Like a River Glorious
Page 58
I can’t help it; I pick up my water-heavy skirts and hurry toward him. Wilhelm’s heavy boot steps pound to keep up, but I don’t care. I have to see Jefferson. I have to talk to him.
Jefferson is not alone. There’s no sign of Tom, but two Chinese men coax the burros along as they go round and round, crushing ore. Another is shoveling the crushed ore into a different cart, to be hauled down to the creek for classifying and panning. Standing on a crate overlooking the whole process is a dark-skinned man with black hair, a mean rifle, and the widest-brimmed hat I’ve ever seen. Borrowed from the rancho my uncle mentioned, if I don’t miss my guess.
“Hello, Miss Westfall,” Jefferson says as I approach. He doesn’t pause in his shoveling, but a smile still quirks his mouth.
“Mr. Kingfisher,” I reply, just as formally. I stop well short, keeping a solid distance between us. “My uncle has asked me to familiarize myself with our operation.” I say it too loudly, for the benefit of whoever is watching and listening.
“In that case, are there any questions I can answer for you?” Jefferson says as the foreman steps down from his crate and ambles toward us, hefting his rifle.
All the things I shouldn’t ask in front of everyone else tumble through my mind. Did they hurt you again? Are they treating you right? Where is Tom? How did you sneak out last night? When will we meet next? Do you have any idea how much I miss seeing you and talking to you all day long?
“I thought you were working the mine,” I say finally.
“Dilley didn’t want me fraternizing with the diggers. So I got reassigned.” He says it like he’s spitting venom. Jefferson hates Dilley worse than anyone, even me.
I’m about to say I’m glad he’s out of that awful place, absorbing fresh air and sunshine, but I realize that maybe Jefferson wanted to work the mine. Maybe Dilley is smarter than I’ve been giving him credit for, and he knows that to keep people in line, he has to prevent them from talking to each other.
“Wilhelm here took me on a tour of the entire camp this morning,” I say carefully. “I learned a great deal about this venture, as my uncle requested.”
Jefferson’s shoveling hitches a little. It’s not quite a pause, but I know he takes my meaning.
“That’s good,” he says, his voice flat as a flapjack. “Mr. Westfall will be happy to know you’ve taken his desires to heart.”
“I think so.”
“He cares for you, in his way. That’s important.” This time he does pause, his shovel hovering in the air. “A man will do just about anything for the woman he cares about.”
The foreman closes the distance between us. “Señorita Westfall,” he says with a soft Spanish accent, tipping his wide hat. “These men must be to doing their work.”
I force a smile. “Of course, sir. I just wanted to observe for a moment.”
Leaving Jefferson is the last thing I want to do, but I must. I give him one long last look, my eyes roving him from head to toe. I save it up in my mind, the way he stands so strong in spite of everything that’s happened, the determined way he attacks the ore with his shovel.
I grab Wilhelm’s arm. Walking away feels like scooping out my heart with a shovel and dumping it in the arrastra to be crushed into dust.
Chapter Nineteen
Hiram has not left yet; he’s at his desk, still working on correspondence, when I return. He looks up as I enter. A smear of ink streaks his cheek. “I ran into Jefferson!” I blurt. “It was an accident. But I kept my distance and left almost immediately. I didn’t mean to disobey.”
“Leah . . .” His gaze falls to my ruined skirt. He shoots up from the chair and covers the distance in two strides. He grabs my upper arms and shakes me so that my teeth rattle. He can’t stop staring at the skirt. Anguish pulls at his features. “What have you done?”
“I went to the Drink, and—”
He shakes me again. “The dress. My . . . Your dress. And . . .” He grabs my skirts and lifts them, which makes me feel like I’m naked before him. “Your new shoes are ruined.”
His eyes on my exposed stockings make my skin crawl. “I had to,” I say. “I had to. I sensed gold, and I had to wade through the Drink to find it. To be sure.”
Hiram’s jaw twitches. He drops my skirt, to my great relief, and his grip on my upper arm relaxes a fraction. He takes a deep breath. “You found gold?” he manages. His voice is shaky, and I can’t believe a ruined dress would cause him such pain.
“Uncle, I suspect I found a great deal.”
Finally he lets my arm go. He takes a step back, rubs at his jaw, the back of his head. “Good. That’s good.”
“I told Topper where to dig next. They’ll see a little bit of color today, but by evening tomorrow, they’ll find a large vein.”
He is silent in the space before me. Then: “I hope so. For your sake.”
And suddenly I’m doubting myself. What if there’s nothing? What if I imagined it? Will he hurt the Indians if the vein doesn’t pan out? Or me? Or worst of all, Jefferson?
No, I know what I sensed. I know it. And I didn’t just sense it. I talked to it. I commanded the gold to move, and it did. It was almost like a dog on a leash, straining toward me.
“You’ll see,” I tell him, chin lifted high. “You’re going to be a very rich man.”
And I must have chosen the exact, most perfect words, because his shoulders relax and his gaze softens. “I’m glad to hear it, sweet pea.”
I think I’ve pleased him, but that night, after supper, he keeps to his word. He takes up a rope with one hand, grabs me by the wrist with the other, and drags me into my bedroom.
“What are you doing?”
He pushes me down on the bed. “It’s just temporary, sweet pea. Until I know I can trust you.”
“You can trust me!”
He ties my wrists to the bedpost. Everything in me wants to kick out at him, to scream and thrash, but I think of how he threatened Jefferson, and I submit meekly. It feels like the worst thing I’ve ever done.
He ties my ankles to the other end so that I’m forced to remain stretched out on the bed. It’s a clever bit of work. There’s no way I can reach the ropes to untie myself.
Jefferson is not alone. There’s no sign of Tom, but two Chinese men coax the burros along as they go round and round, crushing ore. Another is shoveling the crushed ore into a different cart, to be hauled down to the creek for classifying and panning. Standing on a crate overlooking the whole process is a dark-skinned man with black hair, a mean rifle, and the widest-brimmed hat I’ve ever seen. Borrowed from the rancho my uncle mentioned, if I don’t miss my guess.
“Hello, Miss Westfall,” Jefferson says as I approach. He doesn’t pause in his shoveling, but a smile still quirks his mouth.
“Mr. Kingfisher,” I reply, just as formally. I stop well short, keeping a solid distance between us. “My uncle has asked me to familiarize myself with our operation.” I say it too loudly, for the benefit of whoever is watching and listening.
“In that case, are there any questions I can answer for you?” Jefferson says as the foreman steps down from his crate and ambles toward us, hefting his rifle.
All the things I shouldn’t ask in front of everyone else tumble through my mind. Did they hurt you again? Are they treating you right? Where is Tom? How did you sneak out last night? When will we meet next? Do you have any idea how much I miss seeing you and talking to you all day long?
“I thought you were working the mine,” I say finally.
“Dilley didn’t want me fraternizing with the diggers. So I got reassigned.” He says it like he’s spitting venom. Jefferson hates Dilley worse than anyone, even me.
I’m about to say I’m glad he’s out of that awful place, absorbing fresh air and sunshine, but I realize that maybe Jefferson wanted to work the mine. Maybe Dilley is smarter than I’ve been giving him credit for, and he knows that to keep people in line, he has to prevent them from talking to each other.
“Wilhelm here took me on a tour of the entire camp this morning,” I say carefully. “I learned a great deal about this venture, as my uncle requested.”
Jefferson’s shoveling hitches a little. It’s not quite a pause, but I know he takes my meaning.
“That’s good,” he says, his voice flat as a flapjack. “Mr. Westfall will be happy to know you’ve taken his desires to heart.”
“I think so.”
“He cares for you, in his way. That’s important.” This time he does pause, his shovel hovering in the air. “A man will do just about anything for the woman he cares about.”
The foreman closes the distance between us. “Señorita Westfall,” he says with a soft Spanish accent, tipping his wide hat. “These men must be to doing their work.”
I force a smile. “Of course, sir. I just wanted to observe for a moment.”
Leaving Jefferson is the last thing I want to do, but I must. I give him one long last look, my eyes roving him from head to toe. I save it up in my mind, the way he stands so strong in spite of everything that’s happened, the determined way he attacks the ore with his shovel.
I grab Wilhelm’s arm. Walking away feels like scooping out my heart with a shovel and dumping it in the arrastra to be crushed into dust.
Chapter Nineteen
Hiram has not left yet; he’s at his desk, still working on correspondence, when I return. He looks up as I enter. A smear of ink streaks his cheek. “I ran into Jefferson!” I blurt. “It was an accident. But I kept my distance and left almost immediately. I didn’t mean to disobey.”
“Leah . . .” His gaze falls to my ruined skirt. He shoots up from the chair and covers the distance in two strides. He grabs my upper arms and shakes me so that my teeth rattle. He can’t stop staring at the skirt. Anguish pulls at his features. “What have you done?”
“I went to the Drink, and—”
He shakes me again. “The dress. My . . . Your dress. And . . .” He grabs my skirts and lifts them, which makes me feel like I’m naked before him. “Your new shoes are ruined.”
His eyes on my exposed stockings make my skin crawl. “I had to,” I say. “I had to. I sensed gold, and I had to wade through the Drink to find it. To be sure.”
Hiram’s jaw twitches. He drops my skirt, to my great relief, and his grip on my upper arm relaxes a fraction. He takes a deep breath. “You found gold?” he manages. His voice is shaky, and I can’t believe a ruined dress would cause him such pain.
“Uncle, I suspect I found a great deal.”
Finally he lets my arm go. He takes a step back, rubs at his jaw, the back of his head. “Good. That’s good.”
“I told Topper where to dig next. They’ll see a little bit of color today, but by evening tomorrow, they’ll find a large vein.”
He is silent in the space before me. Then: “I hope so. For your sake.”
And suddenly I’m doubting myself. What if there’s nothing? What if I imagined it? Will he hurt the Indians if the vein doesn’t pan out? Or me? Or worst of all, Jefferson?
No, I know what I sensed. I know it. And I didn’t just sense it. I talked to it. I commanded the gold to move, and it did. It was almost like a dog on a leash, straining toward me.
“You’ll see,” I tell him, chin lifted high. “You’re going to be a very rich man.”
And I must have chosen the exact, most perfect words, because his shoulders relax and his gaze softens. “I’m glad to hear it, sweet pea.”
I think I’ve pleased him, but that night, after supper, he keeps to his word. He takes up a rope with one hand, grabs me by the wrist with the other, and drags me into my bedroom.
“What are you doing?”
He pushes me down on the bed. “It’s just temporary, sweet pea. Until I know I can trust you.”
“You can trust me!”
He ties my wrists to the bedpost. Everything in me wants to kick out at him, to scream and thrash, but I think of how he threatened Jefferson, and I submit meekly. It feels like the worst thing I’ve ever done.
He ties my ankles to the other end so that I’m forced to remain stretched out on the bed. It’s a clever bit of work. There’s no way I can reach the ropes to untie myself.
