we can take care of that many ourselves.”

Relief flooded Liza. “Good thinking, Harvey,” she said. She reached out to the boy. “Hello, Mikey. My name is Elizabeth, but most folks call me Liza. You can, too.” She took his hand and led him inside. His freckled face was smudged with tears and grime. She found a clean cloth and wiped his face. He avoided looking directly at her but didn’t cry any more.

Sitting Mikey at the table, she cut him a piece of warm bread and poured milk from a covered pitcher that she brought from cold storage. The child ate like he was starved. The rest of the passengers probably were, too.

“Would you like to take off your coat?” she asked him a few minutes later.

Tucking his chin down, he shook his head. Figuring he was still cold, she didn’t press him further.

Liza opened the doors of her meager pantry and took a sack of cornmeal from a shelf. Mush was quick to cook and filling to an empty stomach. The stew would never be ready in time.

The porridge was just thickening when boots thudded on the porch, and the door flew open. With a blast of cold air, Caleb came in supporting a small woman who was bent over and trembling. She wore a black bonnet and black cape. Liza rushed to help her into a chair at the dining room table then found a quilt to wrap around her.

Caleb paused just inside the door, his boyish face looking more man grown every day. “I’m going to saddle four horses, so we can bring back more folks next time. Most of them are still inside the cars, but there’s no heat and they’re freezing.”

“I’ve got the stove going in the bunkhouse,” Liza said. “Harvey went to round up more help.”

Nodding, Caleb pulled the door open and disappeared.

Liza turned to the shivering woman and poured her some hot coffee. She told her, “Put your hands around the cup to warm them and breathe in the steam.” The woman pulled off her bonnet and lay it on the table nearby. Her white woolly hair was combed back into a tight bun. Coming behind the old lady, Liza hugged her close to lend her own body warmth to the poor trembling creature.

“Thank you, my dear,” the woman gasped. “I’m ashamed to be such a baby.”

“You’re not a baby, Grandma,” Mikey said, in clear round tones. He’d straightened in his seat and was wisely watching his grandmother.

“You’re right, Mikey,” she said. “I need to stop acting like one, don’t I?”

She drew in a full breath of the warm cabin air and lifted the cup with both shaking hands to take a sip. Setting the cup down, she said, “My name is Olivia O’Bannon. Mikey is my son’s boy. His mother has been ill, so he came to stay with me for a while. Now we’re on our way to take him home for Christmas.”

Moving to the chair across the table, Liza introduced herself. “My brothers and I live here alone,” she added. “Our parents died of cholera two years ago.”

Olivia’s seamed brow puckered with concern. “You poor dear. Where were they when it happened? Surely not in his valley. I would have heard of it even as far away as Canton’s Corner where I live. I’ve been there since I married. I plan to die there, too.” She took another sip. “Although, today I had my doubts about the dying part. When we heard that mountain shaking loose, I thought it was all over.”

Mikey said, “It was all over in a minute, Grandma. Soon as the snow fell down.” He raised his pudgy hand and made a diving motion toward the oak table top.

Olivia smiled and reached out to squeeze the boy’s hand. “How right you are, young man. It was all over in a minute.” She looked at Liza, waiting for her answer.

“My parents were on their way to Cheyenne when the cholera took them,” she said. “It was an anniversary trip my mother had planned for three years.” She bit back the sweeping grief that came over her whenever she spoke of them.

The concern in Olivia’s watery blue eyes held a spark of faith. “God had a reason, Liza,” she said. “I know your heart is sore, but God has his own plans about our lives. Are you a Christian?”

Running her index finger under her lower eyelid, Liza blinked and nodded. “Yes, ma’am. I received Christ when I was about eleven years old. Mama and I joined the Congregational Church in Wiley’s Corner. Pa and the boys…” She shook her head and didn’t finish the sentence.

“We’ll pray for them.” Olivia finished her coffee and pushed the cup slightly back. Shrugging out of her cape, she said, “Now, tell me what I can do to help you.” At Liza’s protesting expression, she said, “I’m just fine, my dear. I was cold to the bone, that’s all.”

“Would you like something to eat first?” Liza asked. “I’ve made some cornmeal mush. I thought that would be warm and filling.”

“That sounds wonderful,” Olivia said, smiling at Mikey. “Doesn’t it, Son?”

His chin touched his chest then swung high and back down again. “With milk!” he said.

“Of course, with milk,” Liza said. She hurried to fill their bowls and joined them in the small meal. Who knew when she’d have time to sit down and eat again.

In a few minutes, Liza stood to fetch a basin and sack of potatoes. “I’ve got meat stewing. We’ll need potatoes peeled. Would you like to do that while you sit here?”

“Of course, child. Anything you need.”

Liza found her favorite paring knife and handed it to the older woman. “I need to check the stove in the bunkhouse. I lit a fire out there a while ago, but it probably needs stoking about now.”

Olivia smiled and her face took on a wholesome, sweet glow. “We’ll be fine right here, Liza,” she said, winking at Mikey who was leaning onto the table with his knees in the chair, choosing a potato from the sack. Flicking the tip of the knife through a partially sprouted potato eye, Olivia had half the potato peeled before Liza had her coat on.

In the bunkhouse, the fire had almost gone out. Liza lingered a few minutes to blow the coals and coax tiny blue flames from the kindling, then she added larger pieces. Fifteen minutes later, the wood crackled and the first rays of heat came through the sides of the potbelly stove. Satisfied, Liza bent over to pull the back hem of her flowing skirt between her ankles and up to the front of her waistband. She pinned it there. Buttoning her coat, she headed back to the house.

The yard had become a churning mass of mud and slushy snow. It sucked at her shoes and slowed her progress.

She had slogged partway across the yard when Bryant and Caleb rode in, each double mounted with four horses double mounted as well. Ten people.

Liza hurried to meet them. Again, the horses sidled up to the porch. Without stopping for a word with her, the boys headed for the barn to switch out horses. A horse carrying two adults tires after just a mile, and their own mounts had been working in mud since early morning.

Slipping out of her damp, slimy shoes, she left them on the porch . When she reached the inside the cabin, Olivia was already pouring steaming cups of coffee and shepherding the folks into chairs—eight girls and ladies at the dining room table and two men—a distinguished gentleman with a gray beard and spectacles and a young red-haired drummer—in the sitting room in front of the roaring fireplace.

Mikey found a box of wooden blocks hidden under the sofa, relics of the Wainright’s childhood. He sat on the braided rug and practiced making towers, clapping when they fell down.

“I’ll take care of serving everyone,” Olivia told Liza. “You’ve done the hard part by cooking all this in the first place. You’ll need all your energy getting everyone settled. Who knows how long it will be before we can get folks on their way.”

“Does anyone know how many more are coming?” Liza asked.

An older man in a broadcloth suit spoke up. “Ten or twelve men,” he said. “Cowpokes mostly.”

Liza nodded. They’d have to set up bedrolls in the barn. The tack room had a stove in it. That was the logical place to begin. Of course, some of them would be able to leave before nightfall.

She moved to Olivia who was ladling mush into bowls. “When Mikey gets tired, you can put him on my bed,” Liza murmured to her, nodding to the door off the dining room.

The single bedroom made the remaining open area an L-shape with the kitchen at  the front corner, and the dining room table inside the back door. The sitting room was on the front wall, joining the kitchen on the other side. From the kitchen sink or the stove, one could see both ways through the entire cabin, east to west and north to south.

“We’re much obliged to you, Liza,” Olivia replied. The warmth of her words somehow soothed Liza’s sore heart. She suddenly wished that Olivia could stay with her for a while.

When Olivia began serving, a young woman with rouged cheeks and an intricate blond hairstyle threw off her cape and stood to help carry bowls to the table. She had dancehall written all over her, from her kohled eyelids to her dangling earrings.  The other woman avoided looking directly at her.

“My name’s Charlene,” she said, to no one in particular.

“Thank you for the help, my dear,” Olivia said with a gentle smile.

Over the next three hours, the remaining passengers arrived to make twenty-three in all. When the first group had finished their coffee and mush, Garrett and Caleb took the doctor and the drummer to the barn to set up sleeping quarters while Liza led seven women and girls to the bunkhouse.

Heavenly warm air met them when Liza opened the bunkhouse door. She handed a blanket to each of the ladies and let them choose their bunks. “My brother, Harvey, has gone for more supplies,” she said. “Is there anyone here who lives close enough to return home?”

Four women raised their hands. Liza nodded. “When the neighbors come, I’ll ask about getting you rides out of here.” She opened the stove door to shove in another log.

A middle-aged matron stepped forward. She had steel gray hair and wore heavy black boots. “I’ll take care of that, missy,” she offered. “You’ve got enough on your hands.” She glanced toward her teenage daughter, standing uncertainly among the women. “Sharon will help me.”

“So will I,” an olive-skinned young woman spoke out. “Don’t worry about us, Miss Wainright. You’ve got enough on your mind.”

“Why, thank you,” Liza said. “There’s a lean-to out the back door. That’s where the woodpile is for this building.”

She looked around at their weary, anxious faces. “A pitcher pump and some tin mugs are just outside the back door, too. Try to rest. Hopefully this will all be over soon.”

A murmur of thank you’s swelled toward her.

Embarrassed, she hurried outside. She wasn’t used to gratitude and didn’t know how to respond to it.

She had just reached the porch steps when a wagon pulled by four straining horses zigged and zagged into the yard. The ruts left behind it bore no trace of wagon tracks. It was sliding all the way. Who would be so foolhardy as to bring a wagon out in these conditions? Every fifty yards would be a monumental task.

Peering closely at the tall, muscular form holding the reins, she suddenly stiffened. He pulled the wagon close to the steps and took off his hat.

“Good afternoon, Liza,” he said. His words sounded relaxed and casual, but his eyes were anxious. “One of Brown’s boys came running over to tell us about the accident. Ma thought you could use a few things. With the road so bad, we figured that no one else would be able to get to you with very much.”

Liza opened her mouth but no sound came out. The wild driver was young Garrett Anderson whose ranch bordered theirs. She knew him from school, but the Andersons and the Wainrights hadn’t spoken for more than fifty years.