Heart of Gold Read online

  “Shannon, we must thank God for providing for us.”

  “Yes, Father.” She took his hand, bowed her head, and closed her eyes.

  “Almighty God, we thank Thee for delivering us safely to our new home . . .”

  How would she survive in this horrible place? The people she’d met along the way were mostly uneducated, often dirty and unfamiliar with the basics of good hygiene, all too often gruff and rude. And the way they spoke. My lands! Their voices grated on her ears. She longed for the genteel sounds of her native Virginia. She longed for the gallant young men who had once courted her, riding their fine horses and wearing their fine clothes. But they were all gone now, off to fight in that dreadful war, so many of them dead on the battlefields, never to return. Even her Benjamin.

  “. . . and may we be a blessing to the people we meet, O God. Help us to be Thy servants and to think of others before we think of ourselves. In the name of Thy Son, Jesus, we pray. Amen.”

  “Amen,” Shannon whispered, hoping her father wouldn’t guess how far her attention had strayed during his prayer.

  He gave her hand a squeeze before releasing it. “Well.” He turned in a slow circle. “We had better make a list of things we’ll need to buy at the store. From what Mr. Rutherford said, we can expect prices to be high, so we will need to be careful with our funds.”

  As if that hadn’t been the way of things for the past three years. Once the war began between the North and the South, if one could find what one wanted to buy—which all too often one could not—it had come at a premium. But Shannon sensed the deprivation would seem worse in this horrid town in the mountains of Idaho Territory.

  Why, oh why had God seen fit to punish her in this way?

  2

  Matthew pushed open the restaurant door and was immediately assaulted with the smell of fried foods, tobacco smoke, and the noise of utensils clattering against plates. William had told him Polly’s was the best restaurant in all of Grand Coeur, and judging by the crowded dining room early on a weekday morning, he had to be right.

  A slender youth approached. The boy was about fourteen, give or take a year, and had a white apron tied around his waist. “You mind sharing a table?” he asked. “We’re pretty full up.”

  “No. Don’t mind at all.”

  “Over here, then.”

  Matthew followed the boy through the collection of tables to one near the far wall. He recognized the two occupants immediately. The young woman’s vibrant red hair—if not her pale beauty—made her unforgettable.

  “Want coffee?” the boy asked.

  “Yes, thanks.”

  As he pulled out the lone empty chair, the young woman looked up, her green eyes wide.

  “Sorry, Miss Adair. Apparently it’s the only place for me.”

  He could see she was even more surprised that he knew her name; her expression said she had no idea who he was or where they’d met.

  And why would she remember him? She hadn’t given Matthew more than a passing glance when she and her father boarded the coach in Boise City yesterday morning, and it had been just as fleeting when he’d helped her disembark upon their arrival in Grand Coeur.

  He looked at her father. “Reverend Adair, hope you don’t mind.”

  “Not at all, sir. Glad to have your company. Mr. . . . ?”

  Matthew removed his hat. “Matthew Dubois.”

  “I’m surprised you’re still in town, Mr. Dubois,” the reverend said.

  “I thought the stage returned to Boise yesterday.”

  “It did. Just not with me driving it.”

  “Ahh.”

  “I’m going to be working in the Wells, Fargo office in Grand Coeur for a while. And what about you, Reverend Adair?”

  “Saint Stephen’s Presbyterian Church was in need of its first minister, and I was called to fill the role.”

  Matthew nodded. “I figured as much.” His gaze shifted to the reverend’s daughter and back again. “You’ve come a long way?”

  “From Virginia.”

  As he’d suspected, given the man’s accent. “Things as bad back there as they say?”

  “I should think they are much worse than they say.”

  “And you, sir.” Miss Adair’s voice was soft and as smooth as honey, but her words held a challenge in them. “Who do you support in this War of Northern Aggression?”

  “I don’t know that it rightly matters to me who wins, as long as they get things settled soon.”

  She reacted as if he’d slapped her; her eyes flashed with anger. “How can it not matter to you? Everyone in this country must place their loyalty with one side or the other.”

  “I’ve lived most of my life far west of the Mississippi. I figure it’s none of my concern what’s made folks back there mad enough to kill one another. They’ll have to fight it for themselves. I’ll take care of me and mine right where I live.”

  “That is a fool’s way to think.”

  “Shannon!” the reverend said sharply.

  She lowered her eyes. “I’m sorry, Father.”

  “My daughter is tired from our journey, Mr. Dubois. Please accept our apologies.”

  “No offense taken.”

  A glance in Shannon Adair’s direction convinced Matthew that she wasn’t the least bit repentant for her words—and he couldn’t help but like her for it. A woman should know her own mind. Leastwise one who lived in a rough-and-tumble gold town.

  But even with a mind of her own, he doubted Shannon Adair— or her father—would last long in Grand Coeur. If he were a gambling man, he’d wager the Adairs were from money and had a pedigree as long as his arm. Not the usual kind of folks drawn to this rugged territory.

  The waitress arrived with Shannon’s and her father’s breakfasts and stayed long enough to take Mr. Dubois’s order. Not that there were very many choices on the menu. One look at her plate told her that no matter what was ordered, it came with plenty of grease. Her stomach turned at the sight of it.

  Oh, what she wouldn’t give for some of her favorite breakfast foods, served to her on a tray in bed. She remembered that kind of lazy morning, back before the war, back before her mother died. Back when she’d believed her life in her small corner of the world would go on forever, just the way she liked it, just the way it always had been. Parties and barbecues and horseback rides and dances. Lifelong friends spending warm evenings together on the veranda. Leisurely after— Loud shouts from the street brought Shannon’s wandering thoughts back to the present. As her gaze turned toward the window at the front of the restaurant, several gunshots exploded. They sounded close. She drew back in alarm, her right hand covering her racing heart.

  “Perhaps I should see if anyone needs help.” Her father pushed his chair back from the table.

  Matthew Dubois stopped him. “Better stay put, Reverend. You don’t want to get caught in the cross fire if the argument isn’t over.”

  “But someone could be wounded. They might need—”

  “Tell you what.” Matthew stood. “You eat your breakfast before it gets cold, and I’ll see what’s happened outside. I figure the sheriff will be out there already. I’ll let you know if anybody’s asking for a minister.” He moved away from the table, wending his way through the busy restaurant with ease.

  Shannon lifted her fork, then set it down again.

  “Let’s bless the food, Shannon.”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  Her father cocked an eyebrow.

  She leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest.

  “I’ve lost my appetite. The food is inedible and the company—” She broke off suddenly, knowing she’d gone too far.

  Her father rubbed the gray beard on his jaw. His gaze was patient, but it revealed his disappointment. She hated that more than anything. Her father was the most important person in her life. He was all the family she had left now. And he was the kindest and best of men. In a country gone mad with war, his faith kept him strong. He
never seemed to mind any hardship that came his way.

  In that regard, she was nothing like her father. She missed everything she’d lost. She resented every hardship. And here, far from home, it only seemed that much worse.

  “Shannon.” He spoke her name softly. A gentle rebuke.

  Tears sprang to her eyes. “I’m sorry. I will try, Father. I promise.”

  “I know you will, my dear.” He folded his hands.

  The restaurant door opened, allowing a puff of fresh air into the room along with Matthew Dubois. Shannon watched him make his way back to their table. He was a tall man with broad shoulders and strong-looking arms. So unlike too many Confederate soldiers who had become thin and wan for lack of decent food supplies.

  Arriving at the table, Matthew removed his hat a second time and hung it on the spindle of his chair. “Nothing to worry about. Just a little disagreement between a couple of prospectors. No one was hurt.”

  “But the gunfire,” her father said.

  Matthew sank onto the chair, a slow grin curving his mouth. “They’re both lousy shots. Lucky they didn’t kill someone else by accident instead of each other. The deputy took them to his office to cool off.”

  Was everyone so blasé about gunfights on the streets of Grand Coeur, or was it only this man who found humor in it? But what else could she expect from someone like him? He was obviously no gentleman.

  The waitress arrived and set a breakfast plate before Matthew.

  “I was just about to bless the food,” her father said the moment the young woman moved away.

  Matthew nodded and bowed his head. A second later, Shannon did the same, even though she knew no amount of praying would make the hotcakes, sausage, and fried potatoes on her plate palatable. But, for her father, she would try to pretend otherwise.

  Matthew felt a little sorry for the young woman to his right. If ever he’d seen a fish out of water, Shannon Adair was one.

  He couldn’t claim to know any genteel ladies of the South. Most of his acquaintances were good, plain, hardworking souls who’d come west to better their lot in life. He’d wager Miss Adair had never worked hard at anything besides deciding what color frock to wear to a party. No wonder she looked so unhappy.

  As he ate his breakfast, he answered the reverend’s questions as best he could, finally adding, “If you want more than general information about Grand Coeur and the area, I suggest you pay a visit to Bill Washburn over at the Wells, Fargo office. He’s been here since not long after they found gold in these parts. He’ll know the most trustworthy merchants in town and can steer you clear of the ones who’ll rob you blind if you give them a chance.”

  “Are there many such people?” Shannon asked.

  “No more than any other town that springs up during a gold rush.”

  He set down his fork, his plate empty. “Time’ll come when the gold plays out and the prospectors move on. Most of the saloons’ll close, and then the folks who’re left will decide if there’s enough round here to keep a town going.” His gaze shifted to her father. “They built you a fine church, Reverend Adair. Must mean there’s a good number of God-fearing folks who mean to put down roots and stay after the boom is over.”

  “Will you be staying, Mr. Dubois?” the reverend asked.

  “Me? No.” He shook his head. “I’m not the kind of man to stay too long in one place. Once my sister, Alice, has regained her health, I’ll be back to driving the coach. I don’t reckon that’ll be too long.”

  “I’m sorry to hear your sister is ill. Would she like me to come and pray for her?”

  “I’m sure she would, but she isn’t here yet. I expect her and her boy to arrive in a few days.” He pushed back his chair from the table. “Thanks for your company. Time for me to get over to the office.”

  “It was our pleasure, Mr. Dubois. We look forward to seeing you again. Perhaps in church?”

  Matthew grinned. “More’n likely, Reverend.” He set his hat on his head, then bent the brim in Shannon’s direction. “Good day to you, Miss Adair.”

  “Mr. Dubois.”

  The day seemed incredibly long to Shannon. No matter how much work she accomplished, it wasn’t enough for her to feel settled into her new home. She feared it would never be enough for that.

  Supper was over, the dishes washed and put away, and daylight still spilled through the parlor window. But her father didn’t seem to notice the earliness of the hour. He rose from his chair, yawned, stretched, and then bid her good night. “Don’t stay up too late, my dear.”

  “I won’t, Father.” She went to him, rose on tiptoe, and kissed his cheek.

  At the click of his bedroom door closing, she went into her own room. It was no more than a quarter the size of her room at Covington House, the family home of her mother, Adelyn Adair. The only home Shannon had ever known. This room barely had enough space for the narrow bed, a wardrobe and dresser, and the writing desk that had somehow made it all the way across the country without serious injury.

  She sat at the desk and ran the palm of her hand over the surface, treasuring the memories that sprang to mind. How many times over the years had she seen her mother seated at this desk, writing in her journal or penning letters to friends? The memory was enough to make her want to do the same. She had much to share with her dearest friend in all the world, and perhaps writing to Katie would help to ease the homesick feeling roiling in her chest.

  My dear Katie,

  I pray that this letter will reach you and that it will find you well. Father and I arrived in Grand Coeur yesterday afternoon. The journey here was perilous at times, just as we knew it would be. We were able to travel only a small distance by railroad as the Confederacy has greater need of its trains for transporting our soldiers and the wounded than to carry a minister and his daughter out of the South. The greatest portion of our trip was spent in a stagecoach.

  My dearest friend, you cannot comprehend what that was like. Hundreds of miles in the confines of a carriage that is suspended on leather straps, rocking and swaying as three pairs of horses pull it as fast as they can. Every ten to fifteen miles, there was a station where we stopped and the horses were changed for fresh ones. Sometimes we were able to have a meal, but the food was barely passable anywhere. A few times there was word of Indians attacking stages along the way. I tell you, I was more in fear for my life once we were west of the Mississippi River than I ever was with Yankees threatening us in Virginia. And the dust. I felt it coating my tongue and teeth, day after day.

  I was never so glad as I was to reach the end of our journey, although Grand Coeur is not a place I should like to live for long. It is rough and dirty and the inhabitants are equally so. Father has not changed his opinion, however. He believes God has called him here to serve these men and women.

  Of the latter, there are not many. Perhaps two or three hundred women out of more than five thousand men. And as you might expect, too few of those can be called ladies. I shall not write more in that regard. I’m sure you understand. Still, there are some respectable, married people who call Grand Coeur their home. Very few, but some.

  Shannon paused and read what she had written thus far. How gloomy she sounded. Shouldn’t she try to offer some cheer to her friend? Katie Davis and her widowed mother hadn’t had an easy time of it, and until the Confederacy ran the Union Army out of Virginia once and for all, things would not improve for the Davises or their neighbors.

  She drew in a deep breath and continued writing.

  All is not terrible here, Katie dear. I would not have you think so. There is beauty in these mountains, and Father has a fine church in which to serve. The people of the congregation used skilled craftsmen to build it. Our home is small but comfortable enough for two people.

  I am not at all sure what I will do with my time now that we are here. There is no proper society. How I wish you and your mother could have come with us. It would be good to know that you are safe and well fed. Of course, you would like Gran
d Coeur no more than I do. Still, I wish my dearest friend was with me. Never in our lives have we been so far apart.

  I already miss helping Dr. Crenshaw at the hospital. You know how much I admire Miss Nightingale and all she has done in the cause of nursing. I wonder if the day will come when nurses are no longer expected to be male or, if female, married women with gray hair. I should never have been allowed to do the things I did if not for the desperate situation brought about by war.

  How will I be of use to anyone in this place? Father does not wish me to wander too far from the most acceptable areas of Grand Coeur, and I know I shall find that terribly confining. I shall have to change his mind slowly, but change it I shall. You know how stubborn I can be. Not the best of character attributes for a minister’s daughter.

  I was informed by a Wells, Fargo agent that their mail service between the West and the East has not met with much interruption over the past year or two. But he could not make any promise regarding letters going into the South. So I will pray that God will find a miraculous way for this letter to reach you. I send it with my love.

  Your devoted friend,

  Shannon Adair

  3

  The first few days of living in the small parsonage and trying to buy the things she and her father needed did nothing to improve Shannon’s poor opinion of Grand Coeur. It was dirty and noisy. In the cool spring mornings a haze of smoke from woodstoves blanketed the mountain valley, and when it rained—as it had three days ago—the streets turned to a sea of mud. Worst of all, there were few people of quality with whom she might associate in this dreadful place. She felt trapped, like a wild animal in a cage.

  Her father, on the other hand, seemed happier and more alive than he had in a long while. Last evening, seeing her disgruntled mood, he’d said, “‘The harvest truly is plenteous, but the labourers are few; pray ye therefore the Lord of the harvest, that He will send forth labourers into His harvest.’ We are those laborers, my child.”

  Shannon thought it patently unfair that he should use Scripture to chastise her. There was no way for her to respond except in agreement.