Indigo Blue (2 page)

When Jake Rand comes to Wolf’s Landing under false pretenses to run Hunter Wolf’s mine, he is instantly attracted to Indigo, but is also bewildered by her. He never expects to find himself obligated to ask for Indigo’s hand in marriage in order to save her reputation. But that is precisely what happens, and Jake finds himself wed to a beautiful girl he quickly comes to love but can’t, for the life of him, understand.

I invite you to turn the page now and step into Indigo’s world. I hope you enjoy reading this extraordinary love story as much as I enjoyed writing it!

 

Sincerely,
Catherine Anderson

RAIN LASHED JACOB RAND’S FACE, THE streaming rivulets on his cheeks blending with his tears to puddle in a salty pool in the cleft of his upper lip. A soppy hank of black hair dangled in his eyes. His vision blurred so that he could no longer clearly see his mother’s grave. Not that it mattered. The downpour had made fast work of flattening the freshly mounded dirt. If not for the rock he had used to mark the spot, her burial place would have looked no different from the other churned-up mud. He wished his pa had taken time to whittle a cross, but as always, there was work to be done. Pa had helped with the digging, stayed to get Ma laid out right, and said some prayers. But cross whittling had to come later, after the daylight ran out. Times were hard, and it was up to Pa to feed them all.

Doubling one fist, Jacob scrubbed at his eyes, determined not to cry in front of his sisters. Now that Ma was gone, looking after the girls was up to him, the eldest. He had promised to do a good job, and he knew Ma was counting on him.

He glanced down at three-year-old Sarah, who stood beside him sniveling. He wished he could switch places with his younger brother, Jeremy, and be down at the creek working. Why did he have to be the one to finish up and say the final words? He didn’t shine much to talking. He had already said the Lord’s Prayer. Most of it anyways. He didn’t know any others except for the supper blessing, and that didn’t seem fitting. He reckoned he ought to finish up by saying something nice over Ma, but he couldn’t think what. If only Jeremy was there. Right now, his gift for tonguing a subject to death would come in handy.

Sarah mewled again. He wished she’d hush. Fat chance. She looked like she was sucking alum. A string of snot dripped from her nose to her upper lip. He didn’t have a handkerchief, so he made a quick swipe with his sleeve. Sarah snuffled, then sobbed, which made air erupt from her nostrils. He made another swipe.

Poor Sarah. Her black high-tops were clumped with red mud. Her tattered shirt, a castoff of Jacob’s, clung like a sodden second skin to her bony shoulders. Beneath the hem, her knobby little knees were as red as apples from the cold. She gulped and shuddered, her tiny face twisting.

Jacob drew her close. Ma claimed a hug spoke a thousand words. The smell of urine floated up to him, and he realized she must have wet herself last night. Guilt washed over him. He had promised to take care of her and here she was, soaked, freezing, and as smelly as a cow pen in August. A fine job he was doing so far. She nuzzled her face against his side. He knew she was wiping her nose on him. Ma always scolded her for doing such, but he didn’t have the heart.

Fresh tears burned behind his eyelids, and he dragged in a breath. He remembered quarreling with Mary Beth yesterday, right before Ma started feeling poorly. Then he recalled how he had played with Jeremy up on the hill, putting off his chores until later. Now Ma was gone, and there was nothing he could do to bring her back. Nothing. He couldn’t even say how sorry he was.

His stomach churned with hunger, and his knees knocked with weakness. It didn’t seem right, feeling hungry, but he hadn’t eaten since yesterday at noon, and grave digging was hard work.

Almost as hard as mining for gold . . .

“It’s muddy down there.” Sarah gazed at the grave, then looked up, imploring him with her big brown eyes to set her world aright. Dripping strands of black hair stuck to her cheeks. She shivered so hard her teeth clacked. “Why do we gots to put her in the mud?”

Jacob had no answers. If there was a God, he was a far piece from here. Somewhere in California, more than likely, where the sun never stopped shining. If Jacob was God, that’s where he would be.

From the far side of the grave, eight- year-old Mary Beth said, “Ma ain’t here anymore, kitten. She’s gone away to heaven to live with angels.”

Jacob watched Mary Beth, willing her to say more. Something about harps and gowns and streets paved in gold. If Sarah kept picturing Ma with mud all over her face, she’d be plagued by nightmares for a year. As always, Mary Beth did just the opposite of what Jacob wished. Her mouth settled into a grim line, and she said no more. Still hopeful, he slid his gaze to six-year-old Rebecca, but she stood as still as a statue, gaze fixed, face white, her black hair hanging in wet streams.

It looked as if it was up to him. He gave Sarah’s shoulder a pat. “Heaven’s a fine place. There’s nothin’ but white horses up there, and the angels are all gussied up in fancy dresses the likes of which you ain’t never seen.”

“What kinda dresses?”

Jacob hesitated. The entire scope of his existence was mining towns, but once a long time ago, he’d gone looking for Pa at the saloon. “I reckon they’re red with black lace.”

Mary Beth, face mud-smeared and swollen from bawling, puffed up like a toad eyeing a fly. “They ain’t neither! Angels wear white, Jacob Nathaniel! Don’t go tellin’ lies as gospel.”

“What difference does it make, Mary Beth?”

“It just does, that’s all. Red’s one of Satan’s colors, and only bad women wear it.”

“White then. And quit flarin’ up over the top of Ma’s grave. You might as well walk on it.”

Sarah, apparently oblivious to their bickering, was still stuck on heaven. “Why didn’t Ma take us with her?” she demanded in a shrill voice. “She taked the baby! Don’t she love us no more? I wanna red dress with black grace.”

“Lace,” Jacob inserted. “Someday when I’m rich, I’ll buy you one, kitten. An angel dress, any color you want.”

Jacob’s throat ached. The raindrops felt like pinpricks on his face. Angels? All he could see was mud, and more mud. And when he closed his eyes, all he saw was his mother’s blood.

“Someday when you’re rich,” Mary Beth scoffed. “You’re startin’ to sound just like Pa. We ain’t never gonna strike it rich, Jacob, and you know it.”

“Then I’ll get rich doin’ something else. Hush yourself, Mary Beth. You’ll make Sarah start takin’ on again.”

“Better that than makin’ her promises you can’t keep. She don’t even got a coat.”

“I’ll buy her a coat, and dresses, too. Just you watch. I’ll buy you all dresses.”

Mary Beth’s eyes filled with tears again. She stared at him a moment, then lowered her gaze. “Even if you tried, Pa’d take your money and spend it on mining gear. All he cares about is finding color. He didn’t care if Ma hurt herself and the baby by workin’ so hard. And he don’t care about us. Sarah won’t never have a coat, nor dresses, neither. The only thing Pa’ll ever give her is a shovel with her name on it. Same for me and Rebecca.”

Jacob had thought the same himself, but hearing it said out loud frightened him, especially now, after promising he’d watch after his sisters. He hadn’t been big enough to do Ma’s share of the work, but surely he would be by the time Mary Beth’s turn rolled around. She was going to be a small fry, just like Ma. Working in the digs would kill her.

Jacob eyed the grave and remembered the desperate, pleading look in his mother’s eyes last night just before she died. With her only remaining strength, she had clutched his hands and whispered, “Take care of them for me, Jacob. Promise me you will. Don’t let your father . . .”

Her voice had trailed off, and her beautiful dark eyes had fluttered closed, the remainder of her request left unspoken. Jacob had held tight to her hands, hardly able to speak around the sobs that had torn up his throat.

I’ll take care of them, Ma. I promise I will. I won’t let it happen to the girls, Ma. I swear I won’t. It’s going to be all right. You’ll see. Everything’s going to be all right
.

Even as the words passed his lips, Jacob had known he was lying. His mother was dead. His father had killed her and her unborn child chasing a fool’s dream. Nothing would ever be all right again.

THOUGH DARKNESS HAD NOT YET FALLEN, the gas lamps in the study were lit to ward off the gloom of yet another rainy February day. Burning the lamps was the one luxury, aside from the two comfortable chairs and an occasional brandy, that Jake allowed himself in this room. Otherwise, he maintained an austere simplicity, evident in the knotty pine walls, his handmade but serviceable desk, and the rough plank bookshelves.

He had selected the decor, if one could call it that, to create balance in his life and strike a mood totally at odds with the opulence of the rest of his home. The fireplace mantle was fashioned from a myrtlewood burl he had found years ago in southern Oregon. Above that a large painting of snowcapped Mount Shasta held court over a collection of nature scenes that took up every inch of available wall space, his favorite a crystalline mountain stream winding its way through a stand of dappled cottonwood trees.

His fiancée, Emily, complained of the clutter and insisted, quite rightly, that he should redecorate. But, so far, Jake had put it off. He couldn’t explain why, wasn’t sure he even knew why, but he needed this room, every ugly, ill- matched inch of it. He felt at peace here as he did nowhere else.

Jake usually kept the study door locked while he worked, and his family honored his wish to be left alone, but today had proved an exception. Earlier, two of his younger sisters had popped in with their broods in tow to bid him farewell before he left town on another business trip. Now Mary Beth had demanded an audience.

Disgruntled because he had a great deal of work to do before he departed for southern Oregon, Jake loosened his cravat, tugged on the waist of his gold silk vest, and leaned back in his chair to regard the eldest of his sisters over his steepled fingers. Just in from a shopping trip and still wearing a walking suit of wine- colored lightweight wool, she looked like a princess perched there on his extra desk chair. A very unhappy princess. Though they both had their mother’s ebony hair and dark brown eyes and, according to some, shared the same insufferable stubborn streak, Jake had never yet come anywhere close to understanding Mary Beth. Her mood swings were as difficult to predict as Oregon’s constantly changing weather.

After Joseph Rand’s first gold strike, their circumstances had taken a drastic turn for the better, and Jake had endeavored tirelessly since to keep it that way. She had everything she could possibly want. But was she happy? Hell, no. At twenty-seven, she should be accepting one of her many suitors and marrying so she could have a child before it was too late, not getting addlebrained notions about attending college.

“Mary Beth, I’m expected to give Jeremy a briefing in ten minutes so he can handle everything here while I’m gone. I haven’t even begun to pack. I really don’t have time for this right now.”

“And I have nothing but,” she replied sweetly.

“I thought we discussed this to our mutual satisfaction last year.”

She toyed with the silk-covered buttons of her suit. “We discussed it to your satisfaction, not mine.”

A picture of his mother’s haggard face flashed in Jake’s mind. “You know how I feel about women working.”

“Practicing law isn’t work. It’s a profession. A calling.”

He picked up his pen and repositioned the papers he’d been working on. “I won’t have my sister shouldering a man’s load. I provide for you nicely. There’s nothing you can possibly want.”

Her fist slammed down on the surface of his desk with enough force to make his pen squiggle. Jake assessed the damage, then drew up an eyebrow. He had backed men down with his glare. Mary Beth didn’t so much as flinch. Mary Beth, the bane of his existence, the one person who could goad him into losing his temper. Why she was his favorite sister, he hadn’t a clue.

“Don’t go back to your work as if I’m not sitting here!” she cried. “We’re going to have this out here and now.”

Jake laid down the pen and settled in his chair. He could only wonder what her strategy would be this time. After their last confrontation, she had shattered every glass object in the formal dining room. The time before that, she had taken to her bed for three days, refusing to eat. He had known all along, of course, that her maid, Charity, was sneaking her food. Mary Beth was nothing if not inventive.

“I don’t run your life. You can do anything you like.”

“Except work.”

“Yes, except for that.” He noted the high color on her cheeks, a sure sign she was about ready to let fly. “You’re such a lovely woman. Isn’t there a single solitary man in Portland who catches your eye? I don’t care if he’s a street sweeper.”

“And you’ll go buy him for me, I suppose? Just as you have all else. For once, I’d like to accomplish something on my own.” She clasped her hands in her lap. “Besides, if the marital state is so blissful, why haven’t you married Emily? You’re thirty years old. Now that she’s out of mourning, there’s nothing holding you back. You’ve been engaged for over a year.”

“Leave my relationship with Emily out of this.” Jake sighed and rubbed the back of his neck.
Emily.
Like redecorating his study, she was another piece of unfinished business. For reasons totally beyond him, he couldn’t muster the enthusiasm to set a wedding date. Regarding the mountain of paperwork on his desk, he said, “I’ve plenty on my plate. You have nothing but time on your hands, time which you utilize to concoct fantastic notions.”

She shot from her chair. “Fantastic notions? Damn you, Jake. Sometimes I come so close to hating you, it’s frightening.”