A Claim of Her Own Read online

  “Do you mind my asking about the name?” Tom asked.

  “Of course not. Garth vas my husband.” She nodded. “Now. I vish that I pay you to see to the building of a store here on dis lot vile I bring more goods.” She hesitated before saying, “Freddie has said dat your lot is not de best for a store.” She gestured around them. “As you can see, mine is excellent. I propose dat you move your business to my lot.”

  “Well, Freddie was right about my lot,” Tom said. “If he hadn’t come in the middle of the night and moved them, I would have lost every packing crate.” He made a sweeping motion with his good arm. “Whoosh. Who knows where they would have ended up.” He peered around at Swede’s lot. “And you do have a prime location.”

  “One of de best,” Swede agreed. “If you camp on your lot and keep a store open dere for vile ve build, ve can move all the merchandise dere and take down my tent to make room for my building. You could use my tent for lodging.” Eva had fallen asleep in Tom’s arms while they talked. She stood up and reached for the baby. “You tink as I am putting Eva down for her nap.”

  Tom spoke first to Mattie. “It’s only required that a claim be worked one day a week to prove possession. Is there any chance you would consider brushing up on your numbers so you could help out temporarily—just until Swede’s building is finished and I can move everything in? I know enough about building to handle the project, but I can’t very well oversee a building project and run a store at the same time.”

  “And I’m not good at figures,” Freddie said.

  Swede chimed in as she returned from putting Eva down. “Even a fine building can be finished in a few veeks.”

  “That’s right,” Tom agreed, and once again spoke to Mattie. “If you would help out at my present location for even part of every day we would free you up completely in three weeks’ time.”

  “I could stay on your claim and make sure no one bothered it,” Freddie offered. “Every night if you want.”

  “I vill pay you,” Swede said.

  “And I’ll show you everything you need to know about panning for gold,” Tom added.

  “And I vill bring free of charge the finest tombstone in the territory.”

  Mattie looked from Tom to Freddie to Swede. What could a woman do?

  It struck her in the middle of the night, and when Swede realized what she had done, she couldn’t sleep. As soon as dawn broke, she shook Freddie awake. “You keep vatch up by his tent, and when Mr. English has avakened I must know.” She brushed her hair until it shone that morning and donned a clean apron. She even put a clean dress on Eva, and as soon as Freddie reported that Mr. English was up, she put Eva on her hip and hurried up the street. The moment he answered her call and opened the tent flap, Swede blurted out, “I must to apologize.”

  Mr. English frowned. “For what?”

  “I meant nothing by all my talk yesterday. I did not tink.” She paused. Took a deep breath. “I have tought only of Garth Merchandise for so long—and you vere so kind to consider helping me. But in the night I realized dat all my talk vas as if I vas hiring you only to help. Please forgive me. My intention vas to form a partnership— not to treat you as a common laborer. And I do not blame you for being angry.”

  Mr. English jiggled Eva’s foot and smiled when the baby giggled. “Do I seem angry?”

  “No, but … I insulted you.”

  “How? By proposing a mutually beneficial business relationship?”

  “The name of the store must be English and Garth,” Swede said. “And you vill have a written agreement stating dat we are equal partners. Assuring dat I vill freight only for our store and ve split profits equally. I should have suggested all of dese tings. I apologize for being so concerned for my own problems and treating you—”

  “Mrs. Jannike,” Mr. English said abruptly, “if I may interject a word?”

  Swede broke off. She nodded even as she braced herself for what was to come. He wouldn’t shout. She felt certain of that. But he would most definitely take the opportunity to agree with her that she had been rude. She’d overstepped her bounds as a woman. She’d presumed on his quiet nature.

  “As for the name of the store, I don’t really care if my name is on it or not. I think it will be grand for Freddie and Eva to see their father’s name on the store their mother built—at least partially as a tribute to him. And as for our partnership, I think we both understand exactly how it will work. You are the freighter, I am the storekeeper. You bring the goods to Deadwood and I maintain the ledger. We split the profits in half, and—” he paused—“as for a written contract, I don’t think that’s necessary between two honest people who respect each other.”

  “You—” Swede sputtered. “You aren’t angry vit me?”

  He shook his head. “Of course not. I’m grateful to have been rescued from the obvious problems this lot presents. And I’m honored that you’d trust me with overseeing your construction project. And,” he said, chucking Eva under the chin, “I’m actually looking forward to working with you or for you, and I don’t honestly care how that was worded yesterday.

  “Now,” he continued, “I do have one other thing I’d like to request to seal our agreement.” He winked at Eva. His brown eyes crinkled at the edges as he said, “I’d like it very much if you would call me Tom.”

  As Mattie climbed up to Dillon’s claim on Friday morning, the sun broke through the clouds, and by the time she ducked into the tent to change into mining garb, the promise of sunshine had become reality. She opened Dillon’s storage box, and as the aroma of his pipe tobacco wafted upward, she blinked back tears. I will not cry I will not cry I will not. She jerked a pair of pants and a shirt out and shut the box. She began to talk to herself. “You’ve done some shocking things in your life, Mattie O’Keefe, but this—this is an entirely new level of shocking.” Her throat relaxed. She kept talking to herself. “What would the folks in Kansas say … Miss Mattie O’Keefe dressing like a man …” She stepped into the pants and bent to roll up the cuffs. “I’m going to need suspenders,” she said aloud. Twine laced through the belt loops would have to do today. The wool socks were warm. She just might keep wearing those even when she donned her other clothes. She slipped into a green flannel shirt. “Thank goodness Dillon isn’t … wasn’t … six … feet… .” She swallowed. Dillon isn’t. Dillon was … but now he isn’t.

  Her resolve melted. She cried again. She cried more. She sprawled on Dillon’s pallet and cried until she was exhausted. Finally, she took the three steps to the “front door” in her stocking-clad feet and looked down the trail toward Deadwood.

  “Tom said to tell you that he will be here soon.”

  With a little gasp, Mattie saw Freddie perched on a rock ledge, whittling. He gave no sign of having heard her crying. Instead, he smiled and said, “You look pretty.”

  As if her red eyes and runny nose didn’t even exist. Bless him. “Do I look like a real miner?”

  He shook his head. “You are too clean to be a real miner.”

  She laughed and with the laughter came release from the threat of more tears. Putting her hand atop her head, she said, “I need a hat.”

  Freddie jerked his off his head and sent it sailing through the air. It landed at her feet. Mattie pulled it on and they both laughed as all of her abundant dark hair and most of her head were swallowed up. She tilted her head back and looked at Freddie from beneath the brim.

  “You almost disappeared there for a minute.” Tom English’s voice carried up the gulch from below. As he climbed toward them he said, “And I almost mistook you for Brady Sloan.” He pointed to the claim above Mattie’s. “He’s about your size.”

  “Really?” Mattie handed Freddie’s hat back to its owner. “Maybe he’d sell me some of his cast-offs.”

  “Only if you’ve a mind to set up a vat so you can boil them first.” Tom smiled as he pointed to Mattie’s bare head. “I’d suggest you see if some nice storekeeper in town would extend credit t
o cover the cost of a hat.” He glanced down at her feet. “And rubber boots that fit.”

  “I didn’t find a hat inside, but I can wad up some newspapers to fill the toes of Dillon’s boots.”

  “That will work for today,” Tom said, “but you’ll need boots that fit before you start working in earnest. A woman who does a man’s job should dress for the dance.”

  “All right,” Mattie agreed. “I’ll get some proper-sized boots soon.” She ducked inside the tent and began handing out tools. “You can get set up while I resize the boots.”

  “Whoa,” Tom said. “All you need for today’s lesson is a shovel and the pan.” He reached into his shirt pocket and withdrew a few toothpicks. “I’ve brought the rest.”

  As she pulled on the paper-stuffed boots, she asked, “What about something to put the gold in?”

  “I truly doubt we’re going to need to worry about that for today.” Tom glanced up at the sky. “My aching back says the weather’s turning.”

  “Turning to what?”

  “Snow, maybe.”

  “In May?”

  “Welcome to the Black Hills,” he said with a nod. “Last year we had a two-day blizzard in June.”

  Mattie didn’t want to think about snow. She gestured toward town. “Why do you think the gulch is so deserted today?”

  Tom shrugged. “It’s a rare day when every claim is being worked. Today they’re all probably holed up in this saloon or that dance hall warming themselves with bad whiskey and wom—” He broke off. Cleared his throat.

  Freddie spoke up. “I got something.” He held out the stick he’d been whittling. It was about two inches in diameter, and before hollowing it out he’d smoothed one end so it would sit flat on a rock. “I bet it’ll hold at least an ounce,” he said. “And while you do the panning I’ll make a lid for it.” He settled back on the rock ledge and went back to work.

  Tom reached for the gold pan with his hook, then pulled back and extended his left hand. “Sorry.”

  Mattie touched his sleeve above the hook. “Please,” she said. “It’s not you. It’s—someone else. Someone I knew who—” She couldn’t stifle the shudder. She took a deep breath. “But you’re nothing like him. It’s just hard to forget sometimes.”

  Tom nodded. “I understand.”

  Looking up at him, she saw palpable hurt in his dark eyes. A thread of understanding passed between them before Mattie said, “Thank you.” She gestured around them. “For doing this.”

  Tom grinned. “We’ll see if you still feel like thanking me tonight when your legs feel like they’re going to fall off and your pretty little hands are red and chapped.” He led the way over to the creek bed. “All right,” he said and held up the pan. “First, the pan.”

  “It’s a rusty mess,” Mattie said. “I’ll get a new one if that nice storekeeper who’s going to extend credit for a hat and boots will allow it.”

  “Why would you want a new pan?”

  “Because this one’s all rusty.”

  “It’s supposed to be rusty,” Tom explained. “Run your fingers over the surface. Feel that? That texture will grab a lot more gold flecks than a smooth one. And since we’re talking about that, don’t ever use a gold pan for cooking. Obviously you wouldn’t do that anyway with this one, but even if you had a new one, you wouldn’t want it doing double-duty over the campfire. Grease would make the surface even slicker, and that would allow the gold to slip away.”

  “Understood,” Mattie said. “Rust is good.”

  Tom nodded even as he crouched down by the stream. “Now take your shovel and put about a peck of gravel here,” he said, pointing at the pan with his hook. Once Mattie had done that, he submerged the pan. The current in the stream stirred the gravel. “See how the dirt and silt is washing away?” Mattie nodded, and Tom brought the pan back to the surface. “Pick out the large pebbles, making sure you’ve rinsed them so any gold clinging to them stays in your pan.” By the time Mattie was finished, her fingers were numb with cold.

  “Now, this is the only part that takes a little practice.” He dipped the pan back beneath the water so the sand slopped over the edge. “If there were any gold nuggets, you’d see them and be able to pick them out now.”

  “But there aren’t,” Mattie observed.

  “No, but that doesn’t mean you don’t have any gold.” With a flick of his wrist, Tom swirled the remaining contents of the pan in such a way that the fine gravel spread across the bottom, a crescent moon in a rust-colored sky.

  “All right.” Tom pointed to the far tip of the moon. “That tip has been carried over there because it’s heaviest.”

  “And gold is heaviest,” Mattie murmured, looking excitedly at the tip of the crescent. She sat back on her heels. “But there’s no gold.”

  Tom took a toothpick and began to separate the grains of sand. Presently there were three tiny flecks of gold clinging to the side of the pan. “I’m out of practice,” he apologized. “There might have been some we missed. A skilled panner could put a dozen flecks of gold the size of a pinpoint in a pan of gravel, and by the time he was finished, he wouldn’t have missed a single one.” He pointed to the three tiny flecks. “A lot of your gold may come in pieces just about that size.”

  He stood back up, grimacing with the effort. “Be forewarned. Miners who do much panning end up with sore backs and weak knees.” He shrugged. “And for that reason alone, although I’m showing you how to do it, I sincerely hope you decide you don’t want any part of it.” Looking down at her he nodded. “And I see that look in your eyes, so just allow me to say it for you: I should mind my own business.” He paused. “And henceforth I shall.”

  Mattie called over to Freddie, “You finished with my dust-catcher yet?” He brought it over. She looked at the three minuscule flecks of gold and wondered how to capture them. Tom moistened the end of a toothpick and, using it as a kind of “gold magnet,” transferred the flecks of gold from the edge of the pan to what Mattie called her dust-catcher.

  “I’d guess your little dust-catcher there will hold a couple of ounces of flecks this size. Maybe a little more. That’s forty dollars worth.”

  Mattie considered. Forty dollars represented a lot of time crouching in that cold stream. Especially when she had routinely made more than that every night back in Abilene. But you didn’t really make that money, did you? Because Jonas wasn’t really keeping an account, and he wasn’t ever going to give it to you. She forced a smile. “But you can’t say there won’t be any nuggets.”

  Tom shook his head. “No one could say that.”

  Freddie spoke up. “Finn McKay got a thirty-dollar nugget this morning. That’s why they’re in town instead of on their claim.”

  “So,” Mattie asked, “should I follow their example and deposit every day’s find in the bank?” She wasn’t looking forward to the idea of a daily trek down and back.

  Tom cleared his throat. “I don’t think the McKays are very investment minded.”

  Freddie spoke up. “I saw them and they invited me to go with ’em to that new dance hall.” He shrugged. “Mor would whip me good if I ever went in a dance hall.” He smiled at Mattie. “Besides, I had to help Mattie.” He tucked his whittling knife into his shirt pocket. “But now I gotta go help Mor,” he said. “She and Eva are leaving at first light tomorrow.”

  “Let’s get back to town,” Mattie said. “Swede might need our help, too.” Palming her hand-carved dust-catcher, she ducked inside the tent to change back into her town clothes while Tom and Freddie waited.

  While she changed, Mattie pondered the alluring idea of finding a thirty-dollar gold nugget. If she was careful, if she was lucky, she could do well here on her claim. If she was really lucky, she might even get rich. Tom was right about one thing. She was going to need rubber boots that fit.

  CHAPTER 5

  Lay not up for yourselves treasures upon earth, where moth and

  rust doth corrupt, and where thieves break through and s
teal: But

  lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor

  rust doth corrupt, and where thieves do not break through nor steal:

  For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.

  Matthew 6:19–21

  Lars! Leif! Gee-ho, you two-bit flea-ridden good-for-nuttin’ grass-eatin’—” Swede cracked her whip and finally, with a bellow of protest, the oxen moved out, the last in a train of ten freighting outfits headed back to Sidney on another supply run. Freddie walked alongside her, Eva perched on his shoulders, laughing and giggling as Freddie did his slow-motion gallop alongside the wagons.

  “Now, you mind Mr. English—Tom—and vatever he needs for de new store,” Swede said.

  “Yes, Mor. I already told Aunt Lou I might not be able to hunt as much.”

  “I put two clean shirts on top of your bedroll. You’re going to be in town more, you need to stay clean.”

  “Thank you, Mor.”

  “I’m hauling for de Big Horn dis time, too, but after dis I verk just for us. So you remind Mr. English—Tom—I vill need a list ready, since I vill not be spending any time at all in town next time.

  I must to hurry to beat de snow on de last run.”

  “Yes, Mor.”

  They reached the part of the trail that began the ascent toward higher ground. “Be sure to check dose traps we set every day. And if you are off hunting, remind Mr. English. I’m not freighting to feed Dakota mice.”

  Freddie nodded.

  “And try to keep an eye out for Mattie ven you can.”

  “I will, Mor,” Freddie promised. “I’m taking her stew.”

  “She von’t like it if she tinks ve are hovering too close.”

  “I won’t hover. I’ll just see she’s all right.”

  Swede rattled on, reminding Freddie of this, suggesting that, until finally Freddie said, “Lars and Leif are going awful slow.”

  Indeed they were. The other freighters had pulled far ahead. Swede cracked the whip again. The oxen lowed in protest, but they stepped out, pulling the wagons—three empty and one full of supplies for the weeks on the trail—ever higher up and out of Whitewood Gulch. Every so often, a snowflake danced out of the sky and lighted on one broad rump or another.