It wasn't the mountains, though they were magnificent. It wasn't the adventure, though it was thrilling. It wasn't even the prospect of reporting on the discovery of a fortune in silver. The fact was, the Gazette reporter had gotten under her skin and was making a bee-line for her heart.
Down the hall Max recorded his own impressions of the last twenty-four hours.
"Using the indomitable pluck of her British ancestors and the daring that comes with a red-headed temperament, Elizabeth Sheridan boldly battled her attackers. Never has this reporter seen a more courageous display of spirit in the face of overwhelming odds. My hat's off to the Courier News reporter."
He read over the last paragraph and included a colorful addition. "...red-headed temperament, the lovely Elizabeth Sheridan..." and "...hat's off to the unforgettable Courier News reporter."
"What's gotten into you, Cassidy?" he said. "Using words like 'lovely' and 'unforgettable.' You've gone soft all right...on a lass. Little did you know what would come of it when you jumped in her carriage that night. You might have been safer to take your chances with Joey the Thumb." He smiled to himself. "But it wouldn't have been nearly so much fun."
He stripped off everything but his union suit and lay on top of the bed, resting his head on his arms. He wanted to drift to sleep thinking of Betsy and how soft and wonderful she'd felt in his arms and how if he got the chance to hold her again, he doubted he'd be as gallant as he was the night before. She warmed his blood all right, and just thinking of her this way caused a flash of desire that stayed with him most of the night.
Just before falling asleep, a nagging thought came to him. You’d do well to remember, Max, he said to himself. She's still the daughter of Winston Sheridan of the upper east side. And you're still the son of old Seamus Cassidy from the Tarreytown Pub. She's a mansion near Central Park and you're a cold water flat.
"You've got cinders fer brains if you think you'd win the likes o' her," Max muttered in the drowsy Irish brogue just like his father’s. "Remember yer place you ragtag simp, and don't be reaching fer things yer arm's not long enough to grasp."
"You may be right, Da," Max said to the empty room, "but this time my money's not on you."
The next morning, the Fair Day party met at the outfitter’s and loaded their gear onto the burros. They led the beasts out of Georgetown toward the base of Devil's Fork Mountain.
According to Dooley's hastily scrawled directions penciled by Clyde Faraday, the mine would be found on the south side of the first mountain peak a few hundred feet from the top. That meant they actually had less than two thousand feet to travel...as the crow flies, but of course a granite mountain would offer a challenge to even a bird. Their unchartered route twisted and snaked a slow torturous path around boulders and cliffs and ragged outcroppings of rock, brush and fir trees.
"It would be a whole lot faster if we could just go straight up," Elizabeth said at mid afternoon when they stopped to give the burros a rest.
"While you’re wishing, girlie," Dooley said, "why not wish for the mine to be two thousand feet lower, then we wouldn't have to go anywhere at all."
Ramona adjusted her parasol to keep the sun off her face. "I agree with you, old man," she said. "I’d be happy if we found that mine right now."
Elizabeth puffed the front of her blouse in and out a few times to fan her chest. Looking up at the bright sun, she found it hard to believe they'd soon be freezing on the mountain top. And she was thankful Ramona had talked her into buying a wide brimmed hat. The britches had been well advised, too, and kept Elizabeth’s legs from being scratched from mountain scrubs.
"You girls best get used to the climb,” Dooley said. “We ain't likely to find the mine for at least two more days. But I seem to recall another little town betwixt here and there. If memory serves, it was called Bonanza. All the little towns had pie in the sky names like that."
"Really...a town?" Elizabeth felt rejuvenated. "You mean with a hotel and a restaurant?"
"Can't rightly remember. Just a couple of buildings I think. Lots of tents at one time. That's where most fellas lived."
"How about a saloon?" Ramona asked.
"Most always was one of those."
"Well, then, I say we've rested long enough. Let's get going. Maybe we'll reach civilization before dark."
"I wouldn't count on it," Max said, his words barely audible since they were filtered through the coach hat resting over his face.
"Why not?"
He tipped the hat back and sat up. "From what we heard at city hall, there hasn't been a reason for people to live on this mountain for years. Why would anyone stay when there's no silver? These mountains are probably pock-marked with hundreds of settlements just like Bonanza that are ghost towns now."
"He's probably right," Elizabeth said dejectedly.
"Isn't he always?" Ross smirked.
"Well, if that’s so, forget the saloon. I'll take any kind of roof over my head," Ramona said. "I guarantee it'll be cold tonight."
After three more hours dusk threatened, and the explorers had to stop without discovering Dooley's mythical Bonanza. They chose a campsite on a relatively smooth plateau of ground partially protected by an outcropping of stone and shale. The men put up the tents while Ramona and Elizabeth fixed their meal.
Everyone donned extra layers of clothes when darkness fell, and Ramona brewed a second pot of coffee to ward off the chill of rapidly dipping temperatures. When Elizabeth finished putting away the cooking utensils, she wrapped her hands around a mug of steaming coffee and sat by the fire.
Despite the cold, a peace and solitude had settled over the mountains. Never had Elizabeth seen a fuller, brighter moon. As it rose in the night sky, it came to rest on first one, than another of the distant mountain peaks. The darkness cloaked her as completely as the woolen blanket around her shoulders, and was, in a way, almost as comforting. She wished Max would sit next to her, but he was dozing with his head on his bedroll and his stocking feet near the fire pit. She didn't have the heart to wake him.
"He's a right handsome man, that Cassidy."
Elizabeth turned toward the sultry voice as Ramona, wrapped in a Mexican poncho, sat down beside her. "I guess so," she admitted. "At least he looks sweet and harmless enough when he's sleeping."
"Don't they all, sugar," Ramona said. "And I suppose you've guessed by now that I've seen my share of snoring males."
Not wanting Ramona to feel uncomfortable, Elizabeth said, "I hadn't really thought about it."
Ramona smiled a little half grin. "Sure you have. A nice girl like you would have wondered about my line of work from the start." She fluttered her hand in the air. "Don't fret about it, I understand. What I do for a living you'd never even think of, and that's the way it should be. But we're not so different under the skin."
"Ramona, can I ask you a question?"
"Anything."
"Why do you do it? I mean, you're so beautiful, I'd think you could do anything you set your mind to."
"That's what I thought too, sugar, once upon a time. This certainly isn't the way I figured I'd end up. But life isn't a fairy tale and a gal's got to make a living."
Elizabeth nodded in sympathy. "That's true I guess. Where are you from? I know you said you came from San Francisco last, but where were you born?"
Ramona took a glass vial from the pocket of her poncho and poured a couple of drops of liquid into her coffee. Then she put the vial away and swirled the mug to mix the contents. After taking a swig, she turned toward Elizabeth. "This might surprise you, but I was born in India."
"India! I just knew you had to be from someplace exotic. What's it like in India?"
A faraway look veiled the woman’s eyes, and she smiled. "It's beautiful there...beyond your wildest dreams. Brilliant flowers in all the gardens and lovely ornamental trees. And the colors! The ladies wear silk saris of bright blue and orange with silver embroidery. I'll never forget the colors."
"But your parents aren
't Indian, are they?"
"Only my mother. She was royalty, a distant relation anyway. And she was beautiful, just like her name - Opal. She sparkled like the jewel she wore on her finger."
Elizabeth could almost picture the dazzling Opal. She now understood the reason for Ramona's stunning appearance and her flawless porcelain beauty. Like her mother's had probably been, Ramona's features were as delicate as a doll's. "And your father?"
"My father, Lord Talbot Redbud, was British ambassador to India, under direct appointment from Queen Victoria. He met my mother at a state dinner when he first arrived in Calcutta, and he took to her like a bee to honey. He chased her until he won her hand in marriage."
Suddenly Elizabeth's own childhood and parentage seemed remarkably dull. "Did you grow up in a palace?" she asked.
"Oh, no, honey. Not a palace. My father had a townhouse in the city. I had a nice life though, until it all ended."
"What happened?"
"My mother died from a terrible disease. She just wasted away, and there was nothing anyone could do to save her. My father never left her bedside, and she died in his arms."
"How awful."
"Yes. I was only ten years old. After my mother was...gone, my father had to leave India. He was too sad to stay there. He booked passage for us to England, but he decided to sail first to San Francisco and see America. He hoped that an overland journey would take our minds off our despair."
"And did it?"
"I never got the chance to find out. Just a few miles from America, we were caught in a storm. Our ship tossed and rolled for hours until the sails were all torn, and the hull was destroyed. Eventually the ship sank in the Pacific."
"How did you survive?"
"My father was very weak but he managed to grab a piece of lumber. We both held onto it as long as we could, but during the second night, my father slipped under the sea. I tried to stop him but I wasn't strong enough."
Never in her life had Elizabeth heard such a sad, yet courageous tale, and she knew she would never forget it. Ramona had to be the bravest woman on earth. A warm glow illuminated the night sky around the two women, and Elizabeth wasn't sure whether it came from the fire or from the remarkable Miss Redbud. "How were you finally rescued?" she asked.
"Fishermen headed for San Francisco spotted me early the next morning. They pulled me into their boat, and that's how I eventually came to the very city my father had wanted us to visit together. I had no money of course, and no proof who I was, so I was put in an orphanage."
There was no end to this woman's tale of misfortune. "And that's where you spent the rest of your childhood?"
"Oh, no, I was only there for about a month."
"Someone adopted you?" Elizabeth hoped it was someone wealthy and kind, like the gentleman who had taken Dickens's Oliver Twist to his heart. She wanted Ramona's story to have a happy ending.
"No, I wasn't actually adopted. A rich couple who lived on Nob Hill took me in and trained me as a housemaid, and that's where I was for the next seven years."
"You were a servant? Didn't you tell them your father was a lord?"
"Oh, honey, they weren't interested in that bit of fluff about me. All they cared about was how quickly I answered the bell pull and how well I scoured the tiles in the foyer."
Ramona must have seen the misery on Elizabeth's face, because she wrapped her fingers around her arm. "Don't fret so. The VanAllens weren't a bad sort. I had three good meals a day and a doctor when I was sick."
"But you should have had so much more!"
Ramona sighed. "Ah, yes, that was the thing that kept me awake nights...wondering what my life would have been like if only... That's what made me a dreamer, and I guess I am one to this day."
"How did you get away from the VanAllens?"
"Just up and left. I looked in the mirror one day, and it suddenly occurred to me that I was rather pretty, and if I was ever to be more than a serving girl, I had to use the gifts I was born with. That's just what I did...followed the gold and the men 'till I got to Colorado." She shrugged her shoulders. "Who knows, maybe I'll follow them all the way to England some day and claim my father's title."
"Oh, you must do that!" Elizabeth encouraged.
Ramona nodded and took a long swig from her mug. She began coughing, and it seemed for a moment as if she couldn't catch her breath.
Elizabeth patted her back. "Are you all right?"
"I'm fine. It's the arsenic solution. It always gags me a little."
"Arsenic?" She recalled the vial in Ramona's pocket and the drops of liquid she'd put in her coffee. "You're not trying to poison yourself!"
"Heavens no. Whenever I'm away from a butcher shop I always take a few drops of arsenic every few days to keep my skin white. It makes me just a little bit sick without too much discomfort. Pale skin makes you look younger, you know."
Elizabeth couldn't believe what she'd just heard, and yet, it made a sort of cockeyed sense considering Ramona was never without her parasol in the sun. Could it be that her porcelain skin was as artfully contrived as her lips and brilliant eyes? The wonder of the woman to go to such lengths for beauty.
"Why a butcher shop?" she questioned.
"When I can, I use a fresh slab of meat...veal's the best. I lay it on my face for an hour every morning. Pulls the color right out of my skin."
"I see," Elizabeth said, though she didn’t understand what sort of desperation would make a woman cover her face with raw meat. Despite sounding forward, she said, “Do you mind if I ask how old you are?”
The dove stared down at Elizabeth. "Sugar, there's something you should know. When I said you could ask me anything, I lied."
"Oh, sorry, but I do have one more question if it's okay."
"Shoot."
"What do you see in my brother?"
Ramona laughed out loud. "I wouldn't give two cents for a perfect man, or even worse, for one who thinks he's perfect. Ross may have fooled a lot of people, but not Ramona Redbud. It takes a seasoned charlatan like me to see what that man is really like. Deep down he knows he's got lots of flaws. The worst one is, he's a dreamer, just like I am. He knows the odds are against him, but, what the hell, he keeps on dreaming anyway. I could fall in love with a man like that."
Ramona threw the remaining contents of her mug on the fire, and it sizzled to a smoky death. "Come on, honey, I'm bunking with you tonight. We'll let the three mongrels share the other tent."
She stood up and walked around the fire to where the men dozed. Jabbing Ross playfully in the ribs with the toe of her boot, she said, "You'd best get your backside in that tent, Mr. Silver Baron, or the only memory you'll have of this trip is a frostbitten arse."
Following Ramona, Elizabeth stood over Max. "Wake up and go to bed, Cassidy," she said.
He looked up at her and frowned. "Cuddled up between Fagin and the Artful Dodger? I can’t wait."
They'd both been thinking of the same novel? Elizabeth shook her head and started to walk away, but he grabbed the cuff of her britches.
"Hey, Bets," he whispered. "You're not going to start drinking arsenic, are you?"
"You were listening!"
"Heard every word. I'm a reporter, remember?" He looked around to see that the others had gone into the tents, and his face grew serious. "You're not buying that lady of the manor story, are you?"
"Of course I believe her. Why would she lie about the deaths of her parents?"
"Maybe it's just wishful thinking for the ones she really has." He propped himself up on one elbow. "All I'm saying is, don't believe everything you hear. And don't put people on pedestals who can't stand alone on solid ground."
"I'll believe what I want to believe, Max. And I'll write a story about Ramona the way I want to. You're welcome to do the same."
"This isn't about bylines, Betsy. It's about knowing who to trust and how far you can trust them. I didn't call Ramona a charlatan. She used the term herself."
"You can't keep me from
liking her."
"I'm not trying to. I like her myself, but if she's ever seen Calcutta or survived for two days by clinging to a stick in the Pacific Ocean, I'll supply her with raw meat the rest of my life!"
"You're impossible!" she snapped.
"And you're all heart. That's the problem...along with some other equally appealing features which I'd better not dwell on at the moment."
She couldn't stop her smile, and he grinned victoriously. Oh well, the truth was, despite the fact that he could curl a girl's hair with his thick-headedness, Max was the only person on this trip she truly did trust. He'd proven over and over that his feet were planted solidly on the ground and he was strong enough for her to lean on.
Silver Dreams Page 16