A Claim of Her Own (35 page)

Finally. He was strong enough to take action. It had taken most of a month, but none of it had been wasted. He had grown wise in the old ways of hunting and hiding, remembered many of the tricks from his days in the war. He hunted in Deadwood for food, and it was easier than he expected it to be. The mammy left her kitchen unguarded at times. Once, Jonas had slipped in and taken an entire ham back up to his camp. It made him smile just to remember the next few days of good eating from that one act of thievery.

He hadn’t planned to be camped out for this long. The nights were getting cold. Sometimes in the night when the dried leaves rattled in the wind, it woke him. Such a strange sound compared to pianos and laughter, glasses clinking and dice rolling. The memories made him homesick. Once back in Abilene, he would never leave.

But first he would follow through with his plan. The very next time Mattie headed up the gulch he would prowl along the rim that ran high above the gold claims, and she would never even know she was being followed. He would finally solve the mystery of why he hadn’t seen Dillon in town. Having located the claim, he would plan a little surprise for them both. A
re
prise. He chuckled to himself. Mattie O’Keefe would regret ever stealing a penny of his money, and she would especially pay for cutting him with that ring and for being the cause of his scars.

The delay in Sidney was no one’s fault. It simply took longer to load all the freighters’ wagons this time because when Red Tallent realized Swede was hauling hay against an early storm, he decided the rest of the wagons should follow suit, and that meant waiting for the ranchers to haul hay to the depot. It also meant some creative loading to accommodate the hay and still haul everything expected in Deadwood.

It was October 1 before the supply train finally left Sidney headed north for Deadwood. Swede had purchased some pelts to line Eva’s cradle, and while she waited for the other teamsters to load their hay, she laced one together into a kind of bunting. For herself, she would make do with a couple of furs sewn together at the shoulder the way Red Tallent did it. And a fur hat and mittens, too. There was just enough left to line her boots.

Oh, but she was stiff when she wakened in the morning these days. How she longed for the warmth of the feather comfortable and patchwork quilts on her own bed in the room she shared with Eva above Garth and Company Merchandise. She never suspected that the simple matter of having a room and a bed of her own would change her attitude toward the trail. Of course if she let herself think about it, she realized it wasn’t just the longing for her home that had changed her attitude about the trail. It was Tom.

She had barely said three words to him after their fight, and yet he had kissed her on the cheek before she left town. That made two kisses. For the entire trip from Deadwood to Sidney, she had battled thinking about those kisses. Finally she was able to think more clearly about things. But it wasn’t just the time on the trail that had accomplished that. It was pondering that day back in Sidney when she’d seen herself in a mirror.

She had only meant to buy a new bonnet for Mattie O’Keefe. As a way of saying thank-you for all her work at the store while Tom and Freddie were gone. But when the shopkeeper—a nice woman named Mrs. Johnson—insisted that Swede try it on herself, she submitted to one moment of feminine pleasure. A moment that was either a terrible mistake or a clarification of reality, depending on how one chose to see it.

“There now,” Mrs. Johnson said, and tilted the mirror just so. “See how nice you look? Those yellow flowers are the perfect accent for your lovely blond hair.”

Yellow might accent her hair, Swede thought, but nothing could hide the fact that a once pleasant-looking Katerina Jannike now looked more like a weather-beaten man than a woman. Quickly, she looked away from the mirror and handed over the hat. “Please to write on de package,
To Miss Mattie O’Keefe.
”

“Package?” Mrs. Johnson asked, even as she held up a fine leather hatbox, “or traveling case?” She raised the lid to show off the purple velvet lining.

Swede didn’t hesitate. “Put a tag on one case for Miss O’Keefe, if you please, and if you have more, I vill take five.”

“Wise woman,” Mrs. Johnson said with a smile. “The ladies of Deadwood will buy you out in no time.”

Swede didn’t bother to explain her intent to sell all five hatboxes to the Berg sisters upon arrival. She only nodded as she glanced back into the mirror one last time.
Remember what you see here when next
you have foolish thoughts about you and Tom English.

Jonas needed a mirror. People still turned away after one glance. Could it be that bad? He was feeling better now and tired of skulking around like some animal. The pest tent had been taken down. He couldn’t be the only former inmate who’d stayed in Deadwood. Surely he wasn’t that much of an oddity. But he hadn’t run into any of the other patients—except for one hideously scarred sporting girl staggering around behind Al Swearengen’s place. She was drunk, and Jonas could understand why. A creature like that might as well take a gun to her head and end her misery.

An idea took shape. The mammy would likely have a mirror in her bedroom next to the kitchen, and she always went to church. Jonas smiled to himself. She’d never even know he’d been there. And on his way out, he’d help himself to whatever was cooking for lunch. He laughed aloud. Maybe he’d even leave a little gold dust from the bag he’d taken off that body.
Gold dust on a saucer on the table
. Now, that would give old mammy something to wonder over.

“Just let me put my hat in my room, and we’ll have us a fine Sunday dinner,” Aunt Lou said as Mattie and Aron followed her into the hotel kitchen. “I’m so glad the two of you said you would do this. I declare, Mattie, you have been up at that claim of yours so much lately I thought maybe you’d left Deadwood.”

“It hasn’t been that bad,” Mattie said with a laugh. “I have been busy, though. Trying to sink another hole to bedrock before the ground freezes.”
And counting my gold. I’m rich, Aunt Lou!

“Well, you just—” Aunt Lou’s hand paused in midair as she reached for the elaborate pin anchoring her hat in place. She stared into her room, then leaned against the doorframe groaning, “Oh no . . . not my best quilt . . . oh
no . . . no . . . no . . .
”

Aron stepped up to peer over her shoulder. Mattie joined them, and that’s when she saw the devastation. Someone had reduced Aunt Lou’s room to shattered glass and shredded cloth. She slumped down onto the edge of her cot, frowning as she looked up at where the mirror used to hang. Motioning for Mattie and Aron to step into the room, she pointed to the back of the door. “What
is
that?”

Aron frowned as he examined several deep gouges in the wood.

“And there,” Aunt Lou said. “And there.” She pointed at the rips in the newspapers covering her walls.

Mattie turned in a circle, pointing out gouge after gouge. She ran her finger along the marks in the top of the old bureau in the corner and shivered. “Who would do such a thing? The whole town loves Aunt Lou.”

“It seems there’s at least one person who don’t,” Aunt Lou said. Looking down at the hat in her hands she smiled. “Well. At least he didn’t ruin my favorite hat.” She forced a laugh. “And he isn’t gonna ruin my Sunday dinner with two of my favorite people, either.” She stood up and motioned for Mattie to follow her into the kitchen. “Come along, Miss Mattie. We’re all hungry and”—she waved around her—“sitting here ain’t gonna change what’s been done. I got one of my fattest hens all ready to—” She stopped in midsentence. “Now, what on earth . . .” She looked around. “It was right here.” She motioned to the shelf just above her worktable in the corner.

“What? What was right here?”

“A pie. An apple pie. And now—look at this.” Aunt Lou pulled a saucer down off the shelf and stared at it. She held it out for Mattie and Aron to see the pinch of gold dust right in the center of the white saucer. “Now, who steals a pie and
pays
in gold dust?”

“Is anything else missing?” Aron asked.

Aunt Lou made a quick tour of the kitchen and pantry. “I had a nice roast all ready to slice for the lodgers’ lunch. Had it in this crock, covered with a towel.” She held out an empty crockery bowl.

Mattie gazed at Aron. “Who destroys a woman’s room, steals food, and then leaves payment?” She lowered her voice. “This isn’t just someone who doesn’t like Aunt Lou. This is a
crazy
person who doesn’t like Aunt Lou. A crazy person with a
weapon
.”

Aron nodded. He glanced at Aunt Lou. “Is it all right with you if I ask around a bit? See if I can learn anything?”

Aunt Lou shrugged. “Whoever done this had to have made some noise. If no one came when it was happening . . .” She paused. “Ain’t nobody cares about a few things that belong to an old black woman.”

“I care,” Aron said.

“We both do,” Mattie agreed.

“Then you do what you got to do,” Aunt Lou said even as she tied on her apron, “and I’ll get us a meal ready.” She busied herself lighting a fire in the cast-iron stove.

Aron headed out the door, hesitating long enough to say to Mattie, “Lock this door until I get back. And keep your Colt handy.”

The mirror . . .
Jonas swore abominations, he cursed the Almighty above and the demons below . . . he raged and wept, and still, what he’d seen in the mammy’s mirror would not fade from memory. When he closed his eyes, it was there in his mind, that hideous, pockmarked, scarred, splotched thing that had once been his face.

Ravenous, he tore at the stolen roast with his teeth, not caring that the juices soaked his beard and stained his shirt. What did it matter? He looked like an animal out of someone’s nightmares . . . he might as well live like one.

The little witch . . . the gorgeous, unscarred, plotting, scheming, violet-eyed minx. It was her doing. All of it. If she hadn’t stolen from him, if she hadn’t cut him, he could have let her go. But a man in his position couldn’t let something like that go unpunished. He had to come after her. And if it weren’t for her . . . if it weren’t for her . . . He raged. He wept . . . and, exhausted, he finally slept.