by Dana Alden
“I suppose so.” He ran the file back and forth, smoothing the wood. “You had history with Cal. And you seemed respectable.” He decided to take a leap. “Plus, you’re awfully pretty.”
He heard a snort and was tempted to laugh himself but was interrupted.
“Halloo! J.B., sir.” It was another of his men from the war. The man took his hat off and nodded to J.B. as he walked up the path alongside the cabin. “I’m sorry to bother you when you’re laid up, but I could use your help.”
“Anything, Jessup, to save me from dying of boredom,” J.B. replied, flinging his arms wide open.
“I brought you this venison haunch, sir,” the man said. “I don’t want you to feel obligated to assist me. You’ve already done so much...” Jessup’s voice trailed off. Something about saving a man’s life; they ended up beholden to each other, it seemed to J.B.
J.B. saw Delia pause, her stirring stick slow for just a moment.
“Jessup, you didn’t need to bring me anything, but I won’t say no to some fresh game. Thank you kindly.” Jessup stood there, holding the wrapped haunch, waiting for J.B. to tell him what to do with it. Before J.B. could move, Delia swept in and took it. Without inflection she said, “I’ll put it in your cabin.” She disappeared inside, and J.B. heard her slide back the trap door to the cold storage under the floor. Then she reappeared and returned to her laundry. She never looked at J.B.
Jessup watched Delia, bemused.
“What can I do for you, Jessup?”
“Well, see, here’s my dilemma. I have a claim that’s showing promise.” He glanced around as he said this.
J.B. responded in a similar low voice. “That’s a good kind of dilemma.”
Jessup flashed a smile, but a sad one. “It is. But I can’t stay. My wife and children back home need me. I wish I could stay longer, but with winter coming on, I got to go.” He took a deep breath. “See, I’ve got a fellow willing to buy my claim, but at rock bottom price. Says the ore ain’t got but a speck of gold.”
J.B. nodded, but didn’t say anything.
Jessup continued. “I got a couple of pieces here. Would you look at them, tell me what you think?” He pulled two rocks out of his pocket. J.B. held out his hand. He turned the pieces, eyeing them from different angles. He hefted them, feeling their weight.
“I can do you better than that. Step into my cabin there, and right on that first shelf is a jar of quicksilver. Get that for me, and the pan hanging just below it.” While Jessup got the supplies, J.B. got up and hobbled over to Delia. “Can we use a bit of your fire, there?”
She looked up. Her bonnet framed her face. Her green eyes shone. She gave him a quick smile and only he could see it. “You may,” she said.
J.B. hobbled back to get his chair and brought it next to the fire. Jessup brought the pan and the quicksilver. J.B. placed Jessup’s ore rocks in the pan and then poured quicksilver over them. He hung the pan over the fire and the ingredients started heating up.
J.B. looked up at Jessup. “Now, we wait.”
Jessup leaned back on his heals and studied the mixture. They were silent.
“It’s looking pretty good, ain’t it?” Jessup asked.
J.B. realized he was sitting there, staring at the amalgam in the pan with a smile playing on his lips. He focused on the pan.
The quicksilver had done its job. The gold had separated from the rest of the ore, binding with the quicksilver. J.B. waved the fumes away as he peered into the pan. It was a good amount.
“Jessup, we can’t know for sure how much gold is in your claim. But I’d say you don’t need to accept a rock bottom price.”
Jessup had a smile that stretched from ear to ear. He grabbed J.B.’s hand and started pumping it. “Thank you, sir! Thank you. Thank you.” His eyes glistened with relief.
J.B. looked over at Delia. She had paused in her work and was watching them. She didn’t say a word. She barely smiled in the shadows of her bonnet. She gave him only the slightest nod. But, somehow, J.B. felt himself puff with pride.
J.B. took the pan off the fire. Jessup, mesmerized by the pan even as it cooled, didn’t take his eyes off it. All his hopes rested in it.
J.B.’s eyes, on the other hand, kept turning to Delia.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Delia eyed her red chapped hands. Her laundry business was a success, keeping her busy. But she’d never had to wash clothes six days a week before. The soap was taking a toll on her skin. It simply had too much lye in it.
Today was a rare break from the laundry, but she was still plenty busy. Today she was making her – hopefully better – soap.
Delia leaned over her pot, breathing in through the handful of sagebrush she held. The bite of the lye was still noticeable, but not as much. Unfortunately, the sagebrush had its own spicy bite and Delia wasn’t sure it was an improvement. She sighed. It would be lovely to scent her lye soap with lavender, but there wasn’t any available. She’d have to keep exploring the local flora to find something suitable. Until then, she’d use the pine oil she’d extracted from the branches she’d been given and hope it worked well within the soap.
“Mrs. Watson, whatever are you up to now?” It was Big Bertha, sashaying into the yard in a green velvet dress. She eyed the cauldron. As the smell of the lye wafted up, her eyes watered and she moved upwind away from the fumes.
“I’m making soap.”
Big Bertha sniffed again and took a step back. She had her smooth-looking hand – not at all red and chapped – resting on her chest as though she’d been exposed to something mildly offensive. She turned to J.B., who was standing alongside his cabin, with a broom in his hand.
“J.B., are you sweeping your yard? That can’t be good for your ankle. Do you know what you need?” she gave a broad smile. “You need a wife.”
J.B.’s eyes shot to Delia’s and they both blushed. Delia wished she was wearing her bonnet. She immediately busied herself with her soap.
“I know! Since you don’t have a wife, you must visit my establishment so that my girls can care for you.” Delia’s head snapped up. Bertha’s smile had broadened further, and she was looking J.B. up and down.
Delia stirred viciously, determined not to look at J.B. She didn’t want to think of J.B. going to a place like that. She didn’t want to know if he looked pleased by the suggestion. But, the silence. She couldn’t help it. She looked. J.B. was red-faced, slowly shaking his head at Bertha. A little fountain of relief burst inside Delia. Until, Bertha turned to her.
“Are you sure you don’t want to come work for me?”
Delia felt a tide of heat rush up her face, worse than before. She looked back and forth between J.B., who looked angry, and Big Bertha, who had a twinkle in her eye. That woman was stirring up trouble as clearly as Delia was stirring her pot. J.B. threw down his broom and stomped around his cabin and out of sight.
Delia couldn’t speak. She was mortified to have had J.B. hear that. It didn’t matter. Bertha spoke first.
“No matter, my dear. If you ever change your mind, you know where to find me.” With that, Big Bertha flashed them both a naughty grin and sashayed out of the yard and down the road.
Delia watched Big Bertha go, noting the swinging of her velvet skirts and the men who turned to watch her walk away. She looked down at her own skirt, stained and dirty at the hem. She could feel how sweat-dampened her armpits were. Her skin was darkened by the sun all the way to where her sleeves were rolled back. Her hands were so cracked and red she had spots of blood on her knuckles. She pulled her bonnet back on, whether to protect her skin or simply hide, she wasn’t sure.
Suddenly, a pile of clothes was slapped down on the board in front of her. “Don’t forget to pay your rent.” It was J.B.’s gruff voice. He had already turned away, limping out of the yard. “I’m going for a walk.”
He did such a good job of acting like he didn’t care about her, that in fact he might even dislike her, that sometimes she didn’t think he was ac
ting. Her heart drooped. He clearly did not like Big Bertha’s suggestion that he get a wife.
Delia began to sort through the clothes he’d left. More laundry for tomorrow. She checked the pockets and felt a lump. She reached in and pulled out a sock wrapped around something. It was a small jar.
Mrs. Gripley’s Hand Lotion.
Her heart soared. He did care. He noticed. He cared. She carefully slipped the jar into her pocket and whispered, “Thank you.” Even though he wasn’t there to hear her. She wanted to run after J.B., but she couldn’t quite yet. She had to pour the soap liquid into the mold first.
And then she would find J.B.
Finished, she ran into her cabin to hang up her apron and smooth her hair. As she stepped outside, she saw a man standing at the juncture of the road and the path back to her laundry yard. He was wearing dungarees so encrusted with dirt that they looked like they could stand up even without a body inside them. His shirt collar was stained and he didn’t wear a tie. He held a bundle of clothes under his arm. He was looking between the two cabins, unsure where to find the washerwoman.
She stopped in her tracks. The man looked at her. “Mrs. Watson?” Lots of men knew her name when they first came to her; she was one of only a few women in town. But he looked at her with recognition.
“Do I know you?”
“No ma’am. But I recognize you. Steven always carried a painted miniature of you. He took it out and looked at it whenever he was homesick. He was right proud of his pretty wife and loved to show you off to the other fellows.”
Delia put her hand to her heart. Steven. She’d been thinking of the troubles in their marriage, and she’d forgotten the sweet man who courted her. Maybe his letters weren’t just about control, but expressions of homesickness…it confused her.
He knew Steven. “Mr….”
“Jonathon Cooper, ma’am.”
“Mr. Cooper, do you know where Steven is?” She felt a little embarrassed. With the war over, she ought to know where her husband was. But she was not too embarrassed to ask. She needed to know.
Mr. Cooper’s eyes widened. He took his hat off. “Mam, don’t you know? He’s dead.”
Delia stumbled, and leaned against her worktable. She’d believed Steven dead, despite her recent fears, but still it was a shock to hear this man – this man who knew Steven – say it. Mr. Cooper rushed her side, ready to catch her if she fainted.
“Are you sure? Because, he’s listed as missing. No one knows what happened.”
Mr. Cooper looked startled. “Ah, gee, Mrs. Watson. I’m awfully sorry. I…I saw him. Wounded. Terrible gut wound. I couldn’t stay with him. We was in the middle of battle and they was shootin’…but I can’t imagine he survived that. No one could.”
Delia deep breathed, fighting the darkness that wanted to encircle her. A gut wound. What a terrible injury. They said men would rather die outright than suffer one of those. “Are you sure?”
“As sure as I can be. Steven was my comrade and my friend. If I thought he’d had a chance of surviving I’d have gone back for him.” His expression beseeched her. Mr. Cooper looked terribly worn down. Some men didn’t recover after war, and he seemed to be one of them. He was unkempt, haggard, skinny. His eyes were hollow, shadowed.
She nodded. “Of course, you would have.” She straightened up, the darkness at the edge of her vision fading. She took a deep breath.
“Do you have laundry for me, Mr. Cooper?”
Mr. Cooper gestured at the bundle he had dropped. “Well, I did, but I think maybe you need to go rest.”
“Not at all. If I rest, then all I can do is think about Steven. I’d rather work.” She took Mr. Cooper by the arm and ushered him toward the street. “Now, go down the road here, turn up there, and a little way down, you’ll find a bath house. You go there tomorrow.” She glanced at the sky. Clear. “You go there tomorrow. While you’re bathing, have them run your dirty clothes back here. I’ll have your clean ones ready.”
Mr. Cooper nodded, but he still seemed a concerned for her. “I’m sorry. I…”
“Don’t be sorry, Mr. Cooper. I needed to hear what you had to say.” She watched him shuffle down the road, hat still in hand. Steven was probably dead. Probably. But then, what was happening here? She turned to the pile of laundry. She would have to talk to J.B. later. Maybe she was ready to tell him about her dilemma. She saw a movement out the corner of her eye. It was the dog.
“Go on, you,” she said.
Chapter Twenty-Six
J.B. meandered down the road, past the storefronts with their boardwalks, past the shacks and tents. With the thousands of men living and working around Virginia City, he was jostled several times. But he kept his head down and his hands in his pockets. He walked past the tailings and piles of dirt that made it look like the earth had been turned inside out.
While he walked, he remembered the calm stillness of Delia’s bent head when she found the hand lotion he’d left for her. He’d stood just outside the yard, where she wouldn’t notice him. Though he couldn’t see her face, hidden by the sides of her blue bonnet, he did see her pull the small jar in close to her chest, as though hugging it tight, before dropping it into her apron pocket.
He found himself getting out of breath as he climbed the gentle hill toward his claim. Sitting around for a week had not been kind to him, but it hadn’t been bad for his amputated foot which had enjoyed the rest. His other foot, the one he’d sprained, ached, but not so badly now. He didn’t dare leave his claim unattended any longer. He’d had young Kit swing by a few times, and Chatty, too, but nothing protected a claim like being there.
He looked around the site, and it looked the same as the last time he’d seen it…but something didn’t feel right. He had a suspicion that someone had been snooping around his claim. His tools were there, but it looked like someone had done a little digging. He couldn’t know if they found anything, but it looked like he ought to start carrying his gun…though that was a sure sign to others that he had something to protect.
Last time he and Cal had hit it big, they’d taken turns sleeping at the mine until their payload ran out. He’d worked real hard to keep quiet and not tell anyone, but someone always figured it out. This time, it was only him working the mine, and he’d been stuck down in town because of his injury.
He spent some time pickaxing in the mineshaft, simply knocking out the earth, breaking down the walls. A little deeper, a little wider. Sometimes, he picked up a chunk of rock to study it. He chose some earth and ore that looked promising and put a shovelful in his rocker box. J.B. was hunched over, rocking the ore back and forth. Sweat wet a path down the back of his striped shirt, and his hair was damp around his face. Something glinted…something big, and he reached into the box. Pop. The sound of rock hitting another – such as when someone kicked one. His head jerked up.
Delia was approaching. She had pushed her bonnet off her head so it hung down her back. The sun kissed her light brown hair and she matched the autumn hillside. Relief and hope flooded him. No claim jumper. She’d come to him. She was seeking him out. His smile was involuntary, and it caused Delia to stop in her tracks.
“Oh, J.B.! You look a fright with that maniacal smile.” She smiled back at him, uncertainly.
“Come on over. See what I’ve found.”
She walked over and stood beside the rocker box. He pointed with his finger. Among the gray brown rocks were little tiny flecks of golden rock, glinting in the sunlight. He took Delia’s hand, turning it over to make a little cup with one hand. With other hand, he plucked a rock from the screen and carefully placed in her cupped palm. It was about the size of half a chicken’s egg, encrusted with dirt but as Delia brushed it off, more and more of the gold shone in the sun.
“Oh, my goodness,” she said in awe. Her green eyes sparkled and her sun-kissed cheeks perked into beautiful apples as she smiled. “Oh, J.B., this is it, isn’t it? What you’ve been waiting for?”
He knew what he’d b
een waiting for, and the gold was only part of it.
“What are you going to do with it?” she asked. He looked at her eager face, and at her fingers wrapped around the nugget. The breeze whispered gently. J.B. raised his hand to gently brush a wind-strewn lock of hair off her face. He wrapped his own warm hands, calloused and dirty from the hard work, around her hand. Delia looked from the gold, held between both of their hands, to J.B.’s face.
“It would make a fine ring, don’t you think?”
Delia pulled her hand away, twisting it to place the gold nugget back into his hand. She looked startled. In fact, she looked a deer caught unawares. J.B.’s heart sank.
“Why did you come here?” he bit out.
She flinched. “I…I, ah…I wanted to thank you for the lotion. That was very kind…” she petered out.
He stared at her.
“And, there was a man. He knew my husband…he was there…” She stopped. J.B. could tell there was more to her story. But he didn’t care. He pulled out his poke bag of gold dust and added the nugget. He spent an inordinate amount of time tying it up. Delia turned around, heading back down the path to town. He willed himself to stay silent, but the question on his mind burst out. He called out.
“Are you not over your husband? Or are you heartbroken about Cal? Is that it? Because he can’t marry you now.”
She paused, her back to him. She turned her head so he could see her profile and considered his question. Her reply was a kick in the teeth.
“I only ever considered marrying Cal. No one else.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Delia awoke soon after sunrise. She pulled her blanket tight up around her neck as she lay on her bunk, contemplating the soft light peeking through the shutters. Dawn was coming later and later. The extra sleep was nice, but the shorter days and cooler nights meant fall was here and winter not far behind.
