A Claim of Her Own (41 page)

She could not wait. It had to be done. And so, at the midday break, Swede rushed through tending her team, took Eva in her arms, and hurried to where Tom and Aron sat, drinking coffee and talking to some of the other freighters.

“Mr. English,” she said. “May ve speak now?”

Tom nodded and got up. He followed her to the opposite side of her string of wagons. And then she could not do it. “I have brought Mattie her brother’s gravestone,” she said instead, pointing to the crate in the middle wagon. “It vas vaiting. As I expected.”

“She’ll be happy to see that,” he said as they walked toward it.

“We had snow in Deadwood, too,” he said. “But I expect we’ll have a couple of days of good weather yet. Between Aron and Freddie and me, it shouldn’t be a problem to get it put up.” Brushing away the layer of cushioning straw, he nodded. “It’s a fine stone. Mattie will be pleased.”

“Yah, I know she vill.” She took a deep breath. “And as to de store—I am tinking dat perhaps you vould vish to have your own.” She had expected to see relief on his face. Instead, he seemed unhappy.

“Are you
firing
me, Katerina?”

“No, no. I yoost tink you vould perhaps radder to haf your own business vare you are making de decidings and vare you don’t must to ask another’s opinion.” She blushed furiously as her English reverted nearly back to Swedish. She was so nervous. Close to tears.

Tom frowned. “I didn’t expect to get fired over a little fight.”

“Is not about disagreement. Is—” Oh, now. This was not what she had wanted to happen. Not at all. Eva was whimpering, and she herself had to swipe at a tear. She gulped. “Ven a man is partner— business partner—vit voman, people make assumption. Dey . . . You . . .” She sighed. “People might tink you and I . . . Vell, I know is silly, but perhaps is better for you—”

“I’m sorry, but I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Must it be this way? Must she be humiliated as well as brokenhearted? So be it.

Swede lifted her chin. Now she was angry. He was being cruel, though he probably didn’t know it. Men were so stupid sometimes. “I am hardly beautiful voman. I verk hard, and I am not ashamed, but I also know dat men—except for Garth Jannike, who was God’s gift to me—men yoost do not care for vomen like me ven dey haf Mattie O’Keefes and Kitty Undervoods about.” She was really crying now. “And so I am tinking dat ve end our partnership, and you open your own store, and I vill haul for you as before, but den you vill not be associated vit me and mebbe you could—”

“Excuse me,” Tom interrupted. “Give me the baby.”

“Vat?”

He held out his hands, and Eva readily went to him. With Swede trailing a ways behind, he carried the baby around the string of wagons to the campfire and plopped her into Red Tallent’s lap. He said something to Aron Gallagher and to Red. And then he walked back to her. “Now
I
have something to say.”

“You don’t have to say—”

“And I would like it very much if you would hush now and let me say it.”

Swede put her hands on her hips. It was going to be another fight. Ah well. So be it. Not all partnerships could end peacefully. She had hoped— But she never finished that thought about her hopes, because they were replaced with entirely new ones as Tom English took her in his arms and kissed her. On the lips. In front of all the freighters. Who whistled and hooted, and Tom didn’t seem to care one bit.

When he finally let her go, he stood back and said, “Now, we’ll have no more talk about Katerina Jannike’s deficiencies,” he said, “because I love her. And she is about to become my wife. If she’ll have me.”

Mattie stepped to the edge of the cliff and peered down at the tangled end of Jonas Flynn’s life. She shivered. When she reached out, Freddie was there to take her hand.

The men who had helped track the mule this far stood at a respectful distance.

The story was laid out for anyone with eyes, told in the pattern of footprints that showed a man dismounting up here and walking ahead and a mule backing away. How or why the struggle had been allowed to continue to the edge of the precipice, and how Jonas had been dragged over the edge were details no one would ever know. But the man who’d ridden away from Mattie’s Claim on a pack mule laden with gold was nothing like the intelligent business owner who’d first come to Deadwood in search of a runaway. Madmen often ended their lives in inexplicable ways.

“I’ll climb down and get the gold back for you,” Freddie said.

Scanning the ragged edges of the canyon, Mattie gulped. “I can’t see how.”

Freddie pointed to the opposite canyon wall. “You see that spot right there by that fallen tree?” When Mattie followed his gaze and nodded, he explained. “That’s one of my caves. I know the way down there. It won’t be that hard.”

Mattie sighed. And then she wondered. She looked up at Freddie. “Do you think you could bring
him
out?” She shuddered and repeated the words she’d learned from Aron Gallagher. “Some might think he doesn’t deserve it, but I’d like to see he has a decent burial.”

“I’m strong,” Freddie said. “I can do it.”

Freddie kept his word, and on the Friday after Jonas’s body was found, Aron, who’d arrived back in town along with the freighters the previous day, read a simple service at Jonas’s grave. After the amen, Mattie laid pine boughs on three graves—Dillon’s, Wild Bill’s, and Jonas Flynn’s. She lingered at Dillon’s while Freddie and Aron waited for her. She bowed her head and murmured, “I don’t know if you do things like this, but just in case you do, could you let Dillon know that it’s over . . . and I’m all right. I’m not afraid anymore. I have new friends and—” She was afraid to give words to the rest of her feelings about the people in her life. She waited another moment before turning her back on the graves that represented her past and, lifting her chin, walked toward Aron and Freddie and whatever future God had in store.

On the evening of Saturday, November 18, 1876, Jack Lan–g–rishe’s theatre was aglow with candlelight. The aroma of pine emanated from both the evergreen wreaths lining the walls and the wood shavings sprinkled over the scrubbed board floors. A capacity crowd had filled every available chair long before the scheduled time for the evening’s special production, but no one minded waiting. There was always news and gossip to share in Deadwood.

Finally the reverend Aron Gallagher, clad in his new suit— provided by the Berg sisters—stepped onto the stage. He was accompanied by two people: the beautiful Miss Mattie O’Keefe and the dapper, but somewhat nervous, Mr. Tom English. The crowd was instantly quiet, except for a blond-haired angel sitting on Aunt Lou’s lap, who screeched “Ta-ta!” and made everyone laugh.

When Kitty Underwood went to the piano and struck up a tune that would only be remembered as “something highbrow,” the crowd rose as one and turned toward the back of the theatre. What they saw made them draw in their collective breaths.

Katerina Ingegaard Jannike was not the most beautiful bride anyone had ever seen. Her face showed the effect of years of wind and sun, and it would ever be so. But her straw-colored hair fell to her waist in a golden cascade that glimmered in the candlelight, and her elegant pale-blue gown made her eyes shine. Her hands clutched an artful arrangement of evergreen bows with pinecones wired in. As she walked toward the stage, the similarities between mother and the son who proudly escorted her up the aisle were unmistakable.

No, Katerina Ingegaard Jannike English was not the most beautiful bride folks would ever remember seeing. She was, however, the happiest.

Freddie hung the sign his mor had printed on the front door at Garth and Company Merchandise and locked the door.
Closed
, it said.
Happy Thanksgiving
.

“Dat’s good, den,” Swede said as she donned the fur-lined coat her new husband—who was always such a gentleman—held for her. Together the new family crossed Main, navigating their way through and around drifted snow toward the Grand Central Hotel and the celebration Aunt Lou had planned for the six folks she had taken to calling her “Deadwood family”—Swede and Tom, Eva and Freddie, Aron Gallagher, and Mattie O’Keefe.

Once everyone was seated, Aunt Lou rose from her place to speak. “Now, this is just what I like. A table overflowing with love.” She looked to Aron. “If you don’t mind, Reverend, I would like to thank the good Lord for what He has done among these folks before you do the honors of carving the bird.”

“Please,” Aron said, and bowed his head.

“Dear Lord,” Aunt Lou began, “we have so much to say. All of us here at this table came to Deadwood for different reasons. Mattie came hoping to reunite with her brother, Dillon, only to find that he was already with you. But you gave her a new brother in Freddie, and a baby sister, too, with little Eva, and you gave her a family in us—if she will have us. So we thank you, Lord. I don’t know if Tom English came looking for a wife, but you gave him a good one, and ain’t that just like you, Lord, giving folks blessings they don’t even know they got coming. Thank you. And Swede came with a broken heart and you filled it all the way up. Thank you, Lord.” She paused and sniffed the air. “And now, that turkey Freddie shot for us is about to burn, so we will thank you for it and promise to thank you some more yet today. Amen.”