Chapter 63: Recovery

 

When Mac’s fever from the gunshot wound broke, he awakened in Huntington’s bed in the back room of the store. Consuela bathed his face and neck.

“Huntington?” he croaked, his voice barely audible even to himself.

“Dead,” she said. “Lost too much blood. He died in the wagon before you reached town.”

Mac closed his eyes and sighed. “Damn.” Huntington had been an uncouth windbag, but he had also been a knowledgeable partner. Mac and Joel wouldn’t have done nearly so well prospecting without the old man’s help. Mac had grown to appreciate the old man’s company through the winter in the store. Now Mac’s gold hauling enterprise had killed his friend.

“What day is it?” Mac asked, struggling to sit.

“Saturday, May 4. You were shot a week ago.” She pushed him down.

“A week?” He sank into his pillow. He’d lost more time than when he had cholera.

“Your fever was very bad.”

“Where’s Marshal Cunningham? I need to tell him what happened.”

“Shhh,” she said. “You talked to him the first night. Before the fever hit. You don’t remember?”

He shook his head. “Last thing I remember is a man telling me to climb in the back of the wagon. Where’s Maria?”

Consuela smiled. “She is fine. An Indian girl cares for her in the saloon.”

“You can keep her here.”

Consuela shook her head. “When you are well, I will move back to the Golden Nugget. I’ve hired the girl to tend my niña while I work.”

“You can’t.” Mac tried to sit again. He managed to brace himself on his right elbow and ignored his throbbing head.

“I must.”

“I said you could work in the store. I need you now Huntington is gone.”

Consuela stood and put the washbasin on a table by the door. Then she turned toward Mac. “I will not keep taking your charity.”

“So you’ll raise your baby in a whorehouse instead?” Mac didn’t understand her logic.

“I’ve told you, Maria and I are not your problem. I can work again now. It is long enough since Maria was born. The Indian girl helps out in the saloon kitchen. She has a bed there. She can care for Maria.” Consuela opened the curtain to let light stream in, then left the room, taking the basin of water.

With his good arm, Mac shielded his eyes against the light. Why was he so bent on keeping Consuela out of the saloon? She was right—she and Maria weren’t his responsibility. Bridget and her baby had been Mac’s responsibility, but he hadn’t protected them. He’d helped Jenny and William, at first to atone for his sins against Bridget, and later because he cared for Jenny. But what more did he owe Consuela, particularly if she refused his help?

And Huntington was dead—killed not by poor health after decades of mining but by the violence of the West and Mac’s quest for profit and adventure. Would Mac at some point face the same fate?

It was too much to think about, so Mac slept again.

Mac awoke that evening feeling stronger. He was alone, no sign of Consuela. A plate of food sat on the table next to him, and he ate.

“I’m here, Caleb.” Susan’s voice sounded from the hall outside his room. “May I come in?”

Mac groaned, not wanting to deal with Susan. “Come in,” he said.

“Grandfather and I came as soon as we heard,” Susan breezed into the room bringing a flowery scent and wearing a bright yellow dress. Mac closed his eyes. “You poor man.” She plumped his pillows.

Nate entered behind her. “What happened, son? All we heard was that you and Huntington were ambushed and he died.”

“It was Smith,” Mac said. “He and two other men attacked from the woods when we stopped. They must have been following us. The other two died, and Smith was shot. In the arm, I think, like me.”

“Does the marshal know?”

Mac shrugged. “Consuela says I told him. I don’t remember anything from that night until I woke up this morning.”

“Well, you won’t need that woman any longer,” Susan said. “Grandfather and I can take care of you now. We took rooms in the Golden Nugget so we will be close by, though I cannot abide the noise and smells. We’ll stay as long as you need us. Grandfather will mind the store, and I will tend to you.”

Over the next few days Mac’s health improved. True to her word, Susan organized his meals and spent hours sitting by his bed reading to him. He neither saw nor heard any sign of Consuela or Maria. Nate visited him in the evenings.

“What happened to the wagon of gold after the ambush?” Mac asked Nate.

“Dunbar’s men picked it up,” Nate said. “Took it to San Francisco as planned. But no one’s been willing to make another trip since you were shot. Dunbar has written notes daily asking after your health. He’s anxious to resume the route.”

After three days of Susan’s nursing, Mac protested, “I have to get up. I need to take care of my store.”

“Grandfather ran it for two years before selling to you. The store is fine.”

“But it’s my responsibility now.”

“Come now, Caleb. We’re practically your family.” Susan smiled and brushed his hair from his face. “You need a trim and a shave. Shall I have the barber come this afternoon?”

“I can shave myself, Susan.” Mac moved to get out of bed. “Go on now, and let me dress.”

Susan looked like she wanted to object, so he stood up in his nightshirt.

“Fine,” she said, blushing and looking away. “If you’re irritable, you must be feeling better.” She rose and walked out of the room.

That evening Mac joined Nate and Susan in the Golden Nugget for supper. “I’m better now,” he said. “I appreciate your caring for me, but there’s no reason for you to stay any longer.”

“No reason, Caleb?” Susan asked, arching an eyebrow.

Mac looked back and forth between Nate and his granddaughter. Susan was clearly setting her cap for him. Did Nate approve? “No,” Mac said. “I’ll be making another trip to San Francisco when I’m recovered. Need to talk to Dunbar. I’ll look in on you both then.”

“All right, Mac,” Nate said. “We’ll head home tomorrow.”

Susan pressed her lips together, then said, “I’d better go pack.”

Mac stood when Susan did, then watched her cross the room to the stairs. When she’d gone, he sat and sighed. “I hope she doesn’t have the wrong impression.”

“What impression would that be?” Nate eyed Mac over his brandy. “You’ve spent a lot of time with her. In Monterey. In San Francisco. And now you’ve let her nurse you. You could do far worse than Susan.”

“I’m not ready to settle down with any woman,” Mac said.

“Why not? What are you waiting for?” Nate finished his drink and stood. “Sometimes a man has to take a leap of faith when a good thing stands in front of him.”