by Caryl McAdoo
“Only miners? What about, say… Widowed shop keepers who’d like to own all of their business instead of only fifty percent?”
He studied on her a minute, then decided she meant every word. “That’d be possible, of course, but might be a mistake.”
“I don’t think so.” The beauty looked around the store then stepped in too close. The hint of rose proved intoxicating. “I would prefer not to be in alliance with a whoremonger.”
Ah, the flower exposed her thorn. But then, how could a true lady not think ill of him?
The woman at the bottom of her husband’s death who ruined her marriage had known his name. Then Meiko acting so strange at the sight of him with the beautiful widow and the baby. He couldn’t fault her.
“Mary…” What was he doing? He didn’t owe the young woman an explanation, but without one… He wanted to stay in partnership with the Queen of Commerce, wanted her to know the truth.
She retreated behind her desk and sat down. “Jethro… I’m sure you understand. If you’d be so kind as to set the price, I’ll talk to my banker.”
“No, ma’am. Our share isn’t for sale.” He turned and walked out the door.
Didn’t have to tell her a thing.
With no buyout clause in the agreement Elijah had signed and registered at the claims office, he had every right to decline her request. He and his partners owned fifty percent of the Lone Star Mercantile, regardless of what Miss Mary Wheeler thought or wanted.
That man! Mary’s jaw clamped shut. She closed her eyes and thought on Edward. Such the gentleman in comparison to the infuriating heathen. Out of his own mouth, Risen told her he wasn’t a praying man.
The audacity of him!
Our share isn’t for sale, indeed. His harsh declaration echoed. Maybe she’d just see about that. If Moses and Elijah…
Well, his little dab of gold would play out soon enough anyway, they all did. And after he spent all his hard earned wealth at the Golden Dragon, then she’d see. He’d come begging.
For a moment she not only let him grovel at her feet but thoroughly enjoyed it. Then she caught her wicked self and repented.
Oh, Lord, help me to be more like You. Men! Why did You make them so pigheaded and hard to deal with? And why do women want to be loved by one so desperately?
She put Risen out of her mind and determinedly thought on Edward instead. Perhaps he had decided to build that house for her. It could be so, and why was he so keen on her seeing it in its early stages?
True, he hardly knew her, but that very morning, it definitely appeared as though he hated leaving her company. She didn’t want him to go either.
Then that horrible man ruined her wonderful mood.
A wonder to be sure that he hadn’t soured her milk. She leaned back in her chair, then as if it had a mind of its own, her right hand pulled the drawer open and retrieved the letter she’d started weeks ago and placed it on her desk in front of her.
Dearest Rebecca,
She read down to where she’d left off, only scanning the paragraphs about Caleb’s death.
One of my customers is a handsome man named Edward Clinton. He reminds me some of Daddy. He was a captain and fought with Levi and Wallace in Mexico. Such a small world.
Anyway, he’s building a house on Nob Hill, a very exclusive area coming together on the side of a mountain, with spectacular views of the Pacific. He ordered the supplies he needs this morning, and it appears the man is building a mansion.
She lifted her pen. What could she say? Though her husband had barely grown cold in his grave, that she might be falling for the man? That he made her swoon shamelessly? Perhaps she should simply change the subject.
I hope you’ll please tell Daddy that I love him and I know I was wrong. Though he hates me, I pray he could find it in his heart to forgive me one day. How are he and Mother May doing?
Probably all still pure bliss, I suppose. It’s funny how much I miss her. I thought I’d order a shipment of her books for my Lone Star Mercantile. More and more women come to San Francisco all the time.
She thought to scratch that part out about being wrong—or start over—but she’d written it, and it was true. He had been so right about Caleb. Confess your sins one to another, and He would be faithful and just to forgive them.
Couldn’t that be so of her Daddy, too? But mercy, he would just love Edward Clinton. Having been to war with Levi and Wallace said a lot for him, didn’t it? And he definitely had plenty of money.
A grown man, thirty-one or two at least; Daddy would never call him a boy. She sat there staring at the letter for too long, then placed the page back into the drawer. How could she post another letter to them?
Why didn’t they write her back?
Someone should have responded to the letter she sent right after she got to San Francisco. They’d had it almost a year now, yet not a word from anyone. Maybe Daddy hadn’t even showed it to anyone else.
Maybe he’d written her off, counted her dead to him.
He shouldn’t be so angry, even if he was right.
She was still his daughter. His own blood.
Had to be a pure mean streak, one he’d kept hidden so well all her life. Just like he’d never shown her that wild beast that lurked in his soul, the one capable of killing ten men. The meanness must live in the same dark hole.
Well, she knew him now.
Her going against him cost her, and she was paying the price.
Worst of all though, he made her sisters pay, too.
Surely they still loved her though.
On the way, the youngest boy about wore Jethro out asking questions, but that night and again the next morning, he jumped to whatever task needed to be done; often without being told. The higher into the mountain the mules climbed on the second day, the questions slowed then stopped altogether.
“Mister Jethro, sir, I never dreamed… Only gold camp I seen were a bunch of tents and dirty men working a creek. This here… It’s like…”
The older one, Ned he called himself, stood and drank it all in. “Right smart operation you got here, sir. Two cabins, and what’s that machine up yonder there? On higher up the hill from the long Tom?”
“Called a hammer mill.”
“And is that a steam engine you got in that shed there next to the mill?”
“That’s exactly right. Elijah built it.”
As though he’d heard the mention of his name, the young man burst out of the mine and ran toward him. “Jethro, how’s Moses and Miss Lanelle?”
He waited until the machinist—as Elijah liked referring to himself as—drew nearer then raised his voice. “Going to be fine. He’s awake. Broke up, but he’ll be his old self again soon enough.”
Slowing to a walk, he stared at the boys. “Who’s these guys?”
“Well, I brought you some help. You up to bossing?”
“Oh, yes, sir. I got plenty of work.”
After the boys unloaded the wagon and Elijah put the pair to splitting and stacking wood for the boiler, his youngest partner led Jethro up to the new cabin’s porch, out of earshot, but still close enough to keep an eye on his new charges.
“That last blast, the one that got Moses. It opened it up, Jethro. I mean the mother lode, too. We only thought we’d found a lot of gold before. I’ve filled three powder kegs with dust and flakes and a whole ’nother one’s full of nuggets.”
The image of his friend covered in crystal and gold still plagued his dreams. That is when Meiko would leave his night visions alone. “You haven’t been blasting, have you?”
“No, sir. After I ran that load through the mill, I put in those two sets of timbers we had ready. Done some sledge work, too. The face comes off real easy. After that, went to chopping trees. I thank you kindly for the help, I can sure use ‘em, but can we trust them?”
“The older one’s Ned. His brother works at the Mercantile, and Cody is their cousin. Come west together looking for their fortunes. Seem harmless en
ough, but guess you ought to keep an eye on them.”
“I will.”
“I don’t care if you hit a lick at all while I’m gone, but work them hard. I promised a dollar a day. If they’re worth more, you let me know.”
“Yes, sir. I’m getting real close on that steam hammer.”
“Excellent, need any parts?”
“I’ve got some drawings, but figure I should be there for the casting myself.”
“Either way, I’ll be back here in a month. Anything you want me to bring then?”
“No, more of what you just brought.” He grinned and a twinkle shone in his eye. “Unless you can talk Mary Wheeler into coming.”
Jethro laughed. “Not a chance. If what I saw today is any indication, she and some dandy will be walking the aisle soon as it’s respectable.”
Elijah bristled. “What’s his name?”
“Didn’t hear, didn’t ask, but you best just forget Mary Wheeler and her fancy man.” He patted the man’s shoulder. “Now where’s those kegs? We may need the money.”
“Under our feet. Buried them good.” He grinned. “What are you thinking?”
“A miner’s bank. We grubstake enough men, we can sit us a porch somewhere and rock ourselves into old age.”
Elijah laughed, jumped off the porch, then pulled the end boards off. While he retrieved the kegs, Jethro told him about wanting to trade for the Wingate’s place. Once loaded, he turned the mules around and headed back.
Where before he couldn’t stand the thought of leaving, now he couldn’t stand even spending one night at the mine.
Was that his lot in life?
Always wanting to be somewhere he wasn’t?
And with someone he could never have?
By dinner of the second day after Edward left, Mary was about to bust a gut. Virgil had taken his wife off to visit their kin, and while she’d come to love the dear old woman, Mattie would never understand. That left Lanelle.
Plus, she needed to talk with her anyway, but each time she tried to bring up Mister Clinton, the words didn’t seem right.
Like always, she nursed Susannah first then let the little man have all he wanted. He was such a wee piglet about it, too. “Go ahead and put her on my bed if you don’t mind.”
Shortly her cousin returned and pulled a cane bottom chair close. “What’s on your mind, Mary?”
“It is that obvious?”
“Yes, now tell me. What is it?”
She rocked back and held it. “Well, there’s this customer, and well... I think maybe I’m falling in love with him.”
“That would be good. You deserve to love someone who’ll love you back, Mary Buckmeyer Wheeler. What’s his name?”
“You don’t hate me?”
“Of course not. We won’t talk bad about our dead, but that sorry you-know-what never deserved either one of us.”
Unaware she’d been holding her breath, she exhaled. How wonderful. Why had she thought Lanelle would be unhappy about it? She rocked closer. “He’s building a house up on Nob Hill.”
Her cousin giggled. “Fancy you.”
“Maybe Moses will build you one next door.”
“Not us, we like being up in the mountains away from all of civilization’s crazies.” She bobbed her brows up then scrunched her shoulders forward. “Ever swam in your birthday suit?”
“Sure. Lot of times.”
“In an ice cold stream with your husband?”
Mary snorted, couldn’t help herself. “No.”
“Can’t do that on Nob Hill.”
Mary had to agree, then a mental gear shifted. Before she lost her chance, she had to bring up that other thing that had been eating at her. “Tell me something else. Jethro Risen said his share of the Mercantile wasn’t for sale. You know anything about that?”
“No, not a thing. How’d that come up?”
“Oh, I told him I didn’t fancy being in partnership with a whoremonger.”
Lanelle recoiled. “You didn’t!”
“I sure did. I didn’t rightly mean to say it, but it just kind of came out. The man infuriates me. How he thinks he always knows best and orders everyone around.”
“I know what you mean by that, it’s like his nature, and he is right smart about the best way to do things—just like acquiring the old barbershop for us to stay while Moses recuperates, where I could be close to Joshua.”
“True.”
“But Mary, why would you call him that awful name?”
“The first time I came to Miss Ling’s to feed the baby, we had been sitting in the parlor visiting and in walks the China Doll herself. Before she knew I was there, she started saying something and called him Jet.”
“She didn’t!”
“Oh, yes. So she knows him right well to have a nickname, don’t you think?”
“Sounds like it.”
“Well, she came on in, takes one look at me, than wheels around and marches out without even finishing her sentence. Now what do you think about that? Wouldn’t you say he’s a whoremonger?”
“Maybe, but not yet. How did you know that’s who the woman was? And what would she be doing there?”
Mary shook her head. “I made Virgil take me to the Dragon so I could see the...uh…soiled dove myself after….”
“Oh.”
“And Miss Ling is her mother!”
Her cousin’s eyes grew wide. “No!”
“Yes, ma’am, it’s true. Jethro told me that himself. Seems in her younger days, the old lady made her living the same way.”
Her cousin shook her head. “Moses never told me all that.”
Lanelle leaned back and looked away then got closer again. “Meiko is her real name; I knew Miss Ling had a daughter, but I didn’t know Meiko and the China Doll were one and the same. Jethro met her back when Moses broke his leg, back before we ever came.”
“Did he know she was a…uh…you know…then?”
“Moses didn’t say, but apparently neither of them did.”
“How did Moses break his leg?”
“Stepping off the boardwalk. He said it was bad, bones sticking out. Thought he was going to lose his leg, but Miss Ling fixed him up. Made him stay in bed so he wouldn’t break it again.”
“That was a blessing.”
“Anyway, that’s when Jethro met Meiko and fell in love. The night before Moses was to leave, Jethro and Meiko had a big fight. Moses didn’t know what it was about.”
“Dear mercy.”
“But Jethro didn’t come back to town again until just the other day.”
“Oh my, I had no idea. I’ve been despicable.”
Remorse filled Mary’s heart. How could she have been so mean to jump to conclusions like that? And why hadn’t he defended himself when she called him that appalling name? Her heart took to aching for the man.
“Me and my big mouth! Suppose that night he found out what she really was?”
“Must have, poor fella.”
“I cannot believe I called him that awful name. I feel just dreadful.”
“Well, did he tell you he got saved?”
“No! When? Just the other day he told me he wasn’t a praying man.”
“That must have been before. He told us he found the Lord at Brother Paul’s church the same day Moses woke up.”
“Who’s that?”
“The Methodist preacher. He’s the one married Moses and me.”
“Remember if you will, I wasn’t invited to that party.”
“Well, everything went so fast, me getting bigger by the day.” She giggled. “I asked him to ask me. Best thing I ever did.”
Mary laughed, and Joshua let go and his head fell back like dead weight. The look of pure content warmed her heart. “Well, he’s never done that before. You can just lay him next to Susannah if you don’t mind. Be sure to fix the pillows.”
Once buttoned up, it hit her hard. She’d been so wrong about Risen, and she’d rectify it first time she saw him again.
But that didn’t change anything. She had herself a Daddy back in Texas, and she sure didn’t need another man bossing her around here in California.
Edward would never try to tell her what to do.
Somehow, she’d get Mister Risen to sell her their share of the Lone Star Mercantile.
Chapter Fifteen
What had only been a someday notion grew into an urgent need as the mules carried Jethro into town. Three turns later, he set the wagon’s brake, jumped down and took off his hat, then walked into the storefront Methodist Church.
The old man knelt at the front bench, head bent over. Jethro slipped to his knees and began reciting the only prayer he knew. The preacher joined him in that prayer then smiled. “Amen.”
Glad to be back in the house of the Lord, Jethro returned the grin with one of his own. “Moses called you Brother Paul, is that right?”
The man stood and extended his hand. “Yes, sir. Good to see you, young man.”
Jethro took the offered hand. “It’s Jethro Risen. Have you got time to talk?”
“Of course, what’s troubling you?”
Where should he start? “So much, but it isn’t like before. When Moses would tell me things and read from his Bible, I’d….”
“Get riled up?”
“Some, but you see, my father always claimed religion only got invented for the weak-minded, but then I met Moses, and he was anything but.”
“Your father, is he still alive?”
“Don’t know.”
“Your mother?”
“No, she died when I was seventeen.”
“Tell me about your parents.” Brother Paul put his hand on Jethro’s shoulder and guided him to two chairs next to a potbelly stove that sat in the far corner. He retrieved a chair. “Want coffee? I can boil us some.”
“No need.” Jethro started at the beginning, told the old man about his privileged childhood, raised more by nannies and his governess, and then later, sent off to boarding schools. Once he got to talking more specifically about his mother, he stopped his narrative.
Did the man really need to know about her?
“If you don’t want to tell me, that’s fine.”
