He’d gained footing and lost it. That was all right. He could stomach that. It had happened before. But when he had gone to call on her Sunday afternoon he was informed that she was out riding with Isaiah McKray. Collier gave him a patronizing, self-satisfied little smirk when he told the news, too.
Isaiah McKray? Isaiah McKray courting Sissel? It was suspicious. It was preposterous.
He included it in his report, dutifully logging in: Miss Hemstad went driving with I. McKray, local hotelier and mine owner. The only benefit to reporting on it was that he could now justify writing back to Chicago, asking them to look into McKray’s interests.
Mr. Hemstad complimented the children on their work and sent them back to the front seats.
“We’ll have lunch and recess now,” Mr. Hemstad said.
As if in agreement, the stomach of a ten-year-old boy named Finn Coffey rumbled loudly. Finn didn’t move, but his face shot red with a fierce blush.
“Just in the nick of time, I suppose,” Mr. Hemstad said with a wink to Finn. “Off you go.”
Then there was some laughing and ribbing, and the sounds of chairs being pushed back. James fished his lunch out of his desk. It was the custom of the younger children to eat outside, and the older students to eat inside, the girls in one cluster and the boys in another.
Sissel shared a desk with Alice, and both girls now took out their lunches. Alice spoke in a low voice to Sissel, but one James could overhear.
“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me, is all,” she whispered.
“There was nothing to tell; we just went for a ride.”
Alice gave a small, hurt sniff. She laid back the tea towel covering the top of her lunch bucket.
“I just would have thought you would tell me,” she repeated.
Then Abigail went over to them, a sandwich in hand. Minnie followed.
“I can’t believe the dance is over,” Abigail sighed. “Your dress was divine, Alice.”
“Everyone looked so pretty,” Minnie said.
“I didn’t get home until past eleven!” Abigail said.
On the boys’ side, there were often awkward pauses in the lunchtime conversation. Mostly, like now, they listened to the girls chattering. Sometimes they talked about the weather or farming.
“Did you enjoy yourself at the dance?” one of the boys asked.
It was a polite question, made mostly to pass the time, but it galled James. The whole thing did. Sitting there, pretending not to listen to the girls, pretending to be someone he wasn’t.
He sprang out of his seat.
“Sissel,” he burst out. He took a steadying breath. “Would you care to take your lunch with me outside?”
Around her, the girls’ eyes went wide with the forwardness of it. Some of them looked to one another, titillated smiles on their faces.
Sissel avoided looking at him.
“Outside?” she asked.
“Yes,” James said. “I’d like the chance to speak with you. That’s all.”
He tried to project an earnest and lovelorn air. Sissel let out a small breath of resignation.
“All right,” she said. She packed up her sandwich, back into the waxed paper it had been wrapped in, and allowed him to lead her from the room.
“Alice, whaddya say?” he heard Howie say. “Shall we eat outside as well?”
Look there, he’d started a new fashion.
Now that they were out, James wasn’t sure where to go. He indicated two boulders that sat at the edge of the schoolyard. “How about over there?” he asked.
“Good.”
They walked over to the rocks, past the younger children, who were sprawled on the long grass near a couple of old, gnarled cottonwoods.
She took a seat on the boulder and he leaned on it next to her.
“Something happened Saturday night, and I wish you’d tell me what it was,” he said.
Sissel took a bite of her sandwich. She chewed thoughtfully.
“I had a very nice time,” she said. “I’m sorry if I seemed removed. I guess it’s my health. I’m not used to dances, even though I have been feeling better lately.”
She wouldn’t meet his eye.
“That’s all?” James asked. “Really?”
“I think I was tired, from all that excitement with Alice’s combs.”
Her eyes were cast to the ground, then to the trees. Anywhere but to his face. She fidgeted with her sandwich, pressing the cheese back between the bread. She was lying.
She took another bite of her sandwich. He did the same. The chunks of ham and bread were distracting. He swallowed them down.
“I wish you trusted me,” he said. God, what was he doing? Was he going to come at her with no art whatsoever? Just say whatever came into his head?
Sissel wasn’t eating now, or answering. She was staring off toward the children, looking miserable. In fact, tears came up in her eyes as he was studying her. He rushed to find his handkerchief and pressed it into her hand.
“What’s wrong, Sissel? Tell me. Does it have to do with Isaiah McKray?”
Sissel shook her head. Tears came on even harder.
“I’m so sorry,” he said. “I’m a heel. Please forgive me.”
“No, you must excuse me. I’m just tired,” she said. “You did nothing wrong.”
“Can I get you something? A drink of water?”
Sissel nodded.
James balanced his lunch bag on the rock and hurried to the classroom to get her a dipper full of water. He carried it back, trying to keep it steady. Big drops splashed over the rim despite his best efforts, splashing onto his shoes and the dirt.
“Here you are,” he said, and he gave her the dipper. She had stopped her tears, though she still looked upset.
She took the dipper and sipped from it.
Her eyes flitted up to his face. Sissel’s face was so open in that moment, James felt he could finally read her—she felt confused and alone. She was burdened by a secret and wanted to share it with someone.
He did not blurt anything out this time. He waited until she drained the dipper and offered it back to him.
He placed his hand over hers, on the handle, and held it firmly. With confidence.
“I want you to know you can trust me,” he said. “If there is something you need to say. Or some way I can help.”
She turned her head away.
“Are you sure that Isaiah McKray isn’t bothering you?” he asked.
She shook her head and gathered her lunch items into her bag again.
“I’m not feeling well. I think I should go back to my room and rest.”
“Don’t go, Sissel. Talk to me.”
She shook her head.
“Can I walk you? Let me walk you.”
“I can walk down the street by myself!”
The small children turned to look, surprised by her raised voice.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “Of course you may walk me, if you wish.”
So they went inside and she told her brother she did not feel well. Stieg dismissed her and seemed glad when James said he would see her safely to the hotel.
* * *
HE TOOK HER arm as they walked down the board walkway that fronted the shops. She was quiet and clearly troubled. James had a feeling if he could just keep her walking, she’d come out with the truth.
He feared she was going to tell him she was breaking it off with him. What would that mean for his job? Peavy might send him back to Chicago if he was no longer Sissel’s beau. He’d do it just for spite.
Mr. Campbell came out of the boardinghouse as they passed and nearly crashed into Sissel.
“Pardon me, Miss Hemstad,” said Mr. Campbell. He snatched his hat off. “Good day! Good day!”
“Good day,” James said.
“Have you heard the news? McKray struck gold!”
“What?” Sissel said. “Where?”
“He won’t say! He’s got five mines, you know, scattered in the hills. It’s anyone
’s guess.”
“A large strike?” James asked.
“Trowley saw it. He said there’s rocks shot through with ore. And one nugget big as a plum!”
James kept his eyes on Sissel. Fireworks of emotion were cast across her face. He read hope, relief, anxiety, then hope, again. Dear God, she did fancy McKray over him! How was it possible?
Sissel stepped out into the street, heading for the hotel, having forgotten him entirely.
“May I visit you later?” James said.
Sissel stopped and seemed to remember her manners. She turned to face him.
“Campbell has brought in his root beer,” James rushed on. “It’s very good. I’d love to bring you a bottle. Perhaps we could go for a walk?”
“I’m not sure,” Sissel said. “I may go visit Alice. Or go painting with my brother.”
“Of course,” he said. “I understand.”
Sissel bid him a polite farewell before she turned and pushed open the door to the hotel.
James stood helplessly. Her limp, he noticed, was much less noticeable. She was changing, right before his eyes.
He kicked at a small rock and cussed under his breath. He needed some new tactics if he was going to remain her beau, and keep his job.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Sissel stood at the front desk. There were more people in the lobby than usual. Three men in suits and big-city-style bowlers stood talking near the entrance to the restaurant. Collier came out from McKray’s office, closing the door behind him. Seeing her, an odd little smirk came on his face.
“May I help you, Miss Hemstad?”
“Yes, thank you. I wanted a word with Mr. McKray, if he’s in.”
“These men are also waiting to speak with him.” He gestured to the businessmen. “But I will let him know you are here, shall I?”
Sissel fought the urge to roll her eyes—Collier so enjoyed these little displays of self-importance.
“Please do,” Sissel said.
Collier knocked on the office door and stuck his head in, then went inside.
Was it true? Had McKray really found gold?
Just as an experiment, just to see if she could, Sissel opened her senses to her Nytte.
Immediately she felt a great fist of gold on the other side of the wall. She took a step back, staggered by the intensity she felt. Flecks of gold were massed in a small area, like fireflies in a jar. And next to that was a knotted clump of ore. The size of a plum? Yes, that was about right. Maybe even bigger. It was intermingled with granite or some other cold, dead-feeling rock.
The gold had such personality and presence. Casting more deeply, she felt silver intermingled with it, like two forms dancing. It was a glorious little knot of gold. She was warmed head to toe.
She felt a hand at her elbow.
It was one of the businessmen, doubtlessly asking if she was well, though his words were muffled. His clothes smelled of old tobacco smoke, and his eyes were bloodshot, but kind enough. It must have seemed as if she was swooning.
“I’m fine, thank you,” she said. And she forced herself to close her mind to the gold. She found she regretted leaving its presence.
Collier came back. “Here’s the catalog you wanted,” he said, slightly overloud.
He handed her a catalog for fine furnishings. He pursed his lips, mustache twitching, indicating she should look in the brochure.
“Thank you,” she said.
The man who had come to help Sissel leaned over the counter.
“See here,” he said. “We’ve come a long way to speak to Mr. McKray. It’s not fair to keep us waiting.”
Sissel took the brochure and stepped away from the counter.
She walked over to the window and opened it. On the front page, written in McKray’s blockish hand, was a message: Meet me in the livery in fifteen minutes.
Sissel looked toward the men congregating at the counter, growing vociferous in their demands to see McKray.
What on earth had McKray dragged her into?
* * *
“CAN I HELP YOU, young miss?” Mr. Hennings asked.
“I’m waiting on a friend,” she said, feeling a bit silly.
“A lady friend?”
“A gentleman. Mr. McKray,” she said.
“Ah,” Mr. Hennings said, with a lecherous wink. He went off toward the back. What a scoundrel, to wink at her that way. Sissel knew she ought to feel offended, but it struck her more as comical.
Soon McKray came in through the large doors open at the back of the stable.
“Tell me about the gold,” Sissel said.
“Shhh!” he said, looking around. “Those were reporters waiting for me. The longer I keep the story quiet, the better.”
“Why’s that?” she asked.
McKray looked off toward the door. “Well, for one thing, I don’t know what’s in the mine yet. Could be a big strike. If it is, there’s a lot of preparations to be made. Don’t want the town crawling with prospectors.”
“If you found gold, you don’t need me—”
“I do, though. I need you more than ever,” he said. He stepped closer and Sissel’s heartbeat quickened. He was so intense, it was unsettling. “I’ll pay you twenty dollars to go with me and have a look around one of my mines.”
He reached into his vest pocket and removed a thin, fine leather billfold. He took out two ten-dollar bills.
“We go to a mine. You tell me what you sense—how much gold, where it is—that’s it. I’ll never tell a soul. You know I’m good at keeping secrets.”
Sissel chewed on the side of her lower lip. Twenty dollars! That was half Stieg’s salary for teaching a three-month school session!
“All right,” Sissel said. “But you must swear never to tell.”
McKray held out the two bills. Sissel took them. She very much liked the feeling of having money of her own. She didn’t have time to ponder how she would tell Stieg she got the money, or even if she should tell him at all, because Mr. Hennings came with McKray’s two fine, gleaming horses saddled.
Sissel went to the left side of the horse to mount, and as she did so, she tucked the ten-dollar bills safely into her décolletage.
Hennings held the horse while she mounted.
McKray pressed a bill into the livery master’s hand.
“For your silence,” he said.
“Yes, sir,” Henning said. He didn’t wink now, Sissel noted.
* * *
THE MINE WAS about a half hour’s ride out of town. McKray kept looking over his shoulder as they left Carter. Sissel wondered if he wasn’t a bit paranoid—no one was following them, that she could see.
For a while, they followed the road that led to the Hemstad farm, into the area savaged by the fire. After twenty minutes, McKray led them off the road, up into the singed forests at the base of the hills.
The fire had consumed the branches of the pine trees, but left the charred trunks standing. On the ground there were rocks coated black, but between them the brown soil peeked through, and with it, shoots of grass and some tiny green saplings. Each sapling sent three or four small, tender leaves up to the sky, as if in prayer.
“Quiet, ain’t it?” McKray asked.
“Yes,” Sissel answered.
“It’s a little spooky.”
Soon the sounds of voices reached them, and some sounds of tools clanking and banging. The trees thinned, and they came to a clearing. There was a great heap of jagged stones at the base of a tree. She saw tents and a campfire and a squared-off hole in the side of the hill. It was shored up by wooden support beams. Miniature train tracks came out of the hole and ran to the pile of rocks.
A dirt-faced miner came out of the hole, pushing a cart laden with rock. He was coated in rock dust. He stood up and stretched, coming out of the low shaft, squinting against the light of day. Then he saw the horses and their riders.
“Howdy, boss,” he said to McKray. “Young lady.” He politely touched his hat. It was a la
rge, flat-brimmed hat with a candle affixed to the front. Rivulets of wax crusted the brim. Sissel wondered how much the whole thing weighed.
“Good afternoon,” McKray said.
“Well, we’re still clearing—” the miner began, but McKray held his hand up to cut him off.
“Get the others out. We’re going to have a look around,” McKray said.
McKray jumped off his horse, then held the bridle of Sissel’s horse so she could dismount.
The miner disappeared inside. A moment later three more men followed him out, stooping. Each carried a pick and wore a hat with a candle. The last one out had a lantern.
“My friend would like to go into a mine,” McKray explained to the squinting, confused men. He seemed a bit nonplussed, unsure if he needed to explain himself at all.
“Be careful, boss,” said the first miner they’d encountered. “Tracks only go a few feet in. Ground’s bumpy.”
“Pretty dark in there,” one of the others said. He held out the lit lantern.
Sissel felt the eyes of the miners on her. They seemed to be waiting for some confirmation from her.
“She’s not scared,” McKray said. “Are you?”
Sissel shook her head. She took the lantern and turned to the mine.
“There aren’t bats, are there?”
“No, ma’am,” one of them replied earnestly. Sissel realized what a stupid question it was as she walked away. Never mind. She bent her knees and ducked her head and crept into the mine with as much dignity as she could muster.
* * *
THE MINERS HAD not exaggerated: It was dark in the mine. Ten paces in and the tracks and the level ground they required ended. The ground was a mess of rock and dust. Big jutting pieces of rock made it treacherous to walk. The lantern shed a weak and wavering arc of light maybe three feet wide, and she stumbled several times. Putting aside her pride, she took ahold of McKray’s extended hand.
It was tricky business, making it through a mine in progress. Her skirts didn’t help.
“Let me go first,” McKray said eventually. “You put your feet where I do.”
The jagged walls of the mine closed in, getting more and more narrow. Sissel could make out the divots from the pick blows when she held the lantern up.
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