A Handful of Heaven

by Kristin Hannah

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  Shit.

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  click, click, click

  Shall I light the stove?

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  Silly. him-

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  Righting herself, Devon stared at the hunched-over little hobgoblin, her smile fading. The little man was looking at her over his shoulder, studying her contemptuously.

  She stifled a sigh. The last thing she needed right now was to face the old man's hatred. It had been a hard day.

  "So, Stoneyman," he said, still staring at Devon."I guess we lost our bets. The bitch is staying."

  Devon felt a flash of anger. She waited pointedly for Stone Man to say something. He didn't.

  "Are you going to let him talk to me like that?" she demanded of her partner.

  Stone Man shrugged. "You want protection? Get a dog."

  "Why, you ..." She clamped her mouth shut. Silently counting to ten, she regained composure then focused a steady stare on Midas. "Are you here for a reason?"

  Midas turned his back on her. "Stoneyman," he said pointedly, "I need some soup."

  "So, get it."

  Midas's banty legs moved like eggbeaters as he stomped| over to where the soup used to be. "What the hell . . Where's the damned soup?"

  Devon hurried across the tent.

  Stone Man followed Midas. "Just because the place is a little cleaner, Midas, doesn't mean ..." His words ground to a halt. He stopped dead, his eyes widening, scanning the counters. "What the hell? It's supposed to be here."

  Devon could hear the rumble of anger in his voice, and she flinched. Some people didn't like change-at first. She figured Stone Man was one of those people. "H-Here it is," she said, pointing to the last row of shelves.

  Both men walked over to where she was standing. They couldn't seem to keep their eyes off the perfectly organized, spotlessly clean expanse of shelving that lay between them.

  Stone Man stared down at her. His whole face seemed clenched. "What is it doing over here?"

  He was going to like it. He was. Once he got used to the system . . .

  "Answer me!"

  She wet her lips nervously. "Waiting to be purchased."

  "What was wrong with the soup waiting where it was?"

  "It was hard to find."

  "Not to me. Or my customers."

  "Well, it'll be easier for everyone from now on."

  Stone Man slammed his beefy arms across his chest."And why is that?"

  Devon couldn't contain her proud smile. "Because everything is in its place. Alphabetically."

  A hoarse laugh shot out of Midas's mouth.

  "Alphabetically?" Stone Man's voice was a low growl of disbelief. "You organized my store alphabetically?"

  A frisson of discomfort crawled up Devon's spine. Why didn't he look pleased? "Y-Yes. It'll make things ever so much easier," she said, knowing she was beginning to babble but unable to stem her words. She always babbled when she was nervous. "You see, the soup is between the soap and the snow glasses. How could it be any simpler? Of course, it was difficult to decide whether the glasses belonged with the G's or with the S's, but I decided-"

  "Most of my customers can't read! They wouldn't know a G if it rose up and bit them on the butt."

  Devon's mouth dropped open, and her hand flew up to cover the opening. "Oh, my God, I never thought..."

  "Get out!" The words were a lion's roar.

  She forced her chin higher and squared her shoulders. "No. I made the mistake, and I'll rectify it. All I have to do-"

  "Now."

  "No."

  His cheeks reddened. His eyes bulged. In one move he swept Devon into his arms and barreled for the tent flaps. "Stay here, Midas," he flung her over his shoulder. "I'll be right back."

  Midas cackled gleefully. "Okay, Stoneyman. I'll start writin' the ABC's on the walls while you're gone."

  Devon kicked and screamed in his arms as he lumbered across Front Street. At their tent he snagged the latchstring in his big hand and yanked. The door flew open, hitting the side support beam with a resounding thwack as he barreled through.

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  She pummeled his hard chest with her fists. "Darn you," she cried, "let me down."

  "I'd be glad to."

  Before she could find a breath to answer, she was flying through the air like a sack of potatoes. She hit the bed hard, sinking deep into the worn mattress. Dust poofed up from the filthy sheets, stinging her eyes, tickling her nose. She scrambled to her knees, crouching. Every instinct in her body screamed for primal release. She wanted to smack his leering face, to scratch his eerie gold eyes out. Her hands curled into hooks as she glared up at him, her eyes narrowed, angry, her breath coming hard and fast. "You-" she hissed.

  He swooped down on her, taking her wrists in his hands. Her words died in a gasp. His hold burned, twisting her fingers until they relaxed. "Don't even think of doing battle with me," he said harshly, his eyes glittering like topaz shards. "I'm not like the men youVe known in St. Louis. I don't follow society's stupid rules." His voice dropped to a hush. "And I step on people who do."

  His words were like a bucket of icy water on the fire of her anger. He meant it, she realized grimly. He would step on her, and up here no one would care.

  It was sobering and frightening to realize how powerless and alone she really was. She was a woman unused to being afraid, a woman used to being in control. With effort she forced down her pride. This wasn't the time to react on a gut level. She needed to think, to analyze her predicament and devise a reasonable compromise.

  "All right," she said shakily. "I won't do battle with you. I concede your greater strength. Now would you please let goof my wrists?"

  His fingers flipped open. She jerked her hands back then laced her fingers together and laid them in her lap. Her neck bowed. Staring at her hands, so small and white against the wrinkled cotton of her apron, she took a deep, fortifying > breath.

  "Devon?"

  She didn't look up. She wasn't ready to meet the mocking triumph in his eyes.

  His forefinger found the hollow triangle beneath her chin and forced her chin upward.

  The look in his eyes wasn't what she'd expected. He looked old, and infinitely sad. And almost sorry. Her heart skipped a beat, and she couldn't help feeling a spark of hope. But then, she reminded herself, it never had taken much to give her hope. She'd always been an optimist-even during the bad days of her childhood.

  "Devon," he said softly, "don't make us any worse enemies than we have to be."

  She looked directly into his eyes, seeing for the first time the tiny mahogany flecks that darkened the amber orbs. "Why must we be enemies at all?"

  The sadness in his eyes vanished, and they once again turned cold and distant. "It's my way. I don't like people."

  She answered without thinking. "That doesn't make sense. I don't like beets, but when my Aunt Edna used to serve them on Thanksgiving, I ate a whole plateful."

  He jerked his finger back as if burned. "/ don't make sense?" he asked incredulously. "I don't even know what you're babbling about half the time."

  Devon realized her error instantly. Darn! What was it about him that disconnected her brain every time she opened her mouth? If she wanted to get through to him, she had to jam lots of meaning into a few well-chosen words. Babbling about Aunt Edna's beets was definitely a tactical error.

  "I don't care whether you choked on every one of your aunt's slimy beets at Thanksgiving. I just want you to shut up. Is that asking so much?"

  A question! He'd actually asked her a question. Now they were getting somewhere. She beamed. "Well, since you've asked, let me answer. You're my partner and my ... tent-mate; we can't spend seven months in total silence. I rather enjoy talking, and ..." She stopped. He was looking at her as if she were a rabid dog.

  "Keep away from me, Devon, and keep away from my store. In fact, if you take one dainty little step into my post again, you'll find yourself
swimming in the Yukon River. Am I understood?"

  She gritted her teeth. Enough trying to be polite and civ-

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  Chapter Six

  his

  Ha!

  chose

  Ue felt

  Home Sweet Home.

  maybe.

  The Red Badge of Courage.

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  Chapter Seven

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  73

  1

  Father?"

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  see

 

  Good-old-spinster-aunt Devon. This woman, the look in her eyes.It's me. It's my future.

 

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  Smack!

  Smack!

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  Chapter Eight

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  Yet. There just had to be a window over the table. The sunlight in the morning is so pretty.

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  was

  did

  Oliver Twist

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  supposed

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  not

  listened

  Chapter Nine

  Click, thump.

  click,

  Thump.

  you lose.

  out

  little

  I'll

  God

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  I

  back off, lady

  * * *

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  Bacon, two pounds, 80 cents; beans, five pounds, 75 cents; sugar, ten pounds, 2 dollars and 50 cents; coffee, three pounds, 3 dollars; jam, two jars, 2 dollars.

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  L

  Science of a New Life.

  Stop it!

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  Dam!

  Chapter Ten

  quiet.

  thunk.

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  His eyebrows drew together, and a dark frown settled across his rawboned features as he picked it up.

  Devon watched, fascinated, as Stone Man tugged the til off the shell and turned it upside down. Coarse gold flakes streamed onto the counter.

  It was a long moment before Stone Man looked up at George. "This gold isn't from a river around here."

  "Rabbit Creek."

  Stone Man let out his breath slowly. "Shit..."

  George grinned. "Yep. I staked my discovery claim. Now I'm on my way to find Ogilvy to record it. Just thought I'd pass by here and let you know so's you can pass the word."

  "Sure," Stone Man answered in a voice so tired and old Devon barely recognized it. Without another word he swept the gold back into the empty shell and handed it to George.

  Devon stood off to the side, uncertain as to what to do. Stone Man obviously didn't like George's news. But why? The discovery of gold in the valley, that was a good thing . . . wasn't it? And a customer with a shell full of gold; well, that simply had to be a good thing.

  "Wait," she said as George started to leave, "would you like to buy some tarts or a piece of pie?"

  "No, thanks, my Injun wife does just fine by me, missy."

  Disappointed, Devon watched him leave. As she headed up to the counter, she noticed that Stone Man hadn't counted her words. That was a first. "Stone Man?"

  "There goes Fortymile."

  "What do you mean?"

  "In the Yukon it doesn't take more than ten minutes to go from deserted valley to boom town. That's why we use tents- they go up and down quickly. Hell, the minute word of George's strike hits, there'll be men pulling up stakes from Fairbanks to Nome. They'll settle in so fast, my peaceful valley-"

  "Customers!" Her face lit up. "Our post will be full every day."

  "They won't all be miners. A few of the men headed this way will be store owners. By spring this valley'll be a goddamn town."

  She chewed on her lower lip. Competition they couldn't

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  really afford-not with Stone Man's personality. "Well, we'll just have to be the best. I could maybe make some more-"

  "That's it," he said tiredly, plunking forty matchsticks in the jar. "Go home."

  "But-"

  His fist slammed onto the counter. "Now!"

  Devon spun on her heels and barreled for the door. Midas entered at the same time, and they rammed into each other. His contemptuous laughter rang in her ears as she stumbled backward.

  "Leaving?" he mocked. "So soon?"

  Forcing her chin a notch higher, she sailed past him without a word.

  His hate-filled voice followed her outside. "Well, Stoney-man, ya got rid o' the bitch early today. Good goin'."

  Devon stopped, waiting for Stone Man's response. There was none.

  She clenched her fists in frustration. When was that man going to realize that partners stood up for each other?

  Sitting across the supper table from Stone Man, Devon watched him push his food around on his plate. He was staring at his supper through wide, unseeing eyes. Not once had he lifted his gaze from the plate.

  Her heart went out to him. He was so obviously upset. How, she wondered, could anyone get so upset over a little handful of gold?

  But in her heart she knew. It wasn't the small amount found that bothered him. It was what it represented. A thousand greedy men coming to rape the land, and every one of them looking for that handful of golden dust.

  For the hundredth time she pondered his prediction. Would the moose pasture be a town by spring? A town with real streets, real stores, real people?

  Dare she hope?

  "Stone Man," she began cautiously.

  He lurched to his feet. Belching loudly, he backhanded the leftover food from his beard and threw his unused napkin onto the table. "I've got to go."

  '{

  107

  Friends

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  OLEY'S FAMILY PILLS.

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  were

  cheechakos,

  How could he be so goddamn stupid? like

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  * * *

  Chapter Eleven

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  FRESH PIES, CAKES, BISCUITS, FREE TART WITH PURCHASE.

  Pink.

 

  Pink.

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  He was going ta make her throw it away.

  was funny.

  that's

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  Silence surrounded them as they each headed for their respective spots-he to the counter, she to the table. She did her usual things: she made coffee, she rearranged the pies and tarts, she dusted. But time and again her gaze returned to the man seated behind the counter.

  More than once she thought of Father Michael's words: There's more to Stone Man than meets the eye.

  By the next day their awkwardness with each other had passed. They were back to their silent, word-counting but comfortable routine.

  Devon glanced around the post. Everything was as it should be, as it had been every day for the past month. Yet below the surface everything was different.

  She felt differently today than she had yesterday. The laughter they'd shared had changed things between them. At least it had changed what she wanted from him. Nonhostility wasn't enough anymore. She wanted that laughter, that moment of caring back.

  Maybe, she thought, if she could get him to help her put up the sign, they could find that closeness again. With that in mind, she stood up.

  "Devon, sit down. It's still raining."

  She plopped back onto her stool. "I know, but-"

  "But you think if you pop up and check every ten seconds it'll stop?" He laughed. "Relax, your sign will go up today. It's only a flash rain. Dollar to a dog turd says it's sunny by two."

  She smiled. "You'll excuse me if I find myself without a dog turd, I hope?"

  He grinned and turned his attention back to his plates.

  She cleared her throat. "I'm bored."

  He plopped two matchsticks in the jar,
then said, "You wanted to be a post operator."

  "Maybe I could hum. That doesn't count as talking."

  That got his attention. "No!"

  "Well, do you have a better suggestion?"