A sleigh ride for cynthi.., p.1
A Sleigh Ride For Cynthia (Sleigh Ride), page 1
A Sleigh Ride for Cynthia
(Sleigh Ride)
F. Tilly Brownne
Connections Press
Copyright © 2024 F. Tilly Brownne
All rights reserved
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
No part of this book may be used in AI (Artificial Intelligence) in any way, to train AI, or in any other way.
AI was not used in the writing of this book.
ISBN-13: none
ISBN-10: 1none
Cover design by: V. McKevitt with Nancy Fraser
Library of Congress Control Number: none
Printed in the United States of America
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Books In This Series
Books By This Author
About The Author
Chapter 1
October, 1890
Cynthia Tiponi Wright tucked her hands deep into the pockets of her deep blue jacket. Walking down Cascade Avenue toward the center of town, her breath puffed in front of her in little clouds.
Folks around Colorado Springs, Colorado, told her the snow had come early this year, blanketing the streets, the yards, the hills, and the grand Pikes Peak mountain beyond.
The top of the Peak hid itself beneath a low-hanging blanket of gray clouds. More snow on the way? Most certainly.
This was a different kind of cold.
Back in Chicago, where she had come from, grown up, and was used to, the humidity added a bite to the freezing cold. Here in drier weather, strangely the cold did not feel so fierce.
A gentleman walked past with his wife on his arm. The man gave her a nod and touched the tip of his hat.
She offered him a smile and looked him in the eye, though she kept her head tilted down, her long raven-black hair in a loose braid clung close to her left cheek. Self-consciously she reached up and touched the brim of her hat with her left hand just as they passed to her left. Once they had passed, she glanced back at them as they moved on before dropping her hand and shoving it back into her pocket.
She studied the look of the buildings and street names. Just a twinge of nervousness flitted through her stomach. No need to worry. If she were careful and observant, she would be able to find her way back to her aunt’s house without any trouble. She was simply so unused to venturing out alone. Rarely had she gone out without her father, or someone else with her. Almost never in daylight.
Never in a strange city.
After dark, far fewer people walked the streets. Things looked different. She found it easier to find her way.
Not that she couldn’t go out by herself. She just rarely did. She’d always had someone to go with her.
Until now.
Grief stabbed a pang through her stomach. She blinked back threatening tears and diverted her eyes away from any passersby.
She had not ventured out alone since her arrival in Colorado Springs. She simply had too much to do. Transport the body. Make the arrangements. Bury her father.
Thankfully, her aunt—his sister—had offered her a guest room in her home. The whole family had come to pay their respects.
It had all happened so suddenly.
After breakfast, he had walked out of their home in Chicago and across the yard to the shop where, together, they did their work. As usual, she stayed to clean up the breakfast dishes and prepare a lunch meal to cook later. Then she had slipped on her coat and walked to the door of the shop.
She entered, just like any other day, except for the eerie silence. She stopped in her tracks. Where was her father?
Then she heard it. That gurgling sound. She could still hear it in her mind. And, after discovering what it was, she wasn’t sure she would ever be able to not hear it.
Then she saw it. The overturned table he had apparently tried to grab as he fell.
Then she saw him. On the floor. His hand grasping at air. His other hand, grasping his chest.
“Papa!” She ran to him.
His eyes saw her but he was unable to respond.
“Papa! Are you all right? What’s the matter?”
He gurgled, his tongue curled back in his mouth. He gasped for breath.
“Papa, hang on. I’m going for help.”
She hesitated. How could she leave him? But she had to get him help. She’d given him a look for a long moment, in case it was the last time she ever would see him.
He blinked.
She kissed him on the cheek. And then got up and ran.
By the time she and the doctor returned, he was gone.
Everything had changed so suddenly.
She had called her aunt, one of his sisters. Together, she and the family had decided that he would want to be buried in his hometown of Colorado Springs.
And so she had made the arrangements and accompanied the transport of his body on the train.
They had held a simple graveside service. And then had committed his body to the ground and his soul to the Lord.
Everything was said and done. In a whirlwind.
At times, she felt her head still swirled.
Now what was she to do? Return home to Chicago? To an empty house? And a business she couldn’t run without her father?
She took in a deep breath of the fresh Colorado air. Though it would not help her situation, it made her feel better.
That’s why she came out today. To get some sunshine. And breathe in the fresh air. And to try to give herself a break from thinking about what might come next.
Chapter 2
Trace Blakemore Weston shifted in his chair, the leather squeaking beneath him. As luxurious as the furnishings were in the mansion’s library, this morning he still couldn’t get comfortable.
How he longed to be in a saddle instead.
“Yes, Father, the Europeans are arriving in three weeks, so they will be here in time for our October Ball. But more importantly, they wish to know more about our timber business. They would like to tour the Black Forest and see the pines. They wish to see the other woods we import and to know the quality of the lumber we produce.”
His father, Gerhard Weston, nodded, leaned back in his wingback chair, and rubbed his chin. He sat alone on the far side of the conference table. “Fine, fine. Of course, we will accommodate that tour.”
Trace rubbed his forehead. Why did he have to sit through another endless family business meeting? Hadn’t he already spent enough time taking care of the family business? He had just spent two months in Arabia, and then Europe, while his brothers and sister were doing... what?
Oh, yes, of course. They all had families: spouses and children to take care of. And positions here locally in the family business.
The trip home had left him exhausted.
Maybe that’s why he was so easily irritated. He just wanted some time to sleep. To rest. To relax. To enjoy life.
And then time to go for a horse ride. On his favorite pony. In the mountains.
To be honest, he was so tired of traveling.
Yes, when he was younger, he’d told his father that he wanted to travel the world. And so his father had given him the position to search for companies and clients that wanted to purchase the timber they cultivated. Some made fine furniture of it, with other companies creating musical instruments or even picture frames.
But still, hadn’t his father made a fortune as a timber baron? When would it be enough?
His two brothers and one sister had already started their families. Meanwhile, he couldn’t stay home long enough to find a woman, as much as he longed to find one.
His father brought up the next item on the agenda. “Ella, give us an update on the October Ball.”
His sister leaned forward and consulted a paper. “The food has been ordered. The invitations have gone out. Joseph, Minnie, and Olivia seemed to have all the details taken care of. Honestly, father. I don’t know why you put me in charge of it every year. The help staff knows what to do and they do it. Everything is in order.”
She leaned back in her chair.
His father smiled. “Very well.”
And then his father’s eyes shifted to him.
Oh, here it comes.
“Trace, do you have a lady to accompany you to the ball?”
He could not sit in this chair for one more second. He pushed himself up and turned to pace behind the chairs in which his brothers and sister sat. “And how, father, would I have accomplished this since you have had me in Europe and Arabia for two months?”
He
“If you need help finding a lady to take to the ball, I’ll be happy to—”
“I do not need your help to find a lady—” He turned on his heel and headed back the other way toward the door of the library. From the side, he caught the profile of this older brother, Stephan, before he paced behind him. Stephan stifled a grin.
“Well...” His father had that irritating half-grin on his face, too. The one that felt like he was teasing him, though his father probably didn’t mean it that way. Gerhard Weston opened his hands palms up as if to say, well what’s the problem then?
His father finished his sentence. “...what are you going to do about it?”
Trace stopped mid-pace and turned to face him. “I might not do anything about it.”
Gerhard nodded. “What is wrong with one of the women I have procured for you in years past?”
Trace shook his head. His eyes lifted to the wood-paneled ceiling of the two-story library. “Clearly, every one of them only cares about our money. And our name”
Gerhard leaned forward placing his elbows on the table. “Of course they care about our money. A proper woman wants to be well taken care of.”
Trace nodded and settled his hands on his hips. “You mean a society woman.”
He noticed his two brothers, Stephan and Blayne, exchange glances and give each other that look, the one where he was certain if he could see their faces, they were rolling their eyes.
“Really, son. Isn’t it time you settled down?”
“I would love to, Father. If you didn’t have me traveling all over all of the time. I would love to find a woman and settle down. But when I do, it will be a woman that I truly care for. Not one who is only interested in my money and my name.”
His father sat back in his chair again.
How many times have they had this conversation? Every time he got home from a trip. That’s how many.
And every October when it was time for the ball. Eight years, since he had turned twenty. That’s how many times they had had this conversation.
And frankly, he was tired of it.
“Is there something wrong with a society woman?”
Trace resumed his pacing. The only way he knew to work off the frustration. He watched his father’s face closely. “Didn’t you love our mother?”
He saw pain cross his father’s face. “Of course I did.”
The memory of her sliced through his own heart. Maybe he would be better off not loving a woman, not opening himself up to such pain.
His brothers and sister grew quiet. What? Was no one going to make fun of him for being the only one left single in the family?
“Then why can’t you understand I would like the same thing? A woman who loves me. A lady who wants to spend her life with me because of me, not because of my money. Is that so hard to understand?”
His father shook his head. “No, of course not. But it’s getting pretty late in the game, wouldn’t you say?”
Did he really understand what his father was indicating? “So what you’re saying is, because I’m twenty-eight years old I should settle for some society woman that you pick out for me?”
Gerhard shook his head. “Your two brothers, and your sister, married society people. And they all seem to be doing just fine.”
Trace stopped in front of the window and stared out at the snow-covered lawn. Then he spun on his heel to face them and crossed his arms across his middle. “Are they? All I hear about is the trouble in their marriages and in their lives.”
Ella gasped.
His father gave him that stern look. “Now, Trace—”
He could hear the irritation in his father’s voice. Perhaps he had pressed it too far this time. But at least for once, he’d spoken his mind.
His father looked down at the table and picked up another piece of paper. “Perhaps we should move on.”
Good. Change the subject.
“About the matter of the sleigh? Will we have it by the time the dignitaries arrive?” Gerhard looked up at him.
Trace nodded. He strolled back to the chair he had vacated, put both hands on the back of it, and leaned on them. “Yes, I found a nice sleigh. It is due to arrive on the train today.”
Gerhard nodded. “Good. Do we need to go pick it up?”
Trace would have preferred that. But he shook his head. “Ella’s boys will retrieve it for us.”
Gerhard’s eyes shifted to Ella. “Is that so?”
She nodded. “They took one of the horses to meet the train. They should be back with it in a couple of hours.”
Gerhard smiled. Looking down, he checked something off of his list. “Good, good.”
Gerhard looked up at him. “You’ll make sure it is in perfect condition for our guests? We do need to impress them. Business has slowed and we need all the new clients we can get.”
He tried to contain his irritation and not let it show. “Yes, of course, Father. The one I found and had shipped is in good condition. This time of year, it was a challenge to find one at all.”
He looked at Ella. “Which horse did they take?”
Ella turned in her chair and gave him an irritated look. “What difference does it make? They took the little gray one.”
His irritation turned to anger. He refused to let it show. “Misty?”
Ella waved a hand. “I don’t know. That one you like so much.”
Well, at least Misty is a calm little horse. And she would be good at pulling a sleigh alongside Blizzard. They would make a handsome team. “They’d better treat her right.”
Fire flashed in Ella’s eyes. “What is that supposed to mean?”
His eyes shifted to his father and back to her. Their father knew what he meant. Those boys could be pure trouble. Not that their mother would ever admit that. To her, they were perfect little angels.
It would be useless to have that argument with her. He shrugged. “I’m just not sure they’ve learned to treat a horse well yet.”
Ella turned back to the table. She waved her hand in the air again. “A beast is a beast.”
He hid his smile. Funny, he thought the same of her boys.
Would this family meeting never end? He just wanted to go upstairs and get some sleep.
But now he could not. Not until he knew his nephews had returned with his favorite horse. And the sleigh.
Chapter 3
Cynthia looked both ways before stepping out to cross the street. Thankfully, the morning air was cold enough and the snow here stayed solid. It hadn’t yet begun to melt which would have brought with it muddy slush to soil her boots. Traffic was thick and the streets were busy on this October morning.
An electric trolley rolled by, its bell clanging. She paused to watch the thing. She had read about it in the newspaper. Her father would be thrilled to see it. This was the first, and the one and only electric trolley, commissioned in Colorado Springs. She knew what he would say. Eventually, the electric trolleys will replace the horse-drawn trolley service. Sadly, he would be right.
But she loved the horse-drawn trolleys and had committed to riding one at least once before she left to return to Chicago.
She loved horses. She had worked with them since she was a little girl working beside her mother. Her fondest memories of her mother were the two of them training a horse. Her mother had that special something that horses responded to. Thankfully, she had inherited that special thing.
She could run the horse side of the business all by herself. It was the other side that was her father’s expertise. What was she going to do without him?
The electric trolley passed and she stepped quickly to cross the street to the next block and the line of stores in the business district.
Cynthia strolled up the street taking in the sights: the goods in the window, the reflection of the majestic Pikes Peak in the background. What a beautiful place her father grew up in.
Foot traffic, too, was quite lively this morning. Ladies strolled and window shopped, occasionally going into a store. Gentlemen seemed to be all about business. And then there were the couples: walking together doing her errands as well as his.
