Heart of Gold (14 page)

“Oh, thank the Lord. Of course.” The reverend stepped back from the door. “Come in.”

Prior to coming to Grand Coeur and moving into the large home farther up the hillside, Matthew hadn’t been the sort of man who noticed much about the places he stayed. Beyond the comfort of a bed and the quality of meals, nothing much mattered to him. Certainly not the size of a place or how a room was decorated or if there were enough windows to let in adequate sunlight.

But he noticed all of those things now, and he suspected the parsonage must feel a terrible comedown to Shannon Adair, who was unquestionably used to a home larger and finer than anything in Grand Coeur.

“Sun Jie,” the reverend said, pulling Matthew from his thoughts.

“Mr. Dubois has come to speak to you.”

Like other Chinese women Matthew had seen in gold camps through the years, Sun Jie was petite. He doubted she tipped the scales at more than ninety pounds, if that. But she had inner strength. He saw it clearly in the dark gaze that met his for a brief moment before she gave him a respectful bow.

When he explained why he’d come to see her, she smiled and said,

“My sister, she even better cook than Sun Jie. Sun Ling work for you, you want her to. I know. I bring tomorrow morning to your house.”

Looked like Matthew could choose an evening to have Jack over to supper. Would that all of his problems were solved as easily as this one. He set his hat back on his head. “Agreed.” His gaze shifted to the reverend. “Thank you, sir.”

“Not at all. Not at all.”

Matthew wondered if he should ask the man’s permission to call upon his daughter. A part of him thought he should. Yet it felt dishonest somehow. He couldn’t very well say that he was interested in marrying her so she could care for his nephew when Matthew went back to driving stagecoaches. No, he’d best concentrate on Shannon first and worry about her father later.

12

With the efficient Sun Ling in charge of the Dubois kitchen and Alice Jackson seeming to grow a little stronger each day that week, Shannon began to wonder if she was needed at all. At least not as a nurse, although Alice did seem to want her for a friend.

“Sit with me,” Alice said to Shannon as she returned once again to a chair on the veranda on Thursday afternoon, this time on the north side of the house overlooking the small fenced yard where Todd played with his puppy. Alice’s eyes rarely left him, a gentle smile upon her lips.

Shannon tucked the light blanket around Alice’s legs before sitting on the chair beside her. Then she took up the embroidery work she’d brought with her from home.

“What are you making?”

“An altar cloth for Father’s church.”

“It’s lovely,” Alice said. “I was never much good with a needle. I did well enough for fixing a tear in my husband’s shirt or for letting down the hem of Todd’s trousers. But not for something as intricate and fine as that.”

“My mother taught me to embroider. She didn’t believe it was healthy for a woman to be idle, so when we were at home, we were embroidering or playing the piano or trying to perfect our painting. I suppose that’s why I liked helping the doctors at the army hospital. It made me feel busy and useful, as if I could make some bit of difference in the world.”

Of course, it was doubtful Adelyn Adair would have approved of her unmarried daughter tending to the needs of men who’d been shot or blown apart by cannon fire. Thankfully her father believed caring for others was of more importance than social conventions. “Mother’s one exception in regard to idle hands was reading. She loved to read and she encouraged my love of books as well.”

“I hope Todd will develop an appreciation for books and learning.”

Shannon heard the longing in her voice, the fear that she wasn’t going to be around to help Todd develop that appreciation.

“When I was little, Matt used to read to me at bedtime.” Alice closed her eyes, and her expression seemed to indicate she could still hear that voice from her past. “And when there wasn’t a book to read,” she continued at last, “he made up stories for me. Oh, the tales he could spin.” She laughed softly.

Shannon tried to imagine the scene in her mind. Alice as a little girl, looking up at her older brother, perhaps Matthew’s arm around her shoulders.

Alice sighed as she opened her eyes again, her gaze immediately returning to Todd. “I don’t suppose my brother has had time for reading much since leaving home. But perhaps now that he is here, with us . . .” She let the words drift into silence, the thought unfinished.

Shannon hadn’t seen any books in the boy’s room. They probably hadn’t been able to bring much with them from Wisconsin. This the two women had in common. Shannon had left many things behind in Virginia, some of them quite dear to her. She took another careful stitch, trying
not
to remember those things she might never see again.

“Matt is going to make a wonderful father when he gets around to marrying and starting a family. He has such a huge capacity for love. Whoever he chooses for a wife will be such a lucky woman. I can only pray it will be someone worthy of him.”

This comment drew Shannon’s eyes back to the woman beside her. But Alice’s gaze was now focused up the hillside, almost as if she were unaware of Shannon’s presence.

Matthew Dubois marrying someone
worthy
of him? What a thing to say. Shannon had modified her initial opinion of him from their first meeting. He wasn’t quite the ignorant, uninformed Yankee that she’d first thought him. He was kind to his sister and nephew, and he did seem to appreciate Shannon’s help. He’d attended both church services since arriving in Grand Coeur—and as far as she knew would continue to do so. Thus she couldn’t fault him there. But he was not a man of any social standing. No woman of good society would consider him a fine catch. And what sort of education could he have had, growing up in Oregon Territory and then striking out at an early age to work for an express company? It was surprising he’d learned to read.

“Whoever he chooses for a wife will be such a lucky woman. I can only pray it will be someone worthy of him
.”

She imagined that slow smile of Matthew’s, the twinkle in his dark-blue eyes when he was amused. He was undeniably handsome. She could almost— “Afternoon, ladies.”

Snapped from the unwelcome direction of her thoughts, she would have been pleased to see anyone but Abraham Lincoln himself standing on the other side of the fence. Who she found was Joe Burkette, tipping his hat in her direction.

“Mr. Burkette.” Shannon set aside her embroidery and rose from her chair, giving him a warm smile. “Won’t you come and meet Mrs. Jackson?”

Joe opened the gate, but before he could take more than a couple of steps, Nugget raced over and jumped up, slapping Joe on the thighs with his oversize puppy paws. Joe brushed the dog aside with one hand. Not a mean gesture, and yet it caused Shannon to momentarily catch her breath.

Joe stepped onto the veranda, his hat in one hand. Shannon made the introductions, and Joe took Alice’s fingers, bowing slightly. “A great pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Jackson. Joe Burkette at your service.”

Alice nodded. “Thank you, Mr. Burkette. It’s a pleasure to meet you too.”

“I was wondering if I might speak with Miss Adair for a moment.” Not waiting for permission, he turned toward Shannon. “Will you be occupied on Saturday? If not, I was hoping we might take that buggy ride I spoke to you about last Sunday.”

There wasn’t a reason in the world, as far as Shannon could tell, to refuse him. She wasn’t needed at the Dubois house on Saturdays any longer. “I shall need to ask my father,” she answered.

“Of course.” Joe’s return smile was confident, showing no doubt that the reverend would approve. “Shall we say one o’clock? I’ll pick you up at the parsonage.”

Delaney Adair set his few items on the mercantile counter and waited while Wu Lok tallied the purchases. Looking about, he saw that he and the shopkeeper were alone in the store for the moment. Now would be a good time to broach the subject that had been on his heart for several days.

“I was wondering, Wu Lok, if there is anything I can do to be of assistance with your church in Chinatown.” Although they’d spoken briefly with one another twice since Sun Jie had come to work at the parsonage, neither of them had brought up the matter of their shared faith until now.

Wu Lok was a quiet, unassuming sort, with a reputation in Grand Coeur for being honest. Not an easy reputation to acquire for a man whose race was almost universally despised by white miners.

Many a time in prayer, Delaney had asked God what could be done to stop that kind of hatred. Hatred for one color against another. Hatred for one religion against another. Hatred for one nationality against another. Even hatred for one brother against another. The only answer he’d received was the age-old one: as long as men were controlled by their sinful natures, they would find or create reasons to hate other men.

But this man—slight of build, with yellow skin and brown-black eyes—was Delaney’s brother in Christ. They were to love one another, as the Scriptures commanded.
“By this shall all men know that ye are my disciples, if ye have love one to another
.” Now if only Delaney could teach this to his congregation. If only he could make those who attended his church see the importance of loving all mankind, including those who were different.

“That very kind offer, Reverend Adair,” Wu Lok answered, the slightest of smiles curving the corners of his mouth. “Only six of us, but God give patience.”

Delaney suspected those six Chinese Christians knew more about commitment to God, to steadfastness of faith, than dozens upon dozens of the believers he’d pastored through the years. Untested faith was rarely strong. Deep, abiding faith was tempered through fire.

“Where do you meet for your services?”

“In our home. Someday maybe need building. Not yet. Someday.”

“If you ever wish, you are welcome to use our building at a different hour of the day.”

Surprise widened Wu Lok’s eyes. “No. No. Thank you very much. Very kind. No. We meet in home.”

Ah, the chasm between their two cultures was a wide one—made wider, no doubt, by cruel words and even crueler acts. But a bridge could be built, little by little by little. Delaney would not give up.

“Well, remember my offer, Wu Lok. And if ever you need anything, anything at all, you let me know.” He paid for his purchases, gave the shopkeeper a brief nod, and left the mercantile.

Matthew wrote out the message coming across the telegraph wire. When he finished, he looked at William, who was adding numbers in a record book on his desk. “I’ve got a message for the sheriff.”

There must have been something in his voice, for William looked up. “Trouble?”

“A shooting at the hot springs south of Idaho City. Two men dead and the gunman thought to be headed this way.”

William gave a shake of his head as his gaze returned to the accounting.

Matthew put on his hat as he headed out the door.

The month of June had grown warmer with each passing day, and although mornings were still crisp, by this hour of the afternoon the sun beat down upon the town from a relentless sky. Dust rose beneath the feet of the men and horses who traversed the streets of Grand Coeur. From the saloon on the corner of Clark and Main, piano music—slightly out of tune—wafted through open doors, as if to greet Matthew as he passed by on his way to the sheriff ’s office.