“I doubt it, ma’am. I’m just good with horses and other livestock.”
“Well, you could at least help clean up around here.”
But Joe shook his head. “Maybe I’ll find another place to stay, Mrs. Hamilton. I ain’t a servant and I ain’t a yard man.”
He started to leave, but the widow’s voice carried sweetly to his ear. “I do have a horse in the backyard and his barn and corral are falling apart.”
Joe turned around. “You have a horse?”
“It was my husband’s, actually. He’s a handsome brute. Big, rough, and strong like yourself. He hasn’t been ridden in nearly a year and his name is Jasper. Do you think you could take care of fixing up his stable and exercising him under saddle?”
Joe removed his Stetson. “I’m no cowboy, Mrs. Hamilton, but I do know and like horses and mules. Sure, I could fix his corral and barn and ride the horse. Any chance that we could squeeze three more horses into your stable?”
“Why, Jasper would love some company! Of course, you’d have to expand the corral and barn, but I’d pay for the lumber since it would increase the value of this property.”
This was sounding much better to Joe. “Ma’am,” he said, breaking into a wide grin, “I think we can work this out fine.”
“I will reduce your room and board for your help. Mrs. Johnson, are you willing to also help?”
“I am,” Ellen said. “How much will you charge for all three of us and our three horses?”
“If Joe will fix the corrals and expand the barn and you will help with cooking and cleaning, then I’ll only ask twenty-five dollars a week, which includes food for your horses and yourselves.”
“That is very generous,” Ellen said, although Joe thought it outrageous.
Mrs. Hamilton clapped her hands together with happiness. “Actually, I do get lonely and this house is falling down around my poor shoulders, so I really would appreciate some help and company. My home has six bedrooms, three downstairs and three upstairs. You along with Mr. McCarthy will have the downstairs rooms and I very much look forward to meeting Mr. McCarthy.”
You might change your mind when you lay your eyes on that mean and smelly old boar, Joe thought, wisely keeping his own counsel.
So it was arranged and they were shown impressive rooms on the mansion’s ground floor. Joe had never stayed in anything nearly so grand and fancy. Why, the four-poster bed had a pink silk canopy, for gawd sake! And there were rugs on the floor and lace curtains. Golly, if his old Indian and trapper friends could only see him now! They would howl with laughter like a pack of wolves at the moon.
Around six o’clock, Dr. Taylor drove up to the mansion in his buggy with Brendan McCarthy slumped over on the seat. The besotted bastard was alive, but it was clear that he just hanging on by a thread. They got him into his room, and Joe let the women fuss over the old man while he and Dr. Taylor went outside with glasses of whiskey they’d poured in the kitchen.
“So,” Taylor asked, “you are Joe Moss and that man is your father-in-law even though you smashed his face up with your fists.”
They were sitting on a wide veranda overlooking the entire Comstock Lode and farther out, the Virginia City Cemetery, which was mighty large to Joe’s way of thinking.
“Well, Doc, it’s a complicated thing to explain and you’ll be able to read a bunch more about it in tomorrow’s edition of the Territorial Enterprise. But the long and short of it is that I have to find the woman I love, Fiona McCarthy . . . maybe now Fiona Moss . . . and my daughter, whose name I do not yet know.”
“It does sound complicated,” the doctor said. “And as I told you earlier, Mr. McCarthy could die at any moment from his poor health and heart trouble. So if you need to make amends or ‘bury the hatchet,’ so to speak, you ought to do it as soon as possible.”
“I have nothing to make amends for to that man,” Joe staunchly replied. “It was he that ruined my life and that of his daughter. That said, as soon as McCarthy tells me where to find Fiona, then he can go right ahead and die.”
The doctor sipped his whiskey. “You’re a hard man, Joe Moss. Not much compassion in you at all, is there?”
Joe frowned and sipped. “I’ve had to be a hard man to survive my entire lifetime. But now that I’m about to become the father of a four-year-old girl and the husband of the only woman I’ve ever really loved, I am probably going to soften up some around the edges.”
“I hope so. What about Mrs. Johnson?”
“What about her?”
“She’s a very attractive woman and I sense that she has real strength of character.”
“Oh, she has plenty of that,” Joe assured the doctor. “There are none better.”
“Is she married?”
“Nope. She and her husband were Mormons and they had a fine farm down in Genoa. But Mr. Johnson died several years ago. All that is in the past and Ellen doesn’t know where she wants to go or what she wants to do next.”
“And you are in no way romantically involved with her?” Taylor asked, eyes fixed on the distant barren hills.
“Hell, no! I told you that I’m in love with that old man’s daughter.”
“Good,” the doctor said with just the trace of a smile. “Glad to hear that, Joe.”
Then the doctor finished his drink and left Joe on the porch so that he could go see McCarthy and, Joe suspected, Ellen as well.
Joe rocked and sipped Mrs. Hamilton’s excellent rye whiskey. He was fascinated by the anthill of activity that stretched out before him. There were tailings more numerous than leaves on a tree, and he counted no less than eight huge mines with their smokestacks and huge tin buildings that Joe supposed housed massive steam engines, wheels, and hoisting works.
It was really all too much. Far too much busyness for Joe’s liking, and he hoped that Fiona would not want to live here on the Comstock Lode once they were properly married. Better by far that they left this place and went off to the high mountains of Colorado or Wyoming, where he knew he could buy land by running water with aspen and pines for winter firewood. Or, if Fiona was averse to deep snow and cold, then Joe could take her south and find her warmer places down near Santa Fe and Taos where she could raise a garden and maybe some hogs to butcher.
“Mr. Moss?”
Joe was pulled out of his sweet reverie to see Mrs.
Hamilton with a glass of whiskey in her own hand as well as the bottle. “May I replenish your drink?”
Joe had never had a drink “replenished,” but it sounded like a good idea so he nodded.
“May I also join you?”
“Sure. It’s your porch and view.”
Beth Hamilton sat in the rocking chair just vacated by the doctor and looked out over the Comstock with a serene expression. “It’s a view that I never tire of, Mr. Moss. Think of all the lives that are being lived out there and all the hopes and dreams that they represent. People come to our little mining town from all over the world and they have fascinating stories to tell.”
“Yeah,” Joe said, taking another slug of the excellent whiskey. “There’s a whole lot of drunken miners, crooked gamblers, thieves, muggers, and hustlin’ whores, that’s for sure.”
She glanced sideways at him with a frown of annoyance. “There are also many good people down there, Mr. Moss.”
“Joe,” he corrected. “Just Joe, if you please, ma’am.”
“All right, then you must call me Beth.”
“Okay.”
“I understand that you’re seeking the woman you love and your little daughter.”
“News spreads fast around here. But, yes, I am.”
“I hope you find them as you have pictured them to be in your dreams.”
Joe wasn’t sure what the hell that meant, but the woman was nice, so he just nodded his head and kept rocking and admiring the view.
“Are you a Christian like Mrs. Johnson?”
“No, ma’am. But I’m not one to start tellin’ the Bible lovers that th
ey’re wrong. Truth is, ma’am, I don’t think anyone knows the truth about what happens after we ship out for the great unknown.”
She was silent a few moments while considering his words. “I suppose that is a reasonable response, Joe. But not a very pleasant one.”
“Life isn’t supposed to be pleasant,” he told her. “It’s hard. Sometimes there are real fine moments when you’re happy as a little chirpin’ bird enjoyin’ a fine spring morning, but mostly not.”
“I have a very good life, even without my late husband. I am busy in women’s societies and quite a few worthy charities. But I do miss a man’s company.”
“Well, you’ve two more men to deal with now.” Joe stood up. “I’d like to go fetch our horses and put ’em up back there with Jasper. I already checked and you’ve got enough hay for ’em all for a week. After that, we’ll buy you some more.”
“And you’ve already fixed and expanded the corral fence?”
“I’ve done enough to make it do until I get more barbed wire, rails, and fence posts. For the time being it’ll work out just fine.”
“I’m so glad! Poor Jasper has been very lonely back there, and I’m sure that he’s delighted to have the company of your nice horses.”
Joe said nothing because Jasper had tried to cow-kick him in the head, and appeared to be a big, mean sonofabitch that wasn’t worth feeding. But this woman obviously knew nothing about horses and she loved Jasper. Better just to let her cling to the illusion that he was a nice horse who welcomed the company of his own kind. And it was damn sure better not to tell her that his Palouse horse was gonna kick the hell outa Jasper and get him lined up properly in the pecking order about one minute after they met.
“Joe?”
It was Ellen at the doorway.
“Yeah?”
“Mr. McCarthy is awake and he wants to talk to you in private.”
“Humph!” Joe excused himself, drained his glass, and set it down on the railing before he went into McCarthy’s room to confront the old man and learn the truth about Fiona’s whereabouts.
“Close the door behind you,” McCarthy ordered from his bed in a weak voice. “We have some serious talking to do.”
“I reckon so,” Joe replied, closing the door. “I come for Fiona and my child.”
“You’re too late.”
Joe shut the door and went over to the old Irishman’s bedside with his fists clenched at his sides. “It’s never too late, Brendan. Now tell me where I can find ’em and don’t give me any of your usual bullshit.”
McCarthy’s eyes shifted off toward the window, and damned if Joe didn’t see that they were wet with fresh tears. He didn’t think that the man had enough feelings for tears. McCarthy certainly hadn’t shed any when his wife had died on the wagon train that Joe had been leading westward four years earlier.
“Where are they?” Joe asked, his voice softening.
“I don’t know where Fiona is now,” McCarthy replied. “Honest to God I don’t.”
Joe swallowed his disappointment like it was a rough rock. “What about my child?”
“You have a daughter. Her name is Jessica.”
“Jessica,” he whispered. “That’s a real pretty name.”
“Not half as pretty as she is,” McCarthy told him. “She and Fiona are the lights of my sorry life.”
“Where is the girl?”
McCarthy hesitated for so long that Joe almost grabbed him by the neck to shake the truth out of the old man. But then he said, “Joe, you’re not going to like this one little bit, but your daughter Jessica is in the care of the Sisters of Charity down at the Catholic church.”
Joe was stunned. “But . . . but why?”
“Because Fiona gave Jessica to them. They are now her legal guardians.”
“To hell if they are!” Joe roared.
“I told you that you wouldn’t like it, but that’s the truth. Little Jessica lives at the convent down at St. Mary of the Mountain, and she’s being raised in the Catholic faith and expected to take her vows someday and join their order.”
Joe staggered over to an expensive sitting chair and fell into it half-dazed. “You mean become a nun!”
“Yep. That’s how it’s going to be.”
“Over my dead body!” Joe shouted, coming to his feet again.
McCarthy looked up at the stricken expression on Joe’s face, and then he cackled with crazy, broken laughter and sobs of despair.
“They won’t even let me visit her,” McCarthy finally said. “They run me off and told me never to come back.”
“They won’t run me off, by gawd!”
“By gawd they will,” McCarthy countered. “Those nuns mother that girl like hens do their chicks. As far as they are concerned, everyone and everything in little Jessica’s past was sent by Satan. They’re going to save her soul and shield her from all evil.”
McCarthy took a deep, ragged breath and scrubbed at his wet eyes. “I’m evil and you’re evil. And to them, even Fiona is evil.”
“I’ll go get her!” Joe vowed. “I’ll go get her right now.”
“You can try,” McCarthy told him. “But you won’t have any more luck at it than I did.”
“What? You think I can’t handle nuns?”
The old man shook his head. “Fiona gave them legal custody of Jessica. She was desperate and on the run. It was what she thought best to do.”
“What do you mean, ‘on the run’?” Joe demanded.
“I mean she was running for her life,” McCarthy said. “Because she killed Mr. Chester J. Peabody.”
“No! Fiona wouldn’t kill anybody.”
“I’m sure that she had no choice.” McCarthy sobbed and stiffened with pain. He shuddered and wheezed. “You see, Joe, Fiona had . . . .”
Suddenly, the Irishman’s eyes went round with fear and overwhelming pain. He gasped and grabbed at his chest, mouth working silently in a desperate plea for something that Joe could only imagine.
“Doc!” Joe shouted. “Doc!”
Dr. Taylor was at the bedside in a moment. But it was too late. Brendan McCarthy’s heart had failed completely and he was already dead.
21
“JOE? JOE!” ELLEN shouted, but Joe was already trotting down the mountainside headed for the tall, white-steepled St. Mary’s. He didn’t exactly know what he was going to say or do, but he had to see his daughter and no one was going to hold him back from that after all these years.
Joe had long legs and halfway down the mountainside, he realized that he had left all his weapons in his room at the Hamilton mansion. Probably just as well. The last thing he needed to do was to kill a nun or a priest. That, by gawd, would get him hanged and sent to hell for certain.
The church was very impressive, and sat just below the town on a large lot next to a sign that proclaimed in bold letters that this would be the future home of the Virginia and Truckee Railroad. Joe could read that sign, but it held no interest for him. He stopped a few hundred feet from the big, brick church and rectory, then took a few deep breaths to calm down.
McCarthy said that Fiona had given the nuns the legal right to raise our child. Now why on earth would she have done a thing like that? Fiona wasn’t a Catholic! But if what that old man said before he died was true, I have to be on my best behavior. If I go in there shouting and with blood in my eye, then it’ll only make getting Jessica back all the tougher.
Joe smoothed out his clothes and wished that he could hide McCarthy’s bloodstains from when he’d carried the old drunk over to Dr. Taylor’s office. But the bloodstains were dried and set into his shirt, and there was nothing to do for it unless he wanted to hike back up the mountainside and find a mercantile, then buy himself a new shirt.
Maybe I should do that, he thought, suddenly very unsure of himself because what happened next with the nuns might be the most important meeting of his entire life.
“Joe!”
He turned to see Ellen hurrying after him, and he waited
for her because he was suddenly unsure of what to say to the nuns or how to ask for Jessica.
“Joe,” she said, badly out of breath, “what are you doing?”
“My daughter is in there with ’em, Ellen, and they’re fixin’ to make her one of their kind. Take the vows and everything.”
“But your daughter is only four years old.”
“They start ’em young. When I was in Santa Fe, I saw those priests and nuns and they had those little Mexican kids bowin’ and makin’ the sign of the cross almost before they were off the teat.”
Ellen took his hand. “Listen to me carefully. I’m your friend and you trust my judgment, don’t you?”
“Sure, but . . . .”
“Then I’m telling you that this isn’t the way to handle the situation.”
“But . . . .”
“We’ll go back up to the mansion and talk about this. Come up with a plan of action. That way, when we meet these good Catholic nuns, we’ve got everything in mind that we need to say and know. We’ve thought it out, Joe.”
“Don’t you understand that I’ve waited four years for this moment?” Joe said with exasperation.
“Then you can wait a few hours more so that we don’t make this harder than it should be. Most likely, the nuns will understand that you are Jessica’s father and have a right to reclaim her.”
“But what if they don’t?”
“Well, Joe, you can’t use your fists, knife, gun, or tomahawk on them. You understand that, don’t you?”
“I reckon,” he said with a heavy heart.
“If they won’t let Jessica go, then we can hire a lawyer to help us.”
“I don’t put much faith in ’em, Ellen.”
“Perhaps not, but that’s our best option. We can ask Mrs. Hamilton and that newspaperman, Dan DeQuille, who is the best lawyer in Virginia City. But maybe it won’t come to that. It probably won’t. Let’s just calm down and go back to the mansion and think this out so that we make a good first impression on the priest and his nuns.”
Joe knew that Ellen was right. “I need to buy a new shirt and coat. Maybe take another bath and get a shave, too.”
“Now you’re talking,” Ellen said, linking her arm with his and slowly turning Joe around. “What did Mr. McCarthy say about Fiona before he died of heart failure?”
The Mother Lode Page 14