Claim: A Novel of Colorado (The Homeward Trilogy) (7 page)

He sat down in a chair by the table, watching as Sabine showed the boy how to carve the chicken. She tore off a hunk of sourdough bread, placed a thick slice of chicken beside it, and then went over to the fireplace. She ladled a thick brown sauce over the chicken, full of carrots and potatoes and what smelled like apples. Then she fixed two more plates and joined Nic and Everett at the table. The child sat, transfixed, staring at the plate. It was obviously taking everything in him not to dive in immediately.

Sabine folded her hands and looked over at Nic expectantly. He glanced from her to the child and saw that Everett had his hands folded and eyes closed. They were waiting for grace. Grace. How long had it been since he had asked a blessing over food? He thought back. Months. More likely years, he thought, bowing his head. He grasped for some memory of how one properly did this and came up with little. “God, I uh … umm … thanks for Sabine’s kindness and this food. Amen.”

“Amen,” Sabine said softly.

“Amen!” said Everett. He immediately stabbed a big potato and thrust it into his mouth. His eyes rounded. “Hot,” he mumbled, his mouth full of food.

Nic laughed under his breath and pointed to the boy’s tin cup of water. The boy took it and quickly took a sip. He swallowed and took a bite of chicken next. “Slow down, slow down,” Nic said, smiling.

He looked over at Sabine and saw that she was smiling too, a warm look in her eyes. There was something about the child that brought out her softer side. Perhaps that was why she was a schoolmarm.

When she caught him looking at her, her smile faded and she looked down at her food. No, she was an undeniably handsome woman, but she was as far out of his bounds as she was out of town. This was a woman who did not want a man. She was sealed off. Injured, somehow.

Nic dug into his own food and chewed, relishing the tastes of delicate seasoning and flavors he had not experienced in months. Not since Buenos Aires had he had such a fine meal. He dared to glance at Sabine and then at Everett, then back to his food. They all ate in silence, lost in their own thoughts.

He didn’t know what tomorrow would hold. He was too tired to decide tonight. After a good sleep, that would be when he’d know.

o

Nic awakened to find Everett sitting up, elbows on knees, chin in hands, staring at him again.

“Ugh, Everett, please don’t do that,” Nic said, rolling over so his back was to the boy. But he could still feel the child’s eyes boring into his back.

“Are you goin’ to leave?”

“Not today,” Nic said with a groan.

“Tomorrow?”

“I don’t know.”

“The next day?”

“I don’t know.”

He was silent for a time; then, “Why would you leave? The mine’s producing. Where would you go? For what?”

Nic turned onto his back and stared up at the ceiling, then over at the boy. His hair was rumpled, standing up in all directions. His face still held the indentations of his pillow’s seam. But his eyes were clear, bright, focused. “Look, Everett. I told you before, mining’s not my game.”

“So, you’re going to go do what? Where?”

Nic frowned and sat up, rubbed his face, and stared back at the child. “I don’t know. I only know that this isn’t the thing for me.”

“How do you know? You’ve only given it a week. And it hasn’t been that bad this week, has it?”

Besides listening to you cry in your sleep, knowing you’re missing your father? Besides being down in that deep, dark hole, feeling like it could swallow us both at any moment?
“No,” he managed to say, “it hasn’t been the worst week of my life.”

Everett smiled triumphantly and rose. “Good. This week will be even better.” He went to the foot of his bed, pulled off his nightshirt, and pulled on his work shirt and trousers. As he buttoned up the front of the shirt, he peered over at Nic. “You are going to stay, right? For another week? Just to see what the payout might be?”

Nic laughed under his breath and shook his head. He looked up at the child. “Sure you’re only ten years old?”

“Pretty sure, yeah.”

“Well, you bargain like a man,” he said. He rose and reached out a hand. Tentatively, Everett shook it. “I’ll give you a week more, maybe even two. But I have to tell you, Ev, I think it’d be good to find kin for you. Your people, they’d want to know you were alone. Once they knew you were, and how great a kid you are, I’m sure they’d send for you.”

Everett’s hands dropped to his side. “But I want to stay here.”

“I understand that. But I don’t know if I do. And you can’t stay here alone.”

“But I could go with Sabine—”

“Sabine thinks you need a man in your life. Someone to show you the ropes. Without, you know, your dad here …”

“Sabine doesn’t know everything!” Everett cried. He dropped the sock he had been putting on and ran outside barefoot, letting the door slam behind him.

Nic sighed and put his face in his hands. “What am I doing?” he groaned, emphasizing every syllable. “I don’t know how to raise a kid. Am I making it worse, sticking around?”

Who was he asking? God? And since when did he look
there
for advice?

A knock on the door startled him. He threw on his trousers, rose, and walked over to it, half expecting Everett or Sabine.

Two well-dressed men stood outside, hats in hand. “Mr. St. Clair?”

“I am,” Nic said, wishing he’d had time to comb his hair.

“I am Mr. Dell,” said the shorter one, “and this is Mr. Kazin. May we come in?”

“Certainly.” He opened the door wider and gestured to the three small chairs around the table. The men looked around and then sat down, looking smug. Nic knew that expression. They thought they had him. But what did they want?

“We are principals in the Dolly Mae Mine,” Mr. Dell said, sitting a little higher in his seat as he did so. The Dolly Mae was a huge producer, a half mile above Alpine, worked by more than a hundred men. Everett had told him how a friend and his dad ran cattle for the mining company, solely to keep the workers in fresh meat. The mine had made the town of Alpine what it was today—a settlement of nearly a thousand.

Nic’s eyes narrowed.

“We’ll get right to it, Mr. St. Clair,” the taller man, Mr. Kazin, said, after glancing around, as if he hoped there was coffee on the stove. His thick mustache twitched. “You very wisely laid claim to the deceased Mr. Vaughn’s mine. If we had known that Mr. Vaughn had passed on, we would’ve done so ourselves.”

Nic leaned forward. “What is it you’re specifically after, gentlemen?”

The two shared a look and then glanced back to him. “We are prepared to offer you a handsome sum, Mr. St. Clair, for rights to the Vaughn mine. There has been little ore found in this country that didn’t require a major operation to extract it. Word has it that you’ve found quality ore only fifty feet down.…”

Nic nodded and forced himself to take slow, even breaths.

“That is fine news, fine news indeed,” Mr. Dell put in. “You see, Mr. St. Clair, you might toil down below all winter and bring up perhaps a thousand dollars worth of ore. We can do that in a day or two.”

Mr. Kazin leaned forward. “We are offering you shares in our company’s work, plus a fine sum for the property itself.”

“How fine a sum?” Nic sat back, crossing his arms over his chest.

“If, after a thorough examination, our surveyors approve of it, we are prepared to offer you fifty thousand dollars.”

Nic struggled not to gasp. Fifty thousand dollars. That was more than his inheritance had been. Of course, a good portion would have to be put into a trust fund for Everett.… He looked up at the men. “What kind of shares?”

“It’s an escalating option,” Mr. Dell said, pulling papers out of his jacket pocket. “One percent up front. Sliding up to three percent if the mine produces over a hundred thousand dollars in ore.”

Nic stared at the papers blankly, pretending to read but not able to focus on a single word.

“There is a second stipulation,” Mr. Kazin said. When Nic met his gaze, he went on, “We need your assistance in convincing Mrs. Sabine LaCrosse to accept our offer as well. As I’m sure you know, our mining operations are quite large.”

“Quite.”

“Our surveyors believe that the vein you have discovered is likely to run beneath her property.”

He ignored the inference that their men had been up here tramping around before they’d had the decency to approach Sabine or Peter. “And are you prepared to offer her similar terms?”

“Potentially. But you see—” the men shared another long look—“Mrs. LaCrosse has declined our initial offer.”

“Declined it?” Sabine didn’t even intend to mine her property. Why not sell for such a sum?

“Apparently, she has a woman’s
attachment
to the property. You know how they can be. Especially women of her kind.”

“Hmm,” Nic returned, noncommittally.
Her kind? Attached?
He could see why these two had rankled his neighbor. She had probably run them off with her shotgun in hand.

“So we would require, Mr. St. Clair, that you convince Mrs. LaCrosse of the need to comply with the terms of our offer and that you both exit the properties as soon as possible. It is your combined boundary lines that make your land so desirable.”

Nic studied him. “As soon as possible? You would immediately begin setting up operations here?”

“As soon as possible,” he repeated. He rose and his partner did the same. “It is imperative, Mr. St. Clair, that we move quickly. The Dolly Mae is nearly tapped out and we prefer to move our operation—equipment and crew—at once. We have a maximum of three weeks.”

Nic rose. “Three weeks can go rather fast.”

“Indeed.”

“Well, I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to at least have your surveyor do his preliminary work. You did say it had to be done before we could make a deal official.…”

“Oh, yes,” Mr. Dell said. He reached out a hand. “Can I send him up tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow?” Nic didn’t like the feeling of being rushed. And he still had to talk to Sabine. Introduce it in the right way. “No, not tomorrow. Give me three days. Send him up Friday.”

Mr. Dell forced a cordial expression to his face. “Good enough. Three days. But I warn you, Mr. St. Clair, if it’s as promising as he believes it will be, we’ll be urging a rapid sale and move.”

“I understand,” Nic said. He showed them to the door, then closed it behind them.

Fifty thousand dollars. Peter had promised him half. If he even kept
ten
percent and put the rest in a trust for Everett for when he turned sixteen, he could go a long, long way. He sat down in the chair. He’d be free to move where he wished.

He could go to Odessa, face her with his head held high again.

It had been what he’d wanted all along.

Wasn’t it?

Then why didn’t it feel … right?

CHAPTER EIGHT

Nic found the boy over at Sabine’s—where he’d run, angry with him—eating a bowl of mush. The boy took a long drink of water and casually studied him. “What’d those two dandies from town want?” Everett asked.

“They wanted to buy your dad’s land,” Nic said evenly. There was no use keeping it a secret. It’d only come back to cause him trouble down the road. He sat down across from the boy, sighing wearily, and then looked up at Sabine. “Your land too.”

“Yes,” she said. “They were here yesterday.” She remained standing, as if bracing herself.

“They’re offering a lot of money for the property,” Nic said. “Why not take the money, buy another piece of property, and have enough to live on through your old age?”

Her wide eyes narrowed. “They offered me ten thousand dollars. I assume they offered you more?”

He blinked. “Considerably more.”

She let out a dismissive noise and turned away, fiddling with a cloth and the teakettle. “That is little surprise.”

“But, Sabine,” he said, leaning forward on the table, ignoring Everett’s wide-eyed look, “we can make them offer you the same amount they offered me. Er, Everett and me.”

She glanced back at him. “You would give Everett a portion?”

“Ninety percent. Set him up with a trust fund.”

“But I don’t need—” Everett began.

“Ninety when Peter promised you half?” Sabine said, cutting off the child.

“I’ve done little more than tinker around for a few days below ground. The land belongs to Everett. I’m merely a steward, of sorts.”

“So, that’s it?” Everett broke in. “You’d take your part and leave?”

“Everett, they offered us fifty thousand dollars. Do you know how long it would take for you and me to pull up that amount of ore? You could do a hundred things other than be a miner when you’re a man. Your father was looking for a way to make something of himself and make a future for you, right?”

The boy hesitated and then nodded.

Nic looked up at Sabine. “Right?”

She nodded too.

“He succeeded, Everett,” Nic went on. “He found the vein that could make you one of the richest boys in the world. We could set up your trust. Get you established in Buena Vista with a nice family, not an orphanage. Someone who would take on your care, feed you, watch after you. Lots of families in need of a little extra. Then, when you’re sixteen, you could get a portion of those funds. And another portion when you’re twenty-five.” He’d seen for himself how fast a trust fund could evaporate. He’d make sure youthful foolishness didn’t cause Everett to experience the same. “You could go to college. A fine college, and still have enough to begin a business, launch an expedition, whatever you choose.”

“May I speak to you outside?” Sabine asked him, her facial expression tight.

He looked up at her in surprise, paused, and then nodded. “I’ll be right back,” he told Everett. “Finish your breakfast.”

Nic followed Sabine outside. “Where’s Sinopa?” he asked. “I haven’t seen him for days.”

“He left,” she said simply.

“To hunt?”

“He’ll return when he decides to,” she said, ignoring his question.

“I see.” He shifted nervously, from one foot to the other, wondering what she needed to say to him.

“I don’t want to sell to those men,” she said.

He shoved down the flash of anger, the rash words that leaped to his mouth. “W–why?”

She turned and crossed her arms in front of her. “They offered you five times what they offered me. They cannot be trusted.”

“So, we won’t accept their offer unless they give you the same amount.”

“They won’t do that, Nic,” she said, looking over her shoulder at him. A portion of her long brown hair fell down her back. Nic found himself staring at it.

“Why are you so certain of that?”

“Because I’ve lived here for years. I know these men. Their kind.”

“Rich men? Professional miners?”

“White men.”

“Wh–white men?” He stared at her in confusion.

She crossed the few feet between them and tapped his chest with her finger. “Are you blind? I am a half-breed,” she spit out, “as those gentlemen of the Dolly Mae so kindly put it, lucky to get anything at all.”

Nic stared down at her. All at once he could see the high cheekbones, the wide arc of her dark brows, the brown lashes he assumed were her French heritage.
Sinopa
.

She could see the recognition in his eyes. “Sinopa is my half brother. We shared the same father.”

“And that is why he watches over you?”

“If not for him …” She turned and took a few steps away from Nic.

“Sabine?” He dared to take a couple of steps after her.

She gazed at the valley. Far below, smoke rose in serpentine tails from the small cottages that marked the edge of town. “I did not tell Mr. LaCrosse of my heritage. When he found out, he took to beating me. First, once in a while, for burning the bread or not having a meal ready for him when he came out of the mine.”

“Then later, more often,” he finished for her.

She nodded, chin in hand, still looking away. “I was terribly thin, bruised, my arm in a sling when Sinopa found me.” She dared to look at him then. Her look was that of a little girl lost. He fought off the urge to fold her into his arms. Instead he turned away, hand on the back of his head. How many times had he struck out in rage? Not seeing a face, a body, only a means to relinquish the fury inside? If he ever married, would he put his own bride at risk?

Never.
Never
.

He could feel her eyes on him, and slowly he turned. “Your husband died then?”

“Disappeared. He was never seen again.”

Nic looked to the ground. “And you’ve lived up here, all alone, since then?”

“Other than Peter and Everett, yes. Peter was a good neighbor to me. They moved up here and began working the claim just after … Sinopa arrived.”

Nic nodded.

She shook her head, lifted her chin, and looked him in the eye. “I’m a different person than I once was. Which is why I cannot sell to these men. They look at me with the same disdain my husband had in his eyes. To them, I am little more than a dog.”

“I understand.” After his years in the ring, and as part of a crew aboard a ship, he had seen for himself how a man could be belittled, judged, and found to be lacking.

“Could you consider it?” He dipped his head and met her eyes, seeing the hurt that lingered there. “For Everett? I can handle all the negotiations so you never needed speak to them again. Or would it not be delightful to see them squirm?” He gave her a wink. “To force them to pay you what’s right? Nothing hurts men like these more than to let go of their precious money.”

She let a small smile tease the corners of her lips.

“Why not take your share and move to wherever you wish, build a fine house? Somewhere with a view that rivals this—” he gestured outward—“but a place that is a little easier to get to come wintertime.”

Her smile grew but then quickly faded. “You know that even if we can force their offer to a hundred thousand dollars, we can be certain it’s worth ten times more.”

“I understand. They also offered me shares. We’ll make sure they do that for you as well. If it produces, we continue to gain. From their labor.”

She shook her head. “It is much to consider.”

“It is. Allow me to go as far as letting their surveyor peruse our mines.”

She sniffed and lifted her chin. “If you think it worth the time.”

But she was simply preserving her dignity. She was intrigued; he could see it in her eyes. Even with her mixed-blood heritage, she could make a place for herself. Anywhere in the world, regardless of who a person was, money talked. He’d seen it, time and again. Money bought instant respect; character took much longer.

“I don’t want to work that mine alone, Sabine,” he said, hands on his hips. “There isn’t much that could be more dismal than to see you and Everett ride off through the trees toward town, and then have to make myself go down that hole, day in and day out.” He cocked his head. “This seems the easy way out.”

Even as the words came out of his mouth, his heart twisted. What was wrong with him? Didn’t he want out? This was not what he signed up for.…

She studied him, glanced down at the town, then back to him. “Sometimes, mon ami,
easy
is not the
best
way. It was easiest for me to marry Mr. LaCrosse, when it would’ve been better to make my own way, hard though it may have been.” She paused for a moment’s reflection. “But I shall bless this next step. Find out if all this talk is futile. Or perhaps truly the beginnings of a future path.”

o

Moira sat at Odessa’s piano and hit a low F and G flat, over and over again, liking the dissonance. She was thinking of her letter from Francine Knapp. Odessa appeared at last at the top of the stairs. Samuel was in her arms. “Are you going to do that all afternoon?”

“Perhaps,” Moira said, not turning around.

“He took a job, Moira,” she said, coming down the stairs. “He didn’t leave you.”

“Perhaps,” she said again.

Odessa paused beside her and shifted Samuel to her other arm. “You need to do something. Don’t let this suck you into a crater. Let it be your own new chapter.”

“Such as?”

“Well, you adore singing. You’re a fairly decent pianist, when you’re not pecking out the two most sorrowful notes known to man. What if you start practicing again?”

“To sing where? In the carnival?”

She felt Odessa’s frown. “Moira, stop that. Turn around and look at me.”

Reluctantly, Moira swiveled on the stool and dragged her eyes up to meet her sister’s.

“You are not a horror to look at, regardless of what you think. And in your veil, you look even more exotic and mysterious than you did before.” She reached out with her free hand to take her sister’s. “The fire did not take your voice. That gift from God has not been stolen. What if you gave it back to Him? What if you were the musician in our new church in Conquistador? What if you sang for the patients at the sanatorium, lifted their spirits on occasion? Gave voice lessons?”

Moira’s heart began to speed up in response to Odessa’s words. She had missed singing. Her voice was rough, but it could be regained through practice.

She glanced up at Odessa, who smiled into her eyes. “There. That’s my sister. I’ve missed that spark. Daniel brought back some of the joy, but there is more yet to come—I can see it. Perhaps that’s part of what makes him hesitant … he wants to see you whole.”

“Whole? I’ll never be whole.”

“You
can
be whole again, Moira. Just in a different way. After the consumption, after those years in bed and so nearly dying, and all that happened afterward, I was
different
. I lost my youth in a way. I would never again be innocent. Carefree. But I gained wisdom and awareness and appreciation for life. Why don’t you see if you can figure out what
your
new definition of wholeness means?”

Moira looked out the window, thinking again of Daniel’s departure.

“Moira.”

She glanced back to Odessa.

“If you and Daniel are meant to be together, you will be. You’ve never been one to avoid taking charge. So take charge of what you can—you. Your life. Seek what God has for you next.” She squeezed her hand again and rose, moving toward the kitchen.

Moira turned back to the piano, put her finger over the F key, and paused.

Deciding, she opened a music book before her, hearing the notes in her mind as she scanned them. And she realized she was smiling.