Chapter 3
Owen caught up to the company wagon outside the mercantile where one of his partners, Stoney, was loading a sack of potatoes. Stoney was a man of six feet four with shoulders broad as an ox but was the type to nurse a wounded bird back to health, if he found one.
“I was starting to think I was leaving without you,” Stoney said.
“You are.” Owen tucked the mail under the bench with the sewing machine that Virgil’s wife Marigold had ordered with her wedding money.
“?Qué? No. Por qué?” Stoney led him inside to the rest of the provisions going back to Quail’s Creek.
“Camp can spare me,” Owen insisted, picking up the stacked cases of tinned peaches to follow him outside again. “The bunkhouse is finished, and the creeks are starting to freeze. I’m going to see about opening a saloon.” And see a saloon girl, but Stoney didn’t need to hear about that.
Stoney released a “pfft” of skepticism.
A prickle of annoyance accosted Owen. No one ever took him seriously when he talked about opening a saloon, which was probably his own fault. He deliberately cultivated an air of irresponsibleness. That way no one relied on him. He liked a simple life.
He had to wonder, however, if his partners questioned whether he could do it. That felt less good. He knew running a business took focus and smarts. He didn’t have much of either. When it came to running the mining company, his role was to keep up morale among the men they hired. He left the bureaucracy to Virgil and the others.
Owen couldn’t expect his friends to manage his share of the profits, though. Invest in the mill with me, Emmett, one of the other partners, had said more than once. Virgil had opinions on what Owen should do with his takings, too, but Owen had to secure his own future. He’d had years to think on what he’d do if he ever had a pot of gold. He had concluded that a saloon was his best option.
“What happens at break up?” Stoney asked as they shouldered another load.
“I don’t know yet.” Owen didn’t have all the answers but understood he would be needed in camp come spring, to help with panning and chipping and digging, “But if I’m going to do this, I need to do it now, before I’m knee-deep in the freshet.”
Did his sudden resolve have anything to do with wanting to see that sassy Temperance Rose again? Maybe. He could have stared at her all day, with her eyes that were both dark and bright at the same time. Her hair was almost obsidian with an undertone of red. Her skin held a shimmer of gold. He had expected an accent when she first spoke. Spanish, maybe, given her coloring, but her words held the crispness of a northern upbringing, one that was rounded with formal education.
He had watched more than listened as she spoke, given her lips looked as though they’d been stained by raspberry juice, sweet and plump and inviting.
“Do you remember Virgil writing to someone about a railroad?” Owen asked.
Stoney stowed a sack of turnips before pausing to scratch into his beard. “Sí. He wrote because everyone was jabbering at one of the statehood meetings, saying we need one. Wasn’t that it? He was trying to shut them up. Isn’t that right?”
“Was there any mention of a daughter?”
“Not that I recall.” Stoney went back for a sack of rice.
After he’d left Temperance Rose Goodrich at the Express office, Owen had been thinking maybe he should have brought her to meet Stoney, so his partner could pass an opinion on her claim. That wouldn’t change how Virgil would view the situation, though. Owen knew his friend well enough to know Virgil would never pay for anything less than what he’d ordered. If he had hired her father, then he expected her father.
Was her father even real, though? Educated ladies with fathers who wrote feasibility studies—whatever the hell those were—did not work in saloons. Hell, even her name sounded made up. Temperance Rose Goodrich?
“Tell Virgil that a woman claiming to be that fellow’s daughter is here. She was asking for a stage ticket and an advance on whatever money Virgil promised to him.”
Stoney hooted.
“That’s what I said,” Owen said drily.
All the partners were cautious with their money, from the notoriously tightfisted Virgil to Emmett’s insistence on doing for himself before paying someone else. Ira counted every spec of gold dust, and Bing Sun lived without any sort of luxury. Stoney wouldn’t countenance anything but top shelf for bottom dollar, and Tom made his way with trades. If he couldn’t come out ahead, he didn’t deal at all.
Owen was the closest thing to a spendthrift, and even he knew the best way to always have money was to leave it in your pocket.
“Did we get the pickles? That’s it, then,” Stoney said as he closed the tailgate.
“No strongbox?” Owen glanced over the contents of the wagon then down the street toward Pollock’s Stoves and Metalwork.
“They said at least another week.”
Stoney had built a vault in the floor of the office at Quail’s Creek, lining it with bricks and covering it with an iron door. It had a couple of padlocks and three or four men sleeping on top of it, but it was awkward to access and, by midsummer, had been too small to hold all their gold.
Which was a helluva nice problem to have.
Since they hoped to have even more next season, Virgil had ordered a cast iron strongbox, anticipating they would have time to dig a hole under the floorboards through winter.
“I’ll check for it next week,” Owen promised. “Did you get lemon drops for the kids?”
“Yes.” Stoney’s tone of annoyance was around the fact they had all turned into goose down when it came to Virgil’s litter of troublemakers.
“Take this back to Ira.” Owen reached for the leather wallet he had secured in his jacket’s inner pocket.
Stoney waved his hand impatiently and looked around as if the entirety of Pike’s Peak didn’t know that the partners in the Venturous Mining Company carried upwards of a thousand dollars in gold dust, coins, and promissory notes, at all times.
They paid their workers in gold, or, if they preferred, promissory notes that could be used at various businesses here in town. When any of the partners came to town, they made the rounds paying out the notes from saloons and other places. That’s what Owen had been doing last night and this morning while Stoney covered Auraria.
“I’m keeping fifty dollars. Tell Ira to mark it as a draw on my share.”
“You don’t need more than that for this saloon you’re buying?” Stoney mocked lightly as he took the wallet and tucked it inside his coat.
Owen had thought about that, but he didn’t want to walk around with that kind of money for days. “I’ll come get what I need once I’ve made a decision.”
He nodded goodbye and went to ensure he could keep his room above the corral.
Temperance had one friend here,Jane, and they were still somewhat strangers to each other.
Jane worked at the Bijou, which was a very fancy name for what was a very plain split-log cabin with a door and a window. The saloon didn’t open until late afternoon, so Temperance had yet to catch a glimpse inside, but Jane’s description made it sound rustic, but lively.
Temperance walked around to the closed-in lean-to attached to the side of the building and knocked on the door.
Mavis, the other girl who worked in the saloon, poked her head out. She was plump with mousy hair, a pale complexion, and a large birthmark on the side of her neck.
“Oh,” she said with disappointment. “I thought you might be someone else. What time is it?”
“Coming up to eleven or so?”
“Mr. Fritz will be looking for his breakfast. I’ll do it.” She said over her shoulder. “Temperance is here.” She nodded at Temperance as she stepped outside. “Go on in.”
“Thanks.” Temperance stepped inside and closed the door to hold in the little heat being thrown off by the very small wood stove that Jane said they had to rise in the night to stoke.
“Have I offended her?” Temperance asked in an undertone. “I brought coffee to replace what you gave me yesterday, but I don’t think she likes me.” She set down the quarter ounce of ground beans in the empty can she’d been given by the mercantile to carry it.
“She likes to keep to herself.” Jane was mending by the little light that penetrated the greased paper that covered their only window. She stood and set her sewing on her chair. “But I could use a cup, thank you.”
Jane had a squarish face, and her eye color was nearly as black as her hair. Her skin was a rich dark brown that set off the golden-grass yellow of her simple gown. Her voice seemed to hold a laugh inside of it, which had endeared her to Temperance from the moment they’d met, brightening the otherwise grim days when they’d briefly traveled together on the trail.
That had been a month ago. Temperance had only caught up to Jane yesterday, quite by chance, in what she had thought was the first sign that her luck was turning, but after what had happened with Owen Stames today, she could only assume it continued to suffer from chronic anemia.
“I’ll just be a moment.” Jane took the coffee and a small pot out the door with her.
Temperance lowered onto the empty chair, tired enough to wonder exactly how rude it would be to climb into one of those beds.
The tiny room held only the pair of bunks, each with a crate nailed to the end of it for the women’s personal things. There was a very small table with two chairs, a washstand, and the stove, which the women couldn’t even use to warm water. Mr. Fritz let them cook in his kitchen provided they took turns cooking for him.
The women had done what they could to make their humble room cozy, though. There was a rag mat on the floor, and they had tacked scraps of newspaper sketches to the walls. A hodge-podge of gray and blue and yellow squares of cotton were sewn together for a curtain.
Defeat struck with a hard pang of homesickness in the middle of Temperance’s chest. She had been so sure she would be making her own home by now, but no.
Marry you? I would never marry a woman who lies with a man outside of marriage.
But it was you. You turned me into a fornicator.
The betrayal, the profound humiliation, of Dewey’s hypocrisy and rejection still made her want to die of ignominy. She had been so stupid. So easily swayed by his fawning and her own curiosity. She had thought marrying a man whom her stepmother admired would finally earn her Adelaide’s respect.
Instead, Temperance had lost her self-respect and was racked with guilt. Guilt over being lured into an affair. Guilt over misjudging Dewey. Guilt over disgracing her family, and guilt over talking her father into making this journey.
Papa had planned to wait until Temperance was safely married. When everything with Dewey had come to light, and Adelaide had insisted Temperance leave their house, Temperance had drawn Papa’s attention to the letters from Mr. Gardner, insisting, he let her accompany him.
It had all been arranged very quickly and on the thinnest of budgets, so the rest of the family would have what they needed during Papa’s absence. Her own privations hadn’t mattered to Temperance. She’d been secure in the knowledge that her and Papa’s needs would be met upon arrival.
Then, in the middle of the trail, Papa had suffered a spell of some sort and fell from his horse.
Thankfully, Jane and the Vetchlers had come upon them within a few hours. They had carried him in their wagon as far as Fort Kearney.
Jane had been born free but had no opportunities in the south. She had heard there were good paying jobs for women out west, so she had traveled with the Vetchlers, who were coming to homestead. Jane was paying her way by helping with the Vetchler’s children and cooking for them. Her mother had been a midwife, so she knew herbs and basic nursing. She’d done what she could to make Papa’s three days in the wagon as comfortable as possible.
Mrs. Vetchler had been put out by all of it. Once in Fort Kearney, she had insisted Temperance pay for Papa’s conveyance, even though Temperance had helped Jane with the cooking and the children, trying to make up for imposing on them. Temperance had already paid Jane what they could afford to spare, for taking such good care of Papa, and had a feeling that was why Mrs. Vetchler was so livid. Feeling pressured, Temperance had handed over a few coins.
Thankfully, Papa had recovered his wits by then, but he’d broken his arm and ankle. The physician at Fort Kearny set his bones and wrapped his injuries for yet another pretty penny.
By the time Papa was able to limp around a little, Jane and the Vetchlers had long moved on. No one else came through with a wagon, but Temperance had been allowed to ride alongside the stage to Denver. Papa had insisted she travel ahead and meet with the mining company to collect a draw on the money they’d been promised, so he could catch the stage and meet her.
That had not gone to plan. At all.
“Here we are.” Jane returned with the steaming pot and poured the coffee into cups. “What brings you out so early?”
“Checking for a letter from Papa. Thank you.” She took the tin cup and wished she’d kept her gloves on.
Jane glanced up, brows raised with hope.
Temperance shook her head.
“I’m sorry.”
“Me too. But I wanted to come thank you. I took your advice and got on at the Dudley.”
“That’s good news! Now you can save up to bring your father here.”
It would take months at the rate Mr. Dudley had agreed to pay, but Temperance nodded, then admitted, “While I was at the Express office, I bumped into one of the men who is supposed to hire Papa.”
“Mr. Gardner?” Jane’s voice sharpened with interest.
“His partner. Owen Stames. But I had already met him last night in the saloon.” She covered her eyes with one hand. “I didn’t realize who he was and flirted with him. Now he thinks I’m some sort of bunko artist lying about Papa.”
“What? No.” Jane moved her mending and took the other chair. “I can vouch for you. I was there. I tended your father’s injuries.”
“That’s true.” Temperance brightened, but the moment she thought about talking to him, trying to convince him she was an upstanding woman who had aspired to teach at a women’s college, her stomach filled with wiggling snakes.
He saw her as a woman of questionable morals, and she was. He thought he could charm her into doing what he wanted, and she knew what he wanted. Explicitly. Even as her mind warred against thinking about it, her body flushed with intrigue, wondering how it would feel to kiss him, to hold herself against him and run her hands everywhere.
She couldn’t give in to him. Couldn’t. Look what had happened the last time she’d let a man have his way?
“How do you—” Temperance stopped herself and reconsidered her words. “I understand that our situations are very different, and I don’t want to pry, but abandoning everything you knew was such a brave move. I had a falling out with my stepmother which precipitated my leaving Chicago to come here.” That was such a prevarication, it was almost a lie, but she wasn’t ready to tell Jane what a fool she’d been. “My hope is that the work I do with Papa will fix things with her and she’ll welcome me back.” Good luck, saloon girl. “I keep wondering how you’ve reconciled to leaving everything behind and making a life in a strange place?”
“I don’t have family to go back to,” Jane said simply.
“Oh, Jane, I’m so sorry.”
“That sounds sadder than it is,” she dismissed with a faint smile. “I lost Mama a year ago and that broke my heart, but my father passed when I was young. I didn’t really know him. He worked away. When I wrote to my aunt about Mama, she invited me to come live with her and my cousin in Pennsylvania, which I may yet do, depending how things go here.” Her gaze fixed on the middle distance as she considered some inner thought. “My brother went north. He wouldn’t have left if he realized Mama would pass so suddenly. I know that. I left with the intention of following him, but —” She rolled her lips inward, giving the impression Jane also liked to keep to herself in certain ways.
Temperance nodded acceptance of that. “Things change, don’t they?”
“They do. But I’ve always known that I would like to open my own dress shop,” Jane said with that lilt of good humor in her voice. “A town full of men isn’t the best place for that, so I maybe should’ve thought this through a little more. These men don’t even want a good shirt. They all wear the slop-shop ready-mades.”
“Maybe as the town grows, there will be more than farmers and miners here,” Temperance said, striving for silver linings. “What about marriage? My stepmother was adamant that that’s a woman’s purpose.” And I believed her.
“I’ve minded a lot of children,” Jane said with a considering purse of her lips. “That was always my job while Mama helped a woman giving birth. I would like a family of my own one day, but I’ve seen enough of the hardships that come with childbearing and rearing that I don’t take the decision lightly.”
“That’s why I’m not married yet,” Temperance said with a half-laugh, even though it wasn’t the most recent reason. “I was eighteen when Adelaide had the twins. She had been talking about how I ought to marry soon, but she already had my brother and sister. She couldn’t manage and Papa couldn’t afford a wedding for me. I stayed home and pitched in, helping with the children and Papa’s work. When he arranged for the older ones to start school, I asked him to pay for my classes at the seminary, so I could certify to teach at a women’s college. I didn’t want to be a wife and mother, not yet, but Adelaide thought I was being a burden on the family. Why take classes for a career I wouldn’t pursue, because, of course, I would marry sooner than later. She pestered me until I quit my classes and—” She winced as Dewey entered her mind yet again. She sent a helpless, hapless look to Jane. “Things changed.”
Jane nodded knowingly. “Things will change again. They always do.”
“Thanks, Jane. I needed to hear that.” Please let them change for the better this time.