Chappy glanced up. “Doubt if he knew you were in the mine. He’d have thought you were taking the women home.”
“Patience or the boy could have been inside. He should have thought of that. Don’t try to make me change my mind about Frank Innis. If it weren’t for Innis and Tucker, Patience would own the mother lode right now. You know that—don’t you?”
“You hear all kinds of rumors about mother lodes in these parts. Ninety percent of the time it’s just speculation.”
“Frank admitted it’s there. He and Tucker wouldn’t be trying to steal the Mule Head if it was a dry hole.”
Chappy glanced up a second time. “You gonna let them get away with it?”
Jay eyed him. “What do you think?”
The old miner laughed, flashing a gold tooth in the cold air. “Didn’t think you would be a man to set by and watch a woman being swindled.”
The two men sat in comfortable silence.
“It’s close to three, isn’t it?”
Chappy consulted his watch. “Yep, a few minutes afore three.”
Eventually Jay got up, pulled his collar closer in the rising wind, and ambled off.
Rubbing the carving between his hands, Chappy watched him go.
Jay set out for the Mule Head an hour before dark. He’d concocted a speech—not necessarily a persuasive one, but one he hoped Patience would accept:
“Patience, I’m sorry. We’ll reopen the shaft. I’ll go as far as I need to go to hire a new crew. I’ll throw Innis out of the mine—and oh, by the way, I love you, and I want to marry you if you’ll have me. We can raise Wilson together, here in the foothills… .”
The discourse ran over and over in his mind. What if she refused him? What if she insisted on going back to Denver City and marrying the likes of Conner Justice? The man was town mayor, well established, and well thought of in the community. Lost his wife and child a few years back. P deserved a man like Justice. But Jay wasn’t in a giving mood. He would work hard to be a husband she deserved; he would make her proud. And he would take care of Mary and Lily and Harper—he’d never let them be in want of anything, if only Patience would have him.
The brief afternoon’s separation had been a revelation for him. For someone who thought he didn’t need anyone, he’d discovered he needed her.
Content for the first time in a long while, he whistled. Brisk, pine-scented air filled his nostrils. The sky, overcast and dreary, failed to make a dent in his mood. Pewter-colored clouds promised snow by nightfall, but he knew by that time he’d be with Patience and Wilson, hopefully sitting before the fire, eating popcorn, being a family.
Family.
That sounded so good. He closed his eyes, walking on. Forgive me, God. I’ve put you out of my life the last five years, and I’m asking for forgiveness. I’ve been blind to how good you’ve been to me. For a long time I couldn’t think about anything but Nelly and Brice. I couldn’t get past that black hole that kept me imprisoned, but today you’ve given me back a reason to live.
Near the mining camp’s outskirts, the sun momentarily streaked through the clouds, touching the frozen earth with pale, icy fingers. Savoring the knowledge that Patience and Wilson waited a mile or so up the mountain, he trekked on.
Up ahead, he spotted Edgar Miller’s outhouse. The small building with a half-moon notched in the door was active this afternoon. Edgar himself emerged, fastening his suspenders on his way back to his shack.
Jay drew closer and frowned, spotting one of Mooney Backus’s thugs walking up ahead. The ruffian had caught up with him again.
Slackening his pace, Jay let the man get well ahead, figuring he’d just as soon not inflame an already volatile situation.
Suddenly veering off the road, the thug made a beeline for the outhouse, loosening his suspenders on the run. He wouldn’t miss three hundred pounds by much, so he’d be a tight fit for the small quarters, but when nature called, she sometimes shouted.
The door swung shut behind him with a slam.
Ordinarily, Jay would have left well enough alone. But this wasn’t an ordinary day or an ordinary opportunity. This particular thug—along with another—had beaten him to a bloody pulp, and Jay wanted retribution.
Glancing around the deserted area, he noted he was the only one on the road. Pausing in front of the door, Jay grinned. Revenge was sweet. Bracing his shoulder against the door, he mustered all his strength and shoved. The outhouse toppled backward amid a flurry of the man’s startled oaths.
Whirling, Jay broke into a sprint. Jay didn’t plan to be within a country mile when the thug crawled out.
He’d covered half of that country mile before his pace started to moderate. Trotting along, he threw his head back, laughing out loud. He imagined the look on Red’s face when the structure went down. Confident the man would never know who or what hit him, Jay relished the brief victory.
All at once three hundred pounds—give or take a few ounces—slammed into him from the back, felling him like gunshot. Jay’s eyes stung from the putrid smell. The thug’s clothes reeked.
Anger flushed the man’s fleshy cheeks. His nostrils engaged, retracted, fury boiling over in his eyes. He pinned the sheriff to the ground. “I’m gonna break your neck, Longer!”
Jay struggled to break the headlock, but wasn’t having much luck. The guy had one hundred pounds on him.
Then he saw it coming. Planting his knee in the middle of Jay’s chest, the thug drew back, murder in his eyes. A belated thought crossed Jay’s mind: You should have toppled the outhouse on its door, lunatic! It was his last coherent thought before Red knocked him cold.
Snow began falling shortly before dusk. Pacing the banks of the stream, Patience tried to blow feeling back into her hands. Her eyes anxiously searched the trail. Where was Jay? He’d been gone for hours now. Was he not coming back? The thought both frightened and angered her. How could he just walk off and leave her and Wilson to fight for the mine alone? Was he completely heartless?
Her mind sought to justify his absence: Maybe Moses and the other women had run off—failed to return to the prison. Of course they would run if they smelled freedom. Jay had to go after them—the women were his responsibility.
While she assumed he was still in the vicinity of Fiddle Creek, that didn’t necessarily mean that he was.
Wilson, huddled on a fallen log, was losing heart. They had been waiting since early afternoon. Now his hands and feet were trembling with cold. Teeth chattering, he voiced Patience’s worse misgiving. “Maybe he isn’t coming.”
Her tone was more caustic than she intended. “Don’t say that. He’s coming.” She’d thought he wasn’t coming this morning, but he had shown up. He’d come tonight.
Her eyes stubbornly returned to the trail. He wouldn’t walk away and never come back. He might have shortcomings, but he wasn’t cruel. Nothing would convince her of that. There was a reason he hadn’t come back—she had to believe that. If only she waited long enough, he would come.
Another hour passed. Snow blanketed bare tree branches. Wind whistled through pines that were taking on spring finery.
Periodically, Patience’s gaze returned to the trail. Wilson’s followed. Yet no matter how long and hard they looked, Jay’s comfortable, familiar figure failed to appear.
“Are we gonna stay here forever?” Wilson finally asked.
Patience continued to pace. Her feet had lost feeling fifteen minutes ago. Where could he be? In her heart she believed he would never betray her welfare, yet what could possibly delay him this long?
A new thought hit her. Had he fallen off the mountainside—broken a leg or hip?
Another hour passed, then another. Wilson’s lips were starting to turn blue. Sinking down beside him, Patience stared blindly at the falling snow. It was so late. They couldn’t wait much longer.
“We better go now, huh, P? It’s dark, and we still have to walk back to the dugout.”
Patience’s eyes yielded to the trail, as she
desperately prayed that Jay would appear, but she had to conclude he wasn’t coming. Getting up from the log, she ignored the pain in her icy limbs.
“Are we going now?”
She stared at the trail. Empty. “We can go now.”
Wilson’s eyes darted to the deserted road, his voice strained with emotion. “He really isn’t coming, is he?”
“No.” Patience stiffened her resolve. She needed to be strong for Wilson, but she was crying inconsolably on the inside. “He isn’t coming.”
“Well, maybe a bear got him or something. There’re a lot of them around, you know.”
They started walking.
“Maybe he’s at the dugout instead. That’s it, P! I bet he’s at the dugout right now, waiting for us! I bet he’s waited all afternoon, wondering where we are.”
When Patience looked at him, she saw that the child’s glasses were frosted over.
He peered back at her. “Don’t you think?”
“Perhaps, Wilson … perhaps.”
Their footsteps left deep tracks in the snow. They labored to walk. Bitterly cold wind howled about, snow blinding them now.
Wilson suddenly started crying. Softly at first, then deep sobs. Patience knew he’d tried to be brave for her sake, but his love for Jay overwhelmed him.
But Jay didn’t love them. He didn’t care that they had sat in the cold, waiting all afternoon for him.
“Shush,” Patience said quietly, blinded by her own tears. She was suddenly tired, so awfully tired.
Jay slowly came around, aware of sounds. Logs whispering and popping in the fireplace, a ticking clock, the metallic chink of a spoon scraping across the bottom of a kettle, a cat lapping cream from a saucer, the faint brush of slippered feet against a wooden floor.
Smells permeated his thick fog: woodsmoke, a subtle detection of lye soap coming from the woolen blanket, meat sizzling in a skillet.
Ensnared in a murky haze, he struggled to orient his thoughts, but his mind refused to serve him. A fire raged in his gut. The smallest motion caused excruciating pain.
Breaking into a cold sweat, he started shaking, his feverish body burning up beneath the heavy blanket. He threw the cover aside and struggled to sit up. His head swam, and blackness momentarily encased him.
Hands penetrated the darkness, bearing a cool cloth. He moaned and allowed himself to be lowered back to bed. Even the small act of kindness brought a cry of anguish from his swollen lips.
He stilled the faceless hands, trying to speak. “Patience … ,” he murmured.
A dipper of water touched his parched lips and he drank thirstily. Water spilled over, splashing onto his bare chest. Each point the droplets touched brought more torment.
“Patience,” he whispered hoarsely. “Patience … need to get to the Mule Head.”
When he’d drunk his fill, his head was gently lowered back to the pillow. A pungent smell filled his nostrils, and he cried out again. Hands that had once been benevolent became instruments of anguish.
Jay prayed for death, but the pain continued.
“Patience … Patience …” Hands restrained him; he struggled to sit up. He had to get to her; she would be waiting for him. “Have to go … Patience …”
He fought consciousness; the hands ministered to his body. The pain was unspeakable.
When the ordeal finally ended, he was lying in a pool of sweat. Once again he was gently turned, the damp cloth cooling his heated body. The sheet beneath him was whisked away and replaced with a soft, dry one.
“Have to get word to Patience,” he mumbled, praying that the angel of mercy would understand. Patience was waiting for him; if he didn’t come, would she leave?
The angel didn’t understand. A woman’s voice penetrated his fog. “You have been severely injured. Don’t move.” Unrelenting hands pressed him back into the mattress.
Groaning, he lapsed back into unconsciousness.
Chapter Twenty-Four
The covered wagon pulled into Denver City and stopped in front of the parsonage. The hefty driver jumped down and hurried to help Patience down. Wilson tumbled from his perch on the back of the wagon and stood beside her, staring at the hustle and bustle of town.
He reached out to take her hand. “I don’t like it here, P.”
“You will, Wilson. Give it a chance.” She took the satchel the driver lifted down and handed the second one to Wilson. “How much do I owe you?”
“Nothing at all, ma’am. It was a pleasure to have you along. You take care now, hear?”
He climbed back into the wagon seat and slapped reins on the horses’ rumps, driving away.
Patience sighed. Well, here she was, but it wasn’t the homecoming she had dreamed about. She looked down at the old prospector’s trousers, wondering what the others would think of the way she was dressed.
The front door opened and Mary ran down the walk, followed by Lily and Harper.
“Patience! Oh, Patience!”
She was hugged, laughed and cried over, and pushed and pulled up the walk. At the porch steps she remembered Wilson and turned back to find him standing at the gate, looking lost.
Patience hurried back to take his hand. “Come, Wilson. We’re home.”
“Home?” He peered up at her through his bottle-thick glasses. “It doesn’t feel like home, P.”
“It will.” She tugged at his hand. “Come on. Trust me; it will get better.”
He followed, pulling back slightly.
Mary stooped down to his level. “I’m Mary. Who are you?”
“Wilson.”
“Well, Wilson, this is Lily and Harper. We’re glad to meet you.”
Harper reached for the satchel he carried. “I made sugar cookies today. Got a batch cooling. You like cookies, Wilson?”
Wilson nodded. “I suppose … if I have to.”
Patience followed the women into the parsonage, gazing around at her old home, which looked familiar but strange in some way, as if she didn’t belong here anymore. She felt hemmed in, missing the space and majesty of the mountains. Even the air smelled different.
Pastor Siddons and his wife welcomed her back and gladly accepted Wilson. She had never doubted their generosity, but just the same, she didn’t want to be here.
That night she lay awake in the room she shared with Mary, staring at the wall as her tears soaked the pillow. Where was Jay? He hadn’t come back to Denver City. That was the first thing she’d asked. Was he all right? How could he just walk away and leave her and Wilson?
God? Are you there? Be with him, and, O God, help me. How can I give him up? Let me see him one more time.
A week later Patience pulled an apple pie out of the oven and placed it on the table to cool. The Siddonses were so good, but she and Wilson were an added burden. She knew the good pastor and his wife would never complain about two more mouths to feed, any more than feeding Mary, Harper, and Lily, but there had to be a limit to the number of people who could live in this small house.
Patience turned away to look out the kitchen window. She’d had such dreams, planning to bring them bags of gold, showing them how she could take care of them. Maybe that had been her problem. She had been so wrapped up in her plans, her wants—her—so sure that was where God was leading her, but had she ever bothered to ask him to show her what he wanted? Maybe the problems at the mine were a judgment on her.
If she had left with Jay when he had wanted her to, they would both be back in Denver City. Now she was here alone with no idea where he was or how to find him. Instead of being rich and successful the way she had planned, she was a failure.
A failure at money, and a worse failure at love.
Lenore Hawthorn’s wedding had taken place on the thirty-first of December as planned. She’d worn a simple gown instead of the lovely creation Patience was wearing when she had been kidnapped. The bride’s and groom’s families were still feuding.
Patience sighed. She missed Jay. Last night Mary had heard her crying and
slipped over into her bed to comfort her. The two had held each other; Mary had cried too, confiding that she was so sickly and her asthma was such a burden she was sure no man would want to marry her, which made Patience feel even worse that the mine hadn’t worked out. She’d had such plans.
Wilson entered the kitchen, interrupting her thoughts. “I’m worried about my animals. Are you sure they’re all right?”
“Chappy promised to take care of them until we come back.”
“Are we ever going back?”
“Maybe someday.” Probably not, but she couldn’t tell Wilson that. Without Jay she couldn’t fight Silas Tucker and Frank Innis. She couldn’t hire a crew. With Jay’s help she might have been able to hang on, but alone she didn’t have a chance. And by now someone else had probably jumped the claim. They had no place to go back to.
“P?”
“Yes, Wilson?”
“I miss Jay.”
“So do I.”
“I thought he’d come after us. Doesn’t he love us anymore?”
The boy was getting upset. Since they’d left the mine he’d been confused and unhappy.
Patience untied her apron. “Tell you what. How would you like to visit Jay’s office? He won’t be there, but you might like to see it anyway.”
“I’d like it better if he was there.”
“Oh, Wilson. He’ll come back someday. We just have to wait.” She took his hand. “Come on; let’s go see that office.”
The trip to the office was a partial success. Wilson had liked seeing where a real sheriff worked, and she could see him imagining Jay sitting behind the desk, but walking back to the parsonage, he seemed downcast.
When they entered the kitchen, he noticed the empty pie dish before she did.
“Somebody ate all the apple pie!” he exclaimed. “Every last crumb!”
“I’ll make another one, Wilson.”
“When? You’re busy all the time. Since we’ve come back, you’re always busy cooking and cleaning.” Patience could see that he was getting worked up again. “I hate it here! I hate not having Jellybean and Selmore. I hate Jay. I hate Denver City. I want to go back to the Mule Head.”
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