CHARITY'S GOLD RUSH (A Strike It Rich in Montana novel)

“For I know the plans I have for you,” declares

the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm

you, plans to give you hope and a future.”

Jeremiah 29:11 (NIV)

Montana Territory, 186
8

             
“Tis no use talking when the harm is done,
Lucas
.” Charity
O’Connell
slapped the wet shirt against the tin wash bucket.
It was the tenth such proposal she’d received today, and
Lucas
had whiskey on his breath to boot.
The man spent more time at the saloon than he did at his claim.

             
“I meant no harm, Miss Charity.” The wizened old man grinned. He missed several teeth and the ones he still possessed were tobacco stained. “It’s your beauty that makes me loco.”

             
“You’re as old as me dead uncle.” Charity hung the clothes
on a stretched piece of rope.
Why couldn’t she receive one
offer
from a strapping, good-looking young man and not one as old as the
earth
or as dirty as the bottom of a mud pit?
She worked harder in America than she ever had in Ireland.
I
f only the days were longer and the amount of work shorter.

             
“You’ve a mean heart.”
Lucas
spit a stream of tobacco in the dirt. “But I’ll try again tomorrow.”

             
Charity laughed. “Off with you. And leave that bag of clothes in your hand
behind
. I’ll have them ready tomorrow.”

             
When she’d hung the last
pair of overalls
on the line, she placed her hands on her hips and leaned back, popping the kin
k
s from her spine. Backbreaking labor, that’s what it was. But there were few ways for a girl to make a living in the mining town of Virginia City, Montana
, and Charity refused to
be a
saloon girl.
Da spoiled her for too many years when the gold was flowing.

             
She
knocked
the basin of dirty water over, letting the suds sink into the
thirsty ground
. With a laugh, she kicked off her shoes and sunk her toes deep into the wet softness. The squishy mud soothed away some of the aches of the day
and left her feeling like a child again, if only for a moment
.

             
A
h, silliness. She’d be better off taking stock of tomorrow’s work and heading down the street for a bowl of stew than acting like a wee child. She glanced into the darkening sky.
Oh,
D
a, I miss you
.
We had such fun
despite your
gambling
ways
.

             
She moved to a nearby horse trough and splashed her feet clear of the mud before slipping her shoes back on. With her stomach rumbling,
eating
needed to come first.

             
A restaurant, run by an elderly couple
named Connor
, served the best stew in town. Ma and Pa’s Kettle
filled many a miner’s belly
. Charity p
ushed open the rickety door
and stepped inside.

             
Immediately
,
the rumbles of at least twenty men ceased, greeting Charity with their stares and silence. She rolled her eyes. How many times did she have to eat there before they grew used to her presence
and stopped gawking like she was a prize sheep on display
?
They all stood as one and waited to see which of them would have to give up their seat. Mrs. Connor insisted on manners in her restaurant and would harangue any man who didn’t offer his chair to a lady.

             
Charity shook her head
and motioned for them to sit. They followed her instruction
, and she scooted into the curtained-off area that served as a kitchen. “I’m in no mood for a marriage proposal today
. M
ay I please eat in here?”

             
Mrs. Connor chuckled. “Suit yourself.” She waved a
sticky
gravy
ladle
toward a lone chair. “I wouldn’t mind the company. Mr. Connor is at the butcher.
Still can’t understand why you don’t get hitched
.
A pretty gal like yourself ought not to be washing other men’s unmentionables.
”

             
Fingering
her faded calico
dress
, Charity sighed
and sat, looping her feet around the chair legs
. “Sure, it’d be nice, but a girl has to make a living and sitting on a brocade sofa
acting like the queen of England
ain’t going to get it done. Besides, none of them makes my heart flutter.”
Silly or not, she wanted to feel something for the man she married. She picked at the frayed hem around her sleeve.

She needed to get to the mercantile for soap and thread. New fabric for a dress, too.

             
“Ah. Holding out for love.” Mrs. Connor stirred the pot, then ladled a bowlful for Charity. “You wait. Love is
waiting
.”

             
It’
d
been a mighty long corner. Charity sighed and dipped a biscuit into the thick broth of the stew
before sticking a bite in her mouth
.
Beef and vegetables melded on her tongue
and quieted her grumbling stomach
.

             
Cooking and cleaning for one man sounded like a dream come true. But the right man. Not somebody she could smell coming up the road or old enough to be her
da
, with no teeth
.
M
ost were stained with tobacco. She popped the last of her biscuit into her mouth.
And most of the men in town gambled away whatever gold they dug out of the ground. Just like her
da
.
No, it looked like Charity O’Connell would be a spinster in a city full of men.
A sad state of affairs, to be sure.

###

             
Gabriel
Williams
pulled his buckboard in front of the mercantile and set the brake.
“Come on, young’uns.
“

             
“Ah, Pa. Can’t we wait out here? There’s more going on.” Sam tugged the brim of his hat lower.

             
“Fine.
If you’re good, I’ll buy you peppermint
s
.”

             
“Sure thing, Pa.” Eight-year-old Sam leaned his dark head over the seat. Beside him, six-year-old Meg did the same. “We won’t move a muscle.”

             
Gabe grinned and climbed down. “See that you don’t.”
He didn’t like leaving the children alone on a rowdy street, but as a
widower
and
a
new Pa
, he didn’t have many options
. T
hey needed to learn responsibility sometime
.

He stepped onto the sidewalk and opened the mercantile door as a woman waltzed out, her arms piled high with brown paper packages. Green eyes the color of a spring meadow peered over the top.
The tantalizing scent of
lilac
soap teased his senses.
Gabe tipped his hat. “Ma’am.”

“Thank ye, kindly, sir.” An Irish lilt sounded musical
above the crude shouts of men
.

The smell of pickles, tobacco, and wood stove smoke greeted Gabe as he stepped inside. He glanced back to see the woman make her way down the sidewalk, her dress swaying
with each movement of her hips
. He would’ve liked to have gotten a look at her face to see whether she was as pretty as she sounded.

He’d had his eyes open for a
temporary
ma
for
the children
for a few months now and wondered whether the little gal was attached or not.
Unlikely.
Women were as scarce as an egg-laying rooster in Virginia City.
A man had to get while the getting was good.
And a pretty gal that smelled clean was definitely a prize.

             
“Howdy, Gabe. What can I get for you?” Mr. Miller, a spindly man with thinning hair leaned across his counter. “Don’t see much of you anymore.
Not since your Maggie passed on, God rest her soul.
”

             
“Lots of work to do.” Gabe handed him his list. “This ought to hold me for a couple of months. Be back one more time before winter sets.”

             
“Ought to get yourself a
nother
bride.” Mr. Miller plunked a
twenty-
five pound sack of flour on the counter. “Winters won’t seem so long then.
Women are soft and warm on a cold night.
”

             
“Been thinking about it.”
A lot more than he wanted, to be honest. Especially since that stupid wager he placed against his
, uh, Maggie’s,
land. Plumb loco, that’s what he was.

Maybe he could put an ad in a newspaper for one of them mail-order brides.
If he was quick, s
he’d get here before the snow hit
and be a true help with the young’uns. Sam didn’t always tell the truth, and Meg would follow along with whatever trouble her brother found
.
Somebody needed to keep an eye on them and it wasn’t possible for him to be that someone.

             
But would a woman be content with a marriage that lasted a short while before getting annulled? Gabe couldn’t be responsible for anyone longer than that. The frontier wasn’t a safe place.

He glanced out the window at the
empty
wagon
and clenched his teeth
. If he didn’t already have children, he doubted he’d plan on any. Not after their
m
a died.
He’
d
stay a bachelor.
The worry
almost
wasn’t worth it
, no matter how much he loved the rascals
.
Hadn’t he proved that by keeping them?
Nah, no woman in her right mind would agree to such a set-up.
He’d have to continue to muddle through on his own.