by Rose, Amelia
"What are you doing?"
"Getting up. I need to get back to my house. It's no good, me being here. You have a new bride – "
"She's not my bride yet, and you'll not get out of it that easy. Sit down, damn it, Matthew. You're going to make it bleed again. Do you ever think or do you only act?"
"You don't know what happened." He sounded grumbly, in pain, and I'd need to find a chemist or the doctor everyone had spoken of. He needed something for the pain.
"I intend to," said his brother grimly. "Was it Joseph Gibbons?"
Matthew's voice sounded surprised when he answered. "No. Why would Joseph shoot me?"
There came a sound like Hutch had punched one hand into the other. "Why wouldn't he? I've heard tell you've been courting his daughter."
A faint sound of amusement in Matthew's voice. "This is news to me. Are we enjoying ourselves?"
"You were shot today, Matthew. Is that a laughing matter?"
I thought that he could laugh at all was a good thing, and then that before much longer, I needed to go in and tell – or perhaps ask – Mr. Longren to go and fetch the doctor.
"I'm not seeing Mr. Gibbons' daughter. I'm fairly certain I'd know."
I caught a round of cheese I'd just knocked off the bench, put it back up and looked around for a knife. I'd lost all track of what I was preparing to go with the plentiful chicken and potatoes. My attention was fully on the drama going on in the sitting room.
"Matthew, I'm not joking. What. Happened?"
I pumped water, added it to a pitcher, moved to put the pitcher on the big, well-used, spotless table. I needed to find a tray – Matthew couldn't be sitting up at the table – but was loathe to interrupt the conversation going on in the other room.
Which turned then, suddenly far more serious, as befit a gunshot wound, but I was sorry to hear Matthew's voice so grim.
"Jason Seth, Hutch."
And after that came silence. My heart raced, because his voice was grim and because his pronouncement was followed by silence. Hutch said nothing, though I waited, straining to hear. I had no idea who Mr. Seth was, or what this had meant, and I was moving toward the door to the kitchen, the one I'd left only pushed to, when something alerted me, the smallest sound, and I whirled back around, going back to the cabinets, searching for plates, for utensils.
"We're just about ready," I said as Mr. Longren came through the door, and turned to see his face was drawn and ashen. He looked my father's age, and ill. "Are you all right?" My hands went out to him. Without thinking, I reached for him, putting both hands on his forearm.
He didn't seem to notice, though I was well aware of warm skin and the corded muscle beneath.
"Is it Matthew?" I asked when he didn't reply, and he looked up, bewildered, before his eyes cleared.
"Matthew is fine. Empty headed, but his leg isn't bleeding. The doctor will be here soon." His expression didn't change. Without admitting I'd been listening, there was nothing more I could ask.
"Shall I bring a tray for Matthew?" The kitchen was hot, stuffy from the stove and end of day as it faced west.
"Yes, of course, thank you."
I waited a beat, and when he said nothing else, said, "Could you tell me where to find a tray?"
"Hmm?" His eyes cleared then and he looked right at me. "I'm sorry, Miss Lucas. What an introduction to Gold Hill. I appreciate what you did for my brother today, and don't mean to worry you with – " He stumbled over his words. "With anything else." He crossed to the pantry and after a few minutes of more noise than I had produced, came out holding a silver tray, which he handed to me. "Could you bring my supper out as well?"
I swallowed, thinking of eating alone in the kitchen, but truly I could use the time to think. Or not think. I was tired and the conversation I had been overhearing was more worrisome than informative. I made up the tray with plates of chicken and potatoes, with biscuits, cheese, and freshly sliced apples, with glasses of water and mugs of coffee and took it into the sitting room.
Hutch Longren stood at the window, looking out toward the street, one arm up against the wall, his shoulders strong and broad. Matthew lay with his eyes closed, a curl of dark hair over his forehead, his lips parted.
I got out of there as soon as I could and this time, I closed the kitchen door firmly behind myself.
The doctor arrived as I finished cleaning up the kitchen. He came with a buckboard and left his horse tethered to the porch rail, as if either the horse or the doctor meant to leave in some great hurry.
"Matthew Longren," he called from beyond the screened door. "What have you gotten yourself into this time?"
I hoped for an answer to be forthcoming but when none was, I let myself out of the kitchen and into the sitting room. If I learned nothing else, I could at least learn what I'd done right or wrong for Matthew's wound.
The doctor nodded to me when I entered but didn't stop what he was doing, which mostly concerned looking at the wound, gently pressing around the edges, and making "mmm" sounds. At last, he stood and I was able to see Matthew's face again. He was covered with a sheen of perspiration, looking gray and exhausted, and I was grateful when the doctor opened his black bag and removed a needle and syringe.
"Morphine will get you through the night," he said, and to Hutch, "I assume he'll be staying here."
Hutch nodded. His own face was gray and exhausted. Worry for his brother, no doubt. I hadn't heard them talking much before the doctor came and I was no more enlightened as to who Jason Seth was than I had been before.
"The sheriff will be visiting, no doubt, but with the morning," the doctor said, and administered the shot to Matthew, who had closed his eyes and kept them closed. "Now," he said, straightening, "I'd like to talk to the nurse."
I blushed, cursing my fair skin, and stepped forward. Before I could say anything, Hutch stepped forward and said, "This is Miss Margaret Lucas, Doctor Horton, my bride-to-be. She only arrived this afternoon on the train."
The doctor tipped his head back to look at me through his spectacles, which had slipped down his nose. He was a young man, red haired and earnest, and he studied me for a moment before saying, "Quite the introduction to our town, then. I'd like to commend you, Miss Lucas. Are you a trained nurse?"
"I did very little," I said, feeling nerves flutter in my stomach. Despite how little there'd been for me to do, I'd had hours of worrying I'd done something wrong.
"What you did, you did well. Cleaning the wound, which not everyone knows to do, and tying it off." He still studied me, absently polishing his glasses now on his vest.
"My mother was a nurse in Boston," I said. "During the war." When this didn't make him look away, I added, "I'm trained as a midwife."
And that, finally, made him look down at the glasses he held, his mouth tightening just a bit. Yes, I thought, there's the reaction, and maybe what he had been looking for. Was I competition? No, sir, I wasn't. I had no need to be confronted with another bullet wound, or with snakebite or illness or anything outside the realm of births but often, my admission of my training left men uncomfortable, and now my first day was closing with the local doctor suspicious and local matrons glaring as I galloped past on my not-yet husband's lap.
So be it. I'd done what I needed to do, and wasn't one for letting propriety keep me from doing what was right.
And in that minute, Dr. Horton relented. "It was in the family and it was done well, no harm and no concern."
I wasn't sure what that meant, so I merely nodded.
"He should sleep now, and I will take my leave," he said. "I will see him tomorrow, and you, I presume?"
I nodded again, and the doctor left. Matthew didn't open his eyes and his breathing had evened out and when Mr. Longren touched my arm, I accompanied him back into the kitchen.
He sat at the table, strong, long-fingered hands clasped together. "I wonder if you'd make me a cup of coffee, and join me?"
There were roasted coffee beans, and someone had beaten
the sugar and broken it out, and the stove was hot. I set about making the coffee, watching him as the last of the sun went down. He sat with his back to the kitchen window, his dark curls gleamed in the remaining light and his face was shadowed.
When the coffee was ready, I served it then took a seat beside him at the table. Once seated, I could see his features again, his bright blue eyes.
"What should I tell you about today?" he asked, his hands wrapped around the mug, despite the heat in the kitchen.
"All of it, if I'm to be your helpmate," I said, my attention focused on his hands. They were strong and rough where they wrapped around the mug.
He took a long look at me and nodded.
I didn't expect him to begin where he began. His face was serious and from the sitting room, we could hear Matthew's breathing, heavy and pained despite his sleep.
Still, the first thing Hutch Longren said was, "This morning, I woke up knowing I'd meet the future Mrs. Longren."
I caught my breath but managed not to move. He wasn't looking at me, but rather past me at something I couldn't see. For a horrible instant, I thought he'd start with what a disappointment the meeting had been. No reason to suspect that, we didn't know each other yet, it had been a day full of incident neither of us could be blamed for.
Unless he blamed me for my actions. But I'd only been trying to help, even the doctor had said what I had done had made a difference.
Unaware of my turmoil, Mr. Longren continued. "I wanted to bring you back to the house, to show you your room." He paused, looked at me briefly, then smiled. "You've barely even seen it yet."
With a start, I realized he was right. I'd gotten one glimpse and then the riders had come. I wanted to say, There were other matters to attend to, but kept my mouth closed.
"Then, the storm. The horses. No sooner did we get here than my idiot brother." He didn't finish that thought. "And you, just gotten here, no doubt tired."
I nodded along with him. I didn't agree with a word. He hadn't mentioned a single thing that mattered to me, and far from being tired, I felt energized and alive despite my worry.
"Now this trouble," he said, without telling me what this trouble was. He met my eyes, and I got lost a little in the clear blue. "I'd understand if you wanted to get right back on that train and return to Boston."
I had. At the train station, when I first saw him, I'd felt afraid. Such a handsome man, and so much more real than my plans and daydreams had made him. I hadn't joined my friends in Boston in wondering and giggling between chores or after school. I'd attended the theater on the arm of a suitor or two, but always in the company of my sisters or we'd visited in my parents' parlor.
And I hadn't yearned for more. Learning midwifery, embroidery, reading novels, and walking through parks, that had been enough for me. The idea of being married, and married to a man who had previously had a wife, loved a woman, found comfort in her arms – that scared me. Starting life somewhere new, making new friends, learning whether my skills would be accepted or feared and scorned, all of it took more courage than I thought I had, and all of it without Virginia, my best friend, sister, and confidant.
So when the horses bolted and the wagon wheel broke, when the darkness of the mine yawned and the desert seemed so huge and Matthew so small and hurt, when I overheard the brothers talking of things I didn't understand but that still frightened me with their promise of unrest and mystery? I'd wanted to go home. Despite the attraction I'd felt the minute I saw him, I'd wanted to return to Boston and plead with my father to let me be the daughter who remained unwed, who cared for him and kept his house and Virginia could stay with me, my best friend and confidant.
Confidant of no confidences.
His eyes searched mine, eyes very like his brother's, and that was a concern as well. I hadn't known either of the Longrens before today but I was promised to one and needed to tread with care near the other.
"Are you sending me away?" I asked very softly.
"No," Hutch Longren said, equally quiet. "I'm asking you to stay."
Chapter 4
The kitchen was deep in shadows before either of us spoke again. We'd need to rise soon, light a candle or a lamp, although Mr. Longren doubtless knew his kitchen. I, however, had walked into walls and cabinets and the stove when it was full light. If he didn't rise and provide light, I'd be obliged to spend the night at the table.
At last, when the light had failed enough that his face was obscured, Mr. Longren said, "Did your mother share much of my letters?"
For some reason, that made my face heat again. There was no way he could have known the fairytales I created around a man I'd never met. That had been safe, innocent. Like having an imaginary friend or being borne off to marry a prince, and just about as likely.
"She did. You were always close to my uncle, and to my mother, I suppose."
He laughed. "She was like my mother, mine and Roy's, constantly calling us out for misdeeds, which only made us behave worse. We both had mothers. We didn't need Katherine."
I missed her, and so I asked. "What was she like?"
A moment of reflection, hidden by the shadows. "Like you, I think. She was strong and fast and funny, she didn't behave as-" He stopped abruptly, as if worried he was about to insult either my mother's memory or myself.
"As she should?" I asked. "I have heard tales, Mr. Longren. And not just of her behavior."
I couldn't see if he had the grace to blush. I continued, teasing. "Water snakes in her sewing kit. Hay in her hair. Nothing she ever reached for where she expected it. And the Halloween pranks alone, it's a wonder she loved you both so."
He laughed, warm and comfortable, and said, "Now is when I should ask if you're willing to stay."
"Now is when I should ask if you've overcome the need to tuck reptiles into the mending," I countered, and for that moment, we were at ease.
When he spoke again, it was as he rose to fetch a match and light the lamps on the kitchen walls, making the rose-patterned wallpaper glow and bringing himself back to into reality. "This wasn't the way I had hoped to welcome you. Much of today must have been a mystery to you. What do you want to know?"
My mind spun. I wanted to know how anyone could ever have the courage to step inside a mine and descend into the earth. I wanted to know if there were other midwives in Gold Hill or Virginia City or even far away as Dayton or Reno, and what the townsfolk thought of them. I wanted to know –
"Who is Jason Seth?" I asked.
It took a few minutes for him to answer. The lamplight played over his face, highlighting the straight lines. He looked grave, but not angry.
At last, he said, "I thought you might have overheard us."
"In part."
He grimaced. "Enough to build an unsavory portrait, perhaps?"
I shook my head. "Enough only to build curiosity." That sounded frank but I didn't soften it. "If I am to be your wife – " I let the sentence hang.
"Fair enough. Jason Seth filed the claim of the mine next to Silver Sky. At the start, it looked that he had found a better vein of ore than we had. This strike is to the Nevada territory as the gold in California was there. There's enough. When a claim runs dry, file another.
"Jason Seth wasn't of the persuasion to give in. It's possible he should have." He paused, looked toward the door to the sitting room, as if he had heard something or was listening to be certain we weren't overhead. "His mines played out fast. Where claims around his produced, his gave up nothing but dirt and minerals. The harder he tried, the worse his results."
"I don't understand," I said. "Why, if the mines around his were flourishing?"
Hutch made a motion with one hand, as if brushing away a fly or moving past the question. "The man holds his pennies, dear. He didn't pay for anything he strictly didn't have to pay for and it showed. His workers were angry and disinterested. His mines were dangerous and not the best claims that could have been made. He shored up the walls cheaply and suffered cave-ins or rathe
r, his miners did."
"Could he have prevented the cave-ins?" The man seemed victim of a streak of bad luck as all around him others were finding luck in streaks of silver.
"Not completely. But to a much greater extent. Latticing of beams holds back the earth when you dig under it. Filling the lattice with cast-off rock helps support the structure. Mines need fans for air and in many mines here, there needs to be a drainage system to pump out the water."
"And Jason Seth?"
"Didn't, for the most part. He cut corners. He skimped. He lost miners and after a while, the only men who would work for him were those no better than he is."
Which didn't answer the main question. "Then why would he shoot Ma– Mr. Longren?"
He gave me a look I couldn't interpret and said, "The mines are playing out now. Ore is becoming harder to find and the market for it is thinning. We're going deeper into the ground, finding more ways to use machinery and steam power to extract the silver. Mrs. Eilley Bowers went bankrupt some four years ago, and she was the richest woman in the world."
I waited, my fingers laced tightly together in an effort to stop myself reaching out to him.
He looked awkward, as if unsure how to proceed, which made me wonder if there was yet a reason for Mr. Seth to have shot the younger Mr. Longren, although, in truth, the former sounded unpleasant enough to shoot someone simply to shoot him.
My future husband cleared his throat. "Miss Lucas, it might have been unfair of me to ask you to come out here and to marry me. Our mine is playing out fast, and there's little enough money left."
"My – " He stopped, cleared his throat and took a breath, and I knew where he was going to go. "Mrs. Longren's health was fragile for a year before she passed. There were ... expenses. It has not been easy, and I did not have the right to ask you – "
"Please," I said. I couldn't think of anything to say about his wife. The subject was upsetting him. "Perhaps – "
He took a breath, not listening to me. "My wife's health wasn't good. There were many medical expenses, and then when we thought there'd be a child – " He didn't finish that sentence. "Jason Seth doesn't understand that all the mines are playing out, and no amount of talk will convince him that Silver Sky is drying up. He believes we still have ore, and that we stole the claim from him."