Mr. Spaulding stood up. “What’s all this?”
“We have concerns to discuss with you,” Mother said crisply, and spelled out what Emma had pieced together.
Mr. Spaulding began shaking his head before she’d finished. “That’s absurd,” he sputtered. “Preposterous! I’ve put my lifeblood into this town, and it needs a newspaper! I hired you, for God’s sake—although I see now that I made a terrible mistake. This is what comes of hiring women, I suppose.”
Emma decided to charge in before Mother exploded. “We don’t know what this is all about,” she admitted. “But we think it has something to do with these properties.” She walked to the big map and pointed to the three farms north of town, along the creek. “This near one is the Abbotts’, and you tried to buy their land back. This far one you did buy back. And this one in the middle is where Tildy Pearce and her husband settled. You took their money, but you never gave them the legal deed to the land.”
Mr. Spaulding’s face paled, and he began fishing in a pocket—undoubtedly for the ever-present handkerchief. “I told you, I merely forgot—”
“What about my land?” Mr. Abbott interrupted. “Why did you try to buy me out? Why the farm families in Peaceful Valley, but not anyone in town?”
Sweat began to dribble down the land agent’s forehead. Emma watched with fascination as dark, damp patches appeared on the front of his shirt as well. He fumbled in another pocket.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, here!” Mother slapped her own handkerchief down in front of him, then pointed at the storage box. “We think we can find the answers we’re looking for in that box.”
Mopping his face, Spaulding dropped into his chair. “My private papers—I haven’t—you can’t—”
“Oh, yes, we can!” Mr. Boggs erupted. The short, bald storekeeper was shaking with fury. “I poured my life’s savings into my store, and into this town! If you’re dealing shady business, you’re going to come clean right now!” He took a deep breath, straightening his cravat. “Now. We can do this one of three ways. One: You can open that box for us. Two: This man—” he nodded at Mule Tom, standing silent and huge at the end of the row—“can smash it open with his fist. Three: We can all sit here quietly and wait for the Safety Committee members we sent to fetch a sheriff. It’s up to you. But we will see what you’ve got in there.”
For one horrible moment, Emma thought Mr. Spaulding was going to burst into tears. Finally he shoved the box toward them with shaking hands. After a moment of fumbling in his pocket, he pushed the key after it. “There. There! Are you satisfied now? You’ve ruined me!” With elbows planted on the desk, he buried his face in his hands.
Mr. Boggs worked the key and lifted the lid. Mother and Mr. Abbott leaned close as the storekeeper began passing papers around.
“Here’s the deed to Tildy’s farm,” Mr. Abbott said grimly. “Only it isn’t made out to the Pearces. It’s made out to James Spaulding.”
Mother squinted at what appeared to be a letter. “Listen to this. ‘I regret that I cannot immediately commence the trip you propose. I am under contract with the Lost Eagle Mining Company until the end of July. At that time, I shall travel to Twin Pines to survey the river land you described.’ The letter is signed ‘Professor J. B. Swallow, Mineralogist.’”
“Hey, I know him!” Jeremy exclaimed. “He came through here once before. He took me rock hunting. He knows a lot about rocks and minerals.”
“Especially gold, perhaps?” Jeremy’s father reached into the box and extracted a lumpy felt pouch. After peering inside, he upended it over the table. Emma gasped as half a dozen golden nuggets—one almost as big as a hen’s egg—tumbled out.
Jeremy grabbed one and examined it. “It’s not pyrite—fool’s gold. It’s real,” he said. “Where did you get these, Mr. Spaulding? Professor Swallow said there likely wasn’t any gold around Twin Pines, beyond the dust in the creek. And that’s not worth the time it takes to pan it out.”
“I think I know,” Emma said. “Those nuggets came out of the well on Tildy Pearce’s farm—right? You hired Dixie John to dig a well on that land before you sold it.”
Mother nodded. “You no doubt hoped a well would help attract a buyer.”
“And Dixie John found the nuggets when he was digging the well!” Emma folded her arms. “That’s why the well was never finished. Tildy said the well on her place was only half dug.”
“What did you do then, bribe Dixie John to keep quiet?” Mr. Abbott’s voice was cold as January. “So you could buy the rest of us out cheap?”
“I had to!” Mr. Spaulding’s red-rimmed eyes pleaded for sympathy. “Don’t you see? I’m in debt! I owe thousands of dollars—”
“To who?” Mr. Abbott snapped impatiently.
“To Blackjack,” Emma said. “Am I right?”
“I don’t know how it happened,” Mr. Spaulding quavered. “Just a few friendly poker games … and then I had to wager more, to earn back what I’d lost … I’ve never had such bad luck before. That’s all it was, bad luck!”
“Blackjack began pressuring you for the money,” Mother guessed. “Then—then you stumbled onto a gold strike. So you tried to cheat the Abbotts and their neighbors off their land, before they found out about the nuggets. But … why attack the newspaper? Why bring me and Emma all the way out here, just to scare us back to Chicago?”
“It wasn’t personal! Don’t you see?” Mr. Spaulding begged. “I could have paid Blackjack easily if Twin Pines had developed as planned. But it didn’t. Once I knew about the gold, the best I could hope for was that everyone would get discouraged and move away. It’s happened in dozens of towns all over the territory. Then I could have mined the gold quietly, and no one would have been the wiser! But everyone was hammering me to hire a publisher. I put it off as long as I could. Finally, when I got your letter, I thought I was safe. I thought, if I just hire a woman …” His voice trailed away—probably silenced, Emma thought, by the sparks flying from Mother’s eyes.
Those eyes narrowed to slits, “You thought that if you hired a woman, the paper would never see its first edition. Is that it?”
Mr. Spaulding wilted before her gaze. He planted his face back in his sweaty palms.
“Spaulding!” Mr. Boggs snapped. He waited until the other man looked at him. “This is how it’s going to be. We are keeping the nuggets, the letter, and the deed until a sheriff arrives. You may own Tildy Pearce’s farm on paper, but we don’t think a judge will see it that way. As for your gambling debt, well, if you don’t get carted off to jail for cheating the Pearces and terrorizing the Hendersons—and I hope to God that you do—then it’s up to Blackjack. But until the authorities arrive, members of the Safety Committee will see that you don’t leave this building. Is that understood?”
Spaulding nodded. He looked dazed.
Mother sailed from the room, and the others followed. Emma lingered to take one last look at the man who had caused so much trouble. “I’m not a bad man,” he whispered, and nodded at the beautiful bird’s-eye map of his dream. “I truly wanted that.”
Emma struggled to find appropriate words. “Excuse me,” she said finally, crisp and cool. “I have a newspaper to help publish.”
On Monday morning, when Mr. Abbott drove his wagon to the print shop at half past eleven, the Hendersons, Mule Tom, and Jeremy were waiting outside.
“This is my brother Sam,” Jeremy’s father said, introducing the man who rode with him.
“Sorry I haven’t had the chance to make your acquaintance sooner,” Sam Abbott said. “I’ve been busy looking over the lay of the land around here.”
“How do you like what you’ve seen so far?” Mother asked. She held a cup of coffee in her hands and squinted as she looked into the sun—or maybe it was just the puffy, dark rings beneath her eyes that made it appear that way.
“I like it well. Real well. That’s what I’m fixing to tell the people waiting for my report.”
“Well, we have some
thing to send along with you,” Mother told him. If Emma hadn’t been so tired, she would have danced a jig as she watched Mule Tom disappear into the print shack, then reappear a moment later with an armful of crisp, neatly folded newspapers.
“It’s finished.” A broad smile spread across Jeremy’s father’s face. “The Twin Pines Herald.” He picked up one of the newspapers and looked it over—the headline banners, the news articles, the editorials and advertisements, even the children’s news and ladies’ advice column. He nodded at Jeremy, who beamed.
Sam Abbott smiled, too. “These look fine, ma’am. I’m sure the folks back home will be pleased to get them. I’m obliged.”
“Our pleasure.”
Jeremy scrambled into the wagon, and the others watched the Abbotts rumble back toward the main street to wait for the stagecoach. No one moved. “I’m going to bed,” Emma said finally. Her eyes felt sandy and her muscles ached. She’d never stayed up all night before. But after only a few plodding steps, she turned around. “Hey, Mother? Mule Tom?” Her face stretched into a smile. “We did it.”
Mother pushed a straggle of loose hair from her face. “Yes, indeed,” she said softly. “We did it.”
CHAPTER 14
SURPRISES
Emma walked into the print shop, glad to escape the August sun. Mother was looking over trim lines of type in the press. “Good job, Tildy!” she exclaimed a moment later.
Tildy flushed. “Thank you, Miz Henderson. I tried ever so hard.”
“I knew that anyone who spends her evenings reading a spelling book would make an excellent typesetter,” Mother said. “All right, Mr. Troxwell. You can ink the type now.”
“Mother!” Emma said.
Mother looked up and blinked. “Oh, Emma! How long have you been standing there?”
“Long enough,” Emma said, but she smiled.
Mother nodded at Emma’s attire. “You must be going riding with Jeremy. That’s about the only time I see you in your Reform Dress.”
“I usually don’t need bloomers to help out around the print shop,” Emma protested. “And we agreed—”
“I know, I know.” Mother waved a hand. “It’s your choice— Oh, Mrs. Carter! Did you come by to discuss an advertisement? I understand you’re selling pies …”
Emma stepped over to say hello to Tildy, who was wearing her own Reform Dress. “How do you like your new job?”
“It’s wonderful! I never thought I’d be helping print a newspaper!” A look of awe slipped over her face.
Emma knew that Mother was happy to have Tildy, and Mr. Troxwell, too—especially since Mule Tom had headed back to the goldfields. Still, Emma couldn’t help putting a sympathetic hand on her friend’s arm. “I heard about Professor Swallow’s report. I’m sorry. I wish there really had been a rich gold vein running through your land, instead of just those few nuggets.”
Tildy shrugged. “Emma, it really doesn’t matter.”
“Good.” Emma squeezed Tildy’s hand, then turned to watch Mr. Troxwell inking the rows of type Tildy had positioned, his scarred face set with concentration. “How are you?” Emma asked, when he paused.
“Real good, Miss Emma,” he said. “But I got to finish this job now.”
“Then I won’t keep you. I think that’s Jeremy, anyway.” Emma waved and hurried outside.
Jeremy was riding a gray mare named Cloud. “Mind riding two-fer-one?” he asked. “Pa needed the other horses today.” He held his left foot free of the stirrup so that Emma could step up and swing behind the saddle.
Emma centered herself on the mare’s broad rump. Jeremy had been giving her riding lessons all summer. She had abandoned the idea of riding sidesaddle the first time she lost her balance and promptly slid to the ground. “You’d have better balance if you rode astride,” Jeremy had pointed out. “And since you’ve got that skirt-and-trousers getup …” Emma had given in, and she’d learned to love the freedom of pounding through the valley on horseback.
As Jeremy turned the mare north, Emma grabbed his arm. “Crackers! I forgot my hat. Can we stop back at the boardinghouse?”
“Sure.” He paused to let a bullwhacker pass. “You know, I’m surprised you and your mother still live at Mrs. Sloane’s after—what, more than two months?”
“I’ve got a plan about that.” Emma lowered her voice. “Miss Amaretta wants a house, with a kitchen she can cook in, but she can’t afford it. My mother can’t afford it yet, either, but most of all she doesn’t want to have to cook or keep a house tidy. So I’m figuring—”
Jeremy hooted, “Your mother and Miss Amaretta sharing a house?”
“No, really! They argue from habit more than anything else these days.”
“It could work, I guess.” Jeremy reined the horse to a stop in front of the boardinghouse. “Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask you. Remember that rock I gave you? Did you ever bust it open?”
Emma flushed. “Well … actually … no.”
Jeremy snorted. “We’re going to do that right now,” he announced. “Or no ride.”
Emma crossed her fingers as she hurried up the stairs. She thought she had tucked the silly thing into the top dresser drawer. Yes—thank goodness, there it was. She examined the lumpy gray stone. She still thought it was as ugly as Twin Pines!
Rock in hand and straw hat in place, Emma let Jeremy take her around to the forge. The blacksmith was replacing the iron rim on a farmer’s wagon wheel—an operation that involved a fire pit, glowing iron, brute force, and a clear sense of timing—so Emma and Jeremy slid to the ground and waited in the shade beside his shack.
“You think your ma’ll still need me, now that she’s hired Tildy and George?” Jeremy asked. “Pa said I could help with the newspaper sometimes, even after that new teacher gets here and school starts.”
Emma rolled her eyes. “Aren’t you tired of it yet?”
“No! I think it’s fun.”
“Well … I suppose investigating a big story can be exciting.”
“Like Mr. Spaulding causing so much trouble!”
Emma shook her head. She hadn’t seen the land agent since the sheriff had taken him off to Golden, the territorial capital. Spaulding was still in jail. “Yes. But mostly it’s boring. I don’t want to spend my life setting type, or even writing articles.”
“So what do you want?”
Emma looked down the street, picturing the lush valley beyond Twin Pines. Asters and gentians were blooming now, and Jeremy promised that soon the aspen trees would turn as gold as candles. “Art is what I really like.”
“Did you ever think about doing engravings for the newspaper? You know, those fancy illustrations they have in the big papers back east?”
“I don’t know exactly how they do it. It’s complicated, I think.” Emma slapped at a mosquito, considering. “An artist makes the sketch, and then it gets copied onto a block of wood, and then someone has to carve away everything but the lines.”
“I’m pretty good with a jackknife, and a chisel, too.”
“Do you really think we could?” Emma felt a warm smile bubble slowly up from inside. “Well … crackers! Let’s give it a try!”
“We’ll start with something simple. Maybe a nice title block for the newspaper. What do you call those?”
“A masthead.” Emma nodded, picturing the words “The Twin Pines Herald” in fancy letters, perhaps with a mountain range sketched in the background.
Jeremy looked at her sideways. “You know, when you got here, I didn’t figure you’d last long. I pegged you as a go-backer for sure.”
“I might have been, if Mother could have afforded to buy tickets home,” Emma admitted. She thought that over, waving at Mr. Torkelson as he strode ankle-deep through the muck toward his freight office. Twin Pines was a grubby little town, but … it was starting to feel like home.
Emma watched the blacksmith and the farmer hoist the heavy, red-hot wheel rim from the fire pit and drop it in place over the wooden wheel. The blacksmi
th doused it with a bucket of cold water and, with a satisfying hiss and sizzle, the rim shrank to make a tight fit around the wheel.
“Come on.” Jeremy motioned to Emma. He borrowed a hammer from the smith, then handed it to Emma and placed the stone he’d given her on the ground.
“Like this?” Emma raised the hammer above her head.
Jeremy snatched it from her. “No! Let me.” He gave the stone a careful rap, and it cracked open. He handed her the two halves. “See? It’s a geode.”
Emma caught her breath. The stone was hollow, its interior lined with glittering crystals. She’d never seen anything so magical. “Are they diamonds?”
Jeremy snorted again. “Naw. They’re just quartz crystals. But I thought you’d like it.”
Emma touched the crystals. Who would have guessed?
“Yes, Jeremy.” Emma grinned. “I like it very much.”
1867
GOING BACK IN TIME
LOOKING BACK: 1867
The dress reform movement that inspired Emma’s mother began in the 1820s—but 40 years later, a woman in trousers was still considered shocking.
In Emma’s day, fashionable women wore long, full skirts with six or seven starched petticoats underneath. Altogether, a woman might wear 12 layers of fabric around her waist! A snug corset helped support the weight of all that material. Although elegant, such clothing was uncomfortable and sometimes impaired a woman’s ability to move, breathe, and digest food.
Several people in the early 1800s designed healthier styles for women. These costumes all resembled the Reform Dress that Emma’s mother wears—a knee-length skirt worn over trousers.
Whistler in the Dark Page 11
