A Treasure Concealed

by Tracie Peterson

  Yet she was so incredibly still that Emily feared her first suspicions had been right. Closer inspection proved her wrong, however. Her mother was breathing, albeit in a most shallow manner. Emily carefully unwound the sheet from Mama’s feet and set it aside. She hadn’t realized that tears had trickled down her cheeks until she brushed back a few errant strands of hair. Feeling the dampness only served to stir her emotions.

  I can’t give in to tears. I have to remain strong.

  “Mama? Mama, can you hear me?” Her mother moaned slightly, but she didn’t wake up.

  Emily bolstered her courage and forced herself to remain stoic. She struggled to lift her invalid mother but found it impossible. Getting to her feet, Emily reassessed the situation and tried again. It was a lot different lifting someone from a chair and maneuvering them to bed than picking them up off the floor.

  Panic began to course through her. She would have to go get her father. If Jake was still there, she knew the two men would have no trouble getting her mother back to bed. Still, she didn’t want to leave. What if her Mama only had minutes left to live? Emily didn’t want her to die alone. Her eyes welled again with tears.

  She glanced heavenward. At times she wasn’t convinced that God was still listening, but her mother was certain He did. “God, I need help.”

  Caeden heard Emily’s moaned prayer just as he entered the cabin. Not seeing her in the front room, he made his way to her parents’ bedroom. “Emily?” he called out.

  “Caeden!” Her voice was very close to a scream. “Hurry.”

  He rushed into the room and immediately saw the problem. “What happened?” He pushed Emily aside and easily lifted Mrs. Carver into his arms.

  “I came back from seeing Pa and found her on the floor. Please put her in the bed. I’ll go for Pa. He’ll want to make sure she’s . . . all right.” Emily hurried from the room, leaving Caeden to put her mother to bed.

  Caeden frowned at the poor woman’s bony structure. She was all but wasted away. He immediately thought of his own mother. She too had wasted away. Wasted away from heartbreak. Caeden swallowed hard. Instead of Nyola Carver, he saw his mother lying there and, without thinking, reached out to touch her cheek.

  The moment made him wish he could go back in time. Not because he wanted to endure the pain all over again, but rather to say all the things he’d left unspoken. So many thoughts and feelings coursed through him. He had kept so much to himself. He hadn’t wanted to add to his mother’s troubles by telling her how hurt he was—how much he hated the way his father treated her—treated all of them. Of course, she knew it anyway.

  “Nyola?” Henry Carver called as he entered the house.

  Caeden stepped back. “She’s . . . alive, but unconscious.”

  Henry came closer and sat on the bed. “Oh, Nyola.” He took hold of her hand and held it tight.

  Caeden felt he was intruding and decided to go check on Emily. She was no doubt quite shaken. He stepped into the front room, but she wasn’t there. He frowned. Had she decided to take herself off for a good cry? Surely a young woman in her position couldn’t stay strong all the time.

  He walked out of the cabin, noting as he passed by the door that her big hat and flannel shirt and canvas coat were still hanging on the pegs. She must have been seriously upset to leave the house without them.

  Of course she’s upset finding her dying mother in that condition!

  He looked around the landscape, hoping to spy some sign of her. A thought came to mind that perhaps she was at the sluice site. Caeden went back to the cabin and retrieved her hat and coat and headed down to the sluice. He was nearly there when he heard the unmistakable sound of crying.

  He found her sitting in a tight ball. She’d pulled up her knees and buried her face in the voluminous folds of her well-worn skirt. Her arms were wrapped tightly around her legs as if she were holding on to a lifeline. For a few minutes Caeden stood stock-still and waited to see if she would sense his presence. If she did, she made no indication of it.

  Caeden eased down onto the ground beside her, and only then did she look up with a start. He smiled. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

  “Oh . . . oh, please just go away.” She hid her face again.

  “I thought you might need your hat and coat. I knew you wouldn’t want anyone to see you without them.”

  For a minute he wasn’t sure she’d heard him, but finally she looked up and gave a nod. “Thank . . . thank you.” She quickly pulled on the coat and hat. Then a sob broke from her, and once again Emily buried her face.

  Caeden had comforted his mother and sisters on more than one occasion when his father had been particularly ugly. He knew very well how to offer gentle support and reassuring words. But Emily wasn’t a family member. She was a beautiful young woman. She might misinterpret his actions for taking liberties.

  “Emily.” He spoke her name soft and low. “I want to help.”

  She shook her head without looking up. “You can’t.” Her words were muffled against her skirt.

  “It’s not good to bear this alone. Maybe you’d feel better if you talked about it.”

  For some reason this set her off. Without warning she jumped to her feet and looked down at him as if he were crazy. “Nothing will make me feel better. My mother is dying a little each day, and I cannot stop it. My father insists that he’ll find a fortune each day, and he never does. Talking to you won’t make this madness stop.”

  Caeden got to his feet. “I didn’t mean to suggest it would. I only thought you might need a shoulder . . . or rather a sympathetic ear.”

  She shook her head. Her eyes were red and swollen, but they stared out at him with all the emotions a heart could contain. Caeden found that he very much wanted to hold her and assure her that everything would be all right. But, of course, he knew firsthand that often things were never made right. He wouldn’t further her pain by lying.

  “I have sympathy enough to last a lifetime,” she said.

  He could barely hear her words. She stared at him a moment longer, then sank once more to the ground.

  “Sympathy has never done me a lick of good. Pity is even worse. So I don’t want either from you.”

  Caeden made a bold move, moving in and sitting down right beside her again. When she didn’t move away, he decided to share a bit of his heart.

  “My mother wasted away much like yours. My father was a heavy drinker, and his business dealings were far more important than his family. My mother used to say that he was really married to liquor and kept his business as a mistress. It broke her heart. She knew he didn’t love her or care that she was dying. She knew he would never give her a second thought once she was gone. But she kept hoping anyway.”

  Emily turned her face to his. “How terrible! At least Mama knows that she’s loved and that she’ll be missed.”

  Caeden nodded. “And that is worth more than all the gold in the world. Love is something you cannot buy or discover hidden in the ground. You can’t find it in liquor or business dealings either.” He tried to keep the bitterness from his tone, but he couldn’t hide it when it came to memories of his father’s abuse.

  For several minutes neither said another word. Emily looked away to stare out at the river, while Caeden found it impossible to watch anything but her. Why was it she so captivated him? Was it because of their first encounter? Or because he had come to see how hard she worked to hide her identity and her heart, all while laboring to ease her mother’s final days?

  “All I’ve ever wanted was a home.” Emily sighed and shook her head. “A home where we could stay and not have to leave for the next gold strike or mining camp. A home where I could plant flowers and a real garden and have a nice little fence around it all.”

  She surprised him by giving a small laugh. “I suppose that sounds childish, but I’ve never had it. Whenever Mama and I walked to town, I used to pretend we were actually going home—that one of the houses in town belonged to us. I imagin
ed the details of the house right down to the rugs on the floor and the curtains in the bedrooms. I would let that dream carry me past the mud and muck, the gloom and filth of the hole where we made camp. I held it tight until there was no other choice but to face the reality of my life once more.

  “Sometimes I got to go to school, and when I did I was always so impressed by the children who came from real houses and homes, where their mothers dressed in beautiful clothes and their fathers worked regular jobs that provided a living. I got invited once to a birthday party for one of the children, but Mama didn’t let me go. We had nothing I could give as a gift, and she said it would have been rude to show up empty-handed. That was one of the biggest disappointments of my life. I wanted so much to see the magic—the life I would never have.”

  “A house doesn’t make a home. I ought to know that better than anyone.” Caeden looked down at the ground. “It’s the people that make it home. Or in my case . . . a nightmare. Don’t let yourself get trapped in a lie, Emily. A house and little fence will not be what make you happy. Don’t be deceived and throw away the good things you have in search for something that doesn’t exist.”

  5

  Kirk Davies sat in the saloon and sipped a beer while his employer, Septimus Singleton, explained his next move. Davies was bored with the man and his plans, but he paid well and served Davies’ purpose all at the same time, so it was worth the trouble to hear him out.

  “I want you to close the deal on the rest of these claims,” Singleton said. “We need to get all that we can and clear out those who had the mines originally. Once we have them gone, I can bring in new buyers. We certainly don’t want anyone hanging around who can tell the prospective buyers that the claims are basically worthless.”

  Davies nodded. He’d heard all of this before. Singleton had no idea, however, that there were people who still believed in those claims. Folks like Millie Ringgold and Henry Carver would stay until they exhausted all possibilities.

  “I’ve already been advertising. We need to have this all sewn up by the end of September and hopefully before the weather turns bad.”

  “Some of those folks aren’t inclined to sell. Millie Ringgold, for example. She’s a tough old woman—former slave, as I hear it. She owns a bunch of claims and has no desire to sell. She told me Yogo was her home and she intended to stay right there until she died. Jake Hoover has two other partners and quite a few claims, and they are unwilling to sell or even consider your offer. However, that could be to your benefit. I heard that their consortium put in over thirty-eight thousand to fix up those claims and make a way for the water to reach where they needed it. That’s a good investment that might show other buyers that gold has to be there or else they wouldn’t have spent that kind of money.” Davies could see he had Singleton’s interest with the mention of such hefty sums.

  “Then there’s that Carver fellow. He lowered his rifle on me and told me he wouldn’t sell. He could be trouble for sure. He hasn’t struck it rich, nor does he have much to show for his time. Some folks might be dissuaded if he started telling tales.”

  Singleton shook his head. “It won’t work to have folks lingering around who can speak to my potential customers and discourage them with stories about the lack of gold. We need to get rid of the men who are still there. Hire some men to help you get rid of Carver. Burn them out if you have to. Just like other vermin, once their nests are destroyed and their welfare threatened, they’ll move on. Offer the slave woman more money. We can always shortchange her. I still have some of that counterfeit money we could use. If she refuses to go . . . well, I can’t see that she’d do too much harm. After all, no one’s going to listen to a black woman speak out against a white man.”

  Kirk leaned his chair back on two legs against the wall. “You really don’t know much about those folks, Mr. Singleton. I’m telling you it won’t be that simple.”

  The stocky man narrowed his eyes and hit the table with his fist. “And I’m telling you that some folks just need a little incentive. I’m sure you have a few rowdies who can help you accomplish the job. I want those claims, and I want them right away. I need time to salt the mines with gold and make the setup look promising to those men who are gullible enough to buy in. We have several things in our favor. First, that area experienced a resurgence of mining just last year. Second, folks who are looking to get rich quick never pay as much attention to the negative things folks say as to the positive. Then too we’re heading into winter, and most of the miners will be hard-pressed to make much progress until spring. By then, we’ll be long gone. I’ve made money all over the West this way.”

  Davies picked up his beer. “I’ve got someone in mind who might help. It’ll cost you, though. He doesn’t come cheap. Sure not as cheap as I do.”

  Of course, he hadn’t worried about the money. He wasn’t in this just for a job. He had other ventures to see to, and Singleton was just a means to an end.

  Singleton pushed a bag of coins toward Davies. “The money isn’t a problem. Take this and get some help. I want this resolved. Do you understand?”

  Davies looked at the stocky man in his ill-fitted suit. More than anything, he would have liked to punch the man in the face. Nobody talked to him in such a condescending tone and got away with it. “I understand, but you’d do well to treat me with some respect. I may be workin’ for you, but I could just as easily work against you.”

  The other man’s face darkened, and he got to his feet. “There’s no reason to take that attitude, Davies. I’ll double what I’m paying you—just get the job done.”

  Davies pushed off the wall and reached out for the bag of money. He liked the feel of it. It was good and heavy, suggesting gold pieces. “Is this all real? You didn’t throw any of that counterfeit in here, did you?”

  The man looked at Davies as though surprised by the challenge. “I wouldn’t cheat you. You’re working to my benefit.”

  He could see the man was telling the truth. Singleton knew better than to double-cross him. “I’ll get the job done.”

  “Good. Then meet me back here in two weeks. I’m heading to Great Falls to meet up with investors who want to buy these claims. I’ll send you a wire if I can’t make it for some reason, but otherwise plan to see me here.”

  “I’ll do that,” Davies said. He watched Singleton leave the saloon, then settled his attention back on the warm beer.

  Utica wasn’t exactly his idea of a great place to hang around, but it had served his purposes while he was waiting to revisit the miners in Yogo City. One man in particular.

  Davies hadn’t known the man by sight, but he had held a grudge against him since learning of his responsibility for taking the life of Kirk’s younger brother Lenny. It had taken nearly six years to hunt down that man. Kirk’s patience had won out, however. He now knew exactly where to find Henry Carver, and how to make him pay.

  He smiled. Revenge was something he relished. There was nothing quite like it to get a man’s blood up. Not only that, but he was good at killing. He’d had a lot of practice.

  He looked at the bag of gold in his hand and tossed it up and down. For now, he had to put his own plans on hold. He needed to get the rest of those claims for Singleton. First, however, he’d need to ride to Lewistown. He knew of some less-than-desirable sorts there who might want to earn a little money.

  Davies tucked the bag of coins into his pocket and got to his feet. He glanced down at the unfinished beer and decided to leave it. It wasn’t that good anyway. He could always get drunk in Lewistown.

  Caeden found the Carver cabin surprisingly quiet when he returned after visiting several of the area mining claims. He’d figured to at least find Emily there, but she appeared to have gone to town. All of her heavy clothes were missing from the pegs by the door.

  Hanging his coat on one of the free pegs, Caeden wondered if Mrs. Carver was awake. He’d heard from Emily earlier that day that her mother had regained consciousness and had seemed no wors
e for her fall. He had to admit he was happy to see at least a hint of Emily’s lighthearted nature return.

  The door to the bedroom was open, so Caeden decided to see if Mrs. Carver was awake. It would be only courteous to let her know he was there in the cabin. He wanted to work at the table and organize some of his notes from his work journal.

  “Mrs. Carver?”

  “Mr. Thibault, please come in.”

  He was surprised to find her quite alert. “I didn’t want to disturb you, but I had some work to do at the table and didn’t want to alarm you in case you heard someone moving about the cabin.”

  She smiled. “I’d like it if you’d come sit with me a spell.”

  He couldn’t imagine why she’d want his company, but he nodded and went to fetch one of the chairs. Returning to her room, he positioned the chair beside the bed. “What can I do for you?”

  Nyola Carver reached out her hand. Caeden took hold and smiled, waiting for her to speak. There was a glimmer in her brown eyes that reminded him very much of Emily.

  “Mr. Thibault—”

  “Call me Caeden, please.”

  “Caeden.” She nodded. “I do like that name.” She drew a breath and closed her eyes for just a moment. Caeden wondered if she was in pain, but when she opened her eyes again, she seemed to have the same peaceful look on her face.

  “I want your promise that you’ll hear me out.”

  “Mrs. Carver, I don’t know what it is you want to tell me, but I promise to hear you out.” He squeezed her hand in a gentle fashion. “So please go on.”

  “I’ve been praying for Emily. Praying that God would send her a good Christian man to love her . . . and I believe that man is you. I think God has put you here to marry my Emily.”

  Caeden looked at the woman in complete silence for several long moments. Shocked by her frank confession, he struggled to know how to respond. What could he do, he decided, but speak in just as frank and forthright a manner as she had?

  “Mrs. Carver, I’m pretty sure God hasn’t sent me here for any reason, but especially not for that purpose. First of all, I’m not a good Christian. You wouldn’t say that if you knew more about me. Second, I have no intention of ever marrying. My parents were a miserable example of marriage, and I’ve no desire to repeat their mistakes.”