Heart of Gold

by Robin Lee Hatcher

  It seemed ages since she’d seen anything so pretty as that dress, and the deep green and blue colors would be perfect with her complexion. Her practiced eye caught the subtle changes to the pattern from the dresses she’d worn for several years. Fashion hadn’t stood still just because the Union and Confederacy were at war. Dress designers had been busy in France and England and other places in the world.

  She entered the shop, her heart beating faster than usual. A small bell above the door announced her arrival.

  A tall, thin woman pushed aside the curtain that divided the shop from what Shannon assumed to be a workroom in the back. Her appearance was austere, her attire an unrelieved black from head to toe. “Good afternoon,” she said. “How may I help you?”

  “The dress in the window. It’s lovely.”

  “Yes. The very latest from England.” She showed a quick smile, then asked, “Would you like to try it on?”

  What would her father say if she came home with a new dress?

  Before the war he wouldn’t have given it a great deal of thought. Now? He might think it an unnecessary expense. Rightly so, she supposed. But could it hurt to try it on? Just a peek. She needn’t buy it simply because she looked at it in the mirror.

  “You must be the new minister’s daughter,” the woman said. “I’m Mrs. Treehorn. This is my shop.”

  “I’m Miss Adair.”

  “A pleasure to meet you, Miss Adair.” She motioned toward the back of the shop. “I don’t believe the dress will require much in the way of alterations. You look to be the right size. Let’s see if I’m right.”

  Less than an hour later, Shannon stepped onto the boardwalk outside the shop, the owner of a glossy tartan dress in the latest style. Mrs. Treehorn had promised it would be delivered to the parsonage on Monday afternoon. That would give her just enough time to prepare her father for the bill.

  Shannon would begin by telling him she’d met a woman who was recently widowed, her husband killed in an accident while panning for gold in the mountains to the north of Grand Coeur. So tragic. Mrs.

  Gladys Treehorn’s only way to support herself and her adolescent children was with her sewing, and while most of her customers were men buying woolen shirts and pants, it pleased her to be able to make dresses for the women of the town, few in number though they might be. Surely Shannon’s father would approve of her helping the widow by purchasing one of those dresses.

  She must hope the good reverend wouldn’t see through her flimsy reasoning and know that she’d thought only of herself, not the dressmaker, when she’d agreed to buy the gown. But now she must hurry. She must get to the mercantile and return home before her father finished practicing his sermon.

  She turned and stepped right into the chest of a tall man.

  His fingers closed around her upper arms. “Careful there, miss.” His voice was genteel, his accent blessedly familiar.

  Shannon took a step back and looked up.

  His eyes were blue, his skin bronzed by the sun, his hair the color of straw. He had a mustache that she thought might make him look a few years older than he was. A smile spread slowly across his lips as he tipped his hat. “I trust you are not harmed.”

  “No. Of course not.” She placed her right hand over her collarbone, willing her pulse to slow down.

  The man bowed slightly at the waist. “Joe Burkette at your service.”

  It wasn’t proper etiquette to introduce herself to a man on the street. She should do nothing more than nod, if that, before continuing on her way.

  But he saved her from cutting him, which she truly did not want to do. “Miss Adair, I presume?”

  Truly it must have been a rare thing for a young woman to arrive in Grand Coeur if everyone guessed she was the reverend’s daughter immediately upon meeting her.

  Joe Burkette’s smile broadened. “It’s the red hair, miss.”

  “I beg your pardon.”

  “Just about everybody’s heard about the color of your hair.”

  “Oh.” She felt a blush warming her cheeks.

  “You’re from Virginia, I hear.”

  She nodded.

  “I’m from Greensboro, North Carolina.”

  A wave of homesickness washed over her. She’d formed friendships with several girls from North Carolina when she was in school.

  “Perhaps you would allow me to escort you home, Miss Adair. You really shouldn’t be out alone. Grand Coeur can be a rough place.”

  “No. Thank you. I . . . I’m not going home yet.” She pressed her lips together, horrified that she had said so much. Where were her manners?

  “Then please allow me to walk you to your destination.”

  Surely it was better to agree than to stand there declining his chivalrous offer. She nodded as she pointed in the direction they needed to go. He turned and fell into step beside her.

  “Where in Virginia are you from, Miss Adair?”

  “My father’s family was from Richmond, but after he married my mother, they settled near her parents’ home. Perhaps you know of Brandon and Elizabeth Covington.”

  “I do indeed. My grandfather went to school with Brandon Covington.”

  This news brought a smile to her lips. How could it help but do so? It felt as if she’d met an old family friend, someone she’d known since childhood.

  He continued, “I suppose there is some comfort in knowing my grandfather didn’t live to see so many suffering in this war. With all the bad news that’s coming out of the Confederacy, it’s—”

  She stopped walking. “I’ve heard little news of the war since arriving in this territory, Mr. Burkette. Kindly tell me what you have heard.”

  “It isn’t good, Miss Adair. Grant has pushed Lee’s Army of

  Northern Virginia down past Spotsylvania. The most recent news we’ve had says there’s a big battle taking place in Cold Harbor.”

  “Cold Harbor?” But that was less than twenty miles from Richmond.

  “I’ve upset you, Miss Adair. I’m sorry.”

  “No, Mr. Burkette. I’m glad you told me. I don’t want to forget what’s happening just because we live so far from home.”

  He nodded. “Spoken like a true Southerner, Miss Adair.”

  Matthew sat in the chair beside his sister’s bed, watching as she sipped the last of the soup.

  As if she felt his gaze upon her, Alice looked up. “We must speak about Todd.”

  “What about him?”

  “You’re all the family he has left in the world.”

  “Alice—”

  “Promise me you’ll be there for him, Matt. When my time comes, I’ll be able to die in peace if I know you’ll see that he’s loved and cared for.”

  Because I wasn’t much of a brother to you when we lost our parents.

  There was sadness in her eyes, but forgiveness too. “He adores you already. I can tell he does. He’s a good boy, Matt. He won’t be any trouble.”

  Won’t be any trouble? What about when Matthew returned to driving stage? Was he supposed to throw the boy into the boot of the coach or strap him onto the roof? But he couldn’t say those words aloud. He couldn’t tell Alice he wouldn’t take care of her son.

  “Promise me,” she repeated, softer this time.

  If he made her that promise, he might be stuck in Grand Coeur or some other gold camp just like it for years to come. Or worse, he might end up back in San Francisco; he wasn’t cut out for that. A little under two weeks of working as an agent, and Matthew already felt like he was trapped in a cage. Todd was nine. How many years before Matthew could return to the road without guilt? Six? Seven? More? Would Wells, Fargo even want him as a driver by then?

  “You don’t want to give up driving coach. I know that.”

  “Alice . . .”

  “It’s all right. I understand. But I have a suggestion. Would you listen to it?”

  He nodded.

  “If you were to take a wife—”

  “Take a wife?” He st
raightened on the chair.

  “Please, Matt, listen.”

  Reluctantly, he nodded again.

  “If you were to marry a woman who would care for Todd, who would treat him with love and kindness, you could return to driving stage and know that he was well cared for while you were gone. Surely you could return to the place you made your home frequently enough that you could father him to some degree.”

  Marry. He’d given little thought to taking a wife. Just as well since driving stage allowed little opportunity to meet the kind of woman he’d want to marry. He wasn’t about to tie himself to just any petticoat. If he were to wed, he would want . . .

  Shannon Adair’s pretty image—pale, delicate complexion; fiery red hair; flashing green eyes; stubborn, uptilted chin; the unmistakable air of superiority—drifted into his mind, pulling him up short. In fact, it made him want to laugh aloud. Because even if he wanted that Southern belle, he knew good and well she would never want him.

  “Just think about it, Matt,” Alice said, drawing his attention back to her. “Please.”

  “All right. I’ll think about it.” He stood and picked up her tray.

  “Now stop worrying and get some rest.”

  Downstairs, he left the tray in the kitchen and stepped outside onto the veranda.

  “Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye did it not to one of the least of these, ye did it not to me.”

  He recognized the voice in his heart. He knew the Almighty expected more of him than what he’d given. Todd was his nephew. He had an obligation to the boy. He had an obligation to his sister. But marriage? Did his obligation go that far?

  In the town below, long shadows stretched toward the east. Soon the sun would sink below the mountain peaks. With sunset would come cooler temperatures—and more activity in the saloons that lined the main streets of Grand Coeur.

  Miners were a lonely lot. Most who were married left their wives back in civilization somewhere. When they found gold dust, it was seldom more than what was needed to buy some groceries to fill their bellies and a little whiskey to warm them. But it was also almost always enough to keep them hoping that in another week or two or four or ten they would find the mother lode. They came to towns like Grand Coeur and Idaho City and Placerville with dreams of getting rich. Those dreams rarely came true.

  At least Matthew had never caught gold fever. Maybe it was because he’d driven coaches in and out of towns like Grand Coeur for too many years. He’d seen what that particular disease could do to a man. It could make him do crazy things he would never otherwise consider doing, up to and including murder.

  Given enough time, Grand Coeur could become a pleasant place to live. The gold would play out. Miners would move away. Brothels and saloons would close down. Families would move in. A school would be built. More businesses would open.

  “Promise me you’ll be there for him, Matt.”

  Could he make that promise to his sister and mean it? Could he give his word to be there for his nephew, even if it meant marrying in order to give him a mother and a stable home life?

  God, help me know what to do.

  As his brief prayer lifted toward heaven, he thought of his parents.

  God-fearing, the both of them, and they’d raised their children to be the same. But would his faith be enough now? Did he have what he would need to take a half-grown boy and guide him into manhood?

  Heaven help him if he didn’t.

  10

  On the first Sunday in June, there were at least another twenty men in the congregation than had been there the previous Lord’s Day. It appeared news of Reverend Adair’s fine preaching was spreading.

  From her chair near the organ, Shannon was pleased to see that Joe Burkette, whom she’d met the previous day, was among the newcomers that morning. And the way his eyes kept turning in her direction, she couldn’t help thinking she might be the reason he’d attended, that he’d come to see her rather than to hear her father preach the Word of God.

  She shouldn’t be pleased by that thought, but she was. It flattered her to have a handsome Southern gentleman notice her. Back before the war, she’d enjoyed the attentions of many such gallant men of Virginia.

  Shannon pictured herself in one of her beautiful ball gowns, dancing in the arms of her dear Benjamin, resplendent in his uniform of gray with gold trimming. Oh, she’d been the envy of all the young ladies of the county when he’d asked for her hand in marriage. Benjamin Bluecher Hood had been quite the catch, heir to a great tobacco plantation.

  But Benjamin was dead, and his family’s plantation had been destroyed by the invading Union Army. Oh, how she hated the Yankees.

  Father would be ashamed of me.

  She lowered her eyes again.

  “My dear girl, there is enough blame to go around. The Confederacy is not without fault in this civil war,” her father would say to her, as he’d said before. “And besides, we must love our enemies. We must do good to those who spitefully use us.”

  She knew that was true, of course, but it was hard after all she’d seen and endured. At the very least she knew her father would never have accepted assignment to this territory if not for the war. They could have gone on living in Virginia, living the genteel lives they’d always known, spending their time with beloved friends.

  “‘We know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to His purpose,’” her father would add. “Even from war, Shannon. He can work good even from war, for He is sovereign.”

  She wanted to believe him. She wanted to believe that one day she would look back and see that God had brought good out of so much misery and loss. But it was hard to do. Hard to believe when tens of thousands had died on the battlefields or from sickness. When tens of thousands more had been severely wounded, many of them losing limbs or eyes. When civilians were left in hunger and want or forced to move far from the homes they loved. What good could come out of that?

  She felt an awkward hush in the sanctuary and looked toward her father—who was likewise looking at her, waiting. Realizing she’d missed her cue, she moved to the organ bench and began to play the closing hymn, hoping her face didn’t look as flushed as it felt.

  Miss Adair’s embarrassment, Matthew noted as he joined the rest of the congregation in song, had brought a pink hue to her cheeks that he could see even from the last pew of the sanctuary. Rather than detracting from her beauty, the heightened color only made her more so. She was without a doubt the prettiest female in the church that morning. And she was likely the only unmarried one, other than his widowed sister.

  Unmarried.

  Married.

  It was a ludicrous idea, what Alice had suggested: that he should take a wife.

  Matthew married to Shannon Adair.

  That was an even more ludicrous idea. Even if he wanted to marry her, she would never want to marry him. She thought him a fool— or something worse—because he refused to choose a side in the war. And maybe she was right. Maybe he was a fool for not giving the war much thought. It seemed far away, but he supposed it wasn’t. If the Confederacy won the conflict, it would change this nation forever. If the Union won . . . Well, the nation would be changed because of that too.

  After the closing strains of the amen, Alice touched his arm and softly said, “She would be a good choice.”

  He glanced down at his sister. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Yes, you do.”

  “She doesn’t think much of me, Alice.”

  “You could change her mind.”

  He offered the crook of his arm. “I doubt it.”

  Alice glanced once more toward the organ. “Perhaps I can help. After all, she has agreed to spend a great deal of time with me and with Todd until . . . until she’s no longer needed.” She offered him a courageous smile.

  It didn’t remove the sting from her words, the reminder that she was dying and there was nothing he could do to change it.
/>   Together they left the church, complimenting the reverend on his sermon as they passed him in the narthex. Then they made their way slowly up the hillside toward home. Todd raced on ahead of them, eager to get home to play with Nugget.

  “Stay in sight,” Alice called to him.

  “I will, Ma.”

  The boy was obedient. Matthew had to give him that. But he couldn’t fend for himself. He still needed looking after. Nine was young to be orphaned and living in a gold camp. He would need his uncle to make wise decisions regarding his care and upbringing. When Matthew returned to driving stage—and he would return to it—he’d have to know Todd was in good hands. If he was a wealthy man, he supposed he could send the boy off to a boarding school. But he wasn’t wealthy.

  Wasn’t likely to ever be wealthy. Which brought him right back to his sister’s suggested solution: a wife.

  When Shannon stepped outside the main doors of the church, she found Joe Burkette standing at the bottom of the steps. He smiled and tipped his hat when he saw her.

  “Miss Adair.”

  “Mr. Burkette.”

  “A fine service. I told your father so already.”

  So he was waiting for her and not her father. Once again, she felt a rush of pleasure.

  “Might I walk you home?” he asked.

  This was the second time in two days that Joe had made this offer.

  Since her home was a mere stone’s throw from the church, it wasn’t as if she needed an escort, but it flattered her that he seemed intent on looking out for her.

  “Civilization can come slowly to the camps,” Joe said as she took his arm and they began walking. “A fine minister like your father will go a long way toward bringing that to pass in Grand Coeur.”

  Yesterday she’d cared only for the news he could share about what was happening in Virginia. But today she was growing more curious about the man. “What is it you do here, Mr. Burkette?”

  “I own the livery stable.” He smiled as he leaned closer, his voice lowering, as if sharing a secret. “It has been my observation that those who provide goods and services to miners become far richer than the miners themselves. Of course, that doesn’t mean I don’t hope to strike it rich on my own claim.”