by Caryl McAdoo
TO FIND A WIFE IS TO FIND A GOOD THING
“What?” He looked around the room. That same voice that spoke to him before told finding a wife was good? Could He mean the China Doll?
He struck a match, found another lamp, and got it going before the lucifer burned down. Lucifer. Wasn’t that the devil’s name? He should stop calling matches that.
According to Moses, he was heaven bound now, and the devil had been thrown out, right? So much to learn. He pulled out his watch, four forty-four.
Might as well get the coffee on and read some more. Poor Jacob, that Laban had tricked him, but then gave him his love, too. Would he want two wives? By the second cup, the story had gotten worse.
The sisters had given him their handmaids to bear him more children. Fathering babies with four woman, and they all lived together.
Who knew all that was in the Bible?
Twelve sons and a daughter. Man, oh man, if Jacob came to the California gold fields, some lovesick miner would have killed him over his ladies. Only natural to think his situation totally unfair, him with four and the miners with none.
Shortly after the sun shone its new day, Moses joined him, but kept his peace while Jethro read. Got his brew and settled near the window.
Poor Jacob, the man couldn’t catch a break. Of course, he lied to his father, but Esau already gave up his birthright for the soup, so wasn’t it Jacob’s by right? At least his brother hadn’t killed him.
Then those rotten sons! Granted, he had favored Joseph and given him that coat, but still, those older boys of his tricked him. They lied and broke his heart. But how could they sell their own brother into slavery? Guess that seemed better than leaving him in that hole to die.
He marked his place then faced his friend. “I dreamed about Meiko last night.”
The big man offered no comment. Sure not his talkative self that morning.
“She wanted me to come to the Dragon, said she needed me.”
Moses smiled and stood then headed for the coffee pot.
“What are you grinning about?”
“You. First time you’ve spoken of dreaming about her.” He held the pot toward him, and Jethro nodded and lifted his cup high. “And, you’re still here; didn’t go running right over there as you might have before.”
While his friend refilled his coffee, he studied him. Could that be right? He’d never shared his dreams of the China Doll with his partner? “Never?”
“Aye. ’Tis true, never, not once. Before you discovered her truth, she’s all you wanted to talk about.” He chuckled. “Well, her and how much gold we’d find.”
“Forget her. Why hadn’t you ever told me about Jacob and his sons?”
“I do not know. Seeing as you weren’t so keen on hearing any Bible stories. I concentrated on telling you about Jesus.”
He set his coffee down and stuck out his hand. His friend grasped it and shook it firmly. Tears blurred Jethro’s eyes, but he managed to speak. “Thank you for not giving up on me.”
“You are welcome, indeed. But praise God, He’s the One Who did it.”
He nodded then tapped the Bible. “Brother Paul needs more Good Books to give away. Want to go shopping? Mary only had three.”
“No, not me. After the dab of walking last night, believe taking it easy my due this day.”
“Of course.” The big man looked almost new. His bruises all but gone, but still, it’d only been a few weeks since he almost met his Maker face to face. “Any ideas where to start?”
“Best ask Mary or maybe better, Virgil.”
Mary couldn’t understand it. Why she even gave Mister Risen one thought remained a mystery, much less the fifty-six or eighty-two times already that morning.
Ridiculous.
Preparing for the day, seeing to the babies and through breakfast, he haunted her brain. Where was Lanelle, anyway? She’d usually come by now.
Determinedly, she kept the miner at bay, but Risen clung to the edges of her mind’s eye waiting with that look, his grin. She hated how he could see into her soul. Preposterous that it made her go all weak at the knees.
Stupid man.
Why was he being so nice? Not one time all evening long had he ordered her or anyone around.
Probably on his best behavior trying to convince her to stay partners. He recognized the Lone Star Mercantile succeeded so well because of her. That the store needed her and her head for business.
He only wanted to make money off of her hard work. Humph, didn’t take a genius to see that. But why did that bother her so?
It had been a nice evening, but once she and Edward…
“Want me to go see?”
She looked up. Mattie smiled from across the kitchen table, Josh sleeping in the crook of her arm. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”
“Miss Lanelle. Shall I go over and see if something’s wrong? She’s usually here by this time of a morning.”
“No need. You can put him down with Susannah. We were out late last night. She’s sure to be along soon.”
“Yes, ma’am. As you wish.”
At the stroke of eight, Mary nodded toward Hank, who unlocked the front doors then went to work with his duster. She settled in her chair and opened her ledger.
Yesterday had been a good one. She pulled out her inventory book as well and looked at each item. She needed to lower prices on a few items, get some of her mistakes out the door, never to return.
“Good morning.”
She leaned back. Jethro Risen stood at the counter. “Where’d you come from? The bell didn’t ring.”
“Loading dock, our man gave me a few places to check, but thought I’d check with you as well. Do you have any idea where I might find more Bibles?”
She rattled off the names of her competition in town. “Should I cancel your order then?”
“Oh, no, I want that case for sure. Looking for some more, for the interim. But your suggestions are all the same places Virgil thought. Anywhere else you can think of?”
“Nothing comes to mind. Three aren’t enough? You can only read one at a time, right?”
“Brother Paul gives them away, and he’s completely out. I’d like to help.”
Noble; maybe he’d changed for the better after all. She tilted her head. “Are you keeping one for yourself?”
“Oh, yes, ma’am.” He backed toward the front door then stopped. “Do you happen to know who King James was?”
“I do. The king of England, oh, back in the sixteen hundreds or so. For centuries, only the clergy owned Bibles with scriptures written in Latin, translated from its original Hebrew and Greek. They used that to control the people, but King James changed all that. He commissioned several groups of religious men, in four or ten different places to translate them into English.”
“Wow, I’d say you do. How is it you know all that?”
“My mother loved books and their knowledge. She ordered boxes on every subject imaginable.” The reminiscing brought a sweetness long forgotten. The excitement when a new shipment arrived. It’d been ages since she’d remembered those days. “Then a new set of men decided on the best translations before printing King James’ Bibles.”
The man looked genuinely interested. “Bless the old boy’s heart. Good to know.”
“Putting scriptures in the hand of the common people changed so much.”
“I can see where it would.” He took another step toward the door then stopped again. “Care to go shopping with me? Lanelle could go with us to…I mean if you thought…uh, might be a good excuse to check out the other shops?”
“I thank you, but no. I need to stay around here, the babies and all.”
“We could take them along. Or be back before it was time to… They might enjoy getting out, too. Neither made a peep last night.”
Why was he doing all this? A day off would be wonderful, and if Lanelle went along, not even her father could say a word. “Seems a lot of trouble, Mister Risen.”
; “It’ll be fun. And who knows? You might see something we want for the Mercantile.”
There he went again, acting like he had any say in what she stocked. As though the partnership papers were written in stone. But still. “Oh, alright, if Lanelle is willing, then yes, it would be fun to see what the other stores are carrying, and maybe a little as to how they operate.”
He hurried out and trotted across the street. Oh, how absurd. Why had she agreed? She had so much to do. Needed to decide what went on sale and make the signs. However, she had agreed, and like her daddy always said, her word was her bond.
Surprised Jethro that Moses and Lanelle jumped at the idea. Why did he think he’d have to talk them into it? Didn’t surprise him that it took half the morning to get gone, then Lanelle, bless her heart, insisted she sit in the back with the babies.
“Go ahead, Mary. We’ll take turns.” But she made sure to be the first one in the wagon.
Fun half day.
Procured ten Bibles, all used though. Didn’t run across a new one anywhere, but an idea smacked him alongside his thick skull. Paper, ink, some machinery, Elijah probably could build it; Mary said King James was long dead.
Then on the way back, after he mulled the idea over and around, he turned sideways, careful not to touch the young widow. “You know for a fact, it was in the seventeenth century when King James published his Bible?”
Making a silly face at him, she reached behind him and retrieved one of his latest purchases. “I can tell you for a fact I wasn’t alive then.” She flipped it open; read several pages then put it back, barely grazing his arm on its return. “Thought it might say, but it doesn’t. If memory serves though, I’m nigh on to certain. Yes.”
“Know anything about book binding?”
“Binding? No. Well, some I suppose, a little. They call that last one saddle stitched, but past that, not too much. Why? What are you thinking?”
“If the good king is long dead, why not print our own copies?”
“Why not indeed? Do you have that much gold, Mister Risen?”
“Maybe, I don’t know, but call me Jethro, won’t you? We are partners after all.”
She nodded, looked forward for several clops of the mules’ hooves, then glanced back to him. “I still would prefer not to be.”
He nodded. There it was. Just like he thought, the lady was only being social. She had not come because of him, as he’d hoped. She came to measure her competition, perhaps enjoy a day off with her cousin and baby.
He wanted to keep his interest in the Mercantile, but the no wouldn’t make it to his lips. He didn’t want to disappoint her. If the truth remained that she didn’t want any part of him, maybe he should let her buy him out.
Moses and Lanelle could do what they wanted. But the fine-I’ll-sell didn’t even make as far as the no.
Oh, Lord, what was he going to do?
TO FIND A WIFE IS TO FIND A GOOD THING
The words from that morning echoed in his heart, but unlike Jacob’s days, he couldn’t make a deal with her father. The young lady, quite responsible for herself, had a mind of her own, and even if…
A hand rested on his shoulder. “Jethro, wasn’t that our turn?”
He looked back at Lanelle, chuckling. “Yes, it sure is. Guess I was too deep in my thoughts.” He eased the mules to a stop, waited for the wagon behind him to pass, then backed up three wagon lengths. “Sorry about that. Been thinking about poor Jacob, how Laban had treated him so bad.”
Neither of the ladies commented, and he said no more until he stopped in front of the Mercantile. He hopped down and hurried around to help Mary, then to the back for Lanelle after she handed over the babies. Hank showed, and the boy carried the packages Mary had bought for herself.
The widow extended her hand.
Taking it, he resisted the urge to kiss it, but didn’t release it.
“Thank you for a wonderful day. Please let me pay you for the things I bought. So stupid of me to go shopping and not bring any cash.”
He backed a step. “No need, you wouldn’t let me pay for the Bibles. Fair’s fair.”
“Well, thank you again.” She faced Lanelle. “You coming in?”
Jethro left them to it. Women and their babies. Besides, he had some pondering to do. Why had the Lord told him twice to find a wife? Was He trying to tell him to wed Mary? Didn’t He know she hated him?
If she had no desire to be partners with him in business, what kind of chance could he possibly have of making her his wife?
A life with Mary Wheeler.
What would it be like married to such a woman?
All the way downtown, he contemplated that very thing. Sure would be a challenge. Not as bad as Shakespeare’s shrew, but she definitely needed some taming. His bank came into view, and he purposed to remove the young lady from his thoughts.
He needed to figure out how much cash to withdraw. Once he double-checked his mental list, he presented the draft to the clerk. The man took one look at it, raised his gaze and stared at him a minute, then excused himself.
Was something afoot? Wasn’t like he wanted all their gold. Shortly, he had his answer.
An older gent dressed exactly like his father once had, strolled toward him. The man extended his hand. “Mister Risen, pleased to see you, sir. I’m J. Pierce Prescott. Would you be so kind as to give me a moment of your time?”
Jethro shook. “You own the National?”
“Yes, sir, I do.” He held out his hand toward the office he’d just emerged from.
Why not? Never hurt to know powerful men, get the measure of this titan of San Francisco commerce.
Once inside and seated, J. Pierce turned a bit and pointed toward a crystal bottle of brown liquid standing tall amidst a neat circle of jiggers. Of course, all rested on a silver serving tray that sat on a hand-carved credenza.
“Care for a brandy? Mister Clinton has been so kind to gift me with a case.”
Sorry bankers, get you drunk, then the next thing you know, you’re signing away your life. “No, thank you, sir; not much of a drinker.”
“Understandable. Hard rock mining takes a steady hand.”
“That it does. I don’t mean to be rude, sir, but I’m short of time.”
“Of course.” The man smiled then turned serious. Must need to talk about money. “The afore mentioned Edward Clinton is buying claims in the area. You and Moses Jones came to mind. I’d heard he’d woke up and was doing better, but thought… Are you interested in selling out? Mister Clinton is offering top dollar.”
Jethro stood. “No, sir. We’re happy with our little operation.” He backed up a step. “You did say Edward Clinton, right?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Of the New York Clintons?”
“Yes, do you know him?”
“No, not Edward. My father and Dewitt crossed swords a time or two. The governor is his father, correct?”
“Uncle.” The banker stroked his goatee. “I hadn’t put it together before. Is your father Boaz Risen?”
“Yes, sir. Dear old Dad.”
“How is he? I heard he’d had a reversal.”
“Wouldn’t know. Haven’t seen him in better than ten years.”
The man rose and joined him at the door, extending his hand again. “Should you change your mind, let me know. I’ll be happy to negotiate the deal.”
Jethro shook, but no way would he sell out to Clinton. If the man was cut from the same cloth as his uncle… Well, didn’t matter. He’d never sell the mine.
Then a horrible thought hit him.
Chapter Seventeen
With the weather not changing much at all, the days slipped along without much notice for Mary. Risen leaving so abruptly couldn’t have come soon enough for her, especially if he stuck to his guns and refused to sell her back John’s share. If only she’d known Edward better then or had been dealing with Mister J. Pierce Prescott himself.
Interest only, and she would have borrowed the mo
ney in a heartbeat to buy him out. But no, he’d got his pride hurt and run off and sold to Risen. Of course, she still thought ten thousand too high a price, but the miners paid it right off. Funny, didn’t bother her at all that Moses and Elijah had a share.
And now looked like she’d be in partners with the Wingates, too.
“Miss Mary?”
She looked up. “What is it, Hank?”
“Mister Virgil said he got word our next shipment done come in, but his back is still paining him. And boy, with those crippled hands. You can tell they’re paining him something terrible. Want me to go it alone to get it?”
“Think you can handle it? You’ll have to justify the merchandise to the bill of laden to make sure you pick up everything we paid for.”
“Oh, yes, ma’am. I been helping Mister Virgil for a while now, watching close on how to do everything.” He stepped in closer. “Now I’ll beg you not to mention it, but he can hardly drive a team anymore, or do much at all. I know he hates it.”
She mirrored the boy’s concerned expression then smiled. The man could still talk and watch over things well enough for her. “Go on then, tell him I said so. Don’t lie, but you can make it sound like it was my idea if you want.”
He grinned then hurried out, and Mary turned her attention to her bookwork. Maybe the items Edward ordered for his house arrived in this shipment.
Maybe she and Hank could deliver the load tomorrow after dinner while the babies took their nap. She could see for herself what kind of house he was building.
That evening after she personally inspected each item and had them on the dock ready to load tomorrow, she went to inspecting her wardrobe. He might not even be there, but if he happened to be….
No sin in wanting to look her best. The lavender? No, too fancy. Plus, she’d wore that when she and Risen.…
Why did she keep thinking about him? Mercy, the lavender would be fine. Or would it?
“Silly girl.”
If she didn’t know better, she could swear that her mother’s voice had just come out of her mouth. She’d only seen Edward once in the last week. He came to check on his order, may have gone back out.
