He smiled. “Don’t worry about it.”
She watched as he hobbled off. At least his leg was in a cast, so maybe he wouldn’t always be that way. Still, her heart went out to the poor man. She’d like to know how he broke it, but he obviously had his pride, so she’d better not ask.
* * * *
Hobbling back to the barn, Deke could feel her eyes drilling into his back. Damn. He’d seen some disagreeable sights in his life, but nothing worse than the pity in that woman’s eyes. What a pathetic sight she must think he was. A near-helpless cripple. Half a man. Damn these crutches. Damn the boat that sank, and damn Mitch, whose life he’d saved. No, not right. Mitch was a fine fellow whose life deserved to be spared. Only Fate was to blame. Fickle Fate, that traitorous harlot he should never have trusted in the first place. So calm down. Go milk old Bessie, a cow after his own heart. No sympathy there. Every time he milked her, she turned her head and gave him a look that said she’d give him a good kick if she had the chance.
* * * *
That night, thanks to Deke, Rose was pleased with the way dinner turned out. Drucilla had found a few potatoes in the cupboard, so the fried chicken, fresh string beans, and mashed potatoes made up a real feast, especially good after the monotonous diet they’d endured for five months on the trail. The whole family gathered at the table in the dining room. Even Coralee had come down, more quiet than Rose had ever seen her, her strained face still white from shock. Raymond looked lost. Ben seemed greyer somehow. Before today, he’d always stood straight as a rail, but now he was walking with a slow step, his shoulders hunched over. At first the family ate in gloomy silence, but soon they began to speculate on what had happened to Emmet. He fought a duel? Unbelievable. Whoever heard of such a thing? And who was Mason Talbot, the man who had killed him? Ben clenched his jaw in righteous indignation. Tomorrow he would go into town. Talk to the sheriff. Find out why the man who killed his son hadn’t been arrested. Toward the end of the meal, Ben stood up, pushed his chair back, and walked to the cook’s room that opened directly off the kitchen, the room where Lucy had taken her nap. After a quick look inside, he gave a nod of satisfaction and came back to the table. “Here’s what we’ll do about the bedrooms,” he announced. “Upstairs, Coralee and I will of course have the largest room. Raymond gets the middle, and Drucilla, you get the one on the end.”
A numbness started down Rose’s spine. “What about Lucy and me? Where are we going to sleep?”
The slightly annoyed look her father-in-law sent her clearly indicated she should already know. “In that room off the kitchen, of course. It’s small but adequate.”
Coralee spoke up. “That will work out perfectly since we won’t be hiring another cook anytime soon. Think how handy this will be for you, Rose. You’ll be working in the kitchen a lot, and this way you’ll be real close.”
The servant’s room? Is that how she stood? What a slap in the face to be told she was the least important member of the family. She had to admit there were only so many bedrooms upstairs, but why hadn’t Ben put Raymond in the tiny room off the kitchen? His precious son didn’t give a fig where he slept as long as he could joke around and get his three meals a day. So galling! She burned with resentment and longed to speak up, but this was hardly the time for a big, ugly scene. She swallowed hard and managed to put an agreeable expression on her face. “I guess it will have to do.”
The second the words left her mouth, she felt sick inside. So this was how her life would be from now on. Emmet’s family would always be kind, but her place was at the bottom of the heap, the eternal chicken plucker, scrubber of floors, kitchen helper, all of it of under the direction of bossy Coralee.
Chapter 3
That night, Rose had a hard time sleeping in a bed barely wide enough for one, let alone two. Lucy’s constant shifting in itself would have kept her awake, but she probably wouldn’t have slept much anyway, what with the awful events of yesterday stabbing at her heart. She had thought she’d be cooking breakfast in the morning, but not long after the sun rose, she heard noises in the kitchen. She hurriedly dressed, stepped out of her tiny room, and found Coralee busily engaged in preparations for breakfast. She might have known her energetic mother-in-law wouldn’t be down for long. Her face looked pale and haggard, but she moved with her usual quick efficiency.
“Good morning, Rose.” Coralee nodded toward a bowlful of eggs. “See what the hired man brought? Have you met him? His name’s Deke. He talks funny, but he seems nice enough. I want you to go out to the wagons and bring in a bag of flour.” She shook her head with indignation. “I’d like to get my hands on that cook who ran off with the food. I’d surely give her a piece of my mind.”
“So would I.” Rose was pleased to see that despite her sorrow, Coralee was already back to her usual bossiness. Rose herself couldn’t shake off her own gloomy mood. For one thing, she couldn’t help her twinge of resentment when her mother-in-law didn’t ask but told her to get the flour. Funny, she hadn’t minded so much being ordered around before, but now she did. Maybe that was because she’d always assumed that someday soon she’d have a home of her own and be her own boss. Now she looked into an empty future in which she’d always have someone ordering her around. Of course, she could always get married again, but what was the point? Why marry a man she didn’t love? She’d be trading one kitchen for another, and throw in those miserable nights when she had to do that before she went to sleep. Even her one marriage had been foolish, but at the time, what choice did she have? When her mother fell ill from a stomach tumor, and her father’s heart began to fail, they begged her to marry Emmet. “For our peace of mind,” they said, so they’d know she’d have someone to care for her after they’d gone. She liked Emmet well enough. He was an old family friend, so of course she complied.
Maybe she’d fall in love again. Wildly, completely in love, but the chance she’d find another Anthony was next to none. And why would she want to? Anthony Parks. Even now, she got a flutter in her stomach just thinking about the irresistible first mate of the steamboat New Orleans, who spent an occasional night at the Birchwood Inn. What a romantic figure he cut in his uniform. From the start, his teasing eyes and roguish smile easily captured her sixteen-year-old heart. And when he invited her to his room that night… Oh God, how wonderful. Never had she felt that way again, certainly not with clumsy, uncaring Emmet. After that glorious night, Anthony promised he’d come back, but as the days went by, and he never returned, she finally realized he never would. Concealing her broken heart was the hardest thing she ever did, but of course she had to. Her parents must never find out. Thank heavens, they never did. She reached to touch the gold locket at her throat, as she had done countless times before. Anthony had given it to her. A lock of his golden hair lay coiled inside. “Wear this so you won’t forget me.” He’d pressed it into her hand, his eyes alight with love and future promises.
But enough. Anthony was a long time ago and maybe someday she’d stop thinking about him. Right now breakfast came first, and she’d better go get the flour.
Outside, as she approached the wagons, she saw Deke in the chicken yard. Clucking chickens surrounded him as he reached in a canvas bag and cast seed in a wide swath. “Good morning,” he called, a pleasant smile on his face.
“Good morning, and thanks for the eggs.”
“How are you feeling?”
Ha! Ordinarily, she’d answer fine, but she didn’t have the heart to lie. “Not so good.”
“Do you have a minute?”
“Of course.” She waited while he finished feeding the chickens. When he left the coop, carefully closing the gate behind him, he led her to the two-story tank house that sat close by and opened the door to the lower floor. Several large barrels, all fitted with lids, filled the small room inside. As she followed, he called, “Did you ever run your hands through a barrel of chicken feed?”
“Never. We always
bought our chickens at the market.”
Deke leaned his crutches against the wall. He removed a lid, reached deep in the barrel with both hands, and scooped them upwards. “Give it a try. I guarantee running your mitts through a barrel of chicken feed will cure whatever ails you. Clears your head.” He gave her a teasing smile. “Brightens your day.”
“Really?” She plunged both hands into the barrel and slowly brought them out, instantly loving the velvety feel of the seed running through her fingers. How delightful. She’d never felt anything quite like it. “I believe you’re right.” She dipped them again. “The perfect cure for what ails me.” Actually she did feel better, although it wasn’t the feel of the chicken feed that lifted her spirits as much as it was Deke, his friendly smile and the playful humor in his eyes.
“Come try it any time. The door’s not locked.” Deke took up his crutches again.
She couldn’t resist asking, “You won’t always need those crutches, will you?”
His face went grim. For one revealing moment, a raw bitterness glittered in his grey eyes. “I hope to God I won’t.”
Up to now, she’d considered Deke to be a lot like Raymond, pleasant and likeable but without much depth. She’d been mistaken. There was more to him than she’d thought. What was Deke like beneath all that amiability? She’d like to ask more questions, but common sense told her she’d better not. She said goodbye and thanked him, got the bag of flour from the wagon, and returned to the house.
After breakfast, everyone gathered at Emmet’s grave for what Ben called their own private family service. Bible in hand, Ben read from the scriptures. After that, each family member spoke up with some fond remembrance. At the end, they bowed their heads as Ben said a final prayer. They were headed back to the house when a smart-looking curricle pulled by two matched greys came rolling at a brisk pace down the driveway. A middle-aged, nicely dressed gentleman with bushy white eyebrows and a neatly trimmed goatee pulled the carriage to a halt with a flourish. His gaze swept over them until he spotted Ben. “Are you Mr. Ben Peterson, Emmet’s father?”
“That I am, sir,” Ben responded. “And who might you be?”
The man alighted from the carriage, bowed, and with a grand gesture swept off his brushed beaver top hat. “Archer Field, at your service. I was your son’s solicitor. May I offer my condolences?” He shook his head regretfully. “Such a tragedy. It should never have happened. This is your family, Mr. Peterson?”
Ben nodded and introduced everyone. When he was done, he asked, “Perhaps you can help us, Mr. Field. We arrived only yesterday. We know my son was killed in what they said was a duel but have yet to learn the circumstances of his death.”
The solicitor nodded with understanding. “I’d be happy to give you what few details I possess. May I come in? There are certain matters I wish to discuss.”
Like everyone else, Rose was curious as she and the family trailed Ben back to the house. Matters to discuss? What was that about? After they’d settled in the parlor, and the solicitor was offered tea, which he graciously refused, Ben asked, “Can you tell us what happened? We have only the sketchiest account as to why my son is dead.”
“I’ll tell you as much as I know. Mason Talbot is one of Sacramento’s most prestigious citizens, well known with a spotless reputation. He’s one of the lucky ones who found gold early on and owns the Majestic Mine up near Hangtown. He lives in Sacramento now—owns the Egyptian Hotel as well as a brewery. Last Saturday night, he paid a visit to the River Queen, which of course you know was Emmet’s hotel. Mr. Talbot was playing at one of the faro tables when an altercation ensued.”
“Faro?” Ben sat back in surprise. “Emmet never mentioned there was gambling in his hotel. Are you sure?”
A smile ruffled the solicitor’s mouth. “Quite sure. Sacramento swarms with miners, especially on a Saturday night when they come down from the diggings with their pockets full. You’d be hard put to find any hotel around Front Street that doesn’t provide liquor, games of chance, and…ahem, other activities. As I was saying, Mr. Talbot was upset because he suspected the dealer, a man of dubious character by the name of Ned Barrow, was cheating. Which”—he arched a cynical eyebrow—“he probably was. That’s when Emmet stepped in. Instead of soothing the waters, however, he made matters worse by defending his employee. Talbot grew extremely angry. He informed your son that among other things, he was no better than a thief. From what I understand, he made other scurrilous accusations as well. Emmet, who as you know was a bit hot-headed, got red in the face and highly insulted. That’s when he challenged Talbot to a duel.”
“It’s not possible.” Coralee shook her head in disbelief. “My son would never do such a thing.”
Sitting next to his wife on the horsehair couch, Ben gently took her hand. “That’s not so, my dear. As you well know, Emmet had a problem with his temper all his life.”
Rose silently agreed. Although her husband had always been a kind man, occasionally his temper got the better of him, and he started yelling. Nothing physical, though, and his fits of outrage never lasted long.
The solicitor brushed an unseen piece of lint from his paisley silk vest. “That’s all I can tell you. I wasn’t present at the duel itself, and for good reason. For one thing, duels are a highly illegal activity. Even attending a duel is against the law. For another, I had no interest in seeing two men using weapons to settle their differences. The height of foolishness, if you ask me. At one point, Emmet asked me to be his second, but I refused.”
Rose spoke up. “What do you mean by a ‘second’?”
Mr. Field wrinkled his nose with distaste. “A duel is a lot more than two men trying to kill each other. There’s protocol to be observed. From what I understand, a second is generally a friend who’s chosen by the aggrieved party to conduct the rules and protocol of the duel. He attempts to resolve the dispute upon terms acceptable to both parties. Should this fail, he arranges and oversees the process of the encounter. Be that as it may, it was a bad business all the way around, and I wanted no part of it.”
“So who was Emmet’s second?” Ben asked.
“Last I heard, he’d asked an Australian by the name of Decatur Fleming. I believe he worked for Emmet. Why he’d hire an Australian, I don’t know. Most of them are convicts, a scurrilous lot, the bunch of them, and not to be trusted. If he’s still working here, Mr. Peterson, I’d get rid of him.”
So Deke was a convict? And Emmet’s second in his fatal duel? Rose hoped she managed to keep her shock from showing on her face as Ben nodded, looking as if he agreed, and continued on. “So what else can you tell me?”
“That’s about all. As I said, I did not attend the duel, so I can’t give you any details, other than Mason Talbot shot and killed Emmet Peterson.”
Ben took a moment to consider the solicitor’s words. With what appeared to be a decided effort, he took a deep breath and continued on. “You said you had certain matters to discuss, sir?”
Archer Field looked relieved, as if he welcomed the change of subject. “I’m a sensitive man, Mr. Peterson. I have no wish to intrude on this family’s grief. However, a client of mine has made an offer, and I’m duty bound to present it.”
“And what offer is that?”
“Being your deceased son’s closest male relative, you have inherited the River Queen. My client would like to buy it and will pay you twenty-one thousand dollars. That’s a price which frankly I advised him was outlandishly high, but he insists. I give you my word, you’ll never find a better offer than this one.”
“And who is making this offer?”
“Mr. Mason Talbot.”
Amid shocked gasps, Ben asked, “The man who killed my son?”
“The very one.” If he’d been asked the time of day, the solicitor couldn’t have appeared less concerned. “I’m aware how you must feel, but I must be blunt. Talbot wasn’t the ag
gressor in this…uh, most unfortunate situation. Emmet was the aggressor. It was he who made the challenge. You can talk to the sheriff if you like, but it’s highly unlikely Talbot will even be investigated, let alone arrested. The fact is, duels may be illegal, but if a man of integrity is challenged to one, he must accept. It’s a matter of honor. To tell the truth, no one blames Mr. Talbot.” He rose from his seat. “I shall intrude no further. Think about it, Mr. Peterson. You can easily find my office on J Street. Come in any time. We’ll discuss the offer and see if we can come to terms.”
After the solicitor left, everyone was full of questions, but Ben remained grim and silent. Rose had no idea whether or not her father-in-law was considering Talbot’s offer until he announced he would go to town this very afternoon. Not only were provisions needed, he wanted to see the hotel.
“Don’t you dare leave us home,” Coralee told him. “We’ll all go. Does this mean you might sell?”
“I leave all options open.”
* * * *
Although Emmet had left a two-passenger buggy and a large, four-wheeled coach sitting in the stable, that afternoon, Ben and Raymond hitched the oxen to one of their wagons. They’d be hauling back a large amount of groceries and supplies and needed the room. Sitting in the wagon, Rose looked for Deke as they left the yard but saw no sign of him. Had he really been Emmet’s second for the duel? If so, why hadn’t he mentioned it? Ever since Archer Field’s hostile remarks about Australians, she’d been wondering what Ben would do. Somehow she couldn’t believe a congenial, easygoing man like Deke could be a criminal, but if Ben thought so, the hired man would be gone in an instant. She hoped not but must wait and see.
Once in town, Ben told the family their first stop would be the River Queen. After asking directions of a passerby, he found it was located near the Sacramento River on J Street. Driving along Front Street, they were met by a growing crowd consisting mostly of gamblers and revelers, some of them obviously none too sober. Hotels and saloons crowded every block, doors invitingly open, loud music blasting from within. Some saloons were nothing more than large tents. Others seemed of a flimsy construction, only one story high. Only a few were more solidly built of brick and more than one story. When Ben turned up J Street and pulled the wagon to a halt in front of the River Queen, Rose saw it was one of the better built hotels: three stories high, made of brick, with a large statue of a gold miner guarding the entrance. Just then, the double doors swung open and two men engaged in fisticuffs came tumbling through. A small crowd followed, egging them on with raucous voices laced with curses. “You all stay here,” Ben told the family.
River Queen Rose Page 3
