Silver Mist

by Raine Cantrell

  Jake didn’t answer. He studied Lucio’s face. The deep-tanned skin owed its color to heritage rather than the sun, as did ebony hair, slicked back and away from strongly molded features. Jake’s eyes tracked the flash of a large diamond pinkie ring as Lucio’s hand first smoothed the narrow slash of his mustache, then flicked a bit of lint from the silk and worsted suit lapel.

  “Still wearing the ring?”

  “Always.” Lucio’s smile never reached his dark eyes. He replaced the hat on his head. “And you are still too wary, hombre. But there is no need for this hostility between us,” he assured Jake, pulling a large diamond-encrusted watchcase from his heavily embroidered vest pocket. He didn’t open the case, but tilted it so Jake could see what else he held.

  It wasn’t the watch Jake was meant to see; it was the three silver nuggets attached to the chain, and he refused to react to the deliberate goad.

  “You’re blocking the way for the other passengers, Lucio.”

  “It was not my intent.” Lucio stepped aside, his gaze level with Jake’s. “You come to meet someone?”

  Once more Jake didn’t answer. He studied each passenger stepping down. Some he nodded to. A few of the men he noted were strangers, and these he scrutinized closely, including two he decided he would keep an eye on. When the petite blue-suited figure of his young wife descended the steps, he had to force himself forward, unable to smile or match the joy of her sparkling blue eyes as she hurried to his side. Jake returned her quick hug, but over her shoulder, his gaze remained fixed upon Lucio.

  “Your luck still holds, amigo. I had the pleasure of meeting the lovely señorita when she boarded the train at Ocala.”

  Anne lifted her head from Jake’s chest, gazing up at him. Her husband wasn’t paying attention to her. He was glaring at the other man.

  “The lady is my wife. Take a good look, Lucio, so you never mistake her for someone else, or this time I’ll kill you.” He ignored Anne’s cry. The promise he made was in a flat, hard voice that threatened the same violence as did his taut stance. No emotion flickered in his eyes, and for a moment he thought Lucio would refuse his order. But the man turned, his look thoughtful upon Anne’s oval face. There was both delicacy and strength in the features framed by upswept blond hair and a simply styled feathered and veiled hat.

  Anne was bewildered by the tension between the two men. Her gloved hands tightened around Jake’s waist, ignoring the gun he wore. She saw nothing violent about the hawk-faced man her husband just threatened. Anne gazed at Jake’s face. She knew his past, and now, now she confronted all her unspoken fears. Despite Jake’s reassurances that it would never happen, it appeared his past had caught up with him. His gentle strength, his loving ways, had convinced her to set fear aside and marry him over her brother’s objections. Until now she hadn’t once regretted her decision. She felt chilled despite the heat, her hand falling between their bodies to touch the full drape of her bustled skirt. She wanted to ‘withdraw from Jake’s arms, to withdraw from the stranger he had become in these last minutes, a stranger capable of violence. But Anne had been schooled to be a lady. The lessons served to hide her feelings.

  With his arm protectively hugging Anne’s shoulders, Jake asked, “Any more questions, Lucio?”

  “Nada,” came his cold response.

  “That’s good. See you remember that, amigo, if you decide to stay in my town.”

  Lucio made a leisurely but mocking inspection of Jake’s double-breasted work shirt, worn brown cord pants, and boots. “Your town?”

  “Mine.”

  “The years have not been good enough for you to make such a claim, Jake.”

  Jake threw back his head and laughed. The chilling rippled sounds made several men milling about the platform turn to stare at him. “I’m the law here, amigo. All there is. And the years have been very good to me, Lucio. I can walk here without watching my back among these friends.” Without another look he urged Anne to walk away.

  Lucio Suarez thoughtfully stared after their retreating figures. His fine sole-leather trunk was set down beside him on the wooden platform along with two matching smaller bags. A ready and generous tip was handed over to the conductor. Lucio could afford to be generous. He had plans for Rainly.

  “Senor, there is a place to store my luggage until I have need of it?”

  “I’ll put ’em right inside the ticket agent’s office for you, sir.”

  “And where may I find good lodgings and a decent piece of horseflesh?”

  “Cross the street. Boarding house’s on Illinois. Can’t miss it. Only place that takes in borders. And Early Yarwood over at the comer livery is the man to see for a prime-blooded bit of stock. Early’s from Virginia.”

  “Can you direct me also to the land office?”

  “Ain’t got one.” The agent glanced up to see if the train’s water tank was filled, then looked back at Lucio.

  “I have need of information,” Lucio prompted, another gold coin appearing between two smooth long fingers.

  “Ain’t my town, but I’ll oblige with what I can.” He pocketed the coin quickly. “ ’Course, if you really wanted to know things, you should be talking to Luther Marlow. He’s the ticket agent and postmaster here. Knows everyone.”

  “I am most interested in a man who comes here as I do, a stranger.” Lucio smiled. “You would not forget him, I assure you, if you saw him or heard his name.”

  “Got a passel of strangers coming here in the last few weeks. Suppose there’ll be m ore.” He wiped his brow with a crumpled bandanna he pulled from his pocket. “What’s the fella done?”

  “A matter of a debt owed, nothing more. He is tall and lean, his hair as dark as my own, but his eyes are light, the same as his name—Silver.”

  “And that’s all I heard, Dara. Jake was ready to take him on right there.”

  “Was Anne all right?” Dara glanced at her younger brother, Matt, as she finished drying their supper dishes. His affirmative nod prompted a sigh of relief before she asked, “Did this man stay in town?”

  “He took a room over at Miss Loretta’s and rented a horse from Early. Rode out along the Rainbow, west toward Amos’s farm.”

  “I wonder what he’d want with Amos?” Dara folded the damp linen cloth and set it down on the counter. “Matt, do you think Jake is right, that there’ll be trouble because of these men coming here to mine?”

  “Kelsey thinks so. I don’t know yet. Say, Dara, will you be all right alone if I go out for a while?” His lanky frame was halfway out the back door when she looked up. “C’mon, Dara.”

  “Where are you planning to go, Matt? You know Papa doesn’t like you down at Kelsey’s at night.”

  “Can’t you answer me without a lecture? I’m not a boy anymore. And who said I was going to Kelsey’s?”

  “Well, pardon me!” She smoothed down the sleeves of her shirtwaist, already sorry for her outburst. Lately they had been at each other like a pair of alligator turtles. And everyone knew how vicious those creatures could be with their evil beaks ready to make mincemeat out of the hands of the unwary, even if some folks hereabouts thought they were good eating. Matt’s restlessness added to her own hidden discontent. She’d spent the last ten years raising him; he couldn’t expect her to stop worrying about him because he thought himself a man.

  “Dara?” he softly coaxed.

  She went to his side, resting one hand on his finely muscled arm. “Matt, I’m sorry. I know it’s hard for you with Papa and Pierce not understanding what plagues you. I don’t understand you myself at times. You act like you have the green-apple nasties, but I’ll try to curb my worrying over you.”

  He grinned with no trace of his former animosity reflected in his amber-colored eyes. “What you need,” he said, tapping the tip of her nose with one finger,” is a husband and children to mother.”

  “Would you like to tell that to Clay? Oh, forget I said that. It’s not all his fault.” She
sighed, leaning her head against his shoulder at his urging. “I guess I have a little of the same restlessness plaguing me. I’m worried about Anne and Jake, too. She married him believing his past would never follow him here. And while no one could ever doubt his gentleness, even I was frightened to see him wearing a gun today. Now you tell me there’s a man in town that Jake threatened to kill. If Clay finds out, he’ll be furious.” Dara felt a bit guilty not telling Matt about the man she had met called Silver, who also seemed to know Jake.

  “We can’t worry about it. Clay won’t like you interfering again.” He gave her shoulders a gentle squeeze. “Besides, Jake can take care of himself. Now can I leave?”

  Searching his face, so much like their father’s, Dara decided to back down. “Are you going sparking?” she teased. “Is that what has you so distracted these last few weeks?”

  “Maybe,” he answered, without committing himself.

  “I’ve seen the way you look at Roselee Kinnel at service, Matt, and so has half the town. Well, never let it be said that I stood in the way of love.” Dara held his hand before he moved away. “Just be careful. I’m sure more than one stranger came into town today, and the Kinnel farm is nearly a mile out. You…” She stopped herself from saying more. Matt’s face had that closed look that meant he wasn’t listening. “Go on, but not too late. We have boxes to unpack tomorrow.”

  Matt nodded and Dara watched him cross the back wooded lot of their land which sloped down toward the Withlacoochee River. She turned and looked with satisfaction around the kitchen of the clapboard house she had been born in. All was as neatly ordered as her life. She took a moment to lower the flame in the coal-oil fixture hanging over the large square oak table, and then she, too, left the house.

  A walk by the river would fill the lonely hours until it was time for bed. And perhaps, she thought, the night’s tranquility would help her forget the disquiet of remembering the stranger whose eyes would not let her forget his name. She resolved not to encourage him should he come into the store again, but Dara had a feeling his boldness would make this vow difficult to keep. It didn’t help to remind herself that she shouldn’t be thinking about any man. She was promised to marry Clay Wescott. But instead of bringing comfort, the thought stirred a bitter discontent within her. And it was only now, when she was alone, that Dara would cry for all the wasted years of waiting.

  Dara was annoyed by the way Matt disappeared right after breakfast the next morning. She washed clothes, hung them out in the already white heat of the sun, and, fuming, returned to the house. Wednesday was her weekly baking day, and now she had to open the store.

  Carrying a large pottery bowl filled with the fresh eggs Matt must have picked up from Varina Kinnel, she propped open the back door, hoping a cool breeze would come up from the river. After setting the bowl on the counter, she hurried to open the front doors, using a matching set of cast-iron bulldogs to keep them in place.

  Glancing up, she was surprised to see Jesse Halput, owner of the sawmill, bringing a loaded wagon of cut lumber down Williams Street. He bypassed the bank and continued toward her, pulling into the empty lot next to the store. Curious, Dara stepped out onto the wooden porch and walked down its shaded length.

  “Mawnin’, Miz Dara,” Jesse said.

  “Jesse.” She nodded. Indicating the wagon, she asked, “We didn’t order any lumber. Or is someone planning to build here? I didn’t know the lot had been sold.”

  “ ’Pears so. This one an’ a few more. Recall ’bout two years ago that Withlacoochee and Wekiwa Lan’ Company was toutin’ Rainly bein’ paradise?”

  “Certainly. But Jesse, everyone knows nothing came of it. They had all those fancy brochures made up and rented land offices up north, but only a few people bought farms around here, and poor Miss Loretta lost her money.”

  “So most folks figured.”

  She watched him wrap the thick leather reins around the pole break. But the way Jesse sat, fingering his gray scrub beard, she could tell he was thinking about what he wanted to say. She followed his thoughtful gaze down the center of Charleston Street. Since it was the town’s main avenue, it was one of the two widened and timber-cleared ones. Williams was the second, where Jesse’s sawmill and home were situated. The rest of the town’s platted streets were really wagon-wide lanes leading to the few other homes and businesses in town. It crossed Dara’s mind that the man called Silver had been right in his callous assessment of Rainly. There wasn’t much to the town. The admission rankled.

  Gesturing with one raw-boned, scarred hand, Jesse finally said, “Man come by yesterday, ordered enough cut boards to burn my blades and build on the empty lots from heah to the cornah.”

  Dara’s eyes widened behind her glasses. “Why, he could have five, maybe even six stores clear down to Illinois Street, depending on what he intended to build.”

  “That’s ’bout what I figure. He asked ’bout hirin’ mah three boys to do the buildin’.”

  Hiding her annoyance with Jesse’s way of dragging out whatever he knew, Dara moved to the very edge of the porch. Jesse leaped down from the wagon seat and began unloading the lumber. Tall and straight, he was as strong as the lumber he milled. He and his wife, Sophy, had come to Rainly with her parents. Jesse had worked for her father at his mill on the Ashley River, but that was before the war, before her parents had lost everything. She could remember her mother telling the story of a frightened Sophy, new bride that she was, coming to the South Carolina countryside and how they had become fast friends that first day. Sophy had proved that friendship in the days following her mother’s death. But Dara did not want to think of the past.

  “Do you know exactly what he’s planning to build here, Jesse?”

  “Didn’t say.”

  “Well, did you find out who our new neighbor will be?”

  “Might be the man what ordered this, and then again, might not.”

  “Jesse! What kind of an answer is that?”

  “Only kind I got. Too hot to get yoreself frazzled, Miz Dara,” he calmly informed her. Taking four twelve-foot lengths of lumber from the wagon bed, he set them on the slow growing pile. Stopping to wipe the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, he glanced toward her. “ ’Iffen you met the man, you’d be understandin’ he weren’t one to be botherin’ with questions.” Grinning, he added, “You and mah missus be askin’ the wrong man. Seen him over with Mr. Dinn at the bank. Try talkin’ to Elvira if you can get to her afore mah Sophy does.”

  “But I trust you to tell me, Jesse,” she insisted softly, holding his narrowed gaze with her own.

  For a moment Jesse was taken back in time. Dara looked so much like her mother, but the picture forming in his mind of Malva Owens and his own graceful Sophy wasn’t here in Rainly. Stately whitewashed columns replaced the rough-timbered roof support where Dara now leaned. Two gaily dressed young wives stood side by side, bell hoops swaying, throwing kisses, then waving. They thought the hands they clasped in fear went unnoticed by himself and Cyrus Owens as they rode off to war. Jesse blinked, realized Dara was softly calling him, and abruptly turned to finish unloading his lumber.

  “You alone in the store, Miz Dara?”

  “Matt’s around town somewhere,” she answered, wondering what he had been thinking of to frown so. “Papa and Pierce should be back sometime tomorrow. Did you need their help with something?”

  The last boards were set down carefully, and with his long legs Jesse stepped easily onto the porch. “Since yore trustin’ me, you listen. We all know strangers be cornin’ heah, lookin’ for white gold, but you nevah take any chances bein’ alone with one of ’em, Miz Dara. Their ways ain’t ours. Menfolk ’round heah are right ’spectful of their womenfolk. You’ll be extry cautious if yore alone in the store without yore brothah. And doan’ be wanderin’ down by the rivah like you do at night.”

  “I’m not a child anymore, Jesse. If you know something, please just tell me. I heard w
hat happened to Jake. Anne was so upset that she didn’t stay more than a minute yesterday. I know that men came in on the train, and some left town soon afterward.” She silently reminded herself of the one man she had met, and if truth be told, she hadn’t really stopped thinking about him.

  Jesse tugged his beard. “Yore pa doan’ like talkin’ much ’bout what happened aftah the war afore we come down heah. Reminds me of it. Saw worse destruction when strangers come to pick our bones clean. I doan’ know nuthin’ for sure,” he stressed, “but I warned mah Caroline, her being so young, and ah’m warnin’ you. Folks heah might be stirred up and raise more he—’scuse me, I mean more heck than a ’gator in a dry lake ’bout this heah minin’ of phosafat and then again, might not. These heah men’ll be bringin’ money into Rainly and that’s good. But they’ll be bringin’ othah things, too. Things a lady doan’ need to know. So jus’ be careful,” he warned again, stepping off the porch.

  Dara didn’t have more than a few minutes to wonder why fear timbered Jesse’s voice. She had waved him off and turned, only to find the very man she couldn’t chase from her memory right before her eyes. He was mounted on a barrel-chested bay horse before the store’s hitching rail. Had she thought to dismiss his smile so easily? Yes, she reminded herself, and with good reason.

  His gaze flickered lazily over her. This morning her starched white, full-sleeved shirtwaist had a pert black bow at its neck, the veed lace trim calling attention to the lush fullness her corset pushed upward from below. Her long skirt was dour black, but he couldn’t ignore the way it wrapped around her slender form. She appeared cool and crisp in the heat of the morning.

  “Good morning, Miss Dara Owens,” he greeted her, touching the brim of his hat. “Mighty pretty piece of land your house sits upon backing all the way to the river. Your father chose well. Prime town land will be at a premium shortly.”