Dreaming on Daisies (5 page)

Frances shook her head. “They do not think so, as the dynamite exploded when Steven should have been working, but he does visit the mines periodically as part of his business.”

Wilma nodded. “That isn’t the only reason. Turns out he’s been renting a one-room cabin on the mining site, since it’s close to the bank. There’s not much to be found in the way of housing in this town with all the new people flooding in the past year or two. That’s why Caleb and I are still at Katherine’s boardinghouse.” She clucked her tongue. “Rumor has it that several of the buildings blew up or burned.”

Virginia poked her needle into the fabric. “We need to turn our attention to doing what we can for those who might be injured. Some of our fabric could be used for bandages if necessary.”

“I agree,” Wilma added. “Let’s put a few rolls together, and we can drop them by the doctor’s office on our way back home.”

Voices rose in assent, and the quilt frame was pushed to the side as some of the women dug through the boxes of fabric to find remnants long enough to be of help.

Ella lifted Missy to her shoulder and patted her back. “Gracious sakes! Where is that poor Mr. Harding goin’ to live? Since his sister and mother stay at your place, I suppose it would be sensible for him to come there. Do you have room, Katherine?”

“I’m afraid not. We’re full right now and, with the baby coming, Micah thinks we shouldn’t rent to anyone new if a room becomes available. His business is doing well, and we’d both like to spend more time with the children. And I’ll admit, taking on additional laundry and cooking is more than I can tolerate right now.”

Wilma nodded. “I agree. You’ve been doing entirely too much since Beth and I arrived, and you ought to rest. I practically forced you to let us stay, and it’s high time that changed. In fact, Caleb and I will look for a home of our own. That would ease your burden somewhat, wouldn’t it?”

Frances drew herself up as tall as her short stature would allow and glared at her friend. “Balderdash. You will do no such thing, Wilma Marshall. If anyone leaves, it will be me. I came without so much as a by-your-leave. Besides, that would leave room for poor Mr. Harding, and he could be near his mother and sister.”

Leah glanced from one distraught face to another. Katherine’s distress was evident, and Leah hurt for the two older women trying so valiantly to fix what they perceived as a personal dilemma.

She placed one hand on Frances’s shoulder and the other on Wilma’s shoulder. “Ladies, I can’t speak for Katherine, but from what I’ve seen, you’re both a wonderful help.” She narrowed her eyes and thought. “As for Mr. Harding, I suggest we pray that God opens the perfect place for him, if he has indeed lost his home.”

“Wise words, my dear,” Virginia said. “It doesn’t pay to rush in when emotions are high and try to make decisions. Things tend to work out with time and prayer, as well as a bit of patience.” She held out her hands to Hester Sue and Ella. “The quilt can wait a few more minutes. There may be others at the mining camp who are injured or without homes. Let’s ask the Lord if there’s anything more we can do.”

Leah started at the words. She’d meant it when she’d said they should pray that God would meet Mr. Harding’s needs, but not once had it occurred to her that any of them should offer assistance. Her heart sank at the thought. Surely Virginia wasn’t hinting that God would expect
her
to do anything in the way of offering the man a home?

The women knew she had plenty of room in the bunkhouse, but the last thing she wanted was a greenhorn city man getting in her way, even if he was one of the most handsome men she’d ever laid her eyes on. In fact, that was even more of a reason to keep out of his way. She’d never get enough work done with a man like that underfoot.

Chapter Five

Hours after the blast, Steven stared at the ruins of his home, steeling himself against the rising discouragement. The smoldering cabin had been too hot to deal with after the explosion, so he’d gone back to work for a while. When he returned, he was armed with a shovel and work clothes Jeffery had loaned him. Tendrils of smoke spiraled from the pile, and the stench drove him backward a step.

It wasn’t the first time he’d suffered loss. At eight years old he’d lost his father and his sister, and for several years following, his mother’s grief and guilt over his sister’s disappearance put her in such an emotional state he’d practically raised himself.

Ma had finally found a man she could love again, but after nine years his stepfather had died as well. The loss of their farm and the necessity of moving to town had set Ma back—not to mention her poor health resulting from the cholera attack years earlier that killed so many on the wagon train. But Ma had Beth now and a home at the Jacobs’ boardinghouse where she was comfortable and loved.

With the town booming and lodging scarce, he’d probably be forced into an expensive hotel room. He’d only recently begun paying for his mother’s lodging, and with almost no expenses of his own he’d put away a sizable nest egg from his wages. But that would get eaten up if he didn’t find reasonable accommodations soon.

But seeing the remains of all that he owned lying in a charred heap snatched the wind from his lungs. At least he’d had his mother all those years, even if he’d had to be more parent than son much of the time. Part of what had kept him going was the knowledge someone depended on him. That all ended when Beth came back into their lives.

What did that leave him? A job he’d thought he’d wanted in a town where he now felt a virtual stranger, and no ties to the farmland he hadn’t realized he would miss. He pushed the ungrateful thoughts aside and grabbed a shovel. Now that his cabin was gone, his job was all he had.

He wouldn’t allow foolish sentiments and yearnings for the past to put that in jeopardy. The first order of business was to sift through the rubble and see what he could salvage, then figure out where he would live. Dark would be fast approaching, and clouds were moving in. He’d better get to work while he still had light to see.

Someone tapped his shoulder, and he pivoted. Jeffery stood nearby, shovel in hand. “What can I do to help?”

Steven grinned, thankful his sister had married this man who accepted him like a brother. “Ma and Beth brought me a shirt and a pair of old trousers a few hours ago, but it’s going to be messy. If you don’t mind getting dirty, I’m hoping I can find something to save. But be careful as there are hot timbers.”

They worked side by side for nearly an hour. Then Jeffery paused and wiped his shirtsleeve across his damp forehead. “I’m ready for a breath of fresh air. The smoke has died down a lot, but it’s still hard to breathe.”

Steven walked a few paces from the far edge of rubble. He plunged his shovel blade into the soft ground and leaned on the handle. “I appreciate you coming. It doesn’t look like there’s much that survived.”

“What happens now? Will the mine rebuild the cabins? I hope you didn’t keep your savings here, and you can find somewhere to live. I wish there was a room open at the Jacobs’ right now.”

“Thankfully, I opened an account at the bank. I saved most of my money since we arrived last November, what with Ma rooming with Beth until the two of you married. Mrs. Roberts refused to accept help for the cost of the room, since she’d paid for herself and Beth several months in advance.”

He twisted his lips to the side. “I’ll probably find the cheapest room available in a hotel.”

“And you’ll be paying for yourself and your mother now that Beth and I are married. I imagine that’s going to dip into your savings a bit. Maybe we can help. We’ve been thinking of finding a little place of our own. If it’s big enough, we want to have Isabelle live with us there.”

Steven tipped his head. “That’s good of you, but she’s my responsibility. Before we moved from La Grande, I sold three nice broodmares I’d kept from our farm, and I’ve set that money aside, hoping I can invest in land one day. You and Beth should start your married life on your own, if possible.”

“Beth missed having a mother for so many years that I’m not sure she’ll agree. She’s of the opinion you’ve more than carried your share of responsibility, and now it’s her turn. Besides, we love Isabelle, and she’s not a burden at all. But since we haven’t found a place to move to yet, I suppose it doesn’t matter.”

Steven walked forward and pitched a shovel of dirt onto a smoking pile, then kicked the embers around with the toe of his boot. Thank the Lord none of Ma’s belongings were here. She’d be heartbroken if she’d lost her journal or any of the few things she’d retained from her old life. “Give me a hand with this mattress, will you?”

Jeffery gripped the end of the bedding and they heaved it out of the way. Sunlight flashed off a corner of an object that lay beneath, and Steven stuck his blade deeper and lifted.

Relief flooded through him. “My strongbox. I planned to take this to the bank weeks ago but never got around to it.”

Jeffery squatted and examined it. “I hope you didn’t keep paper money in there. It’s apt to be singed from the heat.”

“Only a few gold coins. Mostly it contains things I hold dear.” At least nothing the world would see as valuable—but precious to him.

He took a handkerchief from his pocket and brushed aside the ashes and soot, testing it for heat. Taking the blade of his shovel, he lifted the lid and exhaled. Ten gold eagles lined one edge, and a thick bundle filled the balance of the box. It appeared the layers of cowhide he’d wrapped the papers in, as well as the mattress, protected it from the heat.

He unwrapped the long strip of leather and lifted out a tintype. Peering at the portrait of himself and Beth as children, he smiled, then laid it aside and extracted a knife—a gift from his father before his death.

His eyes lit on a paper scrawled in childish script. Why had he saved this? So much had changed since his youth, including his dreams and desires. He blew on the paper, sending bits of soot flying.

Jeffery leaned closer. “What you got there? Looks like it was written by a child. It wasn’t Beth’s, was it?”

Steven smiled. “No, she wasn’t even four when she disappeared. I wrote this when I was seven. Our teacher asked us to write a short essay on what we were thankful for and what we hoped to do when we grew up.”

He handed it to Jeffery. “I’m not sure why I kept this. Maybe because Beth disappeared not long after I wrote it.”

Jeffery held it up and scanned it, then read it out loud.

“I am thankful for our cabin and my dog and my ma and my pa. My baby sister talks all the time, but I guess she is nice too. When I grow up, I am going to own a big farm and raise horses and tend the fields with Pa.”

A grin formed on Jeffery’s face. “She talked a lot, huh? I guess I’ll have to tease her about that.” He aimed a curious look at Steven. “It appears you decided to go a different direction than farming or ranching.”

“I suppose a seven-year-old boy is too young to know what he wants. Besides, when Pa died, it was all Ma and I could do to keep food on the table. She remarried a few years later, and while my stepfather was a good-hearted man, he wasn’t much of a money manager.”

He shrugged. “I guess my hope of farming died along with my pa.”

“What happened to the farm?” Jeffery handed the paper back to Steven.

“We lost it a couple of years after my stepfather passed away. I hunted for work in La Grande after that, and moved Ma to a little cabin on the outskirts of town.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

Steven placed the paper back in the metal box and closed the lid, praying he might find something else of value. At least he’d kept his savings in the bank and wasn’t destitute, although he’d need to use some of this gold to purchase new clothing and boots.

His mind flew to Miss Carlson and her request for money to invest in her ranch. Rather, her father’s ranch. Did the man even know what she was up to? Steven had a feeling he didn’t, and that any money lent to her would be wasted. Not that she’d misuse it, but if Mr. Pape continued down the path he’d started to tread, no amount of money would pull him out of the looming quicksand. It would take a miracle to save the man if drink had as tight a hold on him as Steven assumed.

A shudder coursed through him. He hated the idea of anyone going through the loss he’d felt when the farm was sold to pay their debts, and he guessed Miss Carlson’s love for her ranch ran even deeper than his had for their land.

Though it wasn’t his concern, he dreaded telling Miss Carlson her request had been denied. Maybe he could talk to Mr. Hunt again. After all, the amount she wanted wouldn’t create a problem for the bank, and surely her father would stand behind her. If he could be certain Miss Carlson managed the money and it would help improve the ranch profits, there would be little risk. If she got her father to sign for the loan, they might be able to manage.

He slapped Jeffery on the back. “Thanks for your help. I don’t think there’s much else to be gained here. I’m going to visit a few hotels and see what I can scare up for a room.”

Jeffery grimaced. “I hate to see you do that. If you don’t find accommodations soon, swing by the boardinghouse. I’m guessing Katherine would let you bunk in the parlor for at least one night.”

Steven waved and turned away. He tucked the box under his arm and strode toward Front Street. Then he pulled up short. Maybe there was another way he could help Miss Carlson, even if he couldn’t acquire a loan.

He’d have to think on it awhile and make sure she didn’t get wind of what he was up to. In fact, if she thought she was aiding him, so much the better. From what he’d seen, the lady wouldn’t take kindly to charity. He’d have to tread carefully or they’d be back where they began—squared off with mistrust on her part, and his hands tied.

Portland, Oregon

April 1, 1881

Thomas Pape inched the small wood box from under his bed and brushed away the cobwebs and dust. It had been a long time since he’d opened it. If he’d followed his first instinct, he’d have burned the thing years ago. He reached for a hammer and pried the two short boards off the top, trying to steady his shaking hands.

April was supposed to be a time for new beginnings, so perhaps he’d best deal with this now, although he doubted there could ever be anything new or good springing to life in his future. Every dream and desire he’d ever nurtured had withered and died these past few years.

He rocked back on his haunches, recalling Ma crying her heart out over her daughter. He clenched his teeth, forcing the roiling emotions back where they belonged. Didn’t his sacrifice count? The contents of the wooden box taunted him, daring him to light a match as he’d yearned to do countless times in the past.

The only thing that stayed his hand was the pain it would have cost Ma. He wiped at his cheek and sniffed, ashamed of the moisture that traveled down it. Grown men didn’t show their emotions, and having attained his twenty-first birthday, he was certainly a man.

But she wasn’t here to care anymore, so why shouldn’t he do as he desired? He sat on the dirty floor that would have shamed Ma, not caring that his trousers were stained.

Tom extracted a handkerchief from his pocket and blew his nose, then stuffed it back in his trousers. The dilemma of the box was all that mattered right now. He lifted one missive and stared at it, torn with the desire to rip it open and read what it contained. Just the thought of that action shot fire through him, and he dropped the thing back in the box as though he’d been scorched.

Maybe he was looking at this all wrong. There was something he could do that might put his life back to rights, although the work that it would involve didn’t excite him.

No matter, he couldn’t sit in this run-down excuse for a home much longer. He grabbed the lid and pressed it back on the crate, then pulled out his pocket watch—the only item he owned that had belonged to his father. The steamboat office didn’t close for another hour … enough time to find out the cost of passage up the Columbia River. Everything within him fought against returning, but he could see no other recourse. Besides, Pa owed him, and if it was the last thing Tom did, he aimed to collect.