Miracle Jones

by Nancy Bush

  Miracle turned anxiously to Harrison. His gaze was riveted on Billy’s face, burningly so, as if the sheer power and fury of his glare would make young Billy take back his words.

  “I’ve got to see her,” Harrison muttered, releasing Billy and turning blindly toward Miracle’s wagon.

  “I’ll drive you,” Miracle said, placing a booted foot on the lower step.

  Billy stood helplessly on the plank boardwalk. Harrison growled, “Get in,” to him. Without further instruction, Billy clambered in the back.

  Miracle was full of questions. Who was Billy, and what was his relationship to Harrison? But the urgency of the moment, and the closed expression on Harrison’s face, didn’t invite conversation.

  “Which way?” she asked softly, and he pointed to the southeast.

  For once Tillie and Gray put some effort into their steps as they headed down the road out of Rock Springs. Soon the wagon was meandering past farmhouses and fields. It took the better part of an hour before Harrison directed her to turn onto a small rutted track. Through the red-orange leaves of the stand of maples, Miracle caught sight of a long, winding driveway on her left, but though she glanced at Harrison, it was clear this was not his destination. She kept the horses on the wider road.

  They’d nearly reached the clearing at the end of the road when the wagon jolted over a rock, half- unseating Miracle. She heard a thunk and grind, and one of Harrison’s spokes sprang from the wheel, shooting out like an arrow. The rear of the wagon dropped with a screech of torn wood.

  “The wheel’s broke!” Billy yelled at Miracle and Harrison.

  “Stop here,” Harrison ordered, climbing off the wagon bed. He headed toward the house with ground-devouring strides, and Miracle jumped down after him, abandoning the nags and her wagon in her need to help Harrison.

  It was while she was hurrying after him that she was struck by her actions. She was actually a stranger to him. She had no purpose in his life. Yet she couldn’t have left him now if her life had depended on it, and though that thought struck her as dangerous, she pushed it to the back of her mind.

  The house that suddenly appeared in the small clearing ahead was magnificent. Two-story, gleaming with whitewash, it sported a portico with four square pillars. A steeply shingled roof above gave way to a widow’s walk. Yellow light streamed through the downstairs windows, lighting the front steps and a pair of carved oak doors.

  Harrison threw open one of the doors with such force that it banged against the inside wall. Miracle ran up the steps after him, stopping short in awe in the main hall. Ahead, a wide oak staircase curved upward, its mellow polished steps crowned by a blood-red carpet that rippled over the steps in a crimson wave.

  Harrison strode up those elegant stairs two at a time, oblivious to the dusty tracks he left in his wake.

  Miracle stood like a statue, uncertain whether to follow after him. The impropriety of such a move kept her rooted to the spot, but her gaze followed after him longingly.

  “Was that Harrison?” an anxious feminine voice inquired quickly.

  Miracle turned. In the doorway to the parlor stood one of the most beautiful women Miracle had ever seen. Her hair was a thick mane of auburn, red and gold highlights sparkling in the glow cast from the oil sconces beside the front doors. Her eyes were the color of smoke, the lashes surrounding them long, thick, and curling outward. Her mouth was wide and full, trembling now with emotion.

  Tears suddenly filled those lustrous eyes, and she clasped her palms together, beginning to shake all over as if she’d been struck with the palsy.

  “That was Harrison!” she cried now, finding her voice. “He’s here. He’s alive!”

  She hurried quickly across that magnificent foyer, her satin skirts softly rustling, a hot pink flesh of color running up her graceful neck and across her face. She looked feverish with excitement.

  “Yes, it’s Harrison. He’s fine. Are you – Lexie?” she asked when the woman’s eyes closed in silent prayer.

  “No. I’m Kelsey.”

  Kelsey. Miracle felt a creeping dread as she remembered the name Harrison had muttered in his delirium, the name that had escaped his lips like a cry when he’d been making love to Miracle…

  “I’m Harrison’s fiancée,” she added with unknowing ruthlessness. At Miracle’s gasp of pain, Kelsey blinked and took a second look at her, her face clouding. “Is everything all right? You look like you’re about to faint. Quick! Lie down.” She grabbed Miracle’s unresisting arm and dragged her toward the parlor.

  “No. Thank you.” Miracle’s voice sounded from a great distance. “I have to go… now.”

  “Are you a friend of Harrison’s? Did you bring him back? I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name. Who are you?”

  Miracle pulled away from her, furious with herself for being such a feather-brained dreamer. “I’m Miracle,” she said, tightening her jaw. “Miracle Jones.”

  Chapter Seven

  A woman’s cry of joy rang from upstairs. Miracle’s gaze swung from Kelsey toward the upper hallway. She and Kelsey both ran back to the entry hall. Out of sight, around the curve of the second-floor banister, Miracle could hear the babble of excited voices welcoming Harrison home.

  Delayed reaction hit like a sledgehammer as she glanced again at Kelsey. This woman was going to be Harrison’s wife!

  Kelsey was gazing up the stairway, her face lit with relief. “We’ve been worried sick about Harrison. My brother thought he might have burned to death in the barn fire. Is he all right? I just saw the back of him disappearing up the stairs. When he didn’t show up Saturday, well…” She paused for breath and shook her head. She seemed to want to say more, but the words were stuck in her throat.

  Miracle felt dazed. She hadn’t analyzed her feelings for Harrison too closely, being afraid to scrutinize emotions that could only cause her pain. And the pain was here now. Her heart ached as if it might actually break apart.

  A shadow crossed Kelsey’s face. “You did come here with him, didn’t you?”

  “Yes.” She swallowed. “He was injured,” she finished self-consciously.

  “Injured, how?”

  “He was – stabbed.”

  “Stabbed!” Kelsey gasped in horror. “Is he all right? How did it happen?”

  “He’s fine. It was – an accident.”

  Kelsey stared at her as if she’d lost her mind. Before she could question Miracle further, however, a young woman in a maid’s uniform scurried toward them, wringing her hands.

  “I can’t stay in a house with such disease!” she wailed. “I can’t! I’ve tried to tell the Danners, but there ain’t no one listening to me!”

  Behind her marched a sturdy, large-breasted woman in a plain gray dress, her wide face dark with disgust. “Get back to the kitchen, Elsie, and mind your tongue! I’m sorry, Miss Garrett. We’re all so worried about Mrs. Danner.”

  “Elsie, why don’t you go home?” Kelsey suggested. “There is nothing to be afraid of, but we all could use some sleep. Mrs. Mead can take care of things here until tomorrow. Now that Harrison’s back everything will be better.”

  Elsie’s eyes widened. “Harrison’s back!”

  “Yes, he came home a few minutes ago.” As if suddenly remembering Miracle, Kelsey turned her way again, puzzlement drawing a line between her brows.

  Don’t ask me, Miracle thought, reading the questions as yet unvoiced.

  “Mrs. Mead, we’ll be in the parlor. Could you bring us something to drink?”

  Miracle hesitated in the archway to the parlor. There was no way she could sit on that fine silk and brocade furniture in her torn and dirty buckskin skirt. And she couldn’t bear to be with Kelsey – nice though she was – so she walked toward the fireplace.

  “I was just visiting Eliza myself,” Kelsey explained. Then she added, as an afterthought, “Eliza Danner is Harrison’s mother. She’s been very ill the past few days.”

  “Is she going to be all right?”

&nbs
p; Kelsey didn’t offer false hope. “We don’t know.”

  Mrs. Mead returned with a glass pitcher of lemonade and a neat row of sugar cookies. She placed the tray on a highly glossed rosewood table.

  Kelsey thanked her, and Mrs. Mead stood back, surveying Miracle with disapproving eyes. “Well, it’s high time that Harrison got back! Where in tarnation’s he been?”

  Miracle could feel two pairs of eyes turn her way, but she kept her gaze trained on the beautiful brass clock reposing on the mantle.

  “He was with Miracle,” Kelsey said.

  “Miracle.” Mrs. Mead tossed Miracle a look that could have frozen lava. “My, my, but you’re a filthy mess. Come along to the kitchen we’ll clean you up.”

  A man’s bootsteps rang down the upper hallway, and as if she could bear it no longer, Kelsey suddenly excused herself and rushed out of the room. Left with Mrs. Mead, Miracle had no choice but to follow the woman as she led her through the door below the stairs and to the kitchen. Elsie was just disappearing out the back door.

  “And what would your purpose with Mr. Harrison be?” Mrs. Mead demanded, folding her arms over her ample bosom as soon as they were in the massive Danner kitchen.

  Miracle was too self-absorbed to answer. She still hasn’t gotten over the shock of Kelsey. Mrs. Mead, apparently taking this as a lack of faith, puffed up indignantly. “I’ve been housekeeper here for seven years. The Danners is my own family now. And it’s plainspoken, I am,” she declared with pride. “Some folks don’t like it, but I says what’s on my mind. Whatever you was doing with Mr. Harrison, it’s kept him from his responsibilities, I daresay.” She sniffed loudly. “And with his poor mother suffering so. You should be ashamed of yourself, young lady!”

  For a moment Miracle was too stunned to answer. The wretched old busybody! But then she suddenly saw herself as Mrs. Mead must: hair tangled and dusty, skirt torn and dirt-grimed, boots resewn and then resewn again. She glanced down and winced at the tiny hole visible in her shirtwaist as well. She was a long way from presentable. A very long way.

  “Well?” Mrs. Mead demanded.

  “I was taking care of him,” Miracle answered stiffly. “He was hurt.”

  “Hurt, eh? How come? What sort of injury?”

  Feeling she was burning all her bridges, Miracle announced recklessly, “He’d been stabbed, poor man! He’s lucky to be alive!”

  The woman’s mouth opened and closed several times. She reminded Miracle of a beached fish.

  “Stabbed!” she declared, clutching at the heavy mounds of her breasts presumably where her heart might be. “Oh, Lordy! And his mother fretful and plaintive, crying for him. Who would do such a thing?”

  Visions of the sheriff finding out about her misdeed assailed Miracle once more, and she held her tongue from further incriminations. But it was surely like bolting the barn door after the horses had fled. She’d told near enough of the truth to both Kelsey and Mrs. Mead that Harrison would have to invent a colorful lie to save her now.

  “You’d best get cleaned up, girl,” the woman said suddenly, as if deciding Miracle had a right to stay after all.

  Miracle’s feet dragged as they followed the bustling Mrs. Mead through the kitchen to a back-porch scullery with a huge sink and pump. She rinsed her face in ice-cold water, then dried off with the thick fluffy towel thrust into her hands.

  “Now, you tell me about this knifing, girl,” Mrs. Mead stated flatly, dragging out a chair for herself and a stool for Miracle. She huffed down into the creaking wooden chair. Miracle, feeling completely out of her element, perched on the stool.

  It was at that moment that Miracle realized she had to leave. Though she trusted Harrison to do right by her, who could say what he would feel now that he was safe within the arms of his family? He was a wealthy man, Miracle realized; her initial impression had been correct. This home was expensive, and the services of a housekeeper like Mrs. Mead and a maid like Elsie were the luxury of those with money. Harrison was someone important in Rock Springs, whereas she was a half-breed without family or friends.

  And he was engaged.

  Miracle glanced behind Mrs. Mead to the dining room beyond. An elegantly carved hutch was filled with glimmering crystal. She could see the rich beauty of the oak table. She’d stumbled upon a class of people she had no experience with, and it made her uneasy. Oh, how she wished she’d held her tongue with Mrs. Mead! Hadn’t Aunt Emily told her that her tongue would dig her own grave? Why, oh, why hadn’t she listened!

  “I must be going,” she said suddenly, rising.

  “Not yet.” Mrs. Mead waved her back down. “I’ve a feelin’ Mr. Harrison won’t like it if’n you leave before he has a chance to say his good-byes.”

  There was a craftiness in Mrs. Mead’s eyes that Miracle recognized. The old fox didn’t give a fig about Harrison saying his good-byes. She just wanted information, information the family might not be willing to gossip with the servants about.

  “Are you an Injun?” Mrs. Mead suddenly asked, her eyes narrowing.

  With the insight of long experience, Miracle saw where this was going. She wasn’t good enough to grace even the kitchen of the Danner household. She was about to be tossed out on her ear.

  “Yes,” she said.

  Mrs. Mead snorted in dismay. “My, my!” She said, struggling to her feet. “You’re right, girl. Maybe your leavin’ would be for the best.”

  The trip back through the house was accomplished with less pomp and circumstance and more haste than the trip in had been. Mrs. Mead, ever ready for Miracle’s untrustworthy red fingers to filch some precious item, kept her beady eyes on Miracle every inch of the way. Pride bruised, Miracle set her jaw. She swept through the door without a good-bye of her own, striding, head high, to the listing, dilapidated wagon whose left rear wheel lay shattered on the ground.

  Furious, she kicked the front wheel, only succeeding in making her toes throb. Then despair suddenly overwhelmed her. She had to fight not to throw herself against the wagon seat and cry her eyes out. What had she expected from a white man? She was probably lucky he wasn’t married yet!

  And what a fool’s errand she was on! Expecting to find her father in a white man’s world, expecting him to acknowledge her and treat her like a daughter. There was no chance. Hadn’t she learned anything? Anything at all?

  “Ma’am?” a familiar voice asked tentatively.

  It was Billy. Miracle swallowed back her anguish with an effort. “Yes?”

  “I could fix that wheel fer ya, if’n you want me to.”

  “You could?”

  “Uh-huh. We got a spare wheel in the barn I think I can fit on.”

  She stared at Billy, at his smiling face. He had dark hair and brown eyes. From the way he spoke she knew he wasn’t one of the Danners. “Do you work for the Danners?”

  “I work for Dr. Tremaine Danner, ma’am. At the Rock Springs infirmary.”

  He spoke with the same intense pride as Mrs. Mead had. “What do you do there?”

  “A bit of everything.” He started walking toward the barn, looking around to see if Miracle was joining him. Anxious to be on her way, Miracle followed after him. “I owes Dr. Danner my life,” he said, still with that same pride. Wiggling the stubs of his fingers, he added, “He put me back together and got me a job. When he started the hospital here, he came and asked me if’n I’d like to work for him.”

  “What happened to your fingers?” Miracle asked gently, since he’d opened the topic.

  He grinned like a bandit. “Got caught stealin’ from the butcher when I was a boy. He chopped my fingers near clean off!”

  Miracle was taken aback by the horror of that. “He deliberately cut your fingers off?” she cried, aghast.

  “Yes, ma’am. Though I think he was jes’ tryin’ to get rid o’ me.”

  Miracle fell silent, warming to Billy. He, too, had suffered the whims of fate and had somehow survived. She would survive, too. She followed him up the wooden ramp tha
t led to the main floor of the barn. Dry red and gold maple leaves crunched beneath their booted feet.

  “How’d you team up with Mr. Harrison?” Billy asked curiously.

  Miracle grimaced. “It just sort of happened. He said he lived with his sister and her husband,” Miracle added, her curiosity getting the better of herself in spite of Kelsey. “Here?”

  “Nah. They got a place over that way.” He gestured farther east. “And Mr. Harrison’s bought hisself some prime property for him’n his bride just beyond it.” Billy strode through the gloomy barn. He snatched the lantern from where it hung on the post and struck a match to it. Light glowed warmly within the barn.

  “When is the wedding?” Miracle managed to choke out.

  “Shoulda been last Saturday. He missed it, on account of bein’ with you, I guess,” Billy added, his face turning scarlet as he considered what that might mean.

  Miracle stood in a shaft of lantern light, dust motes swirling lazily in that finger of gold illumination. Last Saturday? He should have been married last Saturday. She felt physically sick when she recalled the wanton way she’d lain beneath him, the fevered excitement that took her when he pressed his manhood against her, the hard, melting heat of him deep inside her.

  Blind and deaf to everything but the terrible crashing inside her ears, she stumbled back toward the ramp. Injun whore. The name that long-ago bully had called her mother ran through Miracle’s mind.

  How could she have been so utterly foolish? And she couldn’t even blame Harrison, because he didn’t know!

  She ran headlong into a wall of flesh. Hard arms closed around her, and Harrison’s startled voice said, “Hey! Whoa. I’ve been looking for you.”

  “Let me go! I’ve got to go!”

  “Miracle.”

  The rasp of anguish in his voice stopped her cold. Miracle ceased all movement except her furious heartbeat.

  “My mother is ill,” he said. Through the haze of her own misery Miracle heard the worry that consumed him. “She’s been asking for Belinda, but Belinda’s gone.”