by Dana Alden
“What? No, I didn’t mean —”
“I don’t know what you meant, but I can’t live like this.” Her voice caught, for this was true, and she felt it deep inside. “I am not yours to protect, and I don’t want your protection. I want you to be my landlord, and nothing more. Nothing.” She didn’t know how she could start over again. How could she survive if Steven were still following her, doing this again and again? But nor could she allow J.B., sweet kind J.B., to be hurt.
She didn’t know if J.B. was reacting to her anger, or her desperation, but he dropped his hand and stepped back. He gave a quick shake of his head, like he was shaking off a shade that had been clouding his vision. “Fine. Just make sure my property doesn’t get damaged by your pranksters.” He twirled around and stalked away.
She knew he was angry, and maybe hurt, by seeing the way he walked. His limp was always more pronounced when his emotions ran high.
Delia stood in the middle of the dusty street. In one direction was the creek, all torn up, with piles of slag lining it. In another were yet more new buildings, still smelling of fresh-cut wood. It seemed everyone in Virginia City was overturning their past and starting afresh. She took a deep breath. She would do it, too.
Again.
She looked around for another moment. She had better start keeping an eye out for a new location. Or a new town. J.B. would not give up so easily.
Chapter Twenty-Two
J.B. feigned anger, and then indifference. He stomped around for a day, stopped circling the wagons, and focused on his mine again. The anger wasn’t hard. He was angry at how Delia had treated him. Here he was, mooning over her and dreaming of a future together, and she was treating him like a stray dog at the kitchen door. But he was angered more by the fact that she felt she had to do this. He wasn’t a vain man, so when his instincts had told him she cared, he believed them.
But she clearly felt she had to protect him, and this was her way of doing so. Someone was still watching her. At least, she thought so. And so did he.
Did she think he couldn’t protect her, because of his foot? He was busting his hump every day at the mine, but maybe that wasn’t enough for her. Maybe this was just an excuse to push him away. After the news of Cal’s marriage J.B. was ready to court Delia. She might need time to adjust her thinking, but he didn’t really think she was heartbroken over Cal. Maybe J.B. simply wasn’t enough of a man for her.
In war, sometimes you were the predator, and sometimes the prey. At this moment, J.B. could sense a predator, feeling the hairs on the back of his neck rise up suddenly. It wasn’t what he could see that had him nervous; it was what he couldn’t. He really didn’t want this responsibility again, but he couldn’t not help. Especially since it was Delia.
So, very quietly, he recruited a few fellows to help keep an eye on her when he wasn’t there. Reg, Michael, Chatty, and even Big Bertha’s boy Kit, whom everyone overlooked. Plus, there were a few soldiers from Wilson’s Creek who felt they owed J.B., because they hadn’t become one of the many casualties of that battle. He didn’t feel they owed him, but maybe this could make it even in their minds. He had even taken his hand drill one night in the dark, to make a tiny eye-hole in the back of his cabin. He could slide a hanging pot aside and see down the path to the creek. He felt a bit like a peeping Tom, but he would do anything, he realized, to keep Delia safe.
So, J.B. headed to the mine. He followed Alder Creek, all rock and destruction, to a smaller creek. Right off of Alder, this one was also torn up, but having revealed little to interest the miners, the creek quickly morphed into its natural state. He was about to head off onto another trail that led to his claim when a movement in the brush caught his eye.
In the red willow brush along the creek was a young moose calf. Already close to five feet tall, it had frozen with a mouthful of leaves. It was, he thought, a beautiful young animal, standing next to the stream sparkling with the morning light. Even as he thought this, he caught the movement of a full-grown mama moose. She snorted and charged him. It didn’t matter that she didn’t have antlers; she looked like she weighed 600 pounds.
J.B. leapt to the side, but still got knocked by the moose’s shoulder, standing at the same height as his own. He scrambled to his feet and raced toward a cottonwood tree. Just as his hand touched the deeply grooved wood, he caught his good foot under a root and felt the ankle twist. He managed to wrap his arm around the trunk enough to keep from falling over and scramble around it. The moose charged by the tree and turned around. He shuffled around, and by doing this several times, always keeping the tree between himself and the moose, he managed to outlast the protective aggression of the mother moose.
When she finally walked away, J.B. rested his head on the bark of the old cottonwood tree. It was clearly rotten and failing, and that was the only reason someone hadn’t cut it down for lumber.
The cow moose grunted to her calf. Together, they crossed the creek and disappeared in the willow wetlands. He stayed at the tree, watching to make sure she left the vicinity, for ten whole minutes. In that time, his ankle began to throb, and by the feeling in his boot, swell.
Trying to walk back up the trail was excruciating. To keep as much weight off his injured foot as possible, he had to use his partial foot. Even with his special boot, the scar tissue and nerve damage made the extra weight-bearing painful. Several times he had pain shooting out of one foot or the other, twice bad enough that he reeled and lost his balance, falling down again.
A man on the frontier with two bad feet, a mine unsecured, a partner out of town, a lone woman on the defensive…and today, he didn’t feel good about life.
The first person J.B. saw when he got back into town was Freddy. He was coming out of a shadowy alley, some other fellow heading deeper into the gloom. Some people are always causing trouble, J.B. thought. Freddy smirked at the limping J.B., but he didn’t say a word.
At the next corner, he ran into Reg. “Shouldn’t you be behind your counter?” J.B. asked, striving for levity. Reg grabbed J.B.’s arm and slung it over his shoulder. “Shouldn’t you be in a hospital?”
He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, holding his breath in pain. He gasped, “Funny thing, there doesn’t seem to be one around here.”
Reg acted as a crutch, helping J.B. all the way home. He promised to stop by Big Bertha’s on his way back to the mercantile and have her send Kit to find the doctor.
J.B. was looking forward to collapsing on his bed. His collar and hands were sweat-dampened. He tried to distract himself as they approached the camp, imagining Delia running to him when she caught sight of him. Maybe she’d cry out, “Oh, J.B. You’re hurt!’”
Instead, as J.B. and Reg limped into sight, she looked up and froze. After a brief moment, she put down the bucket she was carrying from the spring and headed down the path toward them. “I guess I’m going to have to help you.” His heart sank.
She slowly walked over, put his other arm over her shoulder, and along with Reg, helped drag J.B. into his cabin.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Delia was having a hard time appearing heartless. She’d seen the disappointment in J.B.’s eyes, and the disapproval in Reg’s, when she’d spoken so callously. But seeing J.B. injured, his face white with pain, this was her greatest fear. She’d nearly run to him but forced herself to hold still until she had herself under control. The only way to keep things from getting worse was to act as though she didn’t care.
“Don’t cut my boot off!” he squawked from the bed. She stood there with a big pair of shears in her hands.
“It has to come off.”
“Where the heck am I going to get new boots around here? And I’d have to rebuild my custom boot if I want one to match.” He was lying on his back with one arm thrown over his face. She saw one eye peeking out, focused on the shears.
She lay it on a table and put her hands on her hips. “I’ll try to pull it off.”
She pulled it off, with some effort. Th
e pale skin of his leg that rarely saw the light of day, swollen and red around the ankle and so different from the darker weathered skin of his face…made him seem more vulnerable. He was damp with sweat when she turned around.
“Oh, J.B.,” she said, pulling his handkerchief from his pocket and blotting his face. He grabbed her wrist and looked into her eyes. “You confuse me.”
Tears welled in her eyes. She looked out the window, trying to regain her composure, and saw Kit leading a strange man with a black bag approaching the cabin. It was likely the doctor. She couldn’t afford to be seen crying over J.B. He couldn’t afford for her to do so.
She took his hand from her wrist, placed it back on his chest, and said, “Let’s get the other boot off.”
Later, when Kit came and asked if she needed any help, she sent for ice. Delia realized she’d been inside with J.B. for a long time…too long. J.B. looked like he wanted to sleep, but she still needed to talk to him.
“How did you twist your ankle?” That was, she thought, a perfectly reasonable question.
“I fell over a tree root.” He wasn’t going to elaborate, she realized after a moment.
“What were you doing?”
“Running away.”
She let out a gasp and knelt at his side. Her hands were grasping his arm before she realized it. He looked at her with surprise.
“From whom?”
He eyed her carefully. “What makes you so sure it’s a who?”
She was so sure it was Steven, that the question didn’t even make sense to her for a moment. Of course, she was sure! And then his question sank in.
“You wouldn’t run away from much, as far as I can see.” She sat back on her heels and released his arm. He seemed to be testing her, without saying all that much. She didn’t like it.
“That’s so. I would run away from an angry cow, however.”
“A wild cow?” She couldn’t imagine a wild cow chasing J.B.
“Not a wild cow. A cow moose! It was a mama moose, protecting her calf. I stumbled upon them while walking the path to my mine.” He filled her in on the details, even making her laugh once.
She was on her knees, facing him, while he lay back with his head turned to her at the side of the bed. They looked at each other, and Delia wondered what he was thinking. She was thinking how handsome he was, even with the strain of pain in his face. His brown eyes…
There was a knock at the door. Delia jumped up and ran to the door. It was Kit. “I been around town. There’s no ice to be had. He’s gonna half to soak his foot in the crick water.” She nodded. He added, “Sorry Ma’am,” before leaving.
Delia took a moment to look out over the town. It wasn’t even midday, for all the excitement already past. The sun still shone and the laundry was still waiting for her. She walked back to J.B.’s side.
“I’ve got to get back to work, J.B.”
“I know,” he said. He looked at her with tired eyes. “I know you’ve been thinking of moving on.”
She jerked her head up in surprise. She’d been thinking seriously about it. She neither agreed nor disagreed, though, and waited to see what J.B. wanted to say.
“I need you to wait, if you can. If you will. I need help, at least for a bit.” He sounded humble, but with some pride creeping in.
Delia wanted to hug him and shake him at the same time. She wanted desperately to help him, to comfort him, to care for him. She desperately feared, though, such attention could put him in danger, that leaving him high and dry was the lesser of two evils.
“Surely, you can hire a boy, like Kit?”
“I need someone I can trust. I need you…” he tapered off, and Delia could only stare, feeling so much was being said in that need. “Please.”
And she realized she couldn’t leave him like this. She didn’t even want to do so. She reached out, gently squeezing his hand. “I will not act happy about this. Out there.” She pointed back toward the door. She didn’t know if he understood what she meant, didn’t want to explain, but felt he should know what to expect.
“I understand,” he said soberly. He squeezed her hand back, and then pulled his hand away. He turned his head and closed his eyes.
Well, thought Delia to herself, now we’ll really see how good an actress I can be. She walked over to the front door, wrenched it open, and stomped outside, slamming it behind her. She stomped around the cabin and right over to her laundry, left sitting in sopping heaps for the past hour and a half, mumbling to herself about burdens and delays. She didn’t know if she had an audience, but wasn’t taking any chances.
She stuck a couple of pieces of wood in the fire, to get the water heated up again. She grabbed a shirt and her washboard but couldn’t find the soap. She looked around the tubs, on her work shelf and worktable. And then she heard that gnawing sound again. She darted around the corner of the cabin. There was that dog again! Eating her soap! “Give me that!” she cried out. The dog dropped the bar as she approached and she snatched it up. “Go on! Shoo!” she shouted at the dog. He snuck off, tail between his legs.
It was only soap, but Delia started to cry.
Chapter Twenty-Four
J.B. sat in a chair behind his cabin, placed to allow him to see into Delia’s laundry yard and the path down to the road. As he had done every day for a week, he propped his sprained ankle up on a bench. Sometimes he soaked his foot in a tub of cold water brought from the spring by Delia. Sometimes he sharpened his tools, or oiled his leathers, or carved some wood pieces. At this point, it didn’t matter what he was doing. He was as fidgety as boy in church.
His attention was drawn to Delia, as always. He couldn’t see her face because of the big floppy bonnet she wore, but he’d become expert at reading her body. When she felt obligated to speak to him, she was brusque, intolerant, and he replied in kind. To the world, they could barely tolerate speaking to each other. Her aid to him and his to her was merely the work of expedience, of people who needed each other even if they wished it were otherwise. Out here, in the Territories, this was not uncommon, especially for the injured and the female.
He had decided, that first day he sat outside, that if he must be trapped by his injury, he would use this time to figure out what was going on in Delia’s head. And, if he was lucky, return to her good graces. And, if he was really lucky, charm her.
First, he figured out that when he wore his biggest brimmed hat, and tilted his head down, he could speak to Delia in a low voice that wasn’t obvious to anyone who wasn’t right nearby. And so, she wouldn’t shush him; she’d listen. J.B. tried to lead her on by asking questions, but she mostly remained silent, at first. So, instead, he offered stories of himself.
“So that’s why I was in Gallatin City, looking for Cal. We hit a small vein in the mine and I could pay him back. Now, anything else I find will be divided equally, my share my own, free and clear.”
One day, Michael Flaherty stopped by for a visit and commented on her red nose. That was enough for Delia to bring out her own hat, a big floppy bonnet. Not long after, J.B. was surprised when a whisper of a voice reached his ear. He looked up, but Delia was head down, scrubbing a piece of clothing along the washboard. With her bonnet on, he couldn’t see her lips move or her face at all, so he wasn’t even sure she’d spoken to him. At first, he was annoyed. Then he heard the question softly repeated, “How did you meet Calvin?”
And then he realized Delia didn’t want anyone watching to think they were talking. He was glad he had felt annoyed, and let his scowl fully develop as he looked around the area. He eyed the washtubs and the flapping clothes, and even Delia. He hoped anyone watching would think he disliked the whole business cluttering up his yard. Not that anyone in this popup town considered their yards showplaces, but a lot of fellows came out West to avoid their women-folk, or at least enjoyed a break from the proprieties that so often accompanied them.
J.B. lowered his head, looking carefully at the piece of wood he was carving in his hand. He used
his knife to whittle a piece off. “I met him out here last winter.”
He turned the wood and eyed it, trying to decide where to run his knife next. He listened to the sloshing of the tub water and the slap of the cloth.
“Why did he invest with you? A stranger.”
He listened beyond the sounds of the laundry but heard nothing to indicate anyone was approaching. “I helped him out of a bind. He said he had a good instinct for people and trusted me right off the bat. I said I had a mine staked out, he offered money for equipment and expenses. “
He paused but heard nothing new from Delia, so he continued. “He helps when he’s in town, every month to six weeks.” Or, he did, thought J.B., wondering how Cal’s recent marriage would change things.
He snuck a glance. Delia was hanging a pair of long johns on the line, squeezing out extra water along the arms and legs. Her apron was damp, her sleeves rolled back showing her suntanned arms. He could see from the darkened fabric around her neck and the glisten along her skin that she was too hot. He imagined her damp hair curling around her rosy face and wished the bonnet didn’t block his view.
“Out here, there isn’t a lot of time to spend getting to get to know a man’s character. It’s not like back East, where so many people grow up together, or move to town with relatives to vouch for them. You have to decide fairly quick, or else you can’t trust anyone.” He wondered if she was still thinking about Cal, and about not being able to marry him. Was she heartbroken and just hiding it?
He leaned down to place the knife on the ground beside his chair. He grabbed his file, ready to start smoothing the wood.
Delia returned to her rinse tub. “Is that why you were so quick to accept me?” she asked. J.B. almost didn’t hear her, the words muffled by the slosh of the water as she stirred the clothes around to rinse the soap out. “Because of Cal?”
