Patience

by Lori Copeland

  The line moved at a snail’s pace. Men’s voices rose and fell with anticipation and anger. The room was so hot Patience could hardly breathe. Loosening the top button of her collar, she took deep breaths, directing an evil eye to the man who kept dumping coal into the corner stove. It was hot enough to cure meat in the room, but the man didn’t seem to notice. Every half hour, he stepped up and fed the black monstrosity another bucket of coal.

  Patience had worked her way to within five places of the assayer’s desk when she suddenly felt light-headed. Fighting the weakness that threatened to overcome her, she squeezed Wilson’s hand tighter.

  Wilson’s glasses tilted askew as he sagged against her, catnapping.

  Minutes ticked by. Sweat trickled down the small of Patience’s back. Bringing her handkerchief to her forehead, she blotted perspiration, willing her eyes to focus. Only four more, she told herself. Then she could seek a breath of clean, blessedly cool air.

  She was third in line when her knees buckled. With a whimper of despair, she was overcome with blackness.

  Chapter Four

  Patience felt herself being lifted, carried out the door. The cold air hit her like a blow. She gasped, reason returning slowly. She could hear Wilson calling her.

  “P! Wake up, P! What’s wrong with her?”

  A deep rumbling voice answered him. “Got too warm, probably. It was hotter than July in there.”

  Patience opened her eyes to find herself lying on the ground, her rescuer kneeling beside her.

  “Are you feeling better now?”

  “Yes, thank you,” she said, grateful for his help and recognizing the scruffy miner who had offered her his place in the line. He bore a striking resemblance to Sheriff Longer… . “It was so hot in there.” She hoped her smile was properly apologetic to make up for her earlier exclusion. The miner had been exceedingly kind. “I’m sorry you lost your place in line.”

  He shrugged. “It doesn’t matter.” He studied her features intensely. “What about you?”

  Sighing, Patience got up and readjusted her old hat. “I have to claim my mine tonight.”

  The man’s eyes skimmed her trousers. “It’s getting late,” he said. “And the boy’s hungry. Can’t you wait until morning? The lines are usually not so long then.”

  “I can’t.” Patience took Wilson’s hand, trying to comfort him. He was bone weary, and neither of them could go much longer without eating. “I have to get back in line.”

  “It will be dark soon.”

  For a moment Patience was tempted to tell the man he was being intrusive. She knew it was foolish to encourage conversation with a stranger—much less one so disreputable-looking. Yet he had been kind enough to help her… .

  Sighing, she noticed that the shadows were lengthening. Soon it would be pitch-black. “I’m afraid I have to get back into line.”

  Studious blue eyes assessed her, and he dropped his voice. “Is someone watching you?”

  She frowned, glancing around her. “No … why?”

  “Just pretend we’re discussing a claim,” he advised.

  She smiled at him lamely.

  He glanced at the crowd in front of the assayer’s office, then back at her. “Where is your mine?”

  Loosening the buttons of the worn coat, she searched for a way to get rid of him. “Not far—Mule Head. Have you heard of it?” Getting a closer look at his hands, Patience was surprised to see they were strong and tanned. Why, he wasn’t nearly as old as she’d first thought. No one to take care of him properly and hard living, she suspected when she studied his features beneath the scrubby beard.

  He nodded. “I know where it is.”

  Relief flooded her. Maybe he knew something—something she should know. “Is it a good mine?”

  “Depends on what you call good. It’s haunted.”

  So he’d heard the speculation. She supposed the ghost was common speculation around here.

  She stood shivering in the mountain air, holding tightly to Wilson’s hand. “I’m afraid rumors regarding the Mule Head have been greatly exaggerated.” She paused when she saw him staring at her in an odd, almost embarrassing way. She touched her hair self-consciously, aware of her manly attire. “Is something wrong?” She was quite certain she didn’t look her best—maybe her hairpins had come loose.

  He glanced over his shoulder again, then back to her. “Are you all right?”

  “All right?” She frowned. “I’m fine. Why?” For heaven’s sake—why was he so worried about her health? The room was too hot—that’s why she fainted.

  Stepping closer, he lowered his tone. “It’s me.” He lifted the brim of his hat to allow her closer inspection. She stared at the red beard and ruddy complexion. Nothing. Whoever “me” was, she didn’t know him.

  Her frown deepened. Oh, dear. He was peculiar. A hundred men in the vicinity, and she attracted the addled one.

  “Me.” His tone turned a little sharp. “Take my arm and walk slowly away from the area. Once we’re clear, I have a horse waiting. You don’t need to be afraid.”

  She nodded blankly. Oh, dear. “Wilson,” she called brightly. “Time to get back into line—”

  The man reached out and grasped her by the forearm, suddenly propelling her in the opposite direction.

  “Excuse me!” she bellowed, trying to jerk free of his steel-banded hold. Why the man was more than addled—he was deranged!

  “P!” Wilson called, running to catch up. The miner threaded Patience through the teeming crowd.

  “Let go of me this instant!” She managed to break the man’s grip, incensed that no one was coming to her defense. What kind of men were these rowdies?

  “Stop it! You’re causing a scene.” He latched on to her arm again and purposely marched her in the direction of the livery.

  “You stop it!” She was making a scene big enough to alert anyone to her situation—but nobody seemed to notice. Men and women went about their business with barely a glance at the growing fracas.

  “I’m trying to get us out of here without a fight,” he muttered. “Will you please cooperate? You’re just plain lucky I doubled back through Fiddle Creek today, or I would have missed you completely.”

  He didn’t make a lick of sense. “Why would anyone fight over us?” She stumbled over her own feet and had to steady her balance on his arm.

  He glared at her, shooting furtive glances over his shoulder. “Are your captors nearby?”

  “Captors—?” Patience suddenly stopped in midtrack. Now she knew why he bore such an uncanny resemblance to Jay Longer. He was the sheriff of Denver City! He was her rescuer! But why was he dressed so—awful?

  She voiced her shock. “Why are you dressed so awful?”

  He glared at her. “I’m in disguise.”

  “Oh.” Well, she should have figured that out. Of course he wouldn’t ride into one of these rowdy mining towns with a tin badge on his chest. He was infuriatingly contrary but not stupid.

  “Sheriff Longer, isn’t it?”

  He quieted her with a dour look. “I’m trying to get us out of here in one piece.”

  She drew herself up straighter, eyes narrowed. “How very kind of you to come after me. There is no captor—the horse stumbled and landed on the kidnapper and I got away.” She frowned. “Didn’t you find the horse carcass and the man’s body?”

  “I found it, but I thought maybe the culprit was part of a gang and they still had you. I’ve been trailing you for days.”

  “Well, how nice,” she said and then straightened her hat. Turning to a wide-eyed Wilson, she said, “Wilson, Mr. Longer is Denver City’s sheriff. He’s been looking for me.”

  Wilson refused to warm to the stranger. “Hello,” he mumbled.

  Briefly Patience filled Jay in on the past days’ events, the death of the old prospector, the mine, and Wilson’s role in the strange circumstances. She said she was here to claim Mule Head and that she planned to stay for however long it took to get the mine
producing gold. “Mary, Lily, and Harper will never have to worry another day about their future,” she finished.

  Longer took off his hat and swatted the brim on his dusty thigh, apparently unconcerned whether the material would hold together. Annoyance lined his weary features. “Denver City is twenty-eight miles from here; I know these parts as well as I know the back of my hand. Mule Head is worthless, Miss Smith—”

  “Call me Patience.” She didn’t know why she was so charitable, but they couldn’t keep calling each other by their last names.

  He conceded, “Okay. Your mine is haunted, Patience Smith. You won’t get one man to work it—let alone a crew of men.”

  Her face fell. “That’s just plain not true. The part about the mine being haunted is silly rumor. I don’t believe in ghosts.”

  “Neither do I, but the majority of folks around here do, and that’s your problem. You best forget about staking a claim and come back to Denver City with me. Your friends are worried about you.”

  Patience could feel her dream crumbling, and she struggled to hang on. That mine was the only future she had. Go back to Denver City—to an uncertain life? His advice wasn’t fair—not fair at all! She could find men to work the mine; she knew she could. The sheriff gave up too easily.

  Stiffening her resolve, she turned and reached for Wilson’s hand. “I’m sorry, Sheriff Longer; I don’t want to be rude—” like you, she wanted to add but didn’t—“and I truly appreciate your coming all this way to rescue me, but I don’t need rescuing. I’m going to claim the Mule Head and work it, because it will give us a chance to have a future—a future we would not have otherwise.”

  With a curt nod in the sheriff’s direction, she stepped back into line.

  Women! Jay watched her flounce off. Stubborn, ornery … wouldn’t listen to a blessed thing. A woman didn’t have any business running a mine. Some men believed women were bad luck in a mine. If you asked him, women were bad luck, period.

  Take this one. He had been looking for her in one mining camp after another, sleeping on the ground, spending restless nights, and then when he did find her, she brushed him off. Didn’t want to go home. Going to work the mine and get rich.

  Not at the Mule Head, she wasn’t. He knew that mine. Knew most of the mines in this area. Had worked some. Even if she managed to file the claim—and she was just bullheaded enough to do that—she’d never find a crew. He wondered where she’d picked up the boy. Spunky kid. He’d tried to protect her when she’d passed out.

  Jay chuckled. Funny little guy. Doubled up his fists and started swinging. Jay had held him at arm’s length and let him whale away until he’d run down. But he’d tried; he had to give him that.

  He watched Patience and the boy inch along in line. They’d be a while yet. Probably getting hungry. Well, he could do something about that. Satisfied they weren’t in any immediate danger, he sauntered off, searching for food.

  Sheriff Longer was leaning insolently against the surveyor’s office, arms crossed, when Patience emerged two hours later. Darkness cloaked the mining town. Lanterns glowed brightly in the cold mountain air.

  When the sheriff fell into step beside them, Patience ignored him. She had filed her claim, and he wasn’t going to talk her out of working it. Nobody was going to talk her into giving up. Too much depended on it. The other three and Wilson. Four people who needed the security the mine would give. She couldn’t fail.

  He didn’t argue. They walked to the edge of the town in stony silence. Once he reached into his pocket and took out two warm biscuits stuffed with fat sausage slices and handed one to Wilson and one to her. Wilson tore into the food like a ravenous animal.

  She ate hers more slowly, savoring the first warm thing in her belly all day.

  “You’re walking back to the mine tonight?” His voice broke the strained silence.

  “I don’t have a choice.” She swallowed a bit of biscuit and meat. “I have no money for a room—even if a room were available.” She hated to admit her immediate disadvantage, but there it was; she was flat broke and she had to go back to the mine.

  “You’re not going alone.”

  “I came alone—at least, Wilson and I came alone, and we had no trouble.”

  “You walked daylight hours, didn’t you?”

  She had to admit that she had. And that she was terrified to walk in the dark. So many ravines and gulches. One misplaced step and … She closed her mind to the dangers. She had responsibilities now—as Wilson’s self-appointed guardian, she had to put on a brave face.

  “You’d be better off waiting until morning,” Longer said shortly.

  “We’ll walk a ways and then rest until dawn.”

  His eyes accessed her trousers and wool coat. “You’ll freeze before dawn.”

  She didn’t break pace. “I’ve survived overnight in a wedding gown, sir—besides, I brought extra clothing.” She wasn’t that green. The old prospector owned quite a few clothes, and she’d packed every one of them in the bag—and extra food and water, hidden along the trail.

  “These mountains are treacherous if you don’t know them.”

  A smile filled her eyes when she heard the hesitation softening his deep baritone. “But you do know them, don’t you?” She wasn’t sure why, but she knew he would help her. She wasn’t foolish. For all she knew he could be dangerous and contrary under that scruffy facade; yet she sensed that he wasn’t. His outward appearance was a well-executed ploy, but his eyes gave him away. Patience saw a sense of nobility in them.

  “You do know the mountains?” she repeated softly.

  A muscle flexed in his bearded cheek. “I know them.”

  “Then I’m sure we could not ask for more capable assistance.” Her pleas formed a soft vapor in the cold night air.

  Glancing at the boy, he said quietly. “We’ll need lanterns.”

  “I don’t have money to buy one,” she reminded him.

  “Wait here … and wrap that scarf in your pocket around your neck. The temperature is dropping.”

  Patience took Wilson’s hand, found a large rock, and sat down to await the sheriff’s return. She couldn’t be rude, and he had agreed to walk them back to the mine—sort of. When he returned to Denver City, he could assure the others of her well-being and explain why she hadn’t come back with him.

  So she’d wait—and accept the sheriff’s kind offer of help—if it killed her.

  Jay returned half an hour later carrying two lanterns, canteens, and more biscuits and sausage. “I’ve decided to leave my horse at the livery. I don’t want to take a chance of the animal breaking a leg. We’ll walk up the mountain.”

  Wilson asked for seconds on the biscuits and sausage, stuffing the steaming fare into his mouth. They started off. The moon rose higher. Wilson walked beside Jay now, apparently satisfied he was more friend than foe.

  Jay glanced at the top of the boy’s head. Good kid, but an odd little duck. “What’s your name, son?”

  Wilson swallowed, panting to keep up with Jay’s long strides. “Wil … son.”

  “Wilson?”

  He nodded, running to stay alongside.

  “You good with your fists, Wilson?”

  “Not very … but with a name like Wilson, I should be, huh?”

  Jay let his lips curve in a hint of a smile. “Is that an English accent I hear?”

  “Yes, sir. My parents were traveling from England when they died of the cholera. I escaped the disease. The old prospector found me three days after they died—I was hungry and quite a pitiful sight, I understand. I don’t know if my name’s Wilson—but that’s what the prospector called me.”

  Jay shook his head. Rough break, but a common enough story in these parts. Life could be tough on kids.

  “What was the prospector’s name?”

  “Prospector. Sometimes Mr. Old Prospector. Me and you have the same color hair; you notice that?”

  “I noticed.”

  “I could almost be your
boy, couldn’t I?”

  The sheriff’s face hardened. “I don’t have a boy.”

  “Well if you did,” Wilson insisted, “I could be him.”

  Not in a million years. Jay kept his eyes fixed straight ahead. His boy was lying in a six-by-three-foot mound next to his mother.

  Chapter Five

  It got dark early. That was what Jay hated about the mountains. He didn’t mind the cold when he came to Colorado years ago, but he hated it now. Mexico—that climate suited him. Hot winds and long, sultry nights with strumming guitars.

  Leaving Patience and Wilson in the dugout, he picked his way back down the mountain, trying to erase the boy’s face from his mind. Wilson. Odd little fellow. Reminded him in a strange way of Brice. His son. He’d have been about the same age as Wilson. Seemed like when Jay had lost Nelly and his boy to the fever, he’d sort of lost himself too. Took a long time to come to grips with their dying. He’d wake up in the night and feel the horrible, twisting pain of knowing he’d never see them again—not on this side of heaven, anyway.

  He’d been so proud of his boy, had looked forward to teaching him how to shoot a gun and saddle a horse. To be a man. A good man, the kind who would do right, a man who would be honest, clean, trustworthy. The kind of man he wanted to be but couldn’t quite muster after Nelly died. He’d planned to teach Brice to fish and ride and hunt, too. Oh, he’d had plans for that boy. Big plans. And then the fever had swept their home, and he’d buried those plans with his wife and son.

  Jay had lost something else that day: his trust in God. How could a loving God take Nelly and Brice and leave him behind with nothing but broken dreams and a black, blinding despair that had almost destroyed him? Oh, he still believed there was a God—you couldn’t live in these mountains and not see his handiwork—but he didn’t believe that God cared about people.

  He’d learned the truth that day, standing beside an open grave and listening to the wind wailing through the pines and the preacher droning on about God’s love. The truth came to him, driving through his grief, hardening his heart until it was like a lump of stone inside him.