Heart of Gold

by Robin Lee Hatcher

  Joe Burkette had taken Shannon for a buggy ride. Matthew wouldn’t be able to do the same without a horse. And he should own a horse. He’d be here for the next few months at the very least. It made sense to own a horse. Plus there was a small shed and corral on this property. Plenty of room for a horse or two. There wouldn’t be the expense of stabling an animal.

  Which brought his thoughts right back to Burkette.

  He really didn’t like the man. Something not quite trustworthy about his eyes or the set of his mouth or something. He was surprised the reverend hadn’t thought the same thing.

  From outside came Todd’s shout. “Bring it here, Nugget. Bring it here.”

  Matthew moved to the open kitchen door and around the veranda to where he could see boy and dog playing in the yard. Nugget, it was clear, had no concept of the game of fetch. He attacked the stick his master had thrown, growling and barking and jumping about but never picking it up and carrying it to Todd.

  “I believe she loves him already.”

  A sad smile curved his mouth as he remembered Shannon at the supper table the previous night. Alice was right. She did seem to be fond of the boy. And she’d taken pity on Matthew, too, entertaining him and Todd with amusing stories, taking their minds off the invalid upstairs for nearly an hour. He’d been surprised by the compassion she’d shown, although he supposed he shouldn’t have been after the way she’d cared for Alice for the better part of two weeks. For certain the young woman with hair the color of burgundy wine and eyes the same green as the forest surrounding Grand Coeur wasn’t the hothouse flower he’d once thought her.

  15

  Delaney Adair’s sermon that Sunday was taken from the twelfth chapter of Romans, the eighteenth verse: “If it be possible, as much as lieth in you, live peaceably with all men.” He spoke of peace. He spoke of God’s plan for the world and for nations. “‘The Lord,’” he quoted from Proverbs, “‘hath made all things for himself: yea, even the wicked for the day of evil.’” He promised that God’s sovereign will would be accomplished, no matter what men planned.

  Although the reverend never mentioned the war raging in the East, Matthew believed that was the underlying reason for his message. Did Delaney Adair realize a good percentage of his congregation was men who resented, even hated, the opposing percentage of his congregation? A message about living in peace with all men would surely fall on a few pairs of deaf ears.

  Seated in the third pew, right side of the aisle, his nephew next to him, Matthew wondered for the first time about the minister’s political leanings. He’d assumed Reverend Adair’s feelings and beliefs about the

  South and the war would be the same as his daughter’s. But now? After this sermon, he wasn’t so sure.

  His gaze moved to Shannon. As she did every Sunday, she sat in an upholstered chair set near the organ. She looked very pretty in a dress of green and blue; he would venture to guess that it was new. He liked the thought of her getting a new gown. A young woman as lovely as she was shouldn’t have to go without pretty clothes. She was used to finer things. If they were married, would he be able to— Realizing how far his thoughts had strayed from the sermon, Matthew forced his attention back to the reverend in time to hear him say, “Let us pray.” Matthew bowed his head and hoped he hadn’t missed anything the good Lord had intended for him to hear.

  After the prayer, the congregation rose to sing the final hymn, and although Matthew was aware of Shannon moving from her chair and onto the organ bench, he kept his attention focused on the reverend, not wanting his thoughts to wander a second time.

  A short while later Matthew and Todd moved toward the narthex. He greeted many of the churchgoers by name. There was the sheriff ’s deputy; Mr. Rutherford, publisher of the Grand Coeur Democrat, and his wife; Dr. Featherhill and his wife; and Mack Patterson, manager of the Bank of Idaho at the corner of Main and Clark Streets, and his wife.

  The wives.

  There was no doubt about it. Married women civilized the gold camps and other communities. They influenced the culture of a town, even when those women were few in number. They caused even the coarsest of men to mind their speech and, on occasion, their hygiene.

  Unable to help himself, he glanced over his shoulder toward the organ. As Shannon played the final chord, she lifted her eyes. Their gazes met and she smiled. It warmed him deep inside, in a place he hadn’t realized was cold.

  He looked toward the exit again in time to see Reverend Adair lean down to shake Todd’s hand. “Good morning, Master Todd.”

  “Morning, sir.”

  “How are you?”

  “Fine, sir.”

  “Good. I’m glad. And how is your mother?”

  Todd’s expression sobered. “Not too good.”

  “I am sorry.” The reverend straightened, his gaze rising to Matthew. “Shannon told me Mrs. Jackson took a turn, but I’d hoped . . .” His words drifted into silence. They weren’t needed.

  Matthew nodded. “She insisted Todd and I come to church without her.”

  “Do you suppose she would like a visitor this afternoon?”

  “She always enjoys seeing you, Reverend.”

  Delaney nodded. “Then I shall come. Shall we say three o’clock?”

  Matthew nodded, told the reverend he’d enjoyed the sermon, and moved on out the doorway into the bright sunshine. Once at the bottom of the steps, he told Todd to run on home and keep an eye on his mother. “I just need a few words with Miss Adair. Tell Sun Ling I won’t be long.”

  It was nearly noon. Sun Ling would have their dinner ready for them. The woman had agreed to stay at the house on Sundays until after the family returned from church and the dishes from the midday meal were washed. Then she would leave to attend her own church service that was held on Sunday evenings somewhere in Chinatown.

  Todd didn’t seem to mind his uncle’s instructions. He set off at a run toward home.

  He’s a good kid. Matthew looked toward the entrance again. And he deserves a loving woman to care for him.

  The congregation had mostly dispersed, although a few stragglers were still talking to the reverend. Hoping he looked as if he’d left something behind, Matthew reentered the church and made his way into the sanctuary.

  Shannon had finished playing the organ and was now walking up the aisle in his direction. When she saw him, she stopped. “Mr. Dubois.”

  Matthew found himself suddenly nervous. He knew even less about courting a woman than he did about dancing with one.

  “Was there something you needed?” she asked. Then her eyes grew worried. “Is it your sister? She hasn’t—”

  “No. It isn’t Alice.” He removed his hat, holding it by the crown in his right hand.

  Relief swept across her face. “Thank the Lord.”

  “Yes. Thank the Lord.” He drew a quick breath. “Miss Adair, I was wondering . . . I was hoping you might consent . . . I’d like you to go with me to the Fourth of July celebration.”

  This time it was surprise that flickered in her eyes. Surprise and something else, though he couldn’t guess what.

  He rushed on. “I’ve heard there’ll be lots of food and good music and a dance too. And, of course, fireworks.”

  “A dance? With so few women in Grand Coeur?”

  Matthew relaxed a little, seeing as how she hadn’t refused him outright or announced she was already engaged for the evening with someone else. “Miners in these camps aren’t a particular bunch, Miss Adair. If there aren’t enough women to go around—which there never are—some men will take the part of the women so everybody can dance. I’ve seen them don an old crinoline for the occasion, but usually they just tie a colored string or a scarf around their arms.” He touched his bicep.

  “Surely you’re joking.”

  “But I’m not.”

  “That doesn’t sound very . . . very proper. Or dignified.”

  “Dignified?” He chuckled as he shook his head. He’d forgotten how sheltered Shannon wa
s in many regards, how unused she was to life on this side of the Mississippi. “No, I don’t reckon it’s dignified. But these men have little enough fun in their lives. So they like to cut loose on occasion. In the camps, entertainment mostly comes down to drinking, gambling, and dancing. Everybody will want to dance on Independence Day, with or without a sufficient number of females in attendance.”

  A frown furrowed her brow. “I see.”

  “Some of the men who attend this church are part of the planning committee. I believe they mean to ask your father to join them.”

  That news seemed to ease her concerns a little. Something told him she was close to making her decision. He decided to press his case, saying with a smile, “I would much rather dance with you, Miss Adair, than with a man with a string tied around his arm.”

  Shannon couldn’t help herself. She laughed aloud at the notion of Matthew Dubois twirling around a dance floor with another man. Of course, she shouldn’t accept without talking to her father first.

  “Will you do me the honor of allowing me to escort you?” Matthew asked, his smile vanishing.

  Suddenly she didn’t feel like smiling either. A cloud of butterflies took flight in her stomach. She didn’t want to wait and talk to her father first. She wanted to be certain she got to step into this man’s arms and whirl around a floor in time to the music. “I would be pleased to go with you, Mr. Dubois.”

  “I should warn you that I can’t claim to be much of a dancer.” The smile crept back into the corners of his mouth.

  In response, a shudder of pleasure ran up Shannon’s spine.

  He set his hat back on his head. “I’d best go. Sun Ling will want to return to her home soon.” As he turned, he added, “I’ll see you in the morning, Miss Adair.”

  “Yes. In the morning.”

  She waited until he left the sanctuary before she stepped into the nearby pew and sat down. How unexpected. Matthew Dubois had asked her to a dance, and she’d wanted to go with him. She’d agreed to go with him. Gracious! What would her father say? She knew he personally liked Mr. Dubois. But would he consider him a proper escort for her?

  Do I consider him a proper escort?

  The image of Joe Burkette popped into her head—dashing and handsome . . . and Southern-born. She should want to go with him.

  She didn’t.

  “Merciful heavens,” she whispered, rising to her feet once again.

  “Shannon? Are you ready to go home?”

  “Yes, Father. I’m coming.”

  Todd lay on the bed beside Alice, her arm around his back, a children’s storybook propped against a pillow on their laps. She listened to her son reading to her without actually hearing the words. It mattered little, for it was a story she knew by heart. Her own mother had read it to her from this very book when she was a child. Perhaps one day Todd would read from it to his son or daughter.

  “One generation passeth away, and another generation cometh: but the earth abideth for ever.”

  Once the thought of dying had filled her with dread. How foolish that seemed now. God’s presence had become ever so much more tangible to her in recent days. Heaven was ever so much more real to her. When she passed from this life into the next, she would be free of pain. And Edward and her parents and her grandparents would be waiting for her too.

  Nevertheless, she was in no hurry to leave this earth that abided forever. There was comfort to be found in the knowledge that she would not die one moment too soon or one instant later than was in God’s plan.

  His ways are not our ways. His thoughts are not our thoughts.

  Her eyes closed, she pressed the side of her face against Todd’s thick, unruly hair and breathed in. He smelled of little-boy sweat and puppy-dog slobber, of pinecones and wood smoke. And suddenly she felt like crying, for she was certain she would miss these smells, even in heaven.

  Forgive me, Father. I don’t mean to cling to this world. It’s only— Her breath caught in her chest as the strangest of sensations swept over her. She would almost swear that someone had touched her hair, had breathed deeply of her scent. And an instant later an overwhelming sense of being loved swirled around her, a love so big it encompassed her son as well.

  “Ma? You all right?”

  She opened her eyes. “Yes, I’m all right, darling. I really am all right.”

  16

  The Wells, Fargo changing station was located at the western end of Main Street, far from the center of Grand Coeur. Thankful for an excuse to be out of the stuffy office for a while, Matthew led the first pair of horses out of the traces and into the corral. Once there, he removed the last of the harness and set the two bay geldings free to slake their thirst at the watering trough and to fill their bellies with hay.

  It wasn’t until the four remaining horses were also in the corral that Clint Anderson, the driver, spoke to Matthew. “I was sorry to hear your sister’s ailing, Matt. Is she doin’ better?”

  “No. Doctors don’t give us much hope.” Any hope, he amended silently.

  “That’s rough.”

  Matthew nodded.

  “You going to return to driving eventually?”

  “Eventually. But I’ve got my nephew to think of now.”

  Clint turned and leaned his back against the lodgepole rails of the corral. “I got a bad feeling about that shooting up in Idaho City. Nobody’s caught the man who did it. He could be anywhere by this time.”

  He grunted agreement.

  “Did you hear there was another attempt to hold up a stage comin’ out of Virginia City? Confederates, they say.”

  Matthew wasn’t surprised. Considering millions of dollars of treasure was carried into San Francisco by stage, only to sail out of its harbor every month, bound for the Union treasury, one couldn’t expect Southern sympathizers to ignore those same coaches, ships, and steamers.

  The previous year some Confederates had outfitted a ninety-ton schooner to use as a privateer. Their plans called for them to intercept bullion shipments on the high seas. The schooner, the J. M. Chapman, never cleared the bay. The Copperheads were arrested and charged with treason. Some were jailed, but others skipped bail to attempt to steal other gold shipments coming out of the mining camps.

  “Company’s hiring more guards to work the stage routes,” Clint added.

  “That’s good. We could use them.”

  “It’ll get worse before the war’s over. Mark my words.”

  The war. It touched everybody’s lives, even out here. He’d been a fool to think otherwise. The war had killed Edward Jackson, leaving Alice a widow and their son without a father. And if Todd had a father, Matthew wouldn’t be in Grand Coeur today, wondering what he would do when Alice died.

  Clint dusted the palms of his hands against his equally dusty trousers. “How ’bout joinin’ me for a drink? I could use somethin’ to wet my whistle.”

  “No, thanks. I need to get back to the office.” No point reminding Clint that he was a teetotaler. He’d made that decision after he’d seen an innocent passerby get gunned down by a man who was three sheets to the wind. His ma had warned him more than once about the evils of drunkenness, and the best way to avoid it, he figured, was to avoid liquor altogether.

  With a nod, Matthew bid the driver a good day and sauntered back along Main Street toward the center of town. But while he was still two blocks away from the Wells, Fargo office, he was hailed by Jack Dickson. He turned and crossed the street.

  “Stage came in on time, I see,” Jack said as Matthew stepped onto the boardwalk. “Any trouble?”

  “No, but Clint seems to expect it eventually. He said the company’s hiring more guards.”

  Jack nodded, his expression thoughtful.

  Matthew had the feeling his friend had more to say. He waited, not bothered by the silence.

  His gaze moving down the street, Jack finally spoke. “How’s your sister?”

  Surprised—he’d expected something about the gunman on the loose or about
the war—Matthew answered, “Not good.”

  “Oh? I’m sorry to hear it. I was . . . sort of thinking about calling on her. If you wouldn’t mind. I know your sister’s a good Christian lady, and she probably wouldn’t be interested in a man like me.”

  Strange. Matthew had been afraid Jack might take an interest in Shannon Adair. It hadn’t occurred to him it might be Alice who caught his fancy.

  “Never would’ve guessed you had a sister like her. Anyway, when she’s feeling better, I’d like to—”

  “Jack—” Matthew shook his head. “Alice isn’t going to get well. She’s dying.”

  That caused the lawman to take a step backward.

  “I’m sorry, Jack. I thought you knew. I thought I told you.”

  “No, I didn’t know. You didn’t tell me. Are you sure? She didn’t look that sick the other night. She—”

  “The doctors are sure.” Matthew rubbed his forehead. “Last week she seemed better for a few days, more rested, more energetic. But it didn’t last long.”

  Jack removed his hat, stared at it for a few moments as if it might tell him what to say, then set it back on his head. “I’m sorry, Matt. Real sorry.”

  “Yeah.”

  He was going to have more of these conversations, Matthew realized, especially after Alice passed. People saying how sorry they were. People like Clint and like Jack who knew Matthew well but not his sister. People like the reverend and Shannon, who had become Alice’s friends in a short period of time. People who were complete strangers. He would say “yeah” and “thanks” and “appreciate it.”

  Some would pat him on his back a time or two, and there would be pity in their eyes.

  He would hate it. All of it. He already did.

  He jerked his head toward the east. “Bill’ll be wondering where I am. Best be on my way.”

  “’Course. Didn’t mean to keep you. Give my regards to your sister, please.”

  “I will.” He started to turn, then stopped and looked back. When he spoke, his voice was low and earnest. “If circumstances were different, Jack, I’d have left it up to Alice whether or not she’d let you come courtin’. She’s a woman who knows her own mind.”