Hanne felt her Nytte awaken. There was malice coming from these men toward her beloved.
“Come, Freya,” she prayed. “Be with me. Make me wise. Stay my hand.”
She knew the name Mandry. He had been the trail boss on Owen’s last cattle drive—Mandry had gotten Owen drunk at the end of the trail and was possibly the person who’d robbed him as well.
Mandry was strong and stout, an old, experienced hand with a deeply lined face and a sneer at his mouth. Whistler was the same age, but looked weaker. He had eyes that bugged out and yellow teeth.
Mandry didn’t answer Witri, just kept his eyes trained on Owen.
“I’ll be,” Mandry said. “It is Bennett’s dog. What the hell are you doing here, Owen Bennett?”
“Watch your language, Mandry,” Witri said. “We got a lady in camp now.”
“That right?” Mandry said. He took a long look at Hanne. She fought her urge to move into the stance of a warrior. Her knuckles turned white on the handle of the wooden spoon she held.
“That’s my wife, Mandry,” Owen said. “You’ll treat her with respect.”
Mandry held his hands up.
Whistler shook his head. “Owen Bennett gets a pretty wife and he brings her to trail? Lord, if she was mine I’d not bring her anywhere near this ugly business.”
The other cowboys, scattered around the chuck wagon, sitting on rocks or saddles or grass, watched this exchange tensely.
“We’ve come to work,” Owen said, his words measured. “Anything else on your mind, we can settle it away from the herd.”
“Now, now, fellas, you know I don’t put up with any nonsense,” Witri said.
Mandry said, “Yes, sir,” acting innocent, and took a plate.
When he approached Hanne for the beans, she prayed to Freya for calmness. She felt like whacking the man across the face. She was proud her hand was steady as she scooped the beans out.
“Mmm,” Whistler said, slightly inclining his head toward Hanne’s body. “Smells good.”
Owen came over to stand at Hanne’s side.
Whistler laughed, and took his plate away to eat.
“You fellas won’t get pie if you keep that sort of behavior up,” Witri said. “You all right, Mrs. Bennett?”
“Yes, sir,” Hanne said.
“Well, you take a plate and go off and sit with your husband.”
Hanne was grateful to be away from the eyes of the many men. She sat next to Owen. Daisy came to sit near Hanne, as if to protect her.
“Hanne, those men—” Owen said. He looked worried.
“I’m not afraid of them,” she said.
“Of course not,” Owen said. “But … they’re ugly men. They’re nasty inside. They’ll … they might say ugly things.”
“I’ve heard ugly things, Owen. My ears aren’t so delicate they will break if I hear bad language.”
“I suppose not,” Owen said. He was silent as he finished his food. Hanne pondered her husband-to-be. He was a quiet man, that was true. But there was something else at work here besides his usual reserve. He was keeping something from her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Sissel felt bad about tricking Stieg, but she could not bear to sit another day in school. Not when she felt so good, so vital, and not after Mrs. Boyce had made another pointed request that they pay the rest of their bill. They needed money, and Sissel was determined to see if there was any gold on their land.
When Stieg had knocked that morning, she came to the door and told him she needed to rest in bed. He looked so truly concerned for her she felt bad. She assured him it was just a summer cold and asked for tea and toast to be brought up.
He had said he would look in on her after he dismissed school. That meant Sissel had seven hours, seven hours of freedom, before she must again appear at her door, looking bedraggled and under the weather.
She knew James would wonder where she was. He would likely beat Stieg to her door. He’d bring her some treat from the store or a posy of wildflowers. Of course, he could not think she would admit him to her room, but she was sure if she let him, he would come in and sit and talk to her all day, asking her questions.
It was peculiar—it seemed the more she withdrew from him, the harder he tried to gain her attention.
Sissel had started to think she might break things off with him. After the dance, of course. It would be cruel to do it before then. When he touched her, she still felt the wild quickening of her pulse, and she still marveled at his good looks, but he seemed almost desperate to know her mind. It made her anxious, especially because she had such a big secret to keep from him.
Sissel was glad she had broken away from him today.
Sissel pocketed a sandwich and an apple for her lunch and left her room.
She silently crept down the stairs, waiting until Mr. Collier was called away by one of the porters so she could slip out the door unobserved.
She crossed Main Street and then took the alley that ran along the backs of the buildings on the train side of the town. The noises of town life were a chorus of ordinariness all around, and as she went sneaking along, Sissel found herself smiling. She had to keep herself from laughing outright—how good it felt to have somewhere to go and something exciting to do.
* * *
IT HAD RAINED several times in the weeks since she and Stieg had moved to town. There was a thin green blanket of new growth over the fields around their old house. Thicker, mottled patches of grass were growing in spots. The burned land reminded her of the coat of a stray cat with a case of mange.
The day was hot and dry—late July blending into August. She heard birds calling. Summer insects whirring down low.
Seeing the burned-out husk of their once-cozy little timber house, Sissel felt a terrible ache in her throat. She wished they could have drawn a great sheet over it, as one might do for a corpse.
Worse of all was Hanne’s kitchen garden. What hadn’t burned had now rotted. The garden had crumpled in on itself, blackened stalks covered with mold.
Sissel peered into the barn. There was a flash of movement, and her heart leaped in her chest. It was a hen. One lonesome, fat buff hen sitting on a nesting box.
“Oh, you poor thing,” Sissel said to it. “All your sisters have gone.”
The hen fluttered gracelessly to the ground and pecked hopefully near Sissel’s feet. She looked fat enough—was probably eating the new grass as quick as it was coming in and had all the yard’s share of bugs and worms to herself.
Sissel used her teeth to take a chunk out of her apple and threw it to the bird. She saw there were eggs in the nesting box—about a dozen of them.
She took another bite of the apple and chewed it herself, thinking about bringing the eggs to town. Only then, of course, she realized she could not. Stieg could not know she’d been to the farm. She would have to invent some reason for them to come visit.
Sissel pushed that from her mind. She had work to do.
Was there any gold on their land? She meant to find out.
There was a small pile of their possessions in the corner—things for the house that they’d stored in the barn until they could rebuild. Sissel saw several tin pie pans that had survived the fire. She picked them up. If she did find gold flake, she could use the pans. Releasing the gold into some clean water in the pan would be a better way to collect the flake than scraping it off.
Sissel threw down the rest of her apple for the hen, tucked the pie tins under her arm, and went outside. She took a deep breath, planted her feet, and called on her Nytte.
Of course, the first thing she felt was the bright, bitter jangle of tin. She set the pie tins down on a stump.
Then came a dull, deep throb from the barn behind her that immediately flooded her senses. Iron. It was the stove. Owen had moved it there to save it from rusting out in the weather. There were other sources of iron, too. Knut and Owen had rakes, shovels, hoes, and the like. Sissel could feel the clover-shaped spade head, th
e tines of the rake.
Sissel gave an involuntary shudder. Iron was heavy and sluggish. She did not enjoy touching it with her mind.
She concentrated on closing her mind to the tin and the iron. This was something she and Stieg had worked on; she needed to be able to shut out one type of metal in order to find the more precious ones.
She reached out again with her senses. It was quiet. There was no glimmer of gold. That was no great surprise. There would not likely be gold on the good, flat farmlands—if there was anything to be found on their property, it would be in the little gully or up in the rocky hills that bordered their parcel of land on the west.
She reached farther, trying to feel along the bed of the little stream in the gully near the farm. Nothing, nothing … Her eyes were closed, but on some instinct she opened them and saw movement coming from the direction of the gully, through the brush.
Sissel turned, breathless, and slipped back into the barn.
She would be found out! Whoever was out there would tell Stieg, and he would know she had disobeyed him. That was her first thought. Then she got angry. Who was it, out walking on their land?
She came close to the door and listened, waiting for her hearing to return. She had not used her Nytte for long, but sound was muffled. What would she do if they came into the barn! Were they there to rob her family? Should she be afraid?
The hen came to peck at Sissel’s feet. Sissel willed herself to hold still, even as the bird pecked at her boots.
Finally she could make out the voices.
“It stands to reason that there wouldn’t be any flake, not if they’ve been panning for it.”
“Not necessarily,” came a low, deep voice. “I’d expect to see some sign, if they got an ounce out like they said. If I were you’d I’d steer clear of this land. I don’t think there’s anything here.”
“But then, where did they get the flake from?” she heard the first man say. His tone was gruff, but his voice was young—she knew him!
She knew the voice! It was none other than Isaiah McKray!
Sissel’s hands became tight fists. The nerve of the man! He had brought an assessor to their land!
“But where did they do the panning? I see no evidence of it.”
Sissel stormed out of the barn. McKray had his back to her. He was talking to a potbellied man in miner’s clothes.
“If I had a shotgun I’d shoot you both for trespassing!” she declared.
McKray jumped and cussed, language more foul than Sissel had heard before. The miner took a step back. McKray spun around, his mouth gaping with surprise. Seeing her, he had the decency to blush beet red. He swiped off his hat and gave a bow.
“Miss Hemstad!” he said. “What a surprise.”
“What are you doing on my family’s land?”
McKray held his hands up.
“I brought a friend to see if there’s any gold here,” he said plainly. “Herb Nowak is one of my best surveyors.”
“Miss,” Mr. Nowak said, doffing his cap. He, too, looked abashed.
Sissel continued. “And if you found gold, or thought there was the promise of gold, you’d have offered to buy us out? For some pittance, I’m sure—”
“No, no. I was going to offer we partner up, that’s all—”
“I may be young, but I’m not a fool, Mr. McKray—”
“I know it,” he said.
Herb Nowak was watching their exchange. He seemed to be hiding a smile, which only made Sissel angrier.
“Herb, would you mind fetching the horses,” McKray said.
“Sure thing, boss.”
He tipped his hat again to Sissel and walked off. Sissel supposed they had tied their horses upstream somewhere.
Sissel turned back to McKray to find he had been watching her.
“It’s a dirty trick you were trying to pull, coming out here, trespassing on our land—”
McKray held his hand up.
“I’ve told you my business here. I’ve nothing to hide. I wanted to see if there’s gold here so I can make your family an offer, fair and square.
“You know,” he continued. “I think the matter at hand is the question of why you’re skipping school to come wander around your family’s deserted farm.”
Sissel nearly spluttered with surprise.
“Mr. McKray, that is none of your business.”
McKray studied her, his arms crossed. The way he was looking, she ought to feel her privacy violated—it was so honest and appraising. But instead of turning away, she answered his glare with one of her own.
She saw, in the sunlight, that his beard had more red in it than sandy brown. The beard gave him a bearish quality and made him look older. No doubt that’s why he wore it.
She wondered for a moment what he would look like if he shaved his beard.
“You’re the one who found the gold flake, aren’t you?” he asked.
Sissel stepped back, aghast. Her words caught in her throat. “Pardon?”
“That’s how you found the gold flake. That’s what you are doing here.”
“What are you talking about?”
He stalked toward her, coming quite close, then picked up the pie tins she’d left on the stump behind her.
“You found it with these!” he said.
“That’s none—”
“I know, I know. None of my concern,” McKray said.
The chicken picked this moment to come clucking out of the barn.
McKray watched it distractedly. Sissel could tell he was thinking.
“There’s something about you that I recognize, Miss Hemstad. I have from the beginning.”
Sissel was so flustered she didn’t know what to say.
“My father is…” He scrubbed his hand over his face. “My father is a great many things. But above ’em all he’s a gold man. He’s obsessed with it, sure, but it’s more than that. He understands it. He has a natural feeling for how it accumulates and where to find it.”
McKray put his hat back on. He wasn’t looking at her now, but staring off toward the hills in the west.
“He’s not alone being this way. I’ve met others with the same kind of gold sense. Men who can tell where gold is. I remember one fellow said his knee would ache when he was near gold. Another who swore he could smell it.”
“I think you should be on your way, Mr. McKray,” Sissel said. She did not want him to continue talking about this.
“You have it,” he said. “Gold sense.”
Sissel turned away from him. Her pulse was racing and she needed to think.
He didn’t know about the Nytte. He wasn’t accusing her of being a Ransacker. But he knew, somehow, he knew about her affinity for gold. How could this be?
Deny, deny, deny, Sissel told herself. Deny and attack. She spun around.
“You say your father is obsessed with gold,” she said. “But I think you’re the one obsessed. How much land have you bought around town, for all your qualms about it being Blackfoot land? How many mines have you opened? All to no success, and now you’re accusing a schoolgirl of having a magical ‘gold sense’?”
McKray’s face had gone stormy. He frowned.
“Maybe you should focus your efforts on running your hotel,” Sissel said. She knew she was baiting him, but she wanted to get him off balance and away from the truth.
Herb Nowak approached, riding one horse and leading another. He waited a respectful distance.
“You can put me off all you want,” McKray said. “And you can insult me. You’re not the first. But I know what I feel, and you do have gold sense—”
Sissel leveled a hard glare at him.
“I was lucky, Mr. McKray. I’m just a schoolgirl, an amateur, and I got lucky panning for gold. I’m sorry if that stings your pride, but that’s the truth of it.”
McKray tipped his hat. “Good day, Miss Hemstad.”
As he walked toward Nowak, Sissel heard him mutter, “Just a schoolgirl, my foot.”
/> * * *
ONCE THEY’D GONE, Sissel picked up the pie tins and threw them at the side of the barn. She resigned herself to going back to her room. She could study and complete her written assignment on the Bill of Rights. She started walking back to town.
Nothing had gone the way she’d planned it! She had only wanted to practice her powers, and now McKray was suspicious of her. What was this gold sense? Was it a real power, one like hers, or was it just legend and superstition?
And she couldn’t discuss it with Stieg and get his advice because she’d lied to Stieg about being sick and needing to rest. She couldn’t even tell her brother that she’d caught McKray sneaking around on their land.
Now she had to try to get back to the hotel without being noticed. Why had she taken such a stupid risk? And for naught!
She had to make a better plan for the next time she was to go Ransacking. The only comfort she had, during the long walk to town, was plotting and scheming her next adventure—she’d return to the first stream where she’d summoned the flake. There had to be more.
* * *
LATER IN THE AFTERNOON, after school had been dismissed, she went to meet Alice at her family’s shop. Sissel had told her brother she felt better, and Stieg let her go, especially when she explained that she and Alice couldn’t waste a day—the dance was drawing nearer.
Sissel stood in the fitting room in the corner of the Oswalds’ shop. She had her arms out, and Alice was trying to bring the unfinished seams of the dress together in the back.
The dress wouldn’t close. Too small at the waist and the bust.
“What in heaven’s name?” Alice muttered.
“Is it the corset?” Sissel asked.
“No, it’s laced tightly. I suppose we might be able to draw it a tiny bit more.”
Alice came around to the front and peered at Sissel with an appraising eye.
“Either you’ve grown or I’ve cut the waist too small,” Alice said.
“I may have gained some weight,” Sissel said. She thought of the stacks of steaming flapjacks at Mrs. Boyce’s boardinghouse, smothered in molasses; and the platters of fried ham and summer sausage; and the baked beans she served at supper, with plenty of bits of fried bacon. She swallowed.
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