“Be careful,” she called back to him.
“I will.” He lay forward, hugging the horse’s neck, his face hidden in the mane.
Alice felt a tiny catch in her chest. She wanted to remember every detail of this moment, of the way her son looked just now, the sun gilding his dark hair.
“He’s a good boy, Alice.”
“Yes,” she whispered.
“You need not fear for him or his future.”
Tears welled in her eyes. “I don’t. Not really.”
A little longer, Lord. Please give me a little longer. Just until I’m sure . . .
Raised, angry voices from the boardwalk outside drew Matthew to the window of the Wells, Fargo office. Across the street, outside of the saloon near the corner of Jefferson and Main, five men were gathered around a sixth, a man much smaller than the others. As they shouted, they gestured with their arms. One tapped the holster strapped to his thigh. Another shoved the one in the middle.
“There’s trouble,” he said to William as he moved toward the door. When he stepped outside, he saw something he hadn’t noticed before. Against the encircled man’s blue shirt hung a long, jet-black queue.
“We don’t want your kind here,” one of the men said loudly. “You need to get out.” He swore, calling the man a derogatory name.
The Chinaman didn’t look at the men. He kept his gaze downcast, whether out of fear or subservience or habit Matthew didn’t know.
More people had gathered on the boardwalks by this time, but no one moved in the direction of the disturbance. Matthew wondered if anyone had gone for the sheriff. Maybe he should— One of the assailants grabbed the black queue and pulled it upward, yanking the man two steps backward. The rest of the gang of thugs laughed. An ugly sound. Matthew drew a deep breath as he headed across the street. No time to go for Jack. If something wasn’t done, this could turn deadly.
“You men have a problem?” he asked as he stopped near the hitching post.
They were a rough lot. Miners, from the look of them, but not very ambitious ones or they wouldn’t be in town at this hour of the day.
Their faces were unshaven, their clothes covered in dust and dirt.
“What if ’n we do?” one of them—the largest of the group—snarled back at Matthew.
“Well, you see . . .” He stepped onto the boardwalk. “I was looking for my friend there. Need him to run an errand for the express office.”
“Your friend?” The fellow’s lip curled in derision.
The Chinaman lifted his gaze toward Matthew. Matthew didn’t see fear and hoped what he saw instead was intelligence because they might both need to be quick thinking.
“He helps out sometimes,” he added, his eyes returning to the larger man.
“We don’t want his kind on this side of town, takin’ our gold, takin’ our jobs.”
“Look.” Matthew took a couple of steps closer, almost in reach of the Chinaman. Maybe he could just take him by the arm and lead him out of danger. “We don’t want any trouble. The express office has work that needs done, and some of it isn’t the sort of work any of you would be willing to do. So we hired this fella.”
Was every lie a sin? He hoped not. All he wanted to do was avert a shooting or a lynching, and that’s what this felt like it could become.
“You know what I think?” a second man said, a growl in his voice. “I think this ain’t none of your business.”
The next thing Matthew knew, someone shoved him. Then his left arm was grabbed. He threw a punch with his right, connecting with the man’s jaw. Someone else slammed a fist into Matthew’s midsection. Shouts erupted as he went down, taking one of the assailants with him. More punches were thrown before they rolled off the boardwalk and into the street. The hitching post stopped them from going too far. The other man raised up far enough to land a punch to Matthew’s face. One, then a second. First to a corner of his mouth, next to his right eye. Pain shot to the top of his head and down his spine. He tasted blood and dust. His vision blurred.
“Break it up! That’s enough. Break it up!”
Matthew’d never been so glad to hear Jack’s voice before— although it was tempting to hit the man in the street with him one last time before they drew apart.
“Get back there.”
Matthew got to his feet.
“Go on, folks. The show’s over.”
Matthew touched his mouth. His fingertips came away red. His head throbbed. To make matters worse, his eye was already beginning to swell shut.
“Matt, go back to the office,” Jack said in a low voice. “My deputy and I can deal with this. I’ll talk to you later.”
Matthew gestured toward the Chinaman in the blue shirt. “He wasn’t doing anything. You need to let him go.”
Jack nodded. “He’ll be fine. Go on. In fact, you probably should see the doctor. That cut above your eye might need a stitch or two.”
“You sure? About him, I mean.”
“I’m sure. I’ll come see you later.”
The pain behind his eye was bad enough now, he decided not to argue. He would trust Jack to sort things out.
Shannon was seated in the parlor, working on her embroidery while Alice napped on the settee and Todd played in his room upstairs.
When she heard the front door open, her gaze darted to the clock on the mantel. It wasn’t yet four o’clock. Much too early for Matthew to be home.
And yet it was Matthew who appeared in the doorway a few moments later—although he didn’t look much like himself. His right eye had swollen shut. The skin was red and painful looking. It looked as if he had a cut above his eyebrow too. His lips were puffy and cracked.
“Mr. Dubois,” she said softly, setting aside her sewing. “What on earth?”
“It’s nothing.”
Putting her finger to her lips and glancing toward the settee, she rose and walked across the parlor. “It isn’t ‘nothing.’ That’s obvious.
Come with me.”
Briskly she headed for the kitchen. Matthew followed right behind. Once there, she told him to sit in a chair, then went to retrieve some basic medical supplies. When she returned, she found Sun Ling studying the wound above his eye.
“He need stitches,” Sun Ling said to Shannon.
“I know.”
Matthew said, “I tried to see Dr. Featherhill on my way home. He wasn’t in his office.”
“No matter. I can stitch it.”
“You?” Perhaps he raised his left eyebrow in surprise, but she couldn’t be sure.
As with all female volunteers helping in wartime hospitals—and a few who served courageously on the battlefields—Shannon’s eagerness to help care for the sick and wounded had been met with great resistance at the outbreak of hostilities. Many people thought women were a nuisance in the wards. Well-meaning, perhaps, but still just in the way of the doctors. Some feared the more delicate ladies would lose their moral stature. Even some of the wounded tried to object to a woman—one who wasn’t a wife or mother or sister—caring for them. Shannon had learned to ignore objections, no matter from which quarter the complaints came.
“Sit still while I wash your eye and see how bad it is,” she said, using her sternest voice.
Sun Ling delivered a bowl of warm water and a cloth, setting them both on the table near Matthew’s left elbow.
“Thank you, Sun Ling.” Shannon took up the cloth, dipped it in the water, and began to cleanse Matthew’s wounds. When he winced and drew back, she said, “Hold still, Mr. Dubois. If you do this with the cleansing, what will you do when there is a needle in my hand?”
“It hurts.”
“Of course it hurts. And it’s going to hurt more before it gets better. What did you do, sir? Let a horse kick you in the head?”
“No.” He tried to smile but the expression was more odd than amused, given the swollen nature of his mouth. “But it felt like it.”
She continued washing.
“There was a figh
t across from the express office. I got in the middle of it.”
“Fisticuffs on Main Street?” She tsk-tsked softly. “I thought you were smarter than that.”
He winced again as she moved to the corner of his mouth. “Me too. But there was a little guy about to get beat up”—his good eye flicked toward Sun Ling—“and I reckoned somebody ought to step in and help him.”
He didn’t say the words as if bragging, as if wanting to be congratulated for doing something good to help another. She found herself liking him a great deal for it. She lightened her touch as she leaned a little closer, trying to be more careful.
His gaze met hers, and the kitchen seemed to tip to one side. Her breath caught in her throat as she straightened away from him. She felt too warm all of a sudden. Surely it was because Sun Ling was using the stove to cook supper.
“Are you going to take those stitches now?” Matthew asked in a low voice.
She swallowed. “Yes.” The word cracked. She cleared her throat and added, “Yes, I’m going to do it now.”
19
The next day, leaving her patient and Todd under the watchful eye of Sun Ling, Shannon and her father visited the Crawford ranch.
“Thank the Lord for such a beautiful afternoon,” the reverend said, his eyes lifted heavenward.
He was right, of course. It was a beautiful day. The air was warm, the fresh scent of pine surrounding them as the buggy carried them south from Grand Coeur on their way to the Crawford ranch. It surprised Shannon a little, the way she felt about the passing countryside. She hadn’t thought any of it nearly as pretty on the day the stage had delivered them into town over a month before. She’d found only things to criticize then.
“Look.” Her father pointed toward the hillside on the opposite side of the creek that followed the road.
It took her a few moments to see the deer drinking at the water’s edge. Camouflaged by the hillside, trees, and underbrush behind them, there were two spotted fawns, three doe, and a buck. The buck lifted his head to observe the Adairs pass, watchful but unalarmed.
Not so very long ago, there had been plenty of deer in her beloved
Virginia, but they’d disappeared after three years of war. Eaten, she supposed, by Union and Confederate soldiers alike. She hoped none of the deer she saw now would ever be shot, even though she rather enjoyed a venison steak. She would rather think of them living free in these mountains.
Living free. She wanted to live free too. Was that why God had brought them to Idaho Territory, so they might be free? Free of war. Free of talk of war. Free of death and want and sorrow and regret. Free of— “Is that the turnoff?” her father asked, drawing her attention to the road ahead.
“Yes, that’s it.”
He slowed the horse from a trot to a walk and guided him onto the narrow track that would take them to the Crawford ranch. Immediately she thought of the day last week when she and Matthew had followed this same road, Todd on the seat behind them, leaning forward with excitement when the ranch came into view. And thinking of those two, uncle and nephew, she realized she wished they were with her this time too.
Matthew had known she wanted the bay mare. She hadn’t said a word to him about it. Hadn’t entered the pasture to see the horse up close. Hadn’t paid more attention to her than to the two geldings Matthew purchased that day. So how had he guessed she hoped to buy the bay? How had he been able to read her wishes so well? Was it because they were becoming friends?
Friends . . .
She was glad when the ranch house and barn came into view, for it helped focus her thoughts on the horse she wanted to buy and not on the man who was . . . who was becoming . . . her friend.
As had happened the previous week, Lawrence Crawford came out of the barn upon their arrival. His jaw was still shadowed with the stubble of a beard, and he wore what appeared to be the same flannel shirt and the same pair of coveralls. He also wore a friendly grin.
“Well, Miss Adair. Good to see you again.”
“Thank you, Mr. Crawford.”
“Come to buy a horse for yourself this time?”
She ignored his question. “I’d like you to meet my father, the Reverend Adair.”
“Reverend, eh?”
“Indeed, Mr. Crawford.” Her father offered the man his hand. “A pleasure to meet you.”
“Likewise.” They shook hands.
“My daughter tells me you have many fine horses for sale.”
“Glad she thinks so.” He motioned with his hand. “Why don’t you come have a look for yourself?”
Her father stepped down from the buggy, then helped Shannon do the same.
“That friend of your daughter’s, Mr. Dubois, he chose probably the finest of the horses I’ve had for sale. A big gray. But I reckon Miss Adair can find one she likes.”
Shannon imagined Matthew seated astride the big gray and felt something warm and wishful twist in her heart.
“That’s quite the black eye, Matt.” Jack leaned his forearms on the counter in the Wells, Fargo office.
Matthew grunted his acknowledgment. “Did you arrest the guy who gave it to me?”
“Sorry. Witnesses weren’t clear on who started the fight.”
“What do you mean? They accosted that man in the street. I stepped in to help. And I didn’t throw the first punch.”
“That may all be true, but there are some who say you did.”
He grunted a second time.
Jack straightened. “That isn’t why I came by. Wanted you to know they caught the suspected gunman in that shooting a couple of weeks ago up near Idaho City.”
“That’s good.”
“Yeah.” The sheriff rubbed the back of his neck. “I just wish it felt like I could relax now. But something keeps nagging at me. It seems like there’s more strangers in town lately.”
“Strangers?” That seemed an odd thing to say. Jack couldn’t know every man in these mountains, not even by sight alone. The gold camps were filled with strangers.
“I mean the men who obviously aren’t miners but who don’t seem to be here on business either.” Jack shrugged. “They make me nervous, especially if they’re from the South.”
“Not all Southerners are Confederate sympathizers.” As he spoke, Matthew thought specifically of Reverend Adair. On the other hand, the reverend’s daughter . . .
“Maybe not, but plenty of them are.” Jack took a step back from the counter. “Let’s just hope nothing happens to spoil the town’s celebration on the Fourth. Maybe with a bit of fun, some of the tension will die down.”
Or it could just make it worse.
The sheriff turned and walked to the door, but he stopped there and looked behind him. “Hope your sister’s doing better.”
“She’s holdin’ her own.”
“Maybe I could call upon her.”
Matthew nodded. “If you want to, I’m sure she’d take pleasure in seeing you again.”
Delaney felt a catch in his heart as he watched Shannon stroke the neck of the mare while staring deeply into the horse’s eyes. He’d seen his wife do the very same thing more than once during their marriage.
He gave silent thanks to God that the war hadn’t ruined him financially as it had ruined others. He was not as wealthy as he once had been, but at least he could buy a horse for his daughter to enjoy.
Memories of the three of them—Delaney, Adelyn, and Shannon— riding together through the countryside surrounding Covington House filled his head. It seemed only yesterday. It seemed much too distant.
“She’s beautiful, isn’t she, Father?”
He looked at Shannon again. “She’s a fine horse. Good conformation.” He turned toward Lawrence Crawford. “How does she go?”
“I can saddle her up if you want to try her. Afraid I don’t have a sidesaddle, though.”
Shannon answered before Delaney could. “I’m able to ride astride if I must.”
Crawford looked surprised at this bit of information
.
Delaney said, “If you don’t mind, yes, please put a saddle on her.”
But he was certain his daughter had already made up her mind. They would return to Grand Coeur with the mare in tow.
The bay mare was hers!
Shannon felt far more excitement over the purchase than she’d anticipated. She’d loved riding from the time she was a little girl and had taken it for granted that she would always be able to walk to the stables and ride the horse of her choosing at a moment’s notice. The past three years—after the Confederacy had taken the last of the Adair horses for use by the army—had taught her that nothing in life was guaranteed.
“I’ll have to think of the perfect name for her,” she said as she looked over her shoulder at the mare. “Oh, Father, thank you for buying her for me.” She slipped her arm through his and gave it a squeeze, leaning her head on his shoulder at the same time.
He chuckled. “You’re quite welcome, my dear girl. It gives me pleasure that I could do this for you.” His voice took a more serious tone. “You’ve done without a great deal since the war began, and you’ve borne it without complaint.”
Shannon felt a tug of shame. Had she done without horses or new dresses or her favorite foods or leaving Virginia without complaint? No. Perhaps she hadn’t always put her feelings into words, but she’d complained in her thoughts and in the irritated looks she’d cast in her father’s direction and in the heavy sighs she’d breathed in his company.
“I don’t believe that’s true, Father, and neither do you. I don’t deserve your kind favor.”
“Ah, but that’s the very definition of grace, Shannon. Undeserved kindness and favor from God when what we rightly deserve is His judgment.” He looked at her with a patient smile. “If the Lord God Almighty can show grace to me, however much more do I need to show it to others? Including to you, my daughter.” He leaned close and kissed the tip of her nose. “I’m very blessed to have you with me. I know you might have chosen not to come to Idaho.”
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