Judas wasn’t fooled. That had to be the case. After all, Chuck’s property had the river running through it, with plenty of other creeks and tributaries on it. No wonder the family had stumbled into gold.
It was only fair that Judas have part of it.
Or all.
The next morning, Judas studied Garrett Sinclair as he slouched in the chair across from his desk.
Judas leaned forward. “I have a new job for you. One that is going to require some planning and serious thought.”
“Okay. Sure.” The man shrugged his shoulders.
“Go get yourself cleaned up. Look respectable. Shave. Use your manners—I know you have them. And then find a way to get in at the Bundrant dairy farm. Find out if they’re panning for gold out there.”
“What makes you think a dairy farm has gold?” Skepticism showed all over Garrett’s face.
“Because of this.” Judas dumped the bag of nuggets onto his desk. “I’ll give you half if you do this job well for me.”
Sinclair sat up. “Sure thing, boss.”
“Just remember, you need to figure out where the gold is coming from. Endear yourself to them, do whatever it takes. But don’t cause any problems. Got it?” Sinclair was a handsome man. Surely he could get one of the girls to talk over time.
“Got it.”
“Good. The family considers me a dear friend. They are devout churchgoers and honest people. Don’t screw this up.”
“Yes, sir.” A sly grin filled his face.
Whitney sat at the kitchen table with Havyn. Her responsibility to steer their younger sister had grown heavier since Mama was gone. Madysen had barely said a word to either of them for two days and had gone to bed early.
It was troubling.
Whitney wrapped her hands around her mug of tea and shook her head. So far she wasn’t doing a very good job of helping Madysen. “I can’t believe it. I can’t believe she would consider leaving.”
“Something about that man seemed to almost bewitch her,” observed Havyn. “It was strange, and when I said something, I came across as her bossy older sister who didn’t want her to have any fun or follow her dreams. Ever.” Havyn pinched the bridge of her nose. “I’m not that horrible of a sister, am I? I mean . . . I want her to follow her dreams. But I couldn’t believe how protective I felt. We can’t let her leave, right? John said he was worried because she talked to Mr. Merrick privately for a good while in the parlor. John was in there with them, but Judas wanted to know about the plans for making cheese, and so they ended up talking the whole time.”
Whitney stared at her cup. They’d always been so close. And yes, they’d bossed each other around, but Mama always had the final say. What would she do in this situation? Whitney had no idea how to help Maddy. Her sister saw the world in vivid colors, while Whitney saw it in black and white.
“You’re not a horrible sister. I probably would have been much, much worse. Madysen has always flitted from one thing to another. This is probably just a passing fancy. She’s young.” Would her words comfort Havyn? Because they weren’t comforting her.
“For some reason, that makes me feel ancient. We’re not that much older than she is, Whit.” Havyn reached across the table and grabbed her hand.
The gesture was sweet, but for some reason, Whit felt nothing but guilt. Maybe if she were a better sister, a better example . . . If only she were more like Mama.
Logic seemed the only course of action. “I know, but she’s the baby. Maybe we’ve encouraged this all these years because we have handled her with kid gloves. I’ll talk to her tomorrow. After things have settled down. She was probably just flattered and didn’t think it through.” The thought of Maddy leaving them made her chest catch. Whitney didn’t want the family to be split up. “Especially since Mama just passed. I can’t imagine she’d be willing to leave everything and everyone she’s ever known.” She prayed it was true.
And feared it wasn’t.
Havyn took a deep breath. “I don’t know, Whit. She dreamed of playing and singing on bigger stages long before this. And you know how dramatic and flamboyant she can be. She loves people. And social events.”
“But she also loves those sheep.” Whit pointed over her shoulder. “She’s almost as bad with them as you are with your chickens.”
“Hmph.” Havyn gave her a look. “What about you and your dogs? You’re pretty fierce when it comes to anyone helping with them.”
“But that’s different. I don’t talk to them and name them and treat them like they are babies.”
“Oh, you do too. I’ve heard you talking to them many times. And you’ve given all of them names!” Havyn narrowed her eyes as she laughed.
“Only because I’m training them, and they have to have names so they know who I’m giving the order to. Not because they are like dolls at a tea party.” Her frustration came out with the barb. “My dogs work hard and may well save your life someday. I’d like to see your chickens do that.”
“I’m going to ignore that because I know you’re hurting, Whit.” Havyn took a sip of tea. “My chickens might not pull a sled—although now that I think of it, wouldn’t that be a wonder?” Havyn set her cup down and giggled. “Teams of chickens pulling little sleds.”
“Good grief.” Whitney tossed her head back, and some of her irritation melted away. Havyn was always good at calming the situation. And as much as she wanted to defend herself and her dogs, there really wasn’t any difference. Other than the fact that she was much more serious about her work with the dogs. It wasn’t like the chickens or sheep could pull a dog sled, despite Havyn’s wild imagination. They couldn’t provide transportation or help in an emergency like her dogs could.
“Admit it. You talk to your dogs just as much as we do with our animals. Even if you are more bossy.” Havyn lifted her brows.
Was that a challenge? Well, Whitney couldn’t deny it. She began to laugh. “You’re right. I’m just as crazy as you two are.”
Havyn reached across the table and grabbed her hand again. This time she squeezed, and Whitney felt a surge of warmth. “You’re the best of all of us, Whit. You’re strong and loyal, smart and stubborn. You don’t take anyone’s guff. You get things done. You stand up for what you believe in, but—” she choked on her words—“Maddy’s not like that. She’s so full of tenderness. She’ll be too naïve out in the world beyond our little town here. Something horrible could happen to her. We’ve got to stop this.” Tears shone in her eyes.
Whitney didn’t have a good answer. “How do we do that without pushing her away in the process?”
“Havyn,” John called from the door. “I could use a hand. Can you spare some time?”
“Of course.” Havyn got to her feet, then glanced back at Whitney. “Just think about it, sis. We need to figure out what to do.”
Whitney dipped her chin. She’d been thinking a great deal already. Madysen was just one part of the problem. Granddad had made great strides, but he was never going to be the strong man he’d once been. And that changed all the plans at the farm.
And then there was their father. How could Granddad ask them to forgive their father and get close to him? Granddad had to know what an impossibility that was.
Her father. A drunk for as long as she could remember. Yes, he’d been lively and even fun when he was drunk. And he made big promises and plans. She’d clung to those promises like life rings. Every time he talked of them having a big house with a white picket fence and a garden, Whitney had believed. For herself and her mother. Mama always said how wonderful a garden would be. Wherever they lived, Mama and Whitney always tried to plant a few things to help with their food supplies. But mining towns had poor soil for growing anything.
There had been other promises as well. Promises to stop drinking, to settle down and get a good job rather than always looking for a way to get rich overnight. Whitney had often heard her parents talking late into the night. Usually her father was intoxicated, which made him pa
rticularly imaginative. Once––how old was she then? Five?––he talked to Mama about starting a cattle ranch in Texas. How they would buy a nice big piece of ground and get a small herd that they could breed and expand until they were one of the biggest ranches in the state.
Oh, how she’d believed that dream. She’d imagined them all having horses to ride. She used to fall asleep dreaming of that plan—certain that their father could make it happen. Even all these years later, it was still a dream in the back of her mind. But now it was her dream. Not one that came from a drunkard, whose promises meant nothing.
Walking out to where the dogs were, Whitney tried to push all her thoughts aside, but Dad kept coming back to mind. All he’d said and done over the years. Granddad had made his disdain for the man clear when she was young, and Whitney took on those feelings quite easily. With every broken promise—every lie and exaggeration—Whitney hated her father more. He was the reason for every unhappiness.
When they’d all thought he was dead, it was easier. Because he could be banished from her mind. But now he was back. And so were the memories and feelings.
As she approached the dog pen, the dogs’ yips and barks brought her attention back to the present. They knew if Whitney was there, they might have a chance to run or eat. They wanted nothing more than her attention so that they could get their fair share.
Was that what Madysen was doing? Did she want her fair share of attention? Maybe they could let her perform solo more often. It wouldn’t hurt to showcase their baby sister’s talent more. And quite frankly, Whitney didn’t mind a bit. She had lost the joy music had once given her.
All it did was remind her of her loss. How was she supposed to go on without Mama? They had been so close. Before Havyn and Madysen came along, it had been Whitney and Mama. They were never separated. No matter where her father dragged them off to, Whitney and Mama had been together. Her first lessons were on Mama’s lap. She could read music before she could read letters. Music had been everything to Whitney because it was everything to Mama and it connected them. Now it was fading away. As if when Mama died, the music had died with her.
Whitney stared off across the yard, blocking out the sounds of the dogs. She had never felt more alone. Havyn was married, and no doubt she and John would one day have children. Madysen wanted to leave, and she’d probably never return if she did. Granddad was a broken man with a nearly impossible recovery to occupy him.
It was so strange. She’d always figured to stay single and care for Mama in her old age. Whitney started life with Mama and figured to spend the rest of her life with that precious woman. No one understood her like their mother. No one spoke wisdom that resonated better than their mother.
How could she be gone? And why did it have to happen so fast? They had no time to talk, to say good-bye.
Whitney bit her lip until she tasted blood. She wasn’t going to cry. Never wanted to cry again. Without Mama, she had to shoulder the weight and responsibility of life on her own. Tears were wasted on sorrow. It brought no relief and granted no insight. Tears showed weakness and nothing more.
The dogs had worked themselves up into a frenzy. The only relief now would be to run.
“All right”—she went for the harnesses—“who’s going with me?”
THIRTEEN
Emotions Daniel had buried while up in the Yukon now stirred as he headed out to the Bundrant farm. Memories flitted in and out.
Working with Mom on the old homestead . . .
Making cheese, the reward from their labor . . .
Working with the stubborn sheep . . .
It all brought a smile to his face.
For so long, he’d shoved the memories aside because they hurt. But something had changed. He couldn’t help but want to assist the Powell family. Dad heartily encouraged it. Probably because he and Granny were determined to convince Daniel to stay in Nome.
At this point, it wouldn’t take much to convince him to stay. Madysen was enchanting––even under the most disgusting of circumstances. For the first time in a long time, his heart didn’t feel like a dead rock inside his body. The Yukon had made it easy to just avoid people. There he knew where he stood. Folks had only wanted him for one thing: his gold. If, on the slim chance that wasn’t their focus, there was one other thing they might want: his ability to work. He’d done his fair share of that. When his search for gold came up empty, he tried his hand at just about anything else. He’d even built coffins and laid rails, but something always was missing.
He’d told himself it was the gold. Every man there had gold fever. It had worked its way into their souls, demanding they leave hearth and home for the unknown. But that wasn’t why he went.
An old gold miner accused him of hiding. After Daniel shared his anger at God, the man spat at the ground.
“God don’t exist in the Yukon.” The man squinted. “The devil took up residence there to cool off from hell, and God let him keep it.”
Those words resounded in Daniel’s mind. Over and over. The Yukon had been a good place to hide from the memories of his family and their lives together.
And from God.
But far sooner than he anticipated, he didn’t want that hard, cold heart. And now, he longed for family. Warmth. Hope.
Daniel flicked the reins of his horse. It didn’t have anything to do with God. No need to ponder spiritual matters.
It would be nice to simply spend time with Madysen today and learn more about her. That is, if he had the chance to see her.
As he rode up to the sheep pens, his heart lifted when he spotted her kneeling on the ground, rubbing a sheep’s belly.
“Good morning.” He dismounted and stood there, holding the reins.
She peered over her shoulder. “Good morning to you.” Her smile was just like her. Warm and genuine. Did she smile at everyone like that? Her wild curls were pulled back with a ribbon, but he loved how it all cascaded down her back.
Focus.
Fidgeting with the leather in his hands, he cleared his throat. “I came out to offer my assistance—meager as it might be—with the sheep. John mentioned in the store the other day that I should stop by. My first attempt was a bit of a disaster, so I thought I’d better try again. To stop by. So I did.” Why was he rambling? “So what are we up to today?”
Her laughter floated over to him. “How long did it take to get the stench out of your nose?”
“It’s still there.” He scrunched up his nose.
“Me too.” She shook her head, curls bouncing this way and that. “Well, it’s generous of you to sacrifice time for us. We really appreciate it.” Madysen stood and took the towel from her shoulder and wiped off the sheep. “I’m sure we could learn a lot from you. I sent off for a book about raising sheep, but learning from someone who has actually done the job is so much better. How long are you here?”
For her? Forever. He cleared his throat. “I can stay all day if you need me to.”
“Oh, well, in that case . . . we’re not performing at the Roadhouse tonight, and I know John was hoping you could help us with some recipes. As well as any guidance you could give us on weaning, cheese making, or just sheep in general.” She shrugged her shoulders. “I love the sheep, but I must admit I have a lot to learn.”
Such sweet innocence.
She took off her work gloves. “Let me go get him.”
“I’ll walk with you.” He wrapped his horse’s reins around a fence post.
Walking side by side with her, he shortened his gait. She was a tiny thing, and his legs ate up far more distance than hers. “Have you made any cheese before? I can’t remember if I asked.”
“We have. We’ve made quite a bit of mozzarella. John was raised on a dairy in Italy, so he knew how to make that. My sisters and I have all gotten pretty good at it, but we need to learn about cheese from sheep’s milk. Is it a lot different?” She clasped her hands in front of her as they walked.
Their conversation was easy. She felt l
ike a longtime friend. And he liked that. “I can’t imagine that the process is entirely different, but I remember my mother saying that sheep’s milk has more solids in it than cow’s milk.”
“What happened to her—if you don’t mind my asking?”
He winced. Not exactly his favorite topic. “She and my grandpa both died of the cholera when I was sixteen.”
Her head bobbed. “I’m sorry. I think I remember now that Granny mentioned it when she told me about her husband. I confess, I didn’t think about your mother then.”
“She was a wonderful woman.”
Silence accompanied them for several moments.
“My mother was the only constant in my life . . . well, except for God.” Her words were soft. “Granddad has been there for us, but it’s not the same, especially since he hasn’t been well. Mama was always there to hear about our day and quell our fears. We talked about everything with her. As we got older, she was our closest friend too. I don’t know how she did it all. She was so encouraging . . . and now that’s gone.”
Here he was feeling sorry for himself, and he’d completely forgotten about her pain. “I’m sorry, Madysen. That was insensitive of me to talk about my mother.”
“I brought it up.” The half smile she gave him spoke of her sorrow. How was she so sweet with such grief weighing on her?
“Still, I should have been more conscious of it.” He slapped his leg with his hand. “There are days that feel like she’s been gone forever, and then on others it seems like just yesterday.” He looked at her. Sorrow etched her face. Better change the subject and quick. “Tell me about playing at the Roadhouse. How’d that get started?”
“Granddad and Mr. Norris dreamed it up.” She shrugged.
“Is that a heavy schedule for the three of you?”
“We love it so much, it doesn’t feel like work. Although I must admit, we do get tired.” There was a tint of sadness to her tone. “But my music reminds me of Mama.”
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