Everything was ready; two large baskets with handles were filled with food and bottles of water and ale. Fixing her attention on these items, Maddie took a step backward. "Well, I'd better return to my search for The Scarlet Letter...."
Susan laughed. "Don't be silly. Are you so afraid of Fox that you would make a frail old woman carry these baskets all alone? Why, I could fall and strike my head and—"
"I am not afraid of him," Maddie interjected hotly.
"Let's simply do what needs to be done." Susan pointed at the bigger basket. "You're young and strong. Lead the way."
Maddie lifted the willow basket and walked toward the door, her heart sinking. Whatever happened, there must never again be a repetition of the shocking scene that had occurred with Fox in the Avery parlor. Quickly she took inventory. Her striped muslin gown was high-necked but cool, and it covered her sufficiently. Her hair was appropriately pinned up in a chignon at the nape of her neck. No jewelry or other unnecessary decorations would lead Fox to believe she was trying to attract him. If he would actually be living in a house next to theirs, she must make her position crystal clear.
Affecting a lighthearted attitude, she walked with Gramma Susan between the pine trees that divided the two lots. For some reason she expected to find him toiling over a pile of rough-hewn logs, attempting to construct a crude little cabin like those she'd seen being thrown up on Main Street. Instead, the sight that met her eyes caused her to stop, staring in surprise.
The parcel of land, which had recently been overrun with Stephen Avery's miners, was now smooth and flat. Beautifully cut long logs and smooth planks were stacked near the house, which appeared to be about half-finished. It was a log cabin, but unlike any other Maddie had seen. The frame was at least thirty-five feet across the front and twenty feet wide, and the logs were squared and fit neatly together. Two fireplaces and chimneys made of rubble stone laid in lime mortar stood tall at each end of the house. Fox, Wang Chee, and a little man Maddie took to be Titus were setting a log in place on the east side of the cabin that brought the building nearly even with Fox's chest.
As the women drew nearer, Wang Chee looked up. Noticing the smile that spread over his friend's face, Fox wiped his brow and glanced back to meet Maddie's eyes. The sight of her pierced his soul and he was shocked by his reaction.
"Uh-oh," Titus Pym whispered, with a bemused smile. "I've never seen you speechless before, lad."
The Cornishman's words brought Fox rudely back to reality. "Sorry." He gave Titus a sheepish grin. "Just tired, I guess. Hello, Mrs. O'Hara, Miss Avery," he called, smiling politely. "Before I inquire about those baskets you're carrying, I should introduce you to Titus Pym, who is helping me build the cabin."
"We met the day before yesterday," Susan said, leading the way inside the partially built dwelling.
"Of course. How could I have forgotten?" Fox felt a certain loss of control. He made Titus and Maddie known to each other, then turned his attention to Maddie's evident surprise as she gazed around the cabin. "You look shocked. Did you expect a lean-to?"
"Well, no, of course, not, but I must admit that I am impressed. You have obviously built this cabin with great care, which I admire... and I didn't expect it to be so large, so much like a—a—"
"Home?" he supplied helpfully.
"It does have a look of permanence."
"I like to be comfortable."
"I say, Bravo!" cried Susan. "How fortunate for us that you encountered Benjamin on that day less than a fortnight ago and brought him home to us! Now we'll have the best possible neighbor, particularly since my son-in-law is rarely in Deadwood. I hate to admit weakness, but there are times when women need the assistance of a man."
"And I am at your service, Mrs. O'Hara. Whether the problem is a snake in your kitchen or a heavy piece of furniture that needs moving, you need look no farther than your nearest neighbor." Fox smiled down at her as he spoke, charming her with the easy familiarity of a loving grandson. He began to peek under the linen towels that covered the baskets of food.
Susan slapped lightly at his hand, laughing, and soon cloths were being laid out on the fresh-cut pine planks that formed the floor. With the vivid blue sky overhead, the smell of sawdust mingling with chicken and fresh bread and cobbler, and the exaggerated cries of astonishment the men uttered as the picnic was spread before them, it began to seem like a party. Feeling awkward and out of place, Maddie stepped backward as the others settled themselves on the floor, beaming. Fox brought in a wooden crate for Susan, who perched on it and began calling out descriptions of the food.
"Will you be rash and sit on the floor with the heathens, or shall I find a seat for you, too?" Fox whispered in Maddie's ear.
"I really shouldn't stay." She couldn't meet his keen gaze. "I mean, Benjamin will be coming home and looking for his lunch, and he won't know where we've gone..."
"Oh, Ben's been with us all day. He likes to help. He should be back directly."
Every time he called her brother "Ben," Maddie cringed. "Well, where on earth is Benjamin now?"
"I sent him to town to buy me a new chisel. He thought he saw some sort of commotion down on Sherman Street and obviously wanted to investigate, so I gave him a legitimate errand." Fox grinned and turned away to join the others. "I'm starved," he added over his shoulder, and left her there.
Sighing, Maddie went to join them. The three men had been gulping water and now filled their glasses with ale. Titus Pym was in raptures over the fresh peas. "Many's the day I make do with little more than a sack of roasted peanuts, some jerky, and mayhap a cup of thin soup and a bite of bread."
For long minutes they all ate happily, sometimes attempting to exclaim something with full mouths. When at last they began to slow down, Susan scooped portions of apple cobbler onto their plates. Titus, proving himself to be both high-spirited and verbose, shared his recipe for a Cornish pastie, which Susan promised to make. Then he went on to tell about his "pard," Henry, who had made the journey with him from Cornwall. It was Henry's habit to fry bacon in a pan in the morning, then use that same pan as a tool to seek gold after breakfast. He called it his lucky pan and always found enough gold dust to buy more bacon for breakfast. Then, one afternoon in May, Henry had discovered a fortune's worth of nuggets in his frying pan. To Pym's dismay, his friend had taken his new wealth and returned to England without delay.
"I was happy for 'im," Titus said, waxing reflective, "but couldn't help feeling a trifle sorry for meself, if you take my meaning. Not only was I all alone in a strange country, but Henry didn't even think to leave me the frying pan." He scratched his pointy sunburned nose and grinned. "I was beginning to feel right despondent when along comes me new pard, Fox, and now I have a reason to get up in the morning again. Life's bloody grand, don't you think?"
Maddie felt her heart warming toward the Cornish miner. The mood of conviviality in Fox's half-built cabin was contagious, and when she heard herself laugh aloud, she checked herself instinctively and stood up as if to leave. Fox gave her a quick, perceptive glance.
"Why," he whispered, "are you afraid of pleasure?"
She turned, their faces inches apart, eyes meeting in a way that frayed her nerves. Faintly Maddie could detect the scent of ale and fresh, fragrant food on his warm breath. "You misread me, sir, and make yourself too important. My reasons for departure are unrelated to you or this gathering." She was proud of her cool, precise words. "There are other matters to which I must attend."
"Ah." Fox's eyes crinkled gently at the corners. "Have you secrets, Miss Avery?"
"Hardly. I want to work a bit in my garden before the afternoon grows too hot."
"Your garden?" His brows flew up."Didn't you arrive in Deadwood too late in the season to plant vegetables?"
"I hope to grow vegetables next spring, if we are still here, but for now I have had to content myself with a flower garden. I brought the seeds from my mother's garden in Philadelphia and have done my best to re-create hers, on a
more limited scale, of course."
Fox shook his head in admiration and disbelief. That Madeleine was trying to create a civilized garden in the midst of a bog struck Fox as absurdly touching. "So," he murmured, "we are both reaching beyond our surroundings. Others may think us ridiculous for wasting time in an effort to make our circumstances more bearable, but I won't laugh at you or your garden, Madeleine."
Her face was warm, and she surrendered to a smile. "Perhaps we understand each other... in this instance."
"Tell me about your garden. Have you enough sunlight? What have you planted? Are the seeds growing in that soil?"
"Yes, they are growing, but I may not have blooms until August!" Maddie laughed. "My mother loved an English garden, so I planted foxglove, pansies, sweet william, columbine, verbena, and... oh, much more. If it had been spring, I would have planted a border of primroses, but this year I had to be content with white alyssum."
Fox had to suppress an exclamation of amazement. "You are incredible, do you know that?"
"Gramma Susan might use a different word to describe me. She thinks I spend far too much time trying to create a fantasy world that simply does not exist here. I'd rather read about more civilized, romantic worlds than surrender to this one. The prospect of slaving in the kitchen or trying to shop on Main Street, amid the mud and all those unsavory people, makes me feel entirely unsuited for my new role." Maddie sighed. "I only came because my mother died and Father asked that we join him. For Benjamin's sake, I thought that we should be a family, and I dreamed of taking care of Father... but he is rarely present."
"You haven't been here very long—and it is a huge change from Society Hill in Philadelphia. Perhaps one day you'll relent and begin to see the good qualities of life here." Fox gave her a tolerant smile. "It's better than most of us deserve."
"What makes you think I lived in Society Hill?" she demanded. "How do you know of it?"
"You might be surprised to discover how much I know," he replied enigmatically, then rose to his feet. While they had been talking, Susan and the others had finished picking up, and now the baskets were repacked. Fox held out a hand to Maddie and watched as she rose in one graceful movement.
She wanted to press him to say more, but he turned immediately to Gramma Susan, thanking her for the wonderful, nourishing lunch. The old woman basked in the warmth of Fox's tone of voice, then remarked without a trace of meanness, "Maddie told you the truth, you know. It's probably best that she avoids the men here because she'd never make a fit wife for any of them. It's all I can do to get her to take instructions in the kitchen—she's hopeless alone!" Then she turned to Madeleine and added, "It's not your fault, my dear, and heaven knows we love you just as you are. I can't help thinking, though, that we probably shouldn't have come."
"Well, I didn't particularly yearn for marriage in Philadelphia, either, so it really doesn't matter much if I spend a year or two on the frontier. Perhaps by the time we return I'll have been too long on the vine...."
Fox had been taking all this in, but before he could form a comment, Benjamin burst into the roofless cabin.
"Here!" he cried, pushing the shiny new chisel into Fox's hand. Perspiring and wild-eyed, he could scarcely contain his excitement. "There's news, big news! Guess who's come to town! All of Deadwood's in an uproar!"
For an instant Fox's heart clenched and he felt the blood drain from his face. Could it possibly be...? "Who?" he asked, his voice deadly quiet.
"Is it... President Grant?" Maddie was teasing.
Titus Pym laughed and joined in. "Queen Victoria?"
Obviously Benjamin didn't really want to play this game, for he shook his head as if impatient with them for wasting his time. "No, no! Listen to me! I saw Wild Bill Hickok leading a wagon train up Main Street. Saw him with my own eyes! Wait'll I tell Johnny Gordon about this!"
Fox's heart gave a jump of relief, then his interest was piqued. "Hickok is in Deadwood? Are you sure it isn't someone who just looks like him?"
"Yeah, I'm sure!" With that, Benjamin ran back onto the hillside, his red hair sticking up in spikes. "I'm going to Johnny's!" he yelled before disappearing.
Susan shook her head. "That boy needs a firm hand. Since his father doesn't seem inclined to stay at home, perhaps someone else could step in." She gave Fox a sly sidelong glance, which he acknowledged with a smile, but his thoughts were down on Main Street with James Butler Hickok.
* * *
Fox still visited the saloons most nights, not because he liked to carouse better than he liked to lie on his new cabin floor and look up at the stars, but because he still hadn't heard any news of Custer and the Seventh Cavalry. He'd figured out that it took a long time for information to reach Deadwood since it was so far from a river, a telegraph, the train lines, or even an army fort. Still, it did seem odd that no one who had passed through Deadwood knew how the battle had turned out.
And Fox wasn't sure what he hoped for; it seemed that either outcome would make him feel guilty. Lately he'd begun to dream that someone would accuse him of desertion, and this was not improbable. Had anyone else heard Custer order Dan Matthews to leave? To the others, he doubtless appeared to be making a speedy exit to avoid the battle.
Fox stood on Main Street which was fitfully lit by the coal oil lamps that lent garish illumination to the many saloons, gaming halls, and "theaters." Apparently the wagon train had brought dozens of newcomers to Deadwood, for all around Fox crowded men and boys he'd never seen before, as excited as children in a candy store as they contemplated the enchantments before them. Some of the women tried to help the newcomers decide by venturing out onto the street and boldly parading up and down.
"Fox!" a familiar female voice called from above.
He stopped in the middle of the busy, muddy street and looked back, upward toward the Gem's balcony. The plump, petite figure silhouetted against the lamplit window was easy enough to recognize. He raised a hand in greeting and smiled, wondering whether she could see the expression of goodwill in the shadows.
"Where you been?" Victoria wailed. "Come up here!"
Other men paused in the midst of drinking or spitting to look at Fox, who suddenly felt uneasily conspicuous. "I wish I could," he called back. "But I have other business." Shrugging elaborately, he pointed toward Nuttall & Mann's Number 10 Saloon, then waved and continued on his way.
Physically he craved a woman so much that he forced himself not to think about it. Problem was, he'd had a taste of Madeleine Avery and now these upstairs girls repelled him. He figured he'd reach the point where he wouldn't care and then maybe he'd have a few drinks to kill his finer sensibilities and just do the deed... but he hadn't reached that point yet. Maddie was like champagne, and Victoria and the others were like homemade elderberry wine left in a forgotten cupboard. He'd have to be pretty damned thirsty to resort to the latter.
Tinkling, ill-tuned pianos mixed with the strains of cracked fiddles and the occasional horn, filling the night air with an horrendous excuse for music. However, the shouts and laughter of Deadwood's celebrants would not be drowned out. When Fox crossed the threshold of Nuttall & Mann's, it was as if he'd been assaulted. The more time he spent up on the hillside working on his house, the less tolerance he had for socializing with a lot of loud-mouthed cardsharps, drunks, and whores.
Still, he was curious to see Wild Bill again. Their paths had crossed a dozen years ago, when Hickok had been a Union scout and had yet to acquire his dashing nickname. Over the years he'd made a reputation for himself as a professional gambler, army scout, and a sheriff in Kansas, laying down the law and shooting anyone foolish enough to challenge him. However, when he'd accidentally killed a policeman in Abilene while ostensibly trying to keep the peace, he'd lost his job, and word had it that the past five years had not been kind to the celebrated Wild Bill Hickok. Fox was curious to learn for himself whether the rumors of his deterioration were true. Would he even be able to recognize the man? As he made his way through the crowd
to the bar, Fox's eyes examined the men at the gaming tables. There were dozens of new faces, but none that struck a chord.
Then he stopped. J. B. Hickok was leaning against the bar, chatting with Pink Buford and Captain Jack Crawford. He wore his hair and mustache long, but they could not disguise the fact that he had aged dramatically since the Civil War. Fox wondered, not for the first time, whether this was an inevitable consequence of life on the frontier.
Hickok squinted in his direction, tipped his head slightly, then squinted a different way. "We've met, haven't we, pard?"
Fox extended his hand. "Years ago, during the war. It's good to see you again, Mr. Hickok."
Wild Bill nodded slowly. "What name do you go by these days, son?"
"Fox." He grinned suddenly, and when the older man squinted again, Fox realized that he couldn't see well. This was a sad state for a renowned marksman. Looking at Harry Sam Young, the bartender, Fox said, "I'd like to buy a drink for Mr. Hickok," and watched as another gin and bitters was placed on the bar.
"No need for formalities. Bill suits me fine." Hickok lifted the glass and drank deeply, closing his eyes for an instant, then smiling as he opened them.
"What brings you to Deadwood, Bill?"
"I raised some money leading part of the wagon train. We left from Cheyenne and met up with some other wagons at Fort Laramie." Hickok shrugged and remarked softly, "I got married; did you hear it? My wife is Agnes Lake, the circus performer. She's world-famous. I want to make enough money to give her a proper home, and since everyone knows that Deadwood's the richest and the wildest place on earth at the moment, I figured this was the place to do it...."
"Our card game's about to begin," Pink Buford muttered, leaning between the two men.
"Good. I don't feel my best, but I doubt whether that will impair my talent at cards." Wild Bill gave Fox a philosophical smile.
Pressed now for time, Fox tried to act as if he were idly attempting to make conversation. "Bill, weren't you a scout for Custer a few years back? I hear he's doing some serious Indian fighting up in Montana."
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