by Dana Alden
Mr. J.B. Wood had brown hair with red highlights. His skin was weathered and swarthy, like that of all the men she’d seen, except some of the newcomers. He had broad shoulders and a slender waist. He had carried her boxes, she remembered, but she hadn’t noticed if he’d struggled or not.
He certainly looked strong. He was standing at the bar with the other men she didn’t recognize, all listening to the bartender read from a newspaper. She guessed it had come in the mail pouch on the same ferry on which she had traveled.
She looked back to Mr. Wood to see him looking back at her. He gave an imaginary tip of the hat to her, though his hat was actually resting on the bar in front of him. Her dealings with him were limited, and though his manners weren’t by the book, his actions all spoke of respect. It was interesting, to say the least, how many men she’d met during her travels who demonstrated good manners, but the demeanor behind them had negated their behavior. And then there were some whose manners weren’t so nice, but a good-humored and sincere personality had made all the difference for a few of them.
Delia started. She had been woolgathering. For the last few weeks, she’d been on her own. She had already gotten used to not having anyone waiting on her. She headed down the stairs, and despite having to give attention to ensure her dress didn’t catch on the rough wood of the treads, she knew every eye was upon her. Her dress was sky blue with little yellow flowers flecked across it. It was an older dress, but neat and clean and made her look pretty, as her mother had said whenever Delia wore it.
Mr. Wood met her at the bottom of the stair. “Good afternoon, Miss Delia.”
“Good afternoon, Mr. Wood.”
“Come sit at this table, if you will. I’m sure you are hungry. Daily saved a lunch plate for you.”
Her stomach rumbled and she felt her cheeks blush lightly. “Oh, yes, thank you. And thank you for your assistance yesterday. I was so very exhausted from the travel.”
He looked at her seriously. “And probably by your welcome committee. Do you have any connection to this Samuel Emerson he asked about?”
“No. I am not acquainted with him – or even his name.”
He gave a satisfied nod. “Good. He’s in some trouble with some bad characters.” She had a feeling she’d be in real trouble right now if she had answered wrongly yesterday. They walked a few steps to the same round table she’d sat at the day before. J.B. seated her and then chose a chair, adjusting it to give himself an unimpeded view of the door out onto the porch.
Delia was wondering how worried she should be that more ruffians might walk in that door when her thoughts were interrupted.
“So, does Cal know to meet you?” Mr. Wood asked.
This question startled Delia. While it was possible a letter had gotten lost, it wasn’t something she had considered. Of all her worries and anxieties, not being met at the end of her journey had not been one of them. What if Calvin didn’t know to meet her? How long would it take to find him?
“So, he doesn’t know?”
“I don’t know. Letters were sent, but I left before he could have responded to the one with the plan. I thought he knew, but now I can’t be sure.” She felt foolish in front of this handsome man for not being able to say, “Of course he knows!” Shouldn’t one’s fiancé be dependable? Shouldn’t they be close enough, even through letters, to know such important information as where in the world one’s soon-to-be husband or wife was?
And yet, Delia knew she had to leave Missouri when she did, that waiting for a final letter had not been an option.
“It’s just that,” Mr. Wood lowered his voice and glanced around, “Cal has never mentioned you to me. It seems like something he would do.”
Delia realized he was skeptical of her engagement, her claim to connection. Part of her wanted to prove herself to this man, for the sake of pride and continued aid—and because, to be honest, she didn’t like the idea of him thinking poorly of her. The other part of her was angry that a near stranger thought to doubt her, and that rather than walk away in a huff, she had to try to assure him enough to keep helping her. While she would find a way to figure things out, having a local guide—and protector— would help.
She didn’t really know how Calvin felt about this, either. That was, his father had assured her Cal was looking forward to a wife and remembered her fondly, but she realized now that was not the same as looking forward to her as a wife. Could she have fooled herself so thoroughly? Or was it simply that Mr. Wood’s questions reflected his lack of knowledge of the situation, and not hers?
Delia was given a further moment to think by the arrival of her plate. Mr. Daily brought her a thick slice of ham with mashed potatoes and boiled carrots. He lay the plate in front of her, and then from his back pocket he pulled a napkin rolled around a knife and fork. With a quick nod, he headed back behind his bar.
“Calvin and I grew up together.” Mr. Wood’s eyebrows rose with a question in them, so Delia elaborated. “In Missouri. Our farm adjoined his grandfather’s farm.”
That did it, she saw. To know his home state, and that he grew up next door to his grandfather, would be sufficient. And thank goodness. She was here to start over. Having to recount all that led to this big change would not help her fit in here. She took her knife and fork and began to cut her ham. Having satisfied the basic curiosity of Mr. Wood, she was free to give in to her hunger. And boy, was she hungry!
Chapter Four
It was late. Or, it was early, depending on how you looked at it. But in either case, J.B. had no trouble seeing the trail in front of him. It was lit by the light of a million stars. The flat land around him, open prairie covered with the dark outlines of sagebrush, melted away under the glowing dome of the pinpricked sky above him. He could see the mountains in the distance only by the absence of light, the lack of stars. Even after living out West for more than a year, he was still awed by the majestic beauty of the landscape. Even when he didn’t want to be seeing it.
He hadn’t expected to be out till all hours of the night. He’d left the hotel that afternoon, after seeing that Mrs. Watson was safe for the time being, in order to go hunting. Where he lived, in Virginia City, the local game was being depleted by the huge influx of miners. What wasn’t already killed was scared away by the hubbub of thousands of men packed along one little creek.
He’d successfully bagged a pair of prairie grouse. His mouth watered, thinking of how fresh-roasted grouse would taste. He was on his way back when he’d spotted some Indians passing in the distance and had hunkered down rather than risk meeting a group who might or might not have been friendly.
So here he was, dragging into Gallatin City terribly late, or quite a bit early. The town was quiet. Most of the folks who’d come in on the ferry the day before had already headed out for one mining town or another. Some headed north to Last Chance Gulch. Some headed south to Virginia City, Central City, and other pop-up mining towns in Alder Gulch. He’d heard some men were looking for gold in the Big Belt Mountains to the north, too.
J.B. had a couple of friends keeping an eye on his claim, looking out for unwanted visitors, but even so, he really hated to leave it for long. Only because he needed to give Cal the important news, news that he wouldn’t write down in a letter, was he here.
And now his thoughts returned to the second reason he had to stay. He couldn’t leave Cal’s fiancée here all alone. If J.B. had a woman, he’d expect his friend to look out for her, and surely Cal could expect the same of him. He could post a letter to Cal in Bozeman, or ride out there himself, but he couldn’t be sure Cal would be there. He guessed he ought to discuss this all with Mrs. Watson tomorrow. But in any case, as soon as he figured out what to do with Mrs. Watson, he would hotfoot it back to Virginia City.
Meanwhile, he would catch a couple of hours of sleep in his hotel room before tracking her down.
J.B. awoke well into the morning. He dressed and headed downstairs. There was no one around except Mr. Daily, standing behin
d the bar. J.B. walked over and handed over his room key for Mr. Daily to store in the cubby mounted on the wall.
“Hold on, Mr. Wood.” Daily held out a letter to J.B. “Your friend Cal Ayers left a letter to post to you. I guess I can just hand it over.”
J.B. froze in the middle of reaching for the paper. “Cal? He’s here?”
“He was,” said Mr. Daily, nodding. “But he headed back to Bozeman at dawn.”
J.B. wanted to kick himself. Cal had been here, and he’d missed him. He took the letter to the bench on the porch outside, where there was more light.
He read what Cal wrote with disbelief. I’ve been packing over the Bridger Mountains with this gal Amanda. Ned Bart’s got it in for her brother and her. I told one of his boys that she’s my fiancée so they wouldn’t know who she really is. I can’t have Delia around here telling folks she’s my fiancée or Bart will figure out that Amanda’s the one he’s looking for.
Poor Mrs. Watson. She was at the end of her rope and just hoping and praying Cal would show up soon to bail her out. She’d traveled all this way thinking Cal would marry her, and even if this were a temporary setback, she’d surely be hurt by the situation. J.B. also wondered why his friend had never mentioned his fiancée. But, then, it was months since they’d seen each other.
J.B., I need your help. Take Delia to V.C. and help her get settled. I’ll be along as soon as I can get things settled here. But you should know, I’m hoping I can get Amanda to marry me when this ordeal is over.
J.B. read this paragraph three times. Take her to Virginia City? He had a mine to dig. Dammit, it was about to pay off; he just knew it. He had been hoping to find Cal and get him to come help. They could take turns digging and sleeping, and the claim would never be left unattended. Once folk heard about a strike, it wasn’t safe to leave it be. And Cal wanted him to nursemaid his ex-fiancée?
P.S. Delia has a box of supplies that I ordered for you: New scales, quicksilver, and an ingot mold.
J.B. let the note fall to the ground. He sat forward on the bench, his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. He’d never received a package with such a high delivery fee.
Chapter Five
Delia was in shock again. She sat in a corner of the hotel parlor, nursing her sassafras drink, wondering what to do. She’d come all this way, mentally and physically shedding her old life and preparing for her new one, and it was a bust. She was stranded in a town with barely eight buildings – and that included the barns – with enough money to last her perhaps two weeks. Not enough to go back home, if she even wanted that. Which she didn’t.
She wanted to start over, afresh, in a new place, with a new husband. And that was the problem, because her fiancé didn’t want her.
She and Calvin hadn’t seen each other or even written since he left Missouri ten years before, but they’d been true childhood friends. It was his father who had suggested that she’d never be able to move on from the death of her husband Stephen if she stayed in town near Stephen’s relatives. Mr. Ayers had acknowledged that Calvin wasn’t likely to ever move back to Missouri, but the father still wanted his son to settle down with a family. So, he had suggested the engagement and written directly to Cal.
Calvin had said they had to see each other again, to see if they suited after all these years. She had agreed. She had agreed.
Delia wanted to kick herself. She had thought it was a mere formality, to make sure they weren’t, at the very least, repulsed by each other. But she was a good-looking woman with plenty of housekeeping skills. She and Cal had been friends. It had never occurred to her that he might reject her.
She’d been sitting on a bench in the shade of the porch yesterday afternoon, admiring the vast openness, and the mountains in the distance. A hawk glided in lazy circles above. Everything was gold in the late summer heat, except right along the river where it greened up. This handsome man, with traces of the boy she had known, showed up and for a moment she had relaxed, thinking her journey was over. But then he’d started talking about this other gal…
In her heart, she knew that Cal had gone and met another woman he actually wanted to be with. He wasn’t so much rejecting Delia as choosing someone else. But it still hurt her pride. And, still left her in a precarious situation.
Perhaps even harder to handle was that after all this, he wasn’t even sticking around to help her out. His new woman friend was in trouble, worse than Delia’s trouble, and he had to help her, the other her, first. So, he’d headed off first thing this morning, and Delia hadn’t even had time…well, hadn’t made time, to tell him the full extent of her troubles.
She must have been lost in thought because she was startled by the scrape of a chair. J.B. Wood sat down beside her. He looked inquiringly at her face, and she could tell he knew what was going on, yet didn’t know what kind of response to expect from her. Delia wasn’t even sure how she would deal with all of this. Cry. Scream. Soldier on.
Then, J.B. spoke and shocked her. “You know, there’s a lot of fellows that will be glad to find out you’re on the market.” He said it with a kind smile and she knew he meant to make her feel better. But, instead, the bottom dropped out of her stomach. She couldn’t marry another man. She didn’t want to have to even discuss it or come up with explanations that could be argued against. It was instinctual and instant, but the words that came out of her mouth surprised her as much as Mr. Wood.
“I’m not giving up on Calvin. He’s just trying to help out this poor woman. He’ll be back.”
J.B. sat back in his chair. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. He closed it. He didn’t say a word, for which Delia was grateful.
“And I’m fine with that. It’s the Christian way; to help others in need.” Delia spoke rapidly, scared of the truth. “But I’m going to need to figure out what to do until then. Cal said he would ask you to help me.”
J.B. slowly nodded. He put his calloused hand over hers on the tabletop. “Mrs. Watson,” he said in a low, calm voice, “Cal left a note. He seems mighty taken by this Amanda gal. He might not be coming back, in the way that you mean, that is.”
Delia’s courage faltered. As much as she wanted to be honest with Mr. Wood, she needed to be considered ‘off the table.’ She just couldn’t have anyone think she was available for courting. She didn’t want J.B. to think badly of her -- and right now, he seemed to think she had fallen off her rocker – but, well, it can’t be helped, she told herself.
“I don’t think so,” she said emphatically, pulling her hand out from under his and straightening her shoulders. “I spoke with him last evening. He’ll be along and we’ll get married. Meanwhile—”
She lifted her eyebrows at Mr. Wood and waited. J.B. studied her, like she was a wild animal that he wasn’t sure how to approach. He even glanced around as though looking for help. Finally, he gave her a strained smile.
“Meanwhile, Cal asked me to look out for you until he was out of trouble and able to help his old friend. I will.”
Delia looked at this big scruffy man with too-long hair, sun-weathered creases around his eyes, and, whew, odiferous clothes. He had beautiful, soulful brown eyes aimed at her, offering her help, aid… caring. Genuine, sincere, looking-out-for-a-fellow-human-being sort of caring. He knew what she said about Cal was foolish, but was willing to let her cling to her hope. Or at least, what he thought was her hope.
It was silly after all that she’d been through, but this was what was going to make her cry. She looked over his shoulder and focused on the glass liquor bottle, half-filled with a brown liquid, sitting on the shelf behind the bar. She stared hard but could feel the tears welling in her eyes.
“Let’s take a walk.” J.B. grabbed her arm and hauled her to her feet. She guessed he didn’t want to see her crying all over him and thought a walk would distract her. “Let’s go to the river.”
They left the hotel and followed a small path through a prairie meadow, ushering her around ground cactus and sagebrus
h. The sun was harsh; she wished she were wearing her bonnet. It would block the light. It would hide her eyes.
They walked close, with J.B. offering his arm on the uneven spots, but didn’t speak. She kept taking deep breaths, trying to calm the welling tears away. When they finally reached the shade of the tall cottonwood trees along the riverbank, he stopped and turned her to face him, with one hand on each of her upper arms.
“It’s private here. A good place to cry. Do you want company or should I take a walk?” He pointed with his thumb where the path continued along the riverbank.
Delia couldn’t even answer him. She didn’t even know what she wanted. The tears spilled out of her eyes and she felt her face screw up, an ugly face for an ugly sob. She looked at the buttons on his shirt as best she could through the tears. What could she say? She didn’t want to be alone, but she didn’t want to be seen crying these loud, noisy sobs.
J.B. took the decision from her. He led her to a downed log. He sat down and pulled her down beside him on the gnarly cottonwood bark. He laid his arm across her shoulders, his hand cupping her shoulder. He gave her a comforting squeeze and looked off down the river. She leaned into him, into this near stranger, and cried her heart out. It was exhaustion. It was a dead husband, a journey, a failed fiancé. It was fear and humiliation and everything bad she’d felt and experienced in the past six months.
After she finished crying, after the sobs turned to gasping breaths, then after those turned to sniffles, after she finally ran out of tears and breathed normally again, she pulled away, but only slightly. She didn’t want to dislodge his arm from around her. They both looked out onto the river, where a splash showed a fish rising to catch a grasshopper that had hopped too far. He turned his head and looked at her face. She knew she was over the worst of it when she was concerned with how red and puffy her eyes looked to him.
