Treasure Reborn, page 4
Sensing movement to his left, Derek glanced at the wagon and watched the woman and her girls flutter about their tasks, retrieving items from the back of the wagon. After a few minutes, he shifted onto his side, purposely keeping his back to them. He pulled down the brim of his hat, crossed his arms over his chest, and tucked his hands under his armpits. Forcing his gaze to remain on the horizon, he noted the changes in color as the clouds flamed rose-gold, deep blue and yellow, causing the distant mountain range south to appear almost black. The hairs on the back of his neck bristled. Sensing a trespasser into his solitude, he jerked his head around to look over his shoulder.
Olivia and Christa stood several feet away, staring at him. By the dying light, he noticed their round cheeks and chins stained with bright red. Each of them held a huge slab of some sort of berry pie in their hands.
Berry pie?
Christa raised the thick, messy chunk to her mouth and nibbled on more of the sweet.
Derek licked his lips, watching. “What brings you girls over here?” he asked gruffly.
“Mama said it would be okay if we come and ’pologize to you about scaring your horse yesterday,” Olivia said.
“Oh, she did, did she?”
“Uh-huh.” Christa gave one huge nod and smiled, revealing rose-colored teeth. “We forgot to after it happened and she said it would be polite and the right thing to do and that we didn’ have to wait till after supper ’cause the sun was goin’ down and she didn’ want us to trip over rocks in the dark or nothin’.”
He sighed. “Okay, you said your piece. No harm done; horse is fine. You girls better skedaddle on back to the wagon now.”
“Okay.” They exchanged looks then glanced at him. “G’night, Mr. Burke!”
The girls took off giggling, but Derek wasn’t smiling.
Three
On the opposite side of the wagon, shielded from Derek’s view, Penny added more bait to her trap, or rather an extra pinch of aromatic herbs to the remainder of rabbit stew. Thanks to Olivia’s skill with a slingshot, they wouldn’t go hungry; another boon for Penny if she could just do some convincing of that fact to the man bunked inside his bedroll downstream. She had hoped the pie she’d baked the night before when she’d been restless and couldn’t sleep would do the trick, but apparently it hadn’t. The girls had long ago returned from their undertaking—in the company only of each other.
Penny glanced up. The sky had taken on the color of dry slate, and the air had chilled enough to raise goose pimples on her arms. Knowing she must get some sleep soon if she wanted to be coherent in the morning, she fetched a blanket from the wagon. Dire times called for dire measures, or so her da had taught her.
Olivia and Christa lay inside the wagon, their stomachs filled, both girls exhausted from their first day of travel. The patchwork of hides her da had brought her, which she had stitched together to serve as a privacy curtain for the shanty, now covered her children, keeping them warm. Penny smiled, her heart twisting at the sweet picture of the two girls nestled together, each with an arm around the other, Christa’s forehead pressed against Olivia’s shoulder.
Her daughters meant everything to her; she would do what she must to ensure they remained safe. Last night, she’d packed the necessities important to start a new life, along with a few precious mementos, leaving behind what she couldn’t take. And with the girls’ aid this morning, she’d loaded the wagon directly after Derek’s departure. But as the day passed without sight of the drifter, she’d worried she might never catch up to him. She’d taken the creek to the river that flowed westward, thinking he would do the same. She’d planned to trail him without his knowledge—at least with the hope of his not discovering them right away, since she knew at some point he likely would—and hoped the sight of him ahead might aid in their safety should any undesirables catch sight of her lone wagon and consider it easy pickings. But after meeting up with him again and not receiving the brunt of a tongue-lashing—in fact, receiving no greeting, good or bad—another idea brewed in her mind.
She grabbed her quilt that covered her trunk and walked toward the kettle steaming over the fire, taking a stand a short distance from it. With steady motions, she waved the quilt beside it, forcing the white smoke that curled up from the black pot to waft eastward. She kept this up for what seemed an eternity but was doubtless only minutes. The spot between her shoulders began to ache.
“You tryin’ to make the fire bigger or tryin’ to put it out?”
She jumped at the sudden drawl of Derek’s voice coming from behind and whirled to face him. He stood several feet away, his stance casual, hands straddling his denim-clad hips.
“I, um. . .neither.” Penny shrugged. As an adult, she’d never told a lie and didn’t plan to start. Silence stretched between them while she held the patchwork quilt close and stared back, caught in the act like a barn cat with a fluffy chick dangling from its mouth.
“Okay, here’s how it’s gonna be,” he said at last. “You supply all my meals, starting now, and I’ll provide safe escort for you and your girls to Carson City.”
Relief made it seem as if a boulder had rolled off her shoulders. “Why, Mr. Burke, that does sound like a most practical plan.” She directed a hasty smile his way and hurried to fetch a clean tin plate before he could reconsider and withdraw the offer. With the ladle, she dished him up a generous portion of thick stew. “I’m glad you thought of it. ’Tis a grand idea and does work well for the lot of us.”
She approached and handed him his dinner. His fingers collided with the tops of hers. Penny gave a short gasp of surprise at the contact. But before she could pull her hands from his warm touch, since he didn’t seem in any hurry to move his own, the look in his now dusky blue eyes trapped her, holding her rooted to the ground. Motionless. Her heart, on the other hand, beat out a few swift thumps.
“Truth be told, ma’am,” he said, his voice so low it rumbled in his throat, “you had me lassoed with the pie.” He moved to take the tin of stew, and his mouth flickered at the corners in a lazy grin. “And I sure hope you have some left. Sending your girls out to me when I had nothing but old, dry pemmican, well now, you sure know how to hurt a man. That was pure torture, through and through.”
A bit flustered, she didn’t know whether to scold him for his roguish and rather familiar behavior or laugh at his dubious plight and discovery of her plan. The flames weren’t all that danced in his eyes.
Finding humor in the situation, she gave him an answering smile. “Well now, Mr. Burke, as a matter of fact, I do have a wee bit of pie I held back in the event I might need it.”
“Yeah.” He quirked his lips in an amused pucker. “I figured you just might.”
Unsure how to respond and still embarrassed that he’d gauged her plan, she moved to the wagon to collect the last two pieces of berry pie.
❧
As Derek led the Crawders along the trail the next day, he shook his head in self-mockery at the proposed arrangement. His mother had once told him a man named Esau gave up his birthright to his brother for a bowl of pottage. He supposed his situation couldn’t compare to Esau’s story, but the hunger that had gnawed at his belly had led Derek to surrender his privacy and delay his search for the mine, all to provide escort to the scheming Widow Crawder.
The woman was shrewd and as knowledgeable as any man—bold and confident, maybe overly so—in doing what she deemed necessary to steer things her way. His wry disgust with her obvious conniving eased a bit when he recalled her explanation the first night, after he’d caught her skulking near the barn. He couldn’t fault the woman for caring for her own and seeing to her girls’ welfare. How many years had he done the same for his family, using whatever measure seemed appropriate at the time? Too many to recount. Little good it had done, since Clay didn’t understand the meaning of the word gratitude.
Forcing his mind to the more recent past, Derek smirked with the memory of the Widow Crawder’s petite form wielding the cumbersome quilt and fanning the fragrant smoke from the stew in the direction of his camp. He’d finally been unable to resist the challenge and silently walked past her wagon, undetected; she’d been so intent on the fire. Moving to stand behind her, he’d watched her actions for some time. Once he spoke to alert her to his presence, he recalled her mortified expression after she’d spun to face him. Odd that his second inclination had been to relieve her mind. His first impulse, and fully what she deserved—to give her a heated earful for her obvious ploy to snare him as her guide as if he were some starving dog in dire need of a bone—he’d pushed aside. One look into those dark eyes swimming with a shamed sort of plea, and he’d decided to put her at ease.
He recalled her joining in his easy laughter and how her eyes sparkled. She really was a handsome woman, her eyes so soft a brown they reminded him of a doe and at times containing flecks of gold that shone in the firelight. Firelight that also brought out the red glowing in her hair. . .
No, he shouldn’t—wouldn’t—travel down such trails in his mind. The last thing he wanted was to be saddled with a woman, much less entertain even the idea of courting. The Widow Crawder pegged him right: He was a drifter with every intention of remaining unattached and free—“nomadic” she called it—and that suited him just fine. Derek the Nomad. He turned the name over in his mind, liking the sound of it. Once he claimed his fortune, he would become more of a traveling sheik, like they called those princes in Arabia. Or maybe he’d buy him a fancy outfit somewhere in a pretty little valley. Round him up some cattle and start his own ranch. . .
“Mr. Burke?”
Torn from his musings, he looked down to see Olivia, who’d come up to walk beside his horse. She’d tied a rope around her waist as a sash, and sticking out from within the hemp rested the slingshot to which he’d been a victim. Nope. Neither the spitfire known as Widow Crawder nor her two daring girls could be considered helpless by any stretch of the imagination. Reckless and foolish, yes—but not helpless.
“Whatcha need, Olivia?”
“You ever been to Carson City?” Her smile came easy. Both girls had been excited to wake near dawn and learn that Derek would be guiding them on their journey.
He looked toward the distant mesa of a wide plain they now traveled. “Can’t say that I have.”
“Never?” She seemed shocked.
“I’m not exactly from around these parts,” he admitted.
“So what makes you think we’re going in the right direction? Do you think the city’ll be big with lotsa people there? Mama said cities are suppose-ta be big—that’s why they call them cities. So how long do you think it’ll take to get there?”
He reckoned the inclination to talk about anything and nothing resided in all those of the female persuasion. “The river runs west. Carson City’s west. So we can’t go wrong by following this river.”
She gave him a doubtful glance.
“I rode through Virginia City years ago, so I do recall some things about this area. And I talked to a retired wagon master a few weeks past, saw a map or two.” Reminded of his own map, he ended the topic fast; he didn’t need her curiosity roused should he slip and make mention of his father’s questionable legacy. “The river empties into a sink—that much I know.” He glanced to the right at the ribbon of muddy water they followed. “It twists and turns along the way, and we’ll have to make some crossings, even travel a spell without water at some cutoffs, but we shouldn’t be dry for long.” He didn’t want to frighten her with mention of the long stretch of desert they would also need to cross.
She was quiet, seeming to concentrate on her moccasins and the path they took before looking up at him again. “So, you a miner like Mama said?”
“No.”
“Then how come you’re going to Carson City? Isn’t that where miners go? And why’d you go to Virginia City? Miners go there, too. Papa told me.”
He looked at her upturned face full of questions and chose to give a single answer. “I told your ma I’d help your family get to where she wanted to go, and that’s Carson City.”
“But why are you in these parts if you’re not a miner? Are you a cowboy? You don’t look like a cowboy. You ain’t got a lasso or spurs, though you do got guns. But near everyone in Silverton has those. I know, ’cause Papa took me with him to town when he went there.”
Snooping into others’ affairs must have passed from her ma down to her.
“You got the nosy mannerism, too?” He kept his tone mild. He didn’t mind young’uns so much, though he hadn’t been around many. But he didn’t think they were supposed to be so bold and speak their minds. Not from what he recollected of being a youth.
“Nosy mannerism?”
“You like to pry into matters that don’t concern you?”
She grinned wide. “I just like hearing the facts, like Mama does and like my grandda did. I miss him. He came to these parts and became a trapper like my great-grandfather. When there was lots of gold found in the streams, years before I was born, Grandda told me he went to look for it, too, but never found anything ’cept a wee bit of gold dust, and he came back ’cause he missed my grandma and Mama. Sometimes at night, I’d hear my papa talkin’ to Mama when they thought Christa and me was sleeping, and he talked about looking for silver like my uncle who lives in Carson City. But Papa said he didn’t think he’d make a good miner. He said all he wanted was his family, and he didn’t plan to go off anywhere and leave them behind like some miners do.” Olivia halted her prattle to pluck up some bright yellow wildflowers in a lone bunch near some rocks before running to catch up to his horse again. “So if you’re not mining for silver or gold, what’d you come to Nevada for, Mister?”
Derek had hoped she would cease firing questions once she’d been sidetracked by the flowers, and he felt his defenses rise, almost blocking out the pain her cheerful words had caused.
He scowled, pulling his hat farther down over his brow though the sun shone behind them. “Like I told your ma, I’m just passing through.”
“To California?”
“Olivia!” Her mother called from the wagon in back of them, likely needing her to clear the path ahead of small rocks or brush so the wagon wheels wouldn’t be impeded. The girl whipped around without another word and ran her way.
Derek blew out a thankful breath that the childish interrogation had ended. Between Olivia and her ma, he wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep his private matters private. He was determined the Widow Crawder not ferret out the truth of his affairs in trying to stake sole claim to his pa’s silver mine. From what he’d experienced of the dogged woman, she entertained no remorse in speaking her mind; nor, apparently, did her girls. He sensed the young widow would soundly condemn his methods, though she obviously possessed a blind eye when it came to her own. And he had no desire to hear her harp her disapproval clear to Carson City.
Four
Near sunset, Penny looked across their campfire and watched her silent escort wolf down his stew as if food hadn’t passed his lips in days. Thanks to the roots and plants she’d collected through the past year, drying and storing them in her herb box, she prided herself that her aromatic stew was better than palatable, and those herbs that she found fresh made her meals even better.
Derek received a fair portion for his troubles, and she would continue to provide his meals as arranged. Certainly what she offered was better than the pemmican he’d been eating. So the guilt that pricked her conscience made no sense. He’d entered the trade with his eyes open, letting her know she hadn’t tricked him one bit. She disapproved of deceit in any form. But lately, her motives were jumbled with confusion about what was truly right or wrong when it came to the safety of her girls.
Derek looked up, catching her gaze on him. Embarrassed, she turned her attention west toward the range of hills and the play of light and shadow as the sun dipped ever lower. It shed deep violet and rose over irregular-shaped rocks, turning them even more intense shades of the earth colors they bore.
“What do you aim on doing once you get to Carson City?” Derek asked, pulling her away from her appreciation of their surroundings. “I reckon a woman as clever as you must have some plan in mind.” He handed her his empty tin.
Without asking, Penny took it, ladling him a second helping of stew. She had learned in the short time they’d supped together that when he set his tin on the ground, he’d had his fill, and when he handed it to her, he required seconds. By the manner in which he regarded her, he clearly read her surprise that he should be the one to ask her a personal question—to be sure, that he should start a conversation at all.
He pursed his lips, and they flickered at the edges in a slow smile. “I imagine it’s none of my business,” he went on, “and I’m not one to go barging in where I’m unwanted. But since I took on this job as your guide, I can’t help but feel a mite responsible for you and your girls. I’ve never lived in Carson City, but I heard about its workings from others, and it’s no decent place for a lady and her two small daughters.”
He thought her a lady? She marveled, wondering how long it had been since someone had addressed her as such.
“Living in Carson City is nothing like living in the valley and dealin’ with a few ornery miners,” he added.
“I’m not going into this blind, Mr. Burke. I’m well aware of the evils involved, perhaps more so than most.” Her mother had lived with the stigma “half breed” and the prejudice that came with the name. Her da often told Penny her mother was proud and strong, a convert to Christianity, not allowing the narrow-mindedness of others to sully the person she’d known she was: beloved by God. Like her mother, Penny was determined to face head-on whatever conflicts came her way. Unlike her mother, she felt uncertain she could ever forgive those who brought them and realized she’d failed miserably.
Not all miners were ornery, but she couldn’t summon even a morsel of forgiveness toward those men who’d tried to drive her and her children off her land, and in a sense, had succeeded. That only intensified her guilt since her da taught her that God commanded everyone to forgive and that He’d forgiven all crimes men had wrongfully done to His Son. He, too, had been taunted and mocked, looked upon with revulsion. . .then beaten and hung upon a cross to die.
