Patience

by Lori Copeland

  “I said I would. Let’s go.”

  “Okay. Just a minute.” Wilson motioned for him to lean over.

  Eyeing him warily, Jay refused to comply. “What?”

  “Lean over.”

  “Lean over? Why?”

  “Just lean over.”

  Jay hesitantly bent over.

  Wilson set to work sprucing him up. “Do you have a comb?”

  “A comb?” One eye cracked open. “Do I look like I have a comb?”

  No, he sure didn’t look like he had a comb. He didn’t look like he’d ever seen a comb. “Never mind, I’ll use my fingers.” That’s what P did.

  Wilson carefully fluffed Jay’s hair and knocked the crumbs out of his scraggly beard. He had to get the sheriff more presentable or P wouldn’t hire him. She didn’t like messiness, especially bad messiness.

  Knocking dust and twigs off the back of Jay’s coat, Wilson took his handkerchief out of his pocket, spit on it, and was about to wash Jay’s face when a big hand with curly red hair on the knuckles stopped him. “Don’t even think about it.”

  The sheriff could’ve used a full bath, but Wilson knew he wasn’t smart enough to fool him into that. He’d just have to make sure Jay stood downwind of P.

  When Wilson finished, Jay didn’t look any better. He could’ve used a lot more attention, but this would have to do.

  The sheriff returned his critical look impassively. “What are you doing?”

  Wilson shrugged. “Nothing.”

  “Obviously you’re trying to accomplish something.”

  “No, I’m not.” He grinned. “Wanna stay for dinner? P cooks turnips real good.” If he stayed for dinner, that’d give P more time to remember to ask him to help her work the mine, plus the two of them just might take to each other.

  “I’m not staying for dinner.”

  “Well, you can think about it.”

  “I’m taking you to the mine; then I’m leaving. You don’t look sick to me.”

  “What does sick look like?” If he knew, Wilson could fake a lot sicker, but for now he’d have to just look puny. “Okay.” Turning, he walked off, casting a sly look over his shoulder to make sure Jay followed.

  Patience stood in front of the mine, watching Jay and Wilson approach. They stopped before her, and it only took one look to see that Wilson was up to something. She just didn’t know what.

  Jay nodded. “Miss Smith.”

  “Mr. Longer.” She could be just as polite as he was.

  “The boy’s sick. I brought him home.”

  “Really?” She looked at Wilson, who was winking frantically. She hid a grin. Sneaky little kid. All right. She’d play along. “Thank you for bringing him. It was very nice of you. It will be lunchtime soon. I can whip something up in a jiffy. Won’t you join us?”

  Jay wouldn’t look at her. “No, I’d better be running along.”

  “There’s peach cobbler for dessert.”

  He looked at her, a curious expression in his eyes. “I don’t get much home cooking.”

  “Then we’d be really happy to have you join us.” She turned and went back inside before he had a chance to refuse.

  Jay entered behind Wilson, apparently uncomfortable with the situation. Patience busied herself throwing together a hearty dinner, letting Wilson play host. Thank goodness she had fried a chicken last night and saved the leftovers for today.

  When everything was ready, she motioned for them to take their seats. Jay started to reach for a biscuit, but she stopped him. “First we say the blessing.”

  “Oh, sure.” He bowed his head, flushing.

  Patience folded her hands. “We thank you, dear Lord, for this food we’re about to eat and for all of your blessings. Thank you for sending Sheriff Longer to be with us. Lead him to do what is best for all of us. And bless our work in the mine, Lord, and we’ll give you the praise. Amen.”

  No harm in giving the Lord some suggestions.

  Wilson echoed “amen,” and Jay followed, sounding reluctant. His eyes were accusing when he looked at Patience, but she merely put on a sweet, innocent smile. Sweet was always good.

  Jay thawed perceptibly under the influence of cold fried chicken, biscuits and gravy, and two helpings of peach cobbler. By the time they finished eating, he was laughing and teasing Wilson. His manner toward her was a combination of suspicion and deference.

  She did her best to be charming. He only pokered up once when she asked for advice about opening the mine, but she tried to look like a helpless, admiring female, although it almost choked her to do so, and he relaxed.

  He went outside with Wilson while she cleared the table and fixed the rest of the chicken for him to take home with him, although she could certainly have used it herself. As she tidied up, she hummed a satisfied little tune. Jay Longer would help them; she could feel it in her bones.

  That Wilson was positively a genius.

  Chapter Nine

  Toward dark, Patience rinsed the last supper dish and laid it aside. With a tired sigh, she recalled how the sheriff had eaten like a hired hand—a very underfed hired hand. His tall frame could use a few extra pounds—the kind a family man carried with pride. It was a treat to cook for someone other than herself and Wilson.

  Of course she had seen right through Wilson’s ploy. It had taken very little persuasion for her to talk the sheriff into staying for dinner. After dinner, Wilson’s usual robust health returned, and he pressured his new friend into a game of stickball.

  Stickball turned into mumblety-peg. The sheriff showed Wilson how to hold the knife just right, so that with a flick of the wrist, he could stick the blade into the ground. Watching from the dugout doorway, arms crossed, Patience decided she hadn’t known how many different ways a knife could be thrown.

  Later in the day she looked out to see the tops of two red heads, one big and one small, disappearing over the hill. Seemed the fish were biting.

  She grinned, grateful Jay was spending time with the child. Wilson needed a man’s influence—and Jay, it appeared, needed a small boy’s adoration.

  Late in the afternoon, the two had returned toting an impressive string of trout, which she rolled in cornmeal and fried for supper. It had turned out to be quite an extraordinary day.

  Jay Longer was anything but ordinary. Normally she would have thought twice about taking up with someone who cared so little about his personal appearance, but Jay had been different in Denver City. Always clean shaven and his clothes freshly laundered and neatly pressed. During both dinner and supper he proved to be an interesting conversationalist, and his table manners were impeccable.

  She wasn’t entirely certain yet of the role he’d play in her life, but she knew he had one.

  One really did have to wonder what lay beneath Jay’s defensive facade. It might be interesting to find out. There hadn’t been much opportunity for getting acquainted with men at the orphanage, so one might say she was inexperienced. She’d seen enough of male behavior at Fiddle Creek and Denver City to suspect there was more to Sheriff Jay Longer than he chose to reveal.

  The way he got along with Wilson seemed to be more than just an adult spending time with a child. He enjoyed playing games with the boy, and the sight of the two of them wandering off to go fishing had been downright heartwarming. Judging by the looks on their faces when they returned, she had felt that just being together had filled a need in each of them.

  And what about her? She had needs too. She had watched Glory and Ruth fall in love and get married, wondering if she would ever find someone with whom to build a life. Sitting at the table with Jay, listening to him talk and watching him tease Wilson, had revived those feelings. No matter how many times she tried to pretend she wasn’t interested in Jay Longer, she couldn’t deny the truth. She was attracted to the man. He would ride away someday, back to Denver City, and she would miss him. Too much.

  She would have liked for him to stay and visit longer, but he seemed uncomfortable with the notion. T
he moment he swallowed the last bite of fish, he had bolted for the door like a jackrabbit.

  Hastily downing the last of his milk, Wilson ran after him, explaining over his shoulder that the sheriff was going to teach him how to tie trout lures. He had returned alone at dark, tired but happy.

  Maybe Jay would find her more interesting if she had something important to talk about or if she wasn’t so stubborn and agreed to go back to Denver City. He was a man who honored his word, and he’d promised Dylan to bring her home safely. Well, she would eventually return to Denver City, and the girls would sit up all night talking about their newfound fortune. That thought alone kept her going, because everything else about the situation appeared hopeless. No crew; no gold. She had to find help—and quickly—or circumstances would force her to abandon the mine. She couldn’t bear to even think about that.

  Emptying the dishpan, she wished she had a book to read. Always after supper at the orphanage she read—stories about Calamity Jane, Deadwood Dick, and Kit Carson. When she tired of dime novels, she’d pretend to be Meg in Little Women by Louisa May Alcott.

  She loved them all.

  Untying her apron, she laid it aside, then knelt beside Wilson’s pallet. He was fast asleep, exhausted from his busy day. Lifting a stockinged foot, she gently tucked it beneath the blanket.

  Gazing down on his cherubic features, Patience was once again overcome by doubts. Was she doing the right thing? Colorado, for all its beauty, was a harsh land. Maybe too harsh for a child. They had been here over three weeks, and she had yet to find one man or woman willing to work for her. Emotions surrounding the mine shaft ran high and were coupled with deep-seated suspicion. It was useless to try to persuade the residents of Fiddle Creek there were no such things as ghosts. Years of skepticism and unexplainable events surrounding the mine had convinced them otherwise.

  Last night she had found the old prospector’s Bible under the cot and read to Wilson. Hoping to dispel any notions about ghosts, she had pointed out that ghosts, as we call them, were not mentioned in the Bible, probably because God knows they don’t exist.

  She read to him about Jesus on the cross, hanging between two thieves. Taking advantage of the chance to do a little teaching, she brought out the fact that one thief mocked Christ. The second thief believed in him and asked to be remembered when Jesus came into his Kingdom.

  Although she had read the printed words many times, they still had the power to thrill her: “Today shalt thou be with me in paradise.”

  “You see, Wilson, God has prepared a place for our spirits to go when we die. We can’t interfere with God’s plans and decide we’d rather stay on earth and hang around where we used to live, having fun scaring people.

  “Gamey’s spirit went to either heaven or hell when he died. He didn’t have the opportunity to stay in the mine. We aren’t given that choice. God created us, and he is in control, in this life and the life to come.”

  Wilson had looked serious, reflecting on what she said. “I guess that has to be right. The Good Book doesn’t lie.”

  “No, it doesn’t. We can trust what it says.” She had closed the book, relieved that at least she had provided sound principle for her decision to stay.

  But Wilson, with his inquisitive mind, had had another question. “What about all the strange things that happen in the mine? How do you explain them, P?”

  Patience had no explanation for the strange goings-on Wilson had related: cold gusts of air coming from nowhere, strange lights seen in the shaft, falling rock endangering the lives of anyone who ventured deep into the tunnel. Nothing unusual had happened the few times she’d ventured into the shaft—no odd cave-ins or peculiar lights or bizarre singing—none of the various incidents people claimed had happened.

  Restless now, she moved to the door for a breath of fresh air. A full moon bathed the mountain. Loneliness gripped her. She had been alone few times in her life. The orphanage had always been full and rowdy; then on the long journey out west she didn’t have a private moment.

  Leaning against the doorsill, Patience thought about Missouri and the life she’d left behind. She had been content there—comfortable. And she’d thought that by coming to Colorado she would become a wife and eventually a mother. Now, here she was in the Rockies, the sole caretaker of a small boy—friends miles and miles away. If she couldn’t find anyone to work the mine, what good would it do for her to stay? She couldn’t work it herself. She knew nothing about mining.

  Her mind drifted to the other girls, and she was consumed with guilt. Mary had to be worried sick, and the others just plain worried. She’d tried to send them word, but the telegraph line was still down. It took forever to get anything done out here. Men would rather seek their fortunes in the mines than work at anything so mundane as repairing telegraph lines. Mail service was erratic, taking weeks to deliver, if it got through at all. For the moment, there was no way to let them know she was all right or to tell them about her quest to prosper them all.

  A twig snapped and Patience’s hand flew to her heart.

  A deep voice came to her from the shadows. “Didn’t I tell you to keep your door shut at night?”

  “Sheriff?” She shaded her eyes against the bright lantern rays. “I thought you had gone.”

  “Sorry, didn’t mean to alarm you.” Jay stepped from the shadows, removing his hat. “The name’s Jay.”

  Calling him by his first name didn’t feel quite right, but maybe in time she could get used to it. Sheriff did seem awfully formal. Opening the door wider, she smiled. “Would you like to come in and warm yourself by the fire?”

  “No, thanks. I just wanted to make sure Wilson was all right.”

  Now why was he making up excuses? He had to know Wilson had pulled a fast one on them. The boy was no more sick than she was, but the funny way her pulse leapt at the sound of the sheriff’s familiar voice made her realize she didn’t care why he was still there. She was just glad that he was.

  She nodded. “He’s fine—doesn’t seem to have a trace of whatever was ailing him on the way to school this morning.”

  “He’s okay, then. Figured I might have worn him out this afternoon.”

  “Oh … yes.” She smiled, meeting his cool direct gaze. “He’s sound asleep.”

  An awkward silence hung between them.

  Why, the man was lonely! She smiled, reaching for a wrap hanging on a peg next to the doorway. “He was asleep two minutes after his head hit his pillow.” Stepping outside, she closed the door, settling the woolen shawl around her shoulders. They causally fell into step. “I’m glad you decided to come back.”

  “It got dark on me—I decided to bed down close to the mine.”

  They walked for a while, she mindful of his company, he mindful of hers.

  Twisting the brim of his hat in his hands, the sheriff appeared to be searching for a mutual topic. “Nice night. Not so cold,” he ventured.

  Pulling her shawl closer, Patience gazed at the overhead star-studded canopy. “You think so? I haven’t been warm since I got here.”

  “It doesn’t get cold in Missouri?”

  She grinned. “Oh yes—it gets cold in Missouri. Ever been there?”

  “No.” He glanced up to study the sky. “I’ve heard that it’s pretty, though.”

  “Very pretty—especially in the fall. The leaves turn magnificent reds and ambers and golds. In the spring, bright green grass carpets the hillsides, and yellow jonquils and forsythia pop out. Summers are hot and humid with savage thunderstorms, but then fall rolls around again and you forget all the things you don’t like about Missouri weather. Suddenly you find yourself thanking the good Lord for seeing you through another year.”

  The edge was gone from the silence now; she liked that.

  “I wanted to tell you … you’re a good cook,” Jay said. “Haven’t tasted fish that good in a long time.”

  She felt her cheeks grow hot even though the wind was brittle. “Just plain old fish and corn bre
ad. Nothing special.”

  He touched her elbow, directing her around an outcropping of rock shooting up through the uneven ground. She decided she liked his gentle pressure on her arm—manly, persuasive, without being intrusive.

  “Been here long?” she asked.

  Jay shrugged. “Few years.”

  “I assume gold brought you here?”

  “No.” He smiled, his tone lighter now. “Actually, it was a train, but I came in search of gold.”

  “Oh.” She laughed, relieved to discover he had a sense of humor. At times she would have guessed otherwise.

  A cloud shadowed the moon, and the wind picked up. She drew closer into the wrap, wondering why she’d left a warm fire to walk a rocky ground with a man who opposed her at every turn.

  “Warm enough?”

  “Fine, thank you. And you?”

  “Fine.” His eyes skimmed the dark clouds. “Snow before morning.”

  “It seems it snows every night.”

  The conversation started to lapse.

  “You’re sure you’re not too cold? We can go back,” Jay offered.

  “Really, I’m fine. Thank you.”

  “The ‘quarters’ warm enough?”

  She laughed, recognizing the tongue-in-cheek tone. “Well, actually, there’s a crack at the bottom of the door big enough to throw a moose under. We’re losing a lot of heat.”

  “I’ll take a look at it tomorrow. Meanwhile, stuff a blanket in it.”

  “In the door?”

  “In the crack.”

  “Oh … thanks. I will.”

  They walked to the edge of a precipice and stood staring across the snow-covered landscape. Ragged summits draped with snow jutted upward in the light of the passing moon.

  “So you’re doing okay?”

  “Sheriff—”

  “Name’s Jay.”

  She glanced up at him. “Do you really want me to call you Jay?”

  “That’s my name.”

  They stood for a few minutes more, their breath making frosty air vapors. She wondered how much longer it would be before the sheriff ordered her back to Denver City. Had news of her failure to hire a suitable mine crew exasperated him? Would he now demand that she go back? She supposed he reasonably could; she had failed—that was pretty common knowledge. Without the mine’s proceeds she’d couldn’t hold out any longer. The old prospector had laid in a good supply of food, but firewood was running low, and she couldn’t seem to chop enough to keep up with the demand. And there was still plenty of winter left on this remote mountaintop.