Like a River Glorious
Page 39

A single lantern hangs from a hook in the ceiling; it’s low enough that I’ll have to duck slightly to walk beneath it. A door to my left is edged in daylight, which means it must lead outside. A door to my right is dark. Another bedroom maybe?
A cabin with three rooms. I haven’t seen such luxury since Independence.
It’s a moment before my uncle realizes I’m standing there. He looks up, startled, and sets his pamphlet aside. He takes in the dress, his eyes roving from my still-damp head to the tips of my muddy boots and back again. His face transforms. His features soften, and his eyes flare with a longing I don’t understand. Finally a little smile tugs at the corners of his mouth.
“Leah,” he breathes. “You are beautiful.”
It feels like a snake is creeping up my throat.
“I’ll get you new shoes as soon as possible,” he says. “Maybe someone in camp can make you some slippers.”
“I like these boots just fine.”
“And you can keep them, of course. But a fine lady should have fine shoes.”
“If you say so.” I don’t like the way he’s looking at me. I don’t like it one bit.
“Mary, when you’re done with supper, please see to Leah’s washtub and dirty clothing.”
She doesn’t say anything, just nods and keeps on stirring.
I take a deep breath. Time to start buttering him up to get what I need. “Thank you for the dress,” I say, trying to keep the anger out of my voice. Carefully I add, “It reminds me of one Mama used to wear.”
He practically beams. “I’m glad you remember! That was my favorite dress of hers. I had this one specially made.”
So you can fondly remember the woman you killed? I want to scream. Instead, I fold my hands demurely. I think of Becky and the way she maintains such a ladylike composure while dealing with difficult customers, and I say, “I know I’m not supposed to leave without a chaperone, so would you be willing to accompany me to check on my friends? It would calm my nerves a great deal to see them hale.”
His eyes narrow. Maybe I’ve gone too far. I replay the words in my head. They sound ridiculous coming from me, like make-believe at school recess.
But after a moment, he nods. “This is a reasonable request. So long as you behave, you shall visit your friends once a day.”
Once a day. Under supervision. I’ll have to do a lot better than that if we’re to escape.
“Thank you,” I say.
We stare at each other a moment, neither certain what to say. I curl my toes against the gold in my boot, taking comfort in the warm buzz.
“I assume you’ll have some . . . work . . . here for me to do?” I say finally, and I instantly wonder if it’s too subtle a reference to my particular talent. I’m not sure how much Mary understands or how much my uncle takes her into his confidence, but I’d rather not say anything outright about my gold-witching ways.
“Of course,” he says. “We are going to get rich together, Leah Westfall. With my experience and connections, and you to . . . help me.”
“Looks like you’re already richer than Midas,” I mumble, briefly forgetting that I’m supposed to be buttering him up.
“What was that?”
“I mean, it looks like you’ve already done quite well for yourself. This is a very nice cabin.”
He stands, reaching for the hat on its resident peg. Donning it, he says, “I’ve done well, though getting my mine up and running and hiring the right people took quite a bit of ingenuity and determination on my part.”
There’s nothing ingenious about starting a mine. You just find a quartz vein and start following it, and if it leads to more quartz and good ore, you keep digging. It’s with a bit of a start that I realize what he really means.
“We’ll pay back what you owe soon enough,” I say, and it’s his turn to be startled.
But then he smiles, as if proud that I sussed it out. “Come. Let’s go see to your friends.”
I’d give all the gold in my boot to find out more, and it’s on the tip of my tongue to ask who he owes the money to and how much. But I’ve already won a concession from him today, and I dare not push.
I give a final glance to Mary at the dishes. Her face is hard, her eyes narrowed, as she attacks the dishes like they’re an enemy in need of slaying. I suddenly get the feeling she understands everything just fine.
Hiram offers his arm, and though everything in me screams to recoil, I wrap mine in his and allow him to lead me from the cabin and into the sunshine.
 
 
Chapter Thirteen

The camp is even bigger than I realized. Another, smaller cabin faces ours. The door is wide open, revealing multiple empty bunks. “My foremen sleep here,” my uncle explains.
Up a slope is a large, rocky cliff dotted with brush and dried grass and the occasional stunted tree. At the base of the cliff is the dark opening to my uncle’s mine. It’s bolstered with huge wooden beams and guarded by the tallest man I’ve ever seen. He is cowled in black wool and carrying a rifle. The ghostly man.
In a flat space to the side of the mine opening sits a crude mill. A mule tied to a post drags a huge grindstone around a stone-lined pit. Another of Hiram’s men shovels ore from a mine cart into the pit, where it’s crushed again and again as the mule circles around. The gold, being a heavier metal, settles to the bottom of the pit once free of the quartz. There’s not much at the moment; it feels like more of an itch than a hum. The air smells like a paste made from manure, sweat, and dust.
“Welcome home, Leah,” my uncle says, and I swear he’s suddenly as cocky a rooster. “What do you think of my arrastra?”
“I think it looks like a lot of work,” I answer neutrally. “A grist mill for turning quartz ore into gold.”
“That’s industry,” Hiram says. “Industry is what makes America great, and it’s what will make our fortune. Most of the folks around here have already taken to calling this place Hiram’s Gulch.”
“You don’t say.”
As I study everyone around us, a few turn to stare right back. And then more and more, until the whole camp has come to a standstill. They’re all dirty and thin, stooped and exhausted. Except the ghostly man. And my uncle.
“Why are they staring?” I whisper.