Patience

by Lori Copeland

  Taking a drink of milk, Wilson sighed. “Logic isn’t your strong suit, is it?”

  The first warming rays of the morning sun woke Jay. He flexed his feet, feeling like one solid block of ice. Turning his head, he gauged the width of the ledge on which he lay. It protruded maybe six inches past his body. He shuddered. Lucky for him he had landed here. Now he had to do what he could to get out of this fix.

  He reached up and grasped an outcropping of rock, carefully pulling himself to a sitting position. His body ached from various bruises and scrapes, and he felt stiff from the cold. Tilting his head back, he squinted up, relieved to find that the top of the ledge was only about nine or ten feet above his head. He was a good six feet tall. If he could find handholds, he could possibly get out of here.

  Easing to his feet, he avoided looking down. By standing on his tiptoes and reaching up as far as possible, he managed to grip a small ledge. Inch by inch he pulled himself upward, scrabbling for toeholds. He tried not to think of the stabbing pain in his shoulders and the way the rocks scraped his hands raw. A few more inches and his groping hands caught a tree root. He tested its strength, not sure if it would hold his weight, but it held firm.

  His head crested the top of the ledge. He grabbed a slender bush, hauling himself up. His shoulders were over the rim, now his waist. He scrambled forward on his belly until he lay full length on top of a smooth boulder. Sun warmed his shoulders and he breathed deeply, knowing he would live.

  After a few moments, he got to his feet, stumbling a little in his haste to get off this mountain and find shelter and warmth. As he strode down the trail, he tried to ignore the thoughts that troubled his mind.

  All through that long, lonely night, when he wasn’t sure if he’d live or die, it wasn’t Nelly’s face that had filled his dreams. It had been the stubborn, irritating image of Patience Smith.

  Get a grip, man. Give the lady enough rope and she’ll hang herself.

  The thought wasn’t all that disagreeable. Yet it was, and for the life of him, Jay couldn’t understand why. Until Patience was kidnapped, his life had been going smoothly; no problems—other than bad debts. He kept to himself and encouraged others to do the same. He’d eaten steak and potatoes, slept on clean sheets, and propped his feet in front of a roaring fire every night. He resented having to chase a mulish woman over the hillsides. Resented the dickens out of her.

  If that was the case, why did he have to remind himself three times a day that what he was doing was a job, pure and simple? Patience Smith didn’t factor into the picture.

  Actually, this woman was more trouble than she was worth, and the sooner she got this get-rich notion out of her head, the quicker he’d be back home in his own bed.

  Well … He grinned. Maybe he’d just hurry Miss Smith’s reasoning process along a little bit. The thought of steak and potatoes and a warm bed was powerful motivation for a man who hated the cold.

  Not to mention the dark.

  Chapter Six

  Before the sun topped the ragged summit on the crisp January morning, Patience stepped out of the dugout and took a deep breath of mountain air. Confronted with magnificent beauty, she clasped her hands in awe of Colorado’s snow-covered peaks silhouetted against a flawless blue sky. Icy tendrils hung in long, glistening blades off craggy ledges.

  Searching for the proper term to describe such breathtaking beauty, she found none. Yellow pines, Douglas firs, and blue spruces covered the mountainsides. Just below the timberline, hardy bristlecone pines, gnarled by the constant winds, dotted the land. And the aspens—their magnificent trunks were resplendent beneath a layer of fresh snow.

  On the lower slopes, mule deer browsed on nuts and lichens. Elk and bighorn sheep leapt among the crags at higher elevation.

  How could she describe such splendor—such grandeur—when she told Mary, Lily, Harper, and Ruth about her adventure? How could she find the words to define the simplicity—the marvelous beauty that God had made? The troubles they had experienced had drawn them together until they were as close as sisters. They were the family she’d never had. When the mine began producing, Patience was going to bring the three single women here and let them experience the sights for themselves.

  Sighing, she breathed deeply of the pine-scented air. Her friends would be so worried about her. She’d go into Fiddle Creek today and try again to wire them or ask around and see if perhaps someone planned to travel to Denver City soon. She thought of the mine she now owned. Lord, I’m not greedy. Really, I’m not. It’s just that we need that gold. It was difficult to be a single woman out here, or anywhere for that matter. There weren’t many jobs available. If she could get this mine producing, none of them would ever have to worry again.

  She sighed. She’d claimed her mine over two days ago—but Jay hadn’t returned.

  Worry nagged her. Had he gone back to Denver City without her? Would that audacious man just ride off like that without saying good-bye? She was conscious of a flash of disappointment. Flustered, she tried to ignore the emotion. Why should she care what Jay Longer did? He was nothing to her. Wasn’t likely to ever be important in her life. Sure, he was a big healthy specimen of manhood. Nice to look at too—or would be, if you cleaned him up and put some decent clothes on him.

  They’d gone nose to nose in Denver City, and thinking back, Patience remembered that he had a very nice nose. A very manly nose indeed, but he’d always been aloof, not talking much or paying her any attention. She realized now that she—along with every other single woman in town—had been miffed at his conspicuous lack of interest.

  He was obstinate too. Trying to take her away from Fiddle Creek by discouraging her efforts—although she tried to tell him she could get a crew. This was her only chance to make a future for herself, and she had a lot of people depending on her.

  She kicked a rock out of her way, hoping he hadn’t left the area yet. She hated to admit it, but she liked him. Was even a little attracted to him, although she wouldn’t ever want him to know it. She was hoping he would help her hire a crew before he returned to Denver City.

  Hands on hips, she focused on the mine’s boarded entrance, determined not to be beaten by her circumstances. Sure, there were problems she hadn’t considered, but problems were meant to be solved, weren’t they? And the ghost? The Good Book said not to acknowledge superstitions.

  Sitting down on the stoop, she sighed. Surrounded by God’s glorious work, Patience found it hard to be pessimistic about the future.

  The Mule Head wasn’t that bad. Why, in the time it took to say, “What am I doing here?” she’d have the mine operating at full speed.

  Ghost or no ghost, the men in Fiddle Creek would welcome new employment opportunities. The big companies couldn’t offer the caring, family-oriented workplace she intended to give her crew. Wilson’s college nest egg would be growing—

  Feathers! Who was she kidding? The living conditions were deplorable. Vile, dirty, cold, horrible … and lonely. So very lonely.

  She’d be lucky to hire a monkey crew if the Mule Head’s reputation was as bad as Jay seemed to think it was.

  Patience got up, went into the dugout, and closed the door. Rubbing the goose bumps on her arms, she hurried to the fire.

  “Wilson!” She eyed the tuft of russet sticking out from beneath the blanket. She swung a pot of water over the flame to boil. “Rise and shine! We have a lot to do today!”

  “Freezin’,” Wilson complained in a muffled voice from under his covers.

  “Get up, slug bug! Sun’s up!”

  A jumbled thatch of reddish hair poked out of the blanket, followed by a pair of disgruntled eyes. “I’m stiff as a poker.”

  “We’ll have to do something about that draft,” she agreed.

  “Draft!” Wilson exclaimed. “It’s more like a cyclone whistling beneath the door.” Throwing the blanket aside, he stared at his feet. “I’m crippled,” he announced.

  “No, you’re not,” Patience assured him chee
rily. “Your feet are just cold.” She stirred oats into the pot of boiling water. “The circulation will return once you’re up and around. Hurry now—we have a crew to hire!”

  Wilson watched her as she fixed breakfast. “Are you going into town today?”

  “I thought we would.” Her first visit to Fiddle Creek had been focused on filing a claim. Now she was anxious for any tidbit of information, however small, regarding the mining town. For instance, did they have a school? She’d been thinking that if she was going to work the mine, Wilson would need proper schooling. He also needed to be with children his own age. He’d probably been with adults most of his life, and he needed youthful, carefree days. The good Lord knew Wilson had seen few of those.

  Besides, she would be too busy working to teach him. She had to set up a household, hire a crew—oh! There were so many things to be done!

  Breakfast finished, she went outside again to check the weather. It had snowed last night. The door opened behind her and a tousle-headed Wilson stepped out, snuggling deeper into a fur-lined coat. He squinted against the sun’s glare on the fresh snow.

  “If you’re planning to hire a crew, most of the bigger mining companies have taken over. In order to have their families with them, the men settle for an hourly wage now.”

  Patience’s brows lifted. “Then we’ll pay our crew hourly.”

  The boy shook his head. “I’ve been thinking, P. The old prospector thought silver was more profitable.”

  “Silver?”

  He nodded, shuffling through knee-deep snow to reach her. He stopped, took a big sniff, and then wiped his nose on his coat sleeve.

  She frowned. “Don’t wipe your nose on your sleeve, Wilson.”

  “But it’s dripping.”

  Patience remembered that he had mentioned silver earlier. But gold! Now gold was always gold and surely profitable.

  It was still fairly early when Patience and Wilson walked down the mountain. Approaching town, she searched for any sign of Jay, but he wasn’t around. Yet she couldn’t make herself believe that he’d actually left her and Wilson here alone. He was pouting; wasn’t that what men did when they didn’t get their way? She bet Jay Longer was a big pouter. Her attention was diverted by the schoolhouse. She hadn’t noticed the building the day she claimed the Mule Head.

  “There’s the schoolhouse.”

  Wilson shrugged his shoulders. “I’ve never been interested in academics. The old prospector said I had enough schooling to use words no one could understand. I didn’t need any more.”

  Patience was aghast. Not need schooling? Of course he needed to go to school. She realized that she could probably be considered Wilson’s guardian. At any rate, she had taken on the responsibility of looking after him, and if she had anything to say about it, he would go to school. Even at the orphanage, she had received an education.

  “Of course you need to go to school. We’ll check into it this morning.”

  “P, I don’t want to go to school! I want to stay with you.”

  “Wilson, you need schooling. How do you expect to get ahead in the world without it? You’ll always be at a disadvantage with people who are more educated.”

  Wilson screwed up his face in outrage. “I’ve been told I’m exceptionally smart for my age. I don’t think many eight-year-old boys could outthink me.”

  “Probably not, but you won’t be eight years old forever, and all of those people who are sitting in school and learning from books will soon know more than you do. Knowledge is power, Wilson. Never forget that. Besides, the Bible says we are to study to show ourselves approved.”

  Wilson peered at her over the tops of his spectacles. “I do believe God was referring to studying his Word, not arithmetic.”

  The schoolhouse was a one-room affair of plain boards weathered to a soft gray. Patience noticed Wilson eyeing the building with distaste.

  He looked up at her. “This is a waste of time. Someday I’ll be grown, and then no one will make me do anything I don’t want to do.”

  He followed Patience up the steps and inside. Nine pairs of eyes stared at him. He stared back. Patience stiffened with irritation. Look at him. He’d already decided the other students wouldn’t like him and he wouldn’t like them. He shuffled a little closer to the door, and she took a tighter grip on his collar, thinking he was probably considering making a run for it.

  The young teacher with plain features introduced herself, greeted them warmly, and had the children bid Wilson a hearty welcome. He mumbled a reply.

  The schoolroom was dimly lit and drafty. Twelve student desks, the teacher’s platform, a blackboard, and a large potbellied stove crowded the interior. Along the back of the room, heavy coats, knit hats, and warm mittens haphazardly hung on pegs. Nine pairs of children’s galoshes and one pair of adult’s formed muddy puddles along the wall.

  Miss Perkins smiled. “We’re just about to work on our geography, Wilson. Please take a seat.”

  “Geography,” Wilson whispered to Patience, “my worst subject!”

  “You’re welcome to stay and visit the class this morning,” Miss Perkins invited Patience.

  “Thank you,” she said. “I can’t, but I will another day.”

  “Psst. Four eyes—over here!” a big kid in the third row jeered.

  Placing her hands on Wilson’s shoulders, Patience gently steered him to a seat close to the blackboard.

  “Can you see clearly from here?”

  Removing his glasses, Wilson wiped a film of steam off the lenses with the handkerchief Patience had stuck in his pocket earlier. Hooking the earpieces back over his ears, he squinted up at the blackboard. “I can see.”

  “Good.” Patience squeezed his shoulder reassuringly. “I’ll be back to walk you home.” Leaning closer to his ear, she whispered, “Don’t be nervous; the first day is always the hardest.”

  Wilson nodded, his eyes glued to the colorful world map covering the blackboard.

  “Geography,” he muttered. “And on my first day too.”

  The first person Patience saw after leaving the school was Sheriff Jay Longer, leaning against the front of the mercantile and looking more disreputable than ever. Her heart threatened to pound out of her chest.

  He tipped his hat. “Morning, Miss Smith.”

  Swallowing the monstrous lump suddenly blocking her airway, she said, “Mr. Longer.”

  “This your first trip to town after filing your claim?”

  “Yes, it is.” And none of your business.

  “Planning to hire a crew?”

  “Yes, I am.” She tilted her chin, meeting his eyes. “That’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

  “You’re not going to have any luck.” He grinned. “Might as well give it up now and come back to Denver City with me.”

  The palms of her hands itched to wipe that grin off his insolent face. What right did he have to interfere? “I appreciate your staying around to look after me, but as you can see, I don’t need your help. Why don’t you go back where you belong and leave me alone?”

  He straightened, towering over her. “Number one: I’m not staying around to look after you. I’m just not in any hurry to leave town. Number two: I’ll go back when you’re ready to go with me. I told Dylan and your friends I’d bring you back, and that’s exactly what I plan to do.”

  “You plan? What about my plans? Aren’t they important?”

  “Not to me. Go ahead and try to hire a crew. See how much luck you have, and when you fall on your face, look me up.”

  She drew herself up to her full height, blistering him with a look she hoped he’d not soon forget. “That day will never come. I’ll go back to Denver City when I’m ready, and I won’t need your help getting there.”

  He calmly adjusted his hat back on his head. “All right. I’ll leave you alone. You go your way and I’ll go mine.”

  She firmed her lips. “That’s fine with me.”

  He bowed mockingly from the waist. “Me too.�
��

  “Fine.”

  “Fine.”

  He strode away and she glared after him. Ill-mannered bore. Who did he think he was? She was so tired of men pushing her around. First Tom Wyatt and now Jay Longer. She had one more reason to make the mine pay. If she could strike it rich, she would never have to put up with an arrogant, insolent man again.

  “Your best bet’s to post the work notice on that thar board, lady.”

  Patience thanked the elderly prospector and walked on. She tacked her notice on the public-information board. She had carefully compiled the handbill while Wilson ate his breakfast. It read:

  Wanted: Men willing to work for competitive wage. Must be honest and hardworking. Age no factor. Dinner provided. Contact Patience Smith, proprietor of the Mule Head.

  She stood in front of a nearby saloon, waiting for takers. Returning to the board at 11:26 a.m., she rewrote:

  Wanted: Anyone willing to work. Wage negotiable. Two square meals a day. Contact Patience Smith (woman standing in front of the saloon), proprietor of the Mule Head.

  P.S. Thank you.

  Men came and went, pausing in front of the board long enough to read the advertisement. One or two glanced in her direction. Several laughed. One even snorted.

  But not one approached her about the job.

  At 1:43 p.m. she marched back to the board and scrawled:

  Hello? Anybody out there? I am willing to pay above-average wages, expect you to work no more than forty hours a week, and promise to provide three delicious meat-based meals a day.

  What more do you want?

  Patience (the woman who’s been standing in front of the saloon for hours now!), proprietor of the Mule Head.

  By 2:35 p.m. sheer desperation set in. Pacing back and forth, Patience observed Fiddle Creek’s male population with mounting resentment. What was wrong with these people? There had been no fewer than two hundred men who had read that handbill and walked away. Family men—men she suspected could certainly use the money.

  She had been as generous as projected funds allowed. She wasn’t made of gold. What more did they want?