Deke bought his passage to California. He’d go to what they called “the diggings,” take a look, and if he didn’t like what he saw, then he’d bloody well go home.
On a bright, sunny afternoon in June, eighty-one days out of Sidney, Australia, Deke and Mitch stood on the deck of the bark Elizabeth Archer along with a bunch of other gold-hunting Australians and cheered as the ship sailed through the Golden Gate into San Francisco Bay. Ahead, they saw a forest of masts, all from ships that had been abandoned, the crews having taken off for the gold fields. To the east, Deke saw what looked like a long, low bank of white clouds. He soon learned they weren’t clouds at all but the snow-covered Sierra Nevada Mountains, 150 miles away. “Looks like we’re not there yet,” he said. “It’ll take a while.”
Mitch shook his head. “Not so. From what I hear, we can sail across the bay and up a river that will take us all the way to Sacramento, so it shouldn’t be a problem.”
His friend couldn’t have been more wrong. In Deke’s worst nightmare, he could not have imagined how big a problem his journey to the gold fields would turn out to be. Both having arrived in California with substantial funds, he and Mitch purchased a longboat taken from an abandoned ship. They were joined by five fellow Australians they’d met on the Elizabeth Archer, each having offered to pay for their passage. After asking directions and checking maps, they started out, aiming their longboat across San Francisco Bay. Because of their ample provisions and the weight of seven men, the boat rode low in the water, but they crossed the northern part of San Francisco Bay to the Strait of Benicia without incident and spent a convivial night in a hotel in the town of Benicia. All the next day, they sailed and rowed east across Suisun Bay toward the mouth of the Sacramento River. With hopes and excitement running high, Deke enjoyed the journey. They laughed and joked a lot, and there was much speculation about what they’d do with all the gold they were going to find. Deke remembered that day well. It was the last day he was a whole man, fit and confident that if he had to, he could take on the world.
When night fell and the tide ebbed, they were still several miles from the river, so they decided to drop anchor until dawn. They bundled themselves against the cold wind and slept as best they could. A few hours later, Deke suddenly awoke to find the boat listing sharply and cold water rushing in. He didn’t know until later that the anchor had gotten stuck in the mud of the bay floor. As the water rose with the tide, the boat tipped completely over. He felt himself being flung into the water just as the edge of the boat smashed down on his leg. At the time, he hardly noticed. Others were screaming. He himself was a strong swimmer, so when Mitch started desperately yelling, “I can’t swim,” and flailing his arms, he grabbed hold of his friend’s coat collar and held him up. What next? He could hang on to the overturned boat, but they were already shaking from the cold, and he knew they’d never last long in the freezing water. Tugging Mitch behind him, he began a one-armed paddle toward what he hoped was shore. Along the way, exhaustion overcame him and he thought he couldn’t go on unless he let Mitch go. But no, he couldn’t do that. Mitch was his friend, and he’d either get him to shore or they’d go down together in the icy, unforgiving waters of Suisun Bay.
Soaking wet and freezing, Deke, Mitch, and two other survivors somehow made it to land. An icy, bitter wind cut into them as they crawled up a bank and lay exhausted on the muddy ground. It was then Deke’s right leg let him know it was broken, sending out such an agonizing wave of pain, he had to grit his teeth to keep from crying out. He tried to walk and couldn’t. In silent agony, he made it through the rest of the night, and when the sun came up, he saw how the raw end of a broken shin bone was sticking through the skin of his right leg.
Deke couldn’t walk. Thank God, he’d kept his money in a waterproof belt around his waist, but like his companions, everything else he owned had been lost in the bay. It was a sorry-looking lot that managed to hail a passing whaleboat. By then, Deke could do nothing, other than grit his teeth to stifle his cries of pain while his companions carried him onto the whaleboat and laid him on the deck as carefully as they could. Even so, the least bit of jostling brought spasms of agony, a couple of times so bad he passed out. When they reached the town of Stockton, they looked for a doctor but were told they must travel on to Sacramento to find the nearest one available. So they found another boat, hauled Deke up the Sacramento River, the most agonizing ride of his life, and finally reached the office of Dr. Horace Andrews, a kindly, white-haired man whose medical school diploma on the wall gave Deke confidence that he knew what he was doing.
“It’s a bad break,” Dr. Andrews said. “I’m going to set your leg and put it in a cast. I’ll use something new called plaster of Paris. You’ll be my first patient to have it.”
With his mates holding him down, Deke had his leg set. Even though the doctor gave him a dose of laudanum, the pain was so bad he mercifully passed out. When he came to, he had a huge heavy cast on his leg. The doctor gave him some crutches. “Here’s so you can get around.”
“How long?”
“At least six weeks. Then come back and we’ll see.”
“What if I don’t wait six weeks before I get off the crutches?”
Dr. Andrews looked him in the eye. “If you walk on that leg a day before I say you can, you’ll likely be crippled the rest of your life.”
After an unhappy parting accompanied by profuse apologies and expressions of regret, his friends went on without him. After all, he couldn’t expect them to stay when they were keen on getting to the diggings. Hiding his profound disappointment, he smiled, told them he’d be fine, and watched as they rode off toward the mountains. So now what would he do? Or more like it, what could he do? One thing he knew: He’d been busy all his life and couldn’t just sit around waiting for the leg to heal.
Lucky for him, one day in the River Queen Saloon, he met a man named Emmet Peterson who loudly complained how he desperately needed a farmhand, but nearly every able-bodied man in town had taken off for the gold fields. Deke saw his opportunity. Would he take a hardworking Australian who, despite the crutches, could still give a good day’s work? Emmet said he would, and that’s why Decatur Fleming, owner of a thirty-four-thousand-square-kilometer sheep station in the heart of the outback, became the humble farmhand on a twenty-acre farm on the outskirts of Sacramento.
Now what would he do? Stay in Sacramento, he supposed. Rent a room. Find something to keep him occupied until the cast came off. Maybe he’d see Rose Peterson again. He would like that. He didn’t like that he’d had to lie to her, but what else could he do? What good would come from her knowing her husband suffered greatly for hours before he died?
And that wasn’t all he hadn’t told her. Mason Talbot. He clenched his jaw. If the Petersons knew what Mason had done? But they didn’t know, and damned if he’d be the one to tell them. Best let sleeping dogs lie.
So he’d stay in Sacramento, at least until Dr. Andrews took the cast off. Nearly five miserable, frustrating weeks he’d waited. Now he had just over a week to go before Rose Peterson saw him walk like a man again, and he’d make sure she did. It would be the longest week of his life.
Chapter 5
Rose didn’t sleep well that night. She was having a hard time suppressing her resentment that her father-in-law considered her opinion so unimportant he hadn’t even asked if she wished to sign those papers. She would, though. She couldn’t imagine not signing and had definitely made up her mind.
In the morning, she helped with breakfast as usual. In contrast to that first day when the cupboards were bare, an abundance of food filled every shelf, nook, and cranny in the kitchen. Not only had the family bought their own provisions, neighbors from all around brought offerings of everything from oranges, walnuts, and all kinds of vegetables to slabs of beef and a salmon freshly caught from the Sacramento River. Coralee was so grateful she nearly cried. “It’s not the food so much as it i
s these people care, even though they don’t know us. I felt like a stranger, but now I’m beginning to feel like this is home.”
They would go to the solicitor’s office in the afternoon. As the hour drew closer, a heaviness centered in Rose’s chest. She would sign the papers, even though she couldn’t get Deke’s words out of her head. She’d live to regret it, he said, and she knew she would. Even so, like she’d told Deke, she’d never find the courage to stand up to the family, especially Ben. She cringed at the thought of defying the man who ruled his family with an iron hand.
Toward noon, when no one was in the kitchen except Rose, Dulcee Bidwell from the farm next door arrived with a freshly baked apple pie. “Today’s my baking day,” she said. “Tom picked the apples this morning.” Rose invited her to stay for a cup of coffee, and soon they were sitting at the kitchen table, chatting away. Dulcee was easy to talk to. Like a lot of elderly people, she was frank in a funny kind of way. Commiserating with Rose’s loss, she remarked, “I had three husbands myself. The first two died. The third walked out on me and five children and disappeared. I’d wager he’s dead, too, by now.”
Rose frowned in sympathy. “That’s terribly sad. I can’t imagine the grief you’ve gone through.”
“Piffle.” The old lady sniffed and took a sip of coffee. “I didn’t love any of ’em. I married Murphy, my first husband, because I had to. Tom’s father.” Her eyes twinkled. She brought a finger to her lips. “Shh. To this day Tom thinks he was a seven-month baby, but he wasn’t.”
Rose couldn’t think how to reply. Best to move on. “What happened to Murphy?”
“He was chopping down a tree one day and was dumb enough to be standing in the wrong place when it fell. So there I was, a widow with a young’un, and everyone telling me I should get married again because I was only a woman and how could I make it on my own? So I married Ebenezer, who was the first man I could find who had a clean shirt and no dirt under his fingernails. Five years later, he up and drowned in the Mississippi River. By now I was a widow with four young’uns, so what did I do? You guessed it. Got married again.” Her expression softened. “Don’t get me wrong, they weren’t all bad. It’s just, I never had the kind of love of my life that a girl dreams of. No knight in shining armor, like in the fairy tales.” She cocked an eyebrow. “What about you, missy? Did you love him?”
“Love who?”
“Your husband, of course, unless you had a lover on the side. Don’t let me shock you. It’s my age. I can say anything I want and get away with it because everyone thinks my brain has withered and I can’t help it. Well, it hasn’t.”
“I can see that. As for loving my husband, I…I…”
Dulcee peered over her spectacles. “I thought not. Emmet was a fine man, but at best you could call him sturdy and dependable. At worst, he was a bore, excuse me for saying so. A volcano could erupt in his front yard, and he wouldn’t bother to look. I had more interesting conversations with a tree stump than with Emmet Peterson.”
After a stunned moment, Rose burst into laughter. She looked around to make sure they were still alone. “You’re right. I never loved him. I married him mostly because my parents wanted me to.”
“Thought so.” Dulcee tipped her head. “You’re young and you’re pretty. Did you know there’s fifty men to every woman around here? You won’t have any problem finding another husband, if that’s what you want. Maybe the next one won’t be such a stump.”
Rose hadn’t thought about it yet, but Dulcee’s suggestion made her lift her chin and stoutly declare, “I can tell you right now I’ll never marry again unless it’s to someone I truly love.” She touched the locket at her throat. “I was in love once—weak-in-the-knees in love. It didn’t work out. He broke my heart, but even so, I swear I’ll never bed a man I’m not crazy about.” She sat back in her chair, surprised at herself. She’d never spoken this frankly, but then never had she talked to someone so understanding and sympathetic as Dulcee Bidwell, who brought out the best in her—or was it the worst?
Dulcee’s wrinkled face grew pensive. “I hope you stick with what you said. If I had it to do over again, I wouldn’t be the wishy-washy woman that I was. I’d stick up for myself. I’d be like a man and not listen to everyone telling me what I ought to do. I’d have the courage to speak up, say what I wanted to say, and the consequences be damned.”
Rose nodded in agreement. “Sometimes that’s hard to do. For years I’ve lived with my in-laws, always looking forward to that wonderful day I would have a home of my own. Now I’m stuck. Not that Ben and Coralee aren’t wonderful people but…” She gave a wordless shrug.
“You’ve sure as heck got yourself a dilemma.” Dulcee got a knowing look in her eye. “You’re not stuck. Nobody’s tying you down. You can do anything you want. Have faith in yourself and you’ll figure out what’s best to do.”
“I’m not so sure.”
“It’s up to you, missy. Don’t underestimate yourself. Now let’s have some of that pie.”
The conversation switched to other, more inconsequential things, but long after her elderly neighbor left, Rose couldn’t stop thinking about what she’d said. Have faith in yourself and you’ll figure out what’s best to do.
But would she? Did she have the courage?
* * * *
In the afternoon, Ben hitched up the coach. Rose gave Lucy a hug. “I’m going into town for a while, sweetheart, but Aunt Drucilla will be here, and Uncle Raymond, too.”
Always full of questions, Lucy inquired, “Why are you going?”
“Grandpa and Grandma and I are going to the lawyer’s office to sign some papers.” She always tried to be honest. “It seems the farm and hotel legally belong to me, so I must sign them over to your grandpa.”
Lucy frowned in confusion. “But if they’re yours, why don’t you keep them?”
“It’s a long story, and I’ll explain later.”
Why indeed? Rose wondered as she and her in-laws drove into town. She hoped Lucy would forget to ask again.
At the law office, Mr. Field greeted them with a smile, announcing the papers were ready for their signature. After they were seated in front of his large, mahogany desk, he remarked, “I’m expecting Mr. Talbot any moment. He will, of course, be bringing you the check for twenty-one thousand as agreed.”
So they were going to meet Emmet’s killer? Rose sensed both Ben and Coralee flinch as they sat beside her. She, too, got a tightness in her stomach. Ben spoke up. “See here, I didn’t think I’d be meeting the man who killed my son.”
“I understand how you feel.” The solicitor’s voice oozed with sympathy and understanding. “But once you meet him, you’ll see—”
“That’s all right, Archer. Let me explain.”
The deep, silky voice came from behind them. Rose turned in her seat. One of the most handsome men she’d ever seen stood in the doorway. Tall and broad-shouldered, he had a thick crop of wavy blond hair, firm mouth, and square-cut jaw. His well-tailored trousers and frock coat, silk cravat and brocade vest made her suddenly conscious of the patched and faded dress she was wearing. What a shame the new dresses she’d ordered weren’t ready. He held an ivory tipped cane and top hat in his large, perfectly manicured hands. With a purposeful stride, he crossed the room, put down the hat and cane, and turned to face them. “Good afternoon. My name is Mason Talbot.” His gaze focused on Ben. “You must be Mr. Peterson. Yes, I’m the man who engaged in a duel with your son, and I want you to know the day doesn’t go by that I…” His mouth set in a grim line. “If there was any way I could have avoided it, I would have done so.”
Ben stood up. Dressed in his plain black Sunday suit, he was no match for the elegantly dressed hotel owner, yet Rose knew he wouldn’t be intimidated by Talbot’s powerful presence. “Tell me why you killed my son,” he said, his voice taut with suppressed anger.
Talbot didn�
�t appear the least surprised by Ben’s reaction. “The duel was Emmet’s idea, not mine. He did the challenging. I tried reasoning with him, but he wouldn’t listen. When I finally realized I actually might have to go through with it, I appointed Rudy Avery, one of my employees, as my second. I sent Rudy to talk Emmet out of it, but he wouldn’t listen, was hell-bent on going through with it. What could I do? Despite my misgivings, I was honor bound to accept Emmet’s challenge, insane though it was.” Mason’s deep blue eyes gazed into Ben’s. “I’m not presumptuous enough to ask for your forgiveness, sir, but I hope for your understanding.”
A long, tension-charged silence followed. Rose held her breath. Would Ben accept the apology? Punch Mason Talbot in the nose? Storm out? Viewing her father-in-law’s stone-like face, she had no idea what would happen.
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