That was nature. Stomping through the forest on foot dwelled in a level of torture. Two Bromi slaves had driven steamwagons for them until they reached the thicket. Garth had handed out the packs and away they went.
The packs. Not steamer trunks, like what she’d brought from the east, or valises. Trunks, suitcases, carpetbags. Oh no, the packs were leather sacks with two straps and giant brass buckles that held the flap closed.
Her father couldn’t have found something more hideous if he’d hired a Bromi baby to make it. Amethyst winced. Clark wouldn’t want her to think like that about the Bromi. All right, if a regular baby had made it.
The air became cooler and damper as they trekked deeper into the woods. No one should have to climb over roots and weave around bushes since roads had been invented. Despite the visible dirt path, it was so narrow no one could walk side-by-side with another, and it dipped and rose until her leg muscles ached. Her shoulders throbbed from the weight of the pack. She paused to shift it, seeking a stronger spot on her back.
“You shouldn’t have brought so much,” her mother said from behind. “I warned you how difficult it would be.”
Amethyst narrowed her eyes. Her mother wore denim, like a ranch hand, like a man. Mud had already splattered the denim overalls. Beneath, her mother wore a checkered red shirt that looked like the print off a servant’s blanket.
“How can you wear that?” Amethyst demanded, again. “Don’t you care how lousy that looks?”
Her mother pursed her lips. “As long as I’m happy and comfortable, what does it matter if the squirrels think ill of me?”
Amethyst had refused the peasant denim offered to her, but she had consented to a pair of thick black pants. Everyone else, save Joseph, wore denim. They could’ve been a pack of homeless settlers rather than the Treasures. Joseph trudged along at the end of the line, scowling at the path. Good old Joseph. That had been why she liked him so much. She liked Clark better, but she and Joseph were a pair.
She strained her head to spot Clark at the front of the line chatting with her father. Jeremiah stomped—he must’ve been used to pairing with Garth on the camping trips. After Jeremiah came Zachariah, who watched the trees. They stretched in every direction; she could’ve believed they were endless if she didn’t know the ocean bordered the continent.
“We won’t come across any Bromi?” Joseph asked. “Right?”
“They prefer the plains, the desert,” Clark called back. “They won’t come this deep into the woods.”
“Some Bromi tribes once lived in the woods,” her mother said. “They’ve been driven out. We won’t see any, Joseph.”
“If we do, Clark will protect us.” Amethyst waved at him when he glanced back.
A breeze stirred the tops of the trees and a few green leaves drifted toward the ferns. Most of the trees kept the breeze from reaching them, but Amethyst caught the scent of pines and wild flowers. It might have been peaceful, with the gentle creaks of branches and the gurgle of a stream nearby, if it weren’t for that blasted pack breaking her shoulders and the burn in her legs. She rubbed her thighs through her pants and scowled.
“Almost there,” Jeremiah yelled.
“We’ve walked a bloody eight hours,” Joseph grumbled.
“Forty-five minutes,” her mother corrected. Joseph’s face turned a deeper shade of red, despite the exertion flush already covering his cheeks. He must not have meant to talk so loud. Amethyst chuckled under her breath. At least she wasn’t the only one suffering.
After hiking up a near impossible ridge that everyone else fairly skipped over, they arrived at a clearing with a log cabin and an outbuilding. Amethyst dropped her pack and stretched her arms. It could’ve been worse. She and Clark had passed by one-room cabins with weathered barns and people wrinkled by the sun and work. This cabin had a front porch, two fireplaces—one for each end of the house, and glass windows.
“How long are we staying?” Joseph asked.
“Usually we spend a month,” Jeremiah said. “It looks like it will only be a week.”
Garth shook his son’s arm. “Only for now. We’ll head back up here later on this summer. We’ll have our usual good time.”
“A week.” Joseph dropped his pack beside Amethyst’s. “I can see why you didn’t want to come out here to Hedlund.”
“If I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have met Clark.”
“You would’ve still heard about him. Your family writes.”
“Not the same.” She left her pack by the woods to follow the others into the house. Someone else could grab it later.
The furniture happened to be rustic, but not too bad, lots of carved wood and split logs. Stuffed deer heads glared at them from the walls. The kitchen blended in with the sitting room. Her parents master bedroom finished off the downstairs. Three rooms occupied the top floor.
“This can be yours, Amethyst.” Her father swept his hand across a small space covered in bookshelves.
“This is closet size,” she squeaked. “There’s no bed, just all these books.”
“What else is there to do at night except read and whittle?” Jeremiah bumped against her. “It’s relaxing.”
“Reading is for people who don’t have social lives!”
“I hear you,” Joseph mumbled. When did anyone have a moment to read when balls were being planned and clothing was being fitted? Friends didn’t come over to sit around a lamp and read. They wanted games, tea, rainbow-colored lemonade, not a book about an imaginary adventure.
“We have extra bedding,” Jeremiah said. “We’ll set you up with a bed.”
Her stomach clenched. “Where’s the bathroom? We looked in all the rooms.”
“Behind the shed,” her father said. “There’s a toilet and a wash basin. It’s perfectly sanitary.”
“There’s no tub?” She smelled already. Her lavender soap had surrendered to sweat.
“There’s a tin tub. We get water from the stream.” Jeremiah laughed. “You’ll love it.”
They had to return to civilization. If she were sick, they would. Amethyst pressed her hand to her forehead and collapsed backwards.
Jeremiah kicked his heel against the wall. His sister lay on the floor with her arms bent and her lips parted. Pretending to faint wouldn’t help the government install indoor plumbing in the woods.
“Get up,” their mother sighed.
Amethyst twitched her leg.
“Boys?” Their father headed down the narrow hallway. “Normally this room is Jeremiah’s and this one Zachariah’s. You’ll have to share with Joseph and Clark. I don’t mind how you break it up.”
Jeremiah scratched his chin. If Amethyst thought sweat smelled bad, wait until she had to put mosquito cream over her body. That stuff reeked more than rancid chicken.
For the room situation, he would grab Zachariah. Clark and Joseph the Dandy could share the other space. Neither of them belonged there.
“Clark, want to share with me?”
Jeremiah held his jaw shut as he glared at Zachariah. How could his blood brother want to share with that illegitimate spoil?
“Thanks.” Clark followed Zachariah into the back bedroom.
“Hi, roommate,” Joseph sneered. Why couldn’t that fop have gone back to the city and taken precious Amethyst with him? Those days she’d spent wandering off with Clark had been bliss, just like before she’d arrived. Amethyst couldn’t bother to bestow pleasantries on her real brothers; she had to fawn over brand new Clark.
“Going for a walk. I’ll see if the Ottmans are at their camp yet.” Jeremiah stormed toward the stairs. At least the Ottmans, if they had arrived, wouldn’t complain about wearing denim and not bathing.
Before, Garth would’ve followed him over. The mile walk wasn’t long, the scenery a mixture of relaxation and darkness. Now, he stayed to coddle Amethyst’s fainting spell. Zachariah might have trailed behind, raving about how great his latest stint with the army had been, but now he wanted to bond with Clark, off
all people.
Jeremiah kicked the stump by the porch on his way to the path. Mr. Ottman lived a few hours from the ranch, so they only saw him at camp. He made his wealth off his ranch, and although it wasn’t a huge pile of money, they got by well enough. His son, Myron, was a year younger than Clark, but a stoic man like his father. Even though he didn’t say much, his company was pleasant enough. The other boys, all younger, played around the camp. Jeremiah couldn’t remember their names.
He spotted one of them when he emerged from the woods beside their rented camp, a miniature version of the Treasure’s cabin. All the little boys looked alike with wavy red hair and freckles. The child waved before darting into the cabin. As Jeremiah approached the porch, Mr. Ottman stepped out with a polishing rag in hand.
“Hello, boy. We wondered if you’d all gotten here yet.”
“Just got here a bit ago.” Jeremiah shook his hand. “I see you’re getting your guns ready.”
“Of course.” A laugh rolled from Mr. Ottman’s flat belly. “We got here yesterday. The girls have been hyper for you all to arrive.”
“Girls?” Jeremiah tensed. If Amethyst found out the Ottmans had brought hired hands, she’d scream about how the Treasures didn’t bring servants.
Mr. Ottman tucked his rag into the back pocket of his denim overalls. “My daughters. Your mother wrote to ask me to bring them along since she and your sister were coming. I’m afraid my wife couldn’t make it, she’s been feeling weak lately. Whenever the hay comes out, she suffers terrible migraines.”
“She didn’t mention that.” His mouth dried. They would see what a brat his little sister was.
“Come out, girls,” Mr. Ottman called.
“My sister isn’t feeling well.” She might have still been on the floor pretending to twitch. If the Ottmans thought Amethyst was sick, they might not come over, but they’d accompanied the men to the cabin just to see Amethyst and Jeremiah’s mother.
A red-haired young woman stepped into the doorway. “What is it, Father?” Denim pants hugged her body from ankles to round hips. She unbuttoned her shirt to reveal cleavage, no camisole.
“Hi,” Jeremiah breathed.
he wooden dock built into the stream pressed against Clark’s legs. To think that he, the wanted miner, would have nothing to do except hold a fishing pole over the stream and wait for a fish to take the worm bait.
“Sometimes, the army fishes,” Zachariah rambled from Clark’s right, on the edge of the dock. “We all get together. It turns into a big old feast. Usually the food isn’t that good for the common soldier, so they get that with hardtack. Have you ever had hard tack?”
“Sometimes.” Whatever was available became food.
“What do you expect us to do with the fish?” Amethyst shrieked from the shore. “I’m not cooking it. I’m not cleaning it. Bloody gears, I’m not even touching it. You’re disgusting.”
“Amethyst.” Garth held out the fishing pole to her. “You can sit next to Joseph. You won’t have to touch the fish. We can do that. Just be sociable.”
“Joseph doesn’t want to do it either.” She whirled away from the shore. “I’m going back to the cabin to read. Come on, Joe.”
Clark drummed his fingers against his pole. Amethyst had promised him she didn’t care about Joseph in that way, but thinking about them alone in the cabin prickled his skin. Joseph didn’t know her feelings.
“We’ll go for a walk,” Clark said. “We can see more of these woods.”
“A walk would be great.” Jeremiah jumped to his feet and yanked the girl next to him up.
“I thought you wanted to fish and we were getting in your way,” Joseph sneered. Clark stifled a laugh. Good for Joseph for pointing out Jeremiah’s snipped attitude.
Jeremiah beamed at the Ottman girl. “Ashleigh, wouldn’t you love to go for a walk? I can show you the best views. It doesn’t get more peaceful than the woods.”
Clark scowled before he steeled his expression. If he wanted private time with Amethyst, then Jeremiah wanted the same with his new Ashleigh…who stood there smiling. Just…smiling. She was pretty enough, with her ginger hair pulled back in a bun, but she didn’t say more than pleasantries.
“It is nice weather,” summed up her conversation at the dock. She’d also rubbed her head a lot, as though it pained her to be outside.
She accepted Jeremiah’s hand. “That would be nice.” She massaged her forehead again.
Amethyst, however, kicked at a fern and screamed when it caught on her hiking boot. “Argh, look at this. Why don’t we have paths? This is atrocious. Outrageous!”
“It’s nature,” Georgette said. “Nature doesn’t have cement paths.”
“It should.” Amethyst wrinkled her nose.
Clark chuckled as he set his fishing supplies on the dock. If only she knew the type of land he’d trekked through. A dirt deer path would’ve been heaven compared with roots and hills and weeds. Mosquitos the size of silver dollars would really pinch her nerves. Add in the constant glancing back to make sure he wasn’t pursued, and being careful not to leave too much of a trail left a man skittish. More times than not, he’d gone without sleep to avoid being ambushed while he dozed. The only time he’d relaxed had been with the Bromi and the outcast gang.
Jeremiah led the way through the woods with Ashleigh, in her denim overalls, on his arm. He brushed low hanging branches aside and lifted her by the waist over roots.
“Be careful,” he said when they reached a particular nest of blueberry bushes, and stomped around the nearest oak to clear her a new trail.
“Thank you, how nice.” Ashleigh rubbed her forehead.
“How nice,” Amethyst sneered to Clark and Joseph, the three of them maintaining the rear. “If I have to hear ‘nice’ one more bloody time, I swear I’m mixing food coloring in her hair wash.”
Clark snapped a tiny branch at Amethyst so that it swatted her arm. “Be nice.”
“Ow,” Amethyst shrieked. “You tried to kill me.”
“Once,” Joseph said to Clark, “Amethyst had a particular row with a new girl in the city. Her family had just come into some wealth, but she wasn’t nice in the least.” He snickered. “Obnoxious little chit she was. Amethyst invited a group of girls for a slumber extravaganza and put green food coloring in her hair wash. How that blonde chit carried on. Well, not blonde anymore. Think grass green. She never went out in society again, and her family moved across the ocean.”
Clark pictured Amethyst standing in the back of a room with a tiny smile and a wicked sparkle in her eyes while her so-called enemy ranted about her new hair color. “Don’t worry, Am. No one will ever call you nice.”
She snapped a branch at him, but it stilled before hitting him. “I’ve never wanted to be that.”
Clark winked at Joseph, who snickered again. Maybe he wasn’t that horrible. In another setting—if Joseph didn’t want Amethyst and the army didn’t want Clark—they might’ve been friends. Clark sighed. Friendship didn’t work that well for him. Friends tended to be left behind.
Sunlight dappled across the underbrush and the breeze made leaves drift around them. A deer gallivanted beyond the next ridge. Ashleigh gasped, but Jeremiah patted her arm.
“I’ll protect you,” he said.
“From a deer,” Clark whispered. “They are very deadly.”
Joseph glanced in the animal’s direction. “You josh, right?”
Clark clapped his shoulder. “Definitely. They’re one of the least dangerous animals out here.”
“Does Jeremiah have many paramours?” Joseph asked.
“How should I know?” Amethyst yanked a wet clump of leaves off her shin. “He’d better not marry her. What a wretched sister-in-law she’d make.”
“She’d be a nice one,” Clark offered.
Joseph narrowed his eyes. “You wouldn’t need to worry. They’d stay out here and you’d be with me in the east. I doubt you’d see her more than once a year, if that.”
; Clark stiffened, coughing. Amethyst met his gaze with pursed lips.
“This is my favorite view.” Jeremiah’s voice drifted to them. “I come here whenever we’re at camp. Doesn’t it feel as if it goes on forever?”
“I bet I know what she’s going to say.” Amethyst grabbed Clark’s sleeve as she stumbled over a gully in the path where rain had washed out the dirt.
“Let me guess,” Joseph said in a monotone.
“What a nice view.” Ashleigh nodded.
“I must see this.” Amethyst marched ahead until she stood beside her brother and folded her arms. “All right, it is a bit breathtaking.”
Joining them, Clark searched his memory for the views that left him with that reaction. Happy memories rose to the surface: playing hide-and-go-seek with Mabel when they couldn’t sleep at night, feeling his mother’s curls against his cheek when she hugged him, Amethyst curled up at his side. For unhappy memories, he pictured Tangled Wire with its weathered buildings and miners scarred with dirt from being exposed for years without end. The Bromi men who danced with eagle feathers around campfires to call upon the spirits of the land—he’d hated that, because they’d appeared for him, begging him for help or offering guidance he didn’t want. The gangs crowding together for protection, a unity that would stand tough despite pain in their pasts. The Treasure ranch might be beautiful, but everything he ran from clouded it.
Clark frowned at Jeremiah’s favorite sight. The ravine lay deep below with a wide stream gurgling through it. Weeds and trees grew alongside it, boulders jutting from the water that glistened in the sunlight. Forest stretched on the other side of the stream, thickening until it became a dark wonderland. For a man like Jeremiah, who spent his time on a ranch in the desert, it would be majestic. For Clark, he pictured how cold it would be to dash through that stream with the army after him. The ravine would be hard to scale, but he could hide among the foliage.
Treasure, Darkly (Treasure Chronicles Book 1) Page 22