Mining for Love (Mountain Men of Montana Book 2)

by Dana Alden

  Delia had never seen so many muddy, dirty men in her life. It was late afternoon and many of them were returning from a day’s work. There were clear signs of army veterans, encamped with their former comrades. Skinny, ragged Southerners gave the stink eye to skinny, slightly less ragged Northerners. Two men broke out in a brawl not ten feet from her. The war was over, but it didn’t seem to matter to these men.

  There were drunk men and sober men, sad sacks and cheering groups. It was a strange microcosm of the world, with barely any women. Heads swiveled as she and J.B. rode down the trodden road. She sat behind him on the horse, her arms around his waist. She could hear them. “A woman!” “Look at that gal!” “Think she’s going to Big Bertha’s?”

  And so here she was, riding through town and drawing so much attention that she felt Lady Godiva couldn’t have had more eyes upon her.

  Suddenly, she thought she saw someone she recognized. She lurched her head around to get a better look, but the man had turned off behind a group of tents and she lost sight of him.

  “Whoa, Delia, are you falling off?” asked J.B.

  “Oh, no, I’m sorry,” she mumbled, still craning her neck. “I saw my husband. I mean, a man who looks like him.”

  “You’re holding me pretty tight. Are you sure you’re alright?” She stopped craning and faced forward again, and loosened her fingers, which had indeed been grasping J.B.’s sides tightly. J.B. took her silence and applied his own interpretation.

  “It must be hard to be reminded of your husband and your loss.”

  She wanted to change the subject and decided not to be subtle about it. “You said there were a lot of men here, but it’s a bit overwhelming to see so many, and to not see any women.”

  His next words both concerned and reassured her. “There are many more men working the placer mines. And there are a few women here, some helping husbands with mine work, some off preparing meals, etc. A few work in the saloons and…” he paused to cough, “other places. The ones who don’t want undue attention, try to keep a low profile. You’ll see them at church on Sunday.”

  Just then, they passed a rather decent-looking log cabin with a tiny, neat yard in front of it. A number of men were standing around it, looking at her hopefully. When they had put the lot behind them, Delia thought she heard a round of groans.

  “What just happened?” she asked.

  J.B. didn’t turn to look at her when he said, “That was Big Bertha’s. It’s…a brothel. Begging your pardon, but I believe those fellows were hoping that was your destination.”

  What could she possibly say to that? Her face burned and she was glad J.B. couldn’t see it.

  J.B.’s cabin was toward the outskirts of Virginia City. He led the horse off the main road, away from the creek, a short distance, turned again onto a secondary road, and quickly stopped in front of a cabin. Delia slid off the back of the horse, wishing she could soak her sore muscles back in that hot spring they visited the day before. While J.B. tied the horses to the railing at his front door, she looked around. The cabin was made of hewn logs that crisscrossed at the corners, packed with mud or clay. There were two windows with shutters over them. There was a low-peaked roof with a chimney peeking out. This building was beginning to silver, but like most everything else she’d seen, it was clearly a fairly new building.

  Along the left side there was a dusty path, about three feet wide, heading up the hill toward other cabins, some of which were half built right into the hills. On the right side was a narrow yard shared with another cabin. J.B. had said she could live and work here, but Delia wasn’t sure where?

  J.B. unloaded one box, the one Cal had asked her to bring out, and carried it into the cabin. She followed him. Inside, the main room took up the left two thirds of the building. There was a cook-stove and dry sink, a bucket near the door for bringing water, a simple table and two chairs. A third side of the table had a log set along it like a bench. There was a small window that would overlook the path Delia had seen.

  J.B. opened the shutters and warm sunlight beamed in. The second, smaller room on the right, held two bunks, one above the other, on one wall. The other side of the room was stacked with boxes and supplies, J.B. explained, that J.B. and Cal, when he was in town, used for mining. A couple of hooks were on the wall for clothes, and that was it. The whole building, tiny as it was, was set up with the compact efficiency of a Conestoga wagon.

  After showing Delia the cabin, J.B. took her outside to the path that ran alongside. J.B. pointed to another—even smaller—trail that led to a spring. Someone had dug out the hummock and lined it with rocks, creating a steady stream. Flat rocks lined the ground around it, allowing a place to rest a bucket and a way to avoid the mud. The runoff quickly joined a tiny creek that headed down toward the larger Alder Creek.

  Next, J.B. pointed to a small shack fifteen feet behind his cabin. “There is where you can sleep and you can run your business in this yard.” He gestured to the space between the two buildings.

  The shack was a hodgepodge of a stacked stone foundation that merged into the gentle slope of the hillside, its stick walls covered with black tarpaper and, thankfully, an actual shingled roof. A door stood in the center of the front wall and there was a small shuttered window to its left.

  Delia looked around the yard. She could set up tubs along the side of the cabin, haul water from the spring, and run lines to dry between the two cabins. She could make it work.

  Inside, the shack was empty.

  “We were just finishing this. We planned to put in a stove and table, a few bunks to rent out. There are a lot of men looking for places to sleep. I’ll finish it up for you.”

  “Oh,” said Delia. She was terribly inconveniencing this man. “J.B., I’m sorry. You could get so much more rent from six men. Perhaps I should find somewhere else to live…” She looked around, as though a solution would appear.

  “Delia, this is until Cal comes back to work things out with you. It’ll be just fine.”

  She nodded. She didn’t have any money to rent somewhere else anyway. She looked around the room again.

  “If you can put a high board here, I can do some of my ironing inside.”

  “Well, heating those irons might be a problem. We ordered the stove but it hasn’t arrived yet. It’s supposed to get here before winter closes down the roads from Utah.”

  From what she’d seen so far, many men wouldn’t care about whether their clothes were ironed, but some might. “I suppose you wouldn’t mind if I used your stove until then?”

  She felt she should feel awkward about going into a man’s house to heat her irons (that made her blush) but somehow, it didn’t. He treated her with such respect, it was the home of her self-proclaimed “fiancé,” and this crazy town didn’t seem to warrant getting too wrapped up in social expectations. She only hoped that her stove arrived before winter set in.

  “Not a problem. I’m guessing you’ll want a fire pit for heating your wash water.” He flung out his arm to gesture out the door to the yard. Delia couldn’t help it. She flinched.

  J.B. looked right at her, startled. He hesitated and she looked away, praying he wouldn’t say anything. Her reaction – her reasons for it – was not something she wanted to discuss.

  He let his arm drop. “I’ll get on the fire pit and a workbench tomorrow. But it’s getting into evening now. I’ll get the bunk set up right now. I’ve got some lumber stacked along the far side of my cabin.”

  Delia realized how much this man was doing for her, and how much trouble she’d have had if left on her own. “Thank you, J.B. Thank you.” She wanted to reach out and touch him, rest her hand on his arm, even hold his hand. After riding for two days with him, leaned upon his back, she felt like it should be okay to touch him, to feel that closeness again.

  And that made her stop herself. What good could come of creating a greater intimacy between them? Plus, she could tell that behaving as though she was engaged to Calvin, to his friend, ma
de her off-limits. She appreciated a man who valued his friendship and the engagement.

  She watched him build the bunk as she unpacked her few belongings. When he finished, he got up off the floor and she saw him flinch, as though pinched in his stump. He stood back and looked at the flat wood bunk, attached to the wall on one side and supported by two legs on the other. She saw his brow furrow and he turned and left. Well, she thought to herself, I guess he’s had enough of me – and the troubles I bring. She felt bereft.

  Suddenly, J.B. was back. He carried an odd-shaped fabric bag. Only when he lay it on the bunk and began to punch the bag into shape did she realized it was a straw mattress. His straw mattress, the one he usually slept on. A quick flash of a sleeping J.B. crossed her mind. She felt her face flame.

  J.B. turned and saw her blushing face. “Uh. Um. This is from Cal’s bunk. It’s not been used too much, but we’ll get some fresh straw and you can make your own mattress tomorrow.”

  It wasn’t his. It was Calvin’s. But she couldn’t explain her mistake. And it didn’t really matter.

  “I’m sorry.”

  He quirked a brow.

  “I’ve put you out of your way. In so many ways. I…” She couldn’t express how very aware she was of her dependency on him, and of how his helping her was saving her life. “Thank you. From the bottom of my heart.”

  He nodded. “You’re welcome.”

  J.B. tipped his hat to her and then turned to leave. At the door, he paused; without looking back, he said, “Delia, no more apologies. Agreed?”

  And he left. But this time, she didn’t feel bereft.

  Chapter Nine

  Delia poked at the smoldering ashes. She was trying to heat up more water, but she’d let the fire get too low. She was used to working on a stove, not an open fire. Heating up water was harder and took more time this way.

  Before he’d left to go work his mine this morning, J.B. had assured her that she’d get the hang of it. She knew that was true, but it wasn’t an advantage yet. She grabbed a couple of small sticks and stuck them in the coals. While she waited for them to catch, she grabbed her other stick that wasn’t covered with ashes and stuck it in the tub piled with clothes. She swirled it around and the brown water showed how dirty the men’s clothes were. Besides J.B.’s, two other men had spotted her setting up in the yard first thing in the morning and brought their clothes straightaway.

  It looked like she’d have to rinse the miners’ clothes, then wash them with soap, then rinse again. She couldn’t imagine how else she’d get them clean. Delia rolled up her sleeves. She pulled an empty tub over and set about lifting the wet clothes out of the first tub and into the second. Then, she dragged the tub full of brown water to the edge of the yard. She grabbed one side and prepared to tip it.

  “Stop right there!” A loud voice called out.

  Delia dropped the edge of the tub and spun around. A woman was standing in the yard. She wore a mauve skirt and white blouse, appropriate for visiting in the day…anywhere but Montana Territory. She was attractive; with silky-looking brown hair piled on her head…a little too formal for Virginia City. Delia had a suspicion…

  “I apologize for scaring you, Mrs. Watson.” The woman didn’t wait for Delia to respond. She stuck out her hand. “How do you do? I am Mrs. Bertha Banks.”

  Delia looked at the hand held out to her, and then at her own wet, dirty one.

  “Oh, no bother,” the woman said with a smile. “Now, you mustn’t dump that water.”

  Delia looked back at the tub of dirty water. “Mrs. Banks?” she said timidly. She’d never spoken with a woman of ill repute before. She’d been raised to believe such a fallen woman would be obviously devilish, but this woman was friendly and gracious. Well, except for the yelled command that started the conversation.

  “Call me Big Bertha. Everybody does,” she said.

  Delia noted that one aspect of Big Bertha that she could see warranted the nickname “Big.” But then, the woman offered a brilliant smile and Delia thought, Well, two.

  Big Bertha leaned in toward Delia and said in a quieter voice, “Gold, my dear. Gold.”

  That got Delia’s attention. “I didn’t notice any gold.”

  “You’ll have to pan for it, dear. All the gold dust gets on the miner’s clothes. You can collect it in the wash water. You’d be surprised how quickly it adds up. The Chinese launderers all do it in the California mining towns. I saw it when I was there. You should, too.”

  Delia looked back at the dirty water yet again. It seemed a crazy notion, but she had a feeling this woman was being straight. She wiped her hands on her apron and held one out. “Thank you, Bi- Big…Mrs. Banks. I’d hate to throw out the baby with the bathwater.”

  “You are more than welcome, my dear.” Big Bertha spun around then, taking in the yard, the tubs, the sopping clothes, and even the mud clinging to the hem of Delia’s dress. “Now, I’ve come to discuss business with you.”

  “Laundry?” Delia asked. She couldn’t help but notice that her dress had several inches of mud coating the bottom of it, while Bertha’s skirts barely had a dusting along the hem. Bertha’s hemline, Delia suddenly realized, was shorter than her own. Was it to avoid dragging in the dirt, or to show off her ankles?

  Big Bertha shook her head. “No, dear. Now, please don’t take offense, but I hear you had other plans when you came out here.” She waved her hand at the laundry tubs as she spoke. “If this doesn’t suit, I have a business that might interest you. It’s not so…labor intensive.”

  This woman was afraid she’d offend Delia by bringing up her missing fiancé, but not by suggesting Delia turn to whoring? How did one respond to such an offer? It was not one Delia had ever thought would come her way. She knew she ought to be offended, but instead she was fighting a smile. It felt weird on her face and she suspected it was half grimace. “No. No. I...uh...thank you…no.”

  Big Bertha assessed Delia for a moment and, with the barest of grins, bowed her head in acknowledgement. “Very well. If you ever change your mind…”

  Delia shook her head. Just then, a movement behind Bertha caught her eye. Delia looked over Bertha’s shoulder down the path past J.B.’s cabin, down to the road. She saw that horrible man Freddy that had accosted her in Gallatin City. He looked just as greasy as before, but he wasn’t smiling and acting friendly like that first time. He was standing there watching Delia with intent, unblinking, snake eyes. She felt a wave of revulsion. Bertha spun around and upon seeing Freddy, she called out with a wave of her hands, “Shoo. Go on now.” Freddy’s lip curled up and he slunk off.

  The two women watched for a moment longer, waiting to see if Freddy reappeared. When he didn’t, they turned away from the road. Bertha glanced over at J.B.’s cabin. “You’re lucky, you know. Mr. Wood is a war hero. Not many men will give him and his any trouble.” Delia was about to disclaim being “his”, but Bertha continued their previous conversation as though they hadn’t been interrupted. “Now, I hope you will feel free to call on me if you ever need the assistance of a friend. There are not many females around here and we need to stick together.”

  Delia couldn’t help but smile, a real one this time. “I appreciate that greatly.”

  “There’s a boy, young Kit, who hangs around the edge of my yard. He usually knows where to find me. You can relay a message to me through him any time.”

  “Oh, yes, right.” Delia felt foolish. It hadn’t even occurred to her that to call on Big Bertha meant calling on a brothel.

  As though she could read Delia’s mind, Big Bertha chuckled. “Good luck, my dear. Have a nice day!” She sashayed out of the yard.

  Without Big Bertha, the yard had lost some color. Delia picked up her stick and poked at the fire. It was out. She’d have to start again, but it didn’t seem so onerous this time. It was nice to meet another woman. And, she was excited to ask J.B. how to get that gold out of the tub.

  Chapter Ten

  When Delia opened her ca
bin door, she found J.B. hard at work under the morning sky. To the east, the low-lying yellow sun was chasing pale blue toward the purple of the last of the night sky. To the west, a few stars still shone.

  J.B. was stacking stones around her wash fire ashes. She admired his broad shoulders, his shirt straining under the weight of the stones he was lifting.

  “Good morning, J.B.,” she said, drawing her shawl closer around.

  “Good morning, Delia,” he replied. His breath steamed in the crisp air. It was hard to believe they’d be roasting later that afternoon.

  She walked around to look more carefully at his project. “What are you doing?”

  He finished arranging a stone, the last one, and then looked over at Delia with a smile. “Isn’t it obvious? I’m building you a fire ring. Your fire didn’t bank overnight, and from the look of the kindling pile, you had to restart your fire a couple of times yesterday anyway.”

  Delia felt a warm glow inside her. This man was so thoughtful. And then he spoke again.

  “I’ll have to spend more time looking for kindling than gold if you can’t figure out how to keep a fire going.” He finished with a smirk.

  The warm glow sputtered. She put her hands on her hips. “You…You’re a rascal,” she said, half amused, half exasperated.

  Then J.B. pointed a toe at the two tubs full of dirty water. “Do you need help emptying those?”

  Delia nearly jumped. She darted forward, placing herself between J.B. and the tubs. “No!”

  He looked at her warily.

  “I wanted to ask you last night, but you got home late and I was so very tired I went to bed early. I want to pan for gold. Will you teach me?”

  J.B.’s brows drew down. “The wash water?”

  “Oh, yes,” said Delia excitedly. “The gold dust washes off the clothes and I can pan for it. If you’ll show me.” She smiled eagerly.

  J.B. shook his head, not in dismissal but at the vagaries of life. “Now that is something I never considered. Where’d you learn about that?”