Heart of Gold

by Robin Lee Hatcher

  Dickson. Pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Adair.”

  “And yours, Sheriff.”

  The door opened again. This time she didn’t need an introduction.

  “The heart wants what it wants, Shannon.”

  Matthew’s smile was fleeting, but she felt its force all the same.

  Sheriff Dickson said, “The doctor’s in the back with the reverend.”

  “The patient must be doing better.”

  “Seems so.”

  “That’s good.” Matthew looked at Shannon again. “I guess you heard what happened.”

  “I didn’t have to hear. I was there.”

  “You were? I didn’t see you.”

  “I went to the store to purchase some groceries and was on my way home when the stagecoach came into town. I’m glad the passenger will be all right.”

  Matthew motioned toward the chairs near the desk. “Would you care to sit while we wait?”

  She complied, hoping he would choose to sit in the chair next to her. But he didn’t. Instead he moved toward the door to the examination room, then walked back to lean his shoulder against the wall near the entrance.

  The sheriff took a couple of steps toward her. “I’m sorry I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting you or your father before today, Miss Adair. Wish it was under different circumstances.”

  “You’re most kind, Sheriff Dickson.”

  Matthew pushed off the wall and crossed the room to sit where Shannon had hoped he would moments before. “Been over to see Ginny today?”

  It seemed rude, the way he changed the subject and pulled her gaze away from the sheriff. Not only that, his voice had a gruff edge to it.

  “Not yet,” she answered. “But I did receive some good news. Mr. Burkette has found a sidesaddle for me. He hopes to have it next week.”

  His brows drew a little closer together. He didn’t look like he thought it good news at all. Which is why his next words were so unexpected. “After you get it, maybe you could go riding with Todd and me.”

  She forgot his scowl and the rough edge to his voice. It mattered only that he’d asked her to go riding with him. And unlike Joe Burkette’s invitation, she had no desire to refuse Matthew.

  “Thank you, Mr. Dubois.” She felt the heat returning to her cheeks. “I should like to.”

  21

  Shannon looked up from the book she was reading to see that her father had fallen asleep in his chair. Poor dear. Sundays never failed to leave him exhausted. Not wanting to wake him, she set her book aside, rose, and left the parlor, slipping out the front door and closing it behind her.

  The day was warm, almost hot. Thankfully, the nights were still cool. There were other things to be thankful for as well. Church attendance had grown a little each week, and on this last Sunday in June, three new families—recent arrivals from California—had come to the service. And except for the occasional fistfight in one of the saloons, Grand Coeur had remained a relatively peaceful place.

  At this moment the town seemed to be slumbering like her father, but she had no delusions. Many of the inhabitants of Grand Coeur held little reverence for Sundays. There would be plenty of noise coming from the saloons as the day grew long. But for now all appeared at rest.

  But Shannon didn’t feel like resting. A walk would suit her much better.

  She heard the sound of hoofbeats on the road and turned to see who was coming down Gold Hill Road. When the rider came into view, she felt a sharp disappointment, only then realizing she’d hoped it would be Matthew on his tall dapple gray. Instead she recognized Joe Burkette.

  When he saw her, he waved an arm as he nudged his horse into a trot and steered him toward the parsonage. “Miss Adair,” he called as he drew closer. “I was hoping I would find you at home.”

  “You almost missed me, Mr. Burkette. I’m going for a walk.”

  “It’s a fine day for it.” He reined in and dismounted. “Please allow me to join you.”

  He was persistent. She could say that about him. And she couldn’t think of a reason to refuse. So she nodded.

  Joe tied his horse to the rail of the porch, then offered his hand to assist her down the few steps to the ground. Afterward he motioned for her to proceed, allowing her to determine the direction they would go.

  Shannon lifted the hem of her skirt and walked up the hillside between the parsonage and the church building. When she reached Canyon Road, Joe at her side, she chose to go left, following the road into the mountains. Turning right would have led her toward the Dubois home. Would she have turned that way if she’d been alone?

  Oh, she wished she could stop herself from thinking such things.

  Determined to do so, she looked at her escort. “I didn’t see you in church this morning, Mr. Burkette.”

  “I’m flattered you noticed.” He smiled and winked at her.

  Winked? The impertinence of the man. She looked straight ahead and quickened her pace.

  “Have I upset you, Miss Adair?”

  “Not at all.”

  “But I believe I have.”

  You flatter yourself, sir, she wanted to say. Only that was unfair. He had upset her. She didn’t want him winking at her. It was rude and . . . and suggested something between them that didn’t exist.

  “Miss Adair, please.” His hand closed around her upper arm and drew her to a stop. “Whatever I did, I offer you my sincerest apology.”

  Perhaps she was overreacting. Things were different in the West. Rules of etiquette were not so strictly observed in a place like Grand Coeur. Was a wink such a terrible breach? It wasn’t his fault her heart continued to pull her in another direction—a direction she wasn’t convinced she should go.

  An old memory came suddenly to mind. She and her mother had been together in Shannon’s bedroom, Adelyn Adair brushing her hair as they prepared to attend a ball. The conversation had turned to some of the young men who were vying for Shannon’s favor. “It is the character of a man that matters, Shannon. Remember, it is not so much what a man has as what he is on the inside. Do not be influenced by mere magnetism. You will rue it if you are.”

  Six months later her mother had passed away, and the sting of missing her almost overwhelmed Shannon. How she wished she could turn to her mother now for much-needed advice.

  “Miss Adair?”

  She blinked, shoving away the memory into a deep corner of her heart. “Your apology is accepted, Mr. Burkette. And please, don’t trouble yourself. Let us walk.” To show that she held no hard feelings, she slipped her hand into the crook of his arm as they continued along the road.

  After church, at Alice’s insistence, Matthew and Todd went for a ride on their horses. When they returned, they put the two geldings into the corral beside the stable and tossed hay into the manger. Matthew was pumping water into the trough when Jack Dickson strode into view.

  “Matt,” he said with a nod.

  “Jack.”

  “You busy? Hate to intrude on your Sunday.”

  “It’s all right. We’re finished here.”

  “Uncle Matt,” Todd said quietly, “I’m gonna go see what Ma’s doin’.”

  “Okay.” He watched as the boy ran to the house and disappeared inside.

  Jack glanced toward the corral. “Couple of fine horses you got there. Got them from Lawrence Crawford, didn’t you?”

  “Yeah.”

  The sheriff bumped his hat up on his forehead with the knuckles of his right hand. “I wanted to talk to you about the trouble yesterday.

  Stopped by Washburn’s place, but he wasn’t at home.”

  Matthew motioned toward the house. “Let’s have a seat and you can tell me what’s on your mind.”

  They crossed the yard in silence, neither speaking until they’d settled onto the veranda chairs.

  “Matt,” Jack began, “you’re a sharp thinker. You got good instincts.” He leaned forward, forearms resting on his thighs. “My gut tells me that robbery yesterday wasn’t
a bungled job by some amateur thieves. It was something more. What do you think?”

  Matthew nodded. “The same.”

  “And maybe it was no accident that guard who was supposed to be on the stage took sick at the last minute.”

  That thought had crossed Matthew’s mind too.

  “I’m riding down to Boise City in two or three days to talk to him.

  I’d like you to come along with me.”

  “Why me?”

  “Because I trust you, and you might catch something I miss. You’ve been driving stagecoaches in and out of mining camps for Wells, Fargo a lot longer than I’ve been a sheriff.”

  “All right. If you think I can help.”

  “I do.” Jack stood. “I’ll let you know what day.”

  Matthew rose from his chair. “Sounds good.”

  Jack Dickson stepped off the porch and strode away.

  22

  Boise City was a bustling supply town, birthed near the intersection of the Oregon Trail and the main road connecting the Boise Basin and the Owyhee mining camps. Unlike Idaho City, the largest city in the Northwest, and other gold and silver towns in the mountains of the territory, the inhabitants of Boise City were, for the most part, strong supporters of the Union.

  That was certainly true of Sumner Hill, the agent in charge of the Boise City Wells, Fargo office.

  “I don’t know where Cantrell went from here,” he told Matthew and Jack when asked about the guard who should have been on the stage four days earlier, “but I reckon he’s up to no good, wherever he is.” He muttered an oath beneath his breath.

  Matthew exchanged a look with Jack before asking, “What have you heard?”

  “Nothing specific. Nothing we haven’t been expecting. You heard of the Red Fox? He’s been seen in this territory.”

  “The Confederate captain, in Idaho?” The name was well-known in California. Captain Ingram headed up a band of guerrillas who were modeled after the notorious Quantrill’s Raiders. Bushwhackers, murderers, and thieves, in Matthew’s opinion, disguised as soldiers. “And you think Cantrell is one of his men?”

  “Yeah. That’s what I think.”

  Sheriff Dickson spoke up. “Where was he last seen?”

  “Captain Ingram? In Silver City a few weeks ago. But nobody knows for sure where he is now.”

  With all the gold coming out of the Boise Basin, Matthew would wager he knew where the captain and his men were. Somewhere in the mountains to the north, scouting out the best place and best way to get their hands on the treasure being shipped on the Wells, Fargo stagecoaches.

  “The company’s hiring more men to guard the stages going in and out of the Idaho mining camps,” Sumner said. “And you can be sure I’ll know where their sympathies lie before they’re hired. Won’t make the same mistake I made with Cantrell.” He shook his head. “Never should’ve let that stage leave without a messenger riding guard.”

  “Anybody can make a mistake,” Matthew replied—and then silently thanked God for sparing the passenger’s life.

  With their questions answered, Matthew and Jack thanked Sumner Hill for his help and went outside. They paused on the boardwalk, watching the activity in the town.

  After a while Jack said, “We need to find out where Captain Ingram is.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Do you think he was behind that robbery attempt?”

  Matthew shook his head. “I don’t know. I’ve never heard of him attempting to hold up a stage that didn’t have plenty of treasure on board.”

  Jack drew in a breath and let it out. “It feels like a test.”

  A test. Yeah, that’s what it felt like. And it was Wells, Fargo they were testing. That made it personal for Matthew. He’d worked for the company for a lot of years. He felt a strong loyalty to Wells, Fargo, to the men who ran it, and to the ones who drove for them. He didn’t want to see a stage coming in or going out of Grand Coeur robbed on his watch. He didn’t want to see anyone else get shot either.

  Jack looked at him. “Before we start back, I’d like to talk to the local sheriff. Want to join me?”

  “I don’t imagine I can be of any help to you there. If you don’t mind, I think I’ll check out the general store. See if there’s anything I want to take back for my sister and nephew.”

  “Suit yourself. I’ll meet you back here in an hour or so.”

  Matthew waited until Jack mounted his horse and rode down the street toward the sheriff ’s office before he turned and walked to the large general store a block away.

  He found a pretty shawl to buy for Alice. She would tell him it was a waste of money, but he didn’t care. He would buy it for her anyway. But what did a nine-year-old boy want when it came to toys or games? Todd and his mother had brought little with them from Wisconsin. Since Alice knew she was dying, she wouldn’t have left behind anything of importance. Which must mean they hadn’t owned much to begin with.

  Lord, how little I knew about the life my own flesh and blood led before they came here.

  Well, he could hope to make up for some of that neglect by taking care of Todd to the best of his ability. He moved slowly down the aisle, checking the items on the shelves to his left and his right.

  “May I help you, sir?”

  He looked up to find a matronly woman in a dark-brown dress standing a few steps ahead of him. “Yes.” He cleared his throat. “I’m looking for a gift for my nephew.”

  “How old is the boy?”

  “Nine.”

  She nodded. “Are you looking for something practical like clothing or—”

  “No. I want something fun.”

  “Ah.” Her tone seemed disapproving. “Please follow me.” She turned and led the way to the end of the aisle, then turned left and walked to the far wall. “We have a number of items that boys enjoy. Here’s what you need for a game of battledore and shuttlecock.” She gestured toward each item as she spoke. “And over here we have some cloth balls. Boys can find many different ways to entertain themselves with balls. And of course the rolling hoops are quite popular with children.”

  What should he choose? He’d spent most of his youth working the farm beside his father. There hadn’t been much time for play. But things were different for Todd. He couldn’t work beside his uncle, and while he now owned both a puppy and a horse, he couldn’t spend all of his time with the animals.

  Matthew made a snap decision. “I’ll take one of each.”

  The look on the woman’s face said she thought he was spoiling his nephew. She could be right. But there were few children in Grand Coeur, none close to Todd’s age, and no balls or hoops or rackets in the town’s general stores. Better to buy them while he was here. Who knew when he would come south into the valley next?

  For a moment he wondered if he should look for something for Shannon. No. He supposed that wouldn’t be appropriate just yet, even though it seemed to him that this courtship was moving in the right direction. Better he wait.

  He paid for the items, and as he carried them out of the store, he said a quick prayer that his horse wouldn’t be skittish about the hoop and battledores. At least the ball and shuttlecock could be stuffed into his saddlebags.

  Shannon could scarcely believe it when her father brought the letter to the Dubois home. A letter from Virginia that had somehow avoided battlefields and enemy lines and found its way into a mail pouch bound for the Idaho Territory.

  “You can tell me what it says when you come home,” her father told her.

  After he spoke briefly to Alice, he left, and Shannon went out onto the veranda and sat in the shade to read the precious letter.

  Dear Shannon,

  I pray this letter will find its way through the lines and to Idaho Territory. I have not heard from you yet. I do not know if that is because you have not written or because your letters have been unable to reach me.

  Things in our county have grown much worse since your departure. The fighting has come almost to our front door
more than once. Mother and I have been quite frightened by it. Our own soldiers have stripped our garden bare. And even if we had enough money, there is no food to buy.

  You must have heard in your travels that General Jeb Stuart was mortally wounded at Yellow Tavern, Virginia. The news of President Abraham Lincoln’s nomination by the Republican party for a second term reached us. Young boys and old men swore and swaggered and promised to defeat Mr. Lincoln. Will we fight until there is not a man left alive or whole in all of Virginia?

  I hope this letter finds you well, Shannon. Please pray for us. I sometimes wonder if we can make it through another month of fighting, and even those men who swear they will defeat Mr. Lincoln no longer boast they will do so before this summer is over. Perhaps that is because they are too tired and hungry to believe in that outcome.

  Tell your father that Mother and I are praying for his work in Grand Coeur.

  With great affection,

  Katie Davis

  Shannon wept, a tear splashing on the paper in her hands, causing the ink to smudge. Katie and her mother, hungry and in want. In physical danger with the war on their doorstep. How could God allow this to happen to the people she knew and loved? She longed to demand an answer from her father, but she knew what he would say. He would say that God worked in mysterious ways, His wonders to perform. He would say that man could not know the mind of God, for His thoughts were greater than their thoughts, His ways greater than their ways.

  She didn’t want to hear that kind of answer. She wanted to help her friends and loved ones who were still in Virginia. But what could she do from Idaho? Nothing. She couldn’t even be certain her letters would ever reach them, if only to provide a few words of encouragement.

  Her gaze went toward the church where her father was having another meeting about the Independence Day celebration. Didn’t it seem wrong to celebrate that particular holiday when their friends, who wanted independence from the Union, were in so much trouble? She almost wished she’d refused to go with Matthew.

  Only . . . only she wanted to go with him.

  Alice stood near the doorway to the kitchen, watching as Shannon read the letter a second time. Although her friend’s face was in profile, Alice could still tell she was upset by whatever the missive contained.