As planned, he skipped breakfast at the hotel and spent most of Sunday searching opium dens, but there was no trace of Dillon O’Keefe. By the end of the day he left Chinatown and returned to the Badlands, finishing his search of the various dives there. Finally he asked the desk clerk at the hotel to draw a map of the area. Montana City and Elizabethtown. Blacktail and Terraville. Gayville and Central City, Anchor, Pluma, and Peck Garden were all within a few miles of Deadwood. He would check them all.
The imbecile named Freddie had taken his horse to the livery the morning after he arrived. He was glad to know he hadn’t ruined the creature spurring it toward Deadwood. Haste hadn’t been necessary after all. In fact, it was looking like he would be in these hills for a while. He couldn’t so much as telegraph Manning back in Abilene as to when he would be back. The telegraph hadn’t reached Deadwood yet and the Indians were doing their best to see that it never would. So be it. Manning would run the place well in his absence, and if he didn’t, he’d be sorry.
Late Monday morning Jonas climbed into the saddle. He’d do Splittail Gulch camps first, then circle back and follow Deadwood Creek toward Gayville. Along the way he’d encounter plenty of miners and plenty of camps. He might even ask about Dillon O’Keefe by name. He could pretend to be his brother.
“She’s coming!” Freddie yelled as he hurried in the door of Garth and Company Merchandise. “There’s a whole string of freighters headed down from Splittail and I can see Mor’s outfit. I know it’s hers. You want me to run up and walk with her like I usually do? If I don’t run up there she might think something is wrong. We don’t want her to think anything’s wrong. Or she might guess a surprise. We need to hurry and get the canvas up.”
He charged toward the back of the stairs, up to the second story, and was nearly out the window that looked out on the porch roof before Tom caught up. “Slow down, Freddie,” he said. “If you fall off the roof, it will be a bad surprise.”
“I won’t fall,” Freddie said. “I climb around up on the gulch all the time. There’s a ledge and—”
“All right, all right.” Tom smiled and motioned for Freddie to climb out the window.
Tom followed him and together they crept across the roof of the porch and, grasping the corners of the piece of canvas rolled up behind the sign, unfurled it so the sign itself was covered.
Once back downstairs, Tom surveyed the inside of the store with a critical eye.
“You don’t have to be worried,” Freddie said.
“I’m not worried.”
“Yes you are. You have that look on your face people get when they are worried. Why are you worried, Tom?”
“Well,” Tom sighed. “We changed things quite a bit in here. I hope she isn’t upset with us.”
“She won’t be upset,” Freddie said. “She’s going to be happy. She likes lemonade.” Freddie gestured toward the cooler. “It will make more people come, just like you said. And we want more people.” He headed for the door. “You’ll see. She’s going to be so happy about everything you won’t believe it.” He set off up the trail at a gallop.
“Gee-ho!” Swede cracked her whip. “Get on dere, Lars, you four-legged candidate for de slaughterhouse. You’re almost to pasture and a few days off, so give it another pull and let us get dis vagon to home.” She was actually hoarse. All that rain and damp, she supposed. Tired, too. More tired than she’d ever been. But she’d be fine once she had a good night’s rest in her own place. Her own place.
She wanted to be excited but kept trying to tell herself that a million things could have happened to keep Tom English from making good on his promise to have the store finished when she got back. Oh, sure, the saw mills were running and buildings going up fast, but mills could break down, and if that happened up here it could take weeks to get them up and running again. With all the thousands of men roaming the area in search of gold, one would think that laborers were easy to find. Such was not true.
There might be little more than a wooden shell. Tom English was a good man, and he could do more with that hook than a lot of men could with two good hands, but he wasn’t going to set any records at building. Freddie was strong, but when it came to hammering nails he was slow. Swede worried that Tom wouldn’t have understood that. Freddie knew he was different and he felt bad about it sometimes. She should have told Tom about Freddie’s problems with things like hammering nails.
Eva screeched, “Free! Free! Free!” and practically threw herself out of the wagon with excitement.
Freddie galloped up and scooped her out of the wagon, beaming with joy. “She said my name, Mor!” He kissed Eva’s cheek.
“That she did,” Swede agreed, as surprised as Freddie. Eva had been muttering “Free” for most of one of those rainy days. Could she have been wishing for her brother to play with her?
Swede wanted to ask about the store, but Freddie kept babbling about everything that had happened since she left. He spent most of his time talking about Mattie O’Keefe shooting Brady Sloan. Mattie bringing gold into town. Mattie insisting on carrying a big credit on the store ledger. Mattie staying on her claim even in all the rain. Mattie having “grit” and earning the name Matt the Miner from the McKays and others in the gulch. Mattie not liking Aron Gallagher. And Mattie wanting to help unload the freight and get first chance at whatever Mor was bringing into Deadwood this trip.
“I’m supposed to let her know when you’re back,” Freddie said.
“Well, I’m back,” Swede said. “So you can go after her.”
“I will,” Freddie said, but he didn’t let go of Eva.
Swede cracked her whip above the heads of her team. “It vill take you about as long to get up dat gulch and get back down as it vill take me to get dese oxen down de trail,” Swede said. “So yoost go.”
“Not yet,” Freddie said.
Swede frowned. “Is someting wrong?”
He shook his head.
“Mr. English isn’t hurt? Or sick?”
Freddie shook his head again. Finally he blurted out, “It’s a surprise. I can’t go until you get your surprise.”
So the store is finished. Swede smiled. “Ah,” she said. “So my store is finished?”
“It’s a surprise,” Freddie repeated. “And you shouldn’t ask, because then it’s not a surprise.”
Swede nodded. Tom English had finished her store while she was gone. What a good man he was. What a blessing. What would she do if he decided to leave Deadwood?
Katerina Ingegard Jannike. Stop borrowing tomorrow’s troubles. Didn’t God provide you Garth when Freddie’s father ran off? And won’t He provide again if Mr. English must go? Why do you always spoil today’s joy with worry? Why must the sky always be about to cloud over for you?
Well, she didn’t know the answer to that. Except that life was so hard, and that’s just how it had always been ever since Garth died. Count the blessings. Ah. So many blessings. Twenty of them right here with her, lumbering along pulling all these tons of freight and not one of them sick. And isn’t that a small miracle in itself? It was. She was thankful. But, God forgive her, how she longed to part from these particular four-legged blessings, to lay down her bullwhip and not look back. And how she wished that she had time to wash her face and tend to herself a bit.
The closer Swede got to town, the more nervous Tom English felt. He’d been stupid to think he could change any of Swede’s plans and not raise her ire. Who did he think he was, anyway? Oh, she called him her partner, but people did that until a disagreement came along. Then you found out the truth. They’d been thinking of you as a paid employee all along, and now that you’d exercised your own opinions in such a blatant way— Stop worrying. If she doesn’t want the ladies’ geegaws at the back of the store, you’ll move the displays. If she doesn’t want to give away free lemonade, so be it. You’ve done good work here, and she’ll acknowledge it.
Inspiration struck. As Swede’s train inched its way into town and he caught sight of the y
ellow bonnet she always wore, Tom went back inside just long enough to grab a tin mug and fill it with lukewarm lemonade. He wished they had ice. Something to think about. Maybe a small icehouse out back.
Finally he heard her voice. Tom went back out to greet her. She was looking up at the sign with a puzzled expression on her face. Freddie had Eva perched on his shoulders. She smiled and raised both hands and shouted, “Ta-ta!”
“Hello, little angel,” Tom said, smiling.
“Ta-ta!” Eva repeated.
Tom frowned. “Is she—?”
Swede said hello and nodded. “Freddie is ‘Free.’ I believe you have been christened ‘Ta-Ta.’ ”
Tom reached up to take Eva’s hand. He felt strangely moved at the idea that little Eva would learn his name as part of her first words. Swede was staring at the store. Tom let go of Eva’s hand. “We have a little surprise,” he said, and handing Swede the mug of lemonade, he cupped her elbow in his hand and guided her to step back away from the store.
“All right, Freddie,” he said. “Do the honors.”
Freddie pulled first one and then the second rope that released the canvas covering the sign. The mug of lemonade dropped to the ground and both Swede’s hands came up to her mouth as she read, “ ‘Garth and Company Merchandise.’ ”
“Dala,” she croaked through her hands.
“Freddie’s idea,” Tom explained. “He said you always had one on the mantel in your home. I hope you’re pleased.”
Swede blinked rapidly. She made a strange half-choking sound as she tried to clear her throat.
“Ah,” Tom said and put his hand on her shoulder. “You approve. I’m so glad.” He hesitated. “I made some changes inside. I hope you won’t be too upset. We can go back to what you planned if—” He never finished that sentence. Swede lost the battle to control her emotions. First, she leaned against her wagon and hid her face in her hands to cry. And then, as Tom and Freddie patted her and tried to bring comfort, Eva started to cry.
Freddie took Eva off his shoulders. “There, there,” he cooed. “It’s all right. Mor’s happy. Aren’t you, Mor?”
Swede nodded, but she didn’t stop crying. So Tom did what any gentleman would do. He offered a clean handkerchief. And then he offered his shoulder. And then he held Swede in his arms.
CHAPTER 13
A talebearer revealeth secrets:
but he that is of a faithful spirit concealeth the matter.
Proverbs 11:13
Mattie grunted as she hefted a flour sack onto one shoulder. She almost staggered beneath the weight but still managed to get it inside the store before yelling, “Help!”
Tom came running. “We’re already impressed with Matt the Miner,” he scolded. “You don’t have to hurt your back proving how hard you can work.” Easing the sack onto his own shoulder, he headed for the combination storeroom and kitchen at the back of the building.
“You listen to him,” Swede agreed as she came through the front door carrying several bolts of calico. “Leave dose sacks for Freddie and Tom.” She slid fabric onto the shelves along one wall before asking, “Vat do you tink?”
Mattie didn’t want to say.
“Come now,” Swede insisted. “Really. Vat do you tink?”
“Bright colors. Cheerful, I suppose.”
Swede stood back and surveyed the pile of goods. “I vas tinking more … hideous dan cheerful.” She laughed. “Vich is vy I paid only five cents per yard. Ve charge ten cents and de miners who have cabins or brush shanties have a cheap cover for de insides. Much better dan paper.”
“I hope it sells,” Mattie said. The stuff really was awful. She touched one particularly ugly sample. Garish tones of yellow and green outlined unrecognizable shapes on muddy-colored backgrounds far too reminiscent of the color of gumbo mixed with a liberal amount of manure.
“Ve have a few tousand yards. I suppose I can use it to paper de valls upstairs if I can’t sell it.”
Freddie grimaced. “Do we have to, Mor?”
Everyone laughed.
A few minutes later, as Mattie and Swede added the last of the fabric to the shelves, Freddie came from the back holding a black furball in his arms. “Mr. Tallent said he’s ours.” When he put it down, the furball uncurled and stood up. It was a gangly black puppy with intelligent dark eyes.
As everyone looked on, Swede explained. “He vas cowering behind de chicken coop ven I vent to get de hens for Aunt Lou. No one seemed to know vere he vas coming from. He vas so tin and frightened,” she said. “Mr. Tallent said I vas crazy to take him along, but den on de vay here, he vas not so sure.” Swede chuckled. “De pup vas vit him for most of de last veek, and as you can see, he is not so tin now.”
“Doesn’t Mr. Tallent want him?” Freddie asked.
Swede shook her head. “I vas hoping, but he says no.” She sighed. “I don’t know vat kind of dog he vill be—other dan big, from de look of dose paws.”
The puppy cocked his head and sniffed the air. He gamboled over to Mattie, sniffed at her shoes, grabbed the hem of her skirt in his teeth, and gave it a tug, all the while wagging his tail so fast it was little more than a dark blur.
“He looks like the dog I carved,” Freddie said.
Mattie swallowed. “Yes. He does.” She glanced at Swede. “He’s a Newfoundland. He’ll be about so high,” she said, holding her hand out even with her waist. “And he’ll defend his owner—” her voice cracked—“with his life.” When she bent down and scooped him up, the pup licked her chin with enthusiasm before settling back with a contented sigh. Mattie looked at Swede. “I have plenty of credit on the books to pay whatever you want.”
“Vell,” Swede said. “For all my trouble, Eva is a bit afraid of him. And vit Freddie gallavanting all over da countryside hunting, he is hardly in a position—”
“Mattie should have him,” Freddie said.
Tom chimed in. “I’m not much of a dog lover.”
“It’s settled, den,” Swede said. “The dog is yours. For friendship, Mattie. Not for money.”
Clearing her throat, Mattie croaked her thanks. She pried opened her past just a bit. “Dillon had a dog like this. His name was Justice.”
“What happened to him?” Freddie asked. “Dillon didn’t have a dog here. Unless he ran off.”
Mattie shook her head. “No. Justice died a few years ago. Actually, someone shot him. Someone very evil.” She swallowed. “It’ll be nice having company up at the claim.” She kissed the dome of the puppy’s head and set him down. Instantly, he spread his legs and peed on the floor.
“Name him Whizzer,” Tom said, and everyone laughed.
A whining puppy lured Mattie outside her canvas home long before dawn the morning after Swede’s return to Deadwood, but she’d been awake since midnight thanks to the cannon the miners were firing to salute Independence Day. She’d lost count at about ten. According to the McKays, a hundred volleys were planned. Snuggled with her dog above her cache of gold, Mattie listened to the sound reverberate through the hills for quite a while, but when Justice began to squirm, she abandoned any hope of celebrating the holiday by sleeping late.
“Ow,” she said as she climbed out from beneath the covers. She looked down at Justice. “Apparently unloading wagons uses different muscles than prospecting.” She groaned as she got to her feet and tried to stretch. “In fact, apparently unloading wagons can pull just about every muscle a body has.” She lifted the tent flap and let Justice outside to do his business while she got dressed for town. As soon as she stepped outside, he came tearing back. Just the sight of him bounding over the rocks made her smile.
Fergus McKay hollered good morning and pointed at the dog. “Won’t y’ look at it, lass!”
Mattie scooped the pup up. “This is my new guard dog,” she said. “What do you think?”
Fergus yawned and scratched his backside. “Be the look of it he’s a bit young to be guardin’ the keep.” He glanced at Mattie’s campfire. “No biscuits tod
ay?”
“As many as you can eat—in town,” Mattie replied. “Today’s Garth and Company’s grand opening. I’m helping and they’re serving up roast pig and biscuits.”
“I’ll be doon directly,” McKay said, and stumbled back into his tent.
Justice sat just inside her closed tent flap while Mattie dressed and put up her hair. She reached for her bonnet, fingering the tattered ribbons used to tie it on. “I’m about due for a new one,” she said, and glanced over at Justice. “Think I can get a new bonnet without attracting too much attention from the kind of folks I don’t want wondering where I got the money?” When Justice tilted his head as if trying to understand her, she smiled. “It might not be wise to flaunt the success of Mattie’s Claim.” With a sigh, she put the old bonnet on and got up. “We’ll just make do, Justice.” The puppy yapped agreement and loped ahead of her as she descended into Deadwood dressed and decorated for the Fourth of July.
Today even the most wretched hovels had found a way to display red, white, and blue. Bunting draped the Grand Central Hotel sign. The owners of the Big Horn Store had erected a liberty pole and sent up an assortment of homemade flags. Mattie suspected the lace-edged banner painted with blue stars hanging outside the peanut vendor’s stall had begun life as a petticoat.
Justice had stayed close all the way down the gulch, but with the crush of people in town, Mattie worried he’d be stepped on or run over. Picking him up, she carried him with her to the hotel, where a crew of men had undertaken the prodigious task of leveling out the street with shovels in preparation for laying down a dance floor.
Deadwood would have its first official ball that evening. There were only a handful of women in town—Mattie, Aunt Lou, and Swede—unless she counted the sporting girls from the Badlands. She wondered if any of them would come to the ball. That would certainly make for an interesting dance. And then of course there was Calamity Jane, and there had to be a dressmaker or milliner, because, although Mattie had never met her, she’d seen a new sign on Main touting “the latest styles.” Working the claim prevented her knowing much about any new arrivals in town.
A Claim of Her Own Page 16