Wagon Train Sisters (Women of the West) (23 page)

“This may surprise you,” said Hiram, “but in this part of the world, gambling’s an honorable profession.”

“He’s absolutely right,” Jack said with quiet emphasis. “There’s no stigma attached to running a gaming table or two, as long as they’re honest. Look around you. The streets are full of men who’ve found gold—maybe an ounce of gold dust, maybe enough wealth to last a lifetime. They come into town, all of them, and what are they looking for?”

“Whiskey, women, and a gaming table,” Hiram replied.

“Absolutely right. They’re hell-bent on gambling. If they don’t go to your tables, they’ll go someplace else, so why not you be the one to rake in the profits?”

Hiram broke into an elated smile. “I like your idea, Jack. I could do it, you know. I’m good at figures, and I’ve got a good head on my shoulders. I’ve been waiting for an opportunity such as this, just didn’t quite know what it was. By God, I know I could do it.” He turned to Sarah. “What do you say?”

Sarah laughed. “My brother, the owner of a gambling hall? Oh, Hiram, I don’t believe this!”

Jack said softly, “He needs this, Sarah.”

He was right. Like her, Jack knew how her brother badly needed something to boost his sagging confidence. How clever he’d thought of a gambling hall. She hadn’t seen Hiram this enthusiastic since before that awful day he fell off the wagon and crippled himself. That settled it. If a couple of gaming tables could give him a new interest in life, make him feel more of a man again, especially in the eyes of his wife, she was all for it. They’d deal with Ma and Pa later. She addressed Hiram. “I would want more than just a canvas dividing the gambling tables from the pie shop. We can put a door in-between, but if you’re going to install a bar, it must stay locked. I most certainly wouldn’t want any drunks staggering into my pie shop. Is that clear?”

Any doubts she may have had were swept away by Hiram’s whoop of delight.

After her brother left, Jack asked her to stay. “I’ve got more information about Hannibal Palmer.”

There went that leap of her heart again. “You found out where he lives?”

“I did. Anming was right. He’s built a new house in Coloma. Lives there with his wife, Isobel. I rode by. It’s a big place, pretty fancy, and it’s guarded.”

“Do you know if the baby is there?”

“It’s Hannibal Palmer’s home. That’s all I know. Maybe she’s there, maybe not.”

Florrie’s baby—her own niece—living with strangers
. She fought to control her rising anger. “What do we do now?”

“I don’t know. Palmer outright stole that baby, but he likely can get away with it. California’s a state now, but we don’t yet have the laws to handle such matters. We’re still pretty much living in a lawless land.”

“I can’t think what to do, other than walk up to their front door and ask for the baby back.” She tried to smile. “Somehow I don’t think that will work.”

“Probably not, but it might be worth a try. At least you’ll know what you’re up against. There’s no rush. Think about it. I’ll take you to Coloma whenever you want to go.”

“How long would it take?”

“For thirty miles? It’s rough terrain, so I’d say a day and a night if we go by horseback.”

Spend the night with Jack? Alone, in the wilderness? That would never, never work
. Up until now, she’d managed to stick with her “just friends” declaration, but just barely. The thought of those times they’d made love still did strange things to her insides. Did he know what she was thinking? Her eyes locked with his, but his dark depths were unreadable. “We would be alone?”

“I suppose, unless you want to bring someone along to chaperone.” His mouth curved into a barely discernable smile. “But that won’t be necessary. I haven’t forgotten we’re just friends.”

She ought to feel grateful. Instead, all she felt was an odd twinge of disappointment. But that was stupid. Once and for all, she’d better accept the fact that Jack would never get serious, never settle down. But if he was such a wanderer, why was he still here? She tipped her head and inquired, “I’m glad you remember we’re just friends, but I’m curious. Up to now you’ve been a drifter. That’s the way you like it, or so you say. You can’t stay in one place more than a few months, yet here you are a respectable store owner in Hangtown. I don’t see any signs you’ll be leaving soon. Am I mistaken?”

Jack gazed at the ceiling, then down at the floor. “You ask a good question. I’m not sure of the answer. All I know is…” He stood abruptly. “Got to go.” He leveled a long, hard gaze into her eyes. “Widow Gregg, I’m not sure if you’re the best thing that ever happened to me or the worst.”

Before she could answer, he was gone.

* * * *

After Jack left the pie shop, he walked next door to Longren & McCoy’s General Store and found Ben working behind the counter. His partner took one look and inquired, “What’s wrong? You look like you swallowed a bullfrog.”

Jack ignored the humor. “Do I look like a respectable citizen of Hangtown to you?”

“Well, now, I suspect you want me to say you’re not. You’re a man who still goes his own way—picks his own battles and listens to no one—lives by his own rules, so to speak. Is that what you want to hear?”

“Could be.”

Ben shook his head. “Trouble is you can’t have it both ways. When we opened this store, we never talked about being responsible citizens, but that’s what it amounts to, don’t it? You’re putting down roots whether you like it or not. I’d wager you didn’t give it much thought. You figured you’d try it for a while and then be on your way to your next fine adventure, same as always.”

“I suppose.”

“Then here comes the widow. You didn’t expect that, did you?”

Ben’s shrewd perception stopped him cold. He wished he’d never asked. “I don’t know what I expected.” He turned and started for the door.

“Maybe you better figure it out,” Ben called after him. “She’s a pretty woman, and that ain’t all. She’d have every man in town after her if she so much as crooked her little finger, but she don’t because she likes you.”

Jack paused at the door and threw his final remark over his shoulder. “I have no further interest in her.”

Ben’s whoops of laughter followed him out the door and down the street. Ben could go to hell.
Time for me to sell my half of the store and be on my way
. He’d thought about it often enough but had been dragging his feet. He’d done enough dithering. Maybe he didn’t know where he was going, but the one thing he knew for sure was he must get out of Sarah’s life, even though he loved her so much he’d lay down his life for her. He could never make her happy, would be doing her a favor if he left and never came back. Yes, time for Jack McCoy to move on. Not quite yet, though. He’d promised Sarah he’d help get Florrie’s baby back. He’d do his best to help her. Soon as he did, he’d be on his way.

* * * *

The next few days were so busy Sarah hardly had time to think. Jack and Ben installed another beehive oven in the back. She could now bake at least twice the number of pies but only if she had more help. She was lucky to find Cedric Purvis, a down-and-out Englishman who’d lost his claim, but didn’t say how. A feisty little cockney from London’s East Side, Cedric was working in a bakery when he heard the astonishing news about the land of gold. He spent his last farthing on a ticket, sailed halfway around the world, and ended up in Hangtown. Now, half starved and broke, he was happy to accept a job in Sarah’s Pie Shop. From the start, he proved so competent in the kitchen that Sarah now had time to spend on other things besides paring apples and rolling out pie crusts. Her menu expanded. Customers now had a choice of three kinds of pie, plus milk or coffee for a beverage.

Anming had turned into Sarah’s invaluable assistant. No longer did she slave in the back feeding wood to the ovens. Sarah hired another down-and-out miner for that onerous chore. Instead, with her unending energy and complete devotion to duties, Anming pretty much managed the dining room by herself. At first, Sarah expected some of the miners might object being waited upon by a “celestial,” as they were called, just as they had with the group of Chinese miners. No one said a word, perhaps because they saw Anming as a servant, not a threat.

Only one of the Chinese miners returned. The tall one, whose full name was Yi Ling, came to the back door every day. Sarah informed him he had every right to come in the front, but in his strange pidgin English he made her understand he would never cause any further trouble. At first, either Sarah or Anming brought his slice of pie to the back door, but Sarah soon realized only Anming could bring that instant beam of pleasure to his gentle eyes. Often they would carry on long conversations in what Anming told her was their native Mandarin. “Ling is from Hunan Province, same as I. Before he came to California, he worked twelve hours a day in a coal mine. He’s lucky to be here. I very much admire him.”

When Sarah teasingly accused Anming of having a romance, the Chinese girl broke into a rare fit of laughter. “Me have a romance? What man would have me with this horrible scar on my face? Ling takes pity on me, and that is all.”

“If you say so.” Sarah wasn’t at all convinced.

Hiram named his new establishment The Bella Union. To Sarah’s relief, he’d found enough wood to construct a solid wall between his saloon and the pie shop with no door between the two. A quick lesson from Jack taught him how to act as banker at the faro tables. He soon found more dealers and a bartender from Hangtown’s many down-on-their-luck miners. The walls were bare. The bar consisted of a few wooden planks resting on sawhorses, yet from the beginning, miners crowded the tables and bar at the Bella Union Saloon. “I can’t believe it!” In a high state of excitement, Hiram celebrated at the end of a highly successful opening night. “This is only the beginning. With enough space, I could add a hotel. Who knows how big we’ll grow?”

Sarah wasn’t sure. There was still that little matter concerning Becky and what she would say when she found out her husband was now the wicked owner of a gambling saloon and bar. So far, he’d chosen not to operate a brothel out back, like most saloons did, but she wasn’t sure how far he’d go. Would he have the courage to stand up to his wife? No time to think of that now. All that mattered was seeing her brother standing tall and proud, despite his crippled leg, with a triumphant gleam in his eye.

Her dilemma over Florrie’s baby stayed on her mind, but the bustling business in the pie shop kept her so busy she had no time for deciding what to do. Jack had gone on another pack trip. Whatever she planned would have to wait until he returned.

One afternoon, on a peaceful, pleasant day in the shop, Sarah and Cedric Purvis were working in the kitchen when Anming burst in and cried, “I must hide!” When Sarah asked what was wrong, she continued, “Hannibal Palmer just came in.” Her little face was distorted with fright. “Oh, Sarah, he knows who I am. What if he tries to take me back?”

Hannibal Palmer
. The name struck both anger and fear in Sarah’s heart, but she wouldn’t let it show. “You’re not his slave. He has no right to take you back. Stay in the kitchen. I’ll wait on him myself.” She was about to meet the man who’d ruined Florrie’s life, stolen Florrie’s baby—
my niece
! Never mind all that, she’d stay calm if it killed her. She smoothed her apron, pushed back a strand of hair, and walked into the dining room.

Three gentlemen sat at a table, their formal attire a sharp contrast to the scruffy clothing of her other customers. When one of the men addressed the tallest of the men as “Mr. Palmer,” he confirmed what she’d already guessed. Of the three, Hannibal Palmer was the one who wore the self-assured look of success. Full head of white hair, piercing blue eyes, finely trimmed mustache. Dressed in a frock coat, matching trousers, and vest, he had a look of authority about him. If she didn’t know better, she’d take him for a judge or some sort of government official—certainly not an owner of brothels, leader of a gang responsible for countless vicious murders.

They ignored her almost completely while she took their orders, not even a friendly nod, as if acknowledging her presence wasn’t worth their time. Involved in an intense conversation, they were using phrases like “damned celestials,” “that claim up Sandy Gulch,” “midnight raid,” “wipe them out.” As she listened, the meaning of their words sunk in. These men were planning to raid a Chinese-owned mining claim in Sandy gulch. There would be no survivors.

When she returned to the kitchen, she reassured Anming that Palmer and his men had no idea she was there. “Nor would they care. All they care about is planning some sort of raid on a Chinese mining claim up Sandy Gulch.”

Anming gasped. “Ling left this morning to join his friends at Sandy Gulch. They’d found a good claim. He was so excited. Oh, you don’t suppose…oh, no!”

Sarah did her best to back off her words, trying to convince Anming otherwise. Maybe she hadn’t heard right. Even if she had heard right, Sandy Gulch, an area known for many rich gold strikes, was staked with hundreds of claims. Most likely Palmer and his gang were after someone else. Anming listened with her usual stoic expression, but it was easy to see she wasn’t convinced Ling would be all right. Obviously, she had feelings for the man with the gentle eyes from Hunan Province.

Cedric Purvis had been listening. When Anming left the kitchen, he dolefully shook his head. “Anming ought to be concerned, what with the way crime’s out of control around ’ere. I came to ’angtown during the first year of the Gold Rush. It’s ’ard to believe now, but back then, there wasn’t any crime. People minded their own business. You could leave a thousand dollars in gold dust in your tent and not worry.”

“But those days are gone now,” Sarah replied.

“Bloody right! Dishonest men started to arrive, from back East, Mexico, Peru, the British penal colonies, all over the world. Now you’ve got theft, swindling, shootings, lynching, and all kinds of violence. You’ve got claim jumpers who’d just as soon slit your throat as not.” Cedric sniffed in disgust. “That’s what ’appened to me. I ’ad a good claim going, at least fifty dollars in gold dust every day. Then I got jumped by a gang of no-good thieves who took my gold and drove me off my claim. They wanted to kill me. I was lucky to escape with my life.”