A Claim of Her Own (8 page)

“Do you mind?” he asked Swede, and when Swede shook her head, he opened his arms to Eva, who literally launched herself at him. Laughing, Tom sat down and a contented Eva inserted her two middle fingers in her mouth and snuggled against him while he sipped coffee, careful to hold the tin mug out of the baby’s reach.

Swede began. “I have a problem and Freddie says you can help. As it happens, de man I vas counting on to run my store has disappeared. Even if he comes back, he has revealed a weakness for drink dat makes him unsuitable.” She sighed. “I have no one to vork in my store ven I am on de trail, Mr. English. And I vas hoping—” She broke off when Tom glanced at Mattie. “I thought first to ask Mattie to vork for me. But she insists she has no mind for figures.”

“Mathematics is a learned skill,” Tom said to Mattie, “and not at all difficult for someone with your obvious intelligence.”

Mattie shook her head. “It’s more than that. I want to spend some time up on the claim. Away from town.” She drew in a breath. “I’m sorry, but I can’t agree to working in a store.” She rushed ahead before either Tom or Swede could say anything more, committing to something that had only been a whisper at the edges of her thoughts until now. “If I’m going to keep the claim, I might as well work it.”

“Personally?” Tom’s raised eyebrows indicated his surprise.

Yes
, Mattie realized. That was exactly what she intended to do. Oh, she would be slow and inefficient, but the promise of gold had invaded her dreams. Just last night as they worked setting up his store, Tom had explained how part of the frenzy in Deadwood was every man’s hope that he would be the one to find the lead—the source—of all the placer gold in the gulch. But that hope ended a month ago when two brothers found the lead a few miles to the southwest of Deadwood. Still, Tom said, that didn’t mean there wasn’t a good-sized vein of gold just waiting to be found. And he reassured Mattie that the frenzy for gold would continue long enough for her to decide what to do, and long enough for her to make a nice profit should she decide to sell.

Thinking about veins of gold had kept Mattie awake half the night. Dillon’s tent might be pitched above a fortune just waiting to be found. Just waiting for
her
to find it. It was, after all, called
Mattie’s
Claim now. She defended her plan to work it. “Freddie told me the Grand Central charges twelve dollars a week for room and board. I don’t have that kind of money. I can feed myself on the claim for much less. Just this morning Freddie promised he would bring me rabbits on occasion.” She glanced at Freddie and smiled. “He even said he’d show me how he makes stew.”

Swede nodded. “It is your claim now, Mattie. If you vant to vork it, I say go vit God and may He bless it.” She turned back to Tom. “And so I need someone to run Garth Merchandise ven I am freighting.” She glanced at Freddie. “And my son says dat you are de someone I should hire.”

“Do you mind my asking about the name?” Tom asked.

“Of course not. Garth vas my husband.” She nodded. “Now. I vish that I pay you to see to the building of a store here on dis lot vile I bring more goods.” She hesitated before saying, “Freddie has said dat your lot is not de best for a store.” She gestured around them. “As you can see, mine is excellent. I propose dat you move your business to my lot.”

“Well, Freddie was right about my lot,” Tom said. “If he hadn’t come in the middle of the night and moved them, I would have lost every packing crate.” He made a sweeping motion with his good arm. “Whoosh. Who knows where they would have ended up.” He peered around at Swede’s lot. “And you do have a prime location.”

“One of de best,” Swede agreed. “If you camp on your lot and keep a store open dere for vile ve build, ve can move all the merchandise dere and take down my tent to make room for my building. You could use my tent for lodging.” Eva had fallen asleep in Tom’s arms while they talked. She stood up and reached for the baby. “You tink as I am putting Eva down for her nap.”

Tom spoke first to Mattie. “It’s only required that a claim be worked one day a week to prove possession. Is there any chance you would consider brushing up on your numbers so you could help out temporarily—just until Swede’s building is finished and I can move everything in? I know enough about building to handle the project, but I can’t very well oversee a building project and run a store at the same time.”

“And I’m not good at figures,” Freddie said.

Swede chimed in as she returned from putting Eva down. “Even a fine building can be finished in a few veeks.”

“That’s right,” Tom agreed, and once again spoke to Mattie. “If you would help out at my present location for even part of every day we would free you up completely in three weeks’ time.”

“I could stay on your claim and make sure no one bothered it,” Freddie offered. “Every night if you want.”

“I vill pay you,” Swede said.

“And I’ll show you everything you need to know about panning for gold,” Tom added.

“And I vill bring free of charge the finest tombstone in the territory.”

Mattie looked from Tom to Freddie to Swede. What could a woman do?

It struck her in the middle of the night, and when Swede realized what she had done, she couldn’t sleep. As soon as dawn broke, she shook Freddie awake. “You keep vatch up by his tent, and when Mr. English has avakened I must know.” She brushed her hair until it shone that morning and donned a clean apron. She even put a clean dress on Eva, and as soon as Freddie reported that Mr. English was up, she put Eva on her hip and hurried up the street. The moment he answered her call and opened the tent flap, Swede blurted out, “I must to apologize.”

Mr. English frowned. “For what?”

“I meant nothing by all my talk yesterday. I did not tink.” She paused. Took a deep breath. “I have tought only of Garth Merchandise for so long—and you vere so kind to consider helping me. But in the night I realized dat all my talk vas as if I vas hiring you only to help. Please forgive me. My intention vas to form a partnership— not to treat you as a common laborer. And I do not blame you for being angry.”

Mr. English jiggled Eva’s foot and smiled when the baby giggled. “Do I seem angry?”

“No, but . . . I insulted you.”

“How? By proposing a mutually beneficial business relationship?”

“The name of the store must be English and Garth,” Swede said. “And you vill have a written agreement stating dat we are equal partners. Assuring dat I vill freight only for our store and ve split profits equally. I should have suggested all of dese tings. I apologize for being so concerned for my own problems and treating you—”

“Mrs. Jannike,” Mr. English said abruptly, “if I may interject a word?”

Swede broke off. She nodded even as she braced herself for what was to come. He wouldn’t shout. She felt certain of that. But he would most definitely take the opportunity to agree with her that she had been rude. She’d overstepped her bounds as a woman. She’d presumed on his quiet nature.

“As for the name of the store, I don’t really care if my name is on it or not. I think it will be grand for Freddie and Eva to see their father’s name on the store their mother built—at least partially as a tribute to him. And as for our partnership, I think we both understand exactly how it will work. You are the freighter, I am the storekeeper. You bring the goods to Deadwood and I maintain the ledger. We split the profits in half, and—” he paused—“as for a written contract, I don’t think that’s necessary between two honest people who respect each other.”

“You—” Swede sputtered. “You aren’t angry vit me?”

He shook his head. “Of course not. I’m grateful to have been rescued from the obvious problems this lot presents. And I’m honored that you’d trust me with overseeing your construction project. And,” he said, chucking Eva under the chin, “I’m actually looking forward to working with you or for you, and I don’t honestly care how that was worded yesterday.

“Now,” he continued, “I do have one other thing I’d like to request to seal our agreement.” He winked at Eva. His brown eyes crinkled at the edges as he said, “I’d like it very much if you would call me Tom.”

As Mattie climbed up to Dillon’s claim on Friday morning, the sun broke through the clouds, and by the time she ducked into the tent to change into mining garb, the promise of sunshine had become reality. She opened Dillon’s storage box, and as the aroma of his pipe tobacco wafted upward, she blinked back tears.
I will
not cry I will not cry I will not.
She jerked a pair of pants and a shirt out and shut the box. She began to talk to herself. “You’ve done some shocking things in your life, Mattie O’Keefe, but this—this is an entirely new level of shocking.” Her throat relaxed. She kept talking to herself. “What would the folks in Kansas say . . . Miss Mattie O’Keefe dressing like a man . . .” She stepped into the pants and bent to roll up the cuffs. “I’m going to need suspenders,” she said aloud. Twine laced through the belt loops would have to do today. The wool socks were warm. She just might keep wearing those even when she donned her other clothes. She slipped into a green flannel shirt. “Thank goodness Dillon isn’t . . . wasn’t . . . six . . . feet. . . .” She swallowed.
Dillon isn’t. Dillon was . . . but
now he isn’t.

Her resolve melted. She cried again. She cried more. She sprawled on Dillon’s pallet and cried until she was exhausted. Finally, she took the three steps to the “front door” in her stocking-clad feet and looked down the trail toward Deadwood.

“Tom said to tell you that he will be here soon.”

With a little gasp, Mattie saw Freddie perched on a rock ledge, whittling. He gave no sign of having heard her crying. Instead, he smiled and said, “You look pretty.”

As if her red eyes and runny nose didn’t even exist. Bless him. “Do I look like a real miner?”

He shook his head. “You are too clean to be a real miner.”

She laughed and with the laughter came release from the threat of more tears. Putting her hand atop her head, she said, “I need a hat.”

Freddie jerked his off his head and sent it sailing through the air. It landed at her feet. Mattie pulled it on and they both laughed as all of her abundant dark hair and most of her head were swallowed up. She tilted her head back and looked at Freddie from beneath the brim.

“You almost disappeared there for a minute.” Tom English’s voice carried up the gulch from below. As he climbed toward them he said, “And I almost mistook you for Brady Sloan.” He pointed to the claim above Mattie’s. “He’s about your size.”

“Really?” Mattie handed Freddie’s hat back to its owner. “Maybe he’d sell me some of his cast-offs.”

“Only if you’ve a mind to set up a vat so you can boil them first.” Tom smiled as he pointed to Mattie’s bare head. “I’d suggest you see if some nice storekeeper in town would extend credit to cover the cost of a hat.” He glanced down at her feet. “And rubber boots that fit.”

“I didn’t find a hat inside, but I can wad up some newspapers to fill the toes of Dillon’s boots.”

“That will work for today,” Tom said, “but you’ll need boots that fit before you start working in earnest. A woman who does a man’s job should dress for the dance.”

“All right,” Mattie agreed. “I’ll get some proper-sized boots soon.” She ducked inside the tent and began handing out tools. “You can get set up while I resize the boots.”

“Whoa,” Tom said. “All you need for today’s lesson is a shovel and the pan.” He reached into his shirt pocket and withdrew a few toothpicks. “I’ve brought the rest.”

As she pulled on the paper-stuffed boots, she asked, “What about something to put the gold in?”

“I truly doubt we’re going to need to worry about that for today.” Tom glanced up at the sky. “My aching back says the weather’s turning.”

“Turning to what?”

“Snow, maybe.”

“In May?”

“Welcome to the Black Hills,” he said with a nod. “Last year we had a two-day blizzard in June.”

Mattie didn’t want to think about snow. She gestured toward town. “Why do you think the gulch is so deserted today?”

Tom shrugged. “It’s a rare day when every claim is being worked. Today they’re all probably holed up in this saloon or that dance hall warming themselves with bad whiskey and wom—” He broke off. Cleared his throat.