Ransacker
Page 9
“Very well,” he said. “But let me do the talking.”
“All right,” Sissel answered.
* * *
THE BANK WAS the only brick building in town. It was square with white stone cornices and window ledges.
Inside, a long wall with three barred windows ran the length of the room. Tellers worked behind two of the barred windows, and customers lined up three or four deep in front of them.
It turned out that Isaiah McKray was one of the customers waiting. Stieg nearly turned and left, but Sissel clamped down her hand on his arm.
McKray looked impatient to be kept waiting. There were two tall farmers in the queue with him, one in front and one behind. He had to rise up on his tiptoes to look over the shoulder of the farmer in front of him. It made him look even shorter and younger. Sissel felt a sudden pang of sympathy for him.
Apparently McKray had never gone to school. He’d been raised up on his father’s prospecting claims, and later near the large mine that his father had established high in the mountains in the southwest of Colorado. This Sissel had learned from Bridget, the maid who cleaned her room. Bridget had it from the cook, who took coffee to Mr. Collier in the afternoons. Collier apparently became chatty when he drank his coffee, so that much of McKray’s life history was known to the employees at the hotel. Bridget had told Sissel that McKray had been forced to work in the mines as a boy, learning every job from drilling to smelting. And that McKray Sr. had staked McKray Jr. in the hotel business, but was charging interest on the investment.
McKray caught her looking at him and doffed his hat in greeting. She was embarrassed to be caught looking, and a flush spread on her cheeks.
Then Sissel remembered the silverware Stieg had pilfered from the hotel. Her eyes flitted to his pocket. How humiliating it would be if he was somehow caught with it before he could return it!
The line wasn’t moving because there was a dispute of some kind with one of the tellers, and Sissel began to feel weary. Her bad leg was aching now from the long walk to and from their practice field. But she could not tell Stieg she wanted to leave, not after she had worked so hard to get him to agree to sell the gold dust.
Behind the tellers, Sissel could see a large safe. As an experiment, just to pass the time, Sissel opened her mind to the metal. The iron hit her as loud as a gong. She staggered back, and Stieg gripped her arm to keep her from stumbling.
“Sissel?”
Sissel focused on shutting her mind to the metal. She gritted her teeth and imagined herself pushing the sound away. That didn’t seem to work.
Instead she thought about pulling tight on a drawstring. That was the image. She imagined the booming vibration of the iron getting smaller and smaller, a circle closing tight.
A strong hand took her arm.
“Are you well, Miss Hemstad?” It was McKray. His face was close, sincere concern written on it.
He pressed a handkerchief into her hand. She used it to dab at her damp forehead.
“She’s fine,” Stieg said. “It’s the heat. Let’s go, Sissel. I’ll take you back to the hotel.”
“I’m all right,” Sissel protested.
She shifted her body, shaking off the steadying hands of both her brother and McKray.
“Truly, I’m fine,” Sissel said. She gave McKray back his handkerchief, and he resumed his place with the teller next to them.
“Our business can wait,” Stieg said. “Let’s go.”
But the man ahead of them kindly bowed out of line and gestured for them to go ahead.
“We’ll come back later,” Stieg told him.
“Nonsense. I’m happy to wait,” the man said.
“Thank you,” Sissel said firmly. Stieg stepped up to the teller, resigned.
“We have some gold dust to be assayed, if possible,” Stieg said, making his voice quiet as to not be overheard. “I have been dabbling on the weekends, and I found a bit of flake.”
Sissel saw McKray stand up tall, interest piqued.
“I see,” the teller said. “Please step to the far window.” The teller stepped away from the bars and nodded to the teller at the other window, who closed his station.
Now all eyes were on Stieg and Sissel as they peeled away from the line and headed to the empty window, a paper shade pulled down tight.
A moment later the paper shade retracted and there stood the teller from the first window, a rumpled man with spectacles and a walrus-like mustache.
“I am Fejdor Rusk, an assayer for Chouteau County. How may I serve?” he asked in a thick Slavic accent.
“You’re an assayer as well as a bank teller?”
The man shrugged. “That’s how it works. I repeat, how may I serve?”
“I was lucky enough to find some gold flake,” Stieg said. He held out the knotted handkerchief.
All the customers drew close behind Sissel and Stieg, their business put aside. One of them was a man she’d seen helping Mr. Peavy with odd jobs around the store, Tyrone Clements. Another was Frank Ebbott, a hunched-over man with long, yellowing whiskers whom Sissel recognized from church, where he sat at the back and scowled. He was an old trapper, and now that the area had been hunted out, he’d turned to selling shingles.
McKray came up to stand next to Sissel.
“Exciting stuff,” he said.
She heard Stieg sigh. This was exactly the kind of attention he had hoped to avoid.
“Please move away,” Rusk said. He made a flicking gesture with his hand, and Sissel and Stieg, as well as everyone else, took a step back. “Not you two,” he said to Stieg and Sissel.
Rusk brought out a wooden tray lined with black velvet. He untied the handkerchief and tipped the contents out onto the tray.
He produced a jeweler’s eyepiece from a drawer and commenced to study the gold.
Sissel felt a fondness for it, the gleaming gold. There wasn’t much, but she still felt proud of it.
The bank customers had edged close again. Sissel cast her eyes sideways to gauge McKray’s expression. He was studying the flake intently.
“Hmm,” Rusk said. Then, “Amateur?”
“Pardon?” Stieg asked.
“You’re an amateur? Prospector?”
“Yes, sir,” Stieg said.
“Many a prospector go out with a burro, work for a year, not find so much.” Rusk looked at Stieg with undisguised appraisal. “Congratulations. You are very lucky.”
“Congratulations, indeed,” McKray said.
“Rest assured, part of it will go to you, Mr. McKray,” Stieg said.
McKray waved his hand as if their debt to him meant nothing.
“Must have taken you some time to collect,” the old trapper said. “You know, I almost bought that land you’re on. Over by the Baylors, ain’t you?”
“Shut your mouth, Ebbott!” Rusk snapped. Then he pointed at Stieg. “Many in town will try to get this information of where you find the gold. My advice, don’t tell nobody, unless they bring the law on you.”
“Yes, sir,” Stieg responded.
“I was just curious,” Ebbott said.
“Back away from my desk,” the assayer said.
The trapper shook his head in disgust and headed off. The other teller, who had stepped over to see the gold, returned to his window, and the other customers got back to business.
Rusk began to inspect the gold, poking at it with a pair of tweezers. Next he carefully scraped the flake into the bowl of a set of scales. After weighing it, he scribbled some figures on a scrap of paper.
“I put this gold at eighty-seven to ninety percent pure. Pretty good. You have a bit over point eight ounces here. I can offer you fifteen dollars and fifty-five cents for it if you wish to sell. Prices are high. I recommend you sell.”
“Thank you. Yes. We’ll be delighted to sell,” Stieg said.
Sissel watched the assayer count out one ten-dollar bill, five singles, and fifty-five cents. She felt herself swelling with contentment. She had found
that money! She had drawn it to her from a stream, and now they were fifteen dollars richer.
Her joy was soon deflated. Leaving the bank, Stieg held her elbow tight as a vise.
“I knew it was a mistake,” he said through clenched teeth.
“Why?”
“Now it’s a story. Word will get out. You heard McKray—we may have prospectors crawling over our land.”
“There’s nothing there for them to steal,” Sissel said. “At least, I don’t think there is. Oh, Stieg, we should go out there! Who knows what I might find!”
“It’s attention on us, and we don’t want it. Do you have any idea what the Baron would do to get his hands on you if he knew what you are?”
Stieg was hustling her back to the hotel, where she was sure he would give her a less restrained scolding.
Sissel pulled her arm away from him.
“Goodness, Stieg, look around,” she hissed. “We are in a safe town, surrounded by friends. Something good has happened to me, finally something good! Give me one moment to enjoy it!”
Stieg stood there, dumbfounded. Sissel walked ahead. Though it pained her bad leg, she strode quickly and with confidence. She could rub down her leg later if it ached. Right now, she was walking straight and tall.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Jigsaw was a delight to ride. Hanne hadn’t known a horse could have so much personality. He was content to have Hanne as a rider, or so it seemed, because he rode so easy, and never tried to snatch a mouthful of grass from the path, and because he frequently turned his head to look at her and made a happy snuffling sound.
Owen, on the other hand, had become a dour companion. He wouldn’t talk to Hanne about his parents, not even after they’d left Fitch and were well on their way to intersect the Bar S drive.
“It was lovely of Matthew to give us this saddle,” she said.
He said, “Yup,” and gave Brandy his spurs.
“I’m so sorry about your parents, Owen. I know you weren’t close, but this terrible news must come as a shock,” she tried when they stopped to water the horses. He said nothing, only nodded and chucked a rock into the muddy stream.
“You must be upset,” she pushed.
“I know it’s hard to understand, but not all families are close like yours,” he snapped.
Then she realized he needed to be left alone.
Owen had rarely spoken of his family. Every once in a while, he’d speak with some admiration for his father—the way he ran the ranch, or how he taught Owen to tie knots. But of his mother Owen said little. Hanne formed the impression that she was a cold and formal lady. Highborn and difficult to please.
When they camped for the night near a small pond, Owen set off grimly with his shotgun. There was only a heel of bread left of their provisions. Hanne found some hen of the woods mushrooms growing at the base of an oak tree and collected them. Some mallows grew near the water’s edge, but she couldn’t remember how to cook the tubers, so she left them be. Hanne made a fire and got coffee brewing. That was the one thing they had plenty of.
Owen returned an hour later, with two fat hares, gutted and skinned. Hanne could see his expression was still grim. She decided to push on, to act as if everything was all right.
“These will be lovely roasted over the fire,” she said. “If you can find two notched sticks, we can make a spit.”
Owen nodded, grateful to be given a chore to do.
Hanne gathered some leaves from a sagebrush and stuffed them inside the hares, along with the mushrooms. Then she stitched the hares up with a bit of string from her sewing kit, hoping the mushrooms wouldn’t fall out.
She roasted the hares over the spit Owen had fashioned, and it made for a delicious meal. Daisy sat rather close to the fire, as if hoping a morsel would spill for her to gobble up.
After they ate, and Daisy happily devoured the scraps, and once the sun set, so that the flickering, popping campfire was the only light, Owen spoke.
“I can only imagine what you must think of me,” he said. “To hear my brothers and parents are in trouble and not rush to their sides.”
Hanne waited; surely he’d say more. He’d explain. But he did not speak, and the silence became oppressive. By not answering, it now seemed that she did think poorly of him.
She chose her words carefully.
“I wish I knew more about your life with your family,” she said at last. She looked at his face across the fire. He was cradling his forehead in his hand, rubbing his brow.
“You’ve said very little about them. And now I suppose … I suppose I wonder how they could have mistreated you so badly that you wouldn’t want to go.”
“I know it begs an explanation.” Owen stood up abruptly, removing his face from the circle of firelight, hiding it from view. “Only please don’t ask me for it.”
“Owen!” Hanne said. “I am yours, always. Nothing you could tell me would change that. Do you know that?”
He nodded.
She went to him and kissed him, and hoped it would reassure him, get him to talk, to tell her what was wrong. But he stayed mute, and shortly thereafter, they went to bed on opposite sides of the fire.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“I wish we could at least tell Knut,” Sissel said.
They were trudging out of town, headed for the rugged, rocky hills that bordered the town to the north.
“You know he is not good with secrets,” Stieg said.
“I know,” Sissel said. “But it feels wrong that Knut and Hanne and Owen don’t know.”
“Yes, but think of the great surprise they’ll have when they all come back.”
Sissel breathed in deeply and looked around with satisfaction. Several hours of sun were left in the day, but the color of the light was mellowing. There had been rain, and the slope they were climbing was dotted with fresh wildflowers.
It had taken her several days to persuade Stieg to let them work outside again. After the fuss at the bank, Stieg was sure that if they went wandering together, someone would follow them.
All Sissel wanted to do was work on her powers, but Stieg insisted they follow a normal routine. After school, Sissel had spent her time in the Oswalds’ shop. The girls were working on their dresses together. Then Sissel would visit with James for a few minutes in the general store, then go back to the hotel to study.
Only after her lessons were completed to Stieg’s satisfaction would he work with her on her Nytte.
Stieg had used their windfall from the gold flake to pay down their debts all over town, but he had reserved a bit to buy materials for her training. He’d raided the general store, buying steel nails, brass screws, bits of nickel-plated hardware used for bridles. He’d even purchased a small silver locket.
Then, in her room, he had given her exercises. At first, it was identifying the metals by their vibration. Then finding them when hidden. At last they had moved on to her pulling them to her.
The first time she had pulled a brass tack, rolling, then tumbling end over end across her desk into her outstretched hand, Stieg whooped so loudly that Mr. Collier came up to complain.
But there was only so much they could practice in the bridal suite, and so this afternoon Stieg said they might work outside again.
“It will be a surprise,” Sissel said. “And you know, I’m convinced there is gold in the graveyard, I know there is! I can get it. Wouldn’t that be a great surprise, Stieg? What if I could find enough to pay off our debts?”
“You are not going to go prospecting in the graveyard! People will take you for a grave robber!”
Sissel laughed. “I hadn’t thought of that. What if I just worked in the stream … Perhaps at night.”
“We must be careful, Sissel. I’ve written to Rolf. He’ll have the letter soon. We must wait for a reply. He’ll tell us what to do.”
“It will be weeks before he even receives the letter. Months even.”
“Rolf would say to be patient and careful. You know he woul
d.”
Stieg stopped so Sissel could catch her breath. It was difficult to climb in a skirt, but her leg was holding up well. She found she wasn’t as out of breath as she would have expected.
“You know,” she said. “I think my Nytte has made me stronger.”
Stieg turned to look at her.
“Yes, I’ve been thinking the same thing. Your color is better, you have more energy. You’re eating.”
He resumed the walk.
“Maybe it’s as simple as that,” he said. “Using your Nytte makes you hungry, and so you’re finally eating, and your body is building strength.”
“I could not have made this climb a month ago,” Sissel said.
“I agree.”
They crested the hill. On the other side, where they could no longer be spotted from the road, Stieg spread his arms wide. “This is our classroom today.”
The down slope of the hill was dotted with more boulders. Growing between them were sedge grass and clumps of wildflowers.
“I have brought some coins to work with,” he told her.
Then began the fun. He explained her assignment straightaway, as he knew her hearing would diminish once they started. Then he walked ten feet away.
One by one he held up the coins, and one by one Sissel snapped them out of his fingers and caught them in her palm, held as if by a magnet.
He offered up several pennies, which emitted a mild vibration that felt sweet and tannic. The copper in the penny was sweet like honey, but there was some tin in there, which gave it some bitterness and bite. Reaching for a copper penny felt to Sissel like inhaling the scent of a cup of tea with honey in it.
Silver dimes winked at her in a bright, confident way. Then Stieg held up some nickels. She disliked the feel of them. They contained a good bit of copper, but the sweetness of it could not mask the cold, sharp nickel itself. It felt to her as if nickel did not want to be handled.
After she’d called them all to her, she handed them back. Then Stieg paced ten more footsteps away and they repeated the exercise.
Perspiration gathered on Sissel’s forehead; her heart thumped in her chest. It was fun to whip coins from her brother’s hand. Using her Nytte made her feel warm and powerful and alive.