“I thought the tack room would be the most private,” he said, pulling at a creaking door. “Judy never comes near here this time of year.” He set the lantern on a worktable made of rough lumber.
Angie caught her breath, her eyes wide. Before her stood a three-foot-high chalet as detailed and perfect as a real one. The first story was made of stone and the second two of wood with a wide, hip roof covering the top two levels. It had long, oak shingles and a tiny stone chimney, shutters with a design carved into them, and greased paper across mullioned windows.
“I asked Saundra to draw me a diagram of a German alpine chalet.” He nodded, a satisfied look on his face. “She’s got a great memory for detail. Every day she remembers something new to make it more authentic.” He stepped around the table. “Look at this side.”
Open, it showed the interior: the bottom floor for work and storage, the second for cooking and gathering, the third for sleeping. Tiny furniture sat huddled in almost every room.
“I got out Charlotte’s doll furniture,” he said. “She wanted to save it for Judy when she was old enough not to break it. It’s been in a box in the attic all these years, and I just now remembered it.” His eyes glowed when he looked at Angie. “You think she’ll like it?”
Her face creased into a wide smile. “She’ll adore it.”
He grinned. “Sorry to keep you in the dark for so long. I didn’t want Barry to spill the beans, so I didn’t tell you either for fear you’d accidentally mention it to him.”
“You didn’t know?” Angie said, twisting her hands. “I broke our engagement. I thought Barry told you.”
His eyebrows lifted. “The last two weeks he hasn’t said anything to me besides talking about work.” He tilted his head, still watching her. “You know, he sure has been acting strange lately. Maybe that’s why. You must have broken his heart.”
“Hardly,” she said wryly, wondering how Lane could have missed Barry’s calf-eyed looks at Saundra.
He sent her a puzzled look then turned to the project before them. “I’ll bring the dollhouse inside on Christmas Eve. You or Saundra can arrange the furniture then. Saundra is knitting covers for the beds.”
“I have some fabric scraps for curtains.” Angie leaned over to peer inside. “How big are the windows?”
“Two inches by three. The downstairs windows are double wide.”
They spoke about the project until Angie started shivering and they had to go inside. Her heart warmed toward Lane for taking so much time over Judy’s gift. He truly had changed.
When they reached the house, Angie played one game of charades with the family before Judy had to go up to bed. Tonight Angie went upstairs with her, carrying an iron pot containing one of the bricks she’d heated at the fireplace. With the bedcovers icy in the unheated room, they had to have something to warm it up. Angie felt unusually tired. Getting so cold in the barn had sapped her energy.
She helped Judy fasten her gown then quickly changed her own clothes. The room was cold enough to form ice on the water in the pitcher beside the bed. Her feet on the flannel-wrapped hot brick, Judy snuggled into the covers and promptly closed her eyes.
Before Angie climbed under the biscuit quilt that night, she opened the trunk at the end of her bed and dug deep. Triumphant, she pulled out a piece of dotted Swiss and one of blue gingham. Thrusting her hand down on the other side, she touched a small wooden box and grasped it.
Lifting its hinged lid, she saw a tiny china tea set gleaming against dark velvet, another reminder of happier days. Angie set the small box on top of the trunk’s inner contents and closed the lid with a gentle smile. This Christmas would be one that Judy would never forget.
She pulled the thick quilt over her and settled into the snowy sheets, already partially warm from Judy’s presence and that deliciously warm brick.
Why hadn’t Hans told them before about his living on the ranch years ago? Was he playing some kind of deep game? She pictured his twinkling blue eyes and his ready laugh. He really had cried the night Saundra prayed. That wasn’t pretend.
But then he had come into the house and stayed in the dark—if that really had been Hans in the kitchen when she came downstairs that night. She sighed. It was so confusing.
Judy rustled beside her. “Angie?” she asked.
“Yes, honey?”
“What is Hans looking for?”
Suddenly wide awake, Angie asked, “Why do you say that?”
“This afternoon he was digging into the back of the closet under the stairs. I think he was tapping on the wall. I saw him when I ran in after school.”
“Did he see you?”
“Yes. He told me he was looking for some polishing cloths to put blacking on the stove.” She snuggled into Angie’s side. “What is he looking for?”
“Now that you mention it, he does seem to be looking for something, doesn’t he?” She brushed Judy’s hair from her cheek. “I don’t know what it could be.”
“I’m going to find out,” Judy said sleepily. She turned over so that her back faced Angie. “I’m going to look, too.”
Judy made the promise while mostly asleep, but she kept her word. Her first day of Christmas break, she disappeared into the far corners of the house. Angie saw what the girl was up to but didn’t mention it to anyone else. Let Judy entertain herself for a few hours. What could it hurt?
Chapter 16
After lunch Judy dried dishes for Saundra with a dab and a promise, impatient to be back to her tapping and probing upstairs.
“Do you need any help, Miss Angie?” Hans asked when the other men returned to the barn. “Lane doesn’t need me this afternoon. I could clean out the cellar for you if you don’t have anything else to keep me busy.”
“It’s freezing cold down there,” Angie said. His suggestion brought up a hint of suspicion. In the few weeks he’d been with them, Hans had worked in every sector of the house except the bedrooms and the attic.
“I don’t mind the cold,” Hans said, smiling widely. “Once I get moving, the exercise will keep me warm.”
“Let me go down and take a look at it with you,” she said finally, giving the table a last swipe with a wet cloth.
“Judy and I will finish here,” Saundra said. “Go ahead with Hans.” The German lady sent a warm smile toward their newest hand. “I’ll bring you down a hot cup of coffee in a while.”
“Danke,” he said, returning her friendly look.
Angie lit a lantern for herself and one for Hans. “It’s pitch black down there. No windows,” she told him. She paused and glanced at him. “I expect you know that.”
He nodded. “I cleaned out this cellar once before, about”—he squinted—“thirty years ago.” He grinned. “Do you think it needs it again by now?”
Angie smiled. “I haven’t cleaned it myself. There never seems to be time for a project like this.” Holding the lantern away from her body, the other hand outstretched to keep a stray spiderweb off her face, she descended the stairs slowly and carefully.
The cellar had stone walls. Whitewashed many years before, they were now gray and streaked with a thick coating of grime. Along two sides, plank shelving held jars of various fruits and vegetables. A red rubber ring edged each tightly sealed glass lid. The jars shone in the lantern light, some of them green-tinted and some of them clear.
To the back of the cellar stood an ancient washstand, the one Angie had Barry haul to the yard each spring. Rusty tools lined one wall. A broken picture frame and a half-finished cradle sat atop a pile of discarded junk, a pile that had been there as long as Angie had lived on the ranch. Most of it had been there when Lane bought the place fourteen years before.
“Help yourself,” she told Hans. “You can make a burn pile beside the barn to get rid of most of that.” She looked at the junk heap. “Just show me what you’re carrying out as you pass through the kitchen.” She set her lantern on a shelf nearby. “Judy may be down to help you later. She loves to dig into old s
tuff and get dirty.”
Hans nodded. “She could bring down a broom and a duster, please.” He looked at the foot of the stairs. “I see a bucket there. I think that’s all I’ll need for now.”
Angie climbed the stairs, uneasy and scolding herself for being so. What kind of trouble could Hans get into down there? It wasn’t as if they had jewels scattered among the junk.
Instead of helping Hans, Judy continued her inspection of crevices and crannies above. By the evening of the second day, Angie wondered how long the child would keep up her search.
Judy came to supper that night with her cheeks flushed and a shine to her eyes. “Are you feeling well?” Angie asked, concerned. “You look as if you may have a fever.”
Judy shook her head until her braids flapped around her face. “Nope. I’m fine.” She plopped into her seat at the table. “After supper I’ll help with the dishes,” she announced.
Angie glanced at her. Something was definitely up.
When the last dish was dried and in the cupboard, Judy sidled up to Angie. “Let’s go up to our room,” she whispered and set off down the hall.
Angie dried her hands and followed at a more mature pace. Saundra came behind her then veered into the living room to join Barry and Hans, who played checkers before the fire.
“What is it?” Angie asked Judy the moment she closed her bedroom door behind her. “Did you find anything?”
Judy held something behind her back. Her eyes were wide and gleaming. “Look!” She held out a suede-wrapped bundle, dusty and cracked with age.
“Where did you get that?” Angie took it from her and sat beside her on the edge of the bed.
“The back of Daddy’s closet has a loose floorboard. I pried it up and found that.”
Angie unfolded the packet carefully. Inside lay several brittle, yellowed pages folded together into a tight wad. “I’m afraid to open the papers up. They may break.”
“They won’t,” Judy said, sitting next to Angie. “I already opened them.”
Angie laid the pages on the quilt beside her and slowly pulled them open. Some of the words disappeared into the deep cracks where the folds had been. She held a letter and a crude drawing. The letter was dated September 16, 1850, twenty-two years ago.
To the person who finds this,
You have just found a treasure.
Being the fool that I am, I caught gold fever almost one year ago and left my dear Eliza to care for this place with only one ranch hand, a difficult job for a hearty man. But how much more for a frail woman with a five-year-old child to care for?
Eliza was never strong in body, but I was so bullheaded that I wouldn’t listen to her when she cried and begged me to stay at home. I went to California with a mob of other empty-headed husbands and fathers.
(Here the words disappeared into a fold.) …returned last week with my saddlebags full of gold, I found Eliza in bed with consumption. Jared had died two months before of fever, and my beautiful Eliza was soul sick with grief. First she had lost me and then our child.
Oh, God, forgive me!
I brought back twenty thousand dollars in gold, more than I ever dreamed of seeing, but it has become a curse to me. I will not benefit from it.
Eliza died in my arms this morning. This afternoon I will bury her behind the house and ride away from this cursed place. I’m leaving the gold for you, whoever you are. You may have it with my blessing. May it bring you more joy than it brought to me.
I had to dig for the gold, and so will you. I’ve made a rubbing of the spot where the gold is buried deep inside the bowels of this house. Dig for it, my friend. (Another line lost in the paper’s fold.) …drawn a map, but that would have been too easy.
Study the rubbing and think hard. If God wills, you will find it. Take it. Just remember—no amount of money in the world can replace the ones you lo… (The words smeared here.)
The letter was signed with a shaky hand: Amos Nissley.
Angie let the yellowed page rest on her lap. She and Judy had their heads together, alive with shock and excitement.
“Where could it be?” Judy asked. “I’ve already been over most of the house.” She bounced on the bed. “Oh, Angie! Papa would be able to pay off the ranch! We’ve got to find that gold for him.”
Angie shuffled the papers and brought up the rubbing. It looked like an oddly connected spiderweb, disjointed and asymmetrical. “Judy, does this look like any spot you’ve seen around the house?”
Judy stopped bouncing and pressed her face toward the paper. “I looked at it for a long time before lunch, and I couldn’t figure it out. What is it, a map?”
“It could be, but I doubt it. There’s no direction or landmarks to go by.” She turned the paper over. “It’s a rubbing, Judy. He put the paper over a spot and ran his pencil back and forth across it to pick up the texture.”
“The fireplace stones!” Judy cried. She would have dashed out the door, but Angie caught her arm.
“Wait a minute!” she said. “Slow down. I’ve got to think.”
“What?” Judy demanded, sinking back to her seat on the bed.
“I’m thinking about Hans. Do you think he knew about this? The fireplace has fascinated him since he came here. I had convinced myself that I was imagining things, but now I’m not so sure.”
“How could a lot of gold be hidden in the fireplace?” Judy asked. “The stones are solid. And if the gold was inside the fireplace, it would have melted by now. Gold is soft.” She nodded wisely. “We learned that in school.”
“Maybe a few of the fireplace stones are loose and could be pulled out,” Angie said, turning the paper around in her hands. “The trouble is, there’s no way of telling which is the top and which is the bottom of the paper.”
“How much does Daddy owe on the ranch?” Judy asked, hunching close to the mysterious paper. “Is it a lot of money?”
Angie nodded. “Almost a thousand dollars.” With her index finger she traced the pattern on the paper without actually touching the page. “This is our ticket to freedom from the banker, Judy,” she said. “Maybe God sent it in answer to our prayers.”
She laid the paper down and looked directly into Judy’s face. “I’m going to trace this pattern so you can have one to take with you. I want you to keep looking, Judy. I’ll help you when I have time.”
She put her hand on Judy’s chin and looked deeply into her eyes. “Don’t let Hans or anyone else know what you’re up to.” Her mouth quirked in on one side. “Your father would think we’re two silly children. Barry will hoot and holler about how we’ve got gold fever. I’ll never live it down with him if we don’t find it.”
Her expression grew sober. “And I’m not sure what Hans will do. If he’s really looking for the same thing we are, we’d best be careful. This kind of thing can get dangerous.”
Judy looked up at her, scared and delighted at once. “You think he’d murder us in our beds for the gold?”
“Don’t say that!” Angie said. Abruptly she stood up. “This isn’t a scary story that kids tell around a campfire, Judy-girl. This is real life. Don’t let your imagination run wild.” She stepped to her bureau and pulled open the top drawer. “I’ll trace this and get back downstairs. Saundra probably needs me in the kitchen. I can’t let her do all the work. She’s still a guest, you know.”
“She doesn’t seem like a guest,” Judy said, watching Angie lay a clean sheet of paper over the rubbing. “Things have been so fun since Saundra came, haven’t they?” she murmured.
Angie moved to the window to press the pages against the sunlit glass. “Things have been fun all right. I don’t know what I’ll do if they get any more lively.” Her short pencil moved quickly across the page. In a moment she handed the finished tracing to Judy. “Happy hunting!” she said.
Judy skipped out the door.
Angie stared after her a moment before she moved from the window. She carefully folded the papers together as they had been and returned them
to the suede holder. Lifting the straw tick, she slid the packet under it and smoothed the quilt.
Her steps lagged on her way downstairs. Was Hans after the gold? If he was, how had he found out about it? He said he’d been on the ranch thirty years ago. That would have been 1843, before the tragedy in the Nissley family. Before the letter.
He could have been there when Amos returned. He could have known about the gold. Why hadn’t he stayed then and found the gold after Amos Nissley left? Why had he waited so long to come back for it? How many men would suffer through twenty-five years of hunger and cold when he knew a fortune lay within his reach?
Angie sighed and ran her hand slowly down the banister. Maybe someone else had already found it. Lane had bought the ranch from a pipe-smoking old woman, the last of her family. She’d made the living room and kitchen her home for more than ten years. When Lane bought the house, the upstairs had looked like the cellar looked now—the dust an inch thick and thousands of spiders setting up housekeeping in the bedrooms.
Angie passed the closed living-room doors and paused at the kitchen, her eyes on the cellar door standing open to her right. Hans was downstairs right now, probably prying into the floor. Her mouth went dry. She had a sinking feeling in her stomach. What would he do if she surprised him while he had the gold in his hands? Hans looked friendly enough, but some folks went crazy when that much money was at stake.
Why hadn’t she listened to Lane and let him fire Hans before all of this came up?
“Angie, what’s wrong?” Saundra asked. She knelt in front of the oven door, her hands holding a blackened cleaning cloth. “You look like you’re about to faint.” She moved as though to stand up.
“No, Saundra.” Angie swallowed, trying to force her voice to sound normal. “I’m fine. It’s nothing, really.”
“I just took Hans some coffee,” Saundra said, reaching into the far recesses of the oven with the cloth. “He’s got that cellar looking swept and new. You should go down and see it.”
Reluctant Brides Collection Page 11