Fireblossom Page 6

  As the two men shook hands and exchanged pleasantries, Fox said quickly, "Please, everyone just call me Fox. I like my life as simple as possible these days."

  Susan and Maddie had converted a corner of the parlor into a dining area. Covered with Colleen's lace cloth, the creaking drop-leaf table was made even more charming by a Tucker porcelain vase filled with wild daisies, orange wood lilies, and delicate blue harebells. Earlier, Madeleine had unpacked the china and set each place with loving care. Many of the treasures she had grown up with had been acquired by her great-grandfather Lion during his days as a sea captain during the China trade. So tonight the table was set with green-and-white Cantonese dishes, silver flatware, and fresh linen napkins. Long white tapers flickered in carved silver candlesticks. The effect was so lovely that Maddie might have been able to pretend that they were not in Deadwood at all, just for these few hours—if their dinner guest had been anyone else.

  "Ah," Stephen murmured in bemusement as they approached the table, "I see that my daughter has been toiling diligently this afternoon. I had no idea that you had brought so many of your mother's things, Madeleine. Apparently my instructions about packing sparingly were ignored."

  Maddie flushed. Her father didn't know the half of it. There were still books, quilts, and other assorted knick-knacks that she had yet to unpack.

  "Don't spoil the few pleasures left to her, Stephen," Susan O'Hara said in a quiet, firm tone. "She's Colleen's daughter, and you couldn't expect her to change into some sort of female bullwhacker just because she's moved West."

  "God forbid," Stephen replied, laughing. "No, we certainly couldn't have that!"

  They took their chairs, with Fox seated between Stephen and Susan, across from the two Avery offspring. As Wang Chee appeared to pour wine and serve a cold julienne soup, Fox stole a leisurely sidelong gaze at Madeleine Avery. She was worked up, aside from the shock of his presence—worked up by the excitement of an occasion. When she looked at the table, which she had created with unerring good taste, her eyes were agleam with pride and pleasure.

  Fox took a sip of wine and decided that the table and the appealing food could not compare to Maddie's own radiant loveliness. It was jarring to encounter such a woman in a town like Deadwood, saturated as it was with the worst sort of men who chose to live raucously, without the finer influence of women. Fox understood how Stephen Avery had come to bring his children here, but it still seemed crazy. Maddie was a woman, yet whom could she befriend in this wild place? Was she destined to remain a virtual prisoner in this house, fussing with her china and polishing her silver and reading books about the gentler life she'd been bred to expect?

  "Is something wrong, sir?" Maddie inquired suddenly. Had she discerned a glint of pity in his eyes?

  "On the contrary." Fox gave her a disarming smile. "I can't pretend to be an expert on gentlewomen, Miss Avery, but I was thinking that it's a rare pleasure for someone like me to be sharing a meal with a true lady like you." He paused, then dared to continue, "And, although you may not believe I am sincere, I will tell you all the same that you are the most beautiful lady I have ever seen."

  In return she eyed him suspiciously, even if inwardly she basked in the flattery. What hopes she'd had for this evening! The parlor and the dining table had been as perfect as she could make them before she'd gone to bathe and dress. Finally, minutes before Fox had knocked at the door, she had stood in front of the cracked full-length mirror and known that she was very nearly as lovely as she had ever looked. Her green-and-white striped taffeta gown had been purchased a year ago to wear to a friend's Society Hill wedding, and it suited her perfectly. The cut of the gown accented her tiny waist and high breasts, while at her neck flared a ruffled collar, narrowly edged in green, to pick up the vivid hue of her thick-lashed eyes and set off her upswept golden-red curls.

  All afternoon Maddie had dreamed of making a good impression. Now, she found it hard not to warm to Fox's compliments.

  But she would not like him. He'd burst too abruptly into her life and his frank, amused attitude was distinctly unsettling. Whenever he was near, Maddie's heart beat too fast and she felt anxious.

  Benjamin pouted with her, but by the time they were eating game hens with cherry sauce, Maddie sensed that her little brother was thawing. After all, Gramma Susan seemed positively smitten with this overbearing stranger, and even their father was chatting with Fox as if they were old friends.

  After the two men had exchanged facts pertaining to the length of time they'd been in the Hills and the general reasons they were there (Fox cited gold and adventure, an all-purpose answer), Stephen said abruptly, "Young man, I don't know how much time you've spent in the West, but you must be aware that these Hills are still Indian land, strictly speaking. Do you have an opinion on the Laramie Treaty of 1868, or what the Sioux Indians are having to suffer to satisfy our lust for gold and more land?"

  Fox nearly dropped his forkful of string beans. Straightening on his chair, he reached for his wine and took a sip before replying carefully, "You'll pardon me for appearing taken aback, sir, but that's not a subject most men in Deadwood care to discuss."

  "But you are not most men, are you, Fox?" Stephen persisted quietly.

  "Why, Stephen, you surprise me!" Gramma Susan exclaimed. "You're more astute than I gave you credit for!"

  Fox continued to search the eyes of his host. "I have strong opinions about the Fort Laramie Treaty, Mr. Avery, and also about our government's treatment of the Indians. Just eight years ago, we gave our word to the Sioux that the Black Hills would remain theirs forever, and already we're going back on our promises. My feelings about the Laramie Treaty pretty much echo my views on the entire situation with the Indians." Fox relaxed a little, sensing Stephen's approval, and leaned back in his chair as Wang Chee cleared their plates. "You must know, though, Mr. Avery, that opinions like mine aren't exactly popular in Deadwood. I'm not prepared to make speeches on Main Street alongside Preacher Smith."

  "You sympathize with the Sioux, and yet you're here yourself—an interloper just like the rest of us?" Stephen wondered aloud.

  "Lofty principles are often overcome by greed," Maddie observed, rather surprised by her own boldness.

  Her father looked shocked. "I hope you didn't mean to offend our friend with that remark."

  "Of course not. I was speaking of people in general." She stared down at her plate, feeling Fox's perceptive eyes on her.

  Stephen turned to his guest. "How would you like to take a little stroll outdoors before dessert, Fox? We could continue this discussion in private... and I may have a business proposition for you."

  When the two men had gone, Maddie bit her lip in frustration. "Gramma, why must you like that man so, and why has fate decreed that Father must also take to him like a long-lost son?" She folded her napkin and made a face.

  "I'm startin' to like him, too," Benjamin announced suddenly, grinning at his sister. "Fox calls me Ben!"

  "Traitors," she complained, "you're all traitors."

  "For heaven's sake, darling, don't scowl so!" Susan rose to assist Wang Chee as he cleared the table. "Come and help us with the strawberry shortcake. Do you know, I think that you're sulking because Fox didn't devote enough attention to you throughout supper. When he paid you that extravagant compliment, your face betrayed you. No innocent schoolgirl has ever blushed more prettily than you—"

  "Gramma, that's a horrid thing to say!" Maddie cried as she followed with a stack of plates. "No, I find him too bold, too crude. He seems to taunt me with his eyes and sets my nerves on edge!"

  Susan gave her a knowing smile over one tiny shoulder. "Does he indeed? Very interesting."

  Chapter 5

  July 12, 1876

  At one o'clock it was growing hotter by the moment, yet there was clarity in the air on Deadwood's rock-crowned hillsides and in the deep blue sky overhead that made the temperature more bearable.

  The miners went on with their work, though they might p
ause for whiskey and a nap if the heat became intolerable later in the afternoon. In addition to the cleared land where placer mining was in progress, men used sluice boxes, rockers, riffles, and pans to ply the strips of ground between buildings that backed up to the creek. Some had even begun tunneling under buildings to get at the gold dust trapped at bedrock.

  Fox stood on the lot he'd purchased from Stephen Avery, wiped sweat from his brow with a handkerchief, and smiled at the clutter of Deadwood that twisted away to the north. It was like a long, narrow hive, buzzing continuously with activity. Now it was to be his home.

  The fifty-by-one-hundred-foot parcel of land that sat between the Avery house and the rest of Stephen's claims had been offered to Fox the night he'd supped with the Avery family. Stephen had been reasonably certain that all the gold had been already taken from the lot, and he welcomed the opportunity to choose his neighbor. He'd liked the younger man immensely, trusted him; with Fox living next to them, Stephen could leave Deadwood more often and worry less about his family's safety.

  Fox himself loved the arrangement. This choice piece of land was like a gift from God, particularly in contrast with the rude bunk for which he was paying Charles H. Wagner a dollar a night. A night's sleep at the Grand Central Hotel, its upper floor still under construction, was worse than sleeping on the ground. The drunken geezer who occupied the bunk above Fox's snored like a steam engine, while the foul-mouthed boy who curled on the floor nearby had a case of lice so severe that it inspired him to scratch and curse most of the night.

  Because his own sleep was constantly disrupted by the activities of his roommates, Fox remembered his nightly dreams. The first, in which he was happily among the Lakota people, was pleasant but unnerving. They behaved with great kindness and hospitality toward him, but he would feel as if he had secrets that came between them. Fox's newer dream featured Lt. Colonel George Armstrong Custer. The dream was never quite the same twice, but it generally contained scenes in which he argued with Custer. There was always a sense of lost control; Fox would try to reason with the man, feel anger rising, and soon they would be shouting. Custer would become more irrational, more furious, and then Fox would wake up, his heart pounding in his ears.

  If not for the mud, Fox would have camped on his new land. Fortunately he had the money to pay an enterprising Cornish miner named Titus Pym to speed along the process of erecting a structure he could call home. First, both men devoted two full days to combing every inch of dirt one more time and came up with more than a hundred dollars' worth of gold dust, which Fox used to pay Titus in advance for his help. They also hit upon a deep cache of nuggets for which Fox subsequently received more than a thousand dollars. The money would come in handy. Building a cabin could run three hundred dollars or more, not to mention the price of furniture and other household items.

  He and Titus had already had one load of logs hauled up the hillside by mules. Now, Titus was at Judge E. G. Dudley's sawmill, which turned out twelve thousand feet of boards per day. Deadwood's three sawmills were doing a roaring business, and Fox had already decided that if he stayed, that was the work he'd pursue. In the meantime, his cabin would need lumber for its roof, floors, and door. It was good to have the Cornish man to do the waiting at the hot, dust-choked sawmill while he himself saw to some of the other chores.

  Fox set about marking off the dimensions of the cabin and smoothing the ground with an iron rake to make an even surface for the floor. As the sun beat down, he longed to remove his red calico shirt and the boots that made his trousers seem twice as hot and confining. Unbuttoning his shirt and rolling the sleeves up past his elbows, he mused that a person could probably get rich in Deadwood selling cups of cold water to the sweltering miners.

  Leaning on his rake, Fox looked toward the Avery house which was hidden behind a dense row of pine trees. He knew that the evergreen barrier was meant to separate the rough miners from Stephen Avery's cultured eastern family, but it still seemed odd to Fox that they hadn't noticed him. At first, when he and Titus were sifting the claim for overlooked gold, Fox had constantly expected Madeleine Avery to appear like a vision in one of her perfect, proper gowns, every sun-bright lock pinned neatly into place. Best of all, however, would be the wonderful scene she would make, fueled by outrage over his proximity.

  But two full days had passed and now Fox began to wonder. Was it possible that Maddie really didn't know he was here... and soon to be her neighbor? Or, worse, might she know and be indifferent?

  It seemed that the logical thing for him to do was go next door, apologize for his appearance, and request a glass of water. Weren't they all friends? He ran long fingers through his grimy, wind-ruffled hair, dusted off his pants and hands as best he could, and walked toward the wall of pine trees. At the last moment he remembered that his suspenders were hanging loose and caught one in each thumb. Drawing them over his wide shoulders, he smiled to himself and strode onward. Madeleine Avery would doubtless be disgusted by the sight of him, but the prospect of seeing her was suddenly more appealing to him than the water he craved.

  * * *

  Maddie was hard-pressed to remember a more distressing day. First, her father had announced that he would be leaving Deadwood again in the morning and had gone off to buy supplies. Then, Benjamin had sliced open his thumb while playing with a kitchen knife. Gramma Susan and Wang Chee had taken him, shrieking with fear, to Dr. Sick to see if the wound needed stitching. Also, for some unknown reason Gramma had taken it into her head to bake bread today, in the middle of a heat wave—so Maddie was left behind to knead the dough, perspiring through her threadbare blue cotton dress. When a visitor came calling, she tried to ignore the insistent knocks, but to no avail.

  The garish, painted woman who forced open the front door and sashayed into the kitchen introduced herself as Garnet Loomis. She was carrying several jars of serviceberry jam, which she boasted of having put up herself. Apparently she had met Gramma Susan at Mr. Gushurst's store, and, she insisted, they were now the closest of friends. The jam was a present for "Susie," she announced loudly, stacking the jars on the makeshift kitchen table.

  Unprepared for company, Maddie was embarrassed to be seen in her disheveled state. She related the sad tale of Benjamin's accident, trying to look weak and preoccupied at the same time, certain that Mrs. Loomis would apologize for her intrusion and hurry on her way.

  "You poor little thing!" The big-boned old woman jumped up and shocked Maddie by capturing her in a crushing hug. "You need help, and Garnet's here to give it to ya! You just sit down and have a rest. I'll knead that bread dough and it'll be the best bread you ever tasted!"

  Freed of Mrs. Loomis's embrace, Maddie staggered backward and dropped onto a wooden chair. Her shoulders ached and she was so, so hot but, watching Garnet Loomis take over her kitchen, she felt a surge of renewed energy.

  "You are much too kind," she said firmly, rising from her chair. "However, I really cannot allow you to do my chores, Mrs. Loomis."

  "I want to do this!" The old woman began kneading the dough with such force that Maddie cringed involuntarily. "You're not used to the life out here and we all know it. Takes a while to toughen up. Why, I came to St. Louis forty years ago and I never thought I'd live through the first winter." Garnet beat on the dough, turning it rhythmically. "But, I did, and I liked it. Married a French fur trader who brought me to Fort Laramie. One day he went out to set trap lines an' never came back." She shook her head, laughing at the memory. "Men out there just ain't husband material, if you know what I mean! Anyways, I had to take up some sort of profession if I wanted to eat, and there wasn't much choice. I didn't mind. Kinda fun, if you can stand the truth. 'Course, now I'm not exactly prime goods, but I look after the younger girls; teach 'em the trade and mother 'em when they need it. Not a bad life for an old broad who loves adventure, huh? Al Swearingen, the Gem's owner, talked me into bringin' some of my girls out from Cheyenne in May, and I thought, Why the hell not?"

  Madeleine was q
uite speechless. Pasting on a polite smile, she helped Garnet Loomis transfer the kneaded dough into an ironstone bowl, which she covered with a towel. "How kind of you to help me. I am a bit fatigued by the heat, so your assistance was certainly welcome. Now, I hope you won't think me rude, but I must—"

  "Oh, I'll go in a minute, honey, but let's set a spell and cool off with a little refreshment. Any whiskey?"

  Maddie tried not to betray her shock. "I don't believe so..."

  Looking around the kitchen, Garnet spied a decanter of brandy on a shelf. "That'll do." She plucked an unwashed glass off the table and poured in a generous amount of the amber liquid. Maddie declined to join her but sat stiffly opposite her guest and conversed as courteously as she was able. As it turned out, Garnet talked almost nonstop, even answering her own questions.

  "I hope you won't think I'm bein' rude, dearie, but I'm startin' to worry that you won't fit in here. You're not just weak and timid—you think you're better'n the rest of us, don'tcha?" Garnet tossed back the brandy, then poured another. "Well, that won't do if you mean to stay. Not if you want friends, leastways. I s'pose you've a notion that all we got in Deadwood is sin and vice and a lot of foul-mouthed miners who spit all day long. Ain't that so?"

  "Well, I – " Maddie tried to think how to reply.

  Garnet spared her the effort. "This town is growin' to be a place of real class. Maybe you didn't hear that an actual theater troupe is come to Deadwood! It's Jack Langrishe and his wife and two other actresses. They're putting up a theater right this minute down on Main Street! So honey, take some advice from old Garnet—join in and throw off those airs, or they'll just keep gettin' in your way of a good time!"

  Madeleine felt dangerously close to tears when Garnet Loomis reached across the table, pinched her cheek hard, and tugged it to-and-fro. When a tapping came at the kitchen door, she looked up hopefully. Fox ducked his handsome head under the lintel.