Brides of Banff Springs Read online

  Brides of Banff Springs

  Canadian Historical Brides (Alberta) Book 1

  By Victoria Chatham

  Digital ISBNs

  EPUB 978-1-77299-271-7

  Kindle 978-1-77299-650-0

  WEB 978-1-77299-273-1

  Print ISBNs

  Print 978-1-77299-270-0

  Amazon Print 978-1-77299-272-4

  Copyright 2016 by Victoria Chatham

  Series Copyright 2016 Books We Love Ltd.

  Cover art by Michelle Lee

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher of this book.

  Dedication

  Books We Love Ltd. Dedicates the Canadian Historical Brides series to the immigrants, male and female, who left their homes and families, crossed oceans and endured unimaginable hardships in order to settle the Canadian wilderness and build new lives in a rough and untamed country.

  Acknowledgement

  Books We Love acknowledges the Government of Canada and the Canada Book Fund for its financial support in creating the Historical Brides of Canada series.

  Chapter One

  Monday, May 27th, 1935.

  It should have been spring, yet snow still dusted the mountaintop framed in the railway station’s open doorway. The pine-scented breeze wafted across Tilly’s cheek and tugged a curl of hair from beneath her hat. Passing through that doorway meant stepping into a new life. The possibilities intrigued and frightened her in equal measure.

  She hesitated, dragging her feet a little, as she exited the station. Now she was here, all the excitement and pride she'd felt at being accepted for a position at the Banff Springs Hotel evaporated. Despite the late May sunshine, chills rippled through her. Why had she allowed herself to be persuaded to leave? Couldn’t she have found work in Medicine Hat or Calgary? There were hotels in both cities. But no, here she was, stranded miles from anywhere, still able to hear the fading rattle and clack of wheels on the rails as the train sped on to its next stop.

  All she knew, all she had ever known, lay in a quarter section of farmland in southeastern Alberta, one hundred and sixty acres in sight of the Cypress Hills. Now the farm, seared by years of drought and the ensuing debt from one crop failure after another was—like her parents—gone, leaving her to provide for herself as best she could.

  Her vision blurred momentarily. In the recesses of her mind came echoes of her mother's disapproval and her father’s slightly softer, “Now, now, Tilly, tears don’t solve problems.” She blinked quickly to dispel them and squared her shoulders.

  That’s enough of that Matilda Margaret McCormack she admonished herself.

  There was nobody come to meet or greet her, nor had she expected there to be, but that fact brought a sudden lump to her throat. The weight of being alone in a strange place bore down on her. She swallowed hard and took a couple of deep breaths to reorient herself.

  The chug of a motor followed by the blare of its horn drew her over the doorstep and onto the boardwalk. She was too late. Her hesitation had cost her a seat on the last automobile that might have taken her to the hotel. It chugged out of the station yard, its horn blaring, and she watched with dismay as it gathered speed and disappeared from her view.

  The hopeful butterflies that had assailed her stomach when she got on the train in Medicine Hat were now jangling nerves. How could she have ever thought making this move was a good idea? If someone walked up to her right now and gave her a ticket, she would leave on the next train and go home.

  Except there is no home, she reminded herself. There is no family, nor anyone who would be happy to see her again.

  She stood on the boardwalk and stifled the sigh that built up in her. Well, she was here now and would just have to make the most of it. The only form of transport that remained in the yard was a wagon being loaded by a young man. The ease with which he lifted and stowed boxes and trunks in its bed indicated a muscular frame beneath his open-necked shirt. From the style of his hat and his worn, dusty boots, Tilly thought he might be a cowboy. He was no stranger to manual labor, she could tell that. As if he felt her gaze upon him, he glanced over his shoulder and flashed a grin at her.

  “Are you going to the Banff Springs Hotel?” he called.

  Tilly walked towards him. “Yes. Do you know how far it is?”

  “It’s about a twenty minute ride but far enough that it would be a good walk otherwise. I'm headed there myself and can take you if you like.” He heaved a trunk into the back of the wagon then turned to her, holding out his hand. “The name's Ryan, Ryan Blake.”

  She liked his friendly grin and twinkling brown eyes and took his hand in her own. He had a warm, firm grip. “Tilly McCormack and thank you, a ride would be much appreciated.”

  “Hop up then.” Ryan indicated the driver's seat. “I've only a few more boxes to load. Is this your first time in Banff?”

  “First time anywhere,” Tilly tossed her suitcase into the wagon and clambered up by way of the wheel.

  Ryan, having finished stowing the last trunk, climbed up beside her. “Where have you come from?”

  “Medicine Hat.” Tilly tilted her head a little so that she could study Ryan from the corner of her eye. The brim of his hat shaded the upper part of his face, but the wedge of auburn sideburn inching down his cheek and sprouting into day-old fuzz across the line of his jaw was clearly defined, even in the shadows.

  “I hear it’s been a tough time for ranchers and farmers around the Hat and across the prairies.”

  “Very tough,” Tilly lapsed into silence as Ryan picked up the reins and slapped them on the rump of the patient old bay horse in the traces. Small puffs of dust rose up from the horse's hide in protest at this treatment.

  Ryan guided the horse out of the station yard, yet Tilly sensed the animal knew its job well enough as it trotted along the route the automobile had taken. She glanced over her shoulder at the load of expensive looking trunks and valises in the wagon bed. Luggage labels declared they had visited London, Paris, Rio de Janeiro, Cairo, and Bombay. Places she had read about but could barely comprehend. Her own battered grip, a relic of her father's World War 1 service, fared poorly in comparison, but she imagined it had its own stories to tell despite not bearing labels advertising its journeys.

  “Whose luggage is this?” she asked.

  “The people who commandeered the transport,” Ryan replied with a chuckle. “They're the first guests of the season and some of them will be in residence for the whole of the summer.”

  “All summer?” Tilly's mind spun as she tried to work out the logistics of staying in a hotel for three months. “No wonder they need so much.”

  “And the gentlemen often have as much as the ladies. They have to dress for dinner, you see.”

  Tilly didn't, and wasn't entirely sure what Ryan meant by 'dressing for dinner'. It sounded something of a ritual, but she refrained from saying so. Clean hands and a healthy appetite had been the only requirements for meal times in her home.

  The wagon turned the corner onto a wide, busy thoroughfare that stretched ahead of them. Automobiles drove past them in both directions or were parked nose-in to the curb. People strolled along the sidewalks, some stopping and looking into the store windows.

  “This is Banff Avenue,” Ryan explained. “It’s already busy, but wait a week and the place will be crawling with tourists.”

  “I can see why.” Tilly took time to look all around her again. The
soaring, snow capped ranges she had seen from the train had taken her breath away but now, closer to them, their sheer size and rugged bulk overwhelmed her.

  “Impressive, huh?” Ryan’s quiet laugh told her he had guessed the reason for her silence.

  “Do these mountains have names?” She squinted at the mountain in front of her, noting its deep skirt of lush green trees. Having lived so long with parched, bone-dry earth she had almost forgotten how refreshing the color could be.

  “On the left is Tunnel Mountain and that great tilted slab over there is Mount Rundle. That's Sulphur Mountain up ahead and Cascade is behind us.”

  Tilly looked over her shoulder at the mountain, which towered above its surroundings. Snow lined its treeless ridges and the deep striations that marked its gnarled grey shoulders. “I had no idea they would be so big. They make me feel a bit hemmed in.”

  “Coming from the prairies I can understand that. Cascade is over nine thousand feet high and is the tallest of them. It even makes me feel small.” The horse had slowed to a walk again and Ryan slapped the reins and clicked his tongue at it. “Get up there, Boston. Move your hooves.”

  “Is it much farther to the hotel?” Tilly asked as the horse once more upped its speed to a shuffling trot.

  “No, it’s just a few minutes more on the other side of the Bow River and along Spray Avenue.” Ryan turned towards her as he spoke, but she tipped her chin up and looked resolutely ahead. She wasn’t ignoring him, but his close proximity suddenly made her a little nervous. “Not that that means much to you right now, being so new here and all.”

  “Well, at least I know about the Bow River,” Tilly retorted. “It flows for four hundred miles from the Bow Glacier to the Oldman River and where they meet, they form the South Saskatchewan River.”

  “Whew!” Ryan whistled. “I guess you must have gone to school.”

  “Of course I went to school…” Tilly began indignantly, but stopped when his good-natured laughter told her he’d simply been teasing. She acknowledged his score with a smile. “Okay, you got me with that one, but I’m warning you I won’t be drawn so easily next time.”

  “Next time? So you want to see me again?” Drawn by the mischief lurking in his eyes, Tilly turned away to hide the flush he’d brought to her cheeks. How could she have been so presumptuous?

  A close cab, dark green Chevy pickup, reversing out of its parking place, caused Ryan to pull up. As they waited for it to drive away, Tilly spied a marquee, proudly advertising the Lux Theater, jutting out from a building on the next corner. It offered a promise of something new and exciting and caused her to utter a soft, “oh”, of anticipation.

  “Do you like motion pictures?” Ryan had not missed her interest in the theater.

  “I don’t know. I’ve never seen one,” Tilly admitted. “But I’m sure I would.”

  “Wasn’t there a theater in Medicine Hat?”

  “The Monarch was on Second Street, but we never went.” Tilly paused and then added softly, “I think my dad thought he shouldn’t enjoy himself.”

  “There’s our next time then.” Thankfully, Ryan did not ask her to explain her remark about her father. “Once you’ve got yourself settled and know what your routine will be, I’ll take you. The Lux is really popular. It has seating for a few hundred people and because of that, it’s sometimes used for meetings or Remembrance Day services. Several motion pictures have been filmed around Banff, too.”

  She noticed the lift in Ryan’s voice at this announcement. “It must have been exciting to have famous actors in town.”

  “Probably, but that was before I came to Banff.”

  “So where did you come from?”

  Ryan laughed. “Not far away. My family still lives in Canmore. My dad’s a coal miner but I never wanted to follow in his footsteps, so I got work at Brewster’s. They have the contract to transfer folks from the station to the Banff Springs Hotel and back, besides offering trail rides and camping trips. I prefer being outdoors too much.”

  “I can see that,” Tilly mused. An array of fine, white lines etched the corner of his eye and she imagined him squinting into the sunshine. “But how come you know so much about Banff?”

  “I ask questions all the time.” Boston plodded his way across the bridge spanning the Bow River. “Right now I’m a packer, but next season I plan to have my guide’s license.”

  “What has that got to do with asking questions?”

  “A packer packs the equipment and saddles the horses for backcountry trips.” Ryan paused while Boston made a left turn after the bridge. “A guide has to be able to do all that plus a whole heap more, like knowing the trails and all of his horses. He needs to have a good handle on people, or at least have a sense of humor, so the more questions I ask, the more I have to talk about, and tourists seem to like that. At least, up until now they have.”

  “Hm. That sounds like a lot to handle.”

  “Yeah, but I can’t think of anything I’d rather be doing.” With that, Ryan flicked the reins again and Boston snorted his disapproval. “Can you ride?”

  “I’ve only ridden the mules we had on the farm, but I rode them a lot so, yes, I guess I can.”

  “You’ll have to come out on the trails with me then. We have a couple of horses in our outfit that I think you’d get on really well with.”

  Tilly cocked her head to see Ryan’s face.

  “Practising your guiding skills on me, are you?”

  “Can’t think of anyone I’d rather practise them on.”

  They passed several big houses, set well back from the road and then, before Tilly had time to ask who lived in them, she caught her first glimpse of the hotel. Her jaw slackened and her mouth dropped open.

  “Oh, it’s just like a fairy-tale castle,” she gasped. She had not expected to see such a massive building and tipped her head back to look up at it. Serried rows of windows winking in the sunlight studded the gray stone walls. Angled and steep-hipped roofs topped the corner turrets and peaked dormers, all reflecting the colors and rugged outlines of the hotel’s surroundings.

  “They quarried the stone for it from the base of Mount Rundle,” Ryan told her.

  Tilly laughed out loud. “And who did you have to ask to get that information?”

  “A local stonemason I know.” His grin told her he thoroughly enjoyed imparting this knowledge to her. “The original hotel was built of wood and what was left of it went up in smoke back in 1926 during renovations. The company covered the building with planks so that the reconstruction could continue all through the winter.”

  “You should write your own guide book,” Tilly told him but then clutched the edge of the seat as he pulled up at the entrance.

  Now that she was here a rolling sensation gripped the pit of her stomach and she pressed her hand against it, hoping the motion would stop. Nausea threatened to overwhelm her, but she took deep, calming, breaths until the feeling passed. She wished she could be as calm as Boston, who seemed only too pleased to come to a halt. He shook his head and snorted, then dropped a hip and rested a hind leg.

  Ryan stepped over the driver’s seat onto the wagon and had already lifted the first piece of luggage when three bellhops emerged from the main doors. It was obvious from the way they greeted him and the cheerful banter they exchanged that they knew each other well. Between them, unloading the wagon took far less time than it had taken for Ryan to load it. As the last piece of luggage was stacked onto a baggage cart, he vaulted over the side and down onto the sidewalk.

  Tilly pulled herself together and dismounted from the driver’s seat. White-faced, she leaned against the wheel for a moment.

  “Are you okay?” Ryan asked.

  “Not really,” she admitted with a shaky laugh. “I had no idea the hotel was going to be so big. I don’t know what I should do or where I should go. I just feel a little lost, I guess, and it doesn’t help that I don’t know anyone here.”

  “Well, for a start you know me….
”

  “But you don’t work here,” Tilly protested. “And where would I find you anyway?”

  “Sam’s place. It’s a bar right here by the hotel and it’s where the packers,—especially the Brewster guys—meet up at the end of the day. I’m in there most nights when I’m not on the trail. The food’s good, hot and plenty of it. If I’m out with a party, mostly anyone would know when I’d likely be back. And you’ll soon get settled in. You’re going to be fine.”

  His smile and his friendly concern warmed her and she nodded her head in slow agreement. Before she could say anything a bellhop with slicked-back hair and an amicable face walked up to them and slapped Ryan on the back.

  “Hey, Saul. Good to see you.” Ryan shook his hand and quickly made the introductions. “Tilly, meet Saul Gardiner. Saul, meet Tilly McCormack. Now that’s two people you know here, Tilly. Who have you to report to?”

  “Miss Richards, the Executive Housekeeper.”

  “Come on,” Saul took her suitcase from Ryan. “I’ll take you to her office.”

  “Thank you.” Tilly smiled at both of them.

  Saul turned away, already heading for the entrance. As Tilly passed Ryan she caught a suddenly serious expression in his eyes. He looked at her for a moment and then, as if having agreed with himself on a decision he’d made, he nodded and smiled at her.

  “I like you, Tilly. A lot. I think I’m going to have to marry you.”

  Chapter Two

  “Wh-what?” Tilly stepped back, thunderstruck. “You must be joking!”

  “I would never joke about a thing like that.” Ryan climbed up on the wagon and took up the reins. “I’ll see you soon. Better hurry now, Saul’s waiting for you.”

  He drove away before she could gather her wits. She turned to follow Saul and couldn’t miss the grin on his face.