When they crested the rise overlooking the East Coulee, Eleanor pulled the mare to a halt.
Below them, nestled in a sheltered meadow surrounded by towering lodgepole pines, a crew of six ranch hands was working. Two heavy teams of oxen were hauling freshly hewn pine logs from the timberline. Walter Higgins and his apprentice were setting heavy river-stone footings into a dug trench, while Zebediah Vance directed the placement of the first foundation sill.
It was not a cattle shed.
The structure was square, well-proportioned, measuring nearly thirty feet on a side, with wide window openings framed to face the morning sun.
Eleanor looked at Nathan, her eyebrows raised in question. "What are you building down there?"
"The Wind River District Schoolhouse," Nathan said simply, resting his hands on the saddle horn. "The town council voted on it last week, but they didn't have the lumber or the land. I told them the Crowley estate would donate forty acres of the lower meadow, along with all the squared pine timber they could haul out of the north coulee."
Eleanor felt a lump rise in her throat. For years, David had begged the county commissioners for a real school building, only to be told there was no money in the territorial budget for educating the children of dirt-farmers.
"They'll need a teacher," she whispered.
"They have one," Nathan said, turning his mount to face her, his gray eyes steady, earnest, and completely open. "If she wants the post. Miss Higgins can manage the mercantile now; sheâs got a good head for figures. The council wants someone who can teach the children of this valley that they don't have to grow up afraid of merchants, bankers, or hard winters."
Eleanor looked down at the rising stone walls, her eyes shining with tears that she did not try to hide.
"David would have loved this," she said softly.
"I know," Nathan replied. "That's why we're building it out of stone and tamarack. So it'll still be standing a hundred years from now."
By the middle of April, the valley was transformed into an emerald paradise.
The prairie grass grew tall and sweet, fed by the deep moisture of the winter drifts. The cattle, lean and ragged after four months of starvation rations, were gaining weight rapidly, grazing peacefully along the willow-fringed banks of Bear Creek.
The four million tons of steam coal beneath the North Pasture remained undisturbed.
Nathan had received two inquiries from agents of the Union Pacific Railroad, offering substantial sums for the mineral lease. But on Eleanorâs advice, he had declined to sell.
"The railroad will bring two thousand miners, company stores, and shantytowns," she had told him one evening over the account books. "It will turn this valley into another coal camp like Rock Springs. Let the coal sleep in the rock, Nathan. You have fifteen thousand head of cattle, free timber, and clean water. You do not need to trade the sky for black dust."
Nathan had looked at her with profound relief. "I was hoping you'd say that," he had confessed. "My father always said the best thing about finding gold or coal is knowing you don't have to dig it up until you're ready."
On a quiet evening in late spring, after the schoolhouse roof had been shingled and the boys had spent the day fishing for cutthroat trout in the swollen creek, Eleanor sat alone by the great river-stone fireplace in the ranch house.
Henry and Samuel were asleep upstairs in the big corner bedroom, their bellies full of Marthaâs berry cobbler, their small faces sunburnt and peaceful.
Eleanor held a piece of fine linen in her hands, carefully mending the hem of a calico dress. The work was peaceful, her thoughts wandering through the extraordinary events of the past five monthsâfrom that desperate, freezing dawn when she had leveled Davidâs shotgun at a mysterious rider in the snow, to this moment of deep, undisturbed security.
Footsteps sounded on the veranda, and Nathan entered the great hall.
He took off his hat and gun belt, hanging them on the elk antlers by the door. Instead of heading toward the kitchen for supper, he walked directly into the parlor, stopping beside the high-backed chair where Eleanor sat.
He stood looking down at her for a long moment, the flickering firelight casting warm shadows across his broad shoulders and strong, clean features.
"You're working late, Mrs. Pierce," he said softly.
"Just mending, Mr. Crowley," she replied without looking up, though her hands had slowed their rhythm.
Nathan reached into his coat pocket. He did not produce a legal document, a handful of gold, or an account ledger.
He held out a small, exquisite object carved from white pine.
Eleanor laid down her needle and looked up.
It was a companion to the little horse Samuel carried everywhere. But this was not a pony. It was an intricately carved meadowlark, its wings swept back, its head lifted as though caught in the very act of greeting the morning sun from a cedar post. The wood was polished smooth as marble, smelling faintly of clean beeswax and pine resin.
Eleanor picked it up with trembling fingers.