Treasure Revealed, page 1
Copyright
ISBN 978-1-60260-286-1
Copyright © 2009 by Pamela Griffin. All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the permission of Truly Yours, an imprint of Barbour Publishing, Inc., PO Box 721, Uhrichsville, Ohio 44683.
All scripture quotations are taken from the King James Version of the Bible.
All of the characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events is purely coincidental.
Our mission is to publish and distribute inspirational products offering exceptional value and biblical encouragement to the masses.
One
Silverton, Nevada
1869
After all Clayton Burke had endured, the possibility of a scorpion sting or a sidewinder’s strike wouldn’t be half as painful as working with his scoundrel brother to locate their pa’s silver mine. Bad enough Derek should find a treasure like Penny for a wife. Seemed an unjust reward for absconding with Clay’s portion of the map and their half sister’s in what had been Pa’s only legacy to his offspring.
But then, life had never been fair.
Life hadn’t been fair to lure their pa away to abandon his family in his lust for wealth. It hadn’t been fair to flee from their ma and allow death to steal her before her time. And life sure wasn’t fair to force Clay and Derek back together in what must be the biggest mistake ever recorded.
Clay didn’t trust Derek’s sudden change of heart, didn’t trust anything about the man he hadn’t seen in over four years—ever since he’d ambled into town to visit their ma’s gravesite, boss Clay around and make living arrangements for him, then amble back out the following day.
Frowning, Clay rode southwest through scrub and brush, over high desert and barren valley in what his map portion revealed as the direction to the silver. At least his section contained the X. He figured the treasure shouldn’t be difficult to find, being as the only river running east to west that he’d heard of in these parts was the Humboldt. Both river and location covered his portion of map, and though he wasn’t sure of the distance, he should be able to find the mine without the other two-thirds to guide him. He hadn’t resorted to thievery to aid his goal. Unlike his snake of a brother, Derek.
Steam rose off Clay’s damp clothes, the cloudburst of earlier chased away by the sun that again blazed its habitual scorching rays. The rain shower—brief though it had been—had surprised Clay. From what little he’d experienced of this part of the West, the land didn’t receive its fair portion of cooling water from above. He supposed even nature played unfair. Or maybe it was God who doled out the elements unjustly. Clay winced. Had his ma been alive and able to hear his irreverent thoughts, she might have pulled him by his ear out to the woodshed, regardless that he’d just passed his twentieth year. He turned his attention to the south, then north. Only mile after mile of confounded rock and scrub and bluff. She’d have a hard time finding a tree, let alone a woodshed.
No sooner had the thought crossed his mind than what must have been a mirage materialized in the shimmering heat above the dirt again baked dry.
“What the. . .that’s impossible.”
Mystified by what he thought he saw, he rubbed bleary eyes, sure his inability to sleep the night before played tricks on his mind, with the intolerable heat as an ally. He brought his horse around and rode closer, but the mirage didn’t evaporate into the wavering air.
“Incredible.” He kicked his heels into the horse’s sides and took off at a pounding gallop toward a young woman staggering in his direction at least fifty feet ahead.
“Miss, are you all right?” he called out as he brought his horse to a swift halt near her and realized she was far from being well. Her straggled hair hung well below her shoulders, her blouse and skirt were torn, and a mix of black soot and dried mud covered her from head to toe. A vacant look swam in her tawny eyes, made even more startling by the smoke-black smudges that rimmed them.
His sudden appearance didn’t alarm her; she continued staring straight ahead, with no acknowledgement that she noticed him. Prickles raced along his spine at her unnatural behavior, as though he weren’t visible, and the most unsettling notion slipped through his mind that she was the ghost.
Both to rid himself of the absurd idea and to give her needed support, he dismounted and caught up to where she stumbled. He reached out to grasp her elbow. “Miss. . . ? You don’t look well. You should rest.”
“W–w–wa–ter. . . ,” she whispered, her voice as hoarse as sandpaper.
As though his touch robbed her strength, she folded, her eyes fluttering back in her head as they closed.
“Miss!”
Clay caught her in his arms before she hit dirt and lowered himself to the ground, holding her. Helpless, he looked around, hoping to find an answer in the empty valley. No one or nothing else explained her presence. It was as if she’d appeared out of the shimmering air, though of course that was impossible. Likely she’d emerged from beyond one of the nearby bluffs where he hadn’t been looking; they contained enough hollows and jagged edges to conceal a person.
She felt solid and warm, her body trembling against him—nothing ghostlike about her. Clay then noticed her hands, and his stomach clenched in horrified pity.
Black soot covered them, and serious burns had eaten away at her palms and fingers, leaving angry red blisters. He doubted she would ever regain good use of her hands. If she lived at all.
Ripping the knot from the rain-dampened kerchief around his throat, he gently patted her hands with it. She moaned but otherwise didn’t stir. He dribbled more water over her hands from the canteen at his hip then put it to her lips. She didn’t swallow or choke. The precious water streamed from her slack lips into her hair. She lay as one asleep, a tattered rag doll.
At a loss and desperate for direction, Clay held the pitiful creature, her head in his lap, and begged her to wake up. He stroked the ash-coated hair at her scalp. His fingers came in contact with a nasty lump on the side of her head, and he realized the groan he heard came from his own throat.
He should find her family. Surely they were close. As gently as he could, Clay tied the wet bandanna around her hands then lifted the poor woman onto his saddle and swung up behind her. Holding her slight body tight against him, he urged his horse forward. After scouting the area, he realized that he and the woman were the only two souls in the entire valley—and if he didn’t find the help she needed soon, he might be the only one left alive. He gave up looking for her kin and guided his horse in the direction he’d come as fast as he dared go in the heat so as not to kill the horse. His sister-in-law could help with her box of herbs and cure-alls. Silverton lay several hours southeast. With luck on his side, he could get there by nightfall.
The last thing Clay desired was to return to the hotel and face the rogue who called himself brother, but he wouldn’t risk a woman’s life due to years of ill feeling between himself and Derek.
Halfway to Silverton, he heard her groan and knew relief. She’d been so still and silent he’d been half afraid he was too late. He slowed his horse to a walk, bending close to speak with her.
“Miss?”
Her blackened eyelids didn’t flicker, and he wondered if he’d imagined her moan. If not for the slim thread of erratic thumps from her heart against his arm he’d think her already dead. An odd surge of protective emotion rose from his belly, choking his throat, and his eyes misted for the frail, broken stranger who rested against him, so childlike and helpless in his arms.
A prayer rose to his lips, from what source he didn’t know but imagined it was owing to his ma, who’d raised him to fear the Almighty. He held little hope of his prayer being answered but muttered it anyhow. “Please, God. Don’t let her die.”
At fifteen, he’d watched his ma take her final breath, the sight horrifying to behold. A light of peace had entered her eyes before she closed them for the last time, but not before Clay witnessed her misery for days on end, her wasted body writhing, agonized moans ripping through her croaky throat as she cried out for both her sons. Only Clay had been there, and it hadn’t been enough. It had never been enough.
He couldn’t—wouldn’t—be a helpless onlooker to another pointless death, this time to a woman so young she had yet to live.
After what seemed an eternity, Silverton appeared on the horizon, the mountains beyond. The small mining town stood washed in a silver glow as a full moon rose beyond canvas tents of establishments clustered along the town’s one street. He heard the warbling of a harmonica before he spotted Livvie sitting on a barrel outside the hotel. Thinking it odd his sister-in-law hadn’t ordered her daughter to bed by such a late hour, Clay started to call out, when Livvie spotted him. Her mouth dropped open, the moonlight making the whites of her eyes glow as they grew even bigger.
“Uncle Clay?”
“Go fetch your mama. Tell her to bring her remedy box, then ask Shorty to tend my horse.”
As though she’d lost her ability to hear, Penny’s girl continued to stare at the woman who lay like one dead against him.
“Hurry, Livvie!”
“Yes, sir!” She shot up from the ground and raced inside, dark braids bouncing against her back.
It was no easy task, dismounting while taking care that the woman didn’t plummet to the ground, but Clay
Penny raced outside with her remedy box. She hesitated in clear shock before continuing his way. “Whatever has happened?”
“I found her wandering in the wilderness as if she hadn’t a lick of sense. She keeled over before she could tell me anything.”
Penny blinked up at Clay as if her mind was a blank.
“Penny?” he urged.
She shook off whatever ailed her and took charge. “Take her to the cubicle Mr. Matthis gave. ’Tis private. Olivia, tell Linda I’m in need of her help, then go and ready yourself for bed like you should have done. We’ll sleep in the wagon tonight.”
“Mama!” Livvie complained.
“Now then, I’ll be hearin’ no more of your impertinence.” Her words were both soft and stern as she pressed the back of her hand against the woman’s forehead to check for fever. She had yet to see her hands still bound in the bandanna Clay had kept damp throughout their ride.
Livvie kicked at the dirt. “Aw, just when things was gettin’ exciting.” She disappeared into the hotel at the same time Derek’s tall form emerged. Livvie offered him a hug in passing, and he laid his hand against the back of her head. The brief contact made Clay’s insides churn. His excuse for a brother didn’t deserve a family, least of all a loving one.
Clay clenched his teeth, redirecting his attention to Penny. “Did I hear you say Linda’s back?”
“Aye. She arrived a little over an hour ago. Tonight must be a night for homecomings.”
Relieved his half sister hadn’t become a victim of the harsh land or the miners who’d claimed it, Clay opened his mouth to retort that he had no intention of remaining in Silverton any longer than necessary. Once he felt assured the desert waif he held in his arms would live, he planned to resume his journey in search of the mine. Before he could say so, Penny turned and hurried inside, first whispering to Derek, who nodded and moved away. Clay followed Penny, deciding further conversation should wait.
His sister-in-law guided him to the same room Linda had once used. Penny pulled back the muslin weighted by stones, and Clay walked ahead of her into the small cubicle, noticing Christa asleep on the ground in one corner. With care, he laid the inert woman on the largest of the thick hides. Silverton’s hotel hardly deserved so fine a name, but at least it provided shelter from the elements, and Jinx, the cook, often rustled up a good meal to fill a man’s belly. Even a hovel like this was preferable for the injured woman; thick canvas walls and roof helped shield from the hot days of unrelenting sun that baked a person dry and kept out the chills at night that were sometimes so cold he felt as if his very bones were shaking inside his skin.
The young woman trembled, and he wondered if it was due to the cold. He reached for another hide to cover her.
“No, Clay.” Penny stopped him. “You must leave while I see to her. Would you mind taking Christa?”
“Right.” Gently, he scooped up his sleeping niece, who nestled her head closer against his shoulder like a contented kitten. She yawned, her downy lashes slitting open. “Uncle Clay.” She gave him a drowsy smile and closed her eyes, her small arm sliding around his neck. Before he could beat a hasty retreat and give Penny the privacy needed, he remembered his cursory examination of the woman. “Her hands. Check her hands first.”
He pulled aside the muslin covering the door, his attention on Penny, and almost ran smack into Linda coming inside.
“Oh!” The redhead clasped a hand to her heart. “Clay. . .”
“Linda.” He hoped his uneasy grin and gentle utterance of her name told her what he didn’t have time to say.
She nodded with a smile, as if to assure him she understood his unspoken sentiment—that he’d never meant her harm and felt relieved to see her well. Added to that, the hundred and one other things he wished to discuss with his half sister.
Her eyes drifted down to the bundle Clay held, and a wistful smile touched her lips. “She’s precious. So tiny, like a little doll.”
Clay would have liked to talk further, but the little doll was beginning to fidget, and Clay didn’t think Penny would be too happy if they woke her with their conversation. From his short experience as an uncle, he knew how hard it was getting Christa back to sleep.
“I need to take her out to the wagon.”
“Of course.”
Clay left the hotel and strode to the spot where Derek kept the conveyance. Being careful not to wake her, he laid Christa on a blanket Penny kept on the floorboards. The tarpaulin remained intact, shielding the child from the elements, though he doubted they would get more rain. He smiled at his sleeping niece, a gentle and unfamiliar tug pulling his heart. Derek didn’t deserve this family, but since he’d taken on the responsibilities of two young ’uns and had bound himself in holy matrimony to their ma, Clay hoped Derek didn’t disappoint them as he had his own kin.
Clay stepped away from the wagon and headed back.
As though thoughts of the man conjured him up like an evil spell, Derek strode from the hotel entrance. Clay changed course but soon felt Derek’s staying hand on his shoulder.
“Clay—”
“We haven’t anything more to discuss. I just put Christa down in the wagon. Now leave me be.”
“We have a good deal to discuss yet.” Derek pulled Clay around to face him. Though his action wasn’t rough and no one stood nearby to witness it, Clay nevertheless grew livid. Derek treated him as if he were still a boy. “You can’t keep up this habit of running off before giving me a chance to set things right.”
“You ended any chance of that when you left with our maps to the silver,” Clay shot back in a fierce whisper.
Derek darted an anxious glance around the area. “I wish you’d keep quiet about that. Mark my words, one day someone’ll overhear, and that’ll be the end of Pa’s legacy for all of us.” He ran a hand through his unkempt hair, a few shades darker than Clay’s but just as thick and long. Penny had trimmed their hair before the wedding, but both men kept it touching the base of their necks, and both were now clean-shaven. The similarity in mannerisms rankled.
“You didn’t care how it affected us back then, me and Linda,” Clay argued. “You wanted the full pot. Wanted to rob us blind and take all of what was coming to us.”
“And I told you, I’m sorry. I scarce got a wink of sleep the entire time. I felt so ridden with guilt ’cause of all I’d done.” Derek’s jaw clenched, a sign of his frustration. “Can’t you let the past go? If you can’t forgive me for my sake, do it for Ma. She’d be sick at heart to have seen us in strife. You know all she wished for us was to live in harmony.”
“How dare you bring up Ma to me,” Clay seethed between clenched teeth, though he kept his voice low so as not to rouse interest should anyone exit one of the buildings. “You haven’t any place to talk about her or her desires! She begged you to come back in her letter, and you wouldn’t budge. The illness took her life, but you broke her heart long before that. She wanted you with her at the end, and you were just too selfish and stubborn to honor her dying wish.”
“We’ve been over all this before.” Derek’s eyes flashed a warning. “I couldn’t just up and leave my job. I was the one earning the money for her medicine and your keep, if you’ll recall. By the time I made it home, it was too late.”
“All just another passel of excuses. You could’ve been there had you wanted to. You could’ve found a way.”
Derek grabbed Clay’s other arm hard as if he might shake him, then relented, and threw both his arms loose from his hold. His action seemed born more from frustration than anger, though in the scant light, it was difficult to read his face. “I’ve made my fair share of mistakes, Clay. Never said otherwise. Plenty I wish I could take back. But I can’t, just like I can’t turn back the sun and change what’s already been. All I can do is promise I’ll do my part to change things for the better. It’s what Ma would’ve wanted.”
Clay glared at him. “Don’t give me any of your empty oaths. I’ve had enough to last a lifetime.” He turned on his heel, moved away, then whipped around again. “Oh, and just so there’s no misunderstanding—once I turned sixteen, I took a job at the mercantile. Old Mr. Dougherty let me bunk in the storeroom there. I never took one red cent of your money, not since I became old enough to get out from under Mrs. Harper’s stingy thumb. Anything I needed, I earned myself.”
