“We still have a bit of turkey left. I thought I’d make pasties for lunch.”
He headed for his cabin. “Only if I give over some flour.” When he came back out, he held a small bundle of laundry under one arm and a bowl of flour in the other and winked. “I’ll carry this back so I’ll have an excuse to visit your mother.”
“You don’t need an excuse. Mama looks forward to seeing you.” Angel fell into step alongside him. “How are you doing on the root cellar?”
“It’s taking a lot of time. I chose rock because I’m tired of creatures burrowing and eating the roots. I suppose I could have sunken a barrel, but being a hardheaded, stubborn Scot, once I started, I refused to change my ways.”
They’d reached her fire. Jarrod set down his laundry and flour and wordlessly lifted the big iron wash cauldron. He carried it to the stream, filled it, and carried it back to the fire.
Harv and Pete were crossing the log bridge with their laundry. Pete dumped his sorry-looking pile of clothes and scratched his elbow. “That turkey you folks shared surely sat fine in my belly. Harv’ll tell ya I make a purty fair corn bread. I even got me two eggs to make it, so how ‘bout if I invite myself to lunch?”
“I got cornmeal,” Harv offered.
Jarrod tucked Angel’s braid behind her shoulder. “See there? You’ll not have to cook at midday.”
“I don’t mind at all—”
“Laundry’s hard work.” He gave her a stern look. “You’ve got plenty to keep you more than busy.”
“How’d you get eggs?” Harv asked Pete.
“Angel, get busy.” Ben’s interruption made them all turn around. He glowered. “You ain’t getting anything done, standing ‘round with this pack of lazy men. They might not have nothing to do, but you shore do. The rest of you, git.”
“We’ll eat at high noon, my claim,” Harv whispered.
Just as the other two men headed toward the bridge, Ben swaggered back over. “You two best pay up now for your wash.”
“Left my money over on my claim,” Harv said.
“Me too.” Pete gave Ben a look of owl-eyed innocence.
Gold. Jarrod squatted down and reached in to touch the nugget he’d just chipped free. The front of it was copper, but the whole back gleamed with promise. Instead of lifting it, he paused and caught his breath, then shoved it aside and touched the rock face he’d just bared. Gold.
He chipped out a piece and placed it in his pocket. Someday, when he had a ranch, he still wanted a keepsake from this moment. Lord, I prayed Thou wouldst help me get Angel away from that black-hearted stepfather of hers. My heart knows Thou hast placed this gold here. Let me be wise in what I do with it.
Chipping away at the stone, Jarrod uncovered the colorful vein. He scraped the granite, quartz, and copper out of the pit to form a heap that would fill a lard bucket twice over. He stared at the widening yellow streak and wondered how deep it ran.
“Chow time!” Pete yelled from Harv’s claim.
Jarrod crossed over to Harv’s claim and sat next to Angel. She handed him a steaming pie tin. “Harv already fed Mama some. She said Pete’s corn bread is so good, it’ll be served at the banquet table in heaven.”
“There’s a fine recommendation.” Jarrod took the food and frowned. “Your hands—”
“Washerwoman hands,” she interrupted in a matter-of-fact tone. “I have my hands in and out of water so much, it’s a miracle I haven’t sprouted gills.”
He wished he’d not said anything. The lye soap had her hands all red, and they’d been chapped already. Angel wasn’t a vain woman, but she surely didn’t need a man pointing out any of her flaws. He forced a chuckle, then took a taste of the corn bread and hummed his appreciation.
Secretly he kept thinking that the golden corn bread was disappearing fast, but the real gold of the day was just starting to make an appearance. That gold would buy Angel’s freedom.
Chapter 10
Jarrod had gone to town again. Angel would have loved to accompany him, but Ben refused to let her go. In fact, Ben wouldn’t listen to a word she said about supplies she wanted. He shouted that she’d spent far too much the last time she’d been in town, and he wasn’t breaking his back every day down at the creek so she could squander his gold on foolishness.
Angel barely kept from asking him about her gold—the gold she slaved to get from the cold creek’s bottom. He’d continued to take her findings each evening, and she’d seen him go through the hems of her skirts and her shoes before bedtime each night. He invariably muttered that she’d steal him blind if he didn’t check. It had gotten worse since the men who paid for laundry started giving her the pay instead of handing it to Ben. Ben thought he’d take it back, but she’d entrusted it all to Jarrod, and that only made Ben more livid.
The paltry sum she counted as her very own wouldn’t be much. She had no choice, though. Once Mama passed on, Angel knew she’d have to leave. Ben wouldn’t give her a cent or a blanket when she left, either. If she could scrape together enough, she’d send a telegraph back home to Uncle Blackie and ask him to wire her enough money to buy a ticket on the stage. She should have thought to see how much a room in the boardinghouse cost. She’d need to stay there at least a few days. A telegraph would be three dollars for ten words, but she had a grand total of $1.81. Perhaps she could convince the owner of Fancy Pans to hire her for the time she’d be in town. He’d seemed nice enough.
The thought of Mama dying wrenched Angel’s heart, but Mama often spoke of going home to be with Jesus and how happy the thought made her. Knowing Mama would be at peace softened Angel’s grief, but it didn’t take it away. On the other hand, the notion of leaving Ben filled Angel with nothing short of relief. Her mind skipped to Jarrod. He was rarely out of her thoughts these days. When she left, she’d be leaving Jarrod behind. The tremendous ache intensified inside of her—she’d lose Mama and Jarrod all at the same time.
At first, she’d been worried that Jarrod would strike gold and leave her behind when he went off to his dream ranch. He and Harv sometimes spoke aloud of ranching together—they’d make good partners. If they both left, she’d never survive here.
But now, she had come to the conclusion that even with them splitting the costs of buying a ranch, the men would have to stay at the creek for years—and Mama wasn’t going to last that long. The irony of Angel leaving the men instead hit her. She couldn’t laugh, though. The whole situation was just plain awful.
Jarrod had been wise to tell her to load up on supplies. Especially with the smokehouse full, she didn’t have to worry that Mama and she would go hungry. Even so, she would have enjoyed the opportunity to walk along the path to town, wander past the storefronts, and watch the rich panoply of folks in town. She might have been able to take in a shirt and sell it. Chances were good, she wouldn’t even reach town before she sold it—prospectors and placers were eager to stay on their claims. They’d be interested in bartering for a new shirt she’d made from some of the sacks she’d gotten in return for her produce and laundry.
Instead, she watched as Jarrod tied a small keg of sauerkraut to Beulah so he’d have something to barter. He’d set out at daybreak, and a terrible sense of loneliness lapped at her with every panful she swirled. From the day he’d come, Jarrod somehow managed to insert himself into her life—to extend his friendship, his help, comfort, and his strength. Just knowing she could look over and see him or call out if a problem arose had given her a sense of security.
Last night, he’d come over to spend a few minutes with her and Mama. He’d recited the fourth chapter of James. Some of the words spun in her mind over and over again in the same cadence as she revolved the pan. “God resisteth the proud, but giveth grace unto the humble. Submit yourselves therefore to God. Resist the devil, and he will flee from you. Draw nigh to God, and he will draw nigh to you…. Humble yourselves in the sight of the Lord, and he shall lift you up.” Humble yourselves…. Humble…
Lord, how much
more humble can I be? I try so hard not to sass my stepfather. My hands are chapped, and my hair is straggly, and I have nothing of value.
The pan held no gold whatsoever. She dumped it, scooped another panful, and continued to work. God, I think I have the humility part down. How about Your part where You give grace and lift me up?
Jarrod headed for the assay office. He wanted to be the first man there for the day. Along the way, he’d been stopped twice by thirsty, armed men who wanted the contents of his keg. They hadn’t accepted the explanation that it contained sauerkraut until he pried out the large cork stopper and gave them each a whiff. Disappointed, neither of the men were further interested in the keg when they discovered it held no spirits.
Hitching Beulah to the post outside the assay office, Jarrod whispered a prayer of thanks. He’d worried he’d not make it here with his precious load. To be sure, he doubted anyone had ever hefted a keg of sauerkraut into the place; but once he entered the office, pried off the lid, and pulled out the lard can, he said in the quietest tone possible, “This isn’t an ore sample with lots of rock. I believe it’s what the fables say leprechauns guard at the end of the rainbow.”
Sooner than Jarrod could sneeze, they’d locked the assay door and put up the CLOSED sign. He’d secretly hoped they’d do just that. If anyone discovered he’d struck gold, his life and dreams would be in danger…and the most important dream was for him to be able to sweep Angel away from here.
“Never had such a stinky sample.” The assay man wrinkled his nose. His expression changed to open-mouthed astonishment when he accepted the lard pail from Jarrod. The weight of it spoke of an appreciable load. He quickly thumbed off the lid.
Jarrod grinned. “I know you don’t normally let a fellow stay and watch, but it’ll take dynamite to make me leave.”
“Uh…yes, well…” The assay man choked, “Feel free to stay. Jimmy, forget the sledgehammer. Put this on the buckingboard and use the muller.”
Jarrod watched him take several crucibles from a shelf and cleared his throat. “I’ve also brought a coffee tin that’s full too.”
The clerk and the assay man exchanged startled looks.
Quirking them a grin, Jarrod offered, “If we get hungry while you work, we can always eat some of the sauerkraut. Best you ever tasted. My Angel made it.”
“Mister, if this turns out to be real, that angel of yours is going to be walking the streets of gold.”
“We’ll still want to do splits on this,” the assayer said as he pulled a device to the fore that would divide the pulverized gold into three separate sample splits.
“Don’t bother. When I leave, I’ll be giving away the claim, so I don’t need to establish an average yield or prove the ore is high grade.”
The assayer shook his head and put some of the pulverized gold into a crucible. He selected litharge as the flux and mixed it in to help the metal melt. The crucible went into the D-shaped upper door of the combination furnace and came out a half hour later. Carefully he poured the melt into pointed-bottom molds and whistled. “Hardly anything but color here.”
While that cooled, he filled several more crucibles.
Jarrod knew he had to stay on the far side of the counter, but he leaned forward to watch the assayer empty the molds and shatter away the glass-like slag to get to the metal that had sunk to the bottom. He placed the metal into heated bone ash cupels and placed them in the other door of the furnace. The litharge burned away, leaving nothing but the metal button-shaped dore. Once freed from the cupel, the dore was painstakingly weighed, then dipped in nitric acid to remove any silver. All that was left was gold—which, of all things, looked like a black button.
The dore was weighed again, and the assayer murmured, “You’re losing almost no weight here. Your sample is nearly pure gold.”
The clerk and assayer listed each dore, added up the weight, and independently calculated the value of Jarrod’s bonanza. They conferred and showed Jarrod their ciphering. “At $20.67 per Troy ounce, sir, you just struck it rich. Never saw anything like it. That is a vein of pure gold.”
“‘Tis a miracle. God put it there.” Jarrod shook his head. “I’m blessed.”
Angel tossed the hot potato from one hand to the other. Its warmth felt wonderful. Jarrod had brought back two gunnysacks of potatoes. “You’re going to have to dig that root cellar even bigger now.”
He grinned. “It’ll be worth it.”
Ben snorted. “Why bother? Weather’s turned. It’ll be cold enough to keep them in your cabin.”
Jarrod ignored him. “I sold the sauerkraut. Since the keg was yours, Harv, and Angel did all of the work with my cabbage, I reckoned we all ought to get something out of it.”
“Kraut’s not worth much.” Harv scratched the back of his neck.
“Worth plenty,” Ben said as he leaned forward. “How much didja git for me?”
“Winter’s coming.” Jarrod gave Angel a smile that warmed her heart every bit as much as the potato warmed her hands. “I brought back kerosene and wicks for our lanterns.”
Ben shot to his feet. “You had no right. Wasn’t your money to spend.”
“It was mine, and I’m delighted.” Angel looked up at her stepfather. “You’re in the tent with a lantern. Mama and I will need to use the other, so the extra kerosene—”
“This is your fault, Scotsman. Built that stupid shack, and now it’s costing me.”
Angel wanted to cry. Her stepfather was a miserable, selfish lout. Just yesterday, she’d seen him swipe the horehound candy, leaving none at all for Mama. Now he wanted to rob Mama of the comfort of a lamp.
Harv banged his plate on his knee. “Aw, pipe down, Ben. The way I see it, he did you a favor. Now you got an empty tent to work in all winter. Sure beats freezin’ outside like you done last winter.”
“This ain’t none of your business.”
Jarrod folded his arms across his chest. “The business was his, Angel’s, and mine. Harv helped raise the uppermost logs and roof. The deal didna involve you at all.”
“Forget dealin’ with the man, Jarrod.” Harv glowered at Ben. “He ate your taters and my venison, but he didn’t put a morsel on our plates. Something for nothing—and even that’s not good enough. Plain and simple, he’s a leech.”
Ben blustered, “Angel cooked that food!”
Jarrod nodded. “Aye, she did a fine job of it too. I doubt there’s a harder workin’ lass on the face of the earth. If you were her father, you’d have call to be proud.”
His words of praise made Angel’s heart sing. So did the fact that he stood up for her. Ben was the one who disavowed any blood tie to her. Jarrod simply underscored that now.
“Speaking of parents, Angel, is your mama feeling well enough for me to pay her my respects?”
“She’d love to have you visit.”
“Sickly old women and root cellars,” Ben sneered. “Never saw a man waste so much time.”
“What a man counts as important is between him and God.”
Two months later, Jarrod slipped the section of log back into place inside his cabin. He’d chiseled about a foot free, hollowed the core, and filled it with more gold. Once mortared in place, it made a perfect hiding place.
The vein of gold had narrowed to a mere thread, but he didn’t care at all. He had more than enough now to take Angel to a modest ranch and provide for her. God had blessed him with all he needed in a material sense. Lord, open the lass’s heart fully to Thee. The bloom of her love took a bad frost. Winter’s here, and yet Thou canst make a flower bloom at any time. Tend her spirit, and then let me tend her heart.
He put on his jacket and tromped through the snow to Angel’s cabin. “I chinked a few places between my logs and have extra mortar, Angel. Do you have a few areas that need a wee bit of attention?”
“You built it soundly, Jarrod.”
“But there are bound to be a few spots.” He walked around and dabbed a few places here and there. Angel accom
panied him, and he waited until Ben’s back was turned and handed her a bottle.
“Boveril?”
He nodded. “If you get snowed in, you and your mama can dilute it and heat it over the kerosene lamp to have beef soup.”
His eyes narrowed as her hands shook when she slipped the bottle into her skirt pocket.
“Lass, I’ve an early Christmas present for you. ‘Tisn’t much, but I’d rather you have it now. Come with me.”
“Jarrod! You don’t need to give me a thing!”
He ignored her protest and took hold of her elbow. As soon as they reached his cabin, he let go. She’d not come inside, and he’d not have it any other way. He ducked in and reappeared. “Close your eyes.”
A beguiling flush filled her cheeks as her lashes fluttered shut. “This isn’t right, Jarrod. I don’t have anything for you.”
“Hush.” He unfolded the fawn-colored cloak and draped it about her shoulders. The thick wool swept around her. He was sure the cloak would match the brown and golden shards in her eyes, as he fumbled to fasten the button at her throat. “Merry Christmas.”
Her eyes opened. A glistening of tears turned them into molten gold. “Jarrod, it’s so beautiful!”
“The woman who’s wearing it is beautiful.” He pulled up the hood and gently tucked strands of her soft hair inside the dark fur trim. “There.”
She slipped her hands out and clasped his. “Thank you.”
Pete wandered up. He chuckled. “Now will ya get a gander at that. Our Angel’s wearin’ new duds. I was in town yesterday. Came by to drop off a letter and pass on the word: Sunday, they’re holding a Christmas tent meeting. Circuit rider’s scheduled to be here.”
Jarrod’s heart jumped. He smiled down at Angel. “I’d be pleased to take you.”
“She ain’t going nowhere with you, Scotsman.” Ben’s bellow split the cold air. “Least of all to church!”
“I want you to go with Jarrod,” Mama said. “I’m giving you my permission.”
Treasured Christmas Brides Page 17