by Kari Trumbo
Lenora had stolen Victor’s every thought. Her quick wit, coupled with unmatched beauty, was like no other woman. He couldn’t bear the thought of any other man near her, and he would make certain her father knew he cared for her.
“Mr. Farnsworth, I’ve asked around on the ship, the various men aboard, and they tell me that there are Indians outside the towns, just waiting to set upon unsuspecting travelers. That they will ravage the women and steal any goods worth taking in the wagons.” It wasn’t all a lie, some of the men said it, others had said the Indians were harmless, if left alone. Victor would do or say whatever was necessary to make sure Mr. Farnsworth took no chances.
Mrs. Farnsworth’s eyes grew as big as marbles and she clutched her husband’s arm. “Surely Cort will protect me and Mr. Abernathy will protect Lenora.”
Mr. Farnsworth patted her hand absentmindedly. “We’ve spoken about my daughter. You know how I feel about the arrangement. Just make certain she is safe.” He turned away to face his wife, then swung back around and stared Victor in the eyes. “Protect her, but that’s as far as it goes. I have not given you permission for anything further.”
He hadn’t even expected for Farnsworth to agree to that much.
The family piled into the cart and Victor and Cort followed, Cort taking the seat next to Geoff, leaving Victor to sit next to Lenora. His thoughts immediately turned to the wicked. How he wanted that woman.
As he lowered himself onto the seat next to her, he felt her pull away, to move closer to the edge. He would not chase her this day, not with her father so close. He was not fond of fathers. They never seemed to approve of his methods, and he couldn’t afford to perturb this one. Farnsworth owed him too much. If Victor hoped to get a lead on some good land, Farnsworth had to like him. So, he’d only speak to Lenora when no one was around to hear it. Lucky for him, or perhaps unfortunately, Lenora had a mind of her own and often found herself outside of her father’s ever-watchful eye.
The driver cracked a long whip and the cart sprang forward. They slowly made their way through the flapping cotton jungle of San Francisco, the wealthiest poorhouse in the nation. Where a man would pay eight dollars to have his clothes washed, to return to a room that was little more than a wood framed tent. God Bless California.
After they’d left the ship, Father had quickly ushered them from the port, her mother weeping loudly. She couldn’t be sure if it was due to the slave ship full of Oriental women, or if it was her mother’s fear of California that caused it. The poor women were starved, mostly bare, and on a stage for all to see. Lenora shuddered as she remembered their vacant eyes.
Now that they were away from the wharf, the very dirt itself seemed alive. She couldn’t focus on any one thing as the cart slowly lumbered through San Francisco. On the water, as they’d pulled to shore, the abandoned ships in the harbor had bobbed like huge forgotten flowers on a pond. Near the wharf, there had been a great crush of bodies and busy activity, too much for her to take in all at once. The lawns of those who had invested well sat right next to shacks made of little more than wishes and press board. She’d never seen such strange hovels, not even from the homeless in Boston. What awaited them in Blessings?
“Father, how far is it?” The cart swayed to the familiar rhythm, just as the ship, tamping down a little of her excitement. At least they were moving, making progress. Her father sat next to the driver, with her mother on the end, all of them tightly packed together on the bench seat. The trunk she and Abernathy sat upon was wedged behind the driver’s bench. She craned her neck up at her father, waiting for his answer.
When her father didn’t reply, Mr. Abernathy leaned in, his warm breath tickling the hair on her neck and sending a pleasant heat through her.
“It’s at least a week, but don’t fear. Cort and I are ready to protect you.”
She ignored him and spoke louder; she’d yet to see any need for the protection they offered. “And will we have somewhere to live waiting for us?”
She’d never slept in a tent, and being so close to the elements would be difficult. It had been so rainy and damp that the road, with its deep ruts from wagons long gone, was about the consistency of mashed potatoes. The oxen struggled, and the wheels cut deeply into the road. Living in a tent would not only be difficult, it would be the worst part of the trip yet, with the possible exception of the Isthmus. There had been terrible bugs and sounds like she’d never heard before in the Panama jungle, not to mention the almost naked men that had pulled their boats down river to get them to the next waiting steamer. She shivered even now thinking about it.
Again, Abernathy answered her instead of her father. “There’s most likely nothing there but tents. Your father will have to hire men, like me, to build you something quickly. He’ll probably stop for lumber on the way, or at least for the tools. I’ve heard about the cost of goods here in California. It probably would’ve been better to cross over land, then you could’ve brought your own supplies. You’ll pay three days’ wages for a saw in California, mark my words.”
She didn’t want to mark his words or anything else about him. If her questions gave him the need to speak, she’d keep her mouth shut. He didn’t need to know how vexed she was over him, how she should not want anything to do with him, yet needed to speak with him all the same. At least with her father sitting right at her back, she needn’t worry about anything else he might say.
There would be no one else to speak to for a full week of riding. She’d be next to him, unable to escape his glances, or the discourse that forced her to consider every word. Her mother had little time for her, and since they had chosen to hire Abernathy and Cort, her brother Geoff had become distant as well. He never spoke to Father and Mother anymore, preferring to only talk to Cort, and only if he had to.
She tilted her head to avoid being caught staring. Cort—she didn’t know his last name or if that was his name at all—would be nondescript in most settings. He didn’t strike her as handsome or ghastly, he just was. In fact, it was his complete lack of discernible characteristics that made him compelling, her mind could forget his features almost immediately after glancing at something else. Rather, someone else.
Mr. Abernathy spoke quietly to Cort, and although they seemed to have no difficulty communicating, she couldn’t make out a single word. Her brother gave their parents a quick glance, then pulled a deck of cards from his pocket.
“Anyone up for a deal?” he whispered.
Abernathy swiped the cards with a harsh growl and slid them in his pocket. “Never in front of a lady. There are women at card halls, but never ladies. It isn’t something they need to know about.”
The forbidden nature of the game made her curious, but she wouldn’t ask. If Mother caught her watching a game of cards, she would be given more chores as a punishment. She was already carrying the load of her own and most of her mother’s.
Geoff grumbled and leaned back in his seat in the bed of the wagon at their feet. “So, what do you two plan to do once we reach Blessings? I’ve a mind to convince Father to sell me a plot.”
Cort shook his head, his face unreadable as always. “Don’t be a fool. Your father will never give you a plot. If he did, he might be accused of being a cheat. If it’s true that this Winslet needs your father to distribute the land, then you’ll never see an ounce of it.”
Geoff’s eyes flashed, and he slid to the edge of the seat. “What do you know about it? Why even come to California if I can’t try to strike like everyone else?”
The older man shrugged and laid down atop the trunks, covering his face with his hat.
Geoff wasn’t ready to give up. “If he won’t sell me a plot, then I’ll just work with someone else. What about you Abernathy? You going to buy a plot?”
Lenora figured he would. How else could he make his quick money and return to his precious England where he could be with all the beautiful and alluring women he always spoke of? So beautiful that they put the sun to shame, he’d told her
. Well, he could have them, every last one of them, and probably had, drat him!
Abernathy’s firm jaw worked a little, as if he were chewing on his answer. “I’m going to try for a plot, but if I get one, I’d be sharing it with Cort. Your father might let you, it all depends on what’s been surveyed. If all the plots have been surveyed, and they know there’s gold on all of them, then he may let you, or not. It’ll be up to Winslet. From what I’ve heard from your father, it all belongs to Winslet. Might also be that none of the plots have gold and Winslet is just looking to build a town.”
The wheels creaked loudly as the oxen pulled them along. It had to be louder in the front where Father and Mother sat, as they’d ignored all attempts to speak to them. Though it could be that they were simply ignoring each other and, in so doing, missed all conversation around them. Father had made the decision to come, to sell the house and uproot the family. Mother hadn’t wanted to. She had been far enough from her family while they’d lived in Boston, or so she’d claimed. Her family never visited, nor did they go to see her family. Now, she’d never have the opportunity to see them again. It had been eight months since Lenora’s parents had been happy. She would never let California come between her and happiness, as it had for them.
Abernathy caught her hand for a moment and pressed it lightly, surprising her with his warm and gentle touch. “Miss Farnsworth, if you’re tired from the ride, I would be happy to lay down a blanket on the floor of the wagon for you.”
His familiarity sent heat racing to her cheeks, and all around inside her. “No, thank you.” She drew her hand away from him, though she hadn’t wanted to. “I am well.” But her heart said she was anything but.
Chapter 3
San Francisco had been green, almost verdant, and Culloma was a welcome respite from the long drive, but the days in the back of the wagon grew tiresome. The constant drizzle meshed into one long trail of mud, damp, and inexhaustible attention from Abernathy. Lenora could barely turn around or find a quiet bush to use the necessary without the former Englishman following along. The day before, she’d reached the end of her patience and told him she’d rather be carried off by the Indians than have him provide her safety any further. It had only been a little lie. While the natives were terrifying, Mr. Abernathy had been relentless, and her poor confused heart didn’t know how to deal with him.
As the old cart, now laden with building materials from Culloma, made its way slowly into the camp of Blessings, Lenora wanted to turn back. She’d held out hope that it was more like San Francisco, but it was just as many other mining towns, small, rustic, and muddy. Most of the actual structures were clapboard and hastily built, many were little more than tents. Her heart sank even lower. They would, again, be sleeping in the back of the cramped wagon. She tried not to complain, at least she was warm. Much too warm, pressed next to Mr. Abernathy, who had convinced her father that the natives would kidnap and ravage her if he didn’t. She hadn’t seen any Indians yet and suspected that Mr. Abernathy was just missing his usual bedmates. It also didn’t help that she enjoyed his protective presence far too much.
The driver pulled up in front of a large home on the edge of town and her father climbed down from the cart.
“Atherton? You in there?” Father climbed the porch and knocked on the front door.
An older man with a long, white beard, friendly eyes, and a gap-toothed grin stepped from within and clapped her father on the shoulder. They spoke quietly for a moment, then approached the cart where her mother still sat, her back straight as a rod.
“Matilda, this is Atherton Winslet. He invited us to come to Blessings and help him set up the town.”
Her mother gave a slight nod, but wouldn’t come down.
Her father sighed slightly, then came to the back of the wagon. “Victor, Cort, if you’re willing, I’ve got additional pay for you if you help me build the land office. We’ll be living on the second floor.”
While she had no doubt Cort had the strength to build a dwelling, Abernathy didn’t seem to have the fortitude. Though he seemed strong, she doubted he’d lifted more than a hand of cards, or perhaps the hands of lovely women to his lips. Though, he hadn’t done that to her since their first meeting. Abernathy narrowed his eyes and shared something conspiratorial with Cort, then nodded.
“It would depend on what you’re offering. Now that we’re here, Cort and I have to find a means to make a living.”
Atherton heaved a dry laugh. “There’s plenty of room to start what you’d like. Long as you’ve the gumption.”
Abernathy tilted his head and caught her watching him. A wicked gleam sparked in his eyes. “The spirit is definitely willing.”
Was he? Would he be willing to work to make the little town into something special as her father had envisioned? Or was Abernathy doing nothing more than twisting his words again?
Mr. Abernathy stood and climbed down from the wagon stiffly. He turned and offered her a hand. How she wished her father wasn’t so absorbed in this Blessings business and would recall that he was her father, and that she still needed him to protect her from the likes of Victor Abernathy. Since hiring Abernathy for the job, he’d all but forgotten.
As her foot touched down on the muck in the street, Abernathy’s hold tightened. “I do hope that I can secure employment quickly. I think you’ll soon find that there is no better offer here, than mine.”
Though his words made her heart do a little flip, and, while he might have spoken the truth, she’d never let him know it. Lenora slid her hand from his and held her hems out of the mud as she walked around him, creating the distance that needed to remain between them.
“You think rather highly of yourself, Mr. Abernathy. There may be wonderful men here, looking for a bride.” And she would turn down every last one of them. Even this one. Because a gambling rake would never make a good husband.
“We’re in California now, love. No need for drawing room conventions.” He bowed low in mockery of his own words. “I am but Victor, your humble servant.”
Words flowed from her tongue before she could bite them back. “I have great doubt you even know what humble means, Mr. Abernathy.”
Lenora turned from a stunned Abernathy and followed her father and Mr. Winslet to a section of street just down from where the driver had parked the cart. The only thing in plentiful supply in the entire shanty town was mud; thick and soupy, suck her shoes into the mire, mud.
Lenora searched for a boardwalk or some place to set her feet where she wouldn’t sink, and it was futile. Her mother called her back to the cart. As Lenora made her way back, her mother clutched the seat of the wagon with a grip that would rival any vice.
“Lenora, don’t wander off too far without Mr. Abernathy or Mr. Cort. We don’t know what sort of men live here.” She glanced up and down the street, suspicion clouding her eyes and wrinkling a once clear forehead. “There might even be those Indians here,” she whispered.
If the situation were humorous, she could almost laugh. There would be no wandering, and the street was so open that her mother could’ve seen anyone coming toward them. The town, as of the moment, was little more than a clearing that had the slight feel of a street, with a mercantile and saloon; more of a whisper of a street than an actuality.
Her mother’s use of Cort’s first name, as no one but her father seemed to know his last, was a testament to just how little her parents gave any attention to those they considered beneath them. Though there was hope for her father, her mother would never change.
Cort, Geoff, and Mr. Abernathy set to unloading the wood and the trunks as Mr. Winslet explained about Sheriff Pete Jones who watched over Blessings, and the four mines, and how it was safe to leave the building materials at the site. Lenora had little interest because it wasn’t her home yet, nor would it be for some time.
Father turned around and took a deep breath, and a calm came over him she hadn’t witnessed in months. “Do you smell that, Lenora? It’s what peace s
mells like.”
As she turned to take in the entire town, she took a deep breath. She’d wanted work, to prove her worth, to experience that same peace her father had. Blessings would certainly offer it. But at the moment, all she could smell, was the coming rain.
The cart slowly made its way out of town, heading back to San Francisco, the driver’s pockets much heavier than they’d been a week before. Victor could’ve almost laughed at Lenora’s petrified face. She’d assumed they would be sleeping in that cart until their home was built. She’d have to put up with a wet tent, just like everyone else who was new in the foundling town.
While Lenora was strong of will, Blessings would winnow her into a woman to be reckoned with, only making her all the more tempting. He would have to act fast before any other men in Blessings noticed her, for the men appeared to outnumber the women at least ten to one. Since there wouldn’t be many women to pick from, he’d have to protect her from all of those men looking to wed. And in doing so, Blessings just might forge him, as well.
He’d spent every waking moment with her, keeping her safe, just as he’d promised her father. However, it had become the moments when they weren’t supposed to be awake that had become a problem. Lenora was a soul-stirring beauty when awake, but softly reposed in sleep … she was more exquisite than any dream he’d ever had, and no other man would ever see her like that. He’d stake his life on it.
She may defy him at every turn and spurn his very words, but while she slept, she admitted truths her mouth would deny during the light of day. She curled into him, nuzzled closer to him, sighed in her sleep. She was a sweet torment to him.
He found himself at her side, unable to stay away. “You thought the cart would stay?”
