The train chugged into the station with a wail and a whine of its brakes.
"Fox?" She laid her hand on his sleeve.
He turned his head. "Three days." He paused. "I'll miss you."
She almost smiled. It felt so good to hear him say that. She kissed his cheek. "I'll miss you, too."
"What do you mean you don't like it here?" Celeste signed, and then ate a bit of piecrust off her fork. She and Adam had taken a long walk and then stopped at her hotel for dinner in the dining room. Adam was on his second slice of apple-cranberry pie.
"I don't like it," Adam signed adamantly.
"Use words, please," she said gently. Adam's school mistress reported that he was speaking very well now, and needed only to be reminded to use his new-found voice.
"I don't like it here anymore." He spoke precisely, but still signed with his hands. His voice was low and guttural, but she understood every painstakingly pronounced word.
"Why? Isn't Miss Higgens kind to you?" She gave up signing and simply looked directly into his eyes so that he might read her lips. "She tells me you're her favorite student."
"I miss you," he grumbled, not bothering to sign.
She almost smiled, but knew he might have misconstrued her meaning. She didn't want him to think she was trivializing his homesickness. It was just that Celeste was so proud of her handsome son with his sandy blond hair and his brilliant blue eyes that resembled her father's.
When Adam had been small, the doctors had told her he would never learn to speak, that he was addlepated, and that she just ought to abandon him in an orphanage. But Celeste had refused to accept their diagnosis.
She had found Miss Higgen's school for the deaf, and Adam had learned to speak. He wasn't addlepated. He was a bright healthy young man. And his presence in her life was worth every agony she had ever suffered—every man she had ever bedded. Celeste didn't regret a single thing she had done since the night Gerald had raped her. The money she made provided Adam with the opportunity he had needed at the time. Now with her money from the silver mine she could slip into an acceptable place in society, and be the kind of mother her son would be proud of.
"I want to go with you." Adam set down his fork and stared at his plate. He was dressed in a pin-striped black suit she'd bought him yesterday. She only realized now that it was identical to the one—down to the wool hat—she'd had made for Fox in Carrington.
"I told you, Adam, there's no place in my shop." She had told him she was a merchant, that she sold ladies' dresses for a living. He thought his father was dead and that he had been a kind man. Celeste felt that there was no need for Adam to know the truth about his father. Ever. It would only harm him.
"I don't care where I have to sleep." He was becoming upset, so his spoken words were more difficult to understand. "I don't want to stay here anymore. I want to go with you."
"Shhhh," Celeste soothed as she slid her hand across the table to cover his.
The patrons at the next table, a man in a black suit and a woman with a feathered cap, glanced at them and then away.
Celeste glanced down at the pristine linen tablecloth and then at Adam. The candlelight twinkled off the red highlights in his hair—her mark on the beautiful child. "I don't know if that's possible."
Adam looked up from his pie plate. "Please, Mama?" he signed.
Celeste thought her heart would break.
She had convinced herself that Adam would be better off in boarding school, even if he was able to move to another school not specifically for deaf children. Even now. He would be better off with friends his own age, visiting their families on holidays. She was afraid she would taint his life with her past. What if someone who knew her from Kate's came along? She couldn't do that to Adam.
"Please," Adam whispered, his blue eyes beseeching.
She squeezed his hand. "I'll think about it. My situation has changed. I've . . . a new occupation, so there is a possibility," she heard herself say.
His eyes widened with interest. "Are you going to move? Would you have room for me? I could sleep on the floor, ma'am. Really I could."
He signed so quickly that she was having a difficult time following what he was saying.
"Wait. Wait," she said as she signed, laughing. "You're going too fast. Talk to me. I want to hear your handsome voice."
He repeated his questions, his speech remarkably good.
"Just give me some time," she said. "We can talk about it at Christmas."
"You're coming?" He ate a mouthful of his pie.
"Of course I'm coming for Christmas. We're going to have that plum pudding you love, and we're going to go skating, and we're going to the opera—"
"Op-er-a," he groaned.
Celeste laughed. "And if you're very good, I just might bring you a present."
He rose from his chair and walked around to hers to throw his little arms around her. "Oh, Mama, if you come for Christmas, that will be my present. I don't need any other presents but you."
Adam kissed her cheek, and she had to brush away her single tear with her fingertips.
Fox sat on the high stool, a row of figures in front of him. He stared at the numbers, knowing they would show that the productivity of the mine this week was excellent, but he didn't really see them.
Machinery clanged around him, and the pain in his head pulsed to the beat. He dropped his pen and lowered his head to his hands in frustration.
The mine was producing excellent silver ore. He was going to be rich again. He could buy that land in California and start the vineyard he had always dreamed of. So why wasn't he happy?
Celeste.
He hadn't wanted her to go to Denver. He had practically asked her not to. She had known he didn't want her to go, that he wanted her to stay here with him. But she'd gone anyway . . .
Fox ran his fingers through his hair and lifted his head. He stared blindly at the far wall of the equipment building. How could he have done this to himself again, damn it? How had he allowed himself to care so much?
He didn't know who Celeste went to see in Denver. As she had reminded him, it wasn't his business. But her gallivanting off was proof that he was right to be wary of her. Whores couldn't be trusted. They didn't have the capacity to love as other women did. His theory had been proved once, twice . . . now a third time with Celeste. If she really cared for him, she wouldn't have gone. She'd have stayed here and made the effort to be loyal to him. Of course she had never told him she loved him, so who was he kidding? No one but himself.
There was no future with Celeste here or anywhere else, and the sooner he accepted the fact, the better off he'd be. Where had he ever gotten the idea that he could have more from her than her laughter and her touch in his bed? He'd probably be better off to move on soon, to sell his half of the mine and get out of here. He didn't like the mining business anyway. With the cash now coming in from the silver ore, he could hire someone to begin looking for land in California. He could be gone by spring.
Fox stared at the column of figures again on the desk in front of him. They were in Celeste's perfect handwriting. He thought of her in Denver with a man, and anger bubbled up inside him. Anger was good. He could accept the anger. It was far easier to deal with than his breaking heart.
Chapter Twenty-one
Celeste stepped off the train in Carrington, disappointed that Fox wasn't there to greet her. Of course she hadn't really expected him to be here. It was midday; he was working at the mine. She'd not asked him to come. She didn't need his assistance to get home. She had only sent him her arrival time by telegraph as a courtesy—so he wouldn't be worried, not because she wanted him to be here.
She walked down the platform steps in her new black velvet redingote with its matching scotch cap and hair net trimmed in white aigrette. Adam had picked the gown out for her, and she had bought him a matching velvet coat. She'd been tempted to purchase the same coat for Fox, but she'd resisted—just another tie that bound.
Ce
leste held her leather valise tightly in her gloved hand.
"Take your bag, Miss Kennedy?" a miner on the street asked.
She shook her head. "No thank you," she said and kept walking. She didn't like the idea that everyone in this booming town knew who she was. Her visit with Adam and his plea made her long for anonymity. How was he ever going to live with her if everyone knew who she was, and what she had been before she struck silver? Even the manner in which she had acquired the land would be unacceptable in any decent circle of society.
Celeste knew she would have to move from Carrington, of course, but how far? Word of the MacPhearson lode was passing through the states and territories like a brushfire. Only two weeks ago another large vein had been hit half a mile south of the MacPhearson Fortune. The town was only going to grow larger, and her name become better known.
Celeste walked briskly down Peach Street, passing people she knew, nodding and smiling. She was thankful for the new black and gray wool cloak she'd purchased in Denver. The wind was cold and a few snowflakes drifted in the air. In the distance she saw the graveyard which had once been outside of town, but was now almost in the center of the growing town. She thought of the woman named Emma and felt a pang of sorrow.
The morning Celeste left for Denver, Fox had only given her a few details about the murder. The whore had been killed with a knife, tied and butchered like the others. She'd also been mutilated in some way. Fox refused outright to tell her the details. He said it made him sick to his stomach just thinking about it.
She smiled at the grim thought. Fox was as masculine a man as she had ever known, and yet there was a tenderness in him. He hadn't been hardened by his past as most men were. He seemed to feel deeper than other men and was less awkward in expressing those emotions.
She'd missed him while she was gone. She'd had a wonderful time with Adam, but damn Fox, she'd missed him. So much that it hurt.
As Celeste walked up the front steps to her porch, she sighed with frustration. What was she going to do? Adam wanted to live with her. She certainly couldn't bring him here. She couldn't bring him into a home where she was living in sin with a man.
But could she give up Fox for Adam? If she had to, she knew she could. The problem was, she didn't know what was the right thing to do. And she needed more money. She knew she could easily sell her half of the mine to Fox, or one of half a dozen other wealthy miners in town. But she had to bide her time. She needed to make sure that she had enough cash so that, with good investments, she'd never have to worry about money again. She didn't want to ever again be forced to sell her body to keep her child.
Celeste unlocked the front door and walked into the front foyer. The house was quiet. No one came to greet her, not even Silver.
She dropped her valise in the hallway and wandered to the kitchen, removing her bonnet as she walked. On the table she spotted a note; even from across the room, she recognized the handwriting. It was from Fox. He'd left her a note!
Anxiously, she picked it up.
C,
Gone to the mine. Back late.
No need for you to come.
F
Celeste frowned. She had hoped for something more personal. Was he still angry that she'd gone to Denver? Of course he was. No need for you to come. Was he saying he didn't want her?
She let go of the note, written on the back of one of her lists, and watched it flutter to the table. Fox couldn't tell her not to come to the mine. It was hers as much as his. This was exactly why she didn't need a husband. All they did was tell women where to go and how to think.
Husband?
She laughed aloud as she climbed the staircase. Her voice echoed off the tin ceiling overhead. Husband? Where on earth had that ridiculous thought come from?
"You're sure he struck a vein and not a little pay dirt?" Celeste questioned. She'd changed from her traveling clothes to a simple brown gown and men's boots and come directly to the mine. She couldn't tell if Fox was glad to see her, or angry with her. She guessed it was a little of both.
"Petey swears he heard one of Trevor's miners at Kate's say Trevor hit a vein."
"When was this?"
"The night you left." There was a certain accusatory edge to his voice. "I didn't hear about it until the following day."
The two sat perched side by side on a wooden crate that had been used to ship a piece of machinery overland. Celeste's serge skirt brushed Fox's dusty pants. Their elbows touched. Fox had made no attempt to kiss her when she'd arrived. He'd said nothing of a personal nature in an entire hour. He'd been all business, and though she wanted to hear what was happening at the mine, she wished he'd say something about her, about them. Even if it was only to admit that he was mad that she'd gone to Denver. Something. Anything was better that this coolness that she couldn't shake despite the heat of the cast-iron stove in the middle of the room.
"Did he say where the vein was hit?" Celeste asked, trying to concentrate on the mine's problems rather than her own.
"His south wall."
She clasped her hands in her lap and stared at the light wool fingerless mitts she wore. "Right where our claim butts against his."
"You're on the mark," Fox said grimly.
He hadn't shaved in a day or two and he looked tired. Celeste wondered if he was roaming the streets at night again. She hoped he had better sense. There was no need to make Sheriff Tate any more suspicious than he already was.
"So do you think he honestly struck silver on his own property, or is he encroaching on ours?"
Fox ran his fingers through his hair. "I don't know. My first impulse was just to ask him, but I didn't know if that was smart or not. Maybe we should wait and see what happens. Keep an eye on him." He lifted one shoulder. "I didn't want to do anything until I talked to you."
Celeste brushed her knuckles against the back of his hand. "Thanks. I appreciate your waiting for me to get back."
"The silver's as much yours as mine," he grumbled.
"I know. I'm just saying I appreciate the fact that you recognize that. Most men wouldn't."
He left his hand where it lay beside him, neither moving it away nor touching her. The tension between them was so thick in the air that Celeste thought she could hear it crackle.
"Fox, I'm sorry I had to go to Denver. I didn't mean to hurt you. But I had to go," she finished firmly.
"Whatever. As you said weeks ago, we don't owe each other anything."
The words sounded so cold coming out of his mouth. She wondered if they had sounded that way when she'd said them. What kind of coldhearted woman would say such a thing? Only a whore . . .
Celeste hung her head, suddenly feeling tired. She could feel a wall building between them, brick by brick, she just wasn't sure who was placing them there—her or him. Maybe it was better this way. Maybe this was part of the answer to her dilemma. If Fox left her, Adam would never know about him.
"So what do you want to do about Trevor? There's no way for us to know for sure if he's on his own land, and that north wall is the section of the tunnel we had to close off."
"Had to close off," Fox echoed, pacing.
"You don't think he could have had anything to do with that, do you?"
"I don't know. Seems like I don't know a hell of a lot these days. I suppose we should start repairing that tunnel and wait and watch."
Fox's pacing made her nervous. He made her want to pace as well. "Should we call Sheriff Tate?"
"Let's hold off." He hooked one thumb in the pocket of his denims. "He and I are not exactly the best of friends, and I understand that he and Trevor are."
She rose. "Agreed."
Fox shoved his hand into his pocket. "Guess I'll take a bucket down and see what needs to be done to the north tunnel to get it up and running. I'll get a crew on it as soon as possible." He walked away.
Celeste felt a tightening in her chest. Was this it? Were they drifting apart? Was this what Fox wanted? Was it what she wanted? "Hey," she called
after him. "Want some company?"
"Nan."
He didn't turn back to see the tear she brushed away.
Petey appeared at her side as Celeste pulled the door shut at the assayer's office on Pear Street. "Miss Kennedy?" He yanked off his battered felt hat.
"Pete." The look on his face frightened her. There was something wrong at the mine. "What is it? What's wrong?"
"Titus said for you to come quick. I'm to take ye in the wagon." He pointed to the horse and wagon tied to a hitching post.
She hurried toward the wagon, and Petey had to run to catch up with her. "What happened?" she demanded. "Not another accident?"
He grasped her arm and helped her climb onto the front wagon seat. "'Fraid so." He ran to the other side, unhitched the horse, and hoisted himself up beside her.
Celeste grasped the side of the wagon as it lurched backwards and then turned and lurched forward. "Where? Anyone killed? Injured?"
"It was a bad 'un. One man dead, Miss. Some broken legs. One poor hound gonna lose his arm."
"They'll need a physician. We have to find Doc Morris."
"Found 'im first. He went ahead in his own wagon whilst I came lookin' for you."
Celeste hung on tightly as they bumped over the rutted road, out of town and north toward MacPhearson's Fortune. She gripped the side of the wagon so tightly that she could feel her knuckles go numb. Petey hadn't said anything about Fox. Was he all right? Or was he the dead man, and Petey just didn't want to be the one who had to tell her?
The thought of Fox being killed was inconceivable. In the few short months that he'd lived with her in his father's house, he had become as much a part of her life as Adam, as vital to her as her own beating heart. It made her numb to think about him returning to California, but the idea that he might be dead turned her blood to ice.
"Pete?"
"Miss?" He stared straight ahead, the leather reins clasped in his hands.
"Mr. MacPhearson. You didn't mention him. Is he all right?"
When Petey didn't answer right away, she feared the worst. "No," she whispered, tears springing to her eyes. She wiped at them. She didn't want Petey to think she was a weak female. She'd worked hard for the respect of the miners who worked for her, and she couldn't afford to let them think her soft. Especially if Fox was gone . . .
Heaven in My Arms Page 22