Sew in Love

by Debby Lee

  “I’ve given him liberty to call me Maggie,” she said, the lilt in her voice entrancing Ben as she spoke. “Since you’ve been so kind, Mr. Freethy, you may do the same.”

  He nodded and grinned. “If you’ll call me Ben.”

  Maggie’s mother didn’t share her enthusiasm. Instead, she gave him a deep look of concern. “Will we have to ride a mule?”

  “No,” he assured her. “I have a wagon.”

  “Well, thank the good Lord for that,” the woman declared.

  Maggie gave him a grateful smile that sent his emotions into a tailspin until second thoughts berated him. What are you doing? It’s best not to let yourself get involved.

  But he couldn’t very well leave the ladies on their own in this town. Not with more than three-quarters of these brazen, uncouth men starved for the mere sight of a woman, let alone the opportunity to gain one’s attention. He didn’t trust the fellows to keep their hands to themselves any more than he could trust them not to steal his gold—if he found any.

  Even now, scores of men were staring at them, ogling the beautiful reddish-blond locks framing Maggie’s face and her dainty floral bonnet tied with those incredibly feminine pink satin ribbons.

  Ben escorted the women and his young nephew to the wagon and mule team he’d left hitched to a nearby tree and prepared to swing by the riverfront to collect their trunks.

  “Gold Bar isn’t much but a mining camp about an hour and a half away,” he told them. “Once we get there, I’ll take you to the postmaster to inquire after Parnell’s personal belongings and see that you get a room at the hotel where you’ll at least have a safe place to spend the night.”

  After that he couldn’t make the women any more promises. For better or for worse, they’d be on their own.

  Chapter 2

  Ben glanced back over his shoulder at the two women seated behind him in the wagon to make sure they were all right. They’d been quiet for almost two-thirds of the trip, most likely mourning the loss of Maggie’s cousin and contemplating what they would do when they reached Gold Bar. He didn’t know what he’d do in their situation.

  His chest tightened as he recalled the day he and his sister lost their parents. Ben had been eight years old, six years behind his sister, Lucinda, when an aunt came to take them back to her ranch in Vermont. Ma had become weakened with the influenza first, then shortly after, Pa got sick too. The doctors did what they could, but ultimately Ben’s parents passed away within hours of each other.

  He glanced over at his nephew sitting on the front seat of the wagon beside him, who had just lost his parents, killed in an overturned wagon accident. One of them, Ben’s own dear sister, Lucinda. A deep pang of regret hit him hard. Now with the rest of their family gone, he would look after her son, like she had helped look after him while growing up.

  The back of his throat grew tight just thinking about it. Would he be a good father figure to the boy? At the very least, a good uncle?

  It seemed to him there was too much sorrow sitting in the wagon with them this day. Maggie and her mother had started sniffling, and Ben decided that if they were going to make it to Gold Bar without their tears flooding the floorboards, he had to do something to lighten the mood. Perhaps a little conversation would cheer everyone up?

  He cleared his throat and turned to take another glance at Maggie. Having not seen many marriageable young women this past year under the age of thirty, his blood quickened at the sight of her and it took him a moment to find his voice. “Are—are you originally from Boston, Maggie?”

  She shook her head. “No, as I’m sure you can tell from my accent, my family is from Ireland. We came to the States twelve years ago when I was naught but a wee girl and settled in New York.”

  “I trust your journey to California aboard the Cordova was satisfactory?”

  “As well as can be expected.”

  From her good-natured tone, Ben would have believed her experience upon the sailing vessel to have been almost pleasant, except for the subtle twitch of her lips that suggested otherwise.

  Beside him, Phillip scowled. “Thunderstorms. High winds. Rough seas. Especially around Cape Horn.”

  “At least we did not lack for food,” Maggie countered.

  His young nephew wrinkled his nose. “Yeah, if you like mold and maggots.”

  “And we slept well,” Maggie added.

  The boy let out a small laugh. “When the rats weren’t nibbling on our toes.”

  Ben couldn’t be sure if he was hearing tall tales or the truth. “Rats?”

  “Yes.” Phillip’s eyes widened with excitement. “Great big ones with tails as long as—”

  “Our accommodations could have been slightly better,” Maggie hurriedly admitted, cutting him off.

  Phillip leaned toward Ben, his expression earnest, and confided, “You’ve never seen such sorry conditions.”

  “Now mind your manners, Phillip,” Maggie admonished. “Remember what I told you about complaining?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Phillip conceded. “‘Always look for the positive in every situation, and thank the good Lord that things are not worse.’”

  Maggie nodded her approval and slipped the boy a smile, one that lit her eyes with a radiant sparkle and stole every ounce of breath from Ben’s lungs. Although he had not seen many women this past year when living in the gold mining camp, he was certain of one thing—he had never seen a woman as beautiful as Maggie when she smiled.

  She turned her gaze back to him. “How did you come to California, Ben?”

  He grinned, the sound of his name on her lips more alluring than he ever could have imagined. “Signed on with a wagon train west from Missouri last year. Took us four months along the California Trail. When we arrived in August, we learned the rumors claiming James W. Marshall had found gold at Sutter’s Mill were true. Most of my party came out to homestead, myself included, but once we heard the tales of twenty-dollar nuggets just lying around in the streambeds waiting to be picked up, we all headed straight for the mining camps along the rivers.”

  “Have you found much gold?” Maggie asked, her eyes rapt with attention.

  “Not enough,” he admitted. “At least not yet.”

  “And who will watch over Phillip while you pan for gold?” she asked, curiosity in her voice. “Your wife?”

  Ben met her gaze. “I’m not married.”

  “Oh. Well.” Her cheeks grew nearly as pink as her ribbons. “Surely you will place him in school?”

  He hesitated, not wanting to earn her disapproval, then slowly shook his head. “There’s no school at the mining camp.”

  Maggie gasped. “But who will look after the boy’s education?”

  “I am now nine and a half,” Phillip said, lifting his chin. “I don’t need to go to school. I can pan for gold like Uncle Ben and get rich.”

  Maggie raised her brows. “And what would you do with such riches?”

  Ben watched his nephew’s gaze dart briefly toward him, and then he turned away and shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “A proper education might help you find out,” Maggie said, her voice firm.

  Ben knew she was right. “After I find enough gold, I’ll see to it the boy has a proper education,” he promised.

  “Then I wish God’s blessing upon you in your gold-panning endeavors,” Maggie said, her lilting voice once again filled with pleasant optimism. Then she craned her neck, looked past him, and frowned. “Ben,” she said, pointing and drawing his attention back to the road ahead. “Is that Gold Bar?”

  “Can’t be,” her mother said, her voice low. “It’s too small.”

  “It is,” Ben said, dismayed to have to be the bearer of bad news once again. “Gold Bar isn’t large enough to officially be called a town, at least not yet.”

  “But Mr. Freethy,” Mrs. McDermott protested. “All I see are tents.”

  “There are a few wooden buildings,” he assured her. “But tents are easier to pack up and tra
nsport to a new location—if there’s no gold.”

  “What about that wood shack over there in the trees?” Phillip asked, gesturing with a wave of his hand.

  Ben couldn’t lie. And the women would find out soon enough. “That belonged to Lewis Parnell.”

  Mrs. McDermott groaned. “Surely he didn’t live there.”

  “Of course not, Mother,” Maggie whispered. “’Tis merely a shed.”

  Phillip pointed. “The sign over the door says ‘Home Sweet Home.’”

  “The windows are broken,” Maggie protested. “There is a gaping hole in the roof, and—”

  “Rats!” Phillip exclaimed. “Did you just see that big brown one scurry through a slot in the side wall?”

  “This cannot be his only house, not the one he described to us in his letters,” Maggie said, her voice strained. “Because he found gold, enough to build another much bigger, better house, with a wraparound porch, and—” She broke off and gave Ben a questioning look. “Is this where our cousin lived?”

  Knowing how hard this must be for her, Ben couldn’t bring himself to answer, only nod.

  “What are we going to do?” Maggie asked, her voice weak.

  “‘Always look for the positive in every situation,’” Phillip said brightly. “‘And thank the good Lord that things are not worse.’”

  Ben brought the mule team to a stop in front of the camp entrance, spotted the crowd of rowdy, women-deprived men coming back from a long day at the river, and knew full well that—unfortunately—things were about to get worse.

  Gold Bar was nothing like Cousin Lewis had described. With only about two dozen filthy canvas tents lined up in two rows with a single earthen aisle between, and a few ramshackle buildings erected in the background, Maggie couldn’t help but wonder what he had been thinking when he’d invited them here. Had he been trying to paint a positive picture for her like she had tried to do for Phillip? As far as she could tell, the stone fire pit near the flagpole in the corner of the camp was the only means they had for cooking, and not only was there no school, but there didn’t appear to be a church for Sunday service either.

  They did have a small post office, an infirmary, and a bakery, which doubled as a hotel and boasted on its sign of having six rooms.

  With her stomach fluttering, Maggie hoped one of the rooms might be available for her and her mother that night. But what if they were all taken?

  Minding her skirts, she gave Ben her hand and allowed him to help her down from the wagon. Didn’t he promise he’d see to it they would have a safe place to sleep?

  She heard a chorus of boisterous male whoops and turned her head to see a half-dozen men carrying an assortment of shovels, pickaxes, and pans coming toward them, most likely returning to camp from a long day of panning for gold at the river. Upon seeing her, several of them stopped up short. Their mouths fell open. And they stared … just like the men she and her mother had encountered in both San Francisco and Sacramento.

  “Hey, Ben, what you got there?” a jovial, dark-bearded man called out. “Is that why you took the wagon today? To go pick yourself up a wife?”

  Ben grinned then shook his head. “She’s not mine.”

  The incoming men were already ogling her with their jaws hanging. Now upon hearing she might well indeed be single, they instantly straightened, some puffing out their chests, broad grins spreading across their dirt-splattered faces.

  As if Ben realized her vulnerable position, he quickly added, “Miss McDermott and her mother are cousins of Lewis Parnell.”

  The bearded man who had first spoken frowned. “Parnell?”

  One of the larger-bodied men in the back stepped forward, and Maggie could see the sandy-haired fellow was better dressed than his peers, wearing a clean white shirt rolled up at the elbows, as opposed to the others whose clothing was in dire need of washing and mending.

  The man’s gaze boldly slid over her, and then he let out a long, drawn-out appreciative whistle. “Too bad Parnell’s not here. My condolences, ladies.” Bowing, and sweeping his wide-brimmed straw hat off his head, he continued, “Hubert Elias Kendrick at your service. Perhaps I can be of assistance?”

  “No need, Hugh,” Ben said, stepping around to help Phillip and then Maggie’s mother also descend from the wagon.

  “Thank ye kindly, Mr. Freethy,” Maggie said softly. “I don’t know what we’d have done if ye hadn’t come along when ye did.”

  “Well, I’ll be,” another man exclaimed. “She’s Irish!”

  Maggie had been careful to keep her speech nearly impeccable until this point, but unfortunately, whenever she was nervous, her native accent invariably slipped out a wee bit more than usual. Ben looked at her with amused surprise, as did the other men, which made her feel even more conspicuous.

  The big, bold fellow named Kendrick laughed. “Looks like we struck gold, boys!”

  “Not gold. I’d say she’s got curls of sun-lit copper,” a round-bellied man drawled, then stepped closer. “Or would you say strawberry honey?”

  “Red gold,” said the lanky fellow to his left.

  Mr. Kendrick pulled the man back and stepped in front of him. “My, but have you ever seen such a pretty sight? I’ll give you five dollars for a lock of your hair, lass.”

  Her hair? Maggie gasped and reached up to tuck a loose curl safely back into the confines of her bonnet.

  “Ten dollars!” shouted another man.

  “Fifteen!” yelled a third, and the entire crowd broke into a clamor of highly inappropriate offers.

  Beside her, Maggie’s mother let out a soft cry, and Maggie pushed her and Phillip safely behind her. Had no one taught these wild, unruly men any manners? Was it the gold that had corrupted their senses? Like King Midas?

  Thank the Lord she had met Ben first. Once again acting as her protector, he stepped forward to place himself between her and the other men. “Sorry, boys, but the young lady and her fine golden tresses are not for sale.”

  “Says who?” Mr. Kendrick demanded. He raised a brow as if to challenge Ben. “Have you staked a claim on her?”

  As the two men stood nose to nose, Maggie could sense the rivalry between them and held her breath as Ben replied, “Let’s just say the lady doesn’t require your attention. Go back to your digging and try your luck there.”

  “Already did.” The glint in Mr. Kendrick’s eyes mocked him.

  “He found gold!” the round-bellied man shouted, grinning. “Got a fifty-dollar nugget by the look of it!”

  “Yeah, tomorrow it will be my turn,” boasted another.

  Mr. Kendrick held out his hand to show off his newly found treasure, and Maggie couldn’t help but peer around Ben to take a closer look.

  “That caught her attention,” Mr. Kendrick said, giving her a wink. “There’s nothing that money can’t buy … eventually.”

  The muscle along the side of Ben’s jaw jumped, confirming that these two men were most definitely not friends.

  “Congratulations on your find, Mr. Kendrick,” Maggie said, nodding toward the walnut-sized, coppery-golden rock in his hand.

  “Please,” he insisted. “Call me Hugh.”

  Maggie nodded. “Thank you. Now that I know your name, I will be able to tell the sheriff, so I may issue a complaint detailing your exceptionally rude behavior.”

  The other men laughed, and Hugh broke into a smile as if he thought her funny. “You won’t be finding a sheriff here in Gold Bar.”

  “He’s right,” Ben told her.

  “No sheriff?” Maggie frowned. “How do you keep law and order?”

  Hugh snickered. “We don’t.”

  “That’s not exactly true,” Ben assured her. “The majority rules when there’s a call to be made on certain matters.”

  Hugh laughed. “Of course, money has a great deal of influence.”

  “Not over me,” Maggie declared.

  The smug, egotistical man leveled his gaze on her. “We’ll see about that.”

>   The muscle along Ben’s jaw jumped again, and from the look in his eye, Maggie was certain Ben would like to punch him. Maggie balled her own fist and would have been sorely tempted to punch Hugh herself, but then she heard another man claim, “I’ll take her mother.”

  And when her mother swooned, at least ten men swooped in to catch her like a flock of vicious vultures.

  “Leave her alone!” Maggie cried.

  “I’ve got you, Mrs. McDermott,” Ben soothed, taking her mother’s arm and pulling her out of the hammock of hands that had kept her from falling to the ground.

  “Just trying to help, miss,” said one of the other men, and a clamor of echoing agreements erupted around them, until one voice rose above the others.

  A voice that was blessedly female.

  “Stand back, or you’ll get no bread from my bakery tonight,” said a large, bustling woman waving a large wooden spoon. “I’ll take it from here.”

  The men parted, but not before some received a few swats.

  A second woman, older and slightly stooped, with gray streaks in her hair, also rushed forward and growled under her breath, “Best we get her inside, away from those mongrels.”

  The larger woman with the spoon agreed. “Ben, can you help my Samuel carry her into the bakery?”

  Ben gave the woman and the dark-bearded man from the crowd a nod, then glanced around and tensed. “Where’s Phillip?”

  Maggie pulled the boy out from behind her. “Right here.”

  The taut, worried expression on Ben’s face relaxed as he spotted his nephew. Then he looked back at Maggie and gave her a half grin. “Seems like we keep needing to look out for one another this fine day.”

  “Yes,” she said, her cheeks warm as he held her gaze. “It certainly does.”

  Ben and Samuel helped guide the weakened Mrs. McDermott up the three wooden steps of the bakery. Samuel’s wife, Esther, opened the door then pointed her spoon toward a bench seat in the front of the shop by the window.

  “Sit her down, right there,” Esther directed.

  After Mrs. McDermott expressed her gratitude, Maggie, Phillip, Esther, and the stooped washerwoman, Agnes Henshaw, gathered around her to commiserate. At a loss of what else to do, Ben allowed Samuel to pull him off to the side.