Beneath a Dakota Cross

by Stephen A. Bly

  “Wait until she finds out I located Vince. This is even better than I planned,” Grass beamed. “Just like that there Bible verse of yours. The Lord has ‘thoughts of peace, and not of evil, to give you an expected end.’ That’s the way I’ve been expectin’ it to end up ever since I plucked up that notice along Lightnin’ Creek.” He danced around the table. “Vince showed me a photograph of sweet Jamie Sue. Is she as purdy as her picture?”

  “She’s a very attractive young woman,” Brazos said.

  “What did I tell you? I knew that from her notice. Yes, sir … I told ol’ man Fortune, this is a beautiful woman. But he jist scoffed.” Grass stopped his prancing and spun around to face Brazos. “But I cain’t believe you’d let her go north all by herself.”

  “She didn’t go by herself,” Brazos assured. “Robert escorted her.”

  “Robert’s your son?” Vincent Milan asked.

  “My youngest boy. He’s a sergeant in the cavalry.” Brazos could feel the penetrating stare of Grass Edwards’s eyes, so he talked to Grass without looking at him. “And not only that—this will knock your hat off—the March sisters were with Dacee June, too, and they want to go to Deadwood, too!”

  “What do you mean, Robert went with her?” Grass questioned.

  “He needs to get back to Fort Abe Lincoln. You didn’t want me to send her up there by herself, did you?”

  “You knew I was in town,” Grass growled.

  “No one could find you, partner. Don’t worry, they’re just pals. You know how young people are.” Brazos finally looked up at Edwards’s eyes. “Now, what do you think Big River Frank and the Jims are going to say when we show up with Louise Driver and Thelma Speaker?”

  Grass Edwards leaned forward and grabbed the canvas collar of Brazos’s coat. “What do you mean, they’re pals? He ain’t known her for twenty-four hours, and I’ve been pining for her for months.”

  Brazos shrugged. “You figure on shootin’ me in town … or waitin’ until we’re out on the prairie?”

  Vincent Milan’s eyes widened and he stepped back from the table.

  “If this turns out the way I fear,” Grass growled, “I’ll probably do both.”

  It snowed on Christmas Day in Deadwood.

  Not a heavy, wet snow that sticks to your boots and soaks your clothes. It was light, dry, small-flaked snow that whipped down the gulch like driven sand and swirled like frigid dust devils. The silver bulb of mercury shivered on zero.

  Brazos Fortune stood near the front door of the rough, wooden building at daylight and stared out the ice-fogged glass window along Main Street. The Ponderosa pine wood window casing still emitted an aroma of forest freshness. A lone figure appeared on the uncovered wooden sidewalk next door. A bundled man held his hat on his head and scurried to the next building. Brazos swung the door open for him.

  Big River Frank slapped the snow off his coat and shivered his way over to the cast-iron stove in the far corner of the room. In his hand he carried a small package wrapped in brown paper that sported a tattered red ribbon.

  “Mornin’, Brazos. Merry Christmas.”

  “Merry Christmas, Big River. Help yourself to some coffee. That’s a genuine expensive blend all the way from Costa Rica.”

  “Where’s that?”

  “Somewhere south of Mexico. I ordered it out of Chicago. Figured we needed something special for Christmas.”

  Big River grasped the cup of coffee and plopped down on a crude chair that had been made from an empty nail barrel and slats. He gently set the package at his feet. “You ain’t openin’ the hardware store today, are you?”

  “It’s always open for you and the boys, you know that.”

  “Ain’t for me. I ran across them fellas who bought No. 29 Above Discovery, and they figure they can keep diggin’ on the tunnel that French Albert and them others started. I think they wanted some bull steel and eight-pound sledges. I told them you wouldn’t open on Christmas, but they might be by anyway.”

  Brazos paced through the roomful of disorganized crates, barrels, half-empty gunny sacks, scattered tools, and parts. There were no shelves in the store. “You know, Big River, never in my life did I think I’d be a shopkeeper.”

  Big River Frank sipped his coffee from a thick pottery mug. “It just kind of snuck up on ya.”

  “When me and Grass and the ladies came back with that first load of freight, we needed a building to store it in while we peddled it off. I was figurin’ just a cabin for me and Dacee June, but by the time the Jims got through carpenterin’, I had this two-story building.”

  Big River unbuttoned his wool coat and loosened the brand-new black silk bandanna around his neck. “Upstairs makes a good place for you and Miss Dacee June. She deserves the nicest place in town. Ever’one here knows that.”

  “Well, we can’t do placer work in the winter when the creek is frozen. So maybe being shopkeeper is as good as any way to winter.”

  “Gives us a warm spot to sit, anyway,” Big River nodded. “And we ain’t goin’ broke.”

  “We got us a budding boomtown, Big River. I’ve never been around anything like this. I’ll probably sell out in the spring before it all goes bust. I’ve got to find me a better place than this dreary gulch to raise my girl.”

  “It will be a whole bunch drearier if you cart off our Dacee June.” Big River ran his hand through his thick beard, which made his narrow face seem wider and took the emphasis off his soft, kind eyes. “You still searching for that special place the Lord’s called you to? You still figure it’s under that Dakota cross on Hook Reed’s map?”

  “It’s for sure not here. I figure somewhere there’ll be this big, old, tall mountain with a snow cross stretched down its flanks. There’ll be a wide grass meadow flopped out in front of it with a nice stream of clear water. Not a gold creek that every bummer will tear up, no sir. It will be a beautiful place for a secluded ranch. I’ll know it when I see it. And when I find it, I’ll buy a patent deed and settle down.”

  “It’s a purdy dream. You reckon that’s your dream … or the Lord’s dream?”

  “It’s goin’ to happen, Big River.”

  Big River finished his coffee but continued to hold the cup. “In the meantime, we keep making more money than we can spend. You don’t reckon it’s sinful, do you? I’ve been poor all my life, but happy. I always told myself rich people ain’t happy. You suppose we’ll lose our happiness over a few ounces of gold?”

  “Big River,” Brazos laughed, “with any luck we’ll both be broke by next summer.”

  “Might be the best thing. I been thinkin’ there’s a lot more important things than gettin’ rich. Don’t that beat all? You and me’s been tryin’ to scratch out a livin’ for years. Now we sit here on the verge of somethin’ big, and I’m worried about it. You reckon we’re scared of gettin’ rich?”

  “It can ruin a man, sure enough. But I figure as long as we have more important things in life than wealth, we’ll probably do all right. Big River, you’re gettin’ mighty philosophical this early in the mornin’,” Brazos said.

  “Christmas Day kind of puts a man to meditatin’.”

  Brazos nodded. “You know what I was thinkin’ about when you came in?”

  “Mincemeat pie?”

  Brazos laughed. “Nope, but my-oh-my how my Sarah Ruth could make a mincemeat pie. She marinated that meat for several days, then she’d use butter, lard, and flour and whomp up the flakiest tender crust you ever tasted. She wouldn’t tell nobody, but she’d put just a little taste of rum in there and then whip up some fresh cream. I’d tell her it’s the sweetest thing I ever tasted in my life, and she’d say, ‘Why, Henry Fortune, you told me my lips were the sweetest thing you ever tasted!’” He stared across the store. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, then fingered the neatly trimmed beard on his chin. Finally, he mumbled, “I’ll never taste those sweets again.”

  “Now before you get mopin’ too much, you need to count your blessin’s,” Big River e
ncouraged as he looked upstairs. “And you got a lot more to count than me. How’s our Dacee June?”

  “Sleepin’.”

  Big River glanced down at the package near his feet. “Now, what was it you were ponderin’ when I came through the door?”

  “I was thinkin’ about how we need a church in town.”

  “We don’t have a preacher.”

  “I know, but it does seem strange to celebrate Christmas, and not have a church to go sing hymns in,” Brazos said.

  “We could still sing hymns,” Big River Frank suggested. “I don’t have many learned by rote, but I can hum along. Quiet Jim must know a hundred hymns, if we could get him to sing them out loud. Remember that time last October when we was sluicing out color left and right and we worked all day Sunday listenin’ to Quiet Jim sing? That was the most peaceful worship I think I ever had.” Big River Frank looked away and brushed the corners of his eyes.

  Brazos poured himself a cup of coffee and sat at the fireside end of a long, wooden bench. His clean, white shirt was buttoned at the wrists, his black silk tie tucked neatly into his wool vest. “You’re right, Big River. We could sing. If the weather lets up at all, we’ll let it be known up and down the gulch that we’re singing hymns right here at the store tonight. Might be a few other men who would like to join in.”

  “Plus a young lady and probably the March sisters.”

  The door opened, and a man with a long, black overcoat entered. He closed the door quickly and tugged at black leather dress gloves. He hung his coat on a hook and strolled towards them. A small package wrapped in wrinkled, gold-colored paper was in his hand.

  “Wheweee!” Big River hooted. “Would you look at that new Christmas suit! Don’t he look swell today!”

  Grass Edwards looked flushed. Brazos didn’t know if it was from the compliment or the cold. “Merry Christmas, Brazos,” he offered. “I already greeted Big River when he was stompin’ around our place awhile ago.”

  “Merry Christmas, Grass,” Brazos replied.

  “That Louise Driver is one good seamstress! Look at this.” Grass Edwards waltzed to the cast-iron stove and held out the hem of the jacket. “This is fine material imported from England. I tell you, boys, I’ve never had a custom suit before. I’m beginning to enjoy Deadwood more and more.” Grass grabbed a cup of coffee and plopped down on the bench next to Brazos. He set the package next to him. “Of course, I could enjoy it more if a certain individual wouldn’t have back-stabbed me and gave away my sweet Jamie Sue. I ain’t one to name names, but his initials are B. F.”

  “I told you a hundred times, Grass, they rode off threatenin’ to kill each other and came back all scrunched up together,” Brazos explained. “I don’t know what happened. Prairie fever, maybe.”

  “Fever in a snowstorm?”

  “What can I say?”

  Grass Edwards slapped Brazos on the back. “Shoot, it ain’t a total loss. Me and Vince Milan is busy writin’ our book on the flora and fauna of Dakota. He figures with my text and his illustrations it will be a classic. Can you imagine that? I can see it in the papers now: ‘Wealthy Dakota businessman and mine owner, Grass Edwards, has once again demonstrated his true genius in writing this here definitive work on plant life of the Black Hills.’”

  Big River grumbled as he swished his coffee around in the thick, porcelain mug. “Ain’t no one goin’ to buy a book about weeds, no matter who wrote it.”

  “Now there’s a man with narrow vision. I believe he’s the same man who wanted to sell those two Above Discovery lots for five thousand dollars. What was our latest offer?”

  “Hearst said he’d give us twenty-five thousand dollars for them,” Brazos said. “’Course, by next summer they might not be worth a plug of tobacco.”

  “If we got folks movin’ in even durin’ the winter, they’re for sure goin’ to move in come spring and summer,” Grass added. “And most figure all the claims will be gone in another month. That means they have to buy existing ones.”

  Big River rolled his eyes. “We’ll see …”

  Yapper Jim burst through the door, waving his arms. “Hey, how about a little help with this,” he called out. “Me and Quiet Jim is about to break our backs!”

  Brazos, Big River, and Grass scurried across the bare wooden floor of the hardware store. “What have you got in that big crate?” Brazos quizzed.

  “Never you mind. We jist need a little hep, that’s all,” Yapper Jim informed. “It ain’t for you, so keep your shirt on.”

  The heavy, wooden crate was four feet high, five feet wide, and two feet deep. A trail in the snow on the wooden sidewalk showed where it slid all the way up from the Double J Lumber Yard. They shoved it over to the center of the room. Quiet Jim laid a large, brown envelope on top of the crate.

  Brazos scratched the back of his neck and circled the crate. “Is that the grindin’ wheel I freighted in for you?”

  “Grindin’ wheel?” Yapper Jim hooted. “That’s what we wanted you to think. That there is somethin’ special.”

  “All the way from Philadelphia, Pennsylvania,” Quiet Jim added.

  “But you aren’t goin’ to tell me what it is?” Brazos insisted.

  Yapper Jim tossed his arm around Brazos’s shoulder. “Sorry, partner, it just ain’t for you!”

  Fortune surveyed the four men who migrated towards the woodstove and the coffeepot, each wearing new, Sunday-best outfits. “I figured you’d all be sleepin’ in today. I can’t believe all of you are up so early on Christmas.”

  “And I cain’t believe a certain young lady isn’t stirrin’ around at the break of day. Why, when I was a shirttail lad, we used to be up before light on Christmas,” Yapper Jim blurted out.

  “That’s who this crate is for,” Brazos triumphed. “It’s for Dacee June. Well, she had quite an evenin’ last night at the community dance. ’Course, she did say that most of the younger men were scared to death to talk to her, since you four threatened to hang any man that looked at her twice.”

  “There ain’t a boy in this camp good enough for her,” Yapper insisted. A chorus of “Amens” followed.

  “She’s only twelve,” Brazos laughed. “It’s not like she’s lookin’ for a husband.”

  “You cain’t be too careful. My baby sister got married when she was fourteen,” Grass added.

  Quiet Jim warmed his thin hands in front of him. “You don’t reckon that your freight wagons will come in today, do you, Brazos?”

  “I told the crew to lay over in Bismarck for Christmas. But I do feel funny not being with ’em. This is the first trip I haven’t made myself. I hate sendin’ them on a freezin’, dangerous trip without me goin’ along.”

  “You’ve got to stay and run the store,” Grass reminded him.

  “Store? Look at this place!” Brazos moaned. “Just a big room with no shelves or counters and crates and goods scattered all over the floor in no apparent order.”

  “That’s what’s so great about it,” Big River explained. “It’s comfortable and informal lookin’.”

  Brazos glanced back at Quiet Jim. “You gettin’ anxious for that steam mill?”

  Quiet Jim flashed his shy, wide smile. “You boys know it’s been my dream to own my own sawmill someday. I never thought I’d actually have the money to buy my own mill.”

  “There’s a lot of things happenin’ for the first time in this town,” Grass exclaimed. “All five of us dressed up like bankers, for one.”

  “Brazos and Dacee June have a hardware store on the side. The Jims got their lumber mill …” Big River shook his head. “Me and Grass been talkin’ about buildin’ a hotel.”

  “You know anything about runnin’ a hotel?” Yapper asked.

  “We can hire someone who knows how to run a hotel. All we want is a good clean, dry room with a nice view of the gulch,” Grass Edwards whooped.

  “I know where you can get a good deal on sawed boards,” Quiet Jim added. “I’d donate a few boards in trade for a
good room with nobody snorin’.”

  “I ain’t never heard myself snore,” Yapper insisted.

  A woman’s voice startled all five men. “I do hope we aren’t interrupting anything!”

  Louise Driver and Thelma Speaker swished into the store. The men stood, each one removing his hat.

  “Merry Christmas, gentlemen,” Thelma called out.

  “Same to you, ma’am,” Quiet Jim offered. The others chorused their greetings.

  Louise carried two large, flat, neatly wrapped boxes. “We don’t want to disturb you. We’ll just slip upstairs and visit with Dacee June.”

  “Actually,” Big River Frank admitted, “we was all just sort of waitin’ for Miss Dacee June to come down here.”

  “Yes, I see. Why don’t Thelma and I go up and help her get ready?”

  “That would be quite nice,” Edwards nodded.

  “It surely is a beautiful suit you sewed for Grass,” Brazos called out, as the ladies scurried to the stairway at the back of the store.

  Louise Driver turned at the bottom of the stairs. Her straight, dark hair was neatly pinned up in her small felt and feathers hat. “Yes. Lawrence does look quite fetching in it.”

  The two women scampered up the stairs.

  “Lawrence?” Yapper Jim hooted. “Your Christian name is Lawrence?”

  “Yeah,” Big River teased, “his real name is Lawrence Fetching!”

  “Now, boys, I never figured you all would resort to this type of petty jealousy,” Grass said.

  “You going to start courtin’ a woman older than you?” Yapper pressed.

  “Actually, Louise is only two years and forty-one days older.”

  “I’m glad to see you’re gettin’ over you-know-who,” Brazos teased.

  “I will live with the pain of your treachery, Fortune, until my dying day,” Grass insisted.

  “We could speed that up, if you like,” Big River Frank suggested.

  “Speed up what?”

  “Your dyin’ day.”

  “Let him with a lady friend of his own cast the first stone,” Grass goaded. “Besides, a mature woman has a lot more skills than some young girl.”