by Paty Jager
“Give me a chance to go through my father’s things. I’m—” She didn’t want to tell anyone about her father’s hidden mine. Surely, if this man had been friends with her father he would know about it, but since he hadn’t mentioned it in his letter, she didn’t know if her father hadn’t told him or he planned to keep the mine for himself.
Mr. Corum sat on the other chair. “I’m sorry. As long as Alan was away from home, I didn’t think you’d be upset to go through his things.” He reached down into the box. “I didn’t send them home because they weren’t worth the postage.” He held up a dirty sweat-stained slouch hat. He handed it to her.
Alamayda held her breath and turned the garment over in her hands. There wasn’t anything unusual about the dirty hat. She placed it on the porch between them.
He pulled out a chambray shirt. It was well-worn with patches but clean. “This is his clean set of clothes. The ones he was wearing when he took sick I burned. They were covered in dirt and—”
She didn’t want to think about what might have been on her father’s clothing. She’d nursed a sick mother long enough to know there were accidents and such.
Her heart lurched at the thought he’d burned a set of clothing. “Did he have anything in his pockets?” She couldn’t bear to think this man might have burned up her only way of finding the mine.
“Only a couple coins. I put those in this clean pair of trousers.” He handed over a faded, patched pair of wool trousers.
She put her hand in a pocket and pulled out two dimes. Tears started to burn the back of her eyes. Her father had died with two dimes in his pocket. He’d sent money home over the years, never on a regular basis. She’d had to make sure the farm had supplied all she and her siblings had needed. She’d sold eggs and cleaned rooms at the local hotel to make enough money to buy the things they couldn’t make on their own, like shoes and tools. There had to be something in his things to tell her where the mine he talked about in his letters could be found.
Mr. Corum cleared his throat. “Here’s his coat but it’s kind of…” He didn’t have to finish.
Alamayda held her arm up in front of her nose. “Did my father never take a bath?” she asked, trying to imagine what he must have looked like the last few years.
“He’d take one monthly in the summer. He didn’t like to pay for a bath at the bath house. Many prefer the cold water of the river to the dirty water someone else has been sittin’ in.” He lowered the coat back into the box. “Your pa used the river so it was only during the warmer weather that he took a bath.”
She didn’t want to touch the nasty garment, but she had to see if there was anything in the pockets or perhaps sewn inside the lining. Holding her hand out, she waited for Mr. Corum to make up his mind about handing it over.
“You sure you want to touch this?” he asked.
She nodded even though she didn’t want to. But she had no choice. He held the coat out and she grabbed it with one hand. She pushed her hands into the gritty pockets and came up with nothing but dirty fingers. Holding her breath, she turned the coat inside out and felt the lining around the cuffs and hem of the coat.
“What are you looking for?” Mr. Corum asked.
She glanced into the box and didn’t see anything else. Dropping the coat back in the box, she folded her hands into her lap. They had to stink as bad as the coat.
“Mr. Corum, I’ll be returning to Morgan’s Crossing with you.”
Chapter Three
Isaac shook his head. He didn’t hear right did he? “Ma’am?” he questioned.
Miss Wagner peered straight at him like a crow eyeing a shiny object. “I will be returning with you to Morgan’s Crossing.”
“No disrespect ma’am, but there’s nothing for you to find in Morgan’s Crossing. I brought everything your pa left behind.” He stood. “And there’s no place for you to stay in Morgan’s Crossing.”
“What do you mean, no place to stay? There’s a hotel or boarding house isn’t there?”
Her tone of voice sounded like a scolding. He was thirty-three years old, much too old for a scolding, especially from a spinster he just met.
He slapped his hat on his head. “There’s no hotel. Morgan’s Crossing is smaller than Sweetwater Springs. The only boarding house houses the men who work at the mine.”
Her spine straightened and her eyes stared at him. Her whole body seemed to be latched onto what he’d just said.
“The men who work the mine stay in a boarding house? My father…did he stay at this boarding house?”
“Yeah, he shared a bunk with Horace Severe. But I think Ike Johnson moved into your pa’s bunk when I kept him at the guard shack.” He narrowed his eyes. “Why?”
She stood. “It doesn’t matter why. I’m going to Morgan’s Crossing with you.” She picked up her father’s belongings that sat on the porch and dropped them into the box. “Did you still want to leave tonight? I don’t mind.”
Isaac scratched his ear and stared at the woman. What was she so fired up about finding at Morgan’s Crossing? What wasn’t she telling him?
“I was only going to travel a few hours and sleep. You might as well sleep well tonight ’cause you’ll be sleepin’ in the back of a wagon tomorrow night.” Isaac glanced down at the box. “You want me to take those away?”
“Please. What time in the morning do you want to leave?”
“The sun’s up at five-thirty. The sooner we get going and the longer we drive, the sooner I can get back to my job.”
She nodded. “I’ll be waiting at five-fifteen.”
He picked up the box and stared at her. “You realize there may not be anywhere for you to stay?” He didn’t want to catch hell from Mrs. Morgan for bringing a lady to the area and not thinking about where she would stay.
“Is there a mercantile that carries outdoor equipment?” she asked.
“Yeah, but you can’t think you’ll be safe living in a tent.” He was starting to think the woman was either too arrogant to back down or not what she seemed.
“I know how to use a rifle. I grew up on a farm. After father left, I had to shoot rabbits, birds, and deer to feed my sisters, brother, and I.”
Her tone said more than her words.
“What about your ma?”
“When she died, father left. That was ten years ago. Alan, my brother, was eight. Alice was twelve, May was fourteen and I was seventeen.” The words were spoken without feeling.
Isaac hated to admit it, but his attitude toward the woman was softening. She came off harsh and abrasive, but she’d taken on the responsibility of raising her siblings at a young age.
“Didn’t you have any other relatives that could help?” He’d been taken in by his grandparents when his father joined the war.
“None that would keep us together. That was Ma’s wish. That we stay together.” Her brown eyes took on a determined glint. “I kept us together and now my brother is running the farm and my sisters are married.”
Which still didn’t answer why she insisted on going to Morgan’s Crossing.
“But why are you insisting to go to Morgan’s Crossing?”
Miss Wagner’s gaze slid from his face to over his left shoulder. “I want to see where father lived. See for myself what about it was better than the farm and his children.”
He didn’t believe a word she was saying, but he’d let it go. It was a long ride to Morgan’s Crossing. Maybe he’d discover the true reason she insisted on going there.
“See you in the morning,” he said and hauled the box of Alan Wagner’s belongings back to the wagon. He dumped the box in the back, climbed on board, and headed to the livery. Looked like he’d sleep in the wagon at the livery and get over to the church by five in the morning.
***
Alamayda said her good-byes to the Nortons and marched out the door of the rectory carrying her valise at five-fifteen the next morning. She was surprised and pleased to see Mr. Corum standing beside a wagon. He was mor
e than punctual. After his not meeting the train yesterday, she’d figured she’d be standing in front of the church for some time before he arrived.
“Good morning, Mr. Corum,” she said, in a more cheerful voice than she felt. After hearing she’d need to stay in a tent in Morgan’s Crossing, she’d spent a good deal of her evening making a list of what she would need and then paring it down to what she could afford.
“Miss Wagner.” Mr. Corum held out his hand for her bag.
She handed it over, and he set it in the back of the wagon behind the seat.
Grabbing a fistful of her skirt, she placed one hand on the seat and raised a foot to step on the spokes of the wheel.
Hands spanned her waist, hoisting her onto the seat as if she flew up. Her cheeks heated. No man had ever put his hands on her. She stared at the street to her left as if interested. She didn’t want Mr. Corum to see how flustered she’d become from his touching her.
The wagon swayed as he climbed up onto the seat next to her. She scooted to the edge to avoid touching him. On the trip out she’d bumped into men on occasion due to the jostle of a crowd on the train station platforms or passing in the trains. None had put their hands on her in such a forward way.
The wagon lurched, wood creaked, and the harnesses jingled as they rolled down the street of Sweetwater Springs. She glanced sideways at Mr. Corum. His face was forward, his brow furrowed, and his attention on the horses.
Apparently, he thought nothing of touching a woman. She pointed her face forward and decided to try and forget the event.
Without much ado, they left Sweetwater Springs behind and traveled through tall prairie grass, headed toward mountains in the distance.
“I’ve been thinkin,’” Mr. Corum said.
Alamayda jolted at his voice. She’d settled into a half awake-half asleep stupor listening to the jingle of the harnesses and the rumble of the wheels on the hard-packed road.
“Thinking, Mr. Corum? Isn’t that what most people do every minute of their waking day?” The minute she let the waspish sentence out, she wished to retract it.
He swiveled his head and peered at her. “Ma’am, I just met you and as far as I can tell, I’ve done nothin’ that would prove I’m slow witted.”
“I’m sorry. Truly, I am. I’ve had to prove to people they couldn’t swindle or cheat me when dealing with the buyers of our farm products.” There had been so many times, if she hadn’t said something to prove her wit and show her tenacity, they would have had less money for the winter.
“I don’t understand how bein’ rude shows pluck.”
It was her turn to stare at him. “Rude? I say what I’m thinking.”
“Then you need to stop and think a bit more before you speak.”
“Now who’s being rude!” she huffed. What she said wasn’t rude, it was the truth. If one sugarcoated their words, they were soft and vulnerable.
“I’m not bein’ rude. I’m tellin’ you the facts about yourself.” He stared ahead. “I’m just sayin’ what I’m thinkin’.”
He’d thrown her words back at her, which started her thinking. Do my thoughts come out as rude as he’s insinuating? Why haven’t May or Alice said anything?
“I’ve also been thinkin’ on your name.”
It appeared Mr. Corum liked to talk. A trait she usually found annoying not only in men but in women. They were going to be stuck on this wagon for two days together, she may as well converse as sit in silence.
“You do a lot of thinking.”
“It’s all I have to do while on guard duty every day.”
“What about my name?”
“It’s a mouthful. Alamayda. I bet you were a mite of a baby, so why’d your folks give you such a big name?” He glanced at her. The crinkles around his eyes deepened as he half smiled.
“You know my father’s name was Alan. My ma’s name was Mayda. They put the two together to make my name.”
Mr. Corum whistled.
“What is that for?” she asked.
“I’d of never believed Alan was so high on hisself. And your ma must have been too.”
The hair on the back of Alamayda’s neck bristled. “What do you mean by that?”
“They named you Alamayda after them, then you said you had a sister named May and a brother named Alan. Seems to me your folks didn’t want to be forgotten after they died.”
She’d never thought about all their names, even Alice, which was her mother’s middle name and her middle name, was a connection to her parents. She did know she had never liked her name, but Ma wouldn’t let her be called by any nicknames.
“What about you? Did your parents name you after them?” She’d put the conversation on him for a while.
“No. I’m not sure where my name came from. My ma died while birthin’ me. When I was eight, my pa went off to the war and didn’t come back. I lived with my grandparents until they died. Instead of living with someone else, I lit out for the west.”
Alamayda stared at him. He retold his life without bitterness and with a sense of pride. She could barely remember a time when she wasn’t scraping to feed her siblings or worrying over the price of wheat and vegetables. He’d lost his mother at birth and his father at a younger age than she’d lost her parents, and yet, he was at peace with it.
“Why did you go out west?” she asked, wanting to learn more about the man who seemed to have found peace in his life.
“I was in Abilene, workin’ at the cattle yard when the Rockin’ R Ranch drove in a herd of cattle. I started talkin’ to one of the hands and ended up headin’ back to the Rockin’ R to hire on.”
Her thoughts collided. “How did you go from working at a cattle ranch to guarding a mine?”
He glanced over at her and grinned. “The pays better and not so hard on a body.” His gray eyes didn’t seem to focus on her. “I’m savin’ my money to buy a cattle ranch. One that will support me the rest of my life.”
That’s what finding her father’s mine would do for her. Support her the rest of her life so she could draw and write poetry in solitude.
“That’s a nice dream,” she said.
“Yeah, your pa said the same thing when I told him.” He chuckled. “You know, I talked with your pa now and then when he’d change shifts and he seemed to be sharp. But when he was lyin’ on my bed knowin’ he was goin’ to die, he started mutterin’ about not gettin’ to live his dream. Not findin’ the gold in time.”
Alamayda’s body turned toward Mr. Corum before she could stop it.
Chapter Four
Isaac pretended he didn’t notice Alamayda’s attention pique at the mention of gold. Was that what she thought she’d find in Morgan’s Crossing? As far as he knew, the old man was delirious and talking of his past gold mining days before he went to work for Michael Morgan.
“My father said something about a gold mine to you?” Miss Wagner asked.
He glanced sideways. There was a sparkle in her eyes that hadn’t been there before. It made her appear less formal, more playful—more her age.
“He was delirious with pain and fever. I didn’t take anythin’ he said serious.” Isaac stared forward. He could feel her excitement.
She picked at her pocketbook. “There’s a reason I’m going to Morgan’s Crossing.”
Her tone of voice was low, calculating. As if she were making up her mind about telling him something.
“I figured that when you said you were goin’ after you looked through your pa’s belongin’s.” It had taken him a bit to fall asleep the night before, trying to make sense of her actions.
“Were you father’s only friend? I mean, do you think there was anyone else he would have confided in?”
He glanced to the side. She stared at him as if he had all the answers.
“I can’t tell you who he might have talked to in the boarding house at night. I sleep in the guard shack at the mine. But I never saw him talkin’ to no one person every time he came out of the mine or walk
ing to shifts. He and I spent a few Sundays fishin’, but he never mentioned more than he had kids in Kansas and he’d given up tryin’ to find gold for hisself so he could send money home to you.”
She shook her head. “I don’t think he gave up finding gold for himself and us. He mentioned he’d claimed a mine for us. He called it the Wagner Mine. But he never told us where. Said he had drawn a map and we’d get it if something ever happened to him.” Her eyes stared straight into his. “Did you keep the map?”
Anger ripped through his chest and flashed bright red in his head. “I can’t believe you just accused me of stealin’ from your pa after I took care of him when no one else wanted to. They were all afraid to lose a couple days pay to sit with him. And now I’m losin’ four more days to bring you his things. ALL of his things. Not to mention what bringin’ you to Morgan’s Crossing is goin’ to cost me.”
She leaned back as his outrage spilled forth. Her eyes narrowed. “What do you mean bringing me to Morgan’s Crossing will cost you? I’ll pay for my own lodgings and food.”
“You bet you will. I’ve lost enough money doin’ the right thing.” He grit his teeth and swallowed the anger her calling him a thief had spawned. “I mean, a single woman in a minin’ camp is like tossin’ a rabbit into a pen of dogs. The men are goin’ to be tryin’ to outdo each other to get your attention. I’m sure there’ll be some, that given how long they’ve gone with seein’ only the ten females in town, will be doggin’ you, and you aren’t goin’ to like it.”
He cast a glance her direction. From the way her lips pursed and the furrowing of her brow, she hadn’t a clue what it was like in a mining community. Especially one with few females.
“You said there wasn’t a hotel or boarding house that would take me in?”
“No, ma’am, there isn’t. The best you can do is put up a tent and hope you can sleep knowin’ a man could come sneakin’ into your tent for your affections.” They were only half-a-day’s ride from Sweetwater Springs. He wouldn’t mind the extra time to turn around and put this woman back on a train.
