Patience and Jay bolted toward the door, scrambling over each other in their haste to clear the room.
Overturned kegs and the pan of bread clattered to the floor as they darted through the open doorway.
Chapter Fifteen
“Don’t ever do that again!” Patience, still shaking from the encounter, scolded Wilson. “You’re going to get somebody killed!”
“But, P, he’s not very big! He wouldn’t hurt nobody—and now you’ve gone and let Jay scare the cat off with a gun. It’s not fair! You said I could have a pet, but then you get all excited when I try to bring one home.”
“It was a lynx, Wilson. A wild animal. He has to hunt for food. When he grows up, he doesn’t know that you’re not his supper.”
“I could train him. He likes me a lot! When he grows up, he won’t be mean, honest. I’ll teach him to be nice!”
“You can’t keep him.”
“Well, feathers,” Wilson said disgustedly.
Patience gasped. “Wilson!”
“What?”
“Where have you heard such language!”
Wilson peered up at her. “You say feathers all the time.”
“Well, don’t say it again. And while we’re on the subject, young man, your attitude is terrible lately!”
“Butch says worse things. He says really bad words when he throws my sandwich down the privy. He says, ‘Say good-bye to your behind because it’s going down the privy next’!”
“Wilson! Stop that this instant!”
“Privy is bad too? Nothing suits you lately!”
Patience started off in a mad huff toward the door. “Get into the house. I’m washing your mouth out with soap.”
“Soap!” Wilson wailed.
“Yes, soap!”
“I won’t say feathers again, I promise!”
“I know you won’t, young man!”
Wilson whooped and kicked and yelled when she caught him by the ear and marched him straight into the dugout.
Feathers, indeed!
They were sitting at the supper table the following night when Wilson swore again. Patience’s fork clattered to her plate. She glared at the child, her pupils large.
Silence seized the room.
Jay lowered his head, staring at his plate.
“… please?” Wilson added when the air started to palpitate.
“What did I tell you about using that kind of language?”
Wilson tried to think. What language? He’d asked for the beans! “What’s wrong with saying—?”
“Wilson!”
“That’s what Butch calls them.”
Shoving back from the table, Patience motioned him to the sink.
“What? What’d I say now?” The boy’s pleading gaze shot to Jay.
Jay refused to look up.
Latching on to Wilson’s ear, Patience hauled him to the sink, verbally castigating Butch Miller every step of the way. “You’re turning into a common, foulmouthed hooligan!”
Patience opened the door and looked out to see the frost-frozen ground glittering under a full moon. Plagued by remorse, she stared at the small figure swathed in a heavy blanket sitting on the log, his revered pets gathered about him for support.
Emotion formed a tight knot in her throat. She was such a failure. “But, Lord, I’m trying to be a good influence,” she whispered, consumed by the need to talk to someone who understood. Anyone.
Maybe she was too young to raise Wilson properly. She didn’t know the first thing about nurturing a child; that was all too apparent. In the past, she had relied on Mary’s and Ruth’s insight; now there was no one but herself to lean on. And her wisdom was running on empty.
Settling a coat around her shoulders, she stepped outside the dugout and closed the door.
Moonlight lit her pathway as she strolled to the log. When she approached Wilson, she was met with a frostier reception than the cool February night.
Undeterred, she sat down, nodding hello to the pets. A raccoon stared back with inquisitive eyes.
One by one she acknowledged the other animals’ presence. “Hello, Edgar, Pudding, Jellybean, and of course a good evening to you, Selmore.” She sat for a moment, enjoying the night.
Wilson refused to look at her.
After a while, she reached over and pulled him onto her lap. He was getting awfully big for such an action, but he wasn’t too big yet.
He set up an indignant protest but she held him firmly to her until he gradually relaxed. They gazed at a sky ablaze with stars. Just the two of them, the way it had been for a while now.
“Bet you can’t find a big fat cow.”
Studying the sky, Wilson solemnly pointed to a cluster of odd-shaped clouds. The orphanage cook had played the nonsensical game with the girls from the time they were infants. The frivolous diversion never failed to win a smile or mend an unintentional slight.
“Bet you can’t find a skinny pig.”
Patience’s eyes searched the sky studiously. “How skinny?”
“Real skinny.”
After a while, she pointed to a configuration of stars just to the left of the Milky Way. “There, the scrawniest pig in the whole universe.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“Yes, it is.”
“Bet you can’t find a fish wearing a hat.”
“What kind of hat?”
“A miner’s hat.”
“Too easy.” She pointed out a clump of stars to the right of the moon. “Right there, plain as day. A silly-looking fish wearing an even sillier-looking miner’s hat.”
“The kind Moses wears?”
“Even sillier.”
Giggling, they played the game a while longer. The moon climbed higher in the winter sky.
Wilson snuggled deeper into her warmth. “I’m going to try and do better. I’ll never say feathers or that other word and beans again.” Sadness touched his voice now. “I miss the old prospector.”
Resting her chin on the top of his head, Patience hugged him tightly. “I know, Wilson. I miss my friends in Denver City too.”
“Sometimes it’s hard to remember what the prospector looked like,” he admitted. “I think real hard about him, but sometimes I just can’t see him.”
“Maybe if you didn’t think so hard, you might see him.”
“What did he look like, Patience?”
Patience recalled the old man. “Well, he was about medium height, sort of skinny, with white hair and a beard. His hands showed he’d worked outside.” She thought hard. “His nose was a little bit crooked.”
“I remember that,” Wilson exclaimed. “He broke it when he slipped and fell and hit his nose with his shovel.”
“He must have been a good man,” Patience said.
“Yes, he was,” Wilson agreed. “I don’t know what would have happened to me if he hadn’t taken me in. I was so scared when he died, but then you came and it was all right again.”
“God sent me, Wilson. He knew we needed each other.”
“He always knows, doesn’t he, P?”
“Yes, Wilson, God always knows.”
They sat for a moment, recalling happier times.
“Wilson, I’m sorry I’ve been so hard on you lately.”
He sighed. “I don’t mean to say bad things.”
“I know you don’t. You know the Good Book tells us not to take the Lord’s name in vain.”
“Feathers is taking the Lord’s name in vain?”
“No, but it is a mild form of cursing, and we shouldn’t do it. I know I’m guilty of saying feathers myself when it would be better to just say yes or no. I think we’ll both have to work on watching our language more carefully.”
Wilson was immediately repentant. “I’m sorry. Butch says bad words all the time.”
“Well, maybe no one has told Butch that he shouldn’t. The Lord says we are in the world but not of it, and that means we are to be especially aware of what we say and do.”
“But s
ometimes we mess up, huh, P?”
“Many, many times, but that should only make us try harder to be the very best that we can be.”
Wilson thought about that for a while. “Jay messes up sometimes.”
“Yes,” Patience whispered conspiratorially. “Sometimes he does. Real bad.”
“But he’s getting better. He’s nicer now than he used to be; why, he even shaved off his beard so’s he wouldn’t get snot in it anymore.”
“Wilson, there you go again. Your language is slipping.”
“Well, that’s what he said.”
She laughed, hugging him. “Well, I agree he is getting much better than when we first saw him at the land office.”
“You knew him before, huh?”
“Just barely.” Patience knew of him—had seen the handsome sheriff in Denver City a few times, even tangled with him on occasion, but he’d always kept to himself.
“Maybe he just needs someone to take care of him, huh?”
“Yes,” she said softly. “Maybe he does.”
“He’s a real good worker.”
She felt good about the work even though Jay contended mining was a waste of time. Any day now they would hit pay dirt, and then he’d know he’d been wrong. She shivered, thinking about the looks on the other girls’ faces when she handed them each a sack of gold. She felt encouraged at the rate of progress. And there hadn’t been a breath of whisper about any ghosts. She had proven that the rumors were just silly superstition that had abounded for over thirty years.
“Very good worker,” she admitted. “We’re lucky to have Jay helping us.”
“Why doesn’t he like to go into the mine?”
“Because he has something called claustrophobia, which means he’s uncomfortable in closed places.”
Neither spoke for a moment.
“How ’bout we ask him to marry us?” Wilson suggested.
Patience blinked. “Marry us?”
“Yeah. You like Jay, don’t you?”
“Yes,” she admitted. “I like him a lot.” She liked him more than a lot, and every day the attraction grew. But he didn’t seem to notice that she existed except for the day he had bandaged her blistered hands. At times he seemed almost afraid of her—afraid to look at her or talk to her.
“Well, I think he likes you too, so why don’t we just keep him? He doesn’t have a home, except that old deserted miner’s shack. I bet he’d like for us to marry him.”
“Well, I’d like to think he’d like that, but I don’t think he would.”
“Why not?”
“I think he’s used to living alone. I think he likes it better that way.”
“Want me to ask him if he likes us or not?”
“No! Under no circumstances are you to ask him that, Wilson.”
“Why not? He always answers whatever I ask him. He’s real good about that.” His face brightened. “I’ll even ask him if he wants to marry us, how about that?”
Scooping him off her lap, she hastily stood up. “It’s late. You need to be in bed.”
She helped him gather his pets, and together they herded the animals back to the dugout.
Ask Jay to marry them. Patience blanched at the thought—but she couldn’t say the idea was entirely objectionable.
Jay had left to take the shady ladies home, and Patience was surveying the plot where she planned to plant a garden come spring, poking at the frozen ground with an old hoe she’d found. Produce she could raise would help with expenses and be better than anything available in Fiddle Creek. And she wanted a supply of stuff for the root cellar. Maybe a good variety of root vegetables. Like Wilson, she wasn’t all that fond of turnips, but they beat nothing. Squash, onions, carrots, potatoes, even late cabbage would keep for some time. A well-stocked root cellar was like money in the bank.
Wilson came running. “P! Those men are back.”
She turned around in time to see Red and Luther approaching. She waited, gripping the hoe in front of her like a gun. “What do you want?”
“Now, is that any way to treat company?” Red asked. “We might get the idea you’re not glad to see us.” He winked at Luther.
Luther moved a little closer. “Where’s Jay Longer?”
“I don’t know where he is.” Which was the truth. He was somewhere between here and wherever he left the shady ladies, but she had no way of knowing where, and she had no intention of telling these thugs anything.
“Don’t give me that,” Red snarled. “You know where he is, all right, and you’re going to tell us.”
Patience noticed Wilson approaching with his most recent pet in his arms. A magnificent black-backed rooster with golden head and neck feathers and a tail of rich bronze. His large comb was a deep scarlet.
The men ignored the boy, concentrating their attention on Patience. Red spat a stream of amber juice, which missed her foot by two inches. “Stop giving us the runaround. We’re here to see Longer. If you tell us where he is, you won’t get hurt.”
“You’re threatening me?” Patience didn’t try to keep the scorn out of her voice. “I have nothing to say to you.”
“All right,” Luther said. “You had your chance. What happens next is your own fault.”
When he took two steps toward her, she jabbed the hoe handle hard into his midsection. He bent double, holding his stomach, and she slapped him across the back with the wooden handle.
Wilson flung the squawking, scratching rooster straight at Red’s head. The man tried to ward off the angry bird, which only infuriated it more. Luther, still doubled over, tried to scurry toward the trailhead, with Patience behind him, whacking him across the seat of the pants with every step. The rooster flogged Red, jumping high in an attempt to spur him. The two men fled down the trail with Wilson hurling pinecones after them.
The rooster strutted back, crowing lustily. Patience held out her hand to Wilson. “Shake, partner.”
Wilson placed his hand in hers. “We make a good team, don’t you think?”
“A very good team.”
“Do you think they’ll come back?”
“I doubt it. Their kind only fight people they think can’t fight back. They got more than they anticipated here.”
And if they did come back, she would be ready for them.
Patience hefted the kettle of hot water and added it to the wash pan. She was still trembling inside from the unpleasant encounter, but she had to wash her hair. The cloud of brunette locks now fell below her waist in heavy waves. It had been over a week since the last good scrubbing, and if she hurried, she would have time to wash it before Jay got back for supper. The dirt kicked up by the mine kept her constantly scratching her scalp. Colorado in winter wasn’t the ideal time for hair washing, but she couldn’t stand it any longer. Occasionally Missouri would have a nice spell during the winter, and that’s when the girls really bathed and groomed themselves. Otherwise, they washed from a pan of hot water and simply brushed dust out of their hair.
She worked up a good lather, then rinsed it well, her mind still troubled by the two strangers. What had those two men wanted with Jay? It could be for no good—that was certain. She would die before she’d let them know that Sheriff Longer was here. Blinded by soap and water, she groped for a towel. She thought she had placed one within easy reach before starting the worrisome project.
Someone placed the towel in her hand, and she dried her face. “Thanks, Wilson.”
“I’m not Wilson.”
She lowered the towel to see Jay grinning at her mischievously. “Oh, I thought you were taking the shady ladies home.”
“I did. I’m back.”
“Yes, I see.” She toweled her hair, thinking how awful she must look with her hair wet and hanging down her back. Taking a seat in front of the fire, she began to brush the tangles out with long flowing strokes. Jay watched, his intense blue eyes centered on her.
“Did the work go well today?”
“For a change. No problems so far
.”
“Find any gold?” She fell back on the old joke.
“As a matter of fact, we did find a small vein.”
“Really?” She stopped brushing in her excitement. “That’s good, isn’t it?”
“As far as it goes. Big enough to keep us going for a while, but not good enough to help much.”
“But it’s a start.” She refused to be disillusioned.
He didn’t answer and she searched for a new topic of conversation.
“Your hair is pretty hanging loose like that.”
She looked at him in surprise. “You think so?”
“Yeah. Bible says a woman’s hair is her crowning glory. Not hard to understand when you see it hanging down like a waterfall. Been a long time since I’ve seen a woman dry her hair.”
She’d heard rumors that the sheriff had once been married, so she figured he was talking about his wife. For a moment she was disappointed, but then she realized she wouldn’t want him to forget the woman he had loved. A man like Jay Longer had room in his heart to love again. Her brush strokes became more sensuous as she relaxed in the warmth of the fire and the inner glow caused by the tender expression in his eyes.
“Do you ever miss Denver City?” he asked.
“No. I miss Mary and Harper and Lily, but I don’t miss the city. I’ve learned to love the solitude of these mountains. I’d hate to have to move back to town.”
“Me too.” He leaned back, staring lazily at the fire. “I used to hate it here, too different from Phoenix. But now I’ve changed my mind. I’d like to build a cabin in this spot and sit and enjoy the scenery until I’m too old to see any more. It would be hard to live any place else, but few women would want that kind of life, I guess.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” she said. “I guess it would depend on the woman.
He leaned forward, “What about you, Patience? Are you the kind of woman who’d prefer a cabin to a mansion? What about that gold we’re looking for?”
“That gold isn’t just for me. It’s for the people I care about. I want to make life better for them. I’m not a mansion person, Jay. I’ve never had a real home, so this dugout is paradise to me.” She could see in his eyes that he wanted to say something, but the door burst open, and he jerked back in his chair.
Patience Page 14
