Golden Dawn

by Hake, Cathy Marie

  “You’d have to fight an army of mosquitoes to get close enough to make good on that threat.” He batted away a buzz-ing insect.

  “They are thicker this year.” Meredith readjusted a strap on the knapsack she wore. “Hello! We’re back!”

  “It’s about time.” Old Abrams popped into view. “Rafferty over there’s been holdin’ off on supper until you took a mind to show up. I’m about to suffer a sinking spell from hunger.”

  “We can’t have that!”

  Abrams waited until they came abreast of him. He lowered his voice and leaned closer. “One of you better talk sense into Ian Rafferty. He’s whilin’ away his time with foolish pursuits. At this rate, come spring of next year, he won’t have more’n a pinch of gold dust. He’ll have to slink back home with his tail betwixt his legs ’cuz he can’t afford grub for the next year.”

  “He’s a grown man,” Tucker grumbled. “He can do what he likes.”

  “Once you see what he’s been up to, you’ll think nutty old Clemment’s downright sane by comparison.”

  The man on the other side of Ian’s claim displayed a wide array of peculiarities. Meredith couldn’t imagine what Ian could possibly do to earn such a comparison. Instead of saying anything, she headed for the bridge. Knowing she’d reach the other side of the roiling river without any effort convinced her Ian Rafferty was clever, not crazy.

  “Welcome back!” Ian walked over and immediately took the knapsack off her back.

  “Careful! I have eggs in the top.”

  Ian inclined his head to acknowledge her warning. “I’ll help Tucker unload everything. Abrams, why don’t you dish up supper?”

  Weary as she felt, Meredith stepped into her cabin and almost wept with gratitude. Ian had started a fire so the house would be warm—but better still, he’d filled the galvanized tub with water and left it on the hearth. She’d just wash her hands and face now, but as soon as she finished supper, she’d come and spoil herself with a good, long soak.

  “Did Bess behave herself?”

  “Never thought I’d like a mule,” Tucker confessed, “but she was a godsend.”

  The men dropped off the knapsacks and went back outside to unload the provisions. It would take at least two more trips to carry in everything they’d need for the next winter—but each bag of beans and every pound of flour testified to God’s faithfulness.

  “Sis,” Tucker said as he plopped down the last parcel, “don’t bother arranging everything. I’m starving, and if we don’t hurry over, Abrams is going to drink all of the coffee.”

  Meredith laughed. “Is it hunger or coffee that’s driving you?”

  “Both.”

  Moments later, Meredith knocked on Ian’s door. He walked up from behind her. “Go on in. My home’s always open to you.”

  She and Tucker went inside. Four crates surrounded a cot. What had once been the base of a sled lay across the cot, turning it into a table.

  Abrams thumped the speckled coffeepot in the center. “Chow’s on. Grace better be short, ’cuz I’ve waited to eat longer than a man ought to.”

  Too hungry and tired to be sociable, she and Tucker sank onto the crates. They listened as Ian thanked the Lord for granting them traveling mercies and providing for the meal, then started eating. Very little conversation flowed. Once the meal ended and the coffeepot was emptied, Ian looked at Abrams. “Ready?”

  “Sure.” Abrams rose from the table and carried the lamp out the door, leaving them with the light of a single candle.

  Ian waited a moment, then urged, “Turn around.”

  Her skirts tangled and snagged on the rough crate. Meredith carefully disentangled herself and pivoted. Her breath caught in her throat.

  ❧

  “It’s beautiful!”

  The lamp Abrams held outside filtered through an assort-ment of bottles.

  “That,” Tucker’s tone echoed with wry disbelief, “is un-doubtedly the strangest window I’ve ever seen.”

  “Stained glass. You made a stained-glass window.” Meredith could scarcely speak in more than a reverent whisper. She walked toward it. Her forefinger hovering a mere inch above the open bottles’ mouths, she traced the dark cross that deep brown bottles formed in the center.

  “Well?” Abrams hollered. “Do they like it?”

  “My sister is captivated.” Tucker started talking to Ian about heat loss.

  Ian answered back about thick mortar between the bottles and the air trapped inside them.

  The precise content of their conversation didn’t matter to Meredith. Her cabin had one window just large enough for them to squeeze out of in case of a fire or something blocking the door. All winter long, shutters and a tightly nailed length of leather closed off that window. The notion of having a sliver of light or color enthralled her.

  The light behind the window faded. Abrams stomped back in. “It’s purdier from the outside. Leastways, it is after dark. Makes me regret not keeping them bottles for myself.”

  Meredith took in the pattern of color Ian used: green, blue, and brown bottles alternated around the outside, amber ones formed the next row all the way around, then the entire center was clear with the exception of rectangular and square brown bottles that formed the cross. “Just imagine waking to this.”

  “Had I known how much you’d like it, I would have made mine half that size so you could have one, too.” Ian motioned toward a few odd bottles lined up on the floor directly beneath the window. “You’re welcome to have those as a start.”

  Meredith stooped down and frowned. “Oh, Mr. Abrams. I recognize this bottle. It’s Positive Rheumatic Cure. My mother, bless her soul, used it.”

  “Folks don’t know how bad the rheumatiz gets. ’Specially in the winter. I’m gonna have to load up on the cure. Ran out last month.”

  “We would have brought back a bottle for you.”

  The old man patted her cheek. “Darlin’, you put me in mind of my daughter. Violet’s got that same streak of kindness.”

  “You have a daughter?” Tucker blurted out.

  “Yup. I’m gonna go back home to her soon as I strike it rich.” He shuffled uncomfortably. “Well, I’m going on over to my cabin now.”

  “Tomorrow is Sunday.” Ian leaned against the wall right next to the window. “Will you be worshipping with us?”

  “And having Sunday supper?” Meredith tacked on.

  “Nah. Gotta make up for lost time.”

  Ian and Tucker didn’t say anything, but they each took an oil lamp and stood by the riverbank as Abrams crossed the bridge. They knew he couldn’t swim and was too proud to confess he was afraid of falling in. Meredith watched as they stood like sentinels, keeping watch—two strong men who wouldn’t have hesitated a heartbeat about jumping into the frigid, fast-moving current to rescue a peculiar, grumpy old man. The sight didn’t frighten her in the least. She had every confidence in them and believed that God would let no ill befall them.

  Waves of weariness washed over her as the men turned and approached her. Meredith didn’t want to confess how exhausted she’d grown from the muddy ten-mile trek from town. Instead, she went back into Ian’s cabin and started clearing the table.

  “Leave that,” he ordered. “I have one last thing to show you ere you go home.”

  Meredith and Tucker accompanied him around the cabin, past the plowed field, and toward the stand of trees. She kept looking down, trying to avoid tripping over a stone or a rut.

  “Well?” Ian sounded jubilant. “What do you think?”

  Tucker started laughing.

  Delighted, Meredith looked at her twin. Twice now, Ian had gotten him to laugh. Tucker reached over and turned her head to the side so she could see what tickled him.

  Ian swept his hand in a gesture that would do a snake-oil charlatan proud. “Only the best for those who want the comforts of home.”

  Meredith’s jaw dropped.

  Ten

  Meredith slipped from the outhouse early the n
ext morning, unsure whether to be sheepish or delighted. A lady didn’t dis-cuss such topics, but she couldn’t help wanting to thank Ian again. And again. And again.

  Just to keep from flinging her arms around Ian in thanks last night, she’d clung to Tucker’s arm and babbled in delight. She’d probably made a complete fool of herself, but Ian was far too polite to say so. She’d finally stammered something and run back home to soak in the bath. She didn’t take as long as she wanted to. Tucker had to be tired, too, and she wanted him to enjoy hot water. She’d no more than lain down when she heard him come into the cabin. A mere breath later, she’d fallen fast asleep.

  “Ian wants to know if you want to worship here or over at his place.”

  “Do you mind if it’s at his place? The light shining through that window would be perfect.”

  “Okay. Ian invited Abrams again, but that ornery old man won’t come. I’m going to go see if Mr. Clemment is interested.”

  Tucker coaxed Mr. Clemment to come over and worship with them. Mr. Clemment arrived in overalls that he wore backwards. He looked slightly confused and grew wary as Tucker introduced him to Ian.

  Ian slowly extended his right hand. “I’m glad to meet the neighbor on the other side of that fine bramble that separates our claims.”

  “God never made a better bramble!” Suddenly, Mr. Clemment warmed up to Ian and started telling him all of the varieties of birds that would peck the berries.

  Ian listened and asked a few questions. Treating the odd man with respect, he managed to steer him into the house and seated him beside Meredith. “ ’Tis grand to have neighbors worship together, isn’t it?”

  Meredith patted Mr. Clemment’s hand. “We’re glad you came.”

  Ian reached over and took his Bible from the table. Meredith watched her twin. When they’d gone to the mer-cantile, she’d seen Tucker longingly running his fingers over the cover of a Bible. He’d not picked it up, though. Since Ian shared his Bible, they could do without buying one for themselves. Even though that was the case, Meredith knew her brother missed having a complete Bible every bit as much as she did.

  “Tucker, here.” Ian handed his Bible to Tucker. “Why don’t you read to us from the Word of God today?”

  Tucker accepted the Bible, sat down, and reverently rested his hand atop the leather cover for a long moment before opening the pages.

  Meredith looked from her brother’s hands to Ian as he sat on a crate. Ian’s kindness and generosity and Tucker’s reverence stirred her heart.

  After Tucker read from the Psalms, each of them took turns speaking of the Lord’s goodness. Ian ended with a prayer. Although an altogether simple service, observing the Lord’s Day still felt good.

  Tired as she’d been from travel, Meredith decided beans would make for an easy and filling meal—especially since she had eggs. One precious egg allowed her to make a pan of cornbread.

  After Sunday supper, Mr. Clemment paced around the garden plot. “I like sunflower seeds. Are you planting sunflowers?”

  “No, they don’t have sufficient season to grow up here.” Ian proceeded to explain the crops they planned.

  “Oh!” Meredith perked up. “Socks is going to send to Sitka for free seeds for us. They ought to come in a week. The only seeds he had were for parsnips, so I took a packet.”

  “Been a long, long while since I had parsnip soup.” Mr. Clemment scratched his side. “Don’t suppose you’ve got a recipe for it.”

  “I do. Once we have a nice crop of parsnips, I’ll be sure to make soup for Sunday supper especially for you.”

  “Hold on, Sis.” Tucker gave her a warning look. “You can’t go counting your chickens before they hatch.”

  “Chickens are fine birds,” Clemment said.

  Meredith didn’t want to be rude, so she nodded acknowl-edgment to Mr. Clemment. “Tucker, we live by faith.”

  “Not by faith alone. You have to face facts, too. Life brings hardships and trials. No matter how hard you and Ian work in that garden, you can’t count on anything coming of it.”

  “Just like prospecting,” Clemment agreed. “You can work your fingers to the bone and hardly get a thing for all your efforts.”

  “Don’t be faulting the lass for her bright outlook. Naysayers never get anything started and done. Her cheerful attitude is a wondrous thing.” A slow smile tugged at the corner of Ian’s mouth. “I’m thinking your mother named you well. A merrier woman I’ll never meet.”

  “Mama called me Merry when I was small.”

  The smile broke across Ian’s face. “And with your leave, I’ll call you the same. ’Tis a fitting name indeed for you.”

  Delight rippled through her. “Please feel free to.”

  “Good. Merry you are, so ’tis Merry you’ll be.”

  ❧

  “Merry?”

  She ceased planting lettuce seeds, sat back on her heels, and faced Ian. “Yes?”

  “You’ve mentioned your mother a few times. Tucker said she’s passed on. What about your father?”

  She looked away and rasped, “He’s no longer with us.”

  “Ahh.” He stretched out the sound in such a way that it carried the flavor of sorrow, as well as understanding. “I apologize. I didn’t mean to add to your grief.”

  She bowed her head and covered the infinitesimal seeds with a fine layer of soil. The first batch of lettuce was starting to mature. By staggering the planting, they’d stretch the time they’d be able to enjoy the produce. Merry tried to concentrate on her task, but she worried the way her hand shook would tell Ian how much he’d rattled her composure.

  Why did I ever promise Tucker I wouldn’t tell anyone? Keeping the secret is so hard. I feel like I’m lying or dancing around the truth. Ian is such a good man, yet we’re repaying his generosity and kindness with deceit. Meredith swallowed to dislodge the thick ball in her throat, but it didn’t help.

  Silence hung between them. The song of birds didn’t begin to cover the awkwardness.

  “I won’t mention him again, Merry. I can see how much I’ve upset you, and I’m truly sorry.”

  Tears blurred her vision as guilt mounted. Unable to speak, Meredith merely nodded.

  Ian continued to work. The steady sound of his hoe made it easy for Meredith to know precisely where he was. He’d moved down that row and now came back toward her. Normally, they’d carry on a comfortable conversation while working in the garden. The strain of the silence pulled at her conscience. Bound by her promise to Tucker, she couldn’t say anything—but the topic weighed so heavily on her heart, nothing else came to mind.

  The sharp sound of a slap made her look up. Ian frowned while looking at his forearm. “I’ve seen hummingbirds smaller than the mosquitoes around here!”

  “Tucker says that Alaskan mosquitoes must not have heard the rule that everything is supposed to be bigger in Texas.”

  “I’m sure the onions in Texas are larger. The few that did grow certainly weren’t worth the effort.”

  “I’m not so sure about the parsnips, either. Mr. Clemment will be so disappointed if we don’t succeed with them.”

  He leaned on his hoe. “Do you think the parsnips are actu-ally normal in size? I’m thinking that the carrots, potatoes, and parsnips will be ordinary, but the long, long daylight hours are making things above the ground grow huge. Anything by comparison would look meager.”

  “I hadn’t thought about that.” She scanned the garden. Call-ing it a garden seemed ludicrous. Early on, they’d had to thin the vegetables. Instead of tossing aside anything, Ian decided it would be good stewardship to plow a few more rows and transplant anything they thinned. But he’d had to do a few more rows. . .and a few more again.

  Miners who’d paid Meredith to do their laundry and mending last year came by again. One look at the garden, and they’d eagerly bartered for vegetables. The funds from those first transactions paid for canning jars and more buttons.

  Meredith and Tucker had come to an agreem
ent: any of the money or goods she earned with laundry, sewing, and the garden would go toward their own needs. Tucker didn’t want any of that to go toward repaying everyone back in Texas. He, alone, would do that with whatever gold they mined.

  “Aha!”

  Ian’s sound made Meredith jump. She gave him a startled look.

  “You think my question holds a grain of truth. Much as I love potatoes—and what self-respecting Irishman wouldn’t?—’tis a crying shame that they don’t grow so big here. But I’m thinking we’ll have enough to get us through the winter. Don’t you?”

  She looked at that area of the patch. “I’m not so sure. . . not if I roast those two hares you snared today. Potatoes and carrots and roast. . .”

  Ian looked up at the sky, then heaved a sigh. “How am I to know when ’tis suppertime? The notion of living with the midnight sun sounded novel when first I came. But now I can’t sleep worth a hoot and don’t know when ’tis mealtime.”

  “Time doesn’t have much meaning up here. If you’re having trouble sleeping, you can hang something dark in front of the windows and by the door. That helps.”

  “I drove nails into the log directly above my window last night. Knotted the corners of a brown blanket ’round the nails.”

  “Good.”

  “Not so good. Just as I was finally falling asleep, one end slid off and pulled the other down with it. I gave up and put the blanket over my head—but then I could scarcely breathe and started roasting.”

  “Oh dear.”

  His mouth formed a self-deprecating smile. “I’d call myself a pathetic wretch, but I’d be lying. Just one look around, and I can see how blessed I am. I’ve a claim, a garden, and godly neighbors. What more could a man ask for?”

  For his godly neighbors to be forthright instead of putting up pretenses. The answer shot through her mind. Unable to face him any longer, Meredith rose to her feet and dusted off her hands as she walked to the water bucket. Sipping water from the dipper, she fought to regain her composure.

  “Hey!” A pair of men appeared on the edge of the woods. “Didn’t think it was possible a woman was round these parts, but Matthews said we’d find one here—and there you are!”