“I’ll just see to some business and come back for you,” Uncle Dale said. “Then we’ll go find your cousin Lou.”
Billie listed her head. By his tone, he was too eager to get rid of her. Fine Uncle. I’ll learn your game. “And then we are on a train to Boston.”
He handed her several coins. “Off you go,” he said, before sauntering up the packed-dirt main street.
Out of habit, she picked out the pennies and slipped them into a pocket within her reticule. She caught her bedraggled reflection in the window and tucked a stray hair under her bonnet. She sighed. Hopeless. It’s a good thing no one of importance could see her now.
Then she stepped up on the boardwalk, pretending she was going to the store, but as soon as her uncle was a reasonable distance away, she followed him. The only business they had in this godforsaken place was to find her cousin. Business that involved her side of the family, not his. There was nothing he needed to do alone. Except maybe gamble their train money away.
But instead of heading into a saloon, he stopped in front of the assayer’s office. Brushed off his pants. Looked up and down the street.
She pressed herself against the nearest wall.
The gold dust? If he was having his gold dust weighed, what did he care if she saw? She knew how much, or should she say how little, he’d collected on the way. Maybe he’d found more than he let on. Still, why would she care? Her father’s estate held more than enough funds to support her. Or it did.
Billie continued on up the boardwalk, half-heartedly examining the tea display in the small window panes of another general store. Once her uncle disappeared inside the assayer’s, she edged along the boardwalk, nodding politely to the folks she passed.
The assayer’s windows were dirty, preventing the curious from getting a look at the gold being weighed. She wiped a corner with her fingers, but the dirt was also caked on the inside. She could only make out muddled shapes indicating cabinets, a table, and a blurred image of her uncle standing before the counter.
Now what?
A boy across the street stared at her with a disapproving look. He wore the same outfit all the men seemed to be wearing in this out-of-the-way place: butternut trousers, dirty plaid shirt, and that awful style of prospector’s hat. He seemed more suited to a cowboy hat with his tan face and hard look. If he smiled, he might hope to be as handsome as Branson. This lad appeared a little older than she and obviously annoyed that she was trying to get a look inside the office. What was it to him?
Their eyes met, and his face shifted when he realized she caught him staring. He pulled his hat low over his face before slipping down an alley.
Billie laughed. Silly boys. They were the same no matter what city or town you were in. Curious about girls, but slightly scared of them. He was quite nice looking. Too bad she was only in town long enough to pass off the watch, politely spend time with the cousin, and, if she had to, spend a night in luxury at the hotel before catching the first train headed east.
Dismissing the incident, she turned her attention back to the dusty windows. She cupped her hands to block the light when the door banged open.
Uncle stormed out of the assay office fuming. “Too early,” he muttered.
When he saw Billie, he forced a smile on his face. “Good, there you are.” He said it like he’d been looking all over for her. “Let’s head out to cousin Lou’s place next. It’s back around that there mountain.”
Billie eyed said mountain. “The one where the road looks like it turns into a path? Are you sure that’s the one?”
“Yup. Your dad’s cousin never was one to live in town. From what I hear, cousin Lou is unusual. Doesn’t get along with people.”
“Couldn’t we send a messenger up?” The hotel down the street looked new and therefore filled with modern conveniences. Cousin Lou’s place, with barely a road leading to it, did not sound promising at all. Nor did Cousin Lou.
Uncle hopped off the boardwalk. “No time like the present.”
Billie reluctantly followed. She was pleased to finish their business but was beyond tired of trekking through the dusty mountains.
When she stepped off the boardwalk, she landed on a rock and wrenched her ankle. She took a careful step, hoping she hadn’t caused a sprain, but she stumbled. In dismay, she looked at her pretty little boots. She’d broken off the heel on the left foot. Figures. She should have worn her all-black mourning boots instead of letting her vanity get the best of her for her trip across country.
“That’s it,” she said, letting annoyance flood her voice. A girl could only take so much. “I’m buying myself a pair of western boots.” It would be penance for her vanity to give up her kid boots. Besides, she’d be willing to buy the ugliest pair in the general store if it meant she could trek out of this town faster.
Uncle Dale bent down to examine the damage. “I could drive a nail in there for cheaper,” he said. “Those boots are so pretty, why’d you want to wear anything else?”
“Two dollars should cover it,” Billie said, not budging an inch. “It is my money.”
“Country boots won’t match your city clothes,” he said. “I know how important it is for you ladies to coordinate.” He waved his hand up and down indicating her boots all the way up to her wide-brimmed hat.
Billie set her lips into a line and crossed her arms.
Reluctantly, her uncle led the way to the store.
As expected, the general store had little in the way of goods to attract a woman. Filled with canned beans, flour, and hardware implements, she wouldn’t be spending much time in here.
“What can I do for you today?” asked the shopkeeper. Dressed in a long white apron, he stood behind the glass counter near the candy jars. Lemon drops and licorice.
Uncle nodded at Billie. “She needs some sturdy shoes. Not these dainty heels the ladies like to wear to parties.”
The man nodded and indicated they meet him at the back of the store. He came around the long counter with two pairs of boots, not even remotely pretty. Billie tried not to make a face as she picked out the only pair of shoes small enough to fit her, likely made for a boy. Brown leather boots lacking all style and sophistication.
While her uncle chatted with the shopkeeper about the workings of the local mine, Billie slipped off her white leathers and put on the work boots. What would Holly and Jane say? Suzanne, with her head in books all day, probably wouldn’t mind, but the other two would refuse to be seen with her if she showed up in these clumpy boots. It didn’t matter out here. For now, she would willingly bow to practicality over beauty.
Billie wiggled her toes and took a few tentative steps around the store. Her heels pounded hollow taps on the wooden planks. Not bad. They were sturdy, only rubbed her ankles a little. They would get her up the mountain.
“I’ll take them.” She plopped her old shoes on the glass counter while the shopkeeper rang up her new boots.
“That’ll be three dollars, ninety-five.”
“Four dollars? For these?” She bent over lifting her skirts to show the plainer-than-plain footwear. That was almost as much as she’d spent on her designer boots.
“If you don’t want ’em, just say so,” said the shopkeeper, making a move to go back around the counter.
“No, I’ll take them.” Billie dropped her skirt and stood tall. When they got back to civilization, the first thing she would do is buy a decent pair of kid leathers and toss these into the charity barrel. She nodded to her uncle to pay the man.
Even more reluctantly, Uncle Dale pulled out the bills. Billie was not surprised to note the bulge in his wallet was significantly smaller than it should have been. Maybe her hunch about the gambling was right.
Uncle Dale grinned when he saw her looking at his wallet, and he quickly stuffed it back into his pocket. “Let’s go find that cousin of yours.”
Chapter 3
The hike up the far mountain led them through scratchy brush, and Billie was infinitely glad she�
��d changed into boys boots. She was also infinitely glad she’d convinced Uncle Dale to let her use the bathroom facilities at the new Copper Queen Hotel before setting out.
It had cost them a sit-down dinner of roast beef with mashed potatoes and gravy, which, after eating barely anything but pork and beans cooked on an open fire for the past two days, was the best meal she’d ever had.
China plates. Silverware. Cloth napkins.
She was in heaven.
It didn’t even bother her when that same disapproving boy walked by the window and saw her wolfing down her potatoes like she hadn’t eaten in a week. Although, she did slow down and daintily wipe the corners of her mouth to make a point to him before he walked on. That rude boy had nothing on Branson Hughes.
Besides, he was much too forward if he was trying to catch the eye of a strange girl twice in one day. Queen Victoria wasn’t in the grave yet two years, and already the Victorian age was changing. This may be the Wild West, but it didn’t mean she would act out of turn.
“Is it much farther?” Billie asked, stopping on the steep slope to catch her breath.
Uncle Dale pulled a small paper out of his pocket and consulted it before squinting at the mountainside. “We’re here.”
Billie stared at a pile of weathered lumber leaning against the mountain. It looked like any one of the abandoned and blown-over prospecting shacks they’d passed on their way to town. Beside the lumber, a large pile of rocks and rubble spilled down the mountain like the waste seen near a mine.
“Here, where?” She spun around, searching for a house. Surely there was a house. A cabin. A shack?
To her amazement, Uncle walked over to the wood and yanked off several boards, somehow uncovering a door. Without knocking, he strode in.
After several minutes, he poked his head back outside. “Aren’t you coming?”
“You’re serious?” she said. “Cousin Lou couldn’t possibly be in there.” Billie laced her tone with skepticism.
“You’re right. By the looks of the place Lou’s been gone a long time.”
All this way. All this time. For nothing. And Uncle didn’t seem too surprised or upset by it.
“We may as well spend the night,” he said, “Seeing as we’re family. I’m sure he won’t mind.”
Billie gaped while he continued pulling away the pile of graying boards. Here? She didn’t know what was worse—staying in this hovel or out in the open under the stars.
“Cousin Lou might not mind, but I do. The hotel in town is worthy of any I’ve ever visited. I’ll be quite happy there. By myself, if you want to stay here.” She looked back at the way they’d just come. Not much of a trail, but all she had to do was go downhill. Eventually she’d find the town, wouldn’t she?
“It’s not so bad,” Uncle Dale said. He sneezed. “It’s bigger than it looks, and a bit of shelter will keep the coyotes away.”
Billie shivered. The coyotes were out last night. Their howling was the creepiest, most spine-tingling sound she’d ever heard. It kept her up most of the night, trying to determine if they were moving closer or farther away. Uncle Dale, on the other hand, could sleep anywhere, anytime.
He yanked at more boards to reveal a small square-paned window, and then worked his way around the building. Before he was finished chipping away, the pile of wood revealed itself into the rough shape of a shack built right into the side of the mountain.
Well enough made for a rugged outdoorsman, perhaps, but nothing near what she required. She kept her arms crossed, foot jutted out.
“Come now, it only needs a woman’s touch. There’s a broom at the back wall; why don’t you have a go while I round up some firewood for our grub later?”
Grub. That about described Uncle’s cooking ability.
Gingerly, Billie stepped into the building. Her eyes took a moment to adjust, and then she saw something surprising. The one-room home was indeed a lot bigger than expected. From outside, the building looked the size of a closet, but Lou must have built into the mountain itself. Likely this was both his home and his claim. It was surprisingly tidy, albeit dusty. Of course, the markings of a prospector’s cabin were all over it. A pickax was secured to the wall, and empty buckets were placed near the door. The broom Billie needed leaned against the wall.
One corner was obviously supposed to be the kitchen with a large, shallow pan sitting on the counter as the sink, a step stool in front of it. Smooth wood cabinets matched the small table and one small chair. A low rocking chair was the only other place to sit. The size of the furnishings struck a chord in the back of her mind. Her father’s side of the family was known for its dwarfism. She wondered if her cousin Lou was a dwarf.
Opposite the kitchen, a single bed with a thin mattress had been shoved up against the wall. It was surprisingly free from the dust that coated every other surface. Hmm. Uncle can sleep there while I go back to the hotel.
Above the bed was another window. Unlike the standard square panes, this window was one large oval, the light blocked by wooden planks that Uncle hadn’t taken down yet. That was probably for the better. The more light that shone, the more dirt she’d spot.
A door at the back wall looked ominous, barred with an X of wood across it and a lock on the handle. Cousin Lou’s mining claim?
No amount of a woman’s touch could fix this.
She picked up the broom and started sweeping where Uncle had tracked in dust. At least her cousin had thought it worth the trouble to make a floor instead of leaving it dirt.
Uncle Dale came back in and started banging through the cabinets. “Nothing. Looks like Lou’s been gone awhile, maybe even left for good.” His voice sounded oddly satisfied.
“Then what are we doing here?” Billie stopped sweeping and leaned on the broom. “Let’s go back to town and get on the next train to Boston. Mother’ll be worried it’s taking us so long.”
Uncle looked like he was about to say something when his eyes widened ever so slightly.
“Wilhelmina, honey. I want you to freeze. Don’t. Move.” He slowly walked toward her, fingers outstretched, and his eyes on her shoulder. He’d used her proper name, so he wasn’t joking with her.
Her heartbeat raced. “What is it?” Her voice rose in panic, and it took all her concentration not to run wildly out the door. Rattlesnake? Black widow? She couldn’t hear or feel anything. Oh, what was wrong with this place? Why did people even live here?
Uncle Dale slowly advanced, hand up, and flicked her shoulder.
She screamed and ran for safety. Outside, she wiggled and shook with the creepy-crawly feeling. She heard her uncle stomping, killing whatever it was. She also thought she heard laughter, as if someone was enjoying her distress. Glancing nervously around, she examined the hills for bandits. Meanwhile, her uncle came out, sucking his thumb.
“Dang thing got me,” he said, spitting into the dirt.
“What was it?” Billie peered around him into the dark doorway. “Is it dead?”
“Yeah, it’s dead all right. Scorpion.”
She shivered again. “You need to see a doctor. Can you walk back into town?”
“I don’t need a doctor. Unless I get a bad reaction it’s not much worse than a bad bee sting.”
“We should go anyway. Find a place to stay in town in case you react.” She started walking back down the path, relieved she wouldn’t have to stay in that hovel.
“Billie, no,” he said in a soft voice. “Something I have to tell you. I haven’t got the money to stay in a hotel or book the train.”
She cocked her head, then turned slowly around. “What do you mean?” she said slowly. “The bank manager gave us money from my inheritance to get us back home. We had plenty.”
He cleared his throat. “Yes. Well. Yes.” He looked down at her boots, one of the last purchases they had made. With her money.
“Did you gamble it away?” She kept a steady tone, and with satisfaction she noted Uncle’s eyes widen in surprise. She’d surprised h
erself with her boldness.
“Some,” he admitted, “But that’s not the issue. The money is tied up in a local endeavor. We’ll have to wait it out. Stay in town a few days.”
Billie’s throat constricted. “But we’re not in town. We’re on the side of a mountain in a shack filled with scorpions.”
“One less scorpion, mind you,” he said with a grimace and held up his thumb.
“We can get more money. Talk to the bank manager.” Of all her worries, money had never been one of them.
“Just give me a few days. Please. It’s important. I want to prove to them that I can get the job done.”
Billie had never seen her uncle so sincere. Maybe he was trying to make an honest go of things. But it would be so easy for her to go down to the bank herself, explain who she was, and get the manager to contact her father’s people.
“What I’m doing is for your good. Yours and your mother’s. I don’t want to get either of your hopes up on this deal, so please trust me. Look. You just stay outside here while I clean out the place. All right?”
He ducked through the doorway and clattered around for a good twenty minutes. When Billie reluctantly ventured back into the shack, a miner’s lamp had been lit, and tools that used to be up on the walls lay scattered around the floor near the locked door. What was he up to?
He followed her gaze to the tools. “I’m not breaking into Lou’s mine. Just taking inventory. In case Cousin Lou has relinquished his claim. No point letting the family assets go to waste.” He shoved the tools to the wall. “No more scorpions. I double-checked.”
She nodded at the locked door. “Is that why you went to the assayer’s office?”
He cleared his throat. “Don’t you worry over these business matters. I’m handling it.”
Billie frowned. While she thought they were making a quick detour on the way to Boston, it seemed, for Uncle, this was his stop. Somehow, she’d find out why.
That night, uncle camped outside, giving Billie the privacy of the shack all to herself. He probably welcomed the wall between them since she’d not held back her irritation with him.
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