Bozeman by Christmas

"And what about a man?"

"What about a man? Don't have one if that's what you're asking."

"Surely you've encountered an eligible bachelor worthy of your affection?"

River laughed aloud. The horses jumped. The mule hee-hawed.

"Shut it, Annabelle!" River chided.

"It's a completely reasonable question," protested Emma.

"It certainly is. Unless you know Livingston."

Emma frowned at her. "Simply trying to make conversation, Miss Langtry," she said curtly.

River nodded. The pair of them stayed silent. The sounds of their shuffling movements through the snow became prominent again.

After the brooding moment, Emma broke the silence again.

"It's rather queer, even for here, perhaps especially here, for a woman not to have a man," she commented.

"Well, I'm sorry you disapprove of my lifestyle," River said sarcastically.

"It's not that I disapprove of your lifestyle. It's just... it's just...," Emma became flustered. "Are you a Christian woman, Miss Langtry?"

"I suppose I am."

She studied River again. She rode the horse with the reins wrapped loosely around the horn of the saddle and held in her fingers with her wrists resting against the top of her jeans. She became unsure of why she felt like she needed to ask such a question.

"And how old are you? If you don't mind me asking."

"Thirty-two... I think. You?"

"Twenty," Emma answered. "And soon to be a married woman," she added with a tone of smugness that immediately embarrassed her.

"That sounds great," River responded plainly. She observed another passing tree, stopping her horse briefly to check the bark before continuing.

"Thank you," Emma replied.

"How do you feel about being married?" River inquired.

"I'm elated of course."

"Elated, huh?"

"Beyond elated. I am in love with Percy."

"Is that right?"

"I wouldn't marry him if I wasn't."

"And how did you meet him?"

"We studied at Oxford together."

Emma smiled as she reminisced her first meeting with Percy. "He was a charming boy. A great sportsman and a true gentleman. And incredibly smart. He finished at the top of his class at the Harvard Law School just recently, you know. We met at the Christmas ball at Oxford. Two years ago, almost to the day. I had my eye on him the moment he stepped foot into the ballroom. And he had his eye on me. It was love at first sight."

River chuckled and recited, "a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife."

Emma responded, "you surprise me more with every word you speak, Miss Langtry."

"That's from..."

"Pride and Prejudice. I know."

River shrugged. "Just funny to see that people over there really do live like that. So, what's Percy's last name? It's not Darcy is it?"

Emma turned red. "I am not a stereotype, if that's what you're suggesting, Miss Langtry. Percy is an American by the way, as much as you are, and a kind man. But your point is well taken."

"Jus' pulling your leg, Miss Finch. Anyway, what's he doing in Bozeman?"

"Well, as it turns out, his father, George has significant equity in the Northern Pacific. He attorneys for them. They are on their way presently to establish an office in Tacoma, Washington. They wait for me in Bozeman."

A sudden howling burst of wind came through the valley, causing Emma's felt hat to nearly fly off. She grabbed the brim to pull it down on her forehead. The dry snow carried by the gust pelted her like needles. When the wind stopped, she continued talking.

"Miss Langtry?"

"Just call me River."

"River. Do you not wish you had a man in your life to spend Christmas with?" Emma asked.

River shook her head. "I've had a few in my life. But men don't interest me much. And I don't interest them much. I prefer my own company anyway."

"I see."

Emma imagined herself at River's age. At thirty-two. She'd have children then. They'd have family Christmas. Laughing over tea and cake. Opening presents. Singing Christmas carols. Then she imagined River's life at Christmas time, sitting in her home by her lonesome. Or at her tiny office in Livingston scribbling in a ledger. With the kettle whistling on the stove. Or perhaps out in the countryside on a lonesome moonlit ride among the cottonwoods and the endless grasslands disturbed only by a horizon with mountains like distant claws. Out there with the wolves and the bison, and the eagle soaring high in the starry firmament. As beautiful a lady River was, she certainly would have had many suitors. And she had not taken one. Does she pity herself? Does she need pity? Perhaps not, Emma thought.

Shouting echoed through the white misted valley. Lively shouting from men. And the clanging of steel and the grumble of machinery. The ears of the horses perked up. River reached instinctively for her rifle, but after a quick moment, her hand relaxed and went back to her horse's reins.

"Railroad workers," River explained to Emma. Emma nodded and drew her horse closer to River's.

Grey figures appeared in the icy grey flurry ahead of them, and as they drew closer, the figures turned into working men.

"Hullo there!" A man yelled out to them. He shuffled over in the snow, huffing the cold air. His shoulders were frosted with the falling snow and his face smudged with black powder.

"Hello," River responded. The man walked up and smiled as he recognized the voice. "I figured it might be River out here right now," the man exclaimed. "Who else's crazy enough?"

The man looked over and tipped his forehead at Emma. Emma nodded back.

"If you're thinking of taking the young missus over the pass, I would strongly reconsider," he said to River.

River looked up to the sky, letting a few of the largening flakes to hit her on the face.

He explained, "we just got the call of a mighty big 'un coming through. We are heading back down before it gets to be too bad."

Emma's heart sank. She saw the figures working busily behind the man. They were other men who shoved coal into a miniature steam engine. They were getting the locomotive ready.

"I suppose you're right," River said to the man. The man grunted.

He turned to Emma and bellowed, "helluva weather to be wandrin' about ma'am."

Emma replied, "that may be, sir, but we've only Bozeman to arrive to." She looked to River, who looked at her with uncertain eyes. She continued with a defiant smile, "I am not bothered by a little bit of snow."

The man guffawed and shook his head. He replied, "you can come with us if you' re second guessing your decision. I would if I was you. But we'll be gone in a hot minute."

River turned her horse to face Emma and said, "we are taking mighty gamble."

To the man, Emma asked, "which direction are you heading? To Bozeman?"

The man shook his head. "No ma'am. Crew from Bozeman already left an hour ago. We're down to Livingston."

Hope extinguished. She looked at River for answers. River only looked back, waiting for her to make a decision. They had ridden for two hours already. Only another six at the most and they would make it. River knew that and knew that if she took Emma back to Livingston, she would have to give the money back. The horses and the mule stood huddled and still with flicking ears and tails swooshing at the snow. Their hides gathered snow-dust, but they seemed unworried.

Not seeing a decision happening in Emma, River finally said, "I tell you what Miss Finch, let's go on. There's a mountain hut not two miles further on. If it picks up, we can hole up for the night and let the storm pass and see if we can get to Bozeman tomorrow before your Christmas dinner. Sound good to you?"

Emma nodded. Of course, it sounded good to her. This plan was infinitely better than giving up and heading back to Livingston to wait for God knows how much longer until the railroad is cleared.

River clicked her heels and her teeth at her horse to get them moving. Emma's horse and Annabelle fell in automatically and they trudged onward. The coal-faced old man touched the brim of his hat shouted as they passed, "River, you stay safe out there, you hear?"

The road took them higher into the pass. The higher they ascended, the thicker the snow became. The landscape turned from a ghostly grey speckled with grey flakes to a blue and white thicket of streaking ice. Emma had turned her felt hat downwards over her face to protect her from the onslaught so that only the pommel of the saddle and the frosted shoulders of her appaloosa horse were the only things in her vision. White noise, otherwise, filled her world.

It went on like this for an eternity. But Emma dreaded that the eternity only filled a minute or an hour at most. To manage that dreadful eternity with conversation was out of the question, as was anything else besides simply surviving the pelting snowflakes. Her mind fixated on convincing herself of her own toughness, and of laughing at this misadventure with Percy the following day.

She had fixated her mind inward so much, that she hadn't noticed that the clinking sound of River's spurs disappeared. Suddenly she felt a vast void. She jolted up and looked ahead and saw no one. River was gone. She swiveled her head around and saw that the mule still dutifully followed. Her own horse still pressed forward, but only in a listless forward direction.

Emma's heart filled with a thumping fright and her throat knotted up. "Miss Langtry!?" She shouted out into the blank storm. "River!"

The wind and the snow swallowed her voice. "River!" she cried out in vain.

She stopped her horse from moving forward. The snow had reached the depth of her Appaloosa's knees. The snow inched upwards like seawater in a sinking boat.

"River!" she cried again. The only answer was the muffling silence of the howling wind. She was stranded. She cawed at her unbelievable lot: a caricature in a wild west story.

She waited, as there was nothing else to do, and nowhere to go but into a wall of white. The whistling soundscape blanketed her mind into a terrified calm. Her horse shook the snow from its mane and whinnied impatiently. She rubbed its neck to reassure it.

Another dreadful eternity passed before the sounds of silver clinking came through the wind. A warm relief came over her. The sound of River's spurs.

Out of the white a grey mass appeared and became River on her horse. She had a serious look on her face. "Follow me, Miss Finch! Found the hut," she shouted.

River turned her horse around and the horse trotted back into the storm. Emma snapped her horse into a chase after River. The mule followed close behind. Not a minute later, they found themselves in front of a mossy cabin and a covered stable, sheltered in a grove of dark pines. They put the horses and the mule in the stable, taking the saddles off, and placing heavy matted blankets on the animals to keep them warm, and put in front of their mouths some roughage from the summer, which the animals took gladly. River hauled Emma's luggage, and with a light kick, busted open the cabin door.

When the door went shut behind them, the sounds of storm died away to a muffled howling like a pack of wolves beyond the gates.

River dropped the luggage on the ground in the middle of the empty shack, rubbed her hands to warm them and pulled some logs from a large pile in the corner beneath the window to lay them into the fireplace. The cold in the still air became apparent. Emma took off her wet riding jacket and hung it, along with her hat and her gloves by the fireplace to dry and shivered beside a kneeling River, watching her flick sparks with a tiny metallic device into a pile of tinder and kindling.

"Shall I assist with anything?" Emma asked.

One of the larger sparks caught the tinder and River blew with cupped hands to turn the glowing embers into a bright candle-like flame in the hairy pile of dried moss and sticks. She fanned it a few times until the flame started to spread, then looked up at Emma to say, "just get yourself comfortable Miss Finch."

Emma crossed her arms and looked around at the small cabin. "So, I take it we are here for the night," she said through chattering teeth.

River stood and Emma looked up at her. She stood a half a head taller. Emma hadn't realized the disparity in their heights before, as this was really the first time, they had stood next to each other.

River took off her deerskin coat and flung it haphazardly onto the small table nestled against the wall, the only table in the room, then flung her coonskin hat on top of the coat. She opened a large storage cabinet and rolled out a bearskin rug onto the ground, then took out two rolls of heavy wool blankets.

"Some creature comforts," she said. "Speaking of which..."

She reached a hand up into the top shelf of the cabinet, standing on her toes, and pulled down a large glass bottle full of amber liquid.

She jiggled the bottle at Emma. "Nothing like a bit of the good stuff to warm your soul," she said.

Emma frowned at her.

"Oh, here's your blanket. You're on the cot. I'll take the floor. 'less you prefer the floor."

Emma looked at the shiny black bearskin rug on the floor. It didn't look uncomfortable. Nonetheless she unrolled the blanket on the cot and tucked it neatly into the dusty mattress.

"You wouldn't happen to have any clean linens, would you?" Emma asked.

River bit the cork off the end of the bottle, and it came off with a cheerful pop. She took a swig of the whiskey and wiped her mouth before answering.

"You have my sincerest apologies. Left the clean linens back in Livingston."

She offered some whiskey. Emma shook her head and stayed standing in front of the fire, which had grown into a cheerful, crackling glow that radiated a pleasant warmth that pushed out the cold dampness. With her riding skirt and her damp chemisette warmed, she felt serene. She watched as River, who found a seat at the small table, tossed her head back to drink another mouthful of whiskey.

"Well, there's not a whole lot else to do in here," River said. "My recommendation is to get some drink in you. The time will pass quicker I reckon."

Emma gave her a weak smile, then sat on top of one of her suitcases. "I'm perfectly fine for now, but thank you," she said.

River shrugged. "Suit yourself," she said and took a small pocketknife out from her jean pocket and used it to carve mindlessly into the table, one hand resting on the bottle.

Emma looked around again at the room and studied it with more intention. Dusted cobwebs in the top corners wafted gently in the draft created by the heat from the fireplace. The window was stained with frost and fog and the mad snowflakes pelted it, and bursts of wind rattled it. A pair of antlers hung from the wall by the door adjacent to a hanging lime-greened brass oil lamp. Beeswax candles were pushed down onto the horns of the antler and were unused. The room smelled of pine resin and damp soil.

"So, this is your hut?" Emma asked.

"I built it, if that's your point. But others use it from time to time. I don't mind as long as its kept stocked with firewood and fatwood. That's the rule. And this is jus' one of a bunch of huts. Good for a predicament like we find ourselves in now. Necessary thing for the mountain."

She drank another swig.

"I see. It's quite cozy."

"So, you don't drink much, I take it?"

Emma shrugged and replied, "I drink wine."

"Oh yeah? What kind of wine?"

"Well, all kinds really. I'm quite fond of sweet wines. Like a good sherry."

River raised an eyebrow. "Don't think I've had sherry."

"It's a pleasant wine. And appropriate for the cold."

"Maybe I'll try and find one in Bozeman."

Emma laughed.

"What's that laugh for?" River said, joining her with a short chuckle. She spun the knife on the table.

Emma held her mouth and shook her head. "It's nothing."

River grinned and responded, "don't you think they have sherry in Bozeman?"

"I'm sure they do. But it's a bit absurd, don't you think? A lady walking into a bar and ordering a sherry in Bozeman?"

"Can't I walk into a bar and order a sherry?"

Emma walked over and sat in the chair opposite the table and rested her arms on the table and looked upon River with amusement.

"I guess I'm just not used to the notion."

"It ain't a big deal," River said. "If the bars ain't friendly to women, then I guess they ain't friendly to my money neither."

"I find that something quite admirable about you, Ms. Langtry. That you would be so bold."

"Like I said, call me River. And thanks, I suppose. But you're misunderstanding Montana."

"How so?"

"Well. Maybe it ain't appropriate for women to walk into a bar in London. Because you're all so prim and proper over there, maybe you think that's how it ought to be everywhere. But here in Montana, there are two rules. One -- can you handle a gun. And two -- do you got money. That's our version of prim and proper."

Emma glanced at the whiskey bottle, and River noticed. She pushed the bottle towards her. "Go ahead and give it a try. It ain't sherry, but it's damn fine whiskey."

Emma's hand reached for it.

"Go on."

"Fine," Emma said and grabbed the bottle by the neck with one hand. She grabbed the bottom of the bottle with the other and strained with its heft as she carefully lifted it up to her lips. She squirmed as the biting, burning liquid went down her throat and filled her with an overwhelming warmth in her gut and in her lungs. She slammed the bottle back down on the table and coughed as she wiped her mouth.

"That is horrid," she exclaimed with a look of disgust on her face. "How on earth can you drink that?"

"Once you get used to it, there's nothing like it in the world."

"Ugh, I can imagine."

River lifted the bottle up and drank a spirited round. Emma noticed briefly that River's cotton blouse had become unbuttoned at the top, and she had momentary glimpse of the curved, soft flesh of her breasts. She has perfect, motherly breasts, Emma immediately thought then blushed.

She took the bottle again from River and drank a longer draught.

"Atta girl," River said.

"I guess it'll have to do," Emma coughed.

"I knew you'd come around, Miss Finch."

"Oh, do call me Emma or Em, if it suits you. I think we can dispense with the formality now."

"I knew you'd come around, Em."

The night seemed to arrive all at once and without warning. The pale blue light turned into an inky black. The wind came stronger. River ran out quickly to check on the animals and rejoined Emma to work towards the bottom of the whiskey bottle.

"You ought to know, I've not once had too much to drink," Emma confessed, red in the face and her forehead dampened with sweat. She swayed as she sat at the table. She giggled and took a shot from the bottle. River laughed with her.

"Then I promise I won't tell your husband about this."

"You do not dare, this is our little secret," she said, then pointed a threatening, swaying finger at River. "And he's not my husband."

River laughed and drank, and the bottle slipped from her hand and landed right-side up on the table, making her laugh even harder.

"He's not?" River asked, confused.

"Fiancée," Emma slurred. "There's a difference."

"Pretty much the same thing, ain't it?"

Emma shook her head. "No, it isn't."

"Ok, you got me with a technicality. But really, you're still the same people before and after the ceremony."

"Its not just THAT," Emma said with a hiccup. "We haven't... we haven't... consumma-"

She clasped her hands to her mouth. Her eyes tightened shut and her cheeks blushed at the transgression she was about to commit.

"Y'all haven't done what now?"

Emma kept her lips tight and shook her head.

River's face brightened when she arrived at the revelation She chuckled and said, "oh, come on I mean, that's a normal state of affairs for your type ain't it?"