“Yes. You may put me down for pie.”
“Oh, not pie, Mrs. Walley. Eliza, the cook at the Idaho Hotel, has agreed to bake a few of her famous apple pies. Everyone knows she makes the best pies for miles around. Have you had the chance to try one yet?”
“I haven’t, no.”
“Well, you simply must make an effort to dine at the hotel soon. You’ll not be sorry!” Gertie’s high-pitched giggle was back.
Joan offered a small smile. “Would a cake suffice?”
“Make it two,” ordered Vera. “Thank you, Mrs. Walley, for doing your part. We shall see you at the schoolhouse the afternoon of the tenth.”
As the women walked away, Gertie waving animatedly, Jesse shook his head. “Boy, I hope that rude woman isn’t the school teacher. I’ll never attend if she is!”
“It isn’t polite to speak unkindly, Jesse.”
“But she did!”
“I know, but you mustn’t. Come along.”
Joan pulled out the wooden farm animals and set them on the sitting room floor for the children to play with while she finished the new linen shirt she’d been sewing for Jesse. Then she started slicing potatoes and onions for supper, intending to ask Mac for some herb starts for her own small kitchen garden as soon as he came home. There was a nice sunny patch of ground along the south wall of the house that would be perfect for a garden. Her mouth watered just thinking about sprinkling some fresh chopped parsley and thyme on the vegetables. She’d just put the full pan into the hot oven when she heard heavy footsteps on the front porch.
I wonder what brought Mac home so soon? It isn’t like him to leave the livery early. Her stomach clenched with dread as she crossed the sitting room, but the deep rumble of his voice brought her hand to pause on the doorknob.
“When?”
A woman answered, “Late this morning. Florence has handled it pretty well, considering.”
Joan gingerly moved to the window to peek out just as Mac sank to the steps. A blonde woman Joan didn’t recognize sat close beside him, wrapping an arm around his great shoulders. Her pretty face was drawn and pale as she gazed emotionally at Mac with two immense, shimmering blue eyes.
Joan covered her throat with her hand as her breath hitched. I knew he was too good to be true… She wanted to stomp out there and shove that woman away from her husband, to shout at her for ruining the only good thing – outside of Jesse and Noah – that life had given her, but her limbs wouldn’t obey. As the blonde brushed her fingers lightly through Mac’s hair and asked if he was alright, the strength ebbed from Joan’s body, leaving her trembling.
This seemed to rouse him from the stupor that had taken hold, for he stood abruptly and stepped clear of the interloper. “I just need time. Thank you for telling me, Eliza. Please tell Florence I’m here to help if she needs me - I’ll come check on her myself soon.”
Joan scrambled into the bedroom quickly before Mac stepped through the front door. Hot tears welled in her eyes but she breathed heavily and blinked them furiously away.
Shame on me for thinking this Walley could be different, that he could love me. Shame on me…
The intensity of her disappointment surprised even her, for she didn’t think the strength of her feelings for the man ran so deep. Had he intended to be true to her? Was he seeing that lovely woman while Joan cleaned his house and cooked his meals? The questions burned through her along with the shame and memory of their kiss along the creek bank. After a few deep breaths, she schooled her features into impassivity and joined the boys and Chunhua on the floor.
“I just received word from Florence.” Mac raised pain-filled eyes to hers. “George passed away this morning.”
A twinge of compassion prodded her to say, “I know he meant a great deal to you.”
The giant of a man nodded, his eyelashes wet with moisture that he blinked to keep from spilling over. Two deaths in such a short time, both men who were close to Mac’s heart. Ten minutes ago, Joan’s heart would have ached for him; it was a heavy load for anyone to accept. Now, she removed herself from whatever she felt, convinced it was less miserable that way.
“Will there be a funeral?” she asked quietly, hoping the children would stay in the sitting room a few minutes more so she wouldn’t be alone
Again, he nodded. “Tomorrow at St. Andrews. Ten o’clock.”
Not knowing what else to say, Joan simply sat with him until supper required her attention, taking deep breaths for the funeral the next day when she was sure to see that woman – Eliza, had Mac called her? - pining after Joan’s husband.
Ten
P eople turned up by the dozens to honor the life and legacy of George Yates. St. Andrews had probably never seen so many faces within her walls at any given time; not only were the pews full, but standing bodies were pressed together along the walls, spilling out through the doors. Everyone had a story to tell about him, and Joan would listen politely to anyone who felt moved to share. Even the successful William Dewey rose from his pew near the front and told of a time when George had given him a free room when he arrived in Silver City with very little. “You probably didn’t know about that, Mrs. Yates,” he smiled sheepishly, fingering the brim of his hat, “but I paid him back the following year. He had a good heart, your George.” In all, it was a fine tribute to a man who had performed so much service throughout his life. Joan hoped he was there, smiling at what was surely a small portion of the people he had touched.
Eliza, looking elegant in a twilight blue muslin dress with trim of black lace, was sitting beside Florence, and Joan couldn’t help but notice as the woman threw glances at Mac from across the aisle. It was obvious she had feelings for Mac, or did at one time, at least. Joan glanced at his face but he looked straight ahead, at the casket. Did he share those feelings, too? Had she kept him and this woman apart by allowing him to step in and solve her problems? The thought made her uncomfortable, and she felt her spirits drop to the souls of her boots. She clasped her hands on her lap, admiring the premade dress she’d picked up from the mercantile. It was simple with a smooth, single-layered bodice stitched to a pleated skirt, the narrow waist highlighted with a bow made of satin ribbon as an accent. She felt beautiful in it and adored the white-and-red floral pattern of the fabric.
When they sang the final hymn – Joan singing softly so she could better hear Mac’s smooth bass - and the pall bearers stood to carry George’s casket down the hill to the cemetery, the sun stood high in the sky. Joan’s stomach gave a rumble. The funeral had lasted at least two hours, and she was ready for a meal. “It was a good idea to leave the children with Miss Fields; the boys would have struggled sitting so long.”
Mac nodded, his long, swinging gait lazy. In a way that Joan hoped was discreet, she peeked up at him, unable to help but admire his profile. His nose was straight and long, and the way his hair swept across his brow made her heart flutter. It was a sensation that was becoming increasingly frequent and made her feel like a silly school girl, but she was determined to smother those feelings before they could burn into something brighter and hotter. The pressed white shirt and vest made his large shoulders, barrel chest, and arms even more prominent. Everything about his exterior was tough, firm, but Joan knew that on the inside, Mac had a soft spot for those less capable than himself, like children and horses. It was clear he felt troubled by the loss of his friend.
Good. Let him hurt a little for running to another woman’s arms. Joan swallowed guiltily, not liking the possibility that she may have added to that sorrow by impeding a relationship with another woman he desired.
When they reached the bottom of the hill, he guided her toward home.
“Don’t you want to join Florence at the cemetery?”
He lifted a shoulder.
“I can get home and start some lunch if you’d like to go.”
He met her gaze, considering. “Alright. I shouldn’t be long.”
She watched him walk away, feeling the heavy sorrow that re
sted on his heart despite her attempts not to.
When he returned, the children gave him space, seeming to sense that he needed the quiet. All, that is, except for Jesse, whose enthusiasm could only be contained in minute increments of time. “Uncle Mac,” he began, resting a hand on Mac’s knee. Mac pulled Jesse into a tight embrace, releasing him to sit on his knee. “Yes?”
“It’s a great day to be outside, with the sunshine, and the warmth and all… Well, do you think you could take Noah and I fishing?”
With a patient, weary grin, Mac tousled Jesse’s dark blonde hair. “Not today, Jesse. We’ve already missed the fishes’ best feeding time, remember?”
“Oh yeah. Well, how ‘bout a ride? Juniper’s been dying to get out of the barn.”
“How can you tell?”
“Because he hasn’t been out in a while, and he keeps poking his head over the stall door and looking right at me, and…”
Mac chuckled. “You’re probably right. I’ve been aching to straddle one of those Nez Perce horses myself.”
“So, me and Juniper can come on a ride with you?” he squealed, scrambling off Mac’s knee and bouncing on the balls of his feet.
“If it’s alright with your ma,” Mac grinned. “I need to change my clothes and eat something, too.”
Jesse turned hopeful eyes to Joan. “Oh, please may I go, mama? I promise to be a good listener and be real careful.”
“Have you done your chores?”
“Yes mama, this morning.”
“Very well, you may go. But please be very careful.”
“Oh, thank you, mama, I will, I will! Uncle Mac, I know how to brush Juniper myself with the curry comb, do you think he’ll like that? You might have to help me with that thing you sit on, because I don’t know how to put it on by myself, but you’ll teach me, won’t you, Uncle Mac? Are the new horses and Juniper friends?”
Mac and Joan shared a grin, Jesse oblivious to Mac’s inability to fit an answer into everything he was rambling about.
She stepped outside to see them off about thirty minutes later, smiling at Jesse’s face-splitting grin. He was seated on Juniper’s back, his hands wrapped around the saddle horn in front of his belly button. Seeing her, he waved. “Hello, mama! Look at me, Noah! See Juniper, Chunhua? Isn’t he the nicest pony you ever did see?”
Mac mounted the white Nez Perce stallion with oval-shaped black spots, Juniper’s lead line in hand. “We’ll take it nice and easy, Jesse. You just hang on and let me and Hawk navigate the trail, alright?”
“Sure, Uncle Mac. Is that what you named your new horse? Good-bye, mama!” Seeing Mac touch the brim of his hat to her in farewell, Jesse mimicked the motion.
Joan brought Noah and Chunhua inside and read them stories from the book of children’s rhymes she’d purchased at the mercantile, during which Noah nodded off to sleep. Chunhua took the book and flipped through its pages, her soft black hair falling over the colorful illustrations. The room was warm, made more so by Noah and Chunhua sitting so close, and Joan must have dozed, because it seemed like the very next moment Mac and Jesse stepped through the door.
“Mama! We’re back!”
“Hello, boys,” she smiled sleepily. “How was your ride?” Noah lifted his head, blinking at the noise.
It made her self-conscious, the way Mac’s gaze roamed her face, hair, and neck. Felt intimate, the way it landed on her lips. She sat up, acutely aware of his masculine presence and how it changed the air around her. Robbed of words, she could only sit and return the stare, unsure where the sudden desire radiating from him came from.
“We brought you something, mama,” Jesse interrupted, extending a gathering of wildflowers, their stems clutched tightly in his fist. She had no idea what the little purple, white, and yellow blossoms were, but she accepted them and sniffed their strong fragrance.
“Did you help gather these?”
“Yep. Mac thought you’d like ‘em.”
“I love them.”
She stepped to the kitchen to find a clean jar to place them in – and to put some space between herself and her husband – but her heart continued to thud forcefully against her rib cage when Mac followed her.
“Thank you, Mac. They are lovely.”
When his hands rested on her hips and pulled her closer, she inhaled sharply. Brother-in-law, brother-in-law, her mind called in warning as though from a great distance. But then his lips pressed warmly against hers, her shoulders relaxed, her hands clutched at his elbows, and her heart whispered, husband, husband.
When her molasses thoughts sluggishly remembered who she was and whom she was elatedly kissing, the picture of Eliza showering Mac with her attention brought Joan up stiffly. Stop fretting over this and ask the man!
She cleared her throat and asked, “Who was that woman who came to the house last night?”
“Hmm?”
She resolutely ignored the way he was staring at her kiss-plumped lips. “The blonde woman who told you about George.”
“Oh – that was Eliza Loring.”
“Mac,” she pressed, stepping out of his arms, “she has feelings for you, plainly. I saw you both through the window last night, and today at the funeral, she gazed at you with such longing in her eyes. Surely, this is something you’ve noticed?”
He folded his arms with a sigh. “There was a time, years ago, when we were very close, Eliza and I. She worked at the hotel with Florence and George, as did I when constructing the addition. We had plans to wed until I found her in the arms of another man. According to Eliza, it was meaningless and she deeply regretted the slip, but we ended things and I moved on. She never did, apparently, and I’m sure the news of our shotgun wedding was a blow to her.”
“I see…” But she crossed her arms over her chest and avoided his gaze, perturbed that he lived so close to the woman he had once loved. Eliza was so beautiful, and Joan was just a short, skinny widow with two little boys. In her mind, there was hardly a comparison between the two.
A soft smile lifted the corners of his lips as he stroked her cheek with his knuckles. “Don’t worry about her, Joan. The feelings I had for Eliza burned out long ago. I vowed to be true to you at our wedding, and I meant it. I’m sorry if I gave you the impression otherwise.”
His words touched her, and she couldn’t help but push thoughts of Eliza to the back of her mind. She was his wife, and, unlike Eliza, was in a position to comfort Mac. That’s why, when he reached for her hand, she entwined her fingers with his, their palms pressed together. Mac said nothing but gave her hand a squeeze, the corner of his mouth lifting. Joan stopped resisting the warm feeling squirming its way into her soul and just soaked up the happiness of the moment, needing simplicity rather than to explore what that new feeling was.
Eleven
E arly the next morning, Mac was just returning Ringo to the corral when two men approached the livery.
“Lukas – how are you?”
“Very goot, zank you. Und you?”
“Fine, fine. Your wife is due to arrive from Germany soon, isn’t she?”
“God villing, I vill meet her in Missouri at ze end uf July. Ve vill travel ze rest of ze way together.”
“End of July? Why, that means you’ll need to leave by…”
“Next veek, yah.”
“I wish you safe travels. I’m Mac Walley, mister….” The stranger accompanying Lukas shook Mac’s hand. He had dirty fingernails, the rough callouses on his palms evidence of days spent toiling with his tool of choice. “Gill Mabry. Pleasure to meet you.”
“Mr. Mabry here ees a mining consultant. Hal asked eef I knew anyone, und zis is ze man I know.”
“Thank you, Lukas. I appreciate you bringing Mr. Mabry by.” With a dip of his head, Lukas left, leaving the two to conduct business. “You fell into mining recently, Mr. Walley?”
“Yes, sir, and please, call me Mac.”
Gill Mabry was a short, squat fellow with sandy-blonde hair that curled over the edge of his co
llar and a full trimmed beard to match. He wore a clean, pressed shirt tucked into his trousers with a solid black three-button vest over top.
“Come along up to the house, Mr. Mabry. I’d like my wife to be privy to this discussion, and she’ll have some refreshment to offer.”
Gill nodded and quietly followed.
“Joan!”
She looked up from the kitchen, the children’s giggles from the kitchen table as they helped knead dough a happy greeting.
“Yes?”
“This here is Mr. Gill Mabry, and he just may be able to help us with the Crescent.”
“Oh! Would you men like some tea? I’ve got this morning’s leftover biscuits here, too.”
“Yes, please.” Mac gave her one of his best smiles when she set the crock of strawberry jam in front of him, knowing he was partial to jam with his biscuits. While they ate, she helped the children clean up and sent Jesse and Chunhua outside to play. Noah climbed into her lap, watching the newcomer warily.
“Have you been consulting long, Mr. Mabry?” Mac began.
Swallowing a mouthful of biscuit, he nodded. “About two years. Ran a handful of mines up near Bannack, Montana before that.”
“Rough place, I’ve heard. Did the mines bring you southwest, then?”
“Yes, sir. I was in the Idaho City camps before I traveled here. Strange mountains, the Owyhees. As we rode through flat desert, I didn’t think it likely to come upon a range the size of this one. Seeing them, it was like seeing an island in the middle of the ocean. And full of silver, too!”
“That’s exactly what makes them so unique, Mr. Mabry.”
“Call me Gill, would you? Now why don’t you tell me about this mine of yours. Is it a silver mine?”
“Yes, the Crescent. It’s up toward Dewey on the north side of Florida Mountain. My wife, Joan, knows quite a bit more of its history than I do; I’ll ask her to tell it.”
Mr. Mabry listened as Joan explained how Harris had worked the mine with Pete, the lack of success they’d had in recent years, and Pete’s insistence that the silver had played out.
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