Margaret Brownley (17 page)

Beaker rubbed his nose and looked embarrassed. “Well, I just assumed….Logan don’t say much about himself. But when a man suddenly acquires himself a family, you just put two and two together.”

“Mr. St. John is just a friend.”

Logan frowned.
Just
a friend.

“If I said anything untoward, I heartily apologize.”

“No need,” Libby said, smiling. “It was only logical that you should draw such a conclusion.”

“Your time’s up, Beaker,” Logan called.

“Thanks you for coming,” Libby said. “And I know Noel will enjoy having his very own bed.”

“Noel. Is that the little fellow’s name?” Libby nodded, and Beaker shook his head. “Never heard that name before.”

“It’s French for Christmas,” she explained.

Beaker looked impressed. “Is that right?”

“I thought it was a good name for a baby born on Christmas Day.”

“You take care of that little fellow, you hear?”

Beaker left and Logan motioned the next man in line to the door. Even Thornton Wellerton, owner of the Wellerton gold mining company, had come to pay his respects. The miners were all dressed in canvas pants and flannel shirts, but not Thornton. Instead he wore a brown cutaway coat with square-cut tails, deerskin breeches, and gold brocade vest. Upon entering the cabin, he took off his top hat and laid it on the table along with his kidskin gloves.

If that wasn’t irritating enough he then introduced himself to Libby like he was royalty or something.

“I have a little something for your son’s future.” He pulled a leather bag from inside his vest. “Gold dust. Worth at least fifty dollars.”

Libby stared at him wide-eyed. “I couldn’t possibly accept such a generous gift.”

Logan nodded in agreement.

Thornton waved away her objection. “Of course you can. I insist.”

Libby appeared momentarily speechless. “I don’t know what to say. I’ll put it in the bank for him as soon as we arrive in Boston.”

“Boston, ma’am. That wouldn’t be Boston, Massachusetts, would it?”

“Why, yes.”

“I should have known. A lady like yourself. I would say that makes us practically neighbors.”

“Why, Mr. Wellerton, don’t tell me that you are from Boston, too?” Libby held out her hand and he immediately took it in his own. “I should have known.”

He lifted her hand to his mouth and planted a kiss below her wrist. She blushed and lowered her lashes and it was all Logan could do to hold his tongue.

“Why, Mr. Wellerton,” she said.

Thornton continued to hold her hand and Logan glared at him. “Do tell me how a fellow Bostonian found herself in such a dreadful place as Deadman’s Gulch.”

Libby quickly explained her husband’s death and how she was on the way to Centreville when she became stranded in Deadman’s Gulch. “What about yourself?”

“There isn’t a lot to tell,” he said, but he settled himself on a chair and proceeded to tell her anyway, starting with how he was the head of a mining company.

From the doorway of the cabin, Logan watched Libby’s animated face and frowned. She had definitely been more circumspect with the previous miners. But there were no sign of reserve on her face now. If anything, she was quick to smile at the least little thing that fool dandy, Thornton, said. Too quick, Logan decided after her hearty laughter rang out a second time The man wasn’t
that
amusing!

“Your time’s up, Wellerton,” Logan announced, although in reality the irksome man had another minute or two left.

Logan turned his attention to the next man in line. “Guns on the table.”

“Anything you say,” Shakespeare said.

“And the knife,” Logan said, casting a quick glance inside at Libby and Thornton. It couldn’t be healthy for a woman just giving birth to be smiling so much. For that matter, it seemed downright indecent for a new mother to look so pretty. Her eyes sparkled bright as stars on a cold wintry night. Her cheeks flushed pink when she laughed Why in blazes hadn’t she acquired a more maternal look more befitting of her new station in life?

“I said your time’s up, Wellerton!” Logan’s voice echoed through the room, waking the baby.

Annoyance crossed Libby’s face. “Logan, really. Must you raise your voice?” She placed Noel over her shoulders and rubbed his back.

“Some people don’t seem to hear," Logan said, glaring at Wellerton.

Wellerton ignored Logan and even Noel, making quite a racket. He seemed to have eyes and ears only for Libby. “Would you mind if I come calling again?” he asked. “It’s such a relief to talk to a fine cultured lady like yourself.”

“It would be my pleasure, Mr. Wellerton.”

“Thornton, please.”

Libby smiled up at him. “Thornton.”

Logan tightened his jaw. He remembered how long it had been before he and Libby were on first name terms. “I believe you were leaving
Mr.
Wellerton.”

As if to shake himself out of a daze, Thornton grabbed his hat and gloves, took one last lingering look at Libby, and left. By this time Noel was positively wailing, forcing Libby to raise her voice to make herself heard.

“It’s time for his feeding.”

Delighted to put an end to all the gawking and ogling that was going on beneath his very own roof, Logan stepped outside. It seemed to him that the men showed entirely too much interest in the mother and nowhere near as much consideration for the baby. “All right, men. That’s all for now. It’s time for the baby’s feeding.”

A collective groan started at the front of the line and swept clear to the back.

A Chinese man who had been standing to the side hobbled toward the porch in his wooden shoes. He was dressed in baggy pants and a square tunic top that reached to his knees. His hair fell from beneath his conical hat in a single braided queue down his back. “Please, would you give this to your little one.” He spoke in a singsong voice and kept his eyes lowered.

A man with a protruding stomach and a squat red face stepped out of line and shoved the Chinese man aside. “The little one doesn’t need anything from the likes of you.” The man’s name was Benjamin Jacobs. His hatred for the Celestials living in the area was well known.

“Yeah, get out of here,” someone called from the back on the line. “We don’t need any chinks around here.”

The crowd grew noisy as verbal barbs began to fly, all directed at the slightly built coolie.

“Stop it, all of you!” At the sound of Libby’s voice, the men fell silent. All eyes turned in her direction as she stood on the porch with Noel in her arms. This was the first glimpse of Libby for the majority of the miners still in line and the men stared at her in awe.

Libby, totally unaware of the power she held, motioned the frightened Chinese man inside. The man glanced anxiously at the others, and when no one made an objection, he crossed his arms in front, slipped his hands into the opposite sleeves, and followed her into the cabin.

*****

“What is your name?” Libby asked, seating herself in front of the fire. Noel had found his fist and was sucking noisily. He would soon grow weary of sucking in vain but for now he was quiet.

“Macao.”

“It’s good of you to come, Macao.”

“I brought a gift for your son.” He reached into the pocket of his tunic, drew out a tiny carved wooden box and handed it to her.

“It’s beautiful,” Libby said, fingering the intricate design.

“It’s a dream holder,” Marco explained. “You put your dreams for your baby inside and they will come true.”

Libby was enchanted. “The first dream I will put inside is my dream to take him home.”

Macao inclined his head. “That is my dream also. To go back to my country.”

A look of wistfulness suffused his face and her heart went out to him. “Perhaps, if we’re lucky, we’ll both get our wish.”

*****

Later that night, Logan prepared supper while Libby attended to Noel. After the baby had fallen asleep she joined him at the table.

“What a day,” she said. “Everyone was so kind. Just look at all the presents.”

Logan looked, he couldn’t help but look. He couldn’t believe how much stuff had accumulated in a single day. He could barely move in his own cabin. Some of it was useful, he supposed. But most of the gifts were ridiculous. What possible use did Noel have for a pickax, for example? Or a year’s worth of haircuts and shaves? Not to mention a mouth organ.

“And wasn’t that Mr. Thornton nice?” Libby continued. “All the way from Boston.”

Logan stabbed at his meat. “Humph.”

“Why, it’s hard to believe that we were practically neighbors at one time.”

He snapped a piece of tack bread in two. “So I heard.”

“And he’s very educated. Why, he’s the head of a mining company.”

“Amazing,” he said gritting his teeth.

“I still can’t believe it. Finding someone here is Deadman’s Gulch who was practically a neighbor.”

“Hard to believe.”

After supper, Logan left the cabin and trudged across the hard-packed snow to the Golden Hind Saloon. The place was filled, and the miners in high spirits. Relieved that everything was back to normal, Logan settled himself down for a full night of cards. He hadn’t had a decent game of poker since Libby arrived in town and tonight he meant to make the most of it.

He soon discovered, however, that the miners weren’t thinking about their bids. Talk centered on Libby and the baby.

“Look at this,” Beaker said, pulling a wood block from his pocket. “When I finish with it, it’ll be one of those…what do you call them…?”

“Pull toys?” Thornton offered in his fine cultured voice.

Just hearing Thornton’s voice irritated Logan. And seeing him look all spit and polished made Logan’s blood positively boil. It wasn’t normal to be living in a town like Deadman’s Gulch and still maintain a spiffy appearance. You would think someone as intelligent as Libby would see through the man.

“Drat, would you put that toy away and deal the cards?” Logan growled.

“Do you know what the baby needs…?” one of the other men began.

“The baby doesn’t need a thing!” Logan snapped. He fanned out the cards and sorted his hand.

McGuire pushed his chair back on two legs. “Don’t be such a spoilsport, St. John.”

“I’m being practical,” Logan argued. “How do you think Libby is going to carry all that stuff back to Boston?”

“Boston?” McGuire’s chair fell forward.

A stunned silence circled the table and then leaped like wildfire to the other tables until the entire saloon had fallen into a hushed stillness. For once, even the Monte dealers were silent.

Thornton was the first to speak. “She’s going back to Boston?”

It gave Logan great pleasure to dash the dandy’s hopes. “As soon as the baby can travel.”

“Why that’s mighty disappointin’,” McGuire said. “Ah think havin’ a woman and a bairn around brings a little culture ta this town.”

Thornton agreed. “Indeed it does. Of course, we can hardly blame her for wanting to leave.” He stared straight at Logan. “It’s a shame that a fine lady like that would find herself holed up in a ramshackle excuse for a house.”

“I don’t hear Libby complaining,” Logan said, feeling defensive.

“That’s because she’s a lady.”

Logan glared at him. “Are we going to play cards or are we going to while away the night jawing like a bunch of old shoes?”

The bidding resumed, but there was s definite gloom in the air, and after it was apparent that the men were more interested in discussing Libby’s impending departure than in playing cards, Logan finally threw his hand down and left.

Libby finished giving Noel his bath and had put him down for his morning nap. Logan had gone hunting and she looked forward to a few quiet hours to herself. She had just settled down with her Bible when a knock sounded.

She opened the door and was greeted by a miner. “Don’t know if ye remember me, Lassie, Ah’m Duncan McGuire,” he said in a Scottish brogue.

Libby smiled. “Of course I remember you, Mr. McGuire. You led the choir that sang to me on Christmas Day.”

Duncan’s face lit up. “That Ah did.”

“You also brought the baby a mouth organ.”

His grin almost reached his ears. “
Thought ya bairn would like it.”

“Won’t you please come in?”

Duncan pulled off his hat and stepped inside. “Sorry ta bother ya.”

“It’s no bother,” Libby said. “Would you like some coffee? I just made a fresh pot.”

“If ya don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind at all.”

Duncan glanced around. “It’s mighty cozy in here.” His eyes fell on a glass filled with freshly cut snowdrops. “Nothin’ like a woman’s touch. Reminds me of home.”

Libby poured him a cup and set it on the table, then poured herself one. “