Treasured Christmas Brides

by Cabot, Amanda; Germany, Rebecca; Hake, Cathy Marie

  Angel gritted her teeth to keep from snapping back at her stepfather. Not once had he asked how Mama was faring. Her cot had creaked all night because of her racking cough. Nothing Angel did seemed to lessen Mama’s misery, but Ben’s callous disregard certainly made it worse. At least he’d caught fish this morning, so they’d have something more than rice and beans to eat.

  “Girl, I asked you ‘bout dinner!” His pan clanged on the rocky ground as he tossed it down.

  “Rice is boiling. Soon as I rinse out the shirts and hang them to dry, I’ll fry up the trout.”

  “Shoulda seen to my meal afore you got them shirts started.”

  Wiping back a damp curl that fell on her forehead, she called, “It won’t be long.”

  Half an hour later, several garments hung on the clothesline, and Angel handed a pie tin of rice and fish to her stepfather. If she changed into her other skirt, this one would have enough time to dry by nightfall; but she dismissed that fleeting thought. She refused to risk waking Mama by slipping into the tent. Besides, as soon as lunch was over, Angel would be knee deep in the water again. Days like today, she felt sure she’d never be warm again.

  “Ten shirts, six pair of britches, and five balbriggans.” Her stepfather spoke with his mouth full and pointed his fork at the laundry neighboring prospectors dropped off. “I reckon that’ll barely keep us in beans and coffee for a week or so. Ain’t you got a couple of flour sacks you can stitch into a shirt to sell? That’ll give us some fatback.”

  They’d had this conversation two weeks ago. Angel’s jaw hardened. “I need one more sack so I can make myself a new skirt. I only have two, and they’re both ragged.”

  “Nobody here to see and court you. A new skirt’s a waste. A man’s shirt—well…” He drew out the word with relish. “A shirt, that could bring in enough to make a real difference ‘round here. Gotta pull together, Angel. We’re family.”

  “This wouldn’t be a problem if you’d have grubstaked us for the winter.”

  “I ain’t begging others for food, and I won’t be beholden to any man.”

  Angel tugged at her wet sleeve. “Since today is the third day in a row that I’ve done laundry, we have money. You could take it to town and get Mama medicine. She needs tonic and a cough elixir, and we need—”

  “Enough!” He stood and stomped toward the river.

  Angel sand-scoured and rinsed the plates. The wind shifted, and she caught a faint whiff of coffee from a neighboring claim. The scent made her mouth water. She remembered how she used to have parties with Mama and Grandma where they’d set the table with fine linen and china. As a treat, they’d allow her to have coffee with plenty of cream and sugar. When she’d come to Colorado with Mama and Ben, she’d learned to drink it black. The next year, she’d watered it down to stretch their meager supplies. This past winter, they’d run out.

  During the winter, folks didn’t have laundry done—they wore every last garment they owned in an attempt to stay warm. As a result, her stepfather had run out of money, and they were perilously low on supplies. Now that spring had arrived and she was doing laundry again, it stood to reason they could spare some money for Mama’s medicine.

  Harvey Bestler and Pete Kane came back for their laundry. Pete paid her stepfather the laundry fee and wandered off. Harv went on into the tent, took off his only other pair of britches, and tossed them out. “Go on ahead and scrub those today. I’ll just take ’em wet and hang ’em from a tree.”

  “I’d better not.” Angel bit her lip and looked away. “The britches on the line need mending.”

  “I can wait.”

  She scrubbed the grimy pants and rinsed them, then hung them close to the fire in hopes that they’d dry a little while she mended the others. Her sewing box already sat on a stump because she’d had to stitch on a button. She sat down and applied her needle to the threadbare pants. As she jabbed the needle into the fabric, she promised herself, “I’m only staying to take care of Mama. I don’t have to stay after…”

  Chapter 2

  “Angel, I’ve spent half the day here and given you good cash money. Now give me back my pants.”

  Jarrod heard the baritone from inside one of the two tents and turned to leave. He wanted nothing to do with a shady lady or her customer. The dainty wedding ring in his pocket couldn’t possibly belong to this woman, whoever she was.

  “A man’s always glad to keep company with a pretty gal like you, but I really do got to go. A fella’s gotta work.”

  “Here you go,” a sweet voice said. “They’re mended, but I don’t expect that patch to hold for long. Next time you’re in town, you’d better get some cloth. I’ll stitch you a new pair for cheaper than you can buy them.”

  Jarrod stopped in his tracks. Guilt rushed through him. Maybe he’d been wrong in his assumptions, and if so, he’d been wrong to judge and condemn the woman. He tromped back around the stream side of the camp and spied several garments fluttering on a clothesline. From the variety in size, he deduced she did laundry as well as sewing. Yes, he’d been wrong. It was a good reminder not to judge.

  Jarrod glanced around. The campsite rated as Spartan as his own. Two sun-bleached canvas tents sagged near a stand of trees—undoubtedly located there in hopes that they would provide a windbreak. An outdoor cook fire seemed to also double as the laundry site. Stumps served as seats, yet not a single felled tree lay about or formed a structure. They must have used the rest of the wood for fuel. They were panning at the creek side instead of using a rocker box. Perhaps these folks were new arrivals too. If so, this woman was quite enterprising to start up a business right away.

  Jarrod patted his pocket and determined to see if this was the ring’s owner. She’d probably be delighted to have it back. Women put stock in sentimental things like that.

  “You need help, mister?”

  Jarrod turned around and froze. An unkempt man stood all of four feet away, and he had the business end of a rifle aimed right at Jarrod.

  “Just what’re you doin’, skulking around here?”

  “I’m, um…” Jarrod cleared his throat. “I’m your new neighbor. I have the adjoining claim. Downstream.”

  “You take me for a fool? Pete Kane was here today already, and Charlie has the claim just beside us on this side of the creek. We don’t want no trouble, and we don’t cotton to claim jumpers, so you can just hike right back outta here.”

  “Hang on, Ben.” A man came out of the tent, adjusting his suspenders. “Charlie told me he was cashing in. Could be this man’s not trying anything fast.”

  “I have the deed.” Jarrod didn’t move an inch. Hostility shimmered in the eyes of the man holding the gun, and he hadn’t lowered the weapon.

  “Father,” a pretty blond woman said as she rounded the tent and stopped next to the grouch. She cast a quick glance at Jarrod and pushed the barrel of the rifle toward the ground. “He’s not armed.”

  “Could have a gun back behind his belt.” The rifle jerked back upward, its aim directed at Jarrod’s midsection. “Might be he has a knife strapped to his leg.”

  “A fella would be ten times a fool to go ‘bout unarmed,” the man from beside the tent agreed.

  “So he’s either a claim jumper or a fool. Some fine howdy you men give to a new neighbor.” The tiny woman stepped directly in front of the weapon. “I’m Angel Taylor. Behind me is my stepfather, Ben Frisk, and over by the tent is Harv Bestler. Sorry for the poor welcome. Folks here tend to shoot first and ask questions later—if they bother to ask at all.”

  Jarrod gave her a grateful smile and dipped his head in greeting. “Jarrod McLeod. It’s a pure pleasure to be meeting you, Miss Taylor.” He didn’t lie and say he was glad to meet the two men. Neither seemed the neighborly type. “I came as far as the pine with my weapon but left it there as a sign of goodwill.”

  Harvey rose on the toes of his battered boots and craned his neck. “I don’t see nuth—what in the world? A bow? You sound funny, but you d
on’t look like no redskin I ever saw.”

  “You in league with them?” Ben asked. “We got these claims legal. You ain’t takin’—”

  “Now hold on. I’m a placer, just like the both of you. Bought my claim, aim to work it, and hope to make a go of things.”

  While he spoke, Jarrod noticed how Angel’s jaw hardened. He didn’t know what he’d said wrong, but he’d stepped amiss again. These folks were bristly as hedgehogs.

  He shrugged. “I can see you folks are trying to settle in too.”

  “We been here three, almost four years now.” Ben finally took his finger off the trigger.

  Jarrod tried not to show his surprise. Other than the tents, no shelter could be seen. “So you’re seasoned placers. It’s good to have neighbors who know the ropes.”

  “Wasted ‘nuff time jawin’.” Ben swished his hand in the air as if he were swatting a bothersome gnat. “Git along.”

  Harv slapped a battered gray felt hat on his greasy hair, picked up a small bundle of clothes, and nodded at Angel. “You done a fine job, gal.” He then tromped straight across the creek and into a tiny shack that leaned precariously toward one side.

  Jarrod jammed his hand in his pocket and felt the smooth gold ring. He didn’t want to waste a lot of time tracking down the owner, but he’d worn out his nonexistent welcome.

  Ask. Just ask, a small voice inside urged.

  He cleared his throat. “Um, I was wondering if you could be so kind as to tell me—are there other women upriver?”

  Angel’s cheeks went scarlet.

  Horrified that she’d misconstrued his meaning, Jarrod yanked the ring from his pocket and held it out. “I found this. I’m wanting to return it to its rightful owner. I’m sure the lady is heartbroken at the loss.”

  For a brief instant, unmistakable recognition lit Angel’s eyes. In a spontaneous move of joy, she began to reach for the ring, but Ben’s growl halted her move. Every speck of color bled from Angel’s face. Jarrod watched her flinch and immediately shoved the ring deep into his pocket. “If you hear anything, please let me know.”

  Ben turned to Angel. “Is that what I think it is?”

  “I’m sure hundreds of women wear wedding bands just like it.” Jarrod realized he’d managed to get the woman into trouble and strove to say something to let her off the hook.

  Angel’s stepfather wheeled back around and blustered, “Lemme see that ring.”

  Jarrod noticed how she folded her arms around her ribs and subtly shook her head. Her wide hazel eyes pleaded with him. He didn’t understand what was going on, but he refused to act against the lady’s wishes.

  When Jarrod didn’t hand over the ring, Ben Frisk banged the butt of his rifle into the ground in a show of rage. “Girl, that was worth money. Coulda had us coffee all winter if I’d pawned it.”

  “Miss Angel, if you’re the rightful owner, I’m more than willing to return it.”

  “She’s the owner, all right! Letters scraped inside it’ll prove I’m right.”

  Angel shook her head. “It’s not mine anymore. I don’t want it.”

  “If you change your mind—”

  “Oh, she’s a-changin’ it right this very minute!”

  Angel shook her head again. Sunlight glinted off the strands of her hair, making her glimmer. “Mr. McLeod has rightful claim on that gold. Whatever a man finds on his claim is his.”

  Chapter 3

  “Gal, yore stupid as you are stubborn.”

  Angel ducked her head and scrubbed the frying pan a little harder. Ever since her grandma’s wedding band had come loose from where Angel tacked it to the hem of her ragged skirt, she’d been heartbroken. It took everything inside of her not to take it back when that new neighbor offered it to her—but the minute her stepfather found out she’d gotten it back, he’d take and pawn it.

  Ben had been in a terrible mood since she refused to take back the ring. Three days of listening to his grumblings and rants left her nerves as tightly strung as a new clothesline. He cared more about gold than anything or anyone. Lung fever had hold of Mama; gold fever claimed Ben.

  “Coulda had a nice hunk of fatback and coffee for weeks, but you ruint it all. Got yourself of a mind to have a conniption. I’m a-tellin’ you, missy, yore gonna use them flour sacks to make a shirt. After what you done, you don’t deserve no new skirt. Took the food right outta my mouth.”

  “I’m not making a shirt.” She stared him straight in the eye. Standing, she spread out her skirt. “Take a good look. I’ve patched this as best I can, but the hem’s ragged and it has dozens of little burned spots from embers. My other one is even worse.”

  “Ain’t no fancy cotillion here. You got what you need.”

  “No, I don’t. With Mama’s help, we barely got everything done and pulled in enough gold to keep going. She listened to your dream about striking it rich and said a woman had to follow her man. Well, look what your big plans did to her—she’s deathly ill.” She swept her hand toward the tent, then gestured toward the creek in utter disgust. “Instead of thinking about how to help her recover, all you can do is squat over there, lusting for more gold.”

  “Enough!” He bolted to his feet. “Your mama knows her place. Good thing she’s not out here to see how yore behavin’.” He snatched his hat off a stump, spanked it against a thigh, and slapped it on his head.

  Tears obscured Angel’s view of her stepfather’s back as he knelt and began to pan for gold. “How could you say such a terrible thing?” she whispered. “If you loved her, how could you think it’s a good thing she’s so sick she can’t even get up anymore?”

  Smoke from the cook fire blew into her face, causing the tears to overflow. Angel didn’t want her stepfather to witness her tears, so she plodded to the water’s edge. She favored this spot because she could turn her back to her stepfather and let the wind blow his mutterings the other direction. A few deep breaths and a swipe of her hand, and all evidence of her teary moment was gone.

  An eddy of water swirled into the tiny curve of the shore, and she plunged her pan into it. No matter how often she did this, the icy water came as a shock. Angel shivered as she agitated the pan. Neck, back, arms, and legs all cramped from working to coax anything of value from the creek. The weak spring sun rose higher in the sky, and she shifted a bit to lessen the glare from the water.

  “Miss Taylor, you make doing that look easy.”

  Angel twisted to the side as she gasped.

  “I didn’t mean to startle you,” Mr. McLeod said in his rich Scots burr. He gave her a rakish smile. “If you’re of a mind to forgive the intrusion, I was hoping we might come to an agreement.”

  Angel set aside her pan, carefully covering the tiny dish containing the flecks she’d gotten during the long morning. A quiver full of arrows over his right shoulder reminded her of one of the tales Mama used to tell her…Robin Hood, she remembered. The brace of rabbits he held made her stomach rumble in the most unladylike way. “What kind of agreement?”

  “Whilst building my shack, I ripped the knee on my britches. If you have a dozen nails, I could surely use them too.”

  “You’ve built a home?”

  He chuckled. “Home is a fancy description. ‘Tis a wee place, but it’ll serve.”

  “I heard your ax biting through logs, but I presumed Charlie didn’t leave any firewood.”

  Bootfalls announced they had company. Her stepfather came up, put a proprietary hand on her shoulder, and scowled. “What do you want?”

  Mr. McLeod casually repositioned the beautiful bow on his shoulder. “I came to barter. I’d like Miss Taylor to mend the knee of my britches and would appreciate a dozen or so nails from you.”

  Ben squeezed her shoulder, telling her to stay silent. “Nails? They’re dear out here.”

  Mr. McLeod nodded. “In town, they were seven cents a pound.”

  “It’ll waste half a day, you going to town and comin’ back. Even if I figgered two cents apiece on those fo
ur rabbits, you ain’t got enough to trade for the nails and my gal doing your mending.”

  Angel choked back a cry and plastered a smile on her face. She wriggled away from her stepfather and clasped her hands behind her back. “But those look to be plump rabbits—especially for it being spring. Besides, Mr. McLeod isn’t just anybody; he’s our nearest neighbor. I think three rabbits, and we’ve struck a fair bargain.”

  “Four,” Ben rasped angrily.

  “Four,” Angel repeated as she stepped forward and reached for the rabbits. “And Mr. McLeod joins us for supper.”

  Mr. McLeod’s bright blue eyes twinkled. “Now there’s a bargain made in paradise.”

  Jarrod hiked back over for supper after sunset. Ben had made it clear he wasn’t about to waste any daylight with socializing. How pretty Miss Taylor managed to endure her stepfather’s sour disposition rated as a true mystery. In the past few days, Ben’s strident voice had carried in the crisp air, and most of what he said revolved around wanting meat and coffee. And I made it worse by letting him know she lost that gold ring.

  Jarrod marveled at the fact that they were out of such essential supplies. Miners got paid an hourly wage; placers who panned their own claims didn’t have reliable income, so they usually got the mercantile owner or a townie to grubstake them. He’d had two offers from business owners, and the man at the land office even offered the names of a few more. Though no one seemed to become rich overnight along this creek, the claims produced enough to keep merchants interested in a cut of the take.

  Savory aromas wafted past him. So did the sound of someone coughing. Jarrod called ahead to keep Ben from grabbing his rifle. “Oh, something’s smelling wonderful!”

  “Pull up a stump,” Angel invited as she stepped out of one of the tents. She held a spoon and tin mug. “Supper will be ready in just a few minutes.”

  “Go dip your mug in the creek, McLeod,” Ben mumbled. “Ain’t got nothing better or stronger to drink.”

  Jarrod collected the three mugs by the fire and filled them with bracingly cold water. He paused for a moment on the way back, then handed one to Ben. “Looks like you’re starting a garden.”