“John, you don’t mean you’ll actually follow through with it?”
“I’m a man of my word, Trask. It was part of the bargain.” Papa leaned back in his chair and looked at Yiska. “As a matter of fact, I hope you’ll allow me to take your photograph as a small token of my appreciation.”
“Photograph? That’s what you were laughing about.”
Eliana said, “Yes, poor Mr. Crawford called it a daguerreotype. They haven’t been used in ages!”
“You’re a photographer.” Yiska eyed Papa curiously.
“Yes, and Eliana is my able assistant. We have a temporary studio rented on Alpine Street while we’re in town.”
“Been here long, sir?”
“Not long enough. We were stuck up at our residence in Lake City all winter and had to wait until the thaw to come down for supplies. It’s been good work here since the San Juan Secession of ’73 opened up the mining again. And now it’s safe for folks to settle here with no real threat of Indians.”
Eliana almost spilled her appleade. The table grew quiet.
Yiska shifted in his chair. Had Papa offended him? “Well…you never know what kind of trouble they’ll cause. Probably twice as much trouble as I would.” He cracked a smile and glanced Eliana’s way.
The men all laughed, and the awkward moment faded away. But Eliana remained quiet. How often must Mr. Wilcox deflect comments like that? Did they hurt his feelings? Could someone like him ever fit in with her circle of friends?
Mr. Whiley stood and patted his belly. “I’ve got a card game to go finish. John, want to play a hand?”
“You know I’m not a gambling man, Whiley. Besides, I think I’ve had enough excitement for one day. Don’t you agree, Sunshine?”
“Indeed, Papa.” Eliana sighed. “You are all heroes, and again I thank you.”
“I think you are forgetting someone, dear.”
“Am I?” What was Papa going to say now?
“Yes, Miss Van Horn. You saved my life,” Mr. Wilcox said.
Eliana felt her cheeks warm. Papa put his hand on Mr. Wilcox’s shoulder and shook his hand. “Yiska, be sure to come over to my studio someday before you head back out. I won’t take no for an answer.”
“Miss Van Horn, a pleasure as always.” Mr. Whiley cocked his head and grinned.
“Likewise,” said Mr. Wilcox with a nod.
As she watched him leave, she sincerely hoped he would come by for the photograph. If he didn’t, she might never see him again. And that would be a tragedy.
Eliana settled into her bed that night in the Van Horns’ apartment above the photography shop. After reading a passage from her Bible, she placed it back on the nightstand, distracted by thoughts from earlier in the day. For a fleeting moment she had thought, had wished, Mr. Wilcox would kiss her when he helped her off the wagon. What was she thinking? It had been broad daylight, in the middle of town. She barely knew the man, yet her heart sensed a familiarity, a longing. Her attraction to him surprised her. His strong face and dark eyes held warmth and interest, the contours around his mouth revealed character, and his thick, shoulder-length brown hair and russet skin tone told of his heritage. All of it reminded her that they were worlds apart, he an Indian, and she…
Eliana turned the wick of the oil lamp back and snuggled the counterpane under her chin. She tossed about, trying to get comfortable. Although she was exhausted, she still couldn’t sleep. What began as a simple morning of running errands with her father turned into…And then it hit her. She could have died or been seriously injured today. The tears began to flow as she pressed her face into her pillow.
“Thank You, Lord, for protecting me and saving my life,” she whispered. “Thank You for sending Mr. Wilcox to be there at the right time. Please bless him.” More tears flowed. What if he had died, too, this day? Eliana was certain she would join her mother in heaven. But Mr. Wilcox—what did he believe about the afterlife? More importantly, would he inherit eternal life with Christ Jesus? She would never know unless she saw him again. Lord, please allow me to see Mr. Wilcox again, to share Your love with him. And if it is Your will…No, that she dare not ask.
Yiska moaned as he stood from the bunk in a back room at Whiley’s Outfitters and stretched. He hadn’t wanted to complain in front of the Van Horns, especially Eliana. They already felt bad enough. Fact was, his captors had roughed him up pretty good. Bruised ribs, black and blue shins, and he ached all over like he’d been trampled by a herd of stampeding buffalo.
After the jail incident three days ago—or had it been four—he’d gone to check on his borrowed horse to discover the old mare had been taken over to the livery. There he found his saddle, blanket, and the rest of his stuff heaped in a pile in the corner of a stall. His saddlebag had been ransacked, but the thief hadn’t taken everything. Must have been scared off. Now he’d have to replace some supplies and clothing—all of which he could get from Whiley’s store. But his small blanket had disappeared—along with the journal he had wrapped inside. That could never be replaced. His sole companion on the trail other than his faithful horse, it was filled with pages describing the Colorado territory’s wondrous landscapes. Yiska wrote what he saw and in his own way mined the beauty of the San Juans without destroying any bit of it. He hoped someday to share the riches he wrote about—the snow-capped mountains, brilliant vistas, valleys teeming with wildlife—with those who might never get to enjoy them firsthand. To him it was worth more than gold. And now it was gone.
Yiska had searched around town, hoping his journal might turn up somewhere. It wouldn’t have value to anyone but himself. Maybe he’d find that someone had tossed it away. So he looked around behind an old building near the Silver Eagle, and Grover and one of his buddies attacked him. One held him and the other whacked him in the ribs. The pain pierced his side, and Yiska felt like he would pass out. If a rib or two weren’t broken before, they surely were now.
But a surge of adrenaline came from nowhere, and he pushed back with what strength he had and kicked Grover into a pile of rubbish. Yiska turned and knocked his other assailant senseless. He managed to make it back to Mr. Whiley, who had tended his bruises. Now he finally felt like getting up.
He walked over to the washbowl and splashed water on his face. After he shaved, he grabbed the fresh shirt, trousers, and new socks that Whiley had left him. His rib cage was wrapped tightly, but he managed to get himself dressed. Getting his tall moccasin boots on might be another story. As he walked near the door to them, he heard familiar voices.
John Van Horn’s voice came from the next room. “I noticed your new sign out there says WHILEY ‘AND SONS’ OUTFITTERS,” he said. “I didn’t know you had sons, Trask.”
“I don’t. But a man can dream.” The men laughed.
Yiska never thought he’d see the day that Trask Whiley would settle down. He’d been more than an employer to him—more like an older brother—but Yiska couldn’t picture him as a family man. More than likely Mr. Whiley figured marriage could be a good business venture, and sons would help him carry on his name.
Out in the hallway, Whiley cleared his throat. “John, I’d like to have a word with you about your daughter.”
Chapter 4
What was on Whiley’s mind now? He wasn’t sweet on Eliana, was he? Yiska felt like someone had kicked him in the gut all over again.
“What’s this about Eliana?” Mr. Van Horn examined Mr. Whiley with a suspecting eye while Yiska peered at them from the partially open door of the small room.
“Where is your lovely daughter today?” Whiley asked.
“She’s shopping in town with a friend. Then off to Richmond’s Mercantile to check on the catalog orders that we placed—photography supplies and such—and to pick up some sundries for our expedition with the Robbins survey. We’ll get the rest of our supplies from you.” Mr. Van Horn glanced around Whiley’s store. Shelves and tables were stocked with tack, tents, blankets, lanterns, guns and ammunition, mining tools, building s
upplies, and even some Indian trade goods. “Have you ever thought of opening a remote outfit up in Lake City?”
“I’ve considered it.” Whiley nodded.
“Would be nice to get supplies closer to home. We won’t be back in Del Norte before we leave, so we’re gathering our provisions now.” Mr. Van Horn rocked back on his heels and smiled. “Our grand adventure is nigh upon us.”
“That’s exactly what I’m concerned about, John.” Mr. Whiley’s face grew serious. “I’ve heard recent reports of renegade bands of Utes south of here, and I wanted to warn you.” Whiley leaned with his elbow resting on the counter. “It’s none of my business what you do, but I thought you might want to reconsider taking your daughter along on your excursion. You don’t want her to end up like that Oatman woman.”
Yiska swallowed hard.
“Trask, I appreciate your concern. But we’ve already given it a lot of thought and prayer. I know you’re not a religious man, but we have peace about it. This expedition is the chance of a lifetime for me and my daughter.” Mr. Van Horn turned and, as if speaking straight to Yiska, said, “You know, Eliana will dress like a young man, the way she does when we go into the mining camps to take pictures. That way no one will be the wiser.”
Yiska’s jaw dropped. How could John Van Horn even consider allowing Eliana to go? It took more than a little peace and preparation to be equipped for such a journey. Yiska should know—he’d roamed the southwest for most of his life. He shook his head. She’d be dressed like a…
“So be it. I know there won’t be any changing your minds.” Whiley let out a deep chuckle. “Does the U.S. General Land Office know she’s coming along?”
“They know I’m bringing an assistant.”
“And here I thought you were an honest man,” Whiley teased.
Van Horn stroked his beard. “You know I hired a man to go with me on the survey. I couldn’t help the fact that he got the gold fever this spring and left me high and dry. The contract never specified that I report any changes. It was too late to back out, and I have an able assistant. But if they get wind…I can count on you to keep this detail in confidence, can’t I? You’re the only other living soul who knows about it.” Van Horn took his empty pipe from his pocket and tapped it in the palm of his hand nervously.
“I won’t say a word. But you’d better hope that the Utes don’t find her out. John, I’m serious.”
“You don’t have to warn me about the danger of Indians.” Mr. Van Horn’s mouth drew into a grim line before he worked his pipe between his lips.
“Well, not only that, I’ve heard that Chandler Robbins isn’t one to put up with any nonsense. Make sure Eliana carries her weight, or he may detect she isn’t who she claims to be.” Whiley shook his head and shrugged. “I hope Eliana can shoot a shotgun as well as a camera.”
Withdrawing his unlit pipe, Van Horn chortled. “Don’t worry. They don’t call her ‘Eagle Eye Eli’ for nothing.”
Whiley looked up and caught sight of Yiska standing in the doorway. Yiska issued an obligatory nod and left, his head ready to explode with all that he’d learned. He bolted for the mercantile. How could a man set both his mind and spirit toward a decision and come up with an answer like that? Bringing a young woman into the wilds on a long expedition was dangerous for many reasons. Mr. Van Horn must not be thinking clearly. What kind of God did he believe in? He didn’t understand what it was like out there. But Yiska did. And only one thing could be done about it.
He had to stop her.
After an hour of shopping and fittings for her friend’s new gown, Eliana and Alice headed toward the mercantile at last. As they descended the steps at the end of the boardwalk, Alice’s dress caught on a piece of jagged wood.
“Oh, I hope it didn’t tear!”
Eliana stooped to release the fabric. “No harm done.” The corner of a brown, leather-covered book tied with a rawhide cord stuck out from under the steps. “Look here; someone must have dropped this.”
“Open it,” Alice said. “How else can we discover to whom it belongs?”
The book was filled will all kinds of descriptive writing. “I think it may be someone’s journal.” Eliana passed it to Alice.
“There’s no name. What shall we do with it?” Alice fingered through some of the pages. “We could keep it. It might make good reading.”
“We cannot do that,” Eliana chided. “What if the owner is looking for it?”
“What shall we do then?”
“I’ll take it to the newspaper tomorrow when I go to place an advertisement. I’ll ask the editor to place a special ad to find the owner.”
“That seems best.” Alice handed Eliana the journal.
Eliana placed the mysterious book in her satchel, and they walked on.
“Good afternoon, ladies,” said Mr. Richmond as they entered the mercantile.
“Hello, Mr. Richmond. I came to see if any packages have arrived addressed to Van Horn Photography.” Eliana’s heart flooded with hope.
“I’ll go see what we have for you. A delivery arrived a little while ago. Haven’t had a chance to sort it yet.”
Alice walked over to the sewing notions. “Oh look, Eliana! This lace ribbon matches the lace on your blue dress perfectly. I didn’t notice any like this at Mrs. Donnelly’s Dress Shoppe. You should get a length of it for your hair.”
“Oh, I don’t know. I’m on a budget, and I’ve spent far too much already.” Eliana peeked into her reticule to count her money. “I’d better not, at least until I see how much my other purchases will be.”
“But, you must.”
Eliana laughed, “Alice, you’re rather good at spending my money. But despite your good taste, I must wait.”
“Very well.” Alice walked toward some bolts of fabric as Eliana made her way toward the soaps and toiletries.
A moment later, Alice sidled up her and whispered, “Did you see that…fellow…back there? He’s looking at you. Look at him!”
“Alice! I will not look.” Eliana spoke in hushed tones.
“Oh, you must. He’s so handsome…for an Injun.”
Eliana clutched Alice’s arm. “What does he look like?”
Alice looked casually over her shoulder, pretending to look about the store. “Well, he’s, you know. His skin is very tanned. Dark hair, almost down to his shoulders. He’s wearing a slouch hat. He has a buckskin vest and a pair of those high suede boots. And he’s grinning.”
At that, Eliana turned around. She hadn’t realized that Mr. Wilcox was actually in the store. Had he heard their whispers, and Alice’s giggles?
Mr. Wilcox nodded. Eliana managed a shy smile. Warmth flamed through her cheeks. She turned back to Alice.
“What is it?” Alice whispered.
“Nothing.” Eliana worried her lip.
“Nothing? You know him. You do! I can tell…. And you like him.”
Oh dear, had he heard Alice say that? Eliana looked at Mr. Wilcox again. He was perusing some books in the corner. So, he could read.
In hushed tones Alice continued, “Is he the one?”
Eliana croaked, “Yes. How many Indians do you think I know?”
Alice’s mother bustled into the store. “There you are, dear, I’ve been looking all over for you. You were to meet me back at Mrs. Donnelly’s shop after your errands. Come now, I need your help with your sister’s dress. She’s waiting for us there now.”
“But Mother.” Alice grimaced and heaved a little sigh.
“Come along now. Good afternoon, Eliana. Our family will be by later in the week for our portrait sitting. See you then, dear.”
“Yes, see you then.” Alice peeked again at Mr. Wilcox and smirked at Eliana as her mother escorted her out the door.
“Is this what you were waiting for, Miss Van Horn?” Mr. Richmond returned, carrying a carton.
Eliana walked over and placed the sundries she had gathered on the counter. “Is that the only one?”
Mr. Richmond
checked his ledger. “The rest of your order hasn’t arrived yet. Hmm. Coming all the way from New York. These things take time, sometimes even get lost en route.”
“Oh, dear! What if our photography supplies don’t arrive in time? We must have them before we leave Del Norte.”
Oh, Lord, please make the equipment get here in time. To her dismay, Mr. Wilcox stood there beside her, concern on his face.
“Thank you, Mr. Richmond. I guess that’s all we can do for now. I’ll pay for this now, along with these items.” She glanced toward the lace ribbon, but she had no need of frippery where she was headed. She took the money from her reticule and placed it on the counter.
The proprietor put his hand on the box and held it there. “Before you go I’d like to check the order, to make sure it’s correct. It’s the least I can do.”
Her eyes darted to Mr. Wilcox. “I’m sure it’s all here, Mr. Richmond.” Maybe she should tell him the contents were personal. But saying so wouldn’t be appropriate in male company. Her heart pounded.
“Miss Van Horn, I insist.” He opened the pasteboard container and pulled out three men’s shirts and a pair of men’s trousers. “Let me check it against the invoice.” Mr. Wilcox turned his back and leaned against the counter, arms folded across his chest.
“Three cotton shirts, men’s size small, sixty cents each. Two dungarees, boys’ size large, a dollar twenty-five. Two pair gents’ imitation buckskin gloves, one large, one small, one dollar and fifty cents each.”
Eliana’s cheeks grew warmer as Mr. Richmond continued his relentless inventory. She stared at the clothing and dared not glance at Mr. Wilcox.
“Men’s socks, half dozen each, large and small, forty cents each. Suede vest, men’s medium, eight dollars and seventy-five cents. Women’s hose, size medium, three pair, a dollar thirty each.”
Mr. Wilcox muffled a laugh. Eliana ignored him, her entire face on fire.
“Looks like it’s all here as ordered,” Richmond said. “Montgomery Ward guarantees complete satisfaction or your money back, and I stand behind that policy. But if I do say so, Miss Van Horn, most of these garments are not going to fit Mr. Van Horn. Much too small.”
Love's Compass Page 3