A Love Most Worthy Page 4

  At the concern in his voice, a beam of affection whirled like a child’s top inside her. She peered over her shoulder, but he’d already walked away.

  Hallie picked up a towel and dried the plate. Action was preferable to pondering the guilt that came with not being upfront with her husband.

  ONCE RANCE AND THE boys left loaded down with fishing rods, a creel, and the lunch Hallie packed for them, she rushed out the door.

  On her way through town, she purchased a piece of ham, appalled by the price but not wanting to arrive at the Zeller’s empty-handed, especially since this was an unexpected visit. Near the bank of the Snake River, she met a familiar face.

  “How do, Miss Russell.”

  Hallie smiled at the old miner she’d met her first day in town. “It’s nice to see you again, Mr. Tucker. It’s Mrs. Preston now.”

  “Right.” He scratched his beard. “You ought not be traveling alone, ma’am. Where’s your husband?”

  “Mr. Preston is fishing with his nephews, but he’s aware of my visit to a woman I met recently. She and her husband are mining on the beach.”

  “And he let you come without him?” Mr. Tucker hung his head and waggled it back and forth. Both men acted as though she shouldn’t set foot outside the house without an escort. “You oughta stay clear of the beach and the sand spit. Ain’t no places for an unescorted lady.”

  The sand spit was a strip of land between the river and the sea. Moored along the area were large boats housing various businesses, including saloons. Reputable and disreputable trades occupied space wherever they could find it. So she’d been told.

  She faced the new Geiger Bridge that would allow her to cross the river. “It was a pleasure to see you, Mr. Tucker, but I must be on my way.”

  He stepped alongside her. “I’ll see you get to your friends. How far are they?”

  “It’s about a mile, I think, but please don’t go to the trouble and expense.” She had heard women and children were given free passage across the toll bridge, whereas men were charged.

  “Ain’t no trouble, ma’am.” He gripped her elbow and propelled her forward. “Goin’ home anyhow.”

  “In that case...”

  After crossing the Snake River, they strolled down the beach. Hallie breathed in the salt air, the smoke curling up from campfires, and the various odors of human habitation—appealing and not. She ignored the stares of bushy-faced men as her gaze darted first to a large sluice with its contents flowing into the water, then to miners digging trenches with shovels, sorting through pans, and positioning rockers. It seemed everyone had a system for finding the nuggets they craved.

  “Where is your tent, Mr. Tucker?”

  “I ain’t on the beach. I got here afore most and staked a claim on Dry Creek...raised me a little shack last fall. It ain’t much, but it’s warmer than these folks’ll be come winter.”

  Hallie stopped walking. Dry Creek was in the opposite direction. “But I thought you said you were coming this way.”

  “As I recall, I said I was goin’ home.” He winked. “Didn’t say how I was gonna get there.”

  Hallie laughed. She would hug him if she didn’t think he’d melt into his boots with embarrassment.

  “You know the way to your friend’s place?”

  She hated to admit she had no idea which tent belonged to the Zellers. “I’m afraid not.” When he scowled, she flashed a smile and said, “But I’m sure to find someone who knows them and can point the way.”

  “Might have me a few words with that husband of yours next time I see him.”

  “Oh, please don’t! I mean, he’s knows I’m visiting a friend. It’s just that he might think she lives in town.”

  Efrem Tucker’s scowl grew even fiercer, and he muttered something about “daft females” having no business in a mining district.

  When Hallie spotted a woman in a familiar, large sunbonnet, she picked up her pace. “There she is. Up ahead.”

  Sybil Zeller saw her and waved, then elbowed the man next to her.

  As Hallie and Efrem Tucker drew closer, she smiled at the old miner at her side. “Thank you for accompanying me. I’m sure Mr. Preston will be grateful, too.”

  He tipped his hat. “You’re welcome, ma’am. Tell your mister he ought not allow you to roam the beach alone.”

  And confess her duplicity today? Not if she could help it.

  RANCE TIED THE FLY to the line, one eye on his job and the other on Davie. The four-year-old was too young for a fly rod, but he could hold the simple pole Rance had made him, though the boy spent more time tossing small rocks into the water or squatting to play with bugs.

  “I’m gonna catch me a big grayling, Uncle Rance, or maybe a salmon.” Robbie stood on the bank of the Nome River with his fly rod in hand. Also too young to fish with any proficiency, but absorbed by the effort, his attention was on the line in the water.

  “You do that, and we’ll have fish for supper.”

  The older boy approached everything he did with patience, capability, and earnestness, so much like his father, and so unlike Rance—until he’d seen the light.

  Grief and guilt fought for the air in his chest. Trevor and Livie had died a little over a year ago, but he missed his brother and sister-in-law every day. He would give anything to have recognized Colleen’s deceit before it was too late.

  Ever since the day he’d asked God to forgive him, Rance had worked to honor their memories. He’d worked to overcome his wilder tendencies and mature into a man worthy of raising his brother’s children. Now, his emotions teetered on an attraction to another spirited female.

  No matter how hard he tried to avoid Hallie, thoughts of her occupied too much space in his day. He chuckled as he prepared Davie’s line. She was like a Coca-Cola, fizzing up and ready to bubble over with energy and emotion. He touched the healing bruise on his cheek. If she didn’t kill him first, he might come to enjoy having her around.

  “Here you go, Davie.” He handed the small pole to the child and watched carefully that he didn’t hook himself while dropping the line into the water.

  Rance sat in the grass and tried to rein in his concern over Hallie’s call on the woman she met outside his store. How could he have refused the visit when she hadn’t had a day to herself since her arrival in Nome? She deserved to keep company with a female friend on occasion. He should have walked her to the Zeller’s house though. Instead, he’d let her go alone never asking for directions to where they lived. What if something happened to her?

  He watched the boys, his concern still on his wife’s wellbeing. It wasn’t as if Nome was a completely uncivilized town. The people had a government—for what it was worth—and a police force. They also had cheating, stealing, and corruption.

  “Got one, Uncle Rance!” Davie tugged on his line as he’d seen his brother do a few minutes earlier.

  Rance grabbed the net and jogged to his side saying, “Use the reel.”

  In a matter of moments, he’d helped his youngest nephew scoop into the net their fourth Arctic grayling of the day—one for each of them at supper.

  Rance held up the fish, with its over-sized fins and golden belly. “Good work, Davie.”

  No sooner had he removed the hook than a shriek and a splash sounded behind him. He whipped around and groaned. Robbie was struggling to stand in the flowing river. Water dripped from his sodden hair onto his crumpled face. His cap floated down the river, chased by the wailing of a drenched little boy.

  Chapter Six

  What a glorious visit.” Until today, Hallie hadn’t realized how lonely she’d been for female conversation.

  Mr. Zeller had left the women at the campsite, where they sat in chairs outside the tent and got to know one another while he worked in the sand nearer the water.

  The newest arrivals of ships bobbed on the Bering Sea, giving the appearance of a naval invasion. Lighters and launches brought more hopeful miners and additional cargo to shore.

  At noon, t
he women prepared sandwiches. Bill Zeller ate three and Sybil two, both proclaiming their gratitude as if they hadn’t eaten meat in months. Hallie worried that might have been the case.

  As she prepared to the leave the Zeller camp, she wandered to the cradle-shaped box peeking from a large hole dug in the sand near the water. “Is this your rocker, Mr. Zeller?”

  His eyes widened. “I saw you eyeing it earlier. Now where’d you learn about them?”

  “From my father.” She ran her hand up and down the wooden handle, her fingers itching to move it back and forth to test the rocking motion. “I remember it from his description. He talked about how it was used to sift through the dirt and sludge to find pieces of gold.”

  “He was a miner, then?”

  “For several years as a younger man. He never forgot the thrill of those days.” Or put it behind him.

  “Thrill?” His wife huffed. “Back-breaking work is more like it.”

  Mr. Zeller frowned. “You know this is for our future, love.”

  Sybil squeezed his arm and placed her palm against his cheek, her gaze only for him. “As long as we’re together.”

  Hallie focused on the rocker to give them privacy and gain a grip on the envy that flowed through her like water sluicing through the mining equipment.

  She had enjoyed her time getting to know Sybil and found the couple amiable and talkative. As she had suspected from the day they met, Sybil would be the female friend she’d need here.

  Hallie peeked over her shoulder. Seeing them together, the way they loved one another sent another stab of resentment through her. She shouldn’t expect her marriage to produce such tender moments. Not when she was still little more than a stranger to her husband.

  “Would you like to try it, Mrs. Preston?”

  Hallie turned to Bill Zeller, her heart pounding. “The rocker? May I?”

  “Why not?”

  Finally, she would experience something from her father’s stories.

  From a trench already begun, he shoveled sand and gravel onto what he called a grizzly box with its iron-sheeted bottom. The metal had been perforated with half-inch holes to allow small pieces of rock and gold to sift through. As she worked the handle back and forth, rocking the box from side-to-side like a baby in a cradle, he used a large dipper to pour water from a nearby bucket over the contents, washing the smaller particles away from the larger pieces.

  “Not too hard now,” he told her. “Just agitate it a bit to wash the gold onto the canvas apron beneath or trap it at the top of the trough. We don’t want to lose any if we can help it. Those riffles”—he pointed to the wooden bars nailed horizontally along the tilted, sluice-like bed—“they’ll catch some too, but we’ll check the tailings that are flushed off the end of the bed with the water. Never know what you’ll find there.”

  When they had finished, Hallie ran her aching arm over her damp forehead and drew in deep breaths. “I see what you mean about hard work, Sybil.”

  “But worth it.” Bill raised his hand. Between his thumb and forefinger, he held a piece of gold not even a quarter the size of a pea, yet bigger than the one in her locket.

  Sybil whooped and Hallie laughed. Bill glanced around the area and shushed them both. “We don’t want our neighbors thinking we hit a mother lode.”

  Hallie tried to fathom the reason for his caution. “Wouldn’t that be good news?”

  Sybil shivered. “Not for old Three Eyes Elliott.”

  “Three Eyes?”

  “He wore one of those glass pieces at his eye. Monocles, I think they call them.”

  The image of a monocle made for a less shocking mental picture than a miner with the look of a Cyclops.

  “He found a good-sized nugget a couple weeks ago,” Sybil said, “and told the wrong person. Somebody murdered poor Three Eyes in his sleep that night and the gold came up missing.”

  “How dreadful.” A man lost his life over a nugget of gold? The knowledge knocked some of the glitter off the past hour. Hour? “Oh! What time is it?”

  Bill pulled a chain from his trouser pocket and flicked the lid open on the watch. “About one forty-five.”

  “I told my husband I’d return by one-thirty.” It would take her at least thirty minutes to walk home. If she hurried, she might yet make it back before Rance and the boys returned. She clasped Sybil’s hand. “Thank you for a wonderful afternoon. Next time, you must come see me.”

  Hallie nodded to Sybil’s husband and turned to walk away, but Bill Zeller caught her arm. “Don’t you want this, Mrs. Preston?” He held out the piece of gold.

  “For me?” She eyed the treasure, tempted to snatch it from his hand, but shook her head. “I can’t take that. It’s your livelihood.”

  “Nonsense. Take it as a remembrance that you made my Sybil happy today.”

  She hesitated only a moment, then stretched out her hand for him to place the nugget on her palm. “Thank you both. This afternoon has meant more to me than you’ll know.”

  Bill Zeller’s expression sobered. “Maybe I should see you home.”

  “That’s not necessary, and you have work to do. I’ll find my way.”

  He appeared uncertain, then said, “You be careful now, hear? And keep that to yourself.” He pointed to the gold.

  His words brought to mind Rance’s warning about the dangers of wandering alone, which caused Hallie’s nerves to quiver. Whenever her father spoke of the perils of seeking gold, he did so in terms of a thrilling exploit and never mentioned villains. She’d attributed her husband’s counsel as part of his cautious nature. On the other hand, how could she ignore the advice of three men?

  She tucked the piece in a tiny silver box hanging from the chatelaine at her waist and fled. Not only was she late, but she couldn’t rid her thoughts of the monocle-wearing man who’d been killed for a nugget of gold.

  Nerves fueled her feet like coal to an engine, and a few minutes later, she had crossed the bridge and reached Front Street. Along the way, the stares of every miner she passed crept into her imagination.

  “Good afternoon, Miss Russell.”

  A lanky man stepped into her path, and she shrieked. “Mr. Digby, you startled me.”

  “My sincere apology, ma’am.” He possessed a disarming smile under that dark mustache. Hallie was certain his charm aided him at the gaming tables. “You appear to be in a hurry.”

  “Yes, I’m late. My husband will be home soon.” She stressed her marital status to discourage any thoughts he might have gotten in his head upon their arrival in Nome. The only reason she had allowed his unorthodox assistance that day was because she saw no other way to get to shore without becoming soaking wet and, truthfully, she justified it as part of her new adventure. Now, the thought brought heat to her skin with the uncontrolled force of a wildfire.

  To think Rance witnessed the spectacle... Yet, he had never mentioned it. One would hope a fiancé would show some resentment of another man’s hold on his intended.

  “Congratulations on your marriage, ma’am.”

  “Thank you. Now, I must—”

  Shouts drowned out the rest of her speech, and she was shoved to and fro by excited men gathering nearby, yelling and cheering at something happening in the street.

  Mr. Digby caught hold of her arm to pull her out of their way.

  “What’s going on?”

  He glanced to the side. “Looks like a fight. Where do you live?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “I’ll see you home safely.”

  Men insisted on walking her everywhere today. Rance’s image floated before her. Most men.

  Hallie was driven against the outer wall of a saloon by the ill-mannered onlookers, and her shoulder rammed the wood at the impact. Only Mr. Digby’s hold kept her on her feet.

  “Are you hurt?” His dark eyebrows dipped.

  Only her pride. “No, I don’t think so.”

  Perhaps the current situation warranted his company. Surely, even Rance
would approve. However, if she beat him home, he need never know.

  She pointed in the direction she’d been walking. “That way.”

  RANCE PULLED HIS WATCH from his waistcoat pocket and flipped it open. Hallie was almost an hour late, and he hadn’t the first notion where to start looking for her.

  Once more, he chided himself for not asking where she was going. A real husband would be interested in such information, wouldn’t he? He would want to meet his wife’s acquaintances, right? In fact, a real husband would trust his wife and not jump to the conclusion that she wasn’t where she had claimed she would be.

  He wasn’t a husband in the conventional sense, but he was worrying like one—had worried over one thing or another pertaining to Hallie since he first met her. What had he missed in her letter that hinted at the bold character she often displayed?

  Sending for a bride sight unseen had been a gamble, but had he married a woman who approached situations with the same naive fearlessness as his late sister-in-law? As he himself had once done?

  After the deaths of the boys’ parents, Rance had worked hard to act in the responsible manner expected of him, to be more careful with the welfare of his nephews and less reckless with other people’s lives. Seeking a wife he’d never met had been the one exception. And, today, the old recklessness had risen again.

  God had not meant for him to live as if he expected heavenly protection from his foolhardy behavior, in the past or now.

  He stepped onto the porch and looked both ways down the street. From the west, a couple rounded the corner. Hallie and... He gripped the porch post. She was with that gambler Digby?

  Hallie’s steps faltered when she saw him. She said something to her companion. The man glanced toward the house, then tipped his hat and turned around.

  She rushed down the street and into the yard, out of breath and with her hat cocked on her head like a crooked fence post. Her eyes resembled a hoot owl’s. “You’re back early. Has something happened?”