A Claim of Her Own

by Stephanie Grace Whitson

  She had made up her mind. She would apologize to Tom, because he had been right and she’d been wrong. And then she would end their partnership, for she had finally come to understand what was at the heart of much of her unhappiness of late. It was Tom. To see him every day and talk over the business together and then to go to bed alone and wake up alone with this horrible yearning in her heart for more could not go on. There were men who could look past tanned faces and calloused hands and thick waists. Garth had been such a man, and she longed for another. A gentle man like Tom. Not LIKE Tom. You want Tom. He loved Eva and had befriended Freddie. He fit into their lives like a cog in a wheel, but he wouldn’t want to be part of her life in any other way.

  Swede cracked the whip above her team and began again the singsong litany that would keep them moving up the trail. Her voice cracked a time or two, and she swiped at a tear now and then, but as she walked along and breathed the fresh air, she called upon God to help her, and she began to feel better. At least she had decided what she must do. At least she would no longer dangle between reality and hope. Swede sighed. She had survived a broken heart before. She could do it again. With God’s help.

  Toward evening of the second day back on the trail, riders appeared on the horizon. They were moving slowly, and as they came close, Swede could see it was only two, with what was probably a string of pack mules. Miners giving up and going home. She paid no further attention until it became obvious they were going to intercept the line of freighters. Her first thought was of the shortage of food and how there wasn’t really enough to share. Her second was to repent of her selfishness. And then there was another thought, as she realized who the riders were.

  She felt a brief rush of something akin to panic as she looked down at her worn apron, her men’s work boots, her skirt … all of them splattered with the mud of the trail. And her hair … she’d slept in yesterday’s braids and simply tied a scarf over her head before putting on her bonnet today. Ah well. It was of no consequence. She had already decided how to think about these things.

  With a prayer for strength, Swede shoved the bonnet back off her head and watched as Tom English and Aron Gallagher approached. They paused to talk to Red Tallent for a few moments before riding up the line toward her. It gave her time to pray. She had the time, but no words, and so when Tom and Aron rode up she was grateful that Eva waved and screeched, “Ta-ta!”

  Tom dismounted and went to Eva, kissing her soundly and laughing when she tugged on his nose. “You’re all right” was all he said as he looked at Swede.

  “Yah, sure.” Swede pointed toward the third string of wagons ahead of her. “Jake knew vat to do. He vas vit de Indians once, and he showed us how dey banked up de snow around tepees. Ve vere varm and safe. Never in danger.” She shrugged. “As you can see.”

  “Short on food?” Aron Gallagher had remained in the saddle.

  “A little,” Swede admitted. “But ve share among us. It vould be all right. Now it vill be better.” She forced a smile even as she thrust her hand into her apron pocket and brought out her pipe. It calmed her nerves to smoke, but then she thought better of it and put the pipe away.

  “Well,” Aron said, “I’m going to ride back up and make arrangements with Red about how to handle distributing the supplies we brought.”

  Tom handed him the reins to his own horse, clearly intending to walk with Swede.

  Presently she cracked the whip and got the team moving, self-conscious about everything she did. As soon as the train was moving again, she said, “I am sorry for de vorry I have caused and for de time I have taken from your duties.”

  “Mattie’s minding the store,” Tom said. “Other than the one day a week so she can work the claim, Garth and Company is open as usual.”

  Swede nodded. She cracked the whip and called out to Leif and Lars before saying, “Mr. English, I have someting to discuss vit you.”

  “And I with you,” he said. “But not here. Not like this.” He paused. “I expect Red will agree to having Aron and me ride ahead a few miles and make camp so we can share supplies with everyone.”

  “I imagine so.”

  “So I’ll see you in camp in a few hours,” Tom said, and waving to Eva he loped to catch up with Aron and Red.

  She could not wait. It had to be done. And so, at the midday break, Swede rushed through tending her team, took Eva in her arms, and hurried to where Tom and Aron sat, drinking coffee and talking to some of the other freighters.

  “Mr. English,” she said. “May ve speak now?”

  Tom nodded and got up. He followed her to the opposite side of her string of wagons. And then she could not do it. “I have brought Mattie her brother’s gravestone,” she said instead, pointing to the crate in the middle wagon. “It vas vaiting. As I expected.”

  “She’ll be happy to see that,” he said as they walked toward it.

  “We had snow in Deadwood, too,” he said. “But I expect we’ll have a couple of days of good weather yet. Between Aron and Freddie and me, it shouldn’t be a problem to get it put up.” Brushing away the layer of cushioning straw, he nodded. “It’s a fine stone. Mattie will be pleased.”

  “Yah, I know she vill.” She took a deep breath. “And as to de store—I am tinking dat perhaps you vould vish to have your own.” She had expected to see relief on his face. Instead, he seemed unhappy.

  “Are you firing me, Katerina?”

  “No, no. I yoost tink you vould perhaps radder to haf your own business vare you are making de decidings and vare you don’t must to ask another’s opinion.” She blushed furiously as her English reverted nearly back to Swedish. She was so nervous. Close to tears.

  Tom frowned. “I didn’t expect to get fired over a little fight.”

  “Is not about disagreement. Is—” Oh, now. This was not what she had wanted to happen. Not at all. Eva was whimpering, and she herself had to swipe at a tear. She gulped. “Ven a man is partner— business partner—vit voman, people make assumption. Dey … You …” She sighed. “People might tink you and I … Vell, I know is silly, but perhaps is better for you—”

  “I’m sorry, but I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  Must it be this way? Must she be humiliated as well as brokenhearted? So be it.

  Swede lifted her chin. Now she was angry. He was being cruel, though he probably didn’t know it. Men were so stupid sometimes. “I am hardly beautiful voman. I verk hard, and I am not ashamed, but I also know dat men—except for Garth Jannike, who was God’s gift to me—men yoost do not care for vomen like me ven dey haf Mattie O’Keefes and Kitty Undervoods about.” She was really crying now. “And so I am tinking dat ve end our partnership, and you open your own store, and I vill haul for you as before, but den you vill not be associated vit me and mebbe you could—”

  “Excuse me,” Tom interrupted. “Give me the baby.”

  “Vat?”

  He held out his hands, and Eva readily went to him. With Swede trailing a ways behind, he carried the baby around the string of wagons to the campfire and plopped her into Red Tallent’s lap. He said something to Aron Gallagher and to Red. And then he walked back to her. “Now I have something to say.”

  “You don’t have to say—”

  “And I would like it very much if you would hush now and let me say it.”

  Swede put her hands on her hips. It was going to be another fight. Ah well. So be it. Not all partnerships could end peacefully. She had hoped— But she never finished that thought about her hopes, because they were replaced with entirely new ones as Tom English took her in his arms and kissed her. On the lips. In front of all the freighters. Who whistled and hooted, and Tom didn’t seem to care one bit.

  When he finally let her go, he stood back and said, “Now, we’ll have no more talk about Katerina Jannike’s deficiencies,” he said, “because I love her. And she is about to become my wife. If she’ll have me.”

  Mattie stepped to the edge of the cliff and peered down at the
tangled end of Jonas Flynn’s life. She shivered. When she reached out, Freddie was there to take her hand.

  The men who had helped track the mule this far stood at a respectful distance.

  The story was laid out for anyone with eyes, told in the pattern of footprints that showed a man dismounting up here and walking ahead and a mule backing away. How or why the struggle had been allowed to continue to the edge of the precipice, and how Jonas had been dragged over the edge were details no one would ever know. But the man who’d ridden away from Mattie’s Claim on a pack mule laden with gold was nothing like the intelligent business owner who’d first come to Deadwood in search of a runaway. Madmen often ended their lives in inexplicable ways.

  “I’ll climb down and get the gold back for you,” Freddie said.

  Scanning the ragged edges of the canyon, Mattie gulped. “I can’t see how.”

  Freddie pointed to the opposite canyon wall. “You see that spot right there by that fallen tree?” When Mattie followed his gaze and nodded, he explained. “That’s one of my caves. I know the way down there. It won’t be that hard.”

  Mattie sighed. And then she wondered. She looked up at Freddie. “Do you think you could bring him out?” She shuddered and repeated the words she’d learned from Aron Gallagher. “Some might think he doesn’t deserve it, but I’d like to see he has a decent burial.”

  “I’m strong,” Freddie said. “I can do it.”

  Freddie kept his word, and on the Friday after Jonas’s body was found, Aron, who’d arrived back in town along with the freighters the previous day, read a simple service at Jonas’s grave. After the amen, Mattie laid pine boughs on three graves—Dillon’s, Wild Bill’s, and Jonas Flynn’s. She lingered at Dillon’s while Freddie and Aron waited for her. She bowed her head and murmured, “I don’t know if you do things like this, but just in case you do, could you let Dillon know that it’s over … and I’m all right. I’m not afraid anymore. I have new friends and—” She was afraid to give words to the rest of her feelings about the people in her life. She waited another moment before turning her back on the graves that represented her past and, lifting her chin, walked toward Aron and Freddie and whatever future God had in store.

  On the evening of Saturday, November 18, 1876, Jack Lan–g–rishe’s theatre was aglow with candlelight. The aroma of pine emanated from both the evergreen wreaths lining the walls and the wood shavings sprinkled over the scrubbed board floors. A capacity crowd had filled every available chair long before the scheduled time for the evening’s special production, but no one minded waiting. There was always news and gossip to share in Deadwood.

  Finally the reverend Aron Gallagher, clad in his new suit— provided by the Berg sisters—stepped onto the stage. He was accompanied by two people: the beautiful Miss Mattie O’Keefe and the dapper, but somewhat nervous, Mr. Tom English. The crowd was instantly quiet, except for a blond-haired angel sitting on Aunt Lou’s lap, who screeched “Ta-ta!” and made everyone laugh.

  When Kitty Underwood went to the piano and struck up a tune that would only be remembered as “something highbrow,” the crowd rose as one and turned toward the back of the theatre. What they saw made them draw in their collective breaths.

  Katerina Ingegaard Jannike was not the most beautiful bride anyone had ever seen. Her face showed the effect of years of wind and sun, and it would ever be so. But her straw-colored hair fell to her waist in a golden cascade that glimmered in the candlelight, and her elegant pale-blue gown made her eyes shine. Her hands clutched an artful arrangement of evergreen bows with pinecones wired in. As she walked toward the stage, the similarities between mother and the son who proudly escorted her up the aisle were unmistakable.

  No, Katerina Ingegaard Jannike English was not the most beautiful bride folks would ever remember seeing. She was, however, the happiest.

  Freddie hung the sign his mor had printed on the front door at Garth and Company Merchandise and locked the door. Closed, it said. Happy Thanksgiving.

  “Dat’s good, den,” Swede said as she donned the fur-lined coat her new husband—who was always such a gentleman—held for her. Together the new family crossed Main, navigating their way through and around drifted snow toward the Grand Central Hotel and the celebration Aunt Lou had planned for the six folks she had taken to calling her “Deadwood family”—Swede and Tom, Eva and Freddie, Aron Gallagher, and Mattie O’Keefe.

  Once everyone was seated, Aunt Lou rose from her place to speak. “Now, this is just what I like. A table overflowing with love.” She looked to Aron. “If you don’t mind, Reverend, I would like to thank the good Lord for what He has done among these folks before you do the honors of carving the bird.”

  “Please,” Aron said, and bowed his head.

  “Dear Lord,” Aunt Lou began, “we have so much to say. All of us here at this table came to Deadwood for different reasons. Mattie came hoping to reunite with her brother, Dillon, only to find that he was already with you. But you gave her a new brother in Freddie, and a baby sister, too, with little Eva, and you gave her a family in us—if she will have us. So we thank you, Lord. I don’t know if Tom English came looking for a wife, but you gave him a good one, and ain’t that just like you, Lord, giving folks blessings they don’t even know they got coming. Thank you. And Swede came with a broken heart and you filled it all the way up. Thank you, Lord.” She paused and sniffed the air. “And now, that turkey Freddie shot for us is about to burn, so we will thank you for it and promise to thank you some more yet today. Amen.”

  Swirling snow kept Mattie in town through the first few days of December, and although Freddie insisted he didn’t mind spreading his bedroll on the floor by the kitchen stove, Mattie decided to accept the Berg sisters’ offer to rent the tiny room at the back of their shop. She divided her time between working in Aunt Lou’s kitchen and Swede’s store, and treated Freddie to an almost daily supply of cinnamon pinwheels courtesy of Aunt Lou’s pie-baking lessons. The more it snowed, the less inclined Mattie was to climb back up to her claim. She told herself that had nothing to do with the frequency of Aron Gallagher’s visits to Aunt Lou’s kitchen.

  The telegraph arrived in town, “heralding a new era for our fair city,” according to the Pioneer. Mattie smiled when she read the article, thinking of Dillon’s “hell’s front porch” description of the town and wondering what he would think of Deadwood now.

  In mid-December, Mattie was dusting the china on display at the store when Aron stomped in. Removing his hat and shaking the snow out of his coat, he said something about the wind picking up and the temperature dropping before adding, “Freddie challenged me to a no-holds-barred game of checkers tonight.”

  “Sounds like the beginning of a long night,” Mattie said with a smile. “Freddie’s very good at checkers.”

  “Very good,” Aron agreed, “but not unbeatable.” He glanced around. “Where is he, anyway?”

  “He just let Justice out,” she said, and laid the feather duster atop the counter. “They should both be back in any minute. I’ll get some water on for coffee.” She paused. “You do want coffee?”

  “Coffee would be great,” Aron said. “The newlyweds gone somewhere?”

  Mattie could feel herself blushing. “Only upstairs. As soon as Eva turned in.” She headed for the storeroom-kitchen as Aron began setting up the checkerboard. Freddie and Justice came in, and the dog galumphed to Aron’s side.

  “You sure this dog isn’t half horse?” he joked as he stroked the broad back.

  “I wish,” Mattie replied. “It’d make getting up to my claim so much easier.”

  “Well, I’m glad you’re staying in town through the worst of winter,” Aron said. He didn’t look up as he added, “It gives us all less to worry about and makes the town so much prettier.”

  Mattie curtsied. “Thank you, Reverend Gallagher. Keep it up, and you’ll earn a piece of the mince pie I made with Aunt Lou today.”

  Aron chuckled. “It makes the town prettier
and more civilized. And did I mention prettier?”

  “I think you’re real pretty too, Mattie,” Freddie piped up.

  “That does it, gentlemen. Two pieces of pie with coffee coming up.” Mattie headed for the stove.

  Mattie had barely finished tidying up the kitchen when Freddie, after beating Aron two out of three games of checkers, stretched and announced—rather loudly, she thought—that he was ready to turn in for the night. She bade him good-night and accepted Aron’s offer to walk her to her room at the Berg sisters’ shop, but before she could grab her coat off the hook by the door, Aron asked if they could talk for a bit.

  “I’ll heat up the coffee,” he said.

  “And I suppose you could force yourself to eat yet another piece of pie,” Mattie teased.

  He shook his head. “No—just coffee’s fine.”

  “Am I in trouble?”

  “Of course not,” Aron said. “I just”—he set the coffeepot on to heat while he talked—“I just wanted to ask you about something Freddie told me the other day.” He motioned for her to sit down at the table, then pulled out a chair for himself and sat down. “Something about an angel appearing up at Mattie’s Claim.”

  Mattie looked away for a moment. She swallowed. “I see.”

  His voice was gentle. “I’m a little surprised it took all this time to learn exactly how terrible that experience was. Freddie said you’d both agreed not to say much about it, but he had some questions for me. About angels, mostly.” When Mattie was still quiet, he said, “It seems Freddie wasn’t completely unconscious the entire time. He’s remembering more as time goes on.” He cleared his throat. “You made it sound like that day was more about robbery than anything else. Which would be frightening enough if that was all that happened, but, Mattie—”

  She interrupted him. “It’s not exactly the kind of thing a person wants to relive.”