by Dana Alden
After he left, Delia returned to her washing. She pushed the rocks and the memories from her mind and chose a pair of pants to scrub.
Chapter Sixteen
J.B. picked his way down the trail, acting as casual as he could when he wanted to jump for joy. He’d found a small gold deposit a few weeks before; he’d wanted to tell Cal about it when he was in Gallatin City. It was enough to take care of Cal and him for a year or two, if they were frugal with their shares. Or, enough for Cal to start improving his land, and for J.B. to buy some.
But now! This past week he’d been digging like the devil. He was frustrated by how Delia had pulled away from him since that episode with the rocks dug out of the path. It clearly bothered her, though she wouldn’t admit it. But she’d been avoiding him, working hard and so he had done the same.
Today, he’d uncovered a little tiny piece of ore, definitely with gold in it, but in a rock formation just like last time. He was almost certain more gold would be found. He wanted to dance with joy, but the surest way to get robbed, or worse, was let everyone know you’d struck gold.
“Evenin’, Sir,” said a voice to his left. He looked up to see one of his men – one of his former men, from the War. He was raggedly looking, and clearly suffering the effects of mining without success. The man tipped his hat to J.B. His respect made J.B. a little uncomfortable. He’d done what he had to do during battle. It was half luck that he’d saved his men, despite the heavy losses around them, and despite losing a portion of his own foot. He fished a tiny piece of gold from his poke bag and handed it to the man in the guise of a handshake. “You take care, you hear?” he said. The man’s eyes took on a shine as he bobbed his head.
J.B. watched the man shuffle off. That man worked just as hard as J.B. but hadn’t discovered the right location. It was the luck of the draw.
And J.B.’s own luck was running high. He’d come to Montana Territory to find his pot of gold so that he could make his dreams come true. If this was happening, then he’d better decide what those dreams were. Too many men, if they even discovered any gold, celebrated until they had a good idea, but the celebrations lasted longer than the funds. He wasn’t going to let this happen to him.
He’d had a vague idea about getting land. There was a parcel he’d been eying, back on the other side of the hills that flanked Virginia City, right along the Madison River. Between the river and the creek that ran through it that bit of land seemed safe, even in this dry country. Maybe soon, he could claim it before someone else did. Or, he could head back over the Gallatin Valley, near Cal’s homestead.
All around the mining towns there were needs for beef and other meat animals, grains and vegetables. The market was there. On the other hand, the weather in Montana Territory was harsh. Hot and dry in the summer, cold and colder in the winter. Did he want to work the land? He could see the needs for all sorts of businesses, if he wanted to try his hand at one of them.
As he continued down the path, he thought vaguely of a family. Once he saw the dearth of women out here, he’d wondered how he could manage it. He didn’t have a girl back home to send for. He could ask his sisters to choose a girl for him, but knew most of their friends and couldn’t see the appeal in any of them. Some fellows were sending for mail-order brides, but he would rather know her first.
And, to top it all off, he had met a gal who seemed to meet all his criteria for a wife he hadn’t known he wanted. Two days before, he’d come home with an aching foot. He been carrying too much weight hauling dirt and rocks, and his bad foot suffered for it. Even the toes he didn’t have seemed to ache. Delia had shoved him onto a stool alongside his cabin and dragged over a bucket of warm water.
“Now, J.B.,” Delia had said, “Don’t give me any guff. You need to soak that foot.” He had been too tired to argue. He leaned down to slide his boot off. She’d grabbed it away.
“My goodness, this is heavy. Are you hiding gold in there?” She’d laughed at what he imagined was a look of astonishment on his face. He’d never thought to hide his gold in his boot…and he had more room in his boot than most men.
When he pulled off his sock and cotton padding, Delia had exclaimed over the red welts and blisters on his skin. He didn’t have any sensation along his scars to feel the irritations and was glad they weren’t worse.
Last evening, he’d returned to find Delia sitting outside, trying to catch the last of the sun’s glow, knitting a new sock for him. She had a pot of stew on, hanging where her boiling pot usually hung, right out in the yard. She’d had her basket of mending next to her, and he saw his own shirt right on top with a new button sewn on.
She was beautiful, hard-working, smart, kind…and brave. No woman came to this area without some courage. She came out on her own and when her plans didn’t work out, she didn’t run home; she figured out a new one.
What he wondered was how much she wanted to stick to her original plan? Did she still want Cal? How long till she admitted Cal wasn’t coming to marry her? J.B. didn’t know what was going on, but he sure hoped Cal would either show up and marry her or set her free. And now, he really found himself hoping for the latter. At least, that was what he was thinking he hoped. He hurried to get home to Delia.
He found her immediately. It looked like she was hanging her last basket of clothing. She pulled out a wet shirt and tossed it over the rope. She held it in place with a wooden line peg. She had her sleeves turned up to her elbows. Her apron was damp and the hair around her face was damp and curly. She looked tired, but also satisfied. She paused to look around the camp at the hanging wet laundry and the shelf he built alongside her shack, where’d she’d stacked the dried and folded clothes ready for pickup. He saw her glance at the buckets, sigh, and reach back into the basket of wet clothes.
“Delia! Aren’t you finished yet?”
She raised her eyebrows in mock disapproval but kept working. “Some of us work full days. We don’t stop working just because the clock says it’s quitting time.”
J.B. laughed. He reached into the basket and pulled out a damp shirt. He held it up to the line so that Delia could peg it into place. They continued down the line, telling jokes and stories of their day. Just as they finished, Michael Flaherty, one of Delia’s customers and his friend, arrived to pick up his clean laundry, pushing a wheelbarrow.
“I’ve got your mail,” Michael Flaherty said with his Irish lilt, reaching into his front pocket and then handing J.B. an envelope. Then he turned to Delia. “Reg told me you’re going to make some sweet-smelling soap. Here’s my contribution.” He pointed to the wheelbarrow full of ashes with a flourish. “The finest hardwood ashes, my dear.”
“Oh, Mr. Flaherty, only the finest gifts from you,” Delia laughed. “Would you put them over there?” She pointed alongside her cabin to the ash hopper, where she would make lye water for her soap-making, and to the shovel. “And I’ll get your clothes.”
While Delia selected one stack of clothes from the many on the shelf, Michael turned to J.B.
“I just heard the news. Is this going to change things for you?”
J.B. tried to act casual, but his inner panic rose like a king tide. How could Flaherty know? He considered sprinting into his cabin to make sure his secret stash of gold nuggets and dust was still there, hidden beneath the floor in his root cellar, or sprinting back to stand guard at his claim. He pulled his attention back to the Irishman who was still talking. “I can’t see you sharing that little cabin with newlyweds.”
“What?” He couldn’t quite process Michael’s words, except he felt a welling of relief that his gold strike was still a secret. Michael slapped his leg and laughed out loud. “You’re further behind than a caboose on a long train.” J.B. laughed, too, because Michael’s humor was so infectious. He could see that Delia was torn between desperately wanting to know what was going on and laughing.
Michael pointed to the envelope. “I think I know what’s in that. You’d better open it.”
J.B. gl
anced at the envelope in his hand. After a glance back at Michael, who was watching him with anticipation, J.B. opened the envelope and began to read. It was a note from Cal.
Dear J.B., the trouble is over…I’ve gotten hitched…please tell Delia how sorry I am…we will come to Virginia City soon…please help Delia until then…
He looked up to see Michael and Delia watching him. Michael waved his hand in the air, like he was plucking words from it. “Gossip travels faster than mail,” he said, and added, “Grand news, I’d say.”
He was answered with silence. His eyes slid from J.B. to Delia and back again.
“What is it?” Michael and Delia asked at the same time.
“Cal. He…” J.B. wondered why Cal couldn’t have written a note directly to Delia. “He’s gone and married that other gal.”
Delia took a step back, her hand on her chest. “I…ah…”
The smile on Michael’s face dropped. “I’m sorry, Ms. Delia. You mentioned a fiancé, but I didn’t realize it was Cal.” He floundered for a moment, and then added, “I know there’s plenty of men around here who’d love to marry you, Ms. Delia…”
J.B. glared so hard that Michael’s eyes widened and he stopped talking.
J.B.’s elation had surged back, but he was trying to hide it. His excitement for what this could mean for him was tempered when he saw Delia turn away toward her buckets, trying to hide disappointment in her face.
“I’m going to get some water.” She grabbed two buckets and headed toward the spring.
His eyes followed her up the trail. After a moment, Michael tapped him on the shoulder. “Could this be good news for you?”
J.B. shrugged, but he allowed himself the tiniest of smiles. “I’m hoping.”
Chapter Seventeen
Delia mumbled something about finishing up her work and grabbed her buckets. She headed toward the spring. Though it wasn’t a far walk, it would give her a moment to compose herself and figure out what this news meant for her. She stared at the clear water dribbling out of ground, caught in a half-pipe to drip out the spout over the stones.
She’d strongly suspected that Calvin was not going to come back and marry her when he got his troubles fixed, but even, so she’d had mixed feelings. A part of her, a weak, cowardly part, had wanted him to come marry her and save her from her troubles. Another, braver, part, liked being free of the burden of a false engagement. She was free to live life on her own.
But it had felt safer, here in this territory of men, being an affianced woman rather than a single one. Or, at least, acting like she was one. It didn’t slow the advances of the men down much, but it helped a little. J.B. helped her because Cal asked him to. And where would she live if Calvin and his bride wanted to live in one of the cabins? J.B. would need the other.
And the final part, a small part buried deep but with a light burning so she couldn’t miss it even when she tried, felt a dream spark a little brighter. Could she find a true love? Had she found the beginnings of it already?
She heard movement behind her and knew it was J.B. even before he spoke. “Are you terribly disappointed?” he asked. He was close, but not touching her. He reached down and pulled the empty buckets from her hands. He knelt to put one under the spout to catch the water and looked back at her. “Are you?”
She thought about it, wanting to give him – and herself – a truthful answer. She reached down to run her fingers under the cold splash of water. “I’m disappointed that my plans have gone so far astray that I’m left feeling unsure about my future – and even my present. But not terribly so. It had seemed to me that Calvin was truly smitten with that gal, so I’m not very surprised. But it’s also freeing. I have no obligations or ties now.”
Except, perhaps, I’m still married, she thought. But she didn’t say it aloud.
The look J.B. gave her was questioning, and she suspected that he thought she was withholding something. She smiled brightly at J.B., not willing to elaborate. He squinted his eyes at her for a moment. Then, he looked away to move the full bucket to the side and the empty bucket under the spout.
“You could have ties if you want them.”
She deliberately misunderstood him, wanting more time to think this through. She made herself laugh, “Oh, you’ve been taking lessons from Michael Flaherty. As if I’m going to shack up with one of the mining bums around here.”
“Bums?” He stopped in his tracks.
“I didn’t mean you! You’re no bum. Oh, you’re just funning me again.” They both laughed, but it seemed forced on both sides.
Even so, she was still smiling an hour later when she finished organizing and cleaning her worksite. She knew J.B. was interested in courting her, now that Cal was out of the way, and she was considering it. Steven was dead – or gone; he would have come back by now if he’d wanted to. She hung her broom on the cabin wall hook. Everything was prepared to start fresh the next day.
Delia heard a knock. She had been sitting with her knitting in her hand, unmoving, for a while going over the events of the day. Perhaps the word was out that her fiancé had jilted her, that he’d gone and married another woman. Maybe this was Bertha, coming to renew her offer to give Delia a job in the brothel.
She put down her knitting and opened the door. J.B. stood in the doorway, silhouetted by the soft light of the moon and stars from above, and the soft glow of the lantern behind her.
“You’re still up, good.” He smiled. “Grab your shawl. Hurry!”
She did, wrapping it around her shoulders. She blew out her lantern and followed J.B., closing the door behind her. J.B. lightly put his hand on her back, guiding her while her eyes adjusted. He was walking with a bounce in his step and hurrying her down the street.
“What-?” she tried to ask, but he cut her off.
“You’ll see, in just a minute.”
They were headed downtown, and ahead Delia saw the light of torches. Growing louder were the sounds of men’s voices, which broke out into Irish shanty songs. They turned a corner and J.B. led her onto a boardwalk. Standing behind a hitching post, they had a good view of the parade.
And that’s what it was. An impromptu parade. Dozens of men, many looking fairly inebriated, were marching down the road. They carried torches and mugs of beer, and in the middle, one man was carried on the shoulders of others. He was smiling and reaching out, shaking hands as the mass undulated down the road.
“Who’s that?” Delia asked.
“Thomas Meagher. He’s just arrived in town. He’s the new territorial secretary; the second in command after the governor.”
Delia couldn’t help but smile at the rowdy welcome the secretary was receiving. She looked down the road a bit and saw Big Bertha standing on her own boardwalk. She was a beacon of rose-colored femininity lit by the torches. She was waving at the men in the parade who gave her a ‘huzzah!’ “The union general?” she asked, glancing at J.B.
“The same. But I don’t think it’s his war status that gained him this attention in such a Southern-built town as Virginia City. I’d say it’s an Irish welcome for an Irish hero.”
Delia felt a snag on her skirt. She looked down to see Chatty’s little dog pawing at her.
“Oh, you!” She reached out a foot to gently push the dog off her skirt. “You’re going to rip my skirt. Shoo.”
The dog continued to nose around her. “It’s that soap, isn’t? I never met a dog that wanted to eat soap as much as you do. You’re going to get sick.” J.B. reached down and picked up the dog. He held it in front of Delia for a moment. “No,” she said in a silly voice, “I don’t carry soap around for dogs.” J.B. dropped the dog down on the road and the noise and excitement even caught up the dog, so that it continued down the street with the parade.
Delia and J.B. continued to watch the parade slowly making its way down the street, until the group had mostly passed. With the torches gone, and only a few lights shining out the windows, the street was shadowed and they were reminded
of the coolness of the night. Nearby murmurs were heard. Delia and J.B. walked back to the cabins in quiet conversation. They didn’t discuss Cal or his recent marriage.
Chapter Eighteen
J.B. was barely awake when he heard a pounding. He could see through the cracks in the shutters that the sky was just turning pink. The birds were chirping happily, but the pounding knocks did not sound happy. He called out, “Hang on.” He pulled on his pants, shirt, and boots. If they weren’t shouting too, he figured his roof wasn’t on fire.
He pulled open the door to find Michael Flaherty standing there.
“Sorry to wake you, J.B. I was getting an early start and looking to your back yard on my way by.” He pointed over J.B.’s shoulder toward the yard and Delia’s home, as though J.B.’s cabin was not in the way. J.B.’s brows lowered.
“Can’t blame me for trying to catch glimpse of the prettiest lass in Virginia City,” said Michael with a little shrug. “Anyway, someone’s been making mischief back there.”
They hurried around the building and J.B. stopped short when he saw the yard.
All the clotheslines were down, and all of the clothes that Delia had washed and hung to dry lay in heaps on the ground. His first thought was a buck elk or deer careening through camp, catching the ropes with its antlers. But he knew no animal would have dropped all the lines, all still in neat rows. He walked over to check out the ends of the ropes, but even before he got close, he could see the knots that he’d nailed to the walls were still there with short but clean-cut stubs of rope left. Someone had cut the lines.
J.B. turned back to Michael. “Did you see anyone?”
Michael shook his head.
“I don’t get it. Who’d want to harm a pretty lass who does the wash?”
J.B. shrugged. “Thanks for waking me. I’ll go wake Delia.”
Michael headed back down the path past J.B.’s cabin.
