Chapter 17
The first part of the day’s adventures hadn’t been at all to Macie’s taste. However, once they’d returned to Mills Ridge, hitched up the wagon, driven until dusk, and then set up camp for the night, things had taken a much more pleasant turn.
Macie had been very tired from the morning’s long ride. She knew she’d be sore in the morning despite all the riding she’d done to prepare. Setting up camp had given her a chance to stretch her legs and lower back.
Blake had gathered brush and started a fire, feeding it with logs he’d brought from the ranch. Cooking over the open fire as the stars blinked into place was nothing short of soul satisfying, Macie decided. She’d worked on the meal while her husband busied himself setting the horses on picket lines where they could graze from the grass growing under the mesquite grove where the newlyweds had set up their camp.
There wasn’t another soul around for miles and the only sounds she heard were those of nature; the daylight creatures settling in and the nighttime creatures preparing for their romp in the dark. The circle of light around the campfire became the only light she could see down on the earth. A picturesque sliver of moon seemed set in the sky for no other reason than to set the scene for those down below.
She dished up supper and the sound of their forks scraping against the tin plates joined the symphony nature was conducting all around them. Neither spoke much, content with the peacefulness of the evening.
“Would it bother you if I played my harmonica?” Blake asked, surprising Macie as she rinsed their plates with water from the bucket.
“No, go ahead,” she replied automatically.
He reached into his back pocket and pulled out the little metal mouth organ. Soon a trembling, wailing sound filled the night. The notes marshaled themselves into a tune Macie recognized. Blake wasn’t the finest musician she’d ever heard, but the mournful harmonica music was just right somehow.
When the dishes were washed and put away, Macie returned to the fire. She sank onto the wide, flat rock she’d been using as a chair and stared into the flames as Blake serenaded the night.
Without thinking about it, her fingers brushed gently over the scars on her jaw as Macie finally allowed herself to think about Ewell’s wife’s ring. She stole little glances at her husband now and then, wondering what he felt for her. There were times when he’d look at Macie as though he’d never seen anyone like her. And she was sure that she’d caught him watching her with warm eyes. Didn’t that mean that he was developing feelings for her?
She sighed and admitted to herself, not for the first time, that she found her husband very handsome indeed. He wasn’t fine boned and he didn’t have excellent manners like the men back in Connecticut had. He’d never dance a quadrille skillfully or put together a witty debate to delight society’s elite. Blake was too big, too rough for that.
His expressions were becoming familiar to Macie. She’d memorized the way he squinted off into the distance when he was thinking, little lines crinkling at the corners of his eyes. When he climbed into the wagon, leaned back, and propped one foot on the buckboard, Macie’s heart had taken to fluttering happily. And she was learning to delight in the moments when she’d say something that would make him stop and eye her as though he’d never met anyone like her before.
But he hadn’t given her the ring. It was niggling at her, needling her. Why hadn’t he just handed it over as his grandfather had requested?
She’d spent time contemplating the idea that he might never fall in love with her. There was no point, though, in wondering if she would come to love Blake. Macie sighed at the thought. She knew she would. It was just a matter of time. This ring situation opened up a score of other possibilities that worried Macie. Either Blake wanted to give her the ring but needed more time, or he never intended to give it to her because he didn’t plan for her to be a permanent part of his life. She could handle the former, but the latter frightened her.
***
Blake awoke early. He rolled from his blankets and stretched, shivering in the cool morning air. There was a spring nearby and he went to wash the sleep from his eyes and fill the buckets once again. Returning to their camp, he built up the fire again and started boiling water for coffee.
In her bedroll, Macie was still snuggled deep, with only the tip of her nose and a bit of her hair poked out from her snug cocoon. A smile tipped the corner of Blake’s mouth and he sat back to wait for the coffee to brew.
This was what he’d dreamed of. This was the sort of adventuring that had called him for so many years. Watching the sun rise, knowing that he’d visit somewhere new that day, a cup of coffee steaming in his hand, filled him with a deep contentment. His heart squeezed as he pictured Granddad here in this very spot, doing this very same thing. This was real living, Blake knew. Even having Macie tagging along was nicer than he’d expected.
Macie stirred once the sun came up and went to care for her own morning ablutions. She gladly accepted a cup of coffee and smiled sleepily at him. Blake couldn’t deny that he liked being the one to see her sitting there all fuzzy with her hair wet around her face. It was a very personal, private moment and Blake was selfishly glad to be the man who got to partake in it.
After they breakfasted and packed up, they were off. The mine was still a ways off. Macie groaned as she took her seat. Once Blake climbed up beside her, he couldn’t help giving her some good-natured ribbing.
“I take it you’re a tad sore today,” he said with a grin.
His wife frowned at him, though he knew she wasn’t really upset with him.
“I’d tell you where I hurt the most, but it isn’t ladylike to speak of such things,” Macie said, attempting a prim tone which was ruined by her grimace.
Blake hooted. “Welcome to life on the road! It isn’t soft like going on calls or to fancy balls.”
Macie leaned back, lifting her face to the sun. “You know, I think I’d take sleeping outside to paying calls any day.”
Blake’s eyebrows shot up. He’d taken his wife for the hoity-toity sort. She actually liked camping out better than doing that refined nonsense? She was so graceful and ladylike, that Blake hadn’t ever considered that this could be true. It lifted his spirits somehow and the drive to the mining camp was a pleasant one indeed.
It wasn’t hard to find the Sand Hills Mine. About a decade ago, it had been running at full steam. Once the veins of copper were tapped out, the place was abandoned and everyone moved on, leaving it almost as it had been. Now, the place was a verified ghost town, occupied only by tumbleweeds, lizards, and drifting sand.
“We’re to follow the railroad tracks,” Macie said as she read the newest letter.
Her husband nodded and snapped the reins, encouraging the horses to keep going. The mine was in a valley, nestled between jutting hills. Abandoned tools rusted next to slowly rotting wheelbarrows. A water mill’s wheel stood still and dry at the end of a long track which led up to a cavern in the rocks.
The horses had slowed again, their ears pricking. With the hills surrounding the camp, sounds echoed strangely. The sun was up and there was no threat, but even Blake had to admit that the effect was a tad eerie. This was the sort of place that sparked the imagination to invent all sorts of unseen dangers.
Blake looked over at his wife, checking to see if she was affected by the atmosphere as well. Macie was running her fingers over her scars, eyes wide and trying to look everywhere at once. Without stopping to consider if it was wise, Blake reached over and took her hand. When Macie’s eyes swung to his, he gave her an encouraging grin. Slowly, a small smile echoed his.
Together, hands clasped, they road past the camp. The railroad tracks were in disrepair, but they were easy enough to follow as they paralleled the road. Soon, the little town came into view. It was every bit as abandoned as the mine had been, but the weird echoes receded and it wasn’t nearly as creepy.
There were only a few buildings in town. Blake brought the wagon t
o a stop and set the brake. He jumped down and went to help Macie. But with her split skirt, she didn’t need his help. She climbed down easily and Blake frowned briefly, missing the chance to stand close to her, his hands on her waist.
“Which one is the post office?” Macie inquired, a hand lifted to shade her eyes.
The shops had big, flat, wooden facades which had been bleached gray by the sun. Any paint that had once covered the boards was long gone.
“I suppose we’ll have to look in each one and try to figure that out,” Blake decided.
They ambled up to the first shop. It didn’t take more than a quick glance to see that this was the saloon. They turned to the next building in the line and peeked inside.
“It’s a store of some kind,” he observed. “Maybe a general store?”
“If it was, it didn’t have much selection,” Macie said, wrinkling her nose. “Maybe it was a company store. The miners probably didn’t need a variety of dry goods or anything of that nature.”
Blake teased, “Maybe the miners required an extra fine assortment of ribbon.”
Laughter bubbled from Macie, which make Blake feel pleased with himself. They moved on and found the bank, the mine office, and then came to a large stable and smithy. The last building in the line was a narrow place. They approached it without much hope.
“I have never in my life seen such a small post office,” Macie said with a smile. “It can’t be more than six feet across.”
He shrugged. “I suppose that’s all they needed. Of course, I can’t talk. Elmswood’s post office is inside the stage office. We don’t even have our own building. If we did, it might not be much bigger than this place.”
“Can we just walk inside?” his wife asked. She looked around as though someone was about to spring out and order them to stop nosing about.
Blake reached for the door on the far side and jiggled the handle. Sure enough, it opened without much protest. The two walked inside.
“The letter said to look in the top row of mailboxes,” Macie repeated.
For such a small space, there was plenty to explore. Whoever had been postmaster here had just taken his things and hit the road, Blake guessed. No one had ever come to reclaim these items.
Macie spotted the wooden mailboxes and moved towards them first. The main mailbox was a rectangle affixed to the wall which was divided into four rows of five squares each. She plunged her hand into each of the top sections until her face lit up and she pulled out a wooden box just like the one they’d found in the canyon.
“Here it is! Just like yesterday,” she grinned. “Let’s go back to the wagon to see what’s in here. I have a feeling the creepy crawly things that call this place home will come out to greet us soon.”
Her face screwed up, clearly telling Blake what she thought of the idea. He chuckled and followed her out. They made their way back to the wagon and leaned against it, trying to make the most of the feeble shade it provided.
Blake opened the box and pulled out a small book bound in blue flowered cloth. A quick perusal of the interior showed that it was a book of Shakespeare’s love sonnets. If it hadn’t been so darned hot outside, Blake’s face would have heated. Why had Granddad left him this? Grandmama’s wedding ring had been complicated enough. If he told Blake to read these poems to his wife, Blake thought he might just keel over on the spot and die of embarrassment.
Chapter 18
Dear Blake,
Well done. In this box, I am leaving you a book of poems that meant a great deal to me when I was young and wooing your grandmother. Read them and learn from one of the world’s great romantics.
The final clue in this part of your treasure hunt is found in Rattlesnake Creek. Be careful there, especially if you’re searching in summer when the creek dries up. There’s a fork in the creek almost exactly five miles south of the Sand Hills Mines. Where it forks, there’s a small island with an enormous old oak tree. My next message waits for you there.
Keep an eye on your wife, Blake. Rattlesnakes are everywhere.
Yours
Ewell Bradfield
The wagon jostled and Blake couldn’t get Granddad’s warning out of his head. “Rattlesnakes are everywhere.” What was that supposed to mean? Sure, at Rattlesnake Creek, that made sense. But was that all Ewell meant? Lucien Durning’s face sprang up in his mind, making Blake clench his jaw angrily.
He looked over at Macie, who was the very picture of contentment. She was sporting a worn cotton bonnet to keep the sun off her face, but her profile was still visible underneath. Her green-brown eyes observed the world around her with mild curiosity, her full lips quirked with the hint of a smile.
Blake was struck again with how pretty Macie was. It happened like that, every now and again. He’d look up, notice her lovely face, and feel like a fist was driving the wind out of him. Only, Blake found that he rather liked the sensation.
He shifted in his seat uncomfortably. There was only one clue left. After that, they’d need to make a decision. This was supposed to be simple: he paid her way to Texas, they married, went on the hunt, and annulled the marriage. It was supposed to be neat and tidy. Unemotional.
But now the thought of some other fellow coming along and marrying Macie made Blake want to punch things. It wouldn’t take long for her to find a new husband. Even Harris had noticed how pretty she was. What if his own brother married Macie? Blake knew he wouldn’t be able to sit across the table from them, knowing that Harris got to hold her hand and kiss her whenever he wanted.
It didn’t matter, he told himself. Blake wouldn’t have to watch Macie marry someone else because he’d be long gone. He would be off having his own adventures.
For the first time, that idea didn’t thrill him.
***
Macie sat and stewed about rattlesnakes the entire time she was in the wagon. She’d come up against the varmints before. Pa had warned them about snakes often enough and most of that sort of critter didn’t bother Macie particularly. They were a great help around a farm or ranch, keeping worse pests away from the garden and out of the barn. Identifying snakes and knowing how to treat them with respect was an important part of her childhood ranching education.
Unfortunately, one of the ranch hands had been bitten by a rattlesnake when she was about ten and the memory had become the stuff of nightmares for her young imagination. Logically, Macie knew that rattlesnakes were deadly. She knew that they hated water and so were unlikely to actually spend much time near this creek. Perhaps it was named as a joke. But fear took a quick grip and wouldn’t be shaken free by the facts.
“We’re here,” Blake announced. “The ground dips down a bit to the creek up ahead. You can see the tops of the trees.”
Macie climbed down from the wagon woodenly. “I think we should leave the horses up here. If there are snakes, they’ll be more of a liability than a boon.”
Her husband gave that some thought. “It’s a funny name for a creek. Rattlesnakes avoid water. It would make more sense to call it Water Moccasin Creek or Water Snake Creek.”
“I know,” said Macie darkly. “I’m going to find a long stick before we go down. I don’t want to come upon any sort of snake without one.”
Blake threw her a condescending smile. “Are you afraid of snakes, Macie?”
“No,” she shot back. It wasn’t quite the truth, but she was too irritated with his condescension to be strictly honest.
He filled a rucksack with supplies as she scouted the ground. With such a close body of water part of the year, a few trees had grown up. Macie was able to find two sticks that were almost as wide as her thumb and longer than her arm. One had a nice, forked end. She didn’t know if she’d be able to convince Blake to carry one, but she was going to be prepared no matter what her husband said.
The Scars of a Pure Heart Page 13