Love's Compass Read online

  “They are not for him, Mr. Richmond. They are for…somebody else.”

  “A gift? That’s mighty generous.”

  Eliana resisted the urge to bolt for the door. “Well, yes, they are much needed by the person who’ll receive them. Please, if you would package them back up again, I’ll be on my way. And please be sure to let us know the moment our other boxes arrive.”

  “Yes, miss, I know you need them before your trip.”

  Eliana felt as if all her secrets had been exposed, though she knew it wasn’t true.

  “Trip. Yes. Before we return to Lake City.”

  Mr. Wilcox turned and faced her. “May I be of assistance, Miss Van Horn? I can carry your packages for you.”

  The proprietor looked at Eliana and noted her discomfort. He stood a little straighter. “Don’t you be bothering her now. If you have some business of your own here, you can stay. Otherwise be on your way.”

  “Mr. Richmond, this gentleman is no bother at all. In fact, I will take him up on his helpful offer.”

  “Very well, if you’re certain.”

  “I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life. Good day.”

  Mr. Wilcox carried her package as they walked out of the store. My, he looked like he was in pain.

  “Do you get treated like that everywhere you go, Mr. Wilcox?”

  “Enough.”

  “But you are only half Indian from what I understand.”

  “It’s the wrong half.”

  “Well, it isn’t right. Just because you look like…I mean…You don’t really look that much like an Indian. It’s just your coloring, and your hair. And that tomahawk—your hatchet…” Was she so nervous in his presence that she couldn’t utter a decent sentence?

  “Would it be a bad thing if I did look like a full-blooded Indian, Miss Van Horn?”

  “Of course it would. It would be bad for you.” Her eyes widened. “Especially since you’re innocent.” Eliana bit her lip. She didn’t mean that like it sounded.

  “Innocent?” Mr. Wilcox set her packages down on a bench out front and leaned against a post.

  She sat down and looked up at him apologetically. “I don’t mean to imply that Indians are inherently bad. All human beings are sinful from birth. And everyone has their faults.” Haven’t I proved my own by muddling up this conversation? “But for others to assume that you are a savage is simply ludicrous.”

  “Is it?”

  She couldn’t read his expression any more than she could see through a Colorado blizzard, but Eliana could tell by his tone that she’d offended him. “Yes, of course. Since I have met you, you’ve been nothing but courteous to me. You saved my life, for mercy’s sake!”

  “And you mine. At least you considered mine worth the saving.”

  “And I do, Mr. Wilcox. You are a valuable human being, despite the way you are sometimes treated. I hope you never forget that.”

  “Your good opinion of me is all that matters.”

  A large, scruffy dog ran by with something in its mouth. “You get outta there!” Mrs. Sanborn’s husband hollered at the animal and whacked him with a broom handle.

  “Did you see that?” Eliana asked. “The poor dog was just hungry. He didn’t do a thing!”

  Mr. Wilcox’s jaw tightened. “Some people can’t tell the difference between a good dog and a bad dog.”

  Eliana clamped her lips together, eyeing him apologetically.

  “I’d best be on my way,” he said, “unless I can see you somewhere. To Whiley’s outfitting company perhaps? Your father was there.”

  “He asked me to wait for him here.”

  “All right, Miss Van Horn. It’s been a pleasure as always.” He tipped his hat.

  “I hope you’ll come by to have your photograph taken. It would please my father very much if you would.”

  “Would it please you, Miss Van Horn?”

  She blushed. Why did he have to be so direct? “Yes, it would, Mr. Wilcox.” It would indeed.

  Yiska returned to the outfitting company through the front door. As he entered he glanced up at the sign, WHILEY AND SONS OUTFITTERS. He thought of his relief at learning Whiley didn’t seem to have it in mind to marry Eliana. Why should it matter to him? It wasn’t like Yiska had staked a claim on her.

  “Look what the wind rolled in. Yiska, what are you doing up and about? Feeling any better, son?” Mr. Whiley asked.

  “Some.”

  “Saw you up a little while ago. Where’d you go? John and I went to get a bite at Sanborn’s. I was going to ask if I could bring back something for you, but you’d disappeared. Brought you a plate anyway.”

  Mr. Van Horn smacked his lips. “Turkey sandwiches and gingerbread today.”

  “Sounds great. Thank you.” Yiska rubbed his side. “I went for a walk.”

  “Doc said you need to rest up if you want to fully recover.”

  Mr. Van Horn raised a brow. “You were hurt worse than you let on.”

  Whiley scowled. “He had another run-in with that Grover character and his buddy.”

  “Oh?”

  “I was out looking for something that was stolen from me the other day, and I ran into him. Hard. He tried to finish the job he’d started at the sawmill.”

  “Yiska ended up with a couple of cracked ribs. But he had the last word, so to speak.”

  Yiska eyed the map spread out on the table. “What’ve you got here?”

  “This is the route for the Robbins survey of the four corners and down the New Mexico and Arizona border. Mr. Van Horn has been assigned as the official photographer for the expedition.”

  “How’d you come by that deal, Mr. Van Horn? If you don’t mind me asking.”

  “Not at all. I served with Chandler Robbins during the war—Ohio’s 86th Infantry. Served alongside James Ryder as well. He’s now a famed photographer back East. I was his assistant during the war and for some time at home. That’s how I got my start—brutal as it was. When Robbins approached him about the survey project, he couldn’t do it but recommended me instead. Perfect opportunity since I already do contract work for the General Land Office regionally.”

  As the men leaned over the map, Yiska looked on.

  Mr. Whiley traced the route and laid out the itinerary. “Once you make your way down the Animas River and through the Ute reservation, you’ll cross the border into New Mexico—Navajo territory. You should be relatively safe there.” Whiley glanced at Yiska then continued the itinerary. “You’ll continue along the Animas until you come to a confluence of three rivers. There you’ll continue on the Rio San Juan. You’ll be heading west toward Shiprock.” He jabbed the map with his finger. “The coordinates are marked here at the four corners quadripoint.”

  Mr. Van Horn rested his hands on his hips. “What about the ruins? How will I find them?”

  “I have them marked here, and here.” Whiley pointed to the various locations. “Besides, your guide will know the area well.” Mr. Van Horn looked at Yiska and flattened his lips. Why did he look so disappointed?

  “Mr. Van Horn, I almost forgot to mention that I saw your daughter at the mercantile when I was out.”

  Van Horn peered up at Yiska over his spectacles. “Do you happen to know if our packages arrived?”

  “From what I gathered, eh, only the clothing order.”

  Mr. Van Horn frowned. “I see. Well, I promised I’d pick her up with a wagon. I had better get over there now.” He straightened as Whiley rolled up a copy of the map and handed it to him. “Make sure you stop by the studio, young man. I’d like to see you again before we go.”

  “Yes, sir.” Why did he feel like he’d be saying his final farewell?

  When Mr. Van Horn left, Whiley rolled up the other copies of the map. Yiska turned his thoughts back to the expedition. “It’ll be good to get back down to New Mexico Territory again. It’s been too long. Does Mr. Van Horn know that I’ll be along as the guide?”

  Whiley exhaled. “Well, Yiska, plans
have changed…. You won’t be going on that expedition.”

  Chapter 5

  Eliana paused outside the San Juan Prospector to enjoy the grand views—the flat plain, grassy meadows, and stunning vista. To the east lay a sandy desert, and to the west the grand San Juan Mountains, full of promise and adventure. She pulled in a deep breath, entered the large sandstone building, and addressed the clerk. “I’d like to see Mr. Wilson, please.”

  A neatly dressed man entered the front room, wiping ink-stained hands with a clean rag. “Miss Van Horn, it’s a pleasure to see you.” He examined his fingers. “Having a little trouble with the printing press.”

  “Are you still accepting advertisements today?”

  “Certainly. It’s business as usual. Nothing stops the San Juan Prospector from going to press.”

  “I have a few things I’d like to discuss with you,” she said with a smile.

  “Snivens, show Miss Van Horn to my office while I finish cleaning my hands. Make sure she’s comfortable.”

  Mr. Snivens ushered Eliana into a large office and seated her in a tufted leather chair across from a large mahogany desk. Such exquisite furniture. What would it be like to have such luxury? Eliana only wished Papa’s hard work would reap similar benefits. She would like to see him enjoy some measure of comfort in his lifetime.

  “Now, what can I help you with today?” The older man settled into his oversized chair.

  Eliana placed a paper on the desk. “First of all, I would like to place another advertisement for Van Horn Photography in your paper. Father and I will only be here a little while longer, and we want to make sure that everyone in the community who would like to have their photograph taken will have the opportunity. We are hosting a special on family portraits.”

  “I’ll see to it.” Wilson settled back in his chair. “I’m glad you dropped by today. I understand that your father will be heading out to visit The Silver Queen before he embarks on his expedition.”

  “I take it you mean Silverton?” Eliana asked.

  “Indeed, I do. I’d like to get a picture of a Mr. Francis Snowden at the mine. He was the first to put up a cabin and stake a claim in that flourishing town, and he’s the only surviving member of the Baker party, who discovered the mineral deposits there. I have a correspondent headed that way to conduct an interview. But a photograph would be a nice addition to the story.”

  “I’m sure he’d be honored to do that for you, Mr. Wilson.”

  “Very well, then. I look forward to printing the engravings of the Robbins survey when he returns. You must be very proud of your father.”

  Eliana beamed. “Oh, yes, sir. I am. But you know that the U.S. General Land Office has first rights to the photographs.”

  “A mere technicality. I’ll handle the GLO.” Wilson glanced at the pendulum clock on the wall. “You had something else?”

  “Mr. Wilson, I happen to be in possession of an important document. Perhaps you could help me locate the owner. You may already know to whom this belongs.” Eliana placed the leather-bound journal on the mahogany desk.

  Mr. Wilson arched his brow. “May I?”

  “Please do. This journal is filled with pages of very eloquent prose describing the vast wilderness of the territory. And there is no name to be found. I’d like to place an advertisement seeking its proper owner.”

  Mr. Wilson put on his eyeglasses and examined the book. He fumbled through some of the pages, landing midway. His eyes scanned the page. He cleared his throat and read aloud.

  The ravine sings to the tune of a thousand stars above. The night in no way diminishes the glory of this place, but rather illuminates a view that remains hidden in the day. The moon above shines down on white-capped mountains, a beacon urging me to come near. As I travel forward on frozen ground, large flakes cling to my garments and will soon cover the ground like a woolen blanket. My shelter lies near, a cave, and fresh pine boughs for my bed. A flickering spark is all that I will need to ignite a small fire and regenerate the warmth I once felt in late spring. Should an avalanche usher me to an early end, I am grateful for having sojourned under such a majestic and heavenly night.

  Eliana sighed. “I regret having intruded on this individual’s private world, but…”

  “Miss Van Horn, you have done a great deed by bringing this to me.” The editor held up the journal to the light of the window, the San Juan Mountains visible in the distance. “This world needs to be shared!”

  The chill in the air penetrated Yiska’s aching ribs through his buckskin coat. He’d hoped to be feeling better by now—or was it Mr. Whiley’s announcement that still wounded him? Chilled him. How could his boss refuse to let him go on the survey expedition? Whiley knew that Yiska was more familiar with that territory than anyone else. It was on the Navajo reservation, after all.

  Only the other day he’d wondered how he could prevent the adventurous Miss Van Horn from going on the trip. But at least if he was there he could help keep her safe…and keep her secret. He’d also get to spend time with her. Of course, she’d be safer still if she didn’t go at all.

  He hadn’t managed to find an opportunity to talk to her about halting her plans for the trip. When he saw how disappointed she’d been about the missing photography supplies, he hadn’t had the heart to discourage her further. Instead, when he’d gone back to purchase some new clothing and a journal, he bought her that slip of ribbon. What was he thinking? If he couldn’t find a way to talk her out of the trip, how would he ever manage to offer her a small gift? He sighed. No use dwelling on it. Mr. Richmond’s peculiar look at Yiska was punishment enough for his impulsive act.

  But perhaps giving her the lace would make her more receptive to considering his concern for her. Obviously she hadn’t fully thought about the dangers. Maybe he would be able to speak with her today.

  He stepped into Van Horn’s photography studio in a store front next to the bakery. From the corner of the room he watched Eliana as she posed her friend’s family for a portrait. Alice’s mother was seated, and her father stood behind her, hand on her shoulder. Alice and a younger sister stood on their mother’s left, while two boys stood on the opposite side by their father. A backdrop of a painted mountain landscape completed the scene.

  “Andrew and Angus, you must keep still. If you keep smiling, your faces will be blurred in the picture. Now please cooperate and keep your mouths closed. If you do, I’ve a gumdrop for each of you.”

  Yiska had seen those boys before. Weren’t they the ones who had called him names in front of Eliana last week? He slipped out and decided to go to the bakery to pass the time until they were finished.

  Once he knew they had gone, he returned to the studio with two raspberry turnovers wrapped in a cloth napkin. Miss Van Horn bent over a table with a paintbrush in hand. “Mr. Wilcox, I’m glad you came by.”

  “I was at the bakery and thought to bring you a snack.” He set the pastries on the table.

  “How thoughtful. And these are my favorite!” Miss Van Horn walked over to an elegant tea service in the corner of the room. “Do you drink tea, Mr. Wilcox?”

  “Yes.” He looked at the table where Eliana had been working. “What are you doing over there?”

  “I’m hand tinting some ferrotypes. Color adds a little life to their faces, don’t you agree? I’ve some photographs to develop as well. It’s been such a busy week. Townsfolk are making sure they come see us before we are on our way again. We won’t be back in Del Norte for some time.”

  Yiska looked around the room. “No, I reckon you won’t.” A display table caught his attention. He pointed to a celluloid panel with four identical miniature portraits. “What do you call these?”

  “Four ferrotypes to a panel are called bon tons.”

  “That’s a peculiar name. What do people do with such small pictures?”

  “They put them in lockets or in miniature albums like these.” Eliana picked up a small, ornate book and opened it to show pages of tiny pi
ctures inside. “The actual photographs are referred to as gems. These show many of our clients over the years who have been gracious enough to let us have a sample.”

  “Gems. This one is of you.” A beautiful jewel. On the table beside them, Yiska noticed another picture of Miss Van Horn. He picked it up. As he held it he imagined what it would be like to hold her in his arms. But why dream something that will never be?

  “That’s a cabinet card. Papa took that one of me a few weeks back in the new dress he bought for me.”

  “I remember that dress. You had it on the first day we met.” Why’d he have to say that? Now she was blushing.

  “Since you’re here, you must allow me to take your portrait—a cabinet card. Don’t be shy. People have their pictures taken all the time. Have you ever had yours made?”

  “No, can’t say that I have.”

  Miss Van Horn glanced over his outfit and smiled. “Are you wearing new clothes?”

  He nodded. Did she think he had dressed up to come see her?

  “Perfect. See, you are all dressed for a sitting. You must agree,” she said.

  How can I say no to such a charmer? “All right. On one condition.”

  Miss Van Horn tilted her pretty head. “And what, Mr. Wilcox, is that?”

  “Do I look like a Mr. Wilcox to you? Please call me Yiska.”

  “Then come this way, Yiska.” She turned her head back over her shoulder. “Oh, and you must call me Eliana.”

  Eliana had almost spilled the pigments when she looked up and saw Mr. Wilcox—Yiska—enter the studio. How ruggedly handsome he looked in his fringed leather coat. He took his hat off and hung it on a hook by the door, his dark hair framing his chiseled features. And now she would finally get to take his photograph.

  Eliana began to move one of the chairs away from the sitting area when Yiska placed his hand on hers.

  “Allow me.” He gazed directly into her eyes. “All of them?”