Izzy Bird, spice cake
Izzy Bird, a poem

Izzy Bird, Thanksgiving

Isabella, as you might have guessed, is still in the cabin in Estes Park. As the three were preparing their supper, the dogs made it clear that someone was approaching. They assumed it was Evans.* It was not.

Instead, it was a young man sent by Evans. Mr Kavan was less than thrilled and pointed out it was another mouth to feed, then went out to see the younger man in.

The lad is a “slangy, assured fellow of 20, who, having fallen into delicate health at a theological college, had been sent up here by Evans to work for his board…We were very much amazed, in truth, at his coming here. He is evidently a shallow, arrogant youth.”

But they put him up in a bed-closet near the kitchen.

They decide that the next day will be Thanksgiving — apparently Thanksgiving was a thing even on the frontier — and they are planning a feast. Or as much of one as they can muster.

The youth has decided to help by writing poetry, reading it aloud to Isabella, and asking for her criticism. Would that I were a fly on the wall.

* remember Evans?

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