Brides of Banff Springs Page 9

  Ryan looked at her in mild astonishment. “Don’t you want to go riding?”

  “That’s not the point,” Tilly sputtered. “Why can’t you just ask me, instead of tell me? I do have an opinion of my own you know.”

  An easy-going shrug of his shoulder infuriated her more. “All right. Would you like to go trail riding with me tomorrow?”

  “Thank you.” Tilly tilted her chin up as she glared at him. “I would very much like to go riding with you and I do have pants and boots.”

  “Hmm.” He appeared to be considering her response. The gleam of humor in his eyes put her on edge and she looked up at him warily, waiting for the comeback she knew would come.

  “So, if you’re coming with me anyway,” he said, “why make all that fuss? Why not just say okay?”

  “Because you can’t just take it for granted that I’ll fall in with your plans,” Tilly stormed. “What if I’d wanted to do something else?”

  “Do you?”

  “Ryan!” She threw up her hands in despair. “I can see that arguing with you will be like trying to catch a cloud.”

  “Don’t waste your time then.” He kissed the tip of her nose, wished her goodnight, and walked off leaving her laughing.

  “Someone’s happy,” Fliss commented as Tilly let herself into their room.

  “Yes, I am.” She hung up her jacket and kicked off her shoes. “Tomorrow just can’t come fast enough.”

  “Better switch that light off then.” Fliss already had her head down and Tilly quickly followed suit.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Tilly’s work had become a smooth routine and her day was done almost before she knew it. It took her no time at all to race back to her room and change into a pair of corduroy pants and her boots. Her fingers trembled with anticipation as she laced them up and hurried to the corral where Ryan had said he would wait for her.

  As soon as she turned the corner of the hotel she saw his roan horse and, tethered beside it, a white, sleepy looking pony. Two young women were making a fuss of the horses and flirting with Ryan. An unexpected jolt of hot, fierce jealousy bloomed in her chest, but it gave her a tug of satisfaction to see their faces fall when he smiled at her. There was no doubt where his interest lay and he tipped his hat to the ladies as he walked towards her. Her confidence rose and she welcomed him with a beaming smile.

  “All ready to saddle up?” His pleasure at seeing her showed in the way his eyes crinkled at the corners as he returned her smile.

  Tilly peeped around him at the white pony. Its saddle sat on the corral fence.

  “Actually,” she said slowly, “I’ve never saddled a horse.”

  “But you said you rode your mules.” Ryan looked a little confused.

  “Yes, but I didn’t have a saddle,” Tilly admitted. “I always rode bareback.”

  “All right then.” He nodded that he understood. “So let’s start at the beginning. This here is Cayuse. Not very pretty, but don’t hold that against him. He’ll look after you. So your first lesson will be how to saddle up.”

  Tilly listened carefully as Ryan went through the order of setting the saddle blanket on the horse’s back, then the saddle atop it, and finally which cinch to fasten first and why.

  “After riding bareback for so long you might find this uncomfortable at first, but here you go.”

  He gave her the pony’s reins, then held the stirrup for her. Tilly swung up into the unfamiliar saddle. When she settled into it, Ryan adjusted the length of the stirrups for her and made sure she was comfortable before untethering his own horse. He checked the cinches, made a few adjustments, and then quickly mounted. As soon as he’d turned his horse away from the fence, a large, dark brown and very hairy dog came out of the shadows of the horse shelter.

  “Is that your not-so-good dog?” Tilly asked with a grin.

  “Yup, that’s Tuff.”

  “What is he?”

  Ryan laughed at that. “Your guess is as good as mine. A bit of this mixed with a bit of that with some of the other thrown in. He’s good around the horses though.”

  “Where are we going?” Tilly asked as Cayuse followed Ryan’s horse.

  “I’m taking you over to Vermilion Lakes. It’s a nice ride. I think you’ll like it.”

  The traffic in the town seemed to bother neither the horses nor Tuff who trotted along beside them. A few people stopped to watch them ride by, most of them seeming to appreciate Ryan’s roan.

  “He must be something special,” Tilly remarked noting the interest in the horse.

  “Yep, he’s a Tennessee Walker. I got him down in Montana a couple of years back. Just about the best horse I’ve ever had, too. His name’s Grulla, for his color.”

  They followed the river for a while and then began to skirt a lake, the horses’ hooves making a sucking sound as they pulled their feet out of the soft ground. Tuff darted in and out of the shallows, his paws pattering through the water to the accompaniment of soft splashing sounds.

  “This is the first of a series of three lakes.” Ryan waved his arm in the general direction of the expanse of water. “There’s a hot spring in the third, but we won’t have time to go that far today but this is what I wanted you to see.”

  He reined in and half-turned Grulla to face the lake. Tilly pulled up beside him and looked back. A soft gasp of surprise rushed from her parted lips at the sight before her. Evening sunshine washed across Mount Rundle’s ragged peak, tinting it pink. Every line, every splash of color, and every tree on the far side of the lake transferred into a perfect mirror image on its smooth, still surface.

  “Look there,” Ryan said, pointing to a dark shape at the edge of the opposite shore. “A moose and her calf.”

  From his shirt pocket he took a pencil and notebook, and began to write in it.

  “What are you doing?” Tilly watched him curiously.

  “Making a note of the time of day, weather conditions and where she is. It’s a habit I learned from Josh, who has to do it every day. Keeping accurate records is part of a park warden’s job.”

  “Is that Josh’s job?” Tilly continued to watch him write.

  Ryan closed the notebook and put it and the pencil back in his pocket. “Yep. He likes being outdoors even more than I do. He did one shift with Dad in the mine, said never again and joined the Park Warden service. He’s out on patrol in the mountains right now and will be for the rest of the summer.”

  “So what does he actually do?” Tilly shaded her eyes and watched the moose and her calf wade through the shallows.

  “Watches for game, checks their health and numbers, makes sure trails are in good order, deals with poachers and timber-cruisers if he has to.”

  Tilly frowned. “What’s a timber-cruiser?”

  Ryan chuckled. “Guys employed by the large lumber outfits. They check out and estimate the most likely trees for felling, but it can’t be within the park boundaries. Josh sometimes has to re-educate them of where they’re at. He’s the closest thing to a lawman out there.”

  The pride in Ryan’s voice as he talked about his brother made her smile. Closing her eyes, she inhaled deeply, drawing in the sweet, damp, moisture laden air. All the tension of the day flowed out of her as the utter peace of her surroundings claimed her. When she looked again, the image in the lake had begun to shift as the sun began its slow descent. Pink-tinted clouds formed over the mountains, then fanned out in delicate fingers across the indigo sky.

  “So what do you really want to do, Ryan?” She spoke quietly, not wanting to disturb the peace of the evening. “Will being a guide satisfy you, or is there more?”

  “Of course there’s more.” Ryan folded his arms across his saddle horn and leaned towards her as if about to share a confidence. “I want my own place. I want to raise the best trail horses I can because I tell you, Tilly, tourism is not going away. It’s going to get bigger and bigger. The Brewster brothers knew that. That’s why they invested in automobiles, so they can take touri
sts on sight-seeing trips, but we’re always going to need horses in Banff. Eventually I’d like to run a guest ranch. Think you could handle that?”

  Tilly saw the dream in his eyes and began to dream right along with him. “I think so. We could have a house for us, and cabins for the guests.”

  “And show visitors the best of our country,” Ryan continued. “Wouldn’t that be grand?”

  A soft breeze heralding the on-coming night whispered across Tilly’s cheek and made her aware of a subtle shift in the atmosphere. Mist began to rise in the sedges, creeping between the green spears of the reeds, and spreading delicate tendrils across the water’s surface. Ripples formed where fish rose to feed on hovering rafts of midges. Further out, in the center of the lake, dark bodies flashed silver as they leapt right out of the water, falling back with a loud splash amidst an arc of spray.

  She didn’t want to move but the increasing chilliness in the air made her shiver. It was only a slight movement but Ryan asked her if she needed a jacket. She shook her head and picked up the reins, dropping them again as a long, mournful wail drifted across the water. Startled, she looked at Ryan.

  “What was that?”

  “Only a loon.” Ryan cocked his head to one side, intent on the sound. “He’s calling for his mate. Listen. He’s saying ‘where are you?’ And now she’ll answer.”

  Tilly heard the call again, but with a slightly different cadence, one call being a slightly higher pitch than the other. The light faded even more and she shivered, knowing they had to leave but not wanting to. Ryan called Tuff who had been nosing around in the low scrub around them and they began the ride home.

  They had not taken many paces when, in the distance behind her, the shriek of a train whistle brought a frown to her face. She twisted around in her saddle to peer back down the line. Way down the track, the oncoming locomotive’s lights sliced through the gloom like scythes. The hiss and roar of its engine sounded louder and the rails began to whine in protest at its approach.

  “That doesn’t sound like a regular train,” she said.

  “Smart of you to notice that.” Even in the gloom she could see the smile creep across his face. “It’s an express train and will probably have a couple of silk cars on it.”

  “What are those?”

  “The raw silk comes in burlap-wrapped bales by ship from China, usually aboard a Canadian Pacific steamship.”

  Tilly looked up at him in surprise. “I didn’t know they had ships as well as the railway.”

  “The steamship fleet was another of Van Horne’s big ideas.” Ryan tapped his temple with his knuckles and grinned at her. “See, you have to be like Van Horne, Tilly, and think big. Their ships have side ports making it easier and faster to load and unload cargo. The silk is offloaded in Vancouver, rushed through customs and loaded into specially designed, airtight boxcars lined with varnished wood, then the bales are covered in paper and the car sealed.”

  “Is the silk that special?”

  “Yes, that’s why the cars have to be moisture and thief-proof.” A wistful expression crept over his face. “It used to be a huge business, with some trains carrying more than one and half million dollars’ worth of silk. They had their own, specialised crews and guards. The trains stopped about every hundred and twenty five miles or so to be greased and lubed and a pit stop averaged just seven minutes.”

  “Where were they taking it?” The train sounded closer now and Tilly looked over her shoulder, scanning the distance between where they were and the railway line. She hoped the horses wouldn’t spook.

  “To Toronto, Montreal, and Buffalo. The freight passed through the National Silk Exchange in New York to be traded on to mills up and down the east coast, where they turned it into really expensive fancy goods.”

  Tilly imagined the feather-like but incredibly strong fabric made up into scarves and lingerie, ties, shirts and dresses.

  “That sounds like quite a business.”

  “It was. At the height of the trade a silk train took precedence over any other train on the line so they didn’t have to stop. Even express trains were forced into sidings to let them pass. But the crash of ’29 changed all that, like it did everything else, so there’s not the same demand for silk now because it’s such a luxury item.” Ryan halted Grulla and a moment later the train roared past in a cloud of smoke and steam, spewing glowing sparks and cinders into the night.

  “So who told you all this?” Tilly asked with a little grin.

  Ryan smiled at her teasing. “My brother, Dan. He works for the CPR and was a guard on the last two regular silk train runs back in ’33.”

  As the train flashed by Tilly noticed that three of the boxcars were different.

  “Why are those cars shorter?” she asked.

  “Those were the silk cars. They were built shorter so they could take curves at high speeds. Dan told me those silk trains were faster than the express trains, and could travel at up to eighty miles an hour. Can you imagine that? These days they are just hitched to regular passenger trains.”

  Ryan lapsed into silence and Tilly couldn’t help but feel he was mourning the loss of an era. She said nothing as she followed him. The horses seemed to know exactly where they were going. Grulla strode out ahead of her, his black legs almost indistinct in the gloom, making it appear as though the rest of his body glided unsupported through the night. She did not have to encourage her pony to keep up—he seemed just as eager to head for home. Tuff kept pace with them, the sound of his panting interspersed with rustling sounds as he dove headlong into the brush following one scent or another.

  She was happy to ride in silence, but hearing Ryan talk about his brother Dan she became curious about the eldest brother. Not having any siblings had never really bothered her, but she wondered all the same what it might be like.

  The streets were less busy than they were earlier in the evening with many of the stores already closed. Coyotes in the zoo were beginning to sing as they crossed the bridge, and Ryan had to call Tuff to prevent him from darting away. Pools of light from the Mineral Springs Hospital splashed across the road at the junction of Spray and Glen Avenues. They trotted on in the near darkness beside the river.

  “We’ll go straight to your lodging,” Ryan called back to her. “I’ll drop you off and then take the horses back.”

  She could only be thankful that she did not have to walk anywhere on her own and said so.

  “You don’t think I’d leave my girl to find her own way home, do you?” he asked as they dismounted.

  “Am I your girl?” They stood between the two horses, breathing in their warm, dusty, sweaty, scent. Ryan bent his head and kissed her.

  “You know you are.” His voice held a husky tremor and Tilly thought his hand trembled slightly as he caught hers.

  Tilly laid her head on his shoulder and laughed when Grulla turned his long head and nuzzled both of them.

  “Go on,” Ryan said pushing him away. “No need to be jealous.”

  She patted the white pony’s neck and handed the reins over, but found it hard to leave Ryan. He stood watching her as she approached the door to her building.

  “Will I see you tomorrow?” she called.

  “Not for a few days,” he said. “I’ve got a couple of over-night pack trips until the weekend. I’ll catch up with you as soon as I get back.”

  He mounted and gave her a final wave as he rode away. She listened for a moment to the fading clip and clack of the horses’ hooves and had the giddy feeling that part of her heart went with him.

  Happier than she had ever been, she hummed softly to herself as she walked along the corridor to her room. She opened the door and reached in to switch the light on, but before she could, an anguished voice stopped her.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Fliss?” Tilly entered the darkened room. It took her a moment to determine the huddled shape cowering in the corner. “What’s wrong?”

  She hurried to the edge of the bed.
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  “Is the door locked?” Fliss whispered as another sob shuddered through her.

  Tilly assured her it was, but Fliss just sat there with her arms around her knees, rocking backwards and forwards.

  “I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s wrong,” Tilly said gently. “Come on, Fliss, tell me what happened.”

  Fliss sniffed. “All right. But don’t put the light on. Just open the curtains.”

  Tilly did as asked, then sat down and waited. Fliss shifted slowly to the edge of her bed and looked up. Ambient light filtering through the window illuminated her pallid face. What made it more stark, more shocking, was the dark pain in Fliss’ eyes and the deep purple stain of a bruise on her left cheek. Shocked, Tilly could only stare open-mouthed.

  “Who did this?” she asked when she had recovered herself enough to speak.

  “Frederic,” Fliss stammered and then started to sob again.

  “Oh, my Lord,” Tilly whispered. “Does Saul know?”

  “Not yet.” Fliss dropped her head into her hands. “I don’t want him to either because I know exactly what he’ll do. We can’t afford that kind of trouble, Tilly, we really can’t.”

  “I need to turn the light on so I can get a closer look at the damage,” Tilly said softly. “I’ll close the curtains first and then there’s no chance of anyone seeing you.”

  Tilly reached up and pulled the shabby fabric across the window, making sure there were no gaps before she turned on the light. She put her hand under Fliss’ chin and lifted it up.

  “Ouch,” she whispered. “That’s got to hurt, but at least the skin isn’t broken. Did he punch you or slap you?”

  “Punch.” The word slipped from Fliss’ lips as a tears trickled down her face.

  Tilly nodded. “We had a neighbour who was free with his fists. His wife often had bruises to show for it. There’s a deeper bruise just below your eye, probably from one of Frederic’s knuckles. I’ll get some cold water for a compress.”

  At home she would have had a bowl or bucket she could have filled. Here the only handy receptacle was a dusty chamber-pot from beneath her bed. She hurried to the bathroom where she washed it out then filled it with cold water. When she returned, Fliss pulled a face at the choice of container.