Midnight Star (30 page)

Delaney had always laughed at that story before. Now he might as well be reciting a prayer book.

“Do you know the phrase ‘a gold spoon or a wooden leg’?”

She didn’t answer, of course.

“I remember back in the early spring of fifty-one that flour cost four dollars; by late summer it cost forty dollars. You see, what the merchants did was take risks continually. Would their shipments arrive first? If they did, the profit was enormous, and thus the merchant gained a ‘gold spoon.’ If he lost, a ‘wooden leg.’

“So many absurd things came over on the clipper ships. Can you believe that once we got a whole shipload of omnibuses? Just last year, the sagebrush on the hills was littered with junk
that simply didn’t sell. The Stevensons’ house has a foundation of cases of tobacco. Just eight months ago we used hundred-pound sacks of coffee from Brazil and flour from Chile to fill holes in Kearny Street. Montgomery Street was passable during the rains of fifty because of a double row of cooking stoves sunk in the mud. Of course, several months later, everyone needed cooking stoves. Too late. You can’t dig a thing up and use it, once you’ve sunk it in a mud hole.”

That had always seemed amusing to him. Now the stories were just strings of nonsense words. “Chauncey,” he whispered softly against her hair, “I’ll tell you these stories again when you’re well. I want to hear you laugh, watch your eyes sparkle.”

What if she dies? It will be your fault, all your fault.

Suddenly Chauncey said very clearly, “I’ve always disliked you, Guy. Your mother is a witch!”

He smiled against her temple. “I agree with you. Likely a dried old prune.”

“Cricket, I must have a bath!”

Who the devil was Cricket? Think! Tell her more stories. She’s got to remain calm. His mind was a blank. He shook away his fear for her and said, “It was so difficult and primitive in the beginning. There was so much gold to be found in the rivers and creek beds. You know that gold is seven times as heavy as rock and gravel, thus our use of gold pans. Hell, we even used wooden bowls, Indian baskets, and sluice boxes to free the rock and gravel from the gold. I was very lucky, Chauncey, very lucky indeed. I didn’t have to spend the winter freezing in the mountains. I
gambled like all the other miners. God, it was so lonely and miserable in the camps. I wrote so many letters back home. My brother told me that only a few arrived eventually. Then, in only two months, I found my fortune. Several huge nuggets, Chauncey, and that day I yelled at the top of my lungs in triumph. But I knew that my real fortune was in commerce. I met up with Dan Brewer in the fall of fifty in San Francisco. He was also one of the fortunate ones. Then—”

“I must have a bath!”

“Yes, love, I know. When you’re well, I’ll bathe you myself.”

“Don’t let him touch me!”

“No, he won’t touch you. I swear you’ll be all right.”

He spoke on and on, telling her of the construction of his new house, of how he had found Lin and gotten together with Lucas. His voice became hoarse, his words making less and less sense as fatigue washed over him.

His last thought before he fell into a light sleep was that her forehead felt cool against his cheek.

“You are the most beguiling little ragamuffin I’ve ever seen.”

“And you, sir, look like the most ardent of villains!”

“Hold still, love, there’s still that spot of smut on your cheek.”

Very gently he wiped her face with the wet cloth, then patted her dry. “Better?”

“Yes, a bit.” She turned her head slightly away from him, not wanting him to see her face contorted with pain.

She felt his hand lightly stroke against her cheek and throat. “I know, Chauncey. It hurts like hell itself. Just a few more days and you’ll be up and about again. You’re young and strong, and there’s no more fever now.”

She clenched her hands into fists at her sides. Her shoulder felt as if someone had pressed a red-hot poker into her flesh.

“Here, drink this.”

He eased his arm behind her head. “It’s the last of my whiskey.”

The liquid burned a fiery path to her stomach. “Oh my!”

“That will help, you’ll see.”

He laid her back and pulled the blanket to her shoulders. He rose and looked down at her. “I must find us some food, Chauncey. Will you be able to sleep while I’m gone?”

She didn’t want to sleep; she wanted to howl at the damnable pain. “Yes,” she said, “I’ll sleep.”

Still, he didn’t leave the cabin until she had closed her eyes. When she heard the door close, she opened them again and cursed. To her surprise, the pain eased somewhat. “I’ll have to learn some more colorful language,” she muttered toward the fireplace. Why, she wondered, frowning, hadn’t Delaney asked her yet what had happened to her? Was he afraid to? Did he believe that the Indians had raped her? Her mind flinched at the thought. No, it couldn’t matter to him. He had treated her as if she were the most precious, fragile of women. He was as gentle and caring as he had been when she’d schemed to get into his house and ended up hurt.

She heard two swift rifle shots.

Ten minutes later, Delaney strode into the shack, his eyes drawn immediately to her face. “Did the shots awaken you?”

“No, I was thinking. Del, did Sam Brannan really sell gold pans for sixteen dollars apiece?”

He grinned at her, his white teeth flashing against his bushy caramel-colored beard. “So you did hear me going on and on.”

“Just bits and pieces.” She watched him place his rifle carefully on the rough-hewn table. He had shucked off his vest and was clothed in a full-sleeved white shirt and dark brown buckskins. Black boots hugged his legs. His face was tanned from the hours he’d spent in the sun, and there were lighter streaks of blond in his hair.

“You are beautiful,” she said.

His grin widened. “In my dirty buckskins? And my bushy face? I begin to believe you delirious again.”

“I don’t think so,” she said in a serious voice. “But I can’t believe that any number of women wouldn’t have tried to abduct you and use you for their pleasure.”

“Ah, what makes you think that they didn’t? Why, I remember a lush brunette named Brenda. Lord, to remember what she did to my poor helpless body—”

“A brunette named Brenda? And I suppose there was a redhead named Rosalie and a blond named—”

He laughed deeply and she glowed at the wonderful sound. “Del, listen to me, please. Chatca, the Indian who took me—he didn’t rape me.”

He became very still. “No, I know he didn’t,” he said at last. “You started your monthly flow and he didn’t touch you.” He spoke very matter-of-factly, as if they were speaking of the weather.

“How,” she demanded, “did you know that?”

He knew her small show of bluster was a result of embarrassment. “You told me you weren’t pregnant,” he said calmly. His eyes lit with some amusement. “I do know something about how a woman’s body functions, you know.”

“Oh. Then why haven’t you asked me what happened to me?”

“I didn’t want to rush you. You’re still not up to snuff yet, love. You will tell me when you’re well enough and ready to.”

She fiddled with the rough edge of the blanket for a moment. “You have forgiven me for all I did to you? For all the awful things I thought about you?”

“Yes.”

“You feel sorry for me, don’t you? You feel responsible.”

“Yes.”

“You’re being utterly perverse again, Del!”

“And you won’t put up with it anymore, right? You’re going to jump up and pummel my chest and kick my shins.”

“Are you going to send me back to England?”

“No. I’m going to take you to bed once you are well again, and make certain that you become pregnant. Pregnant ladies shouldn’t travel, you know.”

He paused a moment, aware that his body was quickly responding to his words and thoughts. He was picturing her flat belly rounding with his child. He turned away and began to make coffee.

“When are you going to bathe the rest of me?”

His hand trembled on the coffeepot. “Chauncey,” he said over his shoulder, refusing to look at her, “you are flirting with danger.”

She sighed. “I look awful.”

“Yes, but adorably awful. You’re also too thin, and you smell like a wet horse.”

The whiskey she had drunk had spread a warm
glow through her mind. The throbbing in her shoulder had lessened considerably. “How long will I take to heal?”

“A couple more days. Then we’ll go to Grass Valley.”

“Why did the Indians attack us? Why did they take me?”

He handed her a steaming cup of coffee, then pulled it back. “No,” he said more to himself than to her, “the coffee will sober you up.” He cradled the tin cup between his hands and sat on the floor beside her, crossing his long legs. Then, in answer to her question: “I don’t know. Did they tell you who they were?”

“Yes, the woman who guarded me was named Cricket. She said that Chatca, their leader, had broken away from Chief Wema’s tribe.”

“Ah.”

“What do you mean, ‘ah’?”

“Nothing in particular, I guess. It’s just that the small bands of renegades have nearly all been wiped out. God, what we’ve done to the poor bastards!” He sipped at his hot coffee, his expression thoughtful. “If you are ready to tell me about it, I would like to know what happened, Chauncey.”

“Well,” she said tartly, “I can’t think of those Indians as poor bastards! They were filthy, smelled far worse than you can imagine, and lived like animals.” She sighed. “Perhaps they had no choice. But they didn’t have to shoot you and abduct me!”

“I would have abducted you had I seen you.”

“No, you wouldn’t. You would have waited for me to abduct you.” He’s made me laugh a bit, she
thought. Is he afraid I’ll become hysterical? “I fought Chatca and he struck me. I don’t know how long I was unconscious, but when I came to and began to fight him again, he hit me again. When I woke up, I was in some kind of odd-looking lean-to—”

“A wigwam, it’s called.”

“—and this young woman was there. She said a priest had named her Cricket. She was one of Chatca’s wives. She told me Chatca wanted me.” She paused a moment, getting a grip on herself. The memory was humiliating and terrifying.

“Then he saw that you were bleeding and left you alone.”

“Yes. He was very angry. There was this other Indian woman, named Tamba. She wanted to slit my throat, but Chatca protected me. I stayed in that . . . wigwam for several days, until I thought I’d go out of my mind. Finally Chatca agreed that I could have a bath in the stream. Cricket took me there, and I coshed her on the head. The other woman saw me and pretended that she would help me escape. When I was riding Dolores through the camp, Tamba shot me. I prayed I was riding in the right direction.”

Delaney said nothing.

“It sounds like such a pitiful tale.”

“You were very brave,” he said finally, smiling at her. “I am proud of you.”

“Why are you looking so morose, if I’m so brave?”

He drank the rest of his coffee and merely shrugged at her question.

“Delaney, what are you thinking?”

“The truth, the tree without the bark on it, so to speak?”

“Yes, the truth, if you please.”

“I don’t know why the Indians attacked us. They shouldn’t have. It is not in their nature to do things like that. I cannot believe it was simply because this Chatca saw your lovely eyes and couldn’t live without you.”

Chauncey closed her eyes a moment, memory of her conversations with Cricket playing through her mind. “I remember Cricket telling me that there would be trouble.”

“With you in the vicinity, I can well understand her concern!”

“Will you always mock me and make me laugh?”

“I will certainly try.” He stretched out on his back beside her, pillowing his head on his arms. “Do you know what it was like? I was as helpless as a baby for that entire day, my mind bleary, my body shaking like a leaf in the wind. And then I couldn’t find you. I remembered every mean word I’d tossed out at you.”

“At least you didn’t have a terrifying Indian wanting to make you his wife!”

“All you had to do was tell him that you were already married to the most perverse man in the state.”

She giggled and immediately regretted it.

He turned onto his side, facing her. “Easy, love,” he said, lightly stroking his fingers over her jaw. He saw her lashes flutter downward as she closed her eyes, not wanting him, he knew, to see her pain. “Please,” she whispered between gritted teeth. “Talk to me.”

“When I was in England in fifty-one, the Duke and Duchess of Graffton were dead set on marrying me off. I swear to you that I must have attended every soiree, ball, masquerade, and formal dinner in London. There were so many debutantes, all dressed in virginal white, all of them anxious to meet the rich American and simper at him. Lord, what time we would have saved had you only been in London then. You would have abducted me, ravished my poor body, and made an honest man of me.”

“Yes, I would have.”

“I was even presented to the queen, a plump little lady who had the nauseating habit of continually saying ‘we’ this and ‘we’ that. As for her Albert, I found him so stiff and formal that I was certain he’d break if he tried to stand against a strong wind. I suppose I was something of a two-month wonder, this barbarian from the wilds of California who’d struck gold and made his fortune. Do you know that one old fellow—Lord Fanshaw, I believe his name was—practically offered to sell his daughter to me, provided I was willing to change my name. Her name was Bernice, as I recall, a pretty little blond—”

“A blond named Bernice!”

“Well, perhaps it was Alice,” he said, smiling down at her.

“Alice the awful?”

“No, Alice with the very pretty, very white breasts.” He lightly laid his hand over her breast, kneading gently. “I suppose I have always been perverse,” he continued after a moment, resolutely removing his hand. “The prettier the young lady,
the more aloof I became. I must have known even then that you were there waiting for me.”

“More a nemesis than a sweet young lady.”

“A reformed nemesis, I trust?”

“When I am well again, you will see how reformed I am!”

He saw her lips tense, and quickly said, “I figure that you and your fire cost me about four thousand dollars. I trust you will recompense me for damages?”

“Yes, I shall do everything in my power to recompense you completely.”

“Will you tear up that agreement and turn all your money over to me?”

She saw the teasing gleam in his beautiful eyes. “So you were after my money all along?”

“Your body first, then your money.”

“I . . . I wasn’t a terribly good wife to you,” she said.

“On the other hand, you never bored me. Such a challenge you were to my masculine ego! Then, with that attempt to remove you from my sphere of influence aboard the
Scarlet Queen,
I realized what passion you had kept from me.”

She swallowed, remembering in painful detail her wildness, her utter abandon. “I liked it,” she said.

“But for all the wrong reasons,” he said quietly. “So you want to know something, love? I avoided you at first because you scared the hell out of me. A man doesn’t like to feel that he’s lost control, you know.”

“So you mean, you miserable wretch, that I didn’t have to get knocked off my mare by that damned tree branch?”

“No, that was very well done of you, and probably sealed my fate. Once I saw you in my bed, I was ready to surrender unconditionally.”

“You didn’t show it.”

“I had to win Mary over first.”

“You did. I spent a great deal of time angry at her for her defection to the enemy. Del, do you think it possible that Chatca could have tracked me?”

He stiffened, his jaw tightening. “No,” he said after a brief pause, “I don’t believe so.”

He saw that she would keep probing, and quickly got to his feet. “Now, little one, I’m going to change that bandage. Then we’ll have another grand feast of roast rabbit.”

Chauncey left off her questions, for her shoulder was throbbing again. It took all her resolution not to cry out when he bathed the wound. “Much better,” she heard him say. “No sign of infection. Another day, love, and I’ll let you do the hunting.”