Heart of Gold (12 page)

After the closing strains of the amen, Alice touched his arm and softly said, “She would be a good choice.”

He glanced down at his sister. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Yes, you do.”

“She doesn’t think much of me, Alice.”

“You could change her mind.”

He offered the crook of his arm. “I doubt it.”

Alice glanced once more toward the organ. “Perhaps I can help. After all, she has agreed to spend a great deal of time with me and with Todd until . . . until she’s no longer needed.” She offered him a courageous smile.

It didn’t remove the sting from her words, the reminder that she was dying and there was nothing he could do to change it.

Together they left the church, complimenting the reverend on his sermon as they passed him in the narthex. Then they made their way slowly up the hillside toward home. Todd raced on ahead of them, eager to get home to play with Nugget.

“Stay in sight,” Alice called to him.

“I will, Ma.”

The boy was obedient. Matthew had to give him that. But he couldn’t fend for himself. He still needed looking after. Nine was young to be orphaned and living in a gold camp. He would need his uncle to make wise decisions regarding his care and upbringing. When Matthew returned to driving stage—and he would return to it—he’d have to know Todd was in good hands. If he was a wealthy man, he supposed he could send the boy off to a boarding school. But he wasn’t wealthy.

Wasn’t likely to ever be wealthy. Which brought him right back to his sister’s suggested solution: a wife.

When Shannon stepped outside the main doors of the church, she found Joe Burkette standing at the bottom of the steps. He smiled and tipped his hat when he saw her.

“Miss Adair.”

“Mr. Burkette.”

“A fine service. I told your father so already.”

So he was waiting for her and not her father. Once again, she felt a rush of pleasure.

“Might I walk you home?” he asked.

This was the second time in two days that Joe had made this offer.

Since her home was a mere stone’s throw from the church, it wasn’t as if she needed an escort, but it flattered her that he seemed intent on looking out for her.

“Civilization can come slowly to the camps,” Joe said as she took his arm and they began walking. “A fine minister like your father will go a long way toward bringing that to pass in Grand Coeur.”

Yesterday she’d cared only for the news he could share about what was happening in Virginia. But today she was growing more curious about the man. “What is it you do here, Mr. Burkette?”

“I own the livery stable.” He smiled as he leaned closer, his voice lowering, as if sharing a secret. “It has been my observation that those who provide goods and services to miners become far richer than the miners themselves. Of course, that doesn’t mean I don’t hope to strike it rich on my own claim.”

This surprised her. Mining for gold didn’t seem a gentlemanly profession, and Joe Burkette seemed a gentleman. But then, society was quite different here in the West, a truth she had best accept.

“Perhaps I might take you for a buggy ride tomorrow afternoon. I’d like to show you my mining claim, if you’re interested.”

The image of Alice Jackson and her son—along with Matthew Dubois—popped into Shannon’s mind. She’d seen them that morning, sitting in the last pew. That the effort to attend church had taken its toll upon Alice had been obvious to Shannon, as had Matthew’s concern for his sister. She supposed a man could not be all bad if he could care so much for his family. Perhaps she’d judged him too harshly when they first met. Her father seemed to believe so.

“Miss Adair?”

She shook her head, returning her attention to Joe Burkette. “It’s a kind invitation, sir, but I’m afraid I won’t be able to accept.” Reaching the parsonage, she released his arm. “You see, I’m helping to care for a member of our congregation who is ill. I shall be quite occupied most days with my nursing duties.”

“Then perhaps another time.” He sounded disgruntled, as if he wasn’t used to being refused.

She smiled, hoping to soften her refusal. “Yes, perhaps another time.”

Joe took a step back, tipped his hat again, and then wished her a good day before walking away.

How odd. She should have felt sharp disappointment that she couldn’t accept his invitation. It was ages and ages since a handsome young man—with all of his limbs intact—had called upon her. And Mr. Burkette was certainly both handsome and young. It also wasn’t as if she had no curiosity to see a mining claim. She did.

And yet she wasn’t disappointed.

Nor was it Joe’s image that lingered in her mind as she turned and entered the parsonage.

Dearest Katie,

I pray that you and your mother are doing well. I was informed yesterday that a major battle has taken place in Cold Harbor. I hope against hope that the news is wrong, that General Lee has not been pushed south as far as Spotsylvania. You promised you would write often, and I watch with anticipation for a letter from you so that I might know you are well and safe.

Father and I have been in Grand Coeur for two weeks. We have settled into the parsonage and have hired an Oriental woman, a Christian, to cook and clean for us. Her name is Sun Jie. Her husband, Wu Lok, owns the mercantile where we do most of our shopping. We were advised that he is the most honest merchant in town, and he seems to have the best prices as well. They live in a section of Grand Coeur known as Chinatown. I find myself quite fond of Sun Jie, and I am fascinated by her stories of China. In appearance, she looks to be no more than thirteen, but she is almost my own age.

In my last letter, I shared that I wasn’t sure what I would do with my time and that I missed helping Dr. Crenshaw. It seems that God was watching as I wrote those words, for He has sent me to care for a woman who is, according to the local physician, dying. Her name is Alice Jackson, and she is a widow with a nine-year-old son. Mrs. Jackson came to Grand Coeur soon after our own arrival to live with her brother. She told me she expects us to become good friends, but I do not see how that would be possible. She is a Unionist. Her husband was killed fighting for the Yankees. If he had not died before Benjamin, it could have been her husband who shot my fiancé. How can there be friendship between two women who support such different causes?

I also took an instant dislike to her brother. Mr. Dubois stated in our first conversation that he does not care who wins the war, that it makes little difference to him. Can you imagine? But Father does not seem bothered by this man’s point of view. In fact, I believe he thinks rather highly of Mr. Dubois. Heaven knows why.

A sudden image in her mind of Matthew caused Shannon to pause in her writing. It was tempting to describe him to her dear friend— tall, dark hair, blue eyes, firm jaw, broad shoulders, muscular arms, large hands. But why would she when he meant nothing to her? Better to think on someone who could mean something to her.

I have also made the acquaintance of a gentleman from North Carolina. His name is Joe Burkette, and he owns and operates the livery stable in Grand Coeur. His grandfather knew my grandparents. I believe he has taken an interest in me. Perhaps I shall write more about him in the future.

I will continue to watch for a letter from you. I pray that the tides will turn soon for the Confederacy
.

Your devoted friend,
Shannon Adair

11

“You don’t go wandering off today,” Matthew said to Todd as the boy finished the last of the hotcakes on his plate.

“I won’t.”

“Let your ma rest and listen to Miss Adair.”

“I will.”

“And keep Nugget out from underfoot.”

“All right.”

His words were his sister’s fault. Last week he’d been grateful for Shannon’s offer to help care for Alice, but he hadn’t worried if the boy would cause her any trouble. Now that the thought of marrying had taken hold of him, it seemed of paramount importance that Shannon like the boy, that she find him well behaved and obedient.

It might be better if Matthew worried more about her liking
him
.

A knock sounded at the front door.

“I’ll open it,” Todd said as he sprang up from his chair.

Matthew ran the fingers of one hand through his hair, then strode out of the kitchen at a slower pace than his nephew. Shannon was already standing in the entry hall when he got there. She didn’t glance his way as she removed the lightweight shawl from her shoulders and draped it over the coatrack near the door.

“Good morning, Miss Adair.”

Now she looked in his direction. “Good morning, Mr. Dubois.”

Then she leaned toward the boy, a smile bowing her mouth. “Good morning, Master Todd.”

“Mornin’.”

She straightened, her gaze returning to Matthew. “I hope Mrs.

Jackson had a good night.”

“She seems well rested,” he answered. “And her appetite was better this morning.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” She set her reticule on a nearby table. “Any special instructions for me?”

He shook his head.

“Then I shall go up to her.” She moved toward the staircase.

He tried to think of something more to say, but his mind had gone blank. He’d never given any thought to courting a woman before. He didn’t know the first thing about wooing and winning a wife.

“Miss Adair?”

She glanced back at him.

“I hope you know how much we appreciate your offer to help. We would be lost without you.”

In response, she gave him a brief nod. It would have been nice if she’d smiled at him the way she’d smiled at Todd.

Giving his head a mental shake, he set his hat on his head, said, “See you tonight,” to the boy, and left the house.

The town was coming to life as he made his way down the hillside toward the Wells, Fargo office. Merchants were opening the shops.

Miners were heading up into the hills. Dogs without masters left their sleeping places and began searching for food wherever they could steal or beg for it. A freight wagon lumbered its way along Main Street. Several saddle horses stood near hitching posts, snoozing while swishing their tails. On a morning like this, it was hard to believe gunfire could erupt right in the center of town or that one miner could murder another over a gold claim. Grand Coeur seemed almost bucolic.

When Matthew entered the office a short while later, he saw William behind the counter, helping a customer. Matthew removed his hat and hung it on a hook on the wall.

“We’ll get that telegram sent right away, Sheriff,” William said.

Curious to see the man who represented law and order in this gold camp, Matthew remained where he was—and was taken by surprise when the sheriff turned around. “Dickson?”

“As I live and breathe. Matt Dubois. It
is
you. I heard there was a new Wells, Fargo agent, but I didn’t believe it could be the same Dubois I knew. Had to come see for myself.”

Matthew laughed as the old friends moved toward each other. He clasped the sheriff ’s upper arms. “And I can’t believe it’s you, Jack. I heard you were shot dead in Virginia City a couple years back.”