Silver Lining (3 page)

"No husband. Just a baby!"

The preacher pulled a worn Bible from his jacket pocket and waved it above his head for all to see.

"Would you offend God by heaping sin on your angel of mercy?" He flung a pointing finger at Low Down.

"Honestly, I don't mind having a little sin heaped on me. Just enough to get a baby, and I don't think God would object to that too much. I don't want to do this if it means getting married. I just want a baby, that's all." Her voice trailed when she realized no one was listening. All attention was focused on the preacher.

"Does this good woman's child deserve to be born a bastard? Is there any son of a bitch here who truly believes that piling sin and shame on this woman and her child is the way to thank her? Is that your idea of expressing gratitude to the woman who saved your miserable lives?" Contempt curled his lip.

"Listen, on second thought, a piano would be real nice," Low Down said loudly. She didn't know how to play a piano and had no place to keep one, but those problems could be worked out.

No one paid her a lick of attention. Preacher Jellison was gathering momentum and working up a lather, holding his audience spellbound with the thunder of his voice and the weight of his listeners' increasing guilt. By the time the last echo resounded off the opposite valley wall, the married men were in a fury of righteous indignation, shouting insults at the bachelors, castigating them as selfish weaseling ingrates who were going to call down the wrath of God on everyone if they didn't do right by the poor self-sacrificing woman who had risked her life to save theirs.

No fool he, Billy Brown seized the moment to pass the hat containing the marbles and every man in the single group glared at the married group, then did his duty and withdrew a colored glass ball. One after another they examined their marble, then headed for the beer barrel with a grin of relief.

Except Max McCord.

McCord stood as if he'd put down roots, staring at the green glass in his palm. All around him men slapped each other on the back, made jokes, and looked around to see who had drawn the marble with the X.

When Low Down couldn't bear McCord's frozen silence another minute, she turned her back on him and faced down the mountain. She hadn't expected that anyone would jump for joy to discover the scratched marble in his hand. She wasn't happy either. But she had secretly hoped the man she ended with wouldn't look as shocked and stricken as Max McCord.

She had mixed feelings about him. Part of her felt sympathetic that he wouldn't be able to marry the woman he loved. He had to marry her instead. Events had spiraled so far out of control there was no stopping them now. Preacher Jellison had everyone churned up and eager for a wedding. No one cared that she and McCord didn't want this.

Frowning down the mountainside, she thrust a hand into her trouser pocket and closed her fingers around the copy of Max McCord's letter that she had written out from memory. She didn't know why she'd copied his letter. Well, yes she did. She liked to read it and pretend that someone had sent this letter to her. McCord had some beautiful words inside of him.

"Gather around, and somebody bring the bride and groom up front."

"We have to do it right this minute?" Low Down would have at least liked to wash her face and comb her hair. But the men cared only about repaying their debt right now in case God was watching and prepared for swift retribution if they faltered, and in case McCord might be tempted to shirk his duty if they permitted any delay.

McCord continued to stare at the marble like it was a miniature crystal ball revealing a future that sucked the marrow from his bones.

Coot Patterson and Stony Marks each took one of McCord's arms and dragged him forward. Frank Oliviti and Jake Martin led Low Down through the crowd. She felt as if she ought to say something to McCord, but she didn't know what. He looked dazed anyway, and probably wouldn't have heard anything she said.

She felt a little dazed herself and suddenly nervous. She wet her lips and rubbed her palms along her trouser legs. Damn, she wished she'd washed this morning and had put on some clean long johns and a better shirt. She wished things hadn't gone this far. She was going to regret the husband part she just knew it.

"Wait a minute." Billy Brown pushed to the front, twisting a gold ring off his little finger. He thrust it into McCord's hand. "This belonged to my mother. It's for the bride," he added when McCord frowned like he didn't understand why he was looking down at a gold ring.

"Take off your hats and quit talking." Billy gave the men a hard stare and followed with a hint.

"McCord's doing the hard part, carrying the major thrust of our gratitude, so to speak. But the rest of us ought to do something. Like chip in to help the happy couple set up housekeeping. Keep in mind what we all owe Low Down. And we also owe McCord for taking this like a man. Remember that it could have been you saying the 'I do's,' so give generously."

Preacher Jellison waited for the muffled guffaws to ebb, then he smiled at Low Down as if this whole wedding had been her idea instead of his, as if she and McCord were indeed a happy couple who sought his blessing on a joyful event. She seriously considered punching him in the stomach, but he began the ceremony before she'd made up her mind about doing it.

"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here together in the presence of these witnesses…"

It didn't take long to bind a man and woman together for the rest of their lives. In less than five minutes Preacher Jellison smiled and said, "I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride."

Low Down and Max McCord reluctantly turned and stared hard at each other. Then McCord spun on his heels, walked through the crowd of men and continued on down the mountainside.

Low Down pushed her fists into her pockets and watched him stride away. She didn't really care if he kept going, jumped on his horse, and rode out of here. Getting married was a mistake that neither of them had asked for.

Fingering the letter in her pocket, she watched until McCord reached his diggings and ducked inside his tent, dropping the flap behind him.

She should have settled for the bag of gold or the stupid piano.

Thrusting out her hand, she squinted at the ring, bright and shiny against her sun-dark skin.

Well,whatever happened, she'd keep the ring. They'd convinced her that she deserved something for emptying all those vomit buckets.

But she'd really wanted a baby, someone to love who would love her back. A real family of her very own. Like an idiot, she'd let herself get her hopes up.

"Olaf? Isn't it time to break out the whiskey? The bride needs a stiff drink. And I want to hear more about that generous chipping-in part."

No sense crying over spilled milk. She might as well have a few drinks, hear a few prospecting stories, and enjoy what was left of her wedding day.

«^»

M
ax scrawled his name, then shoved a handful of pages into an envelope and set aside the plank he'd been using as a writing desk. The floor of his tent was littered with earlier drafts of the hardest letter he'd ever written, evidence of a long and difficult night. Sitting on the side of his cot, he rubbed his eyes, then stared at the wadded paper balls.

Someone had been fated to draw the scratched marble, that was a given, but he hadn't believed it would be him. His life was planned. Searching for gold had satisfied a long-time curiosity, but largely it had been a last hurrah before settling down, a summer fling with adventure while he could still indulge such whimsy without affecting anyone else.

Digging his fingers into his scalp, he swore and kicked at the wadded balls.

Everything he wanted had been within his grasp.

Ironically, if the celebration at Olaf's cabin had taken place twenty-four hours later, he would have missed it. He would have been riding toward the front range and an assured future. He had delayed his departure for a day he really couldn't spare from a sense of obligation to toast the woman who had saved his life. That simple decision had led to his betrayal of Philadelphia and the destruction of their lives and happiness.

"McCord? Are you in there?" Preacher Jellison kicked at the tent flap.

He pulled a hand down his jaw, feeling stubble and the effects of no sleep on top of a belly full of rot-gut whiskey. The last person he wanted to see was Jellison.

"McCord?"

"What the hell do you want?"

"I can go inside or you can come outside. What'll it be?"

The air inside his small tent was close and sour, dense with oily smoke from the lantern next to his cot.

Swearing beneath his breath, he threw open the flap and stepped into the crisp mountain sunshine, blinking against the morning glare.

His tent sat atop a knoll above his diggings, about thirty feet from the creek bank. Last night he'd sold his claim to Coot Patterson for a jug of home brew, the worst stuff he'd ever swallowed. Holes burned in his stomach, and his head was filled with ricocheting cannonballs.

"If you weren't a preacher, I'd tear you apart piece by piece," he said on his way past Jellison.

Bending at the sandy edge of the creek, he scooped water into his hands and splashed his face and throat, letting icy drops roll down under the collar of his shirt. Then he rinsed the taste of rot-gut out of his mouth and spat.

"Would you feel any better if all you had to do was get Low Down with child and then abandon her?

You don't impress me as that kind of man."

Standing, he dried his hands on his shirt, gazing downstream at the men standing in water and whirling their pans or rocking their sluices.

"All right," Jellison said to his back. "Maybe everybody rushed into a situation instead of chewing it over first. But don't forget that you're alive because Low Down was the only person willing to care for you when you were throwing up your guts and raving out of your mind."

"The same could be said about three-quarters of the men left in Piney Creek. But it was me who had to marry her." The crazy injustice of it clawed at his chest. "We never agreed that one man would pay the price for everyone. That wasn't part of our decision."

"No, it wasn't. But it's done. Can't go back and change things now."

They stood beside the rushing water, listening to the calls and curses of the men working the creek banks. "I was going to be married in two weeks," Max said. "Two weeks later, I would have taken a lucrative position in the Fort Houser bank."

"Well." Jellison frowned down at his boots. "You can still be a banker, I guess."

"I doubt Mr. Houser will welcome me into his bank when he learns I've jilted his daughter."

The situation was unbelievable. Honor and duty were his guiding principles. This close to the wedding, he would have married Philadelphia if he had detested her because a man didn't renege on his promises, didn't humiliate a woman. In the time it took to draw a marble out of a hat, he had destroyed his good name, humiliated Philadelphia, shamed two families, and caused a scandal that would reverberate in Fort Houser for as long as he lived.

"In retrospect, maybe we should have let you stand with the married men," Jellison conceded.

Throughout the night, friends and acquaintances had stopped by his tent to state the same second thoughts. But no one had said it at the time, when it would have counted for something.

"Things don't always work out like we believe they ought to, son. The Lord works in mysterious ways."

Only the Bible dragging at the pocket of Jellison's frock coat saved the preacher's bones from taking a beating. Yesterday hadn't been the Lord's doing, it had been Jellison whipping everyone into a froth.

"Make no mistake, McCord, in the eyes of God, you and Low Down are married. That was a real wedding. It's a shame about that other young lady, but now you have a duty to do right by the wife you got."

Eyes glittering, Max leaned over the preacher, itching with the need to bloody his knuckles on Jellison's face. "Don't lecture me about duty." He started to walk away, but Jellison's sharp voice stopped him.

"There's something you need to know. Low Down ain't much to look at, and she's rough as a cob. But she's a good woman. Honest and hardworking. A lot of women with no family and no advantages might have taken to the cribs, but not her. She's made her way with her hands, not on her back."

Low Down rose in his mind as he'd last seen her, standing beside him whispering her vows. Wearing a saw-brimmed hat leaking dirty hair, dressed in layers of shapeless, musty-smelling men's clothing. Her face had needed a wash along with the rest of her.

And then Philadelphia shimmered into memory, his beautiful lost Philadelphia . The fire burned hotter in his stomach, and his throat closed on a rush of bile.

"Low Down ain't just your wife's name, it's her condition. That woman has never had a lucky break, never had anything good handed to her. In my opinion, she deserves better than life's given her." Jellison waited for Max to inquire about Low Down's background, but he didn't. "Anyway, I'm hoping the something better is going to be you."

"There won't be any happily-ever-after, Preacher. Not for Low Down and not for me. Not for anyone."

Nothing Jellison could say would make this situation any better.

Low Down hadn't figured in his thoughts throughout the long night, but maybe she'd had plans, too.

Plans that didn't include being shackled to a stranger. There was a noose on both ends of the tie that binds.

"I only got one more thing to say. This situation ain't Low Down's fault, so don't go blaming her. She didn't choose you. God put that marble in your hand. If you're fool enough to blame God and fight His plan, then good luck to you, son, because you're going to need it. Just don't go punishing someone else for something that isn't her fault."

Jellison didn't offer to shake hands before he strode away from Max's tent, and neither did Max. He lit his fire, hung a coffeepot over the flames, and stirred together a mess of biscuits.

The talk about fault went to the heart of the matter. He wanted someone to blame, someone he could pummel and punish for the catastrophe wreaked on him and Philadelphia and a future as sparkling as the sunshine striking diamonds off the surface of the creek.