"Quite a romantic hero in that book, eh?" he inquired slyly. "What's his name?"
"Heathcliff." Katie gave him a fond smile, familiar with his ways.
"Heathcliff! Why, seems to me that that name alone would be enough to turn a maiden's thoughts to love!"
The swinging door creaked to announce the arrival of a customer, and Brian trundled back to work. He squinted as the man approached the bar, then smiled broadly as recognition dawned.
"Why, it's Jack, isn't it! Where've you been these past weeks?" He set a shot glass on the bar and reached for a bottle of whiskey.
Jack, settling onto a stool, spread a tanned hand over the glass. "Save your whiskey for someone who'll appreciate it, MacKenzie," he said in a husky voice underlaid with ironic amusement. Surveying the dazzling array of decanters, squat vases of cigars, and jars of brandied fruit reflected in the mirror, he ventured to ask, "Do you serve water?"
"Ah, that's right!" Brian laughed, remembering, as he poured spring water from a pitcher into a larger glass. "You don't drink liquor. Tell me, do you belong to that Dashaway Society that's been promoting temperance in these parts?"
Jack's answering laughter was sufficiently roguish to make Katie look up at last. "Lord, no," he replied. "I've just never seen the point in drowning what few wits I have in liquor."
His expression and manner made it clear to Katie that Jack's wits were far more considerable than he so modestly implied. His looks were noteworthy as well. Katie's first thought was that he reminded her of a tawny mountain lion. His hair, wind-ruffled and dusty, was nearly the same color as his sun-darkened skin, and a two-day growth of beard glinted like flecks of gold against his lean cheeks. There was something appealing about the slightly bent shape of his nose, the smile that lingered on his mouth, and the grooves on either side that hinted at dimples. She was most intrigued by his eyes, though, and wandered down the bar for a closer look.
Cat's eyes, she decided after a few moments. A clear, sage green dusted with gold, slightly hooded, as if a bit weary of surveying the world, and framed by laugh wrinkles and sandy brows. Katie was disarmed by the sight of his mischievous smile and the sound of his frank, husky laughter, but she sensed that, like the mountain lion he resembled, this man could be dangerous.
"Ah, here's my girl," Brian announced, wrapping an arm around her slim form. "Katie, have you met Jack Adams? He's new to these parts. Came in here the first time just a couple months back. Jack, this is my pride and joy, my daughter Kathleen."
Seeing the appraisal in his green eyes, she put out her hand and smiled. "I'm pleased to meet you, Mr. Adams."
He smiled back, noting the rosy color that stained her cheeks. "The pleasure's mine, Miss MacKenzie," he said in his appealing, rough-edged voice. "Call me Jack."
"I'm Katie." She shook the hand he held out, glancing at the well-tended nails. It was a strong hand, tanned against the faded blue shirt he wore but only slightly callused. She wondered what he had done before coming to the gold country. "Where are you from, Jack?"
He shrugged. "Nevada, lately. Placerville last week. I have my eye on a couple different claims, but can't decide whether they're worth working. One's near here."
"Just because the boom's past and so many miners have moved on to Nevada or Canada, that doesn't mean our gold's gone!" Brian declared, seizing on one of his favorite topics. "A man with a bit of patience can still get rich here, and live a more civilized life in the bargain!"
"Columbia does look permanent these days," Jack agreed. "Until last fall, I hadn't been in the foothills for years. The towns were all wood and canvas when I was here in my youth; a mixture of imported luxury and make-do. A lot of them are gone now that so much of the gold's been mined, but what's left is more civilized." His eyes crinkled at the corners. "Maybe the miners left because they missed the wild life."
"There's still enough wildness up here for any man," Brian snorted. "And enough challenges. They're destroying the land with that new hydraulic mining now!" He frowned. "As for the town looking more civilized, you know it was the fires that forced us to build brick buildings. The others kept burning down."
"You must admit that Jack's right, though, Papa," Katie remarked, pouring more water into Adams's glass. "Times have changed. The people who came here looking for wealth and adventure a dozen years ago have either moved on or settled in to more permanent lives. Columbia's a different town."
"Quieter, that much is true." Brian sighed, gazing around the nearly deserted saloon. By evening it would begin to fill up, and the gaming table where miners gathered to play faro would turn a tidy profit. But Brian no longer expected his saloon to make him a rich man.
Deftly, Jack changed the subject. "Missouri Dan rode down from Placerville with me, and we spent last night just north of here. I didn't get much sleep, though, because Dan made me dig most of the
Katie responded to the gleam in his eyes. "Dig?"
"Seems that last fall Dan discovered some gold over near Fraser River and brought it here to be weighed. There was more than five thousand dollars' worth, but he decided to put it away for safekeeping rather than take it along to Placerville—"
"Or have it stolen by the Griffin!" Katie exclaimed.
"I think the Griffin specializes in stagecoaches, lass," her father murmured.
"Anyway," Jack continued, "Dan chose a clump of five pine trees near a stream, and buried the gold there. The winter in Placerville wasn't financially rewarding for him, so Dan was anxious to get to his pine trees last night and dig up that treasure." The corners of Jack's mouth slowly turned up as he paused to sip his water. "The stars were out as we came over the crest of the hill, but instead of lighting up Dan's clump of pine trees, they shone down on a vast, cleared field and a newly built cabin."
Katie gasped. "Someone had settled there!"
"That's right." He nodded, more than a little amused, his green eyes twinkling as they met hers. "They'd not only cut down Missouri Dan's pine trees, but they'd also planted grain. Of course, he wouldn't give up without a fight. Made me dig alongside him all night long until that field of grain was covered with holes. I just prayed that the farmer wouldn't wake up! As it is, I shudder to imagine the look on his face when he saw his field this morning."
"Don't suppose you found the gold?" Brian asked hopefully.
"Of course not! Dan's in the blackest of moods. I left him digging one last hole before dawn, but I heard that he was at Big Annie's this morning—" He cut himself off, realizing that he shouldn't have mentioned Big Annie's bawdy house in front of Katie. "Well, no doubt Dan'll be appearing here any minute to drown his sorrows. He was ranting all night about the good old days when people didn't go around cutting down trees in these parts. According to Dan, a man can't depend on anything now."
"He should have put the money in the bank," Katie said.
"Now there's a civilized suggestion! Not Dan's style, I'm afraid." Jack laughed lightly, then his eyes wandered over her face and settled on the thick braid that hung down Katie's back. "You're an uncommonly pretty girl, Miss MacKenzie. You'd have men lining up outside just to look at you if you'd change your style. Why not free your hair?"
Katie took a step backward, bumping her elbow against a decanter of brandy. "I prefer to wear it this way. It's cooler." Her cheeks felt hot. "And neater."
"She's a stubborn girl," Brian told Adams.
"I don't give you men advice about what clothes to wear or how to comb your hair, so I suggest that you show me the same courtesy," Katie said, recovering her composure. "Besides, why would I want to be examined by a lot of strange men?"
"I can't imagine." Jack bit back a smile. "I humbly apologize."
"Apology accepted. If you are starved for the sight of female beauty, you ought to visit the new German dancing girls at Darling's Dango Hall." Picking up Wuthering Heights, she turned to her father and said, "Papa, since you have urged me to do as I please today, I believe I'll go over to the Gazette and write an article about M
issouri Dan's adventure. I think our readers might find the story very entertaining."
"Wouldn't you rather spend your birthday seeking some entertainment for yourself, darlin'?"
"I love to write, so that is entertainment." Katie kissed his cheek, then smiled politely at Jack. "Meeting you has been very interesting, Mr. Adams. Have a safe journey."
"That's kind of you, but I'm not leaving Columbia just yet, Miss MacKenzie. I feel certain we'll meet again." He gave her a lazy smile. "Happy birthday."
Jack watched Katie cross the saloon and stride out into the sunshine, idly noting her slim back, narrow waist, and gently curving hips. When he turned back, he discovered that Brian was contemplating him thoughtfully.
"I don't know what to do with that lass," MacKenzie said, sighing. "Twenty years old today she is, and acting like there's no hurry to marry. I don't think it even crosses her mind! Not that any of the men around here are worthy of her. Many of the best are off fighting in the war between the North and South." He shook his head. "It's a difficult bride who's not only beautiful, but also smarter than most men. She's hardworking and has a mind of her own, but she's quick to laugh, too, and—"
"MacKenzie," Jack put in softly, his expression knowing yet amused, "why are you telling me this?"
He looked down the bar at the bouquet of lilies and larkspur. "Well, I—I've no idea!"
"Neither do I." Jack patted the older man's shoulder, then stood up and brushed the dust from his smooth buckskin pants. "I'm off to have a bath and a shave, get my clothes laundered, and take a room above the U.S. Bakery and Coffee Saloon." He put some coins on the bar. "Thanks for the water and conversation, MacKenzie. Buy Missouri Dan a drink for me when he comes in, will you?"
"Be glad to." Brian picked up the coins and looked at them for a moment. "If you want a clean bed and home cooking, you're welcome to stay with us. I like you."
Jack stopped at the door and glanced back, his wide shoulders and lean hips outlined against the sunlight. "That's a kind offer. I'll consider it."
* * *
Katie made her way down Columbia's dusty Main Street which was shaded by trees of heaven, their spreading boughs abuzz with bees. She waved to the blacksmith and greeted an elderly couple coming out of the Cheap Cash Store, but otherwise the main street was quiet. Constructed since the fires of 1854 and 1857, the handsome brick buildings had sturdy doors and windows with tall, green shutters made of fire-resistant iron. Many of the facades boasted fancy ironwork balconies cast in Troy, New York, and brought by ship around Cape Horn.
"Hello, Katie!"
She looked over to see her friend Lim Sung emerging from his father's Chinese laundry. Lim was a thin, wiry boy of eighteen whose cheery smile never failed to brighten her spirits. "Hello, Lim! Can you come to the Gazette with me? I have to write a story."
He fell in beside her, his smile fading. "You know they don't like me there."
"That's ridiculous," Katie said, dismissing her friend's comment with a wave of her hand. "Besides, I doubt anyone will be there now. You just have to stop acting uneasy when you're around other people. It makes them all the more suspicious!"
Lim Sung and his parents were among the handful of Chinese who had been allowed, grudgingly, to remain in Columbia after the fire of 1857. Prejudice against the race was rampant throughout the gold country. People insisted that the Chinese were sneaky and untrustworthy, blaming them for thefts, fires, and other crimes. The customs and beliefs they had brought from China made the miners all the more mistrustful, but Katie knew that their prejudice was rooted in ignorance and jealousy. The Chinese people she knew were hardworking, industrious, and patient. Indeed, it was their infinite patience that maddened the other settlers. Many a miner had given up on a claim only to have it taken over and worked painstakingly by a Chinese family with successful results. Now that the gold was playing out, a great deal of general frustration was increasingly being taken out on the Chinese population.
As they passed the D. O. Mills Bank Building, Katie glanced over at Lim Sung. In a fresh white shirt and loose black silk trousers, he looked alien and out of place. His hair was drawn back into a long queue, which accentuated his high cheekbones; his eyes were dark and fathomless, uptilted and veiled with heavy lids. To others he was a foreigner, an outcast to be feared and rejected. But to Katie he was just Lim—her childhood companion, her trusted friend.
Lim met her gaze and smiled. He couldn't imagine life without Katie. She was his bridge to the white world, his friend, teacher, and counselor. When they were little children, they had sat under the trellis of morning glory next to the MacKenzie house while she shared her lessons with him, teaching him not only to read and write in English, but to speak the white man's language without a trace of his parents' accent. He would never forget the debt he owed her.
"Look what my father gave me for my birthday," Katie said now, holding up her book. "It's a wonderful, tragic romance set in Yorkshire, England."
Lim grinned as they turned up Washington Street toward the office. "How can a romance be both wonderful and tragic?"
"This one is! Emily Bronte is a very talented author."
"A lady wrote this book?" he exclaimed in surprise.
Opening the door to the cramped offices, she was about to reply when Gideon Henderson called to her from his desk. "Kathleen! I'm glad you're here. I need you to take over Owly Shaw's duties. He's ridden over to Murphys to talk to the stage driver."
"The stage driver?"
"Haven't you heard?" Gideon's glasses slid down his nose as he sorted through the papers littering his desk, perpetually in search of the one that wasn't there. "The Griffin robbed the Sonora stage this morning! Took a thousand dollars in gold off one of the passengers, but left the others in peace. He's the confoundedest stagecoach robber I've ever heard of!" As an afterthought, Henderson picked up a piece of white linen from among the papers and tossed it to Katie. "Care for a souvenir?"
She stared down at the snowy handkerchief, its corner embroidered with the figure of an animal that appeared to be half eagle, half lion. Katie swallowed hard and whispered, "It's a griffin..."
Enjoy the story of Gramma Susan's parents,
Lion and Meagan Hampshire...
Page forward for an excerpt from Cynthia Wright's
Touch the Sun
Excerpt from
Touch The Sun
Special Author's Cut Edition
A Beauvisage/Hampshire Novel
by
Cynthia Wright
Chapter 1
January, 1789
Winter sunlight glanced off the last bits of melting ice that hung on the pecan trees like diamonds. Meagan Sayers, astride her horse Laughter, rode under the dripping branches and on into the open fields beyond.
The ground was muddy but Meagan rode every day unless the weather threatened the footing of her horse. She insisted that it was for Laughter's sake, but in truth, she grew more restless than the dappled gray gelding when forced to stay indoors, and these past weeks had yielded an unbroken procession of rain and snowstorms.
Pecan Grove was one of the largest Tidewater plantations in Virginia and boasted the area's finest mansion, next to Mount Vernon. However, by no stretch of imagination could Meagan fit anyone's conception of a Southern belle. The picture she made now, galloping across the soggy meadow astride Laughter, was typical. Since childhood, she had kept in the stable a cache of boys' clothing that she had begged from the young grooms and which she had changed into whenever she had an opportunity to ride.
Meagan's parents had always reveled in a world of foxhunts, horsebreeding, dancing, card-playing, and travel. She had seldom seen them, and when she did, they merely patted her on the head while passing in the hall. Early on she had put their inattention to good use, growing up a free spirit who rode with the skill and daring of any man, her raven hair flying freely like a banner. She eluded her governesses, choosing to take books from the library, and spent her afternoons reading
under a pecan tree in the meadow.
The summer of 1788 had been like all the rest. Russell and Melanie Sayers had sailed to France to cavort at Versailles and Paris, but their daughter had pleaded to remain at home. With guilty sighs of relief, they agreed, for Meagan fought them every step of the way in their intermittent efforts to civilize her.
Now, galloping out into the waterlogged meadow, Meagan's mind returned to the October afternoon when she had learned of the shipwreck. James Wade, a lifelong neighbor, had ridden over to break the news of her parents' deaths and she had found herself reacting more strongly to his repellent, "brotherly" embraces than to the tragedy of losing both mother and father in one blow. Since then, she'd waited for the grief process to begin, but to no avail. Meagan felt a tightness in her breast at the realization that she had not loved her parents enough to mourn their deaths. And yet, her intuitive common sense told her that affection must be earned, and it was not for her to feel guilty because they had not known how to love anyone but themselves.
A voice was calling from the shelter of the pecan trees, and reluctantly Meagan reined in Laughter, turning him back toward the house. She found one of the stable boys waiting for her.
"Mr. Wade and his sister are in the big house, ma'am."
Meagan made a face, but knowing they would sit and drink tea until she arrived, decided to get it over with. Sliding from Laughter's back, she handed the reins to the stable boy and ran off toward the imposing Georgian brick house.
Flora, the large black cook, frowned as Meagan came into the kitchen but refrained from scolding. The girl was disheveled, her breeches grimy and her hair loose and windblown. Yet, who could resist her? Petite in stature, Meagan exuded energy and good health with glowing cheeks, an impudent, winning smile, and sparkling eyes of deep violet. She marched right through the kitchen, down the hall into the parlor where four generations of Wades and Sayerses had shared tea.
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