Brides of Prairie Gold (21 page)

Digging her fingers into the soft fill dirt surrounding the box, she found the edge of the lid and, quivering with curiosity, cautiously eased it open.

"Oh, my heavens!"

Her fingers flew to her lips. Incredibly, she stared down at rows and rows of stacked gold coins. A veritable fortune glowed in the cloudy light of the approaching storm.

"There must be" Lifting one heavy stack in a shaking hand, she counted, then stared wide-eyed as she performed a swift calculation. There were four rows of ten stacks each, and fifteen coins in a stack. The box contained six hundred dollars.

She was rich.

Relief swamped her bones. Sitting down hard, her feet and skirts sprawled in front of her, she shook her head in disbelief and smothered a shout of sheer elation.

She was saved. Thank God, thank God!

No longer did she have to torment herself with thoughts of suicide, or make herself ill worrying about losing another ox, or begrudge each mouthful of food. If Mr. Clampet wasn't the town's wealthiest and most prominent citizen, she wouldn't have to marry him; she could purchase her freedom. She could buy eggs when next they became available. She could purchase fresh meat for the stew pot and a new tent, and sunbonnets and lip salve. She could send Cora home and hire a new girl if she chose. Finally, she would be able to sleep and stop wandering around the campsite in the middle of the night. She could pack away the headache powders.

Leaning forward over her knees, Augusta covered her face with both hands and swallowed back a surge of hysterical tears. This was a miracle.

But when she reached greedy hands into the box to gather the heavy coins, she suddenly halted and drew a sharp breath. What if the Eagglestons were traveling west to meet someone? What if someone knew about this money and was waiting to receive it? Rightfully, the money belonged to the Eaggleston heirs.

But she had found it. If she hadn't tripped over the lid, the money would have been lost forever.

Still this money did not belong to her. Surely Cody Snow would know how to locate the Eagglestons' heirs.

But if she gave the box to Snow, then the half-breed would learn about the money and steal it for himself. Everyone knew Indians were thieves. And what did she really know about Cody Snow? Maybe he would just keep the money. She stared at the coins and considered various outcomes.

Whether she welcomed the responsibility or not, she could see that it was her Christian duty to protect the poor Eagglestons' money. Clearly, the safest way to do that was to tell no one of her discovery. She would conduct her own search for heirs and when she found them, if they existed at all, she would be proud to inform them that she had saved their inheritance from plunder.

Yes, that was exactly the proper course.

Having settled the matter, and having determined the box was too heavy to carry, she eagerly dug her hands inside and pulled up the coins, pushing them into her gloves and down the front of her bodice. When her gloves were stuffed, she ran back to her wagon, climbed inside, and frantically looked for a safe place to hide the coins. For the moment her hatbox would have to do. After emptying the coins into the crown of her best Sunday hat, she dropped out of the wagon and hurried back to fetch another load.

On her second trip to the wagon, she experienced a bad scare. Glancing up, she spotted Cora standing in the opening of Winnie's wagon, observing her with a puzzled expression.

For one paralyzing instant, Augusta felt a stabbing jolt of guilt, as if Cora had caught her in the act of doing something shameful and wrong.

She stood frozen, a furtive look pinching her face, until she realized that her actions would not make sense to Cora. Cora could not see the buried box of coins. All she saw was Augusta clutching two lumpy gloves that might have been filled with pebbles, for all Cora knew.

The realization released her and she glared, then hurried to empty the second batch of coins into her hatbox before she rushed back to the cache for another load.

Who would have guessed that Cora would volunteer to sit with Winnie Larson while the others attended the service? Or that she would chance to look out the back of the wagon at the very moment when Augusta was rushing the coins to her hatbox? She worried, then decided it didn't matter. Even if Cora was smart enough to conclude that something momentous had occurred, she would never guess the staggering truth.

The hymn died on the breeze as Augusta dug into the buried box and stuffed coins into her gloves. She heard Cody Snow's deep voice rumbling a hasty prayer and understood she wouldn't have time to gather all the money.

For the first time in her ladylike life, Augusta Josepha Boyd swore. Hearing the sounds of voices returning from the grave sites, she slapped down the lid of the cache and jumped to her feet, kicking dirt over the lid. Hiding the stuffed gloves in the folds of her pelisse, she walked around the Eagglestons' wagon and fell in with the others as if she had been with them from the beginning. Perrin threw her a cold stare and Bootie lifted an eyebrow, but no one else seemed to realize she had been absent from the grave site.

There was enough time to empty the coins into the hatbox before Cora's head appeared in the oval of canvas.

"Oh! You startled me." She pressed a bare dirty hand to her throat and inhaled deeply. "How many time must I tell you not to creep up on people?"

"What on earth were you doing out there?"

"Can't a lady relieve herself without having to make an account of it?" she snapped. Cora's disbelieving silence plucked at her nerves. "Really, Cora. Shouldn't you be in the driver's seat? Mr. Snow will be wanting to get under way immediately."

Cora's sharp eyes slowly inspected the interior of the wagon bed. "Ain't you coming?"

"I have a fierce headache. I believe I'll put down some blankets and try to rest back here."

Cora's gaze settled on one of the gold coins that had fallen to the planks. She nodded slowly. "Whatever you say."

"Exactly," Augusta answered sharply. Bending, she curled her fingers around the coin. "How careless of me. Now, where did I put my purse?"

"It's in the canvas pocket above the sourdough jar. Where it always is."

Augusta stiffened. "How curious that you would know that."

Cora rolled her eyes. "Like I ain't turned this wagon out countless times, then repacked it on the other side of a gully or a stream or a deep draw."

Cora disappeared from view and in a moment Augusta heard her skirts flapping as she passed along the side of the wagon. Another minute elapsed, then she heard Cora shout, "Gee haw! Giddap, you lazy beasts!" The wagon lurched forward and turned into a long curve that would take them back to the trail. The first fat splats of rain struck the canvas above Augusta's head.

Cora peeked inside, then pulled the front drawstring to close out the rain. Augusta did the same at the back flap. The rain was a stroke of luck, she thought. Now she didn't have to worry about Cora spying on her.

Kneeling, she fumbled in the dim light for the hatbox and pulled it to the rocking floor. Wind buffeted the canvas, and the light was watery inside the closed wagon. But what light filtered inside glowed on the pile of gold coins filling the crown of her best Sunday hat.

For a long moment, she simply stared. Then, reaching a trembling hand, she counted the coins. There were two hundred and sixty-two gold pieces. Which, added to the money in her purse, elevated her fortune to two hundred and ninety-two dollars.

Stuffing a fist in her mouth, she smothered a shout of jubilation. Had there been more space, she would have leaped to her feet and danced with joy. She felt an insane urge to split open a sack of sugar and fling handfuls out of the back of the wagon simply because now she could buy more.

Sitting on the floor of the wagon, unaware of the rain pelting the canvas, oblivious to the sway and jolt of the wheels, she gazed down at the coins in her lap and burst into tears.

At that moment Augusta couldn't have said whether she wept with gratitude for the coins filling her lap, or with regret for the coins she had been forced to leave behind.

On Thursday they camped near other trains at the base of Chimney Rock, one of the trail's most famous landmarks. Soaring Chimney Rock, and the formations at its base, had become the great guest book of the plains. Travelers carved their initials or names on the rocks, and left messages with a former trapper who charged a nickel to pin a note to his communication board.

After milking Hilda's cow and scouring out the breakfast skillet, Perrin washed at the rain barrel, then combed the dust out of her hair before pinning it in a knot above her collar. She chose her second-best bonnet, the one adorned with silk roses, and since the day was bright and warm, she wore a lightweight paisley fringed shawl.

"Are you ready to go?" she called to Hilda, excited by the prospect of an excursion and the novelty of new faces from the other trains. Also, Cody had told her people used this gathering spot to sell items they had discovered were too heavy to continue transporting or that they had decided they didn't want. There would be lemonade, and possibly pemmican, which everyone wanted to sample. Chimney Rock offered an atmosphere and turmoil as exciting as a country fair, and was as eagerly anticipated.

Hilda pushed their tent poles inside the wagon and dusted her hands across a gingham apron. She tucked a strand of blond hair beneath the braids crossing her head. "You go on ahead. I promised I'd wait for Winnie."

"Oh." Perrin leaned close to the mirror, hiding her disappointment. Hilda was friendly and cheerful, a good traveling companion, but she hadn't become a friend as Perrin had secretly hoped. The fact that Hilda was welcome anywhere in camp but Perrin was not, opened a subtle but wide rift between them.

Instinctively, she turned toward Mem's and Bootie's wagon, and considered asking Mem to accompany her to the Chimney Rock. But Mem had been uncharacteristically distant and withdrawn for several days.

For a moment Perrin wavered. Maybe she should just forgo a closer look at the Chimney Rock rather than subject herself to the awkwardness of going alone. She could, after all, see the Chimney Rock's tall, craggy profile from here.

But she would miss reading the names carved in the rock and posted on the old trapper's message board. She would miss the lemonade and browsing the array of items for sale.

Giving herself a shake, she straightened her shoulders and her backbone. She had been alone all of her life; why should today be different? After giving Hilda a wave, she set out on her own, lingering well behind the other brides, lest it appear that she hoped to join them. She knew better than to court rejection.

In the end, the discomfort of being unaccompanied was offset by the pleasure of the outing. Sipping cool sugary lemonade, made with real lemons instead of citric acid and a few drops of essence of lemon, Perrin strolled along a row of impromptu stalls, dubbed Heartbreak Alley. Here she inspected various wares, bought a jar of blackberry jam, and exchanged stories of the trail with a tired-looking woman standing behind a display of china lovingly set out on a blanket.

When a family appeared who seemed interested in buying the china, Perrin moved on to examine a long plank that was pinned edge to edge with hundreds of messages. Some were amusing, some were sad, all were interesting, a small glimpse into someone else's life, someone else's problems.

A blacksmith named Hank Berringer declared himself a wronged man and sought information about his runaway wife. A man from Illinois had lost a mule named Ornery and would wait a couple of days in Fort Laramie in case anyone found her. There were dozens of messages of encouragement from people traveling ahead of following relatives. It was impossible to read all of the papers fluttering on the pins.

"Mrs. Waverly?" Cora called to her from the opposite end of the board. "Can you read?" she asked when Perrin joined her. "Would you read this here message to me?"

Perrin leaned to the note Cora tapped, squinting to decipher crabbed misspelled handwriting. "'Urgent. Anyone with information concerning Mr. and Mrs. Edgar Eaggleston, post here. Will return in a week.'" The date at the bottom was Monday, two days previous. The message was unsigned.

Cora nodded sharply as if the message confirmed something she had been mulling in her mind, then she turned away from the board and scanned the crowds. Her thoughtful gaze settled on the folds of mauve silk banding Augusta's straw bonnet. "Interesting," she murmured.

"We should call this to Mr. Snow's attention so he can post a reply," Perrin commented. Then something occurred to her. "Cora, if you can't read, how did you chance to select a message about the Eagglestons from hundreds of others?"

"Someone else was reading this one and I wondered what was so upsetting about it," Cora replied absently, her gaze following Augusta's mauve ribbons along Heartbreak Alley.

Perrin watched too. Augusta moved from stall to stall, seemingly insensible to the stir her beauty caused. She didn't appear to be enjoying the day. A frown tugged her pale brow, and even from a distance she appeared distracted. When Ona touched her sleeve to catch her attention, she jumped and glared as if she'd been struck by a rattler.

Cora glanced over her shoulder at the message Perrin had read, then contemplated Augusta with a sulky expression. She seemed particularly interested in the net over Augusta's arm, filled with small items purchased from the desperate vendors along Heartbreak Alley. As if she'd forgotten Perrin, she moved into the crowd and in a minute was lost from sight.

Perrin lifted on tiptoe and scanned the throngs of people, searching for Mem's auburn hair or Bootie's fluttery little figure. She spotted one of the teamsters from the bride train, John Voss, she thought it was, who waved to her, and she noticed Sarah and Lucy waiting in line before the lemonade stand, but she didn't see Mem.

Mem would have been the perfect companion with whom to explore the rocks. Mem would have insisted they carve their names and would have made the event a great adventure.