Golden Dawn

by Hake, Cathy Marie

  “Since you insist.” She rose with alacrity.

  “Go on ahead.” Abrams sounded downright jolly. “I’ll get the bread.”

  “I’ll tend to that.” Ian smiled. “Since her brother’s hands are full, I’ll help the lady with her cape.”

  Miss Smith nodded. “Then I’ll carry the bread.”

  Abrams made a disgruntled sound and trundled outside.

  Ian took Miss Smith’s cape from the peg by the door. “I hope you’ll leave some of the loaf in here so you can have it tomorrow morning.”

  “You won’t mind?”

  “Why would I?” He slid the russet wool over her shoulders. “You baked it.”

  “But it’s your flour.” She said that last word almost reverently.

  “No, it wasn’t.” He couldn’t help himself. He moved her thick, glossy brown braid. It felt every bit as soft as it looked. “Just as your brother shared the fish he caught and you shared your labor, I shared the flour.”

  “You bringin’ that bread out here?” Abrams hollered.

  Ian chuckled. “Now set aside some for yourselves before that ornery old man eats it all.”

  ❧

  Meredith sat outside by the fire. Smoke filtered up from it and through the fish Tucker had strung earlier in the day. That bounty, alone, already caused her to praise God for His provision today. The bread just proved how generous the Lord continued to be toward her and Tucker.

  “You gonna eat that bread, or are you just gonna stare at it?”

  “Of course she’s going to eat it,” Tucker half growled.

  Mr. Abrams stuck out his lower lip like a pouting toddler. “No need to get touchy. Just didn’t want good food to go to waste.”

  “It was good food.” Mr. Rafferty set his plate down on the rock beside him and nodded at her. “Miss Smith, you’re a grand cook.” After she murmured her thanks, Mr. Rafferty gestured toward the line of fish. “And, Tucker, you’re quite the fisherman. That’s an impressive day’s catch. I know for certain I’ll never come close to a haul like that.”

  Though she appreciated the compliment Mr. Rafferty paid to her cooking, Meredith especially appreciated how he praised her brother. Tucker enjoyed fishing and was proud of having provided well for their meal. Having someone recognize his contribution—that mattered.

  “I’m a miserable fisherman,” Mr. Rafferty continued. “But I do like to hunt. Once I erect a cabin, I’m planning to build a smokehouse.”

  “You handled that bow well today.” Tucker skidded the last bite of his bread over his plate, gathering the last little flakes of fish. “Even so, I’m glad to see you brought a firearm.”

  “I read a fair bit when I decided to come north. Judging from the landscape and region, I’m hoping to get grouse, pheasant, and rabbit. My bow will serve me well with those wee creatures. As for my rifle—one good-sized mountain sheep or caribou would certainly provide endless meals.”

  “No caribou here. No deer, either.” Abrams burped loudly. “You’d be smart to pan gold and pay for more supplies to see you through the winter. That canvas you brought—just double it over the lean-to, and you’ll be snug enough. You don’t have time to waste building a cabin, let alone a smokehouse. That plan’s pure foolishness.”

  Mr. Rafferty stared at the fire. Most men would have been insulted, but he didn’t react. After a moment’s silence, he asked, “Are you folks familiar with a man by the name of Wily?”

  “Yes,” Meredith said.

  “Who isn’t?” Abrams scowled. “Worthless waste of a man.”

  “Wily’s a good man,” Tucker disagreed. “Salt of the earth.”

  “Salt?” Abrams spat off to the side. “If that’s what you want, he’ll bring it. Won’t deliver what’s important, though.”

  Tucker shrugged. “A man has the right to run his own business. Wily’s reliable. If he agrees to ferry someone or deliver something, his word is his bond.”

  Relief radiated from their new neighbor. “Percy introduced me to him. After I learned that Percy had hedged regarding the shelter, I wondered if he and Wily were in cahoots. Wily’s to bring the remainder of my possessions in his boat.”

  “You’ve got more stuff a-comin’?” Abrams leaned forward. “Like what?”

  “Necessities.”

  Abrams slapped his knee. “Now that was downright smart of you. Wily wouldn’t pry. You said necessities, and he don’t think the way you and me do. He won’t guess what you got. I’m your neighbor. When—”

  “If you’re thinking I have spirits or tobacco coming, you’re mistaken. Neither appeals to me, and they’re certainly not essential.”

  While Abrams moaned and groaned, Tucker rose. “Speaking of necessities, we’d better string up the supplies you brought before we lose our light.”

  “Hold on a second.” Abrams looked like a drowning man grasping for even the smallest twig. “Ain’t you gonna brew us up some coffee now, Meredith? You always make coffee when you got guests.”

  “Which is why we ran out.” Tucker locked eyes with Mr. Rafferty. “Learn from our mistake. There’ll be no coffee tonight.”

  “Now why’d you hafta go ruin it?” Abrams trundled toward the rope. “No use me stickin’ round here any longer. Time’s better spent workin’ my claim.” Once he crabbed his way across the river, the old man untied the rope from his tree. The cold air carried his dark mutterings.

  As Mr. Rafferty pulled the rope over to his claim, Meredith gathered the dishes. The men sorted the supplies, and Meredith forced herself to wash the dishes. She oughtn’t bustle over and stick her nose in the new neighbor’s business. Though he seemed friendly enough, she didn’t want him to feel as if they were trying to get on his good side so he’d give them food.

  It didn’t take them long to suspend the food from a tree. Rafferty accompanied Tucker back to their fire. “Sis, Mr. Rafferty’s asked to sleep by the fire here tonight. He’ll add logs so the fish’ll smoke.”

  “Will you be warm enough?” As soon as she blurted out the question, Meredith regretted her haste. They didn’t have blankets to spare.

  “ ’Tis kind of you to ask, but I’ve warm blankets aplenty.” He set down the bundle he’d carried in his left arm and carefully propped his rifle so it pointed away from the cabin.

  The fire flickered again, and Meredith’s breath caught. Atop his dark wool blanket rested a brown leather book. “Is that a Bible?”

  “It is.” He smiled. “It’s a blessing to know I have believers for my new neighbors.”

  “Could you. . .would you. . .” Tears filled her eyes.

  Tucker wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. “Our Bible got wet. We tried to dry it, but pages started to mold. I cut the spine and salvaged half of it. I think my sister is asking if you’d mind reading something aloud.”

  “Not at all.” He picked up the Bible and held it out to her. “Why don’t you choose what you’d like? Tucker, you can read it to us.”

  She relished the weight of the whole Bible. How could something that felt so heavy make her heart feel so light?

  “What would you like, Sis?”

  A psalm? A passage of Exodus where the children of God were in the wilderness? Job, who suffered the unthinkable and turned to praise God? The choice overwhelmed her. “Anything. Anything at all.”

  Tucker let out a low, long rumble of laughter.

  In that moment, Meredith knew she’d never forget this moment or the neighbor God sent to make it happen. Mr. Rafferty hadn’t brought bread alone. He’d brought the Word of God, and he’d done the impossible. He’d broken a year and a half’s bleakness by making her brother laugh.

  Four

  Ian squatted by the fire and moved the speckled enamelware coffeepot. The brew would feel good going down after the cold night. Odd, how yesterday had been so bitterly cold, yet a warm wind replaced the frigid gusts today. All around him, patches of snow melted away, and the river widened as the frozen edges thawed.


  Through the night and even now, Ian kept the fire low—just enough to keep a nice, steady stream of blue smoke wending up to the fish.

  The cabin door opened. “Good morning!” Miss Smith sounded as cheery as a lark.

  “Morning.” Her brother sounded downright surly.

  “Top o’ the mornin’ to you both.” Ian grinned. He’d grown up with his father saying that phrase, and somehow it seemed right to use it now, himself.

  Tucker’s eyes widened. “Is that coffee?”

  “It is. You declared there’d be no coffee last night. I didn’t want to make a liar of you, so I waited ’til this morning to brew a pot. It should be ready any minute now. Go get your mugs.”

  “You’re not obliged to share,” Miss Smith murmured.

  “I’m happy to.”

  Tucker cleared his throat. “I’m a proud man. I’m glad you offered, because I might have sunk to begging for a sip if you hadn’t.”

  Ian finally stood. “If my sister were here, you might have to do just that. Fiona’s been known to drink an entire pot of coffee all on her own before breakfast ever reached the table.”

  “Smart gal.” Tucker nodded his approval.

  “You don’t know just how smart she is.” Ian stretched out the words with relish. “Whilst I gathered my supplies, she insisted upon me bringing another can of Arbuckle’s. Said it would keep me warm in the dead of winter.”

  “Arbuckle’s,” Tucker groaned.

  “His favorite.” Miss Smith laughed. “I’ll go fetch the mugs.”

  “Bowls and spoons, too,” Ian called out to her. “I’m not much of a cook, but oatmeal doesn’t take much attention.”

  While she disappeared into the cabin, Tucker shifted his weight and studied the toes of his boots. “We’re not in a position to return your—”

  “Seasoned. That’s what they called it.” Ian squatted, stirred the oatmeal, and repeated, “Seasoned. When the Colonists first came to the New World, someone who made it a whole year was called ‘seasoned.’ That’s what you are. There’s plenty I don’t know. If I ply you with coffee, I reckon it won’t seem so much like I’m pestering you with my questions.”

  Miss Smith reappeared. They said grace and breakfasted outside. Scents of smoke, pine, coffee, and fish mingled in the air. Casual conversation flowed. Miss Smith reached out and touched one of the fish that hung over the low fire. “In another hour or so, I’ll be able to store those away.”

  “I’ll catch more today.”

  She shook her finger at her brother. “Not until you start my gardening plot. You promised you’d hoe me one as soon as we got our first chinook.”

  “Chinook is an unseasonably warm wind,” Tucker explained. He turned back to his sister. “The growing season’s not long enough to make it worth your while.”

  Unable to bear the disappointment flickering across her face, Ian spoke up. “I brought seeds, myself.”

  Miss Smith’s jaw dropped. “You did?”

  Tucker gave him a wary look. “Most men wouldn’t bother. First and only thing they care about is getting gold.”

  “I’m not like most men.” Ian lifted the coffeepot and poured the last of its contents into Tucker’s cup. “Getting the gold is only part of my plan. But I came to succeed, not to plunder the land and run off. Having a solid roof over my head and food for my table—that will allow me to remain put and be a success in the long haul.”

  Tucker took a sip of coffee and said nothing.

  “You folks have been more than kind, but I don’t want to test your hospitality by making a mistake again about the property line. What landmarks did you and Percy establish?”

  “The pile of rocks right there”—Tucker nodded toward the riverbank, then tilted his head in the opposite direction—“to the red alders back there.”

  “Mr. Clemment holds the land on your opposite side.” Miss Smith stared into her mug. “There’s a bramble between your properties, and you’re best to leave it alone. He means no one any harm. He’s rather. . .eccentric.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” Ian surveyed the area and thought aloud. “There’s enough for my mule to forage for a while, but I won’t be able to keep her in feed all winter long. For a while, she’ll be useful, though. I can hitch her to pull the logs for my cabin. Until I fell the trees, she’s got nothing to do. Would you like to use her to start your garden?”

  “Nice offer.” Tucker sounded like a man doomed to a tedious chore. “But we don’t have a plow.”

  “Neither do I, but I have a plan.”

  About an hour later, Tucker looked over the odd apparatus they’d put together. “You know, this thing just might work, after all.”

  They’d taken the skids from the sled Bess had pulled the supplies on and used them along with a spade, a plank, wires, and leather straps to create a plow. “It’s a sorry-looking oddity, but it’ll work.” Ian jostled it. “Pretty sturdy, all things considered. We’ll hitch it up to Bess, and you can start that garden for your sister.”

  “Nope.” Tucker rested his hands on his hips. “You plow both gardens, and I’ll chop down trees. Believe me, I’m better with an ax than a plow.”

  Ian wagged his head from side to side. “Your plot is cleared; I need to clear stones. I—”

  “Under the best of circumstances with a normal plow, I’d make a fool of myself. In the time it would take me to plow the garden with this contraption, you could have done yours, ours, and more too boot. We’re simply trading skills.”

  “Tell you what: I’ll clear stones while you catch more fish. I’m not looking to put in a huge garden—just enough to get by. Then we can start in on that deal.”

  Tucker chewed the inside of his cheek and looked at their claims. “How much seed did you bring?” A minute later, he cupped his hands and called, “Sis?”

  Miss Smith came around the side of their cabin, her arms full of deadwood. “Yes?”

  “C’mon over here.” He cupped his chin in his hand and tapped his forefinger against his cheek as if he was pondering something perplexing.

  Ian threw back his head and laughed. When Tucker looked at him as if he’d lost his senses, he smirked. “You just made a big mistake.”

  ❧

  Meredith dropped the wood and walked toward the men. Tucker was giving her the sign. Her brother was going to make some kind of a deal, and he wanted her to hear the bargaining and give her opinion. She respected that about her brother: he included her in decisions and tried hard to be scrupulously fair to whomever he dealt with.

  “Sis, I think we need to come to an agreement with Ian. He brought enough seed to sow a good-sized garden, and he has his mule and this plow.”

  “A plow your brother helped construct.”

  Meredith looked at the strange creation. “That’s, uh. . .quite a plow, Mr. Rafferty.”

  An impish twinkle lit his blue eyes. “You might say that.”

  “I proposed that if Ian would plow your garden in addition to his own, I’d spend the morning felling trees for his cabin.”

  “No, no.” Mr. Rafferty started tapping his foot. “That’s not right. I’ll spend half the day clearing stones from the plot on my side. Yours is already clear.”

  “But you have the seeds. Sis, he’s got seeds for everything from beets to radishes.”

  “Wonderful!” She brightened at that news. They’d had so little variation in their diet that even the smallest change thrilled her. “I have beans and cabbage.”

  “What kind of beans might they be?”

  She smiled. “Green pod beans and yellow wax beans.”

  Tucker started pacing. “That’s nice, Sis. It’s a nice start. But it’s not much. He’s got everything. Carrots. Turnips. Table beets and lettuce and potatoes—and that’s just part of it.”

  Watching her brother left her feeling slightly dizzy, so Meredith focused back on Mr. Rafferty. “Carrots? Oh, they sound delicious! And beets—it’ll be so nice just to have color on our plates instead
of white and brown food. I do hope it doesn’t sound as if I’m complaining. Well, maybe I am, a little. But God’s provided for us. We’ve had enough to eat.”

  “We’ll plant plenty and store up sufficient for a long winter.”

  Tucker turned back around and headed toward them. “But your seeds and labor. Whatever is extra—”

  “We’ll sell or trade with our neighbors.”

  “That’s a wonderful plan, Mr. Rafferty.” Meredith started thinking of the things she’d put on the list of necessities. Maybe she could reduce some of the amounts if their garden grew bountifully.

  “Your garden. Your plow.” Tucker stepped closer to their new neighbor. “Your seeds. You—”

  “I,” Mr. Rafferty interrupted, “propose that we’ll all labor and share equally in the yield.”

  “But there are two of us,” Meredith pointed out. “We’ll eat more.”

  “And unless I miss my guess, Miss Smith, you’ll be far more efficient in making sure things are preserved.”

  Tucker didn’t stop pacing. He walked toward the riverbank and back, each time expounding on a concept or challenging Mr. Rafferty’s assertions and offers.

  Mr. Rafferty continued to interrupt him. Of course, he couldn’t stand still. That would have made it far too simple. He’d stoop and heft a rock, then pitch or carry it off a ways. With one man moving up and down while the other paced from side to side, Meredith found herself leaning on the crazy makeshift plow so she wouldn’t be so dizzy.

  “Well?” Tucker finally stopped.

  “Do you agree, Miss Smith?” Both men looked at her.

  “Let me get this straight.” She shook her head to clear away the confusion. “You’ll both build a smokehouse, which is to be spaced evenly between our homes. Since the fish are plentiful right now, you’ll use the logs from the lean-to so the smokehouse will be ready tomorrow when Tucker returns from fishing all day. While my brother fishes, Mr. Rafferty will plow a garden—a large garden which is now marked by the four boulders he’s laid out.”