by Sara Orwig
“Sorry,” Silas said. “There’ll be another fine woman in your life.”
Dan glanced at the cabin. “There is now.”
Silas gazed at their sturdy log home. “Dulcie is a good woman. Lord knows she’s a beautiful one.”
“But not like Mary!” Dan teased. “Someday I’m going to Denver to see Mary Katherine O’Malley.”
“I hope you do. In the meantime, we better dig if you have the strength.”
They had sunk a shaft to bedrock; the shaft was drained by a pump powered by the stream. From the bottom of the shaft, a drift ran along the bedrock, where the richest gravels were extracted. They took turns working, knowing it was dangerous as well as uncomfortable. Their excavation was shored up by timbers that could easily give way. Both of them often worked in wet gravel that could flow like quicksand, but they were bringing out sizable nuggets of gold, their money growing.
An extra boon was the fact that Dulcie could cook. Their meals went from just edible to marvelous. Game was abundant and Dulcie was an inventive cook. They worked diligently all summer, and Dulcie stayed with them. Dan no longer went into town, letting Silas take his money to the bank for him. Winter set in and all three of them put on weight from Dulcie’s roast venison, baked pheasant, and roast turkey.
Dan filled out, his shoulders growing thicker, while Dulcie grew more round and soft, which was fine with Dan. He still enjoyed the sight of her moving around naked, and on the rare occasions when they had the cabin to themselves and it was heated sufficiently to go without clothes, he could simply sit back and watch her, trying to coax her into cooking and cleaning naked—until one afternoon hot grease spattered on her belly. Thereafter she insisted on an apron.
With the spring thaw their lives changed. They mined in earnest, working long days, eating and falling into bed. Between his mining and his nights with Dulcie, Dan was exhausted. By the end of July, the lode was playing out.
Both men had a fortune, a little over thirty thousand dollars. Dan’s was in the bank, while Silas stubbornly refused to part with his money, keeping it in a metal box in the cabin.
“We’ve got to move on,” Silas said one night over roast pheasant. “But I think we can get out another few thousand dollars’ worth if we stay two more months.”
“Suits me. I don’t mind staying all summer again,” Dan said. He smiled at Dulcie, who wore a red calico dress that buttoned to her chin, but he knew there was little underneath.
“We can move on to new diggings.”
“I think what I’d like to do is find a town and settle. I’m ready to use my stake and do something more fun than digging in wet gumbo like a mole.” Dan glanced around the cabin that had grown more comfortable and attractive with Dulcie’s arrival. Now the windows were covered in gingham curtains, and a braided rag rug covered the floor in front of the hearth. He and Silas had made furniture. “I’ve been thinking about Denver. You’ve talked about it so damned much, I think I’ll go see for myself.”
“Oh, you won’t regret it! It’s a great town,” Silas proclaimed with enthusiasm, placing his fork on his plate and brushing locks of straight white hair off his forehead. “But it’s a town that takes money. Come with me first. I want to go to Nevada. I know we can get much more gold there. We need a vein in hard rock, the kind that’s down in the earth in quartz. When you strike there, you get ten times more gold than we’ve found here.”
Dan laughed. “Silas, you’re a dreamer. And you take big risks. I’ve had enough risk. I want to settle down. I’ve got a new name. My skin is darker from the sun. I’ve gained a little weight. I’ve shaved off a beard and mustache and cut my hair. If I can lead a normal life, I want to. We’ve got enough money.”
“No, we don’t,” Silas said, his tone sobering. “Not nearly enough. I want to go home a millionaire. We’re a long way from that.”
“We’ve got a fortune! I can take my thirty thousand dollars and use it to make more money. You’ve got enough to open a store—hell, enough to open three stores—and build a house!”
“I want to go back to Mary a millionaire.”
“Well, I want to settle somewhere,” Dan said, washing down a succulent bite of fowl with hot black coffee.
“You can’t hide who you are from anyone who knows you,” Silas remarked. “You haven’t changed that much.”
Dan shrugged. “I’m going to Denver.”
“Suit yourself, but I wish you’d think about it. We could go home wealthy men.”
“One-hundred-year-old wealthy men. And we’re wealthy now. No, thanks. You should come back to Denver with me. How long do you expect Mary O’Malley to wait?”
Dulcie, who had remained silent, finally entered the conversation. “He’s right, Silas. Your Mary would rather have you come home. I would if it were the man I loved. You can’t expect a woman to wait several years.”
“I can’t go home yet.” Silas frowned and his eyes developed a faraway look. “We lived on the Texas frontier, and my folks were killed by Indians. I was shuffled from place to place and was finally sent to live with an aunt and uncle in St. Louis. There was never enough food, and my aunt and uncle never had it easy either. I didn’t have anything. That’s why I can understand a man who had a turn of bad luck like you did.”
“You’ve never said anything about your childhood before,” Dan said, having wondered occasionally why Silas was so silent about his family.
“I don’t talk about it to people. But I’m not going to be poor again.”
“You’re not poor now. You have a fortune.”
“No. I want to shower Mary with everything. Her life hasn’t been easy. Her pa is nice, but he’s a drunk and a dreamer. Always trying to invent something that never works or that someone else has already invented. He’s been sober about three hours out of all the years I’ve known him.”
“How does he support the family?”
“They have a boardinghouse. Mary’s the one who runs it. Her mother died and left Paddy with Mary, Michael, and Brian. Mary runs the boardinghouse and Paddy drinks and whittles and invents. Mary is mother to the boys and Paddy, except she can’t control Paddy.” He pushed away from the table. “Good dinner, Dulcie.”
“Thanks, Silas.”
Dan rose at the same time. “I’ll help you feed the horses as soon as I give Dulcie a hand with cleaning.”
“Oh, sure, Dulcie. I’ll help,” Silas said instantly.
“Go on, you two. It’s easier if you’re not underfoot,” she said, shooing them away.
“Sure?”
She nodded. “Absolutely. I can go faster alone than with you two moving around.”
They pulled on caps and coats because there was a light drizzle and the night was chilly. They shut the door quickly behind them as they stepped out into the dark to walk to the shed they had built for the horses and equipment.
They carried logs to the house, then watered and fed the animals. As they worked, Silas halted. “Dan, if you’re going to Denver anyway, will you do something for me?”
“Of course.”
“I’d be real obliged if you would. I want you to take half my money back to Mary.”
“Oh, hell, Silas, you might fall in love with another woman,” Dan protested, already regretting his hasty answer.
“No, sir. There’s no chance of that. My Mary is the most wonderful woman on this earth. Will you take the money to her?”
“I can’t guarantee anything. There are bounty hunters, Indians—”
“I understand that, but provided you get through to Denver, will you take the money to Mary?”
“Against my good judgment, yes.”
“Good. I’ll always be indebted to you.”
“You saved my life—you don’t need to feel indebted.”
“And there’s one more thing.”
“Sure, name it,” Dan said, wondering what Dulcie was doing, wanting to get back to the cabin and be alone with her.
“You know I’m not a man to wri
te. Actually, I’m not good at reading and writing. So I don’t write, and I warned her I wouldn’t, but the time is getting long. Will you take Mary out sometimes, since I can’t be there, and she’s had a lonely life? You know, just friendly.”
Dan’s head snapped around. “You want me to squire your woman? If she’s what you’ve told me, I’d fall in love with her.” Dan was teasing now, half-annoyed with the request, half-joshing Silas, who was as earnest as a new pup.
“No, you won’t.”
“Look, we’re both young and healthy, and from what you say, she’s the most beautiful woman in the whole country. I couldn’t keep from falling in love. And suppose she falls in love with me?”
“She won’t and you won’t.”
Dan’s teasing changed slightly as irritation struck him at Silas’ obstinate certainty.
“Silas, you always think you have everything in life laid out in neat little plans and it’s all going to fall right into place.”
“Well, yes, I do. I think it helps to plan and not drift through life, but I know you’d rather take life as it comes.”
“Well, what makes you so sure she won’t fall in love with me? I’m not that all-fired ugly!”
“You’re not ugly at all,” Silas said, laughing, the tenseness going out of his shoulders. “You attract the ladies like whiskey drawing miners, but my Mary is loyal. She promised to wait, and wait she will.”
“She probably didn’t know you meant years. You might put a hell of a temptation in both our ways.”
“Nope. Mary’s not your type of woman.”
“Now, look, if you think I’m marrying Dulcie, you’re only kidding yourself. She’s knows I’m not.”
“That wasn’t what I meant,” Silas said in earnest, rubbing his hands on his hips and staring down at the ground. He raised his head and looked Dan in the eye. “To me, Mary is beautiful. She won’t be to you. I’ve seen the women you attract. They’re like Dulcie, real beauties, the kind that take a man’s breath away and dazzle him like the sun at high noon. I’ve praised Mary, but you’re going to find her plain. And she has a little limp.”
Astounded to learn the truth, suddenly Dan was sorry he had teased Silas. He clasped his friend on the shoulder. “I’ll take her out sometimes and be on my best brotherly behavior.”
“Thanks, Dan. I’d feel a lot better if I knew you’d be there in Denver. Mary’s a good girl, and special, but she’s not the kind that catches your eye. You’d never look twice at her.”
“I’ll bet she’s as pretty as a speckled pup.”
“Are you taking Dulcie with you?”
Dan looked at the cabin. “If she wants to go, I’ll take her. She knows I won’t get tied permanently. I don’t want an obligation.”
“I’m going to miss you.”
Dan faced his friend, gazing into eyes as pale as water in the clear creek. “I’ll miss you too, Silas, Hurry up and get your gold and come home.”
“I will. I damned well will.”
Dan smiled and turned for the cabin. “I’m going up to see Dulcie.”
“I’ll stay away for an hour before I come in.”
“Thanks.”
They worked through August, mining down to the last trickle, before deciding they had gotten all they could from the Mary Katherine Mine. When the time came, they faced each other as they said good-bye. Dan gazed into Silas’ eyes a moment, and the two of them hugged. Then Silas hugged Dulcie, mounted up, and waved to them as he rode away, his burro following behind.
Dan was in no hurry. The weather was warm and the land beautiful. He now had Dulcie to himself, and he spent the days alone with her, postponing leaving, lazing in the cabin, enjoying her company. One afternoon as they lay on a blanket by the creek he rolled over to look down at her. Her blue-black hair was spread behind her head, her body golden in the dappled light, her eyes half-closed as she gazed at him.
“You’re a good woman, Dulcie.”
“And you’re a good man, Dan Castle. Particularly in bed,” she added in a throaty voice with a lusty note, as her fingers touched the corner of his mouth.
He chuckled and drew his finger along her shoulder. “Come into town with me and let’s get married.”
As her brown eyes focused on him, they widened endlessly, and her lips parted in shock.
4
Denver, January 1870
A windless snowfall sent a mesmerizing stream of flakes tumbling to earth, dusting men’s shoulders with white, blanketing horses’ manes and backs, banking in little piles on the broad brims of men’s hats, and coating windowpanes with ice.
Inside the O’Malley boardinghouse, the hearty odor of beef stew, cooked venison, and hot bread mingled with the odor of smoke. A fire roared in the broad hearth of a dining room where Mary Katherine O’Malley moved quietly, eyes downturned, looking only at the thick white plates and bowls of steaming food while she served boarders and townspeople who regularly came there to eat, as well as the occasional customers who stopped on their way through town.
Keeping her gaze averted, speaking only when necessary, using mannerisms that brought the least attention to her from the rough men who came to dine, she nonetheless was aware of three men who watched her with more than idle interest.
Two brawny bull-whackers, slopping down their stew and letting it dribble into their black beards, watched her and tried to engage her in ribald conversation when she was at their table. Attempting to avoid them, she served a steaming bowl of stew to Herschel Windham, owner of the confectionery only a block away.
“That looks like it’ll warm a man’s insides right well, Miss O’Malley.”
“It should. It’s been cooking since five o’clock this morning.”
“I have my little cold lunch back at the office, but today I thought I’d better come over and see what the O’Malley menu was and get some warmth on my insides. I gave Joel my dinner, and he’s minding the store.”
She placed a cup of hot black coffee beside his bowl of stew. “Can I get anything else for you?”
“No, thanks. No, this looks like all I need.”
She relaxed, because Herschel Windham was an older married man with four small children. He was always courteous, never looking at her like she was one of the dishes she served.
On the other hand, a man seated alone by the kitchen was giving her such looks. He was a stranger, and at first glance he had reminded her of Silas, because his golden hair was as pale as straw, his blue eyes startling. He was handsome beyond measure, but his bold looks made her uneasy and she avoided him as much as possible. He sat at the table closest to the door to the kitchen, so she had to pass him constantly.
His conversation had been courteous, but his intent, curious gaze was not polite, and she would be glad when he was through and gone, because she found him disturbing.
Dan sipped strong coffee and watched Mary O’Malley move around the dining room. When she had first appeared, he barely noticed her, dismissing her as hired help, until he heard a man speak to her and address her as Miss O’Malley. Dan had taken another look, and a mild sense of shock struck him. After listening for several years to her praises and hearing her extolled as a nonpareil of beauty, virtue, brains, and disposition, he realized that beauty was indeed in the eye of the beholder. She was pathetically thin, looking as if she never sampled her own cooking. He sat near the swinging doors and was constantly afforded a peek into the kitchen as she passed back and forth. He realized she was the sole worker, serving as cook, dishwasher, waitress, and hostess. His gaze flicked over her swiftly in another appraisal, and surprise continued to ripple in its aftermath. She was pale, with a smattering of freckles across her nose, thin to the point of boniness, wide-eyed, and youthful. He couldn’t remember what Silas had said about her age, but Dan suspected she couldn’t be a day over fifteen. Silas was in love with a baby. And not a beautiful baby at that.
Sinking his teeth into a slice of hot, fluffy bread, Dan ate the delicious food while he wat
ched her. One thing was certain, though: she could cook. It was the best food he had ever eaten, including Dulcie’s cooking. Maybe Silas had fallen in love with Mary O’Malley for her culinary achievements. There were worse reasons.
The town boasted a one-room school, and this waif looked as if she should be running across its playground with the other children instead of managing the kitchen and dining room of a boardinghouse.
Two bull-whackers were giving her difficulty, and she seemed terrified of them, avoiding answering their questions or looking them in the eye. After a few more minutes’ observation, Dan realized he was making her nervous. Uneasily he recalled his promise to Silas to take her out. He wasn’t one to go back on promises, but he had no desire to spend time in her company, and he suspected she would refuse, no matter how much he coaxed. How could Silas have fallen in love with her?
Dan knew there was no explaining people’s tastes. She walked with a slight limp, as Silas had said. Her hair was in braids tightly wrapped around her head in an unattractive manner that added to her plainness, yet if the plaits had hung down on either size of her head, he would guess she wouldn’t look a day more than twelve years old.
He should have known better than to promise Silas to take her out. He shoved that thought aside, deciding he would deal with his obligation sometime in the future. There was no hurry. She certainly wouldn’t be besieged by suitors. She was timid, shy, and frightened of the strangers in the dining room. He had yet to see a real smile cross her features, much less a laugh. He would give her the money Silas had sent, because it was obvious she could use it on the boardinghouse. The place was spotlessly clean and neat, but the cheerful yellow curtains on the windows were faded and worn, and the straight-back chairs were scarred from years of use. Her dress was a few inches too short, a rough brown poplin that was faded from washing and surely couldn’t be as warm as wool.
Silas, you should have told me the truth about Miss Mary Katherine O’Malley, Dan thought, scraping the bowl for the last delicious bite of stew.