After taking a deep, fortifying breath, Constance walked into the dim interior. She tested every board that was left in the floor of the main room. None of them gave way. The trapdoor to the cellar was in one corner of the room, near a window. She pulled back the curtains, and sunlight streamed through the space, highlighting the hole in the floor. She lifted the trapdoor and placed a tentative foot on the steps cut into the rock supporting the house.
Constance tiptoed down and bent her head so she could move around. She felt like an old woman the way she had to walk. She plunged the long shovel straight down into the dirt over and over, trying to find the treasure. The only hard thing she hit was the rock foundation.
When her back ached so much that she couldn’t stand it another minute, she went back to the opening and climbed out. After letting the trapdoor down over the hole, she turned around in the sunlight. What a mess! Dirt covered every inch that she could see of herself. She felt sure there were no clean spots on the part she couldn’t see either.
Now what should she do? Maybe Jim Mitchell hid it in front of the house. After hiking the shovel onto her shoulder, she went back outside and started to work. She turned over some dirt, pushed the shovel deeper into the soil several times, then moved on to another place. Methodically, she made her way back and forth across the meadow.
When Constance finished, she hadn’t found anything but rocks, roots, worms, and bugs. What a waste of time. If she had been back home with her father still alive, he would have made use of the worms and bugs to go fishing.
She went back to the porch and dropped to sit on the front edge. Where had Jim Mitchell hidden the gold?
She tried to figure out reasonable things that could have happened. Perhaps he had other men help him, and one of them hid the gold. Maybe they all wasted their ill-gotten gain in riotous living. She had heard that ungodly men often did that. Since she had done everything she could to try to fulfill her promise to her father, maybe it was time to give up and get on with her life.
Constance smiled at the last thought. What would getting on with her life entail? The question brought a familiar face into her mind. Sparkling blue eyes that had darkened almost to navy when they were last in the mercantile. The only blond hair that she had ever wanted to run her fingers through. That man was too disturbing for her peace of mind.
When he lifted her hand and took a bite of the stick of peppermint she held, for a moment she had thought he was going to kiss her fingertips. Just as quickly, she wanted him to, even though there may have been other people near them. She didn’t know if there were because all of her attention concentrated on the tall, brawny man whose eyes haunted her dreams, whether she was sleeping or awake.
She relived his full lips closing around the candy, and Constance wondered what it would feel like to have them touching hers. When that thought entered her mind, she touched her fingers to her mouth, and a sigh escaped from her soul. These thoughts were too disturbing, so she jumped up and started toward the spring. She might as well clean up and prepare to ride Blaze back to town. After glancing around the clearing, she knew that she couldn’t leave without filling in all those holes, but first she needed a cool drink of water.
What was I thinking? How often had Hans asked himself that question since Constance fell out of the stagecoach into his waiting arms? More times than he wanted to count. She was constantly in his thoughts, making a home for herself that he didn’t want to disturb.
When Charlie came back to pick up his horses, he mentioned that Constance had rented Blaze for a ride. Now Hans raced down the road toward the Mitchell farm. He had become complacent, and Constance had just been biding her time. What was so important that she had to keep going out there and endangering her life? Was she looking for something? If so, what could it be?
Maybe her father had given Jim Mitchell something that he wanted Constance to retrieve. It made sense. Even though sometimes Hans had thought something wrong was going on, the explanation could be as simple as that. Why hadn’t he trusted Constance? Given her a chance to tell him in her own time?
Hopefully, his haste wouldn’t be needed, because she wasn’t in any danger, but something pushed him on. For some reason, he felt that Constance needed him today. Surely it wasn’t because she was in peril again.
When he approached the farmhouse, he slowed Blackie to a walk. Fresh tracks led toward the house, but when they turned off the dirt road, they were swallowed up in the thick grass. He looked up from the tracks and couldn’t believe his eyes.
The meadow in front of the farmhouse was pockmarked by many places where someone had been digging. He walked Blackie between them, being careful to keep the horse from stepping in one of the holes. Even by the porch was evidence of more digging. At the bases of the trees on the edge of the woods that surrounded the meadow on three sides, holes looked like some kind of open wounds in the earth.
Hans dismounted and stepped up on the porch. The recesses of the house weren’t as dark as they had been the last time he was there. He glanced around inside and noticed that some of the curtains had been pushed back so that sunlight poured into the room.
“Constance, are you here?” His words echoed in the empty space.
Through the hole in the floor, he noticed that someone had been digging in the cellar, too. After carefully making his way around the opening, he opened the two doors that led off the main room. Both of the other rooms looked undisturbed. All the furniture, as well as the floor, wore a heavy coat of dust.
Where can she be?
Outside once again, Hans took a deep breath and walked toward the edge of the cliff.
twelve
Before Constance tried to get all the dirt off her hands and face, she made an attempt to remove the soil from her clothing the way Hans had before. A branch from a nearby bush worked fine on the front and sides, but she couldn’t reach the middle of her back. She must look a sight with most of her clothing freshened and a streak running down one side. She’d make a pretty good skunk, wouldn’t she?
That thought introduced the idea that these woods could contain one of those notoriously malodorous creatures. Hadn’t she heard somewhere that they were nocturnal animals? Hopefully, any that lived near here were. Being on the receiving end of a spray from one of the black-and-white-striped animals would completely ruin the day.
What about her problem with her clothing? Constance walked over to a sturdy tree and rubbed against it with her back. Maybe that would help some.
Since she had done everything she could to clean off her dress, she knelt beside the clear pool. She had been so preoccupied when she was here earlier that she hadn’t noticed the abundance of smooth pebbles that lined the bottom. Varying shades of browns, black, and white—some with shiny specks—formed a beautiful mosaic created by nature. Constance dipped one fingertip into the water, and ripples spread in ever-widening circles.
Her life was like that. She had spent so many years settled into her home in the Ozarks, but now her life spread across two state lines. Who knew where it might lead? She hoped that she presented to the world as pleasing a picture as the rocks in the bottom of this spring.
Another picture whisked into her mind, blurring out the pool and bringing a catch to her breath. Scenes played one after the other. Hans catching her in his strong arms with a startled expression in his blue eyes. Hans working in the Community Garden, taut muscles rippling with the rhythm of his work. His white teeth sinking into the peppermint stick with his lips wrapping around it, barely missing her fingertips. These thoughts did nothing to cool off Constance from her previous labors. If only she had her folding fan that rested in the top drawer of the chest in her room at the boardinghouse. She would put it to good use.
Constance shook the thoughts from her mind and concentrated on washing her hands, arms, and face. Then she pulled her sleeves back down and buttoned her cuffs.
She walked over to the grazing horse. “Blaze, it won’t be long until we start back to Bro
wning City.”
As Constance approached the edge of the woods, she thought she heard a male voice. Were there other men? She only heard one. Who could that be? Did she need to hide from the man?
She carefully worked her way between the bushes and trees without making a sound. When she peered around the trunk of one of the last large trees between her and the meadow, she saw a man standing near the edge of the bluff. Immediately, she recognized his clothing and the way he stood proudly with his head flung back. The sunlight glinting on his hair gave his locks a golden glow. What was Hans doing here?
He hadn’t noticed her, and he continued to talk with a loud voice. She wondered if he was calling to someone across the Mississippi. Surely the river was too wide for him to be heard, even though he was shouting. Then she heard him say, “Lord.” She stealthily moved closer to the house until she could understand every word.
“Lord, what am I going to do about Constance? You know how I feel about her, but is it Your will for me to spend so much time with her? How can I keep her safe if she won’t tell me the truth? What is she looking for, and why won’t she let me help her? Lord, I need some answers from You, and I need them as soon as possible.”
Hans stared at the patchwork of cultivated ground across the river. Some farmer over there had started his spring planting. Too bad no one was working this farm. This year’s planting season would soon be over. He thrust his hands into the back pockets of his trousers. Trying to take his mind off Constance only worked for a few seconds.
“Help me here, Lord. I really need You.”
The snapping of a twig cut into the silence at the end of his sentence. He whirled and stared straight into the face of the woman who caused him so much unrest.
For a moment, her eyes widened. “Hans,” she called to him. “What are you doing here?”
He loped across the meadow, being careful not to step into any of the holes. “I could ask you the same question.” He gestured toward one of the pockmarks. “Why have you been digging here?”
Constance heaved a deep sigh, seeming to consider how to answer. During the lull, he reached her side. He had to grip his hands into fists to keep from reaching out to her; then he thrust his fingers into his back pockets.
She stared at him a long moment before answering. “Come sit down on the porch with me. I’ll feel more comfortable talking to you there.” She turned and led the way.
After she sat, he dropped down onto the wooden porch but not too close to her. He wanted to keep his wits about himself, and being too near Constance would muddle his thoughts. “What are you going to talk about?”
She turned her head and stared off into the distance. “I know you’ve been really helpful to me. …”
After her words faded off, he waited. Surely she had more to say.
“I guess you want to know the real reason I’m looking for Jim Mitchell.”
He nodded, then realized she couldn’t see his movement from there. “Ja.”
How could Constance tell her story without Hans getting the wrong impression of her father? She was tired of hiding things from Hans. Maybe the absolute truth would be best in this circumstance. She turned to look at him, and his intense scrutiny almost crumbled her defenses.
“I told you that my father made me promise to find Jim Mitchell.”
“Ja.” He nodded again. “I remember.”
The way he said it, she felt that his memories contained more than her comment about the promise. What if he was also remembering the moment in the mercantile? Heat crept into her cheeks, so she turned back to study a flock of birds heading north in the intense blue sky.
“It’s kind of a long story.”
“I have plenty of time.” His tone held finality.
Constance knew she would have to tell him everything, even if it meant that Hans wouldn’t trust her…or like her… anymore. “My father was a good man. He came back from the war changed. I don’t think he ever got over it before he died.” She glanced back at Hans. He didn’t look disgusted yet.
“Ja. I’ve seen other men who were affected by the fighting.” Hans lifted a foot onto the edge of the porch and leaned an arm on his upraised knee.
“I didn’t know about any of this until he was dying. That’s when he extracted the promise from me.”
Constance didn’t know why it was so hard to talk about what happened. She should just blurt it out. She had spent enough time with Hans to know that he was an honorable man. He would understand. She studied his hand that hung in the air. Maybe not looking at his face would make it easier.
“While they were together in the fighting, my father worked out a plan to steal a gold shipment from the Union soldiers.” After that sentence, she ventured a glance at his face.
Hans shifted until he could lean back against the post holding up the roof of the porch. “I heard about that shipment being stolen. Is that what you’re looking for?”
Disappointment wrinkled his brow, and she winced.
“Yes, but not for the reason you’re probably thinking. You see, my father didn’t take part in the robbery. He was a Christian. He said the war made him forget for a while, but he couldn’t go through with the plan, and he thought he had convinced Jim Mitchell not to do it, either.”
A look of relief softened Hans’s expression. “Then who stole the gold?”
Constance took a deep breath before she continued. “The only person with him when he planned the job was Jim Mitchell, and the robber or robbers carried it out just the way Pa planned it. He was sure Mr. Mitchell did it.”
“And he wanted you to come get his share.” Now disgust colored his tone.
“No!” She was sure he would never believe her, but she might just as well finish the story. “Pa wanted me to tell Mr. Mitchell to give back the gold. Pa had been saving money so he would have enough to travel here and talk to him, but then Pa got sick. Just before he died, he told me where his savings were hidden and made me promise to convince his old friend to do the right thing. I never knew it would be so hard to fulfill that promise.”
After she finished, she sat with her hands clasped in her lap, waiting for his comment, certain this admission would drive Hans away. Why would he want to protect her now? He evidently thought she was part of the whole bad mess.
“So all these holes were looking for the gold.” His statement of the fact sounded almost like a question.
Constance nodded, not even turning her head. “I thought if I could find it and give it back to the government, I would have fulfilled the promise to my father.”
Hans stood and moved in front of her. “Look at me, Constance.”
She complied. With the bright sunlight behind him, she couldn’t read his expression.
“None of this is your fault. You shouldn’t have had to shoulder the burden alone.” He reached out and took her hand in his. “I wish you had told me before. I could have helped you decide what to do.”
With a tug of his hand, he pulled her to stand in front of him. Too close in front of him for her comfort.
“So what do I do now?”
Her question shook him. So did her inquiring gaze. As a man, he wanted to be able to fix everything for her, but how could he take care of all this? Where should he start?
“First let’s get these holes filled. I’ll help you.” He glanced around the clearing, feeling more in control since there was something tangible to accomplish. “Where is the shovel you used?”
“Down by the spring.” For the first time in weeks, her heart felt lighter. “That’s where I have Blaze grazing near the pool.”
Hans went to Blackie and picked up his reins. “Let’s take Blackie, so he can get a drink.”
While they walked, silence stretched between them like a living thing, but he had to come up with a viable solution. If he tried to talk, it would muddle his thoughts. Maybe they should go see the sheriff. Andrew would know the best way for them to handle it. Hopefully, Constance would agree.
&nb
sp; The glen in the middle of the woods looked idyllic, like some place from one of the fairy tales his mother read to him and his brothers and sisters when he was a young boy. Sunlight broke through the branches that arched over the spring-fed pool, making the surface sparkle and glisten. This would be a special place to own, yet the farm stood desolate. What a waste. Hans wondered what would happen to the property if the brothers never returned.
Constance went over to Blaze and talked softly to him while Hans watered Blackie.
“I’ll leave Blackie grazing here with Blaze.” He led the stallion to a spot in the tall grasses not far from the other horse; then he picked up the shovel that leaned against a boulder beside the pool, hefted it to his shoulder, and started toward the meadow.
“I wish I had another shovel.” Constance skipped every few steps to keep up with his long stride.
Hans silently berated himself for not noticing sooner. When he shortened his steps, they walked together. He didn’t talk, because he was mulling over all she had told him today.
As they reached the edge of the woods, he stopped and pulled the spade down. “You use this, and I’ll use my hands.”
She turned her eyes toward his face, and they darkened to a deep brown. “I don’t want to make you do that. It’s my fault the holes are there in the first place. I can use my hands.”
He picked up one of hers and laid it on his palm. Such a tiny, dainty thing. Her fingers barely reached the base of his. “It would take you a long time to fill in even one of the places. I can do it easier.”
Hans knew that he should let go of her hand, but it rested against his callused palm, soft and creamy, even after all the work she’d done today. “You take the shovel, Constance.”
When he reluctantly dropped her hand, her expression changed to one of disappointment. It mirrored what he felt. “You start here in the shade. I’ll go out there in the sun. I’m used to it.”
A Daughter's Quest Page 10
