by Regina Scott
“All right,” she said, “but their wives are perfect.”
“Not at all,” Levi said, looking for a cloth to cover the bread. “Drew’s wife, Catherine, will dose you at the least sign of illness, Nora will mother you even when you don’t need it, John’s wife, Dottie, still has moments she keeps to herself in shyness and Rina sometimes falls back on her upbringing as a princess.”
Callie started. “A princess? Is that why you called her daughter a queen?”
“Rina was raised by a pair of flimflam artists,” Levi told her, wrapping the loaf. “They made her and everyone else think she was a princess of a small county in Europe. Suffice it to say, we all have areas of our character we must work to overcome.”
She cocked her head. “Even you?”
He had to go carefully. If he couldn’t confess his considerable shortcomings to his family, he certainly wasn’t ready to expose them to Callie.
“Especially me,” he said. “Don’t see us as people who think we’re better than you, Callie. We don’t think that way. We’re not better than you, just happier.”
She scowled, reminding him of Frisco. “I’m happy.”
“Are you?” He turned to her. “I remember seeing you truly happy. At Vital Creek.”
She wrinkled her nose. “I don’t recall too much happiness there.”
Neither did he, except for a few bright moments that had involved her family. “It was early days on the strike. Your father had found some color, and he treated the whole camp to ice cream.”
Her look softened, and all at once it felt like a warm sunny day at the creek. “I remember! Gap-Tooth Harding had a butter churn, and Wild Eye Jenkins had just arrived in camp with fresh cream.”
Levi felt his smile growing. “Adam figured out how to hold it all in the creek coming off the ice field, and everyone took a turn cranking.”
“But they started to get tired, so Mick O’Shea played his fiddle to give them the rhythm, and everyone else danced.” Even her sigh sounded happy. “Those were good times.”
And she’d had few since, he suspected. She deserved all the fun he could give her.
“The good times don’t have to be over, Callie,” he told her. “Christmas is coming. There will be music and laughter, food and fun, and Beth’s planning a dance in the hall on Christmas Day.”
“So she mentioned. A real dance.” The wistfulness in her tone was unmistakable.
Levi stepped back and offered her a bow. “Miss Murphy, would you do me the honor of allowing me to escort you to the Christmas ball?”
“Ball?” Her voice squeaked. “You didn’t say it was a ball.”
“Dance,” Levi corrected himself, unwilling to see her retreat into fear and sadness again. “Just a dance. Nothing fancy. Farmers and loggers and miners from around Wallin Landing. Normal folks, having fun to celebrate Christmas. Will you come with me?”
She nodded, cheeks turning pink.
“Thank you.” Insufferably pleased, Levi bent to pull a basket out from under the cupboard to hold the food.
“I don’t know that much about dancing with someone,” Callie said, fidgeting beside him. “You may have to lead me through it.”
“It would be my pleasure,” Levi assured her.
In truth, he was more like his sister on the dance floor—all enthusiasm. Beth had grace, but he’d been known to step on a few toes. He’d been known to trip a few entirely off their feet for that matter.
But with Callie on his arm, he thought he might fly.
Chapter Eleven
In the end, Callie decided to go with Levi and Beth, leaving Mica with Nora. After years of working much of the day outside, even Levi’s spacious cabin was beginning to feel tight. And spending time with Levi’s sister might help her come to terms with Beth.
Beth had enlisted the aid of one of Levi’s sisters-in-law as well, in case the injured man needed medical treatment. The wife of Levi’s oldest brother, Catherine Wallin was tall and slender, with pale blond hair neatly tucked back in a bun behind her head and light blue eyes. Her carriage in her fine wool coat was calm and confident. Callie knew from Levi that she ran the dispensary at the southern end of Wallin Landing, on the road to Seattle.
There was a moment of indecision as to seating. The bench of the farm wagon would only hold two. Knowing her trousers were better suited than skirts to the bed, Callie willingly climbed up into the back of the wagon. But she was surprised when Levi surrendered the reins to Catherine and joined her.
There had been plenty of room in the wagon bed for Frisco and Sutter on the trip to Wallin Landing. The fit was more snug with Levi beside her. With the sides of the wagon rising on the left and right, it wasn’t as if she could shift away. And as they set out, she found herself thankful for his warmth.
The air had turned cold. The forest was rimed with silver. Once in a while she heard the snap of a branch, saw a limb come crashing down. She hugged the basket with the food.
“Did you know Beth’s a crack shot?” he asked as if trying to take her mind off their surroundings. “Second best in the family after John.”
Callie glanced back over her shoulder to find Beth smiling down. “Once, but not anymore, I fear. I don’t need to help with the hunting now.” She gave a delicate shudder.
Callie felt for her. “Don’t much like killing, either. But a body has to eat.”
“I’m just glad we’ve expanded the farm,” Catherine put in. “Nora is a genius for picking good seed.”
Not a skill Callie possessed. A farmer’s daughter, Anna had done all the planting at Adam’s homestead. That Nora knew as much or more was another reason to admire her. In fact, it was all too easy to admire Nora. She was a rock, solid, sure of her abilities and her worth. She didn’t mind getting mussed or dirty. Callie still struggled with all of Beth’s lace and bows, even though they were hidden beneath a heavy wool coat at the moment.
“Callie likes to sing,” Levi said when the silence grew again. “She has a lovely voice.”
Warmth percolated from her toes to her top. No one had ever praised her singing. Still, she wasn’t sure why he kept bringing up things like that. Was he trying to build a bridge between her and Beth?
“I love music,” Beth said. “I’m hoping to have a musical surprise in time for Christmas.”
A musical surprise? Once more Callie glanced back at Beth, but Levi’s sister was looking out over the forest.
“A special song from Simon, perhaps?” Catherine guessed, guiding the horses around the curve of the lake.
“Better,” Beth said, voice hinting of a smile.
“You convinced the Seattle band to play for the dance,” Levi teased.
Beth shifted on the bench. “No, but this will make up for it. You wait and see.”
Callie couldn’t imagine what could be better than a real band playing, but if Beth had found it, perhaps she and Callie had more in common than she’d thought.
They reached their destination a short time later. The fellow everyone called Old Joe, his last name apparently lost in his journeys, lived in a shack on the edge of a stream feeding the lake. The sluice box told Callie what he did for a living.
“Gold or silver?” she murmured to Levi as they scooted to the tail of the wagon to climb down.
“I never was sure,” he replied, offering her his hand to alight. Though she didn’t need the help, she touched his fingers anyway. “He’s been out here since I was a boy.”
“Well, don’t mention it to Frisco or Sutter,” Callie cautioned. “The last thing we need is for them to offer their help.”
And yet the fellow did need help. An ax lay waiting by a pile of logs that would be much needed for heat in the cold. She couldn’t spot any sign of a garden as a rough voice called for them to enter on Levi’s knock. I
nside, Old Joe’s place wasn’t much better built than Adam’s, for all the prospector had had years to improve it. The single room with a dirt floor held a log bedstead, two chairs and a stump that served as a table. The man they’d come to visit was curled up under a blanket on the bed, clutching his right arm. His gray hair was wild, his beard matted. Beth looked concerned. Callie had seen worse.
Catherine went immediately to his side, setting the black bag she’d brought with her on the floor.
“Good morning, Joe,” Levi said. “We heard you’d had some trouble and thought we might be able to help. You remember Mrs. Wallin and my sister. This is Miss Murphy, my ward.”
Ward. No matter what Adam had written, the word sounded odd. She was too old to be anyone’s ward. And a guardian should be more experienced, more fatherly, not someone who set her insides to fluttering whenever he looked her way.
“Ladies,” the fellow said, trying to shift himself higher. Levi hurried to help him, and Old Joe grimaced as if the movement hurt.
“Let me have a look,” Catherine said, bending closer.
“I appreciate the doctoring,” the prospector said, “but I don’t need any help. I’ll get on just fine.”
Callie glanced around. Little food on the shelves, no wood in the box. The place was all too reminiscent of the claim she’d left. Levi was right. She had needed more help than she’d been willing to confess. Old Joe was in the same situation.
Beth touched her arm, drew her back from the bed. “I don’t care what he says. This place is a mess. Let’s clean it up while Catherine is tending him.”
Callie caught her arm before she could start. “Wait. He won’t take kindly to outright help. You have to come at it from the side.”
Beth frowned, but Callie raised her voice. “Mighty cold these last few nights, don’t you think?”
“I sure do, little lady,” Old Joe agreed, though he kept his gaze on Catherine as she carefully felt along his arm.
“We’ve been using up the wood something fierce. If you have some chopped, it might be best to bring it in, just in case.”
Old Joe shuddered as Catherine’s fingers found a tender spot. “Good thinking.”
Callie nodded to Levi, who strode to the door to fetch the wood. She could only hope he’d chop a bit more in the process.
“Seems a shame to carry this food back to Wallin Landing,” Callie told Beth, careful to keep her voice casual. “I’m sure Joe wouldn’t mind if we left it.”
“If you think you ought,” Joe allowed. He started to shrug as Beth hurried to comply, then grimaced.
Catherine frowned. “I’m going to bind that up. It looks more like a sprain and bruising rather than a break, but you aren’t to use it until after Christmas.”
“What?” the prospector yelped. “I can’t wait till after Christmas. I got work to do.”
“Nothing more important than healing that arm,” Catherine insisted as Callie helped Beth stock the shelves. Out of the corners of her eyes, Callie saw the nurse pull a roll of bandage material from her bag and begin wrapping the injured arm.
Joe pulled out of reach, setting his back to the wall, left hand palm out. “I tell you, I’ll be fine. I’m not an invalid. Word gets out I can’t look out for myself, they’ll be pounding on my door to take my claim.”
He sounded like Pa, clutching his pitiful claim close until it killed him. How much could it have gained him over the years if he still lived like this? Callie’s hand tightened on the last jar.
“Please,” Catherine said, reaching out. “Let me help you.”
“Never asked for help. I can take care of myself.”
Callie whirled. “No, you can’t. Not at the moment. And no one’s after your claim, not with winter coming on. You need to rest up, get your arm back in good shape so you can work come the thaw.”
His jaw was hard. “What do you know about sluicing?”
Now he sounded like Frisco. “More than I ever wanted,” Callie told him. “I was born near Sutter’s Mill, cut my teeth at the Fraser River and learned to walk on the Cariboo. I can’t tell you what I would have given for neighbors kind enough to check on us in winter, make sure we had food, wood for the fire.”
He held out his arm to Catherine, who swiftly continued binding it. “Reckon you’re right. My apologies. Pain’s got me on edge.”
“Quite understandable,” Beth said with a look to Callie.
Levi bumped through the door with an armload of wood.
“Mighty kind of you, pastor,” Old Joe said as Levi stacked it next to the hearth. “Say, you already found a husband for your ward? I’m still looking for a bride.”
Callie blinked and saw Levi doing the same.
“She’s considering her options,” Beth said, linking arms with Callie as if to keep her by her side. “But we’ll let you know when she’s made up her mind.”
Old Joe blew out a breath as Catherine finished her binding. “Smart, practical gals who know something about prospecting are hard to find.”
Levi grinned at Callie. “Yes, they are.”
Callie shook her head. “That’s because they’re too smart to follow the creek. Now, what else needs to be done so you can manage on your own, Joe?”
* * *
Levi was still marveling as Catherine drove them home that afternoon. As a pastor, it wasn’t uncommon for him to be called to visit the sick, injured or dying in the area. Sometimes he found it hard to offer comfort and solace when the people seemed so much older and wiser than he was. Other times, words were not enough to mend the hurt. Callie had been nothing short of brilliant in dealing with the old prospector.
Beth thought so as well. “You spoke so boldly,” she told Callie, twisting in her seat beside Catherine so she could see Levi and Callie in the bed. “It was just what he needed to accept our help.”
“Like knows like, I suppose,” Callie said. Her gaze brushed Levi’s. “And I needed some convincing to accept help.”
If it was more than pride that made him smile at his part in that, he wasn’t willing to admit it.
“I’m glad you convinced him, Callie,” Catherine said as the horses headed north along the lake. “And I’m glad we could steer him away from the prospect of marriage.”
Levi chuckled. “I remember how Old Joe proposed to you when you first came to Wallin Landing.”
Catherine shuddered, but he knew she was teasing. One of Mercer’s Maidens, who had come to Seattle when men outnumbered the women ten to one, she’d had more than her share of proposals before accepting his brother.
“Seems he’s still looking for a wife,” Beth said, chin tipping up. “But not Callie. She has her pick of grooms.”
Callie shifted away from the bench. “I’m not interested in marriage.”
“At least not to Old Joe,” Beth said with a giggle.
“Not anyone,” Callie insisted. “I got kin to raise.”
He could see why she had shifted. The wagon bed felt hard, unyielding under him. He settled himself closer to Callie.
“Nothing says a husband can’t help,” Catherine said. “I’m sure some men would be pleased to adopt your brothers and niece.”
“You haven’t met Frisco and Sutter yet,” Callie countered.
Levi straightened his shoulders. “They’re fine lads. But all this talk of marriage is premature. Callie’s only twenty.”
She cast him a glance, and he couldn’t understand what was going on behind those slate eyes. “Twenty-and-one come spring.”
“Having held a great deal of responsibility for some years, I’ve heard,” Catherine reminded him.
Beth swiveled to face Callie. “I’ll think on it. There are so many eligible bachelors in the area. I’m sure one will suit you.”
“Beth,” Levi warned.
And she was his.
The feeling wrapped around his heart even as he tried to push it away. Yes, she was his to protect. So were her brothers and Mica. That was what he’d promised when they’d agreed to be partners. He wouldn’t allow himself to feel more.
Beside him, Callie swung around to look Beth in the eye. “I’m not interested in courting. I know you’re trying to help, and I appreciate that you care. But if we’re to be friends, you have to be willing to see my side of things.”
Beth stared at her, then her head started bobbing. “Yes, of course. I agree completely. We can wait on courting. There’s Christmas to get through first, in any event. And, truth be told, I’m not all that interested in courting, either.”
Levi’s shoulders relaxed. “Good. So there will be no more matchmaking.”
Catherine laughed. “Oh, Levi, you know none of us could ever promise that.”
Both Callie and Beth blushed.
“Don’t worry,” Levi murmured to Callie as Beth faced front again. “I won’t let them push you into anything.”
“Neither will I,” she assured him. Then she cast him a sidelong glance as she reseated herself. “But I noticed you didn’t say anything about courting. I expect a preacher has to marry.”
“Perhaps,” he allowed. “But I’m not interested, either.”
Callie cocked her head. “Why?”
Levi made himself shrug. “Same reason as you. I have two boys and a baby to raise while pastoring a church.”
“A wife could help,” she pointed out, echoing Catherine’s sentiments.
Very likely. In fact, he could picture the lady, reading over his sermons and suggesting ways to improve them, going with him to visit the sick, singing as she moved about the cabin, slate-colored eyes soft.
“I’m fine with things the way they are,” he said and sent up a prayer to hold onto that thought. He might not be ready to see Callie courting, but he surely wasn’t ready to be a husband.