Caeden headed down the path, crossing the distance in no time at all. What he found left him uncertain what to do. No one was in sight, but the sluice and small shack where Henry stored his tools was afire. He had no bucket and no blanket. The best he could do was return to the cabin and alert Henry and get help. He raced back up the path and pounded on the cabin door until he heard Emily call out.
“Who’s there?”
“It’s me, Caeden.”
She opened the door and looked at him in surprise, noting the rifle in his hands. “What’s wrong?”
“Your father’s sluice and shack are on fire. I need a bucket or blanket to beat it out.”
She nodded and immediately hurried to the kitchen. She tossed him a wooden bucket. “I’ll get Pa.”
Caeden didn’t wait. Instead he ran back to the work site to see if he could at least save Carver’s tools. He put the rifle aside and had carried three buckets of water to douse the burning shack when Henry Carver and Emily finally arrived. Henry had another bucket, and Emily carried a thick wool blanket and a lantern. Together they worked to keep the fire from spreading to any of the dried grass. It was a difficult job, but after about half an hour all that remained were smoldering pieces of charred wood.
“How did this happen?” Emily asked. Her tone was one of utter disbelief. “You didn’t leave a fire going here, did you, Pa?”
“No. The ground hadn’t froze hard yet, and I didn’t even make a fire here yesterday.”
“Then someone . . . someone must have set it.”
Caeden couldn’t blame her for her shock. She looked so small, almost childlike, wearing just her nightgown, the huge canvas coat, and boots.
He shook his head and refocused on the destruction. “I don’t know. I was sleeping, and then something woke me up. I thought maybe someone was messing around, so I got up to take a look. I didn’t find anyone around the cabin or the lean-to, and that’s when I noticed the fire down here.”
“Good thing you did,” Henry said, shaking his head. “Could have been a lot worse.”
“But, Pa, your tools and sluice.” Emily held the lantern aloft for a better look. “I doubt any of this can be salvaged.”
“The metal of the tools should survive.” Her father shook his head again. “I’ll just have to whittle out some new handles or see about getting some on credit from the store in Utica.”
“I’d be happy to extend you the money,” Caeden said.
“I’m obliged,” Henry Carver replied. “But I already have an account at the store, and there’s no sense in owing two people.”
“Who would have done such a thing?” Emily asked, finally lowering the lantern. Then she answered her own question. “Kirk Davies. I’ll bet he did this to try and force us to leave.”
Her father shook his head. “I suppose you could be right. Guess I’ll have to speak with the marshal when I’m in Utica.”
Emily frowned. “What do we do until then?”
“I guess we go back to bed. Tomorrow this should be cooled down, and we can sort through what’s left and usable,” her father said. Caeden could hear a tone of defeat in his voice.
Emily handed the lantern to her father, then reached to the ground for the smoky blanket. “I suppose you’re right. We’ll have plenty of time come light to figure out what to do next.”
The trio started back up the path. It was only as they reached the top of the rise that Caeden spied the cabin. It was on fire, and no small blaze either. It was engulfed in flames, as if someone had poured kerosene over it and struck a match.
Emily screamed, and her father took off running, calling out for Nyola. Caeden raced after him, knowing that if he didn’t stop the old man, he’d try to go into the cabin to retrieve his wife. Caeden reached him just as Henry rounded the south wall of the house.
Caeden took hold of the older man. “You can’t go in there, Mr. Carver. It’s too late.”
“My wife is in there!” He pushed at Caeden’s hold. “I have to try.”
“You can’t.” Already the roof of the cabin was caving in. “We don’t know how long it’s been burning, but you can see for yourself no one could live through it.”
By this time Emily had joined them. She looked from her father to Caeden, her eyes begging him to save her mother, but Caeden felt certain Mrs. Carver was already dead. Not knowing what else to do, he slowly shook his head, hoping she would understand the impossibility of it.
Emily bit her lip and sank to the ground. Caeden released Henry, praying that the man wouldn’t try to do something foolish and leave his daughter an orphan. Carver paced in front of the burning cabin, but he didn’t attempt to go inside. The roof caved in, and one of the walls began to lean inward. It wouldn’t be long before there was nothing left.
“We saw de fire glow” came a woman’s voice from the darkness. “What happened?”
Millie Ringgold and several men emerged from the shadows. Millie crossed to where Emily sat on the ground. She said nothing but put her hand atop Emily’s shoulder. The men joined Henry, and Caeden could see they were contemplating what to do next. They had brought shovels, and it was agreed that they would manage the fire rather than try to extinguish it. If they could contain the burning to the cabin alone, then at least the animals and lean-to might escape damage. No one spoke of the fact that Mrs. Carver was still inside the inferno, but everyone seemed to know.
A loud whoosh of wind came as one of the glass windows blew out. In turn the air seemed almost immediately to be sucked back in, as if the blaze were drawing a breath. The walls began to collapse one by one. The old dry logs were like so much kindling, and the fire easily consumed the cabin. Thankfully there was little wind.
By first light the blaze had died down. Smudged with soot and ash, the men stood staring at what was left of the cabin. Caeden knew there weren’t adequate words to express his sorrow for Emily and her father, so he said nothing. Nyola Carver had spoken to him about a merciful and loving God, but to Caeden’s way of thinking, this was neither merciful nor loving. Where was God when that kind old woman was burning alive?
He took several steps back, wondering what he should do. There was nothing left of the home the Carvers had enjoyed. Caeden thought about riding to Utica to buy a wagonful of goods for them and then thought better of it. Henry Carver needed to stay in charge. The man had already lost everything else. He’d wait and see what Carver wanted to do.
Emily and Millie joined him where he stood, but no one seemed inclined to speak. The shock of it all was too much—the pain too deep. Caeden watched as Henry and his friends were talking among themselves. He moved to join them to see what he might do to help.
“Someone clearly set the fires,” Caeden heard Henry say. The older man turned and looked back at his daughter. “That Davies fellow is no doubt responsible for this. I didn’t tell Emmy, but Davies told me he’d make it so’s we had no choice in the matter.”
“Yo can stay at my place. I gots plenty of room,” Millie said as she and Emily joined the men.
“I ain’t leaving Nyola.” Henry’s tone left little doubt that his mind was made up.
“They can stay with me in my tent,” Caeden offered. “It’s small, but I think we can all squeeze in.”
Millie looked from Caeden to Emily, then nodded. “I ’spect that’s best. I’s gwanna go fetch yo some blankets and when it’s full-up light, we can see what yo wanna do.”
And with that it was decided. Caeden doubted any of them would truly sleep, but he managed to talk Henry into resting so as to renew his strength for the task ahead.
Emily found herself wedged against the tent wall and her father’s well-muscled frame. Caeden took his position on the other side of her father. She hadn’t believed it would be possible to sleep, but hours later she awoke with a start to find herself alone. For just a moment Emily couldn’t remember where she was or why. Then the events of the night came to mind like a bad dream, only this time the nightmare was real. She
sat for several minutes in the silence of the morning. There were chores that still had to be tended to, but Emily couldn’t bring herself to move.
Everything smelled like smoke, and her nightgown and coat were marked with soot and ash. Her hair had come undone from its braid, and out of habit she reached up to comb her fingers through the long brown mass and plait it into order. This routine act allowed the tiniest bit of normalcy to return to her life, but it did nothing to offer comfort. How could it? Her mother was dead, and everything they’d ever owned was gone. Emily didn’t even have a change of clothes.
She finally dragged herself from the tent. The morning was a little warmer than the day before, but even so she was grateful for her coat. She walked around the lean-to and up to where the charred remains of the cabin stood. There was nothing left. Mama was gone and everything was burned to ashes.
Emily hadn’t cried the night before, and even now she felt the shock too great to even contemplate sorrow. She knew the pain would pierce her numbness soon enough, but for now all she could do was ask the same question over and over. Why?
“Your father went to Utica.”
She turned and met Caeden’s serious expression. “Did he . . . what about . . . my mother?”
“We took care of her just before he left. We . . . uh . . . wrapped her in a blanket. Your father plans to get some lumber to build her a coffin.”
Emily nodded. She walked toward the remains of the cabin. “Do you suppose anything is salvageable?”
“I’ve been going through some of the debris. I found a few metal things that survived. The bathtub, a couple of pans, and the coffeepot. Of course, the stove is there, as you can see.”
Emily disregarded the possibility of danger and made her way into the ruins. She looked around for herself. They had never had much, but now they had even less. She spied the tin in which she had stored her little blue rocks. She picked through the debris and pulled it from the ashes.
“What’s that?” Caeden asked, coming alongside her.
She shook her head. “I’m not sure I even know.” She opened it to reveal the stones. “These were pieces of rock that clogged the sluice. They were pretty, so Pa thought I might have some purpose for them. I’ve been collecting them ever since.”
Caeden took the tin from her and examined the pieces. “Do you know what these are?”
Emily shrugged. “Jake says he thinks they’re gemstones.”
“He’s right. I believe these are sapphires. They might very well be valuable to the right buyer.”
“Don’t tell Pa.” She turned to him. “Please. Jake said they’re having someone examine the rocks, but I don’t want Pa getting his hopes up. Especially now that all this has happened. Another disappointment might be the end of him.”
“I won’t say anything, but since I’ll be heading to Great Falls in another couple of weeks, do you mind if I take this with me and have it analyzed?”
Emily shook her head. What did it matter if he took the tin and the pebbles inside? Everything else was gone. “Take it.”
She walked away, not at all certain where she was headed. All she knew was that nothing was ever going to be the same—nothing would ever be right.
8
Nyola Carver’s funeral was held the next day. It was a small affair with a half dozen Yogo residents joining the family. The tiny cemetery held only a few graves, but now Emily’s mother would be a part of that memorial forever.
Emily had watched her father work outside Caeden’s tent late into the night to ensure that the small coffin was ready. Caeden, too, had held vigil with her, and his presence comforted her in a way she’d just as soon forget. Despite what her mother desired for her, Emily couldn’t see leaving her father anytime soon. He was too broken—too grieved.
Dressed in a gown Millie had once accepted from someone in trade, Emily tried to keep her emotions under control. She could see the tears in her father’s eyes, the misery in his expression. He blamed himself, even though they both knew it wasn’t his fault. At times like this even comfort from the truth seemed very inadequate. Mama was still dead, and whoever was responsible was still running free.
Kirk Davies is responsible.
Emily chided herself for being so judgmental, but she felt confident Davies had committed this heinous act. No one else stood to gain anything. With their home and few possessions destroyed, Davies would be certain the Carvers would give up and leave the area. However, the man didn’t know her father. If they had to camp outside in two feet of snow, Emily knew her father wouldn’t leave until he was good and ready to move on.
In the absence of a preacher to speak words over the body, Emily’s father recited the Twenty-third Psalm. He spoke a few words about the woman he had loved and of her generous nature and loving spirit. They sang one verse and the chorus of “Shall We Gather at the River?” and then her father led them in prayer. It was all so short and simple. It didn’t come anywhere near to lauding the many talents and kindnesses of Emily’s mother.
After her father concluded the prayer, the Yogo men helped lower the small casket into the ground, with Caeden working respectfully alongside them. Earlier he had mentioned to Emily that her mother’s great faith had bolstered his own in a small way. The words touched her heart. Mama was good at encouraging people to have faith. She would have been pleased to hear what Caeden had to say.
As the men began to shovel dirt over the coffin, Emily pulled on her old coat and walked away to gather her thoughts. She saw the Utica marshal ride up and wondered if her father had reported to him all that had happened, and if Kirk Davies had been found and charged.
Putting aside her desire for isolation, Emily made her way to the man before he could even dismount. “Marshal, have you arrested Kirk Davies for murdering my mother?”
Her blunt words took the lawman by surprise. “I beg your pardon?” He climbed down from his horse but continued holding the reins.
She crossed her arms. “You heard me. No one but Davies was trying to force us to give up our claim. He has to be the one who set those fires.”
“Do you have proof of that?” the mustached marshal asked in a tolerant tone.
“I know he threatened us and no one else has.” She narrowed her eyes. “Arrest him, and if you threaten him enough, he just might confess.”
The man shook his head. “Can’t do it that way. There’s such a thing as due process and the need for evidence before an arrest. I have to have hard facts and proof, not assumptions.”
“So he gets away with murdering my mother,” Emily said, her voice rising in protest. “He probably didn’t know she was even in the house. I doubt he knew of her existence, but it was murder just the same.”
“I understand how you feel, Miss Carver, but you need to stay out of it and let me do my job. I came to offer my condolences and to speak to your father about the matter. I assure you, I will do what I can to get justice for your mother.”
His words rang hollow in Emily’s ears. She was sure that neither he, nor anyone else, could truly understand how alone she felt.
She took herself off to a small gathering of trees and sat down on the ground to think. Leaning back against the trunk of an aspen, Emily closed her eyes. The day had warmed up and would have been pleasant under other circumstances. A flock of geese honked loud and long as they passed overhead. It was an all-too-familiar sound this time of year as they flew away to escape the winter cold.
Emily gave a heavy sigh. Everything and everyone seemed to be deserting her. She thought of her mother no longer suffering from her physical maladies. Emily could only hope that she’d died in her sleep from the smoke rather than in the flames. It grieved her to no end to imagine Mama burning to death.
She tried to pray, but her heart ached so much that Emily couldn’t find the words. She didn’t doubt God’s existence or His sovereignty, but she could not understand His allowing something so heinous to happen to a woman who loved Him so dearly.
“
I’m not sure I even know how to keep the faith without her.” Emily glanced to the sky. “Why, Lord?”
The question of why—many whys—continued to haunt her. Why had their lives taken this turn? Why did her mother have to die? Why were there no answers?
Emily didn’t know how long she had sat under the golden leaves of the aspen. She knew that Millie had invited everyone to come to her place after the burial. She wanted to offer them a good hot meal and would no doubt try to talk Emily’s father into staying at her boardinghouse. Emily almost prayed that her father would accept the offer, but in her heart she knew he wouldn’t. He was a proud man and did everything possible to refrain from being under obligation to any man . . . or woman.
Sticking her hand deep into her coat pocket, Emily felt the reassuring cold metal of her pistol. She didn’t like to think she could kill another person, but the idea of threatening Kirk Davies into admitting the truth was something she considered. Of course, Pa had always told her that if she ever drew a gun on another person, she’d best be ready to pull the trigger and end their life. Guns were something never to be toyed with.
The thought of dealing with Davies burned into her thoughts. He deserved to die. Deserved her wrath and that of her father. But what if Davies hadn’t set the fires? What if he wasn’t responsible for the death of her mother? She shook her head. How could it be anyone else? No one else held them a grudge. No one else had threatened to chase them off the property no matter what it took. It had to be Davies.
Getting to her feet, Emily knew she would have to put aside her desire for revenge and focus instead on what they were going to do now. Cold weather would soon set in, and they could hardly winter in a tent. Not only that, but Caeden and his tent would soon be gone. What if Pa didn’t take Millie up on her offer of a free room? What then? Emily supposed she could always take the room and let her father sleep wherever he chose.
A Treasure Concealed Page 9
