Tara's Gold

by Lisa Harris

  Something, though, had changed. She’d felt it the moment Mr. Carpenter introduced her and said her name. Though he tried to hide it, the surprise on Mr. Jefferson’s face had been clear. But why? Perhaps she was only fearful about someone finding out why she was here. Rumors regarding the gold had circulated for years, but she was certain the information she held could easily start a stampede across the state if she wasn’t careful.

  But he couldn’t know why she was really here. Her conversation with the sheriff had been made in the strictest of confidences. While she wasn’t so naive to believe that he might not share the information she’d given him with another lawman, what reason did the sheriff have to even mention the gold? He’d told her himself that searching for the gold was a ridiculous waste of time, and she had no reason to doubt he believed that.

  She’d also been careful when speaking with the land agent, cautioning him never to mention the gold. Even Mr. Carpenter had no reason to suspect why she had come to Iowa. So what was it?

  She looked down at her attire and frowned. The yellow crepe dress with its overskirt of the same fabric wasn’t exactly an appropriate choice for a ride through the cornfields. Wide ribbon sashes and lace edgings were more suited for an afternoon visit to one of her parents’ neighbors. She fiddled with the silk trim of her sleeve. She couldn’t help it. The very thought of wearing a simple calico garment made her skin crawl.

  Tara stared at the soft fabric until her eyes crossed. Perhaps Mr. Jefferson, like her own parents, didn’t believe she belonged on a farm, living in the middle of Iowa. And perhaps they were right. But wasn’t that exactly what she had set out to prove? If she failed to go ahead with her quest, she’d never know if she was capable of more than speaking a few witty phrases of conversation at a party and looking pretty.

  “Miss Young? Are you all right?”

  Tara looked up at Mr. Jefferson, surprised that the farm was already in view. She nodded. “Of course. I’m sorry. I suppose your question made me think about home.”

  “Do you miss Boston?”

  “Not as much as I thought I would.” She didn’t want her answer to sound shallow. “Even with its conveniences, the city is dirty, noisy, and overcrowded. Still, I miss my friends, the architecture, artwork, and even the church we attend every Sunday.”

  “To ease a bit of your concern. Pastor Reeves’s preaching can rival what any big city has to offer,” Mr. Carpenter said reassuringly. “He’s a man of God who preaches straight from the Word.”

  “I’m sure you’re right. I just…”

  Tara’s voice trailed. Mr. Jefferson looked at her as they approached the farmhouse, and her pulse started to race. She turned away, determined to find a way to discover the gold while at the same time keeping her heart intact.

  Eight

  Aaron crunched down on another pickle and smiled. It had been a long time since he’d sat at a family table and shared a meal, albeit one with such an interesting family, to say the least. Mr. Carpenter, with his denim overalls and toothless grin, was proving to have an unlimited reservoir of comical tales from his adventurous past. He sat at the end of the table and kept them entertained with story after story while Mrs. Carpenter, when she wasn’t bustling around and making sure everyone had what they needed, sat beside him, listening as though she were hearing the narratives for the first time.

  Aaron’s gaze turned to Miss Young, something he’d found himself doing far too often during the meal. She sat forward slightly, her eyes wide with interest, and her food seemingly forgotten as she listened to the story Mr. Carpenter told of a cattle stampede that almost killed him when he worked as a cowhand in his younger days. While she looked somewhat out of place with her fancy dress and impeccable manners against the worn furnishings of the dining room, one thing was notable. She didn’t seem to possess the arrogant attitudes he’d observed in most young women of means. Such a realization was refreshing.

  Not that her manners and propriety mattered to him, because they didn’t. Not in the least. And just because she happened to be both beautiful and modest was no cause for him to get distracted from the real reason he was here. His duty was to find out what information Miss Young had regarding the gold. Starting with, perhaps, the obvious question as to why a woman of noticeable means had traveled across several states to work as the caregiver for two elderly relatives. Were the Carpenters a key to finding the gold? Or did Miss Young’s information lay solely with her aunt’s acquaintance, Mr. Schlosser?

  No matter how many times he tried to convince himself that he was only sitting at the Carpenters’ table and eating stew and sour pickles because he needed to learn why she was here, he found himself lost in her smile and the soft lilt of her laugh. Aaron frowned. Perhaps it was too bad that she wasn’t homely. It would certainly have made the job easier for him and given him fewer distractions to face.

  Seemingly unaware of the effect she had on him, Miss Young pushed back an unruly curl that had fallen across her cheek. “So what made you leave the life of a cowboy, Mr. Carpenter?”

  The older man squeezed his wife’s hand. “I met this beauty and decided there was more to life than earning a living in a saddle.”

  Aaron took a bite of stew. Looking at the older couple, he realized that all their years of marriage hadn’t faded the love between them. He couldn’t help but wonder if he’d ever be so blessed to find a woman willing to share a life with him through whatever the future held.

  He frowned again. Since when did he allow thoughts of love and marriage to run so rampant through his thoughts? He’d settle down one day and buy that farm, facts he’d impetuously shared with Miss Young, but there were other things that had to be done first. He gripped the edges of his chair and, for the moment, couldn’t remember any of his excuses…couldn’t remember why he shouldn’t let his heart lead the way for once in his life.

  He finished off his pickle, determined to change the subject. “When did you settle in Iowa, Mr. Carpenter?”

  “Eighteen thirty-six. Seems like yesterday in so many ways.”

  “My husband is right. I still remember those first few years when all we could do was try to survive.” Mrs. Carpenter passed Aaron the bowl of pickles and laughed. “Didn’t even have a good cucumber patch back then. Which reminds me. You mustn’t let me forget to send you home with a jar or two of my pickles, young man.”

  Aaron smiled and took another one. If making a good impression meant eating yet another sour pickle, he was happy to do it. There was a lull in the conversation as they finished the thick stew and homemade bread. It seemed the perfect opportunity to ask about the gold without anyone perceiving his real intentions. Who knew better what had happened in this territory the past few decades than Mr. Carpenter? And if the man had information… Aaron decided to take a chance.

  He buttered a slice of bread. “You’ve lived in this state for a good many years, Mr. Carpenter. I’ve heard rumors that the government lost a cache of gold in these parts. Have you ever heard such a claim?”

  While Aaron addressed Mr. Carpenter, he watched Miss Young out of the corner of his eye. He saw the flicker of something in her expression as her brow lowered. Surprise? Worry?

  Mr. Carpenter waved his hand in the air, shaking his head. “Son, there’ve been rumors of gold in this country for as long as I can remember, from lost gold to gold mines. Look at Illinois and Georgia back in the twenties, California in the forties, Colorado, Nevada…why not Iowa? If you ask me, the rumors are usually nothing more than a bunch of nonsense.”

  “I suppose you do have a point.” Aaron set his spoon down and wondered if the man could be right.

  It wasn’t a new thought. The government had supplied him with confirmation that the gold still existed. He’d interviewed dozens of sources from Washington DC to the banks of the Mississippi, and many of them had led him a step further, but to what? To the truth that the gold was nothing more than a rumor? His superiors denied such a charge, but after months of searching, the
re were times when even he was beginning to doubt. No gold meant that everything he’d invested in this assignment had been for nothing. And that, in his mind, was unacceptable.

  “If one looks closely at history, there are always very few men who actually make it rich in the gold runs.” Mr. Carpenter held up his spoon. “The Good Book tells us that the Lord and His decrees are far more precious than gold. It’s a shame a few more people don’t believe that. The world might be a better place if we did.”

  Aaron nodded his head. “Another good point, sir.”

  But the Good Book also said, “Whatsoever ye do, do it heartily, as to the Lord, and not unto men.” Which was exactly what he was trying to do. And if his quest ended up proving nothing one way or the other? Did his hard work make up for his failure in God’s eyes?

  Mr. Carpenter wiped his face with his napkin, then scooted back the chair. “Miss Young has yet to have seen much of the beauty of this area, including the stream that runs through the edge of our property. Perhaps the two of you would enjoy a bit of exercise. It’s lovely this time of year.”

  Aaron shook off the dismal questions that troubled him, and instead, looked at Miss Young and tried to read her expression. There was nothing he’d rather do at the moment than spend the afternoon with her, and he’d just been given the perfect opportunity.

  He pushed his plate away. “Miss Young, I believe I could spare an hour or so if you’d enjoy a short ride.”

  He was certain he saw a tint of blush color her cheeks before she responded. “That would be nice, Mr. Jefferson, but I need to first clear the table and wash the dishes.”

  “Nonsense.” Mrs. Carpenter stood and took a plate out of Miss Young’s hands. “You already worked half the morning on my pickles. I’d say you deserve a bit of time for yourself.”

  Miss Young rose to protest. “But—”

  “Just enjoy yourselves. I’ll let you prepare dinner once you return.”

  ❧

  Tara rode beside Mr. Jefferson on one of Mr. Carpenter’s horses as they made their way toward the creek east of the property. From the rise in the terrain, she could see the far bank of the stream that flowed through the edge of the Carpenters’ property. Yellow rays of afternoon sun hit the clear water, leaving behind tiny diamonds that danced in the ripples. Beyond the stream, instead of cornfields, lay acres of tall prairie grass, yet to be plowed.

  Mr. Carpenter was right. It was a perfect day for riding, and the landscape, as she’d already come to discover, was beautiful. Only she could hardly concentrate on the view with Mr. Jefferson riding beside her. They’d discussed a number of intriguing political topics from President Grant’s recent defeat against the Senate in his attempt to annex the Dominican Republic to the appointment of the first black to congress.

  She stole a peek at the handsome lawman. Their discussions had soon moved to a spiritual thread, but as much as she enjoyed their conversation, she realized she still didn’t know what had brought him to Browning City. Vivid images of adventure and romance filled her mind, like something out of one of Mrs. Meddler’s dime novels. Maybe he was on the trail of a notorious desperado, or perhaps an entire gang of outlaws. Surely the fact that he’d saved her twice ranked fairly insignificant against the dashing heroics he’d accomplished in his career.

  Mr. Jefferson turned and noticed her gaze. She dipped her head, embarrassed he’d caught her staring at him. The knowledge that she was blushing again infuriated her. She’d spent her entire life learning how to be a proper lady who strove to be dignified and elegant at all times. Why, then, did one look at Mr. Jefferson melt every sense of decorum she could muster and leave her feeling vulnerable and defenseless?

  He cleared his throat. “May I be so bold as to ask you a question?”

  “I suppose.” She adjusted the fabric of her russet colored riding costume against the coat of her dappled mare.

  Mr. Jefferson’s eyes had turned a pale shade of caramel in the sunlight. “I’m curious as to why a beautiful and cultured young woman, such as yourself, chose to come to Iowa. From your dress and manners, I’m assuming you don’t need the income.”

  Tara frowned.

  “I’m sorry, if my question is at all offensive—”

  “No, it’s just that…” That what?

  She played with the brim of her wide straw hat, wanting to believe that his question was not a barb intended to prick her conscience. But what if he saw her as a shallow individual looking for a bit of adventure at the expense of an elderly couple’s generosity? Or even worse, being a man of the law, he might wonder if she had lost her financial position and was only here to prey on the financial assets of her remaining family.

  Before arriving in Iowa, she’d never stopped to consider the fact that her attire would be out of place amongst the rolling hills of Iowa. But what was she to do? Toss her stylish wardrobe in exchange for a closet filled with handsewn clothes made from gingham fabric from the mercantile? She’d always taken pride in her appearance, but here it seemed to be a constant disadvantage rather than an asset.

  Tara pulled back on the reins to slow the mare as the bank of the creek appeared before them. She wondered what she should say. She certainly couldn’t mention the gold, but not stating her real reason for coming might prove just as suspicious.

  “While I’ve only been here a short while, I believe the arrangements with my distant relatives is working out well. They needed someone to help around the house, read to them from the Bible and such, and I wanted to see a bit more of this part of the country.” She didn’t give him time to respond before posing her own question. “What about you? Besides the fact that you are a lawman, I know little about why you are here.”

  She watched as he pressed his lips together and turned his head slightly. It seemed that she wasn’t the only one with a secret. Of course, being a lawman, he had the right, she supposed, to keep his mission undisclosed, but that didn’t squelch her sense of curiosity.

  He clicked his tongue and pulled the horse to a stop before dismounting. “I’m doing some work for the government. Most of it is confidential, though, I’m afraid.”

  And undoubtedly important.

  Suddenly her dreams seemed very shallow and insignificant. How was chasing down a rumored pot of gold any better than pursuing clothes, fashion, and parties back east? Not that her entire life had been full of such shallow objectives. A good portion of her time had been spent in charity work. Her small offerings, though, never seemed enough to make a difference in anyone’s life. The poor continued to funnel into the church for food twice a week, and the children in the orphanage always needed new clothes and shoes. There never seemed to be enough time or resources to meet all the needs.

  Searching for the gold had been a way for her to do something important. Her one chance to do something beyond the mundane tasks of everyday life. But her quest to aid the government seemed insignificant. Her parents had saved dozens, if not hundreds, of lives by being a part of the Underground Railroad during the war. She’d seen glimpses of wide-eyed children with their ebony skin as they scurried with their parents into the cellar below the house. The same heroics had been true for her aunt Rachel. Slipping messages to key people had made a small yet significant difference in the outcome of the war.

  What good was ladling soup into the bowls of the poor twice a week when those same individuals would go hungry the next night? It wasn’t a solution; it was simply postponing the inevitable. And what good was a pair of shoes to a small child who needed the love of a mother and father?

  “Can I help you down?” He stood beside her horse with a ready hand to aid her.

  Tara pushed aside the unwelcome thoughts and swallowed hard at his nearness. “Please.”

  She felt the strength in his arms when he lifted her off the horse as if she were no heavier than a sack of goose feathers. Not wanting to meet his gaze, she studied the tip of his chin and its small dimple. Once her feet hit the ground, she couldn’t stop herself from
looking up briefly and smiling to thank him.

  His Stetson blocked the sun that had begun its descent into the western sky. Everything around her faded, and for a moment, she couldn’t breathe. No longer could she hear the song of the goldfinch, or smell the scent of the wildflowers blowing in the soft summer breeze. It was just the two of them and a strange connection she couldn’t explain. Her horse stamped and nudged her in the back. She clasped her hands and turned away, breaking the suspended moment.

  ❧

  Aaron took a step back. Something had passed between them, but he wasn’t sure what. All he knew was that there had been something in her eyes as she’d looked at him that had reached all the way to the depths of his heart. It was something unexpected, something he couldn’t explain. And he didn’t know if he wanted to.

  He reached down and picked up a couple of smooth pebbles. There was too much at stake. His superiors were beginning to pressure him. Finding the gold was not only a governmental priority, his career hung in the balance, as well. He had no time for distractions. And he needed to find out what she knew.

  He walked toward the stream edge and skipped a stone across the glassy water. He wouldn’t lie to her, but telling her the truth would no doubt push her away. It would turn him into the opponent instead of a potential suitor. Not that he had any chances of actually becoming her suitor.

  “There is something I need to tell you.” He tossed another pebble into the creek and watched it skip across the water.

  Miss Young leaned against the trunk of a tall tree beside him with a lazy smile across her face. He wondered what would happen if he bridged the distance between them and kissed her. He shook his head and pushed away the ridiculous thought. Confronting her might be the last thing he wanted to do, but it was what he had to do.