With an easy move, he swept them into the piano’s rhythm and circled them around the floor.
Just like before, Daisy felt their bodies move together. Walt’s expert guidance kept their steps synchronized. All the animosity she’d felt the previous day toward this man disappeared. Her rash behavior hadn’t destroyed their budding relationship.
The music ended, and they both loosened their holds on each other.
Normally, she’d ask him to walk her back to her chair to be ready for the next customer. But he was guaranteed to be the next partner. Daisy crinkled her brow and just stared. “I don’t know what we should do until the music starts again.”
“I don’t want to dance. I want to talk.” He reached for her hand and turned them toward the curtained doorway.
Daisy resisted, unsure of this unknown situation. “Mr. Seppanen won’t be happy.”
“Believe me, with what I paid, I dare him to voice a single complaint.” He strode past the owner and gave a curt nod.
That statement popped questions inside her mind. How much had he paid? What fee had Mr. Seppanen asked? She smiled at her boss and followed behind a very determined Walt as he wove between the crowd of gamblers then settled her into a table in a secluded corner.
“I’ll be right back.” He strode toward the bar and returned within a couple minutes with a tall glass of dark liquid and a foaming beer. “Here’s a sarsaparilla.”
“Thank you.” She sipped and let the fizzy liquid with the slight licorice taste slid down her suddenly parched throat. What does he want to discuss?
Walt swallowed down half his beer and then set aside the mug. “I have to apologize, Daisy. I handled the situation all wrong yesterday. I wanted you to have a memory of a nice meal and cordial conversation before reading Perry’s last letter.”
“I know. I finally realized that fact while staring at the moon last night.” She clasped her hands together in her lap. “And I forgot to tell you how sorry I am that you had to go through the ordeal of Perry’s illness and d-death…alone.” She sniffled. I’m not going to cry.
He dipped his chin and then sucked in a deep breath. “I will admit I left the hotel after you disappeared and went straight to the stagecoach ticket window. I stood there reading the names of possible destinations, but none called to me.”
How could that be? She had a list of several cities that she hoped to visit at some point in her life. “None did?”
“Least not alone.” After a glance around the immediate area, he scooted close enough that the chair arms touched. “After I came to see you the first time, I took the gold nuggets Perry and I collected and the claim registration to the assayers’ office. This morning, I went back to hear what the man judged the value to be. As soon as I set foot inside his door, I heard him call out to someone in the back room. A big-shot gentleman in the industry, a Mr. Josiah Amador, introduced himself and told me he was interested in buying the claim. Without Perry, working the claim hasn’t been fun. Our shack holds too many memories.” He stiffened then took another big swallow of his beer. “Maybe I should have asked you first.”
“Asked me what?” Daisy clenched her hands, unsure about what she was hearing. Someone was interested in buying the claim?
“Several weeks ago, when Perry realized how sick he was, he signed over his half of the claim deed to me. So I made the decision. We took Mr. Amador’s carriage to his office in Centerville, and I sold him the claim.” He patted the pocket of his jacket. “I have Perry’s half to give you.”
“Claims can be sold? You’re giving me money?” She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. A lump lodged in her throat. She didn’t care if the sum was fifty dollars—although that would be a boon compared to what she’d lived on for the past year. She’d work with any amount to get her out of this job and away from this town.
“But before I do, Daisy, I want you to think on another possibility.” He reached toward her, grasped her hand, and eased their joined hands to the table top.
There’s more? Her mind whirled. Warmth sailed through her hand and skittered along her skin. She could get used to being touched by this man.
“Perry told me about your plans of buying a book shop. I admire that you both had a goal, because me…I’ve just bumbled along, moving from one job to another. As an avid reader, I think a book store is a wonderful idea. But maybe you’ll decide to wait a couple of years…or maybe four.”
“But if I’m getting money, why would I wait?” She narrowed her gaze. “And why four years?”
He rubbed his thumb along her skin and watched the movement as he spoke. “When the placer gold thinned and the miners grumbled about where they’d go next, they talked about open land in Oregon Country—and it’s free.”
“Free land? How can that be?” She thought of the hard work her parents had done on the family farm—the mortgage and the taxes.
“Those ruling the territory want young folks like you and me to settle there.”
You and me? A shiver ran up her spine, but she just nodded, waiting for him to continue.
“The big land grants ended last year, but one-hundred-sixty-acre plots are available to single individuals and…” He reached for his glass and swallowed the last of his beer. “Or three-hundred-twenty-acre grants are available to married couples.”
Married? She mirrored his action and drank a mouthful of the sweet carbonated drink.
Squeezing her hand, he leaned forward. “Daisy, now that I’ve spent time with you, heard your sweet voice, and seen your beautiful face, I can’t imagine not seeing you every day. Will you consider becoming my wife and claiming land for our future family in Oregon Territory?”
Her heart raced at hearing his oh-so-special words. “First, Walt, I need to tell you I know you’ve been writing to me these past few months. Probably since the very beginning of Perry’s illness.”
A frown creased his forehead. “But—”
“Let me finish.” She raised her hand. “I discovered the truth in my collection of letters.” A smile stretched her mouth. “I should have seen it earlier but today, I saw how the tone of the content changed. The details altered from daily chores and pie-in-the-sky plans to descriptions of the surroundings and the people, to an understanding of how the process of panning was changing you. At first, I thought Perry was finally maturing, but I should have known the words weren’t his, they were yours. Even though I’d never met you.”
She dipped her chin and bit her quivering lip then held up her head and looked him straight in the eye. “In my excitement to read the news of what Perry was doing, I skipped right past the beginnings of the most recent letters. Until this morning, when I looked them over again. On January 10th the salutation read, “To my sweet Daisy”… and on the 17th the opening was simply, “Dearest Daisy.”
His eyes widened. “I wrote that?”
“I think you are a special man, Walter Renfrid, and yes, I’ll take you up on your proposal.”
Light flashed in his blue eyes, and a grin crooked his lips then they flattened in the next moment. “To be fair, I need to give you Perry’s share of the claim. Now, I’ll understand if you decide farming isn’t what you desire once you see the amount.” He slipped his hand into his inside jacket pocket and withdrew a fold piece of paper. “Perry harped on how much you had your heart set on a book shop.” With one finger resting on top of the paper, he pushed it across the wooden table then sat back in his chair and crossed his arms.
The sum is enough to buy a shop? With a shaky hand, Daisy lifted the paper and unfolded it. The bank draft was made out to her with today’s date—February 14, 1850. Tears filled her eyes, and she glanced at Walt then back at the amount. Mentally, she counted and recounted the zeroes. Three thousand dollars. “This is the best possible Valentine’s present. I wouldn’t mind going back to a farm life, as long as we’re together. Walt, I do want to marry you.”
Walt let out a whoop and gathered her into his arms. He lowered his head and
brushed his lips over hers, and then pressed harder.
His clipped beard tickled her chin. Daisy’s lips tingled, but she couldn’t keep from grabbing the front of his shirt and hanging tight until he broke away.
“No, Daisy, you are the best Valentine’s present.”
Happiness filled her insides until she felt like she might burst. She sighed and snuggled her cheek against his chest, listening to the strong thump of his heart. A thumping that beat exactly in rhythm with hers. Let our future be a dance.
About the Author—Linda Carroll-Bradd
As a young girl, Linda was often found lying on her bed reading about fascinating characters having exciting adventures in places far away and in other time periods. In later years, she read and then started writing romances and achieved her first publication—a confession story. Married with 4 adult children and 2 granddaughters, Linda now writes heartwarming contemporary and historical stories with a touch of humor and a bit of sass from her home in the southern California mountains. Website www.lindacarroll-bradd.com
He is a Good Man
Zina Abbott
A letter delivered from the grave changes everything for two young people.
Chapter 1
July 1864 – Fort Stevens, Northwest Washington, D.C.
Hal found an open space near Joshua’s head and, using his Springfield rifle to aid his exhausted body, eased himself to the ground. As he scratched his four-day-old beard to relieve the constant itch, at the back of his mind he wondered how long it would be before they could wash up and shave. All the while, he critically assessed the sweat pouring off his messmate’s face, twisted with pain.
“How are you doing, Joshua? Once I saw you fall, I tried to get to you but…well, you know how it was. When I couldn’t find you after, I was afraid I’d find you here.”
“Not good, Hal,” Joshua panted out his reply. “I told you…I wasn’t…going to live through this war.”
Hal studied Joshua’s bloody, mangled right leg with the bone sticking out above the knee just below where someone had tightened a tourniquet made out of a belt. He’d seen enough to know—most of the leg would need to come off. A sight like that used to sicken him. But he had been through enough battles and seen enough limbs decimated by Minié balls he felt neither shocked at the sight nor prompted to spew his most recent meal.
“It looks bad, Josh. You’ll lose the leg. But, you’re here, and you’ll make it. The sawbones will have you fixed up in no time. It just means you’ll need to learn to do things around the farm a little differently. But, the bright side is, the war is over for you and you’ll be going home to your Malinda soon.”
“Mali isn’t going to want some cripple, Hal. I wouldn’t blame her if she turned me down if I came home without both legs.”
“No, she won’t turn you down, Josh. You’ve told me enough about her and what she’s said in her letters to convince me she’s not that shallow. She loves you and will take you no matter what.”
Joshua’s face flamed red as he gritted his teeth and grimaced. His back arched in an effort to escape the pain that wracked his body. His left fist clenched, wadding up the paper clutched in his hand. “I’m going nowhere, Hal, except into the ground here thousands of miles from home. I know my pa can’t afford to pay for the embalming and to ship me back to California.”
“I’ll pay for it, if it comes to that; if that’s what you want, Josh. But as dark as it looks to you now, I don’t think that’s going to happen. You have to believe you’ll make it through.”
“No.” Joshua shook his head. “I knew I wasn’t coming out this war alive. I made peace with the idea I’d catch a bullet before this war is over. That’s why I did what I did even though I love Malinda. I mean, I just wanted to know what it was like to be with a woman before I die. Mali isn’t that kind of girl, and I wouldn’t have asked it of her. But, I knew if I was going to find out what it was all about, I’d have to do it while we were still close to Centreville.”
Hal turned away and shook his head. Joshua had brought up the one issue they had strongly disagreed upon, and on which Hal had refused to yield to any of Joshua’s attempts at rationalization. Even though his own fiancée had married another within six months after he boarded the ship with the rest of the California Battalion to travel east to join up with the 2nd Massachusetts Cavalry, he felt a compulsion to stay faithful to the love he still felt for her. In his mind, as long as Joshua had a woman like Malinda Forsythe who loved him, who wrote to him faithfully, and still waited for him, nothing justified him being unfaithful to her trust, no matter how much he feared dying young and missing out all life had to offer.
“So, you know what it’s like now.” Hal spoke more sharply than he intended. “But you got to stop talking about dying. You’ll be fine once the surgeons get you taken care of. What’s the paper you got in your hand?”
“I’m trying to finish the letter I was writing to Mali last night. I told her I got shot, but it’s getting hard to write. You finish it for me, Hal. Tell her I love her. Tell her to think of me fondly as a childhood friend, but…go on with her life and be happy.”
Hal reached over and pried the paper out of Joshua’s fist. He rooted around on the ground until his fingers closed around the pencil Joshua had been using. He smoothed the crumpled sheet reasonably flat on his knee before he read the last few barely legible sentences in order to know where Joshua had left off and where he should start.
“Josh, what do you mean by telling her you’ve done all you can for her future? That doesn’t make much sense.”
“That’s between Mali and me. She’ll know…when the time comes.”
Hal shrugged and began to write, being careful to not poke the pencil through the paper weakened by the creases resulting from Joshua clutching it while fighting off his pain. He had almost finished writing the words Joshua had requested when his friend, with a voice noticeably weaker, spoke to him once more.
“Hal, you still got that other letter I asked you to take to Mali when I die?”
“You’re not going to die, Josh. But, yeah, I still have it.”
“And your word’s still good, isn’t it? You won’t mail it to her, but you’ll take it to her in person. You can mail the one you’re writing on now, and the one for my folks that’s in my coat pocket…but the one I gave to you before…you swear you’ll take it to her yourself in person? And you’ll do those other two things you promised to do, too?”
“My word’s good, Josh. I meant every word I promised.” Hal fought down the surge of annoyance that his closest messmate would question his honor. He turned to stare into Joshua’s unfocused eyes. “As long as I live to return home, I’ll do what I swore to do. I doubt she’ll appreciate me doing the one, but I’ll give her the option.”
“Thanks, Hal. I’ll die in peace knowing you’ll do that.”
“Just hush up about dying, Josh. What did you write in that letter, anyway?”
“Between…me and Mali,” Joshua barely mumbled his words loud enough to be heard as shock and the loss of blood took its toll. “You…just take it to her.”
Chapter 2
February 1866 – Santa Clara Valley, East of Cupertino, California
Malinda Forsythe slid the top letter from the ribbon-tied bundle to once again read the last words Joshua Penrose wrote to her. She had been debating on whether or not to take his letters along to her sister’s home where she planned to spend the next six weeks helping to care for Elizabeth and her new niece, Julia Suzanne. Having them along meant that she could turn to them if she grew bored or homesick for Mama or Joe. She read the first part of the letter, the part written in Joshua’s typical handwriting style, about their arrival and skirmish at Fort Stevens, about the practical joke he and another messmate had played on the men in the next patrol, all the while poking fun at his best friend’s—Hal’s—disapproval of tormenting their own while in the middle of battling for their lives. She could tell when he ended the letter, as if read
y to send it before he wrote the last few sentences.
She realized the sadness no longer weighed on her heart like it had right after they received word of Joshua’s death. She could now read the words without tears blinding her before she finished. This part, faint and barely legible, must have been written after he had been shot and dragged back to the surgery tents to await his turn. Someone had wadded it up. Later, the paper had been straightened out again. She held it up to the light of the small window in her room to better see the words scratched on the paper.
I’ve been shot in the leg and wait under a tree for the sawbones. I will not make it home. I done all I can for your future…
The pencil had skittered down the page at that point. Then, just below it, someone else had written in a script full of bold points with little rounding of the letters.
Pvt. Joshua Penrose asked me to finish writing his message to you. He says to assure you he loves you. He hopes you will keep a fond memory of the times in your past spent with him, but go on with your life and be happy.
Then a line had been drawn followed by the final message in the same handwriting.
It is with great sadness and regret that I inform you of Joshua’s passing. He died while on the surgeon’s table. I assume his parents will receive more details from our commanding officer. According to his wishes, I am sending this letter to you and the one Joshua wrote to his parents to them. Your obedient servant, Henry Avery
Henry Avery, probably the good friend that Joshua had referred to as Hal, must have held the letters a few weeks before he mailed them. Maybe there had been no opportunity to mail them earlier, or maybe he intended for the family to receive word of Joshua’s death from the Army first, which was what had happened.
Lariats, Letters, and Lace Page 12
