Chapter Thirty-Eight 

 

 

A fitful breeze tugged at my hair and my skirts. The moon had not risen yet, and clouds obscured most of the stars. My whole world narrowed to the dark masses in front of me that were Arthur Wendell and Mr. McLeod and their horses. 

Soon, our horses climbed gently upward. I could not make out much of our surroundings. I could tell the mountain towered above us, for it shut out the stars, but the slope we rode up was no steeper than what would be pleasant to toboggan down in winter. Trees rustled all around us. This must be a pretty place in daylight. Not barren rock like higher up.  

And then, I heard a horse whinny, a happy and welcoming sound. That horse knew one we rode. We all stopped, and Mr. McLeod’s horse answered the first. “That sounds like Alex’s horse,” Mr. McLeod told us softly. “He rides the brother of mine here.” 

In moments, we found this horse picketed in a grassy space. Mr. McLeod lighted a lantern, and he and Peter moved off in the darkness. I let Arthur help me down. 

I finally had both my feet on the ground when Peter called out, “Marta! We found Jakob. He’s alive!” 

“Gott sei Dank.” I trembled with relief. 

Arthur’s fingers closed over mine as he guided me forward. 

I had no words. Jakob was alive. Maybe Alex McLeod would be too, but I must admit I gave him no more than one scanty thought. I did not hear Jakob speaking, and that worried me. 

Mr. McLeod knelt by Jakob, who sat propped up against a wall of dirt and rock. I saw a dark, gaping doorway nearby. That would be the mine’s entrance, a hole in the mountain to swallow men and their dreams. 

Jakob’s legs stretched out in front of him, but one lay skewed at an odd angle below the knee. I knew it must be broken. “Here you are,” is all I said when I knelt at his other side. 

Jakob did not speak. His lips were set in a thin line, jaw muscles clenching and unclenching with pain. “Jakob, I am here.” I touched his shoulder. He moved his head and opened one eye to squint at me. I felt weak with relief that he could hear and move. 

Arthur lit a second lantern and crouched beside Jakob to examine the broken leg. Dan McLeod slit Jakob’s pantleg up to the knee. The broken leg was dark with bruises and dirt, and horribly swollen. Jakob’s moans were almost eerie in the darkness. 

“This is good,” Arthur said. “Really good. The bone didn’t break through the skin. It won’t get infected.” 

Silently, Peter gave me a canteen. I unscrewed its cap and held it out to my brother. “Water, Jakob. You should drink.” 

He took it from me. “Vielen Dank,” he said when he had finished. I took the canteen back before his shaking hand dropped it. 

Arthur moved to Jakob’s other side, his lantern showing me more clearly the many cuts and scrapes on my brother’s face. I had seen already that his shirt was torn and streaked with dirt. 

“Peter, fetch your saddlebags,” Arthur instructed. “Somebody put bandages and things in them. Then unsaddle our horses and stake them out to graze. We’ll be here a while.” Then he asked, “Jakob, can you talk?” 

“Where’s Alex?” added Mr. McLeod. 

Jakob shifted his shoulders a little so he could see the two men more directly. The lanternlight gave the lines of his face a sharpness that made him appear much older. “The mine fell in on us. Alex is inside still.” His slow words were weak and rasping. 

“Alive?” Mr. McLeod’s voice trembled. 

“I think so. We were cleaning out the side tunnel. I was in the main one when it fell in.” 

“All of it?” 

“All of the back. Maybe most of the side tunnel.” 

“The tunnel where Alex was?”

“Yes. That opening’s blocked, for certain.” 

Peter brought me a roll of bandages, probably an old sheet torn into strips. I had brought no scissors or knife, so I used my teeth to help rip off a section. I wetted this from the canteen and used it to wash blood and dirt from Jakob’s face. 

Arthur said, “I take it you crawled out and sent the horse home.” 

“Yes.”

Mr. McLeod’s voice steadied. “What makes you think Alex is still alive?” 

“He made noise after it fell. Yelling, faint yelling.” Jakob sucked in a deep breath and closed his eyes. He let out this breath slowly before he continued. “I called back, but he didn’t answer. I couldn’t get to him. But I thought maybe I could get out. Maybe get on my horse and ride for help. But… no.” 

“You did the right thing,” Arthur told him, then said to me, “I’m going inside, see how far I can get.” 

“So am I,” said Mr. McLeod. 

“Will it not collapse again? More?” My fears for Jakob shifted to fears for them now. How could they willingly walk into a hole that could so easily trap them? 

But, if Alex was alive, how could they not go? 

“It might.” Arthur fetched a coil of rope from his horse and gave one end to me. “I’ll unroll this behind me. If we get in trouble, it’ll make it easier to find us. Thank God I was here yesterday, and I know how far back that side tunnel starts.” 

Mr. McLeod asked, “You were here yesterday?” 

Arthur laughed, but with no humor. “I came to see if it was safe. Marta wanted to know. And I told her it was.” 

Jakob said, “You warned us not to dig if there was too much rain. But the storm sounded far away. We were stupid.” 

Arthur didn’t respond. Instead, he pointed to the saddle bags he had brought. “Give Jakob food and some whiskey. That’ll help. There’s matches in there too, if you need to relight the lantern.” 

“I will,” I answered. 

He leaned his rifle against the wall next to Jakob. “I won’t need this. You shouldn’t either, but just in case. Peter knows how to use it.” He reached out and put his hand over my fingers that held the rope. “We’ll be as careful as we can.” 

“I know you will be.” 

Arthur headed into the mine, uncoiling the rope and letting it trail behind him, making a path to my hand. Mr. McLeod followed one step behind him. 

“Go with God.” I watched them and their lanterns disappear into the mountain. 

 

 

I moved to the other side of Jakob, between him and the mine’s entrance. I tied the rope to my arm so I would have my hands free. So long as I could feel it twitch from time to time, I knew Mr. Wendell and Mr. McLeod were still moving. 

Jakob let me wash his cuts. He closed his eyes and did not speak anymore. The small scrapes on his face were not deep, though a bruise darkened his hairline near his temple. His palms were raw and bleeding from crawling and dragging the broken leg. When I had cleaned and bandaged one of his hands, I tore a piece of bread from the end of a loaf someone in town had put in our saddlebags. I knew it was not my bread. “Eat,” I commanded him. The chewing could distract him from the pain a little. I took out a flask of whiskey and unscrewed its cap. “Drink some of this too.” 

He took two long swallows from the flask’s mouth and gave a little shiver. Then he ate a few bites of bread while I washed the other hand and wrapped clean bandages around it. Now and then, he would stiffen his whole body, or moan, or shiver. His breathing was not regular, but quick and jerky. I knew he must be in much pain from his leg, but was trying to hide it from me. I wished we had brought blankets to keep him warm. But the whiskey might help with that. 

Once he had eaten the bread, Jakob finally spoke again. “You were right. I know it.” 

“I am not scolding.” I unbuttoned his shirt sleeve and gently rolled it up so I could clean the scrapes and gashes on his forearm. His skinned elbow still bled, so I began with it. 

“You don’t have to. I’ve called myself plenty of names already.” He drank again from the flask. “It was the rain. We’d been so careful. Always bracing with wooden beams. Always watching for signs of trouble. But the rain was too much. Too sudden.” 

Peter had returned from caring for the horses, and he put in, “It washed away the road around the bridge by Busted Luck.” 

I wound bandages around Jakob’s elbow until no more blood seeped through. “I am not angry with you. You knew I thought this searching for gold to be foolish, but you are not my son for me to lecture. You made a decision that you believed was sound.” 

Jakob closed his eyes. “True. But you warned me Alex wouldn’t have enough experience in mining. You were right. I should have listened to you.” 

“Do not punish yourself for trusting him. Even Mr. Wendell thought the mine was safe. Maybe, if this rain had not come, all would have been well. Maybe not. We cannot know.” I did not wish Jakob to worry too much over this. He might slide down into one of his black moods, and there would be much misery for us both before he found his way through that again. When he came home from war and found his Ilse had died, he did not speak to anyone for days and days, and he ate so little, we feared we would bury him beside her. Much prayer and love and patience had been needed for us all in that time.  

And so, I spoke soothing words of comfort to him while I cleaned and bandaged both his arms. Jakob kept his eyes closed. I hoped the whiskey would dull the pain enough so that he could be resting. 

Since Jakob and I had spoken all our words for the moment, I returned to silent praying, thanking the dear God for my brother’s life and asking that He would keep Arthur Wendell and Mr. McLeod safe, and spare Alex. 

When I had tended every wound on Jakob’s arms and torso, I neatly packed away what bandages were left. His legs were not scraped and bloodied, for his sturdy pants had not torn like the shirt when he crawled. I did not want to touch his broken leg. I had no knowledge of how to help that. The doctor had promised to come in the morning. 

Finally, the clouds drifted away so that a bright moon could shed light on our surroundings. I blew out the lantern and leaned back against the damp earth to rest between Jakob and Peter. I pulled my legs up under my skirts to keep myself warmer. 

Not far away, the horses grazed where Peter had picketed them. I could hear them stamp or swish their tails now and then. Night insects sang to each other. A gust of wind would rustle the trees and grasses from time to time. 

Peter said nothing, and I saw his head dip twice. Finally, he curled up on the ground and went to sleep. 

I ate a little bread and drank some water. The first canteen was nearly empty now, but I had a second, and Peter had his own. Still, I drank only a little, for Jakob might wake and be thirsty. 

I knew I should try to sleep, if I could. Surely, the horses would make noise if any horrible mountain animal should come to harm us. I thought of Mr. Wendell’s attack from a bear and shivered. Bears, lions, snakes—all the warnings Jakob had read to me from that book back in Pennsylvania now swirled together in my mind. So many ways to die. And the book had not spoken of collapsing mines. I checked to be sure Mr. Wendell’s rifle still rested where Peter could reach it, then leaned my head back against the hill, watching clouds pass in front of the stars until I fell asleep. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Thirty-Nine 

 

 

When I woke, the moon shone high above us. Every tree and bush and rock and stump had a crisp shadow. It took me several moments of blinking to realize what had wakened me. The rope around my arm jerked and tugged, over and over. What did this mean? Were Arthur and Mr. McLeod in trouble? Did they send me a signal, that I should come and help? I pushed myself to my feet and rubbed my hands over my eyes. I heard rocks and dirt shifting inside the mine. 

Peter stirred, but did not wake. I faced the dark hole alone. Should I light my lantern and go inside? The moonlight showed a few feet of the tunnel ahead of me, only dirt floor, dirt walls, and wooden beams bracing the sides and roof. 

Then a little light showed inside, farther back, glowing and yellow compared to the gray moonlight. It grew brighter until Arthur Wendell stepped into view. He had one hand on the rope. That explained the tugging. 

My legs shook beneath me. He was still alive. Unharmed. Coming back out of that black hole that could have swallowed him forever. I waited until he reached me, the rope hanging slack between us.  

“We found the cave-in. It’ll take some digging, and I didn’t bring a shovel. Dan’s working on it with Jakob’s, and he’ll pull on the rope when he needs me to spell him.” He sounded angry, maybe bitter. “I know better. Always bring a shovel to a cave-in.” 

I had no comfort to give him. I stood gazing up at his face, watching the lantern’s light cast strange shadows across it. 

“There any food left?” he finally asked. 

“Yes, half a loaf at least.” I hurried to find it. 

“Thanks.” He sat down on the other side of the mine’s entrance from where Jakob and Peter slept. 

I sat beside him and hugged my knees, resting my chin on them. Arthur blew out the lantern. Without its golden glow, the night felt watchful and empty. I shivered. 

“Cold?”

“No. Not yet. Later, we could make a fire.” 

“We could. Might have to.” Arthur finished the bread quickly. “I probably should go back in. Dan must be tired by now, even if he won’t admit it.” 

I closed my eyes and hid my face against my drawn-up knees. I had been afraid he would go back. 

“What’s wrong? Marta?” 

“You are going back in. I know this is needed, I know you must, and yet…” 

“You wish I wouldn’t.” 

“Yes.”

“Marta, I want…” 

“What?”

“I want to lie and say it’s not dangerous.” 

I rested one hand along his cheek. “I want to believe that lie.” 

Arthur kissed the end of my nose. “That’s not all I want.” He pulled away enough that his eye could meet mine. “After this is over, if I… if we… I want to marry you.” 

I blinked. “So soon?” 

“Well, yes.” He offered no excuses or reasonings for proposing marriage a few days after asking to take me walking. 

I found I needed none. But I did want to make one thing clear. “I will not marry a man who avoids worshiping in church, Arthur.” 

He grunted. “I worried you might say that.” 

“I am glad you know this is important to me. And not to me only, but for you. And…” I blushed. “…and if we are blessed with children, they should be raised in the faith by two parents, not one only.” 

“I can read my Bible at home.” 

“And you should. Do you remember that one of the Ten Commandments is to keep the Lord’s Day holy? Attending a worship service is part of how we do this.” 

“Your brother mentioned that the other day.” 

“You spoke with Jakob about this?” 

“I wanted to know if he agreed with you.” 

“And?” 

“And he did. He showed me a Bible passage about not being unequally yoked, and he warned me you’d bring this up again.” 

“You spoke to Jakob about me?” 

“I did.” 

That pleased me. It made this proposal of marriage seem less the idea of a moment. “Then you understand better why I bring this up again?” 

“A little. But you also know why I haven’t been attending.” 

“I do. And I agree that it is not wise to worship with a minister who teaches things that go against what God’s Word says.” 

“He’s the only preacher in town.” 

“For now, yes. But Jakob and I have asked the minister of the church we attended in Denver for help with this. It is not so long to ride here on the train from Denver, and we hope maybe that minister could come here every few weeks to lead a service.” 

“In German?” 

“He speaks English too.” 

“Can’t argue with that. All right, when this man from Denver comes, I’ll attend with you.” 

“Thank you. I will not forget.” 

“Are you satisfied?” 

“I am.” 

“Good.” He leaned over and pressed a soft kiss on my lips in the darkness. “I love you, my beautiful Marta.” 

I could not stop myself from sighing. 

“What?” Arthur rested his forehead on mine. “I can’t say my future wife is beautiful?” 

“Is that why you want me for your wife?” Inside, part of me scolded that this was not the time or place to voice annoyance over this small thing. My brother was hurt, Alex might be dead, and Arthur Wendell had asked for my hand in marriage. But still, the word stung me. I was too tired to fight against the way it hurt. 

“Because you’re beautiful? No. But you are. Even with one eye, I can see you were blessed with beauty and grace. Just like you were blessed with more stubborn determination than I’ve ever found in any one person before. And with a talent for making bread that people dream about, for keeping a house shockingly clean—if I can admire those qualities, why shouldn’t I admire your beauty too?” 

“Beauty is not a blessing. It is a chore. People see my face, and they do not wish to stop seeing it. But, also, they do not wish to see past it. I am tired of being seen as beautiful only.” 

“Hey.” Arthur shifted and put his arm around my shoulders. He tugged me close so that my head could rest against him. “If God made you beautiful, shouldn’t you rejoice in that?” 

“Do you rejoice in not being beautiful?” 

“Not so much, but as you told me yourself, God didn’t give me these scars. He just let me survive to live with them. And, yes, before you say it, I’ve spent a few years hiding away like a bear in a cave. I thought I was sparing myself a lot of pain that way, and other people a lot of embarrassment. It became a habit—a habit I had no reason to break. But I discovered this week that I was wrong. Yes, some people stare. But it’s my choice whether to let them bother me or not. People will always stare—at me because I’m ugly and at you because you’re beautiful. But that’s on their shoulders, isn’t it?” 

“Perhaps.” 

“Well, ‘perhaps’ is better than ‘no.’” He squeezed me to him gently. “I promise not to tease you about being beautiful, how’s that?” 

“That will be fine.” 

“I don’t promise not to think it, though. I don’t promise never to tell you that I find you beautiful. I don’t promise to stop admiring you, now that I’m free to do so. You don’t know how hard it was with you working in my house, always reminding myself that I shouldn’t even think about you. If you hadn’t left to open your bakery, I think I would have—” 

“Would have what?”

“I don’t know. I’m glad you did.”  

“I suppose that this is fair. I do not promise not to speak little sermons to you, after all.” 

“Fair trade.” Arthur kissed my forehead. “I really need to get back to help Dan.” 

“I know.” I let him help me to my feet. “I will think about what you said. About blessings.” For all of my life, I had seen my beauty as many things: a problem, a tool, a burden. Maybe I had been wrong. 

“Good.” Arthur picked up his lantern, took hold of the rope again, shared with me one more kiss, and walked back inside the mine. “If you need us, yank on this rope. Don’t yell or make any sudden noises. That could start things sliding.” 

“I will remember.” Then he was gone, and the empty night folded around me once again. 

 

 

I sat down beside Jakob. I had had much practice with waiting. Waiting for bread dough to rise. Waiting for customers to come. Waiting for my new sister or brother to be born. Waiting for Dietrich and my brothers to come home from war. Waiting for the ship to reach America. Waiting and waiting and waiting. I shifted until my shoulder and arm touched Jakob’s. He leaned against me, his head settling on my shoulder. If I could not sleep, at least I could help him rest. 

I sifted through the Scriptures I had memorized all my life, trying to find one about waiting. While Jakob’s breathing slowed, I remembered one. It was a Psalm that told believers to wait for the Lord with confidence and strong courage. Those were what I needed now to sustain me in my waiting. Confidence and courage. 

That English word, confidence, reminded me of what Arthur had said, weeks and weeks ago. He had called me a bold woman, if bold meant the same as brave and confident. At least, that was how he saw me. But did I have confidence in the Lord or in my own skills for baking and cleaning? Did I trust Him to guide and uphold me, my injured brother, my sick mother, my friends here? Or was I trusting in my abilities to help and find and mend everything that touched us? 

It was both, I discovered as I watched the bright moon, so far above and yet strangely near. I did rely on myself along with our God. He had blessed me with many gifts and placed me in situations where I could work and help others. But, too often, I relied on myself and my abilities for help, and only asked our Lord for guidance or assistance if I could not solve something myself. That was the wrong order. I should first be asking, and then moving forward with certainty that God would guide and bless my efforts.  

I had known this in my mind, yes, but always God’s help had been something I sought after I found my own work and willpower were not enough. How backwards I had been. Did not God’s own Word tell us we should seek Him and His kingdom first, and then He would give us everything else we need also? 

Tears filled my eyes: quiet and gentle tears. Not anguish; not fear. Not tears to be ashamed of or to hide. They were a sort of washing away of what had blinded me. God had given me knowledge, skills, and ways to help others. And I had spent so much of my life leaning on these gifts, letting others lean on me, so that I had come to think that I held myself up, held others up when they needed more strength, more confidence. But my strength, my confidence only in myself—these were slender and flimsy. They could not hold even my own self up under troubles. It was God’s love and mercy that kept me upright. He gave me the power to bend and not break. 

I lifted my gaze to the stars. I prayed silently, “My dear and loving Father in heaven, I thank You through Jesus Christ, Your dear Son, for giving me everything I am, everything I can do, everyone in my life. Thank You even for my beauty because it is pleasing to Arthur Wendell. Forgive me for trusting in my own skill and strength so often, instead of putting my trust in You, who gave them to me. Help me to seek You first always, to rely on You and not upon the gifts You have given me. You who saved me from sin have promised also to provide all that I need while I walk this earth. 

“Into Your loving hands, I place all our troubles, pains, worries, fears. Watch over and protect, guide, and keep not only myself and my family, but Arthur Wendell and Dan McLeod and all who will come to help them search for Alex. If he is yet living, comfort him until he is found. Thank You for watching over Jakob and giving him more days yet to live and serve You on this earth.” 

I fell asleep praying for Mrs. McLeod. Two sons, she had lost to this mine. I begged God to spare her the grief of losing a third. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Forty 

 

 

Jakob lifted his head from my shoulder, which woke me. I blinked the grit from my eyes and saw that the world was no longer a moonlit landscape of black and gray. Trees and grass glowed gently green, and the clouds above had golden edges. Morning had come. 

I turned my head to check on Jakob. My neck protested, stiff from sitting up all night and letting Jakob sleep on my shoulder. Not how two people nearing thirty should sleep.  

“Thank you for the pillow.” Red-blond stubble roughened Jakob’s chin and cheeks, and shadows under his eyes showed he had not slept well. 

I laughed softly, not wanting to wake Peter. “I think my shoulder cannot have been softer than the rocks behind us.” I stretched my arms and rolled my shoulders.  

“Not much.” Then he sucked in a quick, hissing breath. 

“The leg?” 

He did not answer, but nodded with his eyes closed tight. 

I untied the rope from my arm. “Do not let go of this in case they need to signal us, or we must signal them.” I tucked the rope inside Jakob’s hand and then pushed myself up to my feet. “I will be back. Are you thirsty? Here is a little water still.” I left Jakob the canteen and stumbled away on tired feet to find a bush large enough to provide privacy, but not so far away that I would become lost. 

It was not long before men from town arrived. When I heard footsteps and voices coming closer, I could have cried or laughed from the tiredness and the relief. 

This first party of miners had the doctor with them. They promised that more help would follow. I tugged on the rope to let Arthur and Mr. McLeod know they were needed, and Mr. McLeod came out this time. He was covered in dust and dirt, chalky and gray and brown mixed together. In his eyes, I saw exhaustion, but determination also. The doctor knelt beside Jakob, but Mr. McLeod led the others down the tunnel to show them the cave-in and decide how to proceed. 

I stayed with my brother while Dr. Hinton looked at his leg, Jakob stiffened, digging his fingers into the dirt beneath him. He groaned over and over, but he held as still as he could. 

“It’s a clean break,” Dr. Hinton said after feeling all around the swollen leg. “I ought to be able to set it without any trouble, and I think it’ll heal straight and sound. You might not have much of a limp.” He was a middle-aged man with gray hair and a quiet, matter-of-fact voice. He did not say useless words to soothe either Jakob or myself, but told us the plain facts. This made me trust that he spoke the truth. 

“Can you fix this here?” I asked. “You will not need to take him back to town?” 

“I can, and it’s best if I do.” He pointed to Jakob’s bandages. “I take it you did the rest of this patching up, Miss Beckmann?” 

“Yes, I cleaned and covered what I could.” 

“I want you to eat something, and drink plenty of water yourself. When you’ve breakfasted, I need you to help me set your brother’s leg.” 

“Me?”

“Do you have steady hands and a clear head?” 

“I think yes, usually.” 

“Good. I’ll need you to stand by in case the ether wears off before I’m finished.” 

“I do not know how, but…” I took a deep breath. “I will ask God for the help I need.” 

“You’ll do fine.”

I found the last of the bread and pulled off a dry, stale chunk. I chewed this with no enjoyment. Even bread could stay appetizing for only so long. 

 

 

Mrs. Craig arrived right after Dr. Hinton had finished setting Jakob’s leg. She brought with her some cold fried fish, cornbread, more water, more bandages, and many questions. By the time Peter and I had finished eating and answering questions, Jakob was waking up, and I became busy tending to him. Dr. Hinton would not let him eat until he had been awake for an hour, for he said ether could make a stomach unpredictable. 

Long before that hour ended, more rescuers arrived: Deputy Schmidt, Big Ben, Ivan, Older-Than-Harry, Jorge, Andreas Kirchoff, Guan Hai, and even Guan Jin Ling. Some carried picks, shovels, and ropes, and others drove wagons filled with wooden boards. All were businesslike, not cheerful the way I was used to seeing them in town. 

Then Arthur Wendell came out of the mine. His face, hands, and clothes were coated with dirt and dust the same as Mr. McLeod’s had been. He spoke to Big Ben and Deputy Schmidt and some others.  

They entered the mine, but Arthur came over to where Mrs. Craig, Dr. Hinton, and I gathered near Jakob, who was still drowsy from the ether. 

“Good news,” Arthur said. “We think we can hear Alex. It sounds like he’s tapping something.” 

Mrs. Craig said, “Thank God. I’ll send Peter down to town. Amelia needs to know.” 

“Not yet. We can’t be sure yet. Getting her hopes up, only to find out it’s not him, it’s maybe an echo… that would be worse, wouldn’t it?” 

“What does Dan think?” 

Arthur grunted. “Dan’s not saying anything. He’s just digging.” 

“I’ll wait for his word, then.”

“Thanks.” Arthur turned to me. “How’s Jakob?” 

“The doctor has set his leg.” I gestured to the splint tied securely around Jakob’s leg. “We will be taking him away as soon as people can be spared to help carry him.” 

“Or you could rig up a litter behind a horse. Whatever Doc thinks is best.” He glanced back at the mine’s mouth. “I should get back to work. I wanted you to know about Alex.” 

Mrs. Craig said, “Thank you. It’s such good news. I brought food—you and Dan should come out and eat something. And anyone else who’s hungry, too.” 

“I’ll tell them.” Arthur touched my shoulder before he went back inside the mine. I watched him until the darkness had consumed him again. 

 

 

Not five minutes later, a cry of joy sounded inside the mine, then a shout of alarm, and then a terrible rumble like the fall of a mighty tree. A cloud of dust burst from the mine’s entrance, followed by a stream of men, all coughing and wheezing. Two of them carried Alex McLeod. 

Arthur Wendell was not among them. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Forty-One 

 

 

My mother had a wooden spoon that she favored above any other utensil in our kitchen. For stirring soup or bread dough, for making a cake or filling for pie, she used that spoon. 

Never did Mutti call it her favorite, but always, she chose it. 

One day, when we were ready to bake together after breakfast, that spoon was gone. We searched the kitchen. We searched the dining room. No spoon. I climbed up to the loft where we stored our dried vegetables and fruits. No spoon. Mutti said we must start bread without it. But all day, at odd moments, she would search for her spoon. 

Two days later, I found it outside. Little Greta and Lena had taken it for playing kitchen out in our orchard, stirring together weeds and walnut shells in a broken bucket, pretending to make soup. Mutti gave them a different spoon, and they were just as happy with it. 

While we walked back to the kitchen, Mutti had wrapped her arm around my shoulders. “Sometimes, little Marta, until you lose a thing, you don’t know how much you have come to depend on it, to value it.” 

When Arthur Wendell did not come out coughing and wheezing with the others, I knew with terrible finality how much I valued him. I knew that my life had become knitted together with his already. When he had asked me to marry him, so few hours before, I had thought we had no need for rushing. We were not so old, either of us. But I saw now how quickly life could change. 

I felt a fierce gladness that I had accepted his offer and not made him wait for my answer. He had not died wondering if I would marry him. I would not carry that regret. 

But he also had not known how much I cared for him. Perhaps because I had not known that myself, until now. 

Here was a man, strong and wise and kind, who saw me and valued me for who I was, not for how I looked or what I could do. I had been pleased that he returned my interest, and that I was free to become betrothed to him, even in such a hasty way. But, until now, that had been all.  

My affection for him then had been an idle thing compared to how I felt now. Losing him ripped open the stitches inside me where I had joined myself to him. Or perhaps the pain I felt was the crumbling of a wall I had built to keep the truth from myself. 

Was everything Arthur Wendell said and did of interest to me? Did his opinion matter to me more even than my brother’s? Had I the highest respect for him? Yes. 

Did I love him? Love him without being tired of his presence, of talking to him, even just exchanging a polite greeting? 

Yes, that also.

And I had never told him so. 

All this flashed through my mind and heart while I stared at the mine’s mouth, gaping and dark. 

 

 

Mrs. Craig gathered up her skirts and ran to Mr. McLeod where he leaned over with his hands on his knees, gulping clear air. “What happened now?” she cried. 

I followed her with hesitant steps. I knew what the answer would be, but I did not want to hear it. And yet, I must. 

“It collapsed.” Mr. McLeod’s voice was a rasping croak. “We found Alex, and he’s alive, but…”  

“But where’s Arthur?” 

“He was behind us.” He shook his head. 

“If they got through once, they can get through again.” 

“No, Maggie. It’s both tunnels this time. Most of the main shaft fell in too. We barely clawed our way out in time. It’ll take days. We’ll be too late—the air can’t last. And Arthur… Arthur’s under all of that. So are Guan Hai Ling and Older-Than-Harry.” 

Mrs. Craig made a choked sound. 

My mind refused to accept this. He could not be gone. Not this way. Arthur Wendell had survived so much— the town abandoned, the bear attack, the loss of his fiancée, starting all over when silver was found. So much. To die buried alive while working to rescue someone else? My stomach churned. 

I backed away from them. I made it to a bush nearby before sickness overwhelmed me and pushed me to my knees. I retched, my stomach rejecting all I had eaten, my mind rejecting the possibility of losing Arthur Wendell forever. 

And not only him, but also Guan Hai, my friend Yue An’s brother. And Older-Than-Harry, a shy and quiet miner who almost never spoke to me, but gave me his money and then accepted bread like a sacred gift. How could Alex McLeod have been so foolish, endangering so many people in his selfish, stubborn quest for gold? Why did he cling to this folly? Why did he refuse to believe Arthur Wendell was innocent of any crime against his family? Anger burned within me even while my body heaved again and again. 

From my heart, a cry of anguish went up to the Lord, a wordless plea for mercy, for a miracle. Even for a little hope. 

Maggie’s firm hands on my shoulders steadied me until my sickness finished. “Here, now.” She offered me a handkerchief. “Doc’s taking Alex and Jakob up to the house with me and Dan. I thought you’d want to come too.” 

I could not leave that mountain without Arthur. My place was here, as near to him as I could be until they brought him out. 

Maggie held my gaze, her eyebrows raised. 

I could not leave. But how could I say such a thing out loud in words? I shook my head. Maggie knew we had gone walking out, yes. But she did not know of his offer of marriage. Jakob was my brother. It would be making no sense not to go with him. I could not find the words, and only shook my head 

“I see.” Maggie did not sound surprised. “Stay if you need to, then.” 

I followed her to where Jakob lay on a blanket tied to two poles for carrying. I took his bandaged hand and pressed it gently between both of mine. “Rest well. I will come soon.” 

“I figured you’d stay.” 

“How did you know?” 

“You’re my sister. I can read your face better than any book.” 

“He asked me last night. To marry him, I mean.” I ducked my head. Saying those words aloud made me shy. 

“I heard.” 

“You heard?” 

“It’s my leg I broke, not my ears. But… I don’t think there’s any real hope, Marta.” 

“I understand this. But I will stay here until I know.” 

“Yes. Not knowing is too hard. You should stay.” 

“Thank you.” I let go of him. “Go with God, then.” 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Forty-Two 

 

 

As the men carried Alex and Jakob away, Guan Jin found me. “No one will listen to me.” His words poured out. “I keep telling them Guan Hai and the others could still be alive, but they say there’s no hope. And they’re wrong! Can you get them to listen, Miss Beckmann?” 

“What?” My brain struggled to understand his rapid English. 

“If Alex stayed alive all that time, that means the air shaft must still be working.” 

“Air shaft?” 

“A hole to the surface so air can get to tunnels that are farther underground. All good miners make them, for safety.” 

“And this mine would have one?” 

“Sure. Guan Hai helped dig this mine, you know. George and Neil McLeod were his friends. He used to bring me out here and let me play outside the mine when Mother needed me out of her way.” 

“You could find this air shaft?” 

“Of course I can!” 

“Come, then.” I pulled him with me, stumbling down to where I saw Big Ben loading a wagon. 

Guan Jin told all this again to the huge miner. 

Big Ben scratched his bearded chin. “You’re sure there was an air shaft?” 

“Uh-huh.” 

“And how would you know?” asked a drawling voice I did not recognize. It sounded like loose rocks slithering down a hill, somehow. This man had never bought bread from me. 

Guan Jin stood straight, keeping his eyes on Big Ben and ignoring this other man. “My brother told me every time we came out here. He didn’t want me falling down it. He’d bring me out here to play when he and the older McLeod boys dug. He said it was the only safe way to dig side tunnels, to have a good air shaft, and he always warned me if I fell down it, I’d get hurt. I know exactly where it is.” 

The doubting man argued, “Why’re we wasting time listening to this Chinese kid? It’s useless. I was in there when it all started to fall in, and it’d take us three or four days to dig through all that, even if it don’t fall in again. And all we’d find would be a bunch of dead men, anyway.” 

Big Ben said, “Look here, Tully: this’d explain how come young McLeod was still breathing after all that time with the tunnel blocked.” 

I knew that name, Tully. Why? My mind grabbed this unimportant problem and wrestled with it. It was easier to think about this than about Arthur and Guan Hai and Older-Than-Harry lying broken under a mountain of rock. 

Tully said, “Even if there is one, how’ll we find it? It’s all growed over, this whole mountain. Weeds and bushes and who knows what. It could take days to find it. I got to get back to the mine—we all do. Our jobs won’t wait.” 

Big Ben insisted, “Even if we can’t do more than dig them out so we can bury them proper, we still got to find them.” 

“Maybe you do, but I don’t.” Tully spun around and called to the other miners, “Break time’s over, boys.” His voice was loud and commanding now. “No need to stick around here to dig up the bodies of an old man, a Chinaman, and that freak Wendell.” He shouldered a pickaxe and motioned for the others to do the same. 

Some of the men did pick up their tools and follow him. More and more prepared to leave all the time. I wondered if Tully was a man of importance at the mine he spoke of. Did he work in Mr. Wendell’s big silver mine? Should not Arthur’s own employees stay and help to recover his body, if that was all that was left? 

Anger coursed through me again, righteous and strong anger over this injustice. I prayed quickly, asking the dear Lord to bless me with words to say and bless them with ears to hear them. “What sort of men are you?” I called out. My voice was not weak now, but steady and strong. “How can you give up so easily? If that was gold buried under this ground here, would you be walking away?” 

Some men looked at me. A few laughed. 

I would not let their laughter stop me. My voice grew clear and bold. “Since Alex McLeod was alive yet when you reached him, does that not show that he had good air to breathe after the mine collapsed? This boy here knows where there is an air shaft. Does that not show there must be another way to reach these men?” 

Men who had begun to follow Tully away from the mine stopped now, to listen. Some talked softly to each other. 

“Guan Hai Ling is a miner like you. His family comes from a different country than yours, yes, but that does not mean you should be abandoning him. My brother Jakob and I, we came here from another country too. But you brought all these tools from town to help rescue him and Alex McLeod.” 

More men stopped leaving to listen. 

“And what about Older-Than-Harry? He grew old digging for gold and silver, yes. But his age does not make him less of a person. Young and old, we all are worth the same to God and to all humankind. One day, you also may have grown old, and would you want a man to say your life did not matter because you are old?” 

Now no one followed Tully anymore.  

I knew Mr. Wendell thought people would resent him if they knew how much he had given to the town. But I did not agree, and I prayed silently that I was making the correct decision. 

I told them, “And then there is the man that Mr. Tully has called a freak. Maybe you think of Arthur Wendell as a rich man with many scars who hides away in his big house. Maybe you know that he owns the silver mine where so many of you work. Did you know that he donated his own money to put a new roof on the church last year?” 

A few men murmured together over that news. 

I went on, “Did you know that no teacher wished to come live so far up in the mountains to teach your children for the small salary the town offered? And so, Mr. Wendell used his own money to make that salary twice as large, and that is what attracted the teacher you have now. And did you know that the train company was building tracks only to the mine, and Mr. Wendell paid for them to extend those tracks to the town so you could travel to and from Denver with ease?” 

Now the men were discussing my words openly. Some even came a little closer to me. 

Tully put his hands on his hips and yelled across the distance between us, “I don’t believe any of that about Wendell and his money. You ain’t from around here. You’re just a foreigner, trying to tell us our own business! Interfering where you don’t belong! I’ve heard about you, all right. Baking your fancy bread and charging fancy prices for it. If you want to stay out here, go ahead. Pick up a shovel with your own fine hands and see how far you get.” 

“Hey,” a man near him said, “don’t talk to her that way. She’s a nice lady. And her bread is worth anything she wants to charge for it.” I recognized him as one of the men who had bought bread from my wagon on Saturdays once or twice, though I had never learned his name. 

“That’s right!” another agreed. “She belongs in Silverdale now, she ain’t some outsider. Don’t you talk to her that way, Tully.” 

Tully glared at them. “I tell you I was in there! I got in that side tunnel along with some of them others, and I didn’t see any sign of an air shaft.” 

“There is a hope, even so,” I told them. “Please, stay and dig. There is a chance to save these men, even a small one, and we should not fail them.” 

“They’re dead!” Tully yelled at me. 

“Then we should remember that Guan Hai Ling has a mother and sister who deserve at least to be able to bury him properly. Mr. Wendell and Older-Than-Harry have friends and kin too. Think of them, even if you have no hope for the three men. You cannot leave them.” My voice wavered at the end, but I kept my head high. 

Big Ben stepped up beside me. “Miss Beckmann here is right. I’ve known Arthur Wendell a long time, and I know some of what he’s done for this town. And even if he was a stranger, even if they was all three strangers, we couldn’t desert them, even if we got no hope of finding them alive. And maybe there’s a little hope, at that, if this kid’s right about an air shaft.” He raised his voice. “What do you say, men? Who’ll stay and find the air shaft? Who’ll help dig them out of there, even if we have to dig a whole new tunnel?” 

“You’re crazy!” Tully hollered back. 

“Could be, but at least I’m human.” 

No one said anything for a moment. Then Ivan raised his shovel in the air. “I will dig. Find where. I will dig.” 

Those were the first words I had ever heard him say. He had a strong accent, so thick I found I must run his words through my mind a second time to find their meaning. 

Guan Jin ran over to me and threw his arms around my waist. 

“They’ll find them,” I promised. “We won’t leave them. Not now that you have given us a reason for hoping.” 

Big Ben mused, “We’ll need more timbers and planks for bracing. We lost a lot just now.” 

“Take them from Busted Luck,” I suggested. “It is not so far away, and there is much wood there still.” 

“Miss Beckmann, you’re a wonder.” Big Ben grabbed my hand and shook it. “Could be you’re the smartest person here. Remind me never to get on your bad side. I wouldn’t stand a chance.” 

Slowly, miners joined us. All but Tully and three others. And then I remembered why his name sounded familiar. Tully must be the father of the boys who had been taken to jail, the ones Jakob and I had given statements against. Maybe I should be glad he did not pick up some rocks and throw them at me, since I was a foreigner. I could see where his sons had learned their fine manners. 

Big Ben chose the miners he wanted to search the area where Guan Jin remembered the air shaft being. He sent others to Busted Luck to fetch down strong wooden boards. I watched them quietly, my hands clasped behind my back. 

Inside myself, however, I was singing. A great song of thanksgiving rose up inside me like a choir at church on a day of rejoicing. Arthur Wendell was buried, yes. Maybe he was dead, even. But now, we had a chance to find him. Yes, and Guan Hai and Older-Than-Harry too. I had prayed for hope, any hope, even the smallest slice of it. And God had answered. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Forty-Three 

 

 

Guan Jin led Big Ben to where he thought they should begin searching for the air shaft. Others set up a rough camp of sorts. Someone started a fire to make coffee and food, and several others gathered wood and chopped it for the fire. Two men organized supplies, commanded by Deputy Schmidt. 

It took less than five minutes for Guan Jin to find the air shaft. Miners hauled planks over to him, chattering excitedly while they set to work on this new rescue attempt. 

I found Deputy Schmidt among those men and asked simply, “What will they do?” 

“Oh, they’ll try to widen it enough to get inside without making this end of the tunnel collapse too.” 

“It is not now wide enough?” The words ‘air shaft’ had made me think of a chimney. I had thought of something that a small person might climb down. 

“No, no, it’s barely big enough for a jackrabbit.” The deputy patted my arm sympathetically. “Tell you what—you just keep yourself busy. Could you tend that fire? We’ll need plenty of coffee. And maybe you could warm up some food. This could take a long time, and digging is hungry work. Keep busy, that’s my advice. Don’t leave yourself time to fret.” 

“Yes, I will do this. I will keep busy.” That was something I knew full well how to do. 

I was glad Deputy Schmidt did not ask me why I had stayed behind. I had expected I might have to answer awkward questions, but it seemed everyone was too focused on their work to bother. 

I filled a big coffeepot with water for coffee and hung it over the fire. I was not used to cooking on anything but a stove, but I would manage. In a big black pot with a lid, I stirred water and dried beans. Those must soak before cooking, and they would not taste good alone. I rummaged through the food that someone had brought and found a slab of bacon and a knife. Good. I could add bacon to the beans when time came for cooking. That would add flavor. 

Beans, bacon, and coffee. Those seemed poor fare for men risking their lives to try to save others. But, besides those, I found only a burlap sack half-filled with potatoes. Potatoes, I could cook many ways. Slice and fry them with the bacon? So many men, and half a sack of potatoes. 

Soup. I would make soup. There was yet one large cooking pot empty, and I could fill it with soup, adding more to it whenever it got low. I had potatoes and bacon, and the beans I had soaking. Surely not all the men would be working all the time, and I might find one who knew if any of the wild plants around us could be eaten. Mrs. Craig had promised she would send more food back with Peter when she could. I wished I had known to request onions. 

All day, I fed men. They stopped at the fire for a cup of coffee and a bowl of soup when others took turns with the picks and shovels. When Peter came back from the Wendell house, he brought more potatoes, plus onions and apples and beets. I put him to work washing dishes, and I concentrated on making sure the soup and coffee did not run low. 

Most of the time, I kept my back to the men who were digging a little way to the right of the mine’s entrance. I did not want to know how far they had dug. Deputy Schmidt told me that making the air shaft wider would be too dangerous, so they were trying to dig a new shaft near it that would let them approach the side tunnel without causing another collapse. I thanked him for the information and then closed it away in my mind where I could not dwell on it. I could only pray silently and endlessly for safety. Safety for everyone. That was all I could manage. 

Peter brought me yarrow and clover flowers to add to my soup, and many clover leaves. Later, he brought a hatful of what he called thimbleberries. They were not ripe, but pale pink and sour as an unripe grape. I set those aside to cook somehow with the apples, maybe in the frying pan or stewed together once the beanpot was empty. Rather than cooking the beans on their own, I added a scoop of them to the soup pot every time I added potatoes and beets and water. 

The men thanked me quietly for the soup. No one was chatting, but only eating, resting, or digging. A strange silence wrapped around each one of us. If we did speak, it was in a soft voice, with few words. Their shouts of joy when they had found Alex alive had caused the second cave-in, and we would not make that mistake again. 

No one had heard anything through the air vent, Peter reported. No voices, no cries, no noise at all. 

 

 

Dr. Hinton returned late in the afternoon. He accepted a cup of coffee and sat drinking it near my fire, staring far away. 

And then, right when I was adding the last of the beans to the soup pot, a man scrambled out of the hole, his big shoulders and chest seeming to fill it as he emerged. “Quick! We found them! Fetch those stretchers!” 

Somehow, without realizing I had even moved, I found myself pushing past the miners and slipping my way down inside the rescue shaft. It did not matter that the ground had been churned to muck by many boots, or that I lost my footing and slid the rest of the way on my bottom. It did not matter at all. There came Ivan, hunched over and carrying Arthur Wendell’s body in his arms. 

“Out!” Ivan hissed at me. “Out!” 

My first thought was that perhaps miners might be superstitious like sailors, not liking women in their working place. My mouth opened to protest. 

“Now! Go, bread-woman! Out! All out!” 

I understood then that Ivan was not angry, but scared. As fast as I could, I struggled back up the new tunnel. The earth slipped away beneath my feet. I had to use both hands to stay upright. 

Men reached down to grab my arms when I neared the exit. I let myself be dragged out and set back upon my feet. I watched Ivan struggle to keep his footing, his thin frame bent almost double and his arms still clutching Arthur. 

Next came two men I did not recognize, carrying Guan Hai between them. Behind those two followed Big Ben with Older-Than-Harry slung across his shoulders. 

Big Ben scrambled clear of the hole right when the ground made a strange sound, a rattling and a sucking at the same time. The ground behind and above him shifted, then dropped downward with a rush. Dust shot out of the new entrance as it closed in on itself. Both the new and old tunnels collapsed, forming a strange ditch. 

Men cried out with alarm, and a miner near me said, “Those poor boys. Now it’s their turn to be buried.” 

“Who?” I asked. “Who is buried now?” 

“That German fellow, name of Kerchief or some such? And the deputy, I think.” 

Andreas Kirchoff, and perhaps Deputy Schmidt. Would their lives be the price for recovering three men? I did not even know yet if Arthur Wendell still lived, or if Ivan had carried out only a corpse. And what about Guan Hai and Older-Than-Harry? All this had happened too quickly. 

“I see them!” someone called. Men gathered at the ditch’s edges, digging at the loose dirt with their hands. 

I could do nothing. I would be in the way. I must only watch. 

And then I knew this was false. I could pray. Once again, I had thought of my own actions before I remembered to ask God for His aid. Would I ever learn to turn to Him first? 

I did pray, then, a great cry for mercy, safety, help of any sort. My German and English words jumbled together in my mind, but I knew that our dear Lord would hear and know them all, even if I mixed them around this way. 

Dr. Hinton pushed through the crowd to reach Arthur, Guan Hai, and Older-Than-Harry where the miners had laid them. I wanted to join him, but I feared too much what I would learn. Better to remain out of the way. How odd that, minutes earlier, my one need had been to be with Arthur. Now, I could not force my feet to move to where Dr. Hinton knelt beside his body. I stood alone, arms wrapped around my own waist, and waited. 

Guan Jin ran over to where his brother lay and squatted beside him. I saw one of Guan Hai’s hands come up to rest on his little brother’s head, and I breathed a prayer of thanksgiving that he had been spared, at least. 

The doctor glanced from Arthur to me and said something, but I did not hear his words because the crowd of miners shouted with triumph. Up and out from the clinging dirt they pulled both Andreas and Deputy Schmidt, grasping their arms and shoulders, even tugging at their shirts. 

Deputy Schmidt howled, “My arm! Let me go! My arm’s busted!” With one hand he slapped at the men trying to help him, but they did not let go until he was clear of the dirt. 

Andreas Kirchoff lay still and limp. Three miners quickly carried him to the doctor and laid him on the other side of Arthur. 

I found my legs and feet would move again, but I stumbled over nothing in my great haste. Strangers caught my arms and helped to keep me upright until I reached Arthur. I saw that someone had covered Older-Than-Harry’s body with a blanket, even his face, and I knew that he was gone. 

I pulled away from my helpers and sank to the ground next to Arthur. No one had covered him with a blanket, but his skin was gray under all the dirt and grime. The scars across his lifeless face looked like sunken furrows in an abandoned field. 

Guan Hai was sitting up already, drinking from a canteen and talking with Guan Jin. Although they spoke Chinese together, I thought Guan Jin sounded proud. Maybe he was telling his older brother how he had remembered where to find the air shaft. 

I let my five fingers trace Arthur’s scars. Almost, they were too wide for my hand. My mind marveled at the size of a grizzly bear’s paw, more willing to think about that than about losing Arthur so soon after having found him. So soon after realizing that, yes, I felt more than simple fondness or affection for him. That I did not even mind being beautiful, if it gave him a reason to smile. 

The grimy skin under my fingers was warm. 

Almost, I could not understand what this meant. Warm skin. Dead men who had lain buried under much earth for hours and hours would not be warm. “Ach du meine Güte!” I cried. I lost my balance and sat back on the dirt with a thump. “He lives!” 

“Yes, yes, he lives. For now, anyway, and this one does too.” Dr. Hinton was checking Andreas’s pulse, one hand holding his pocket watch and the other clasped around Andreas’s wrist. “I hope Maggie Craig got enough beds ready. There’s nothing I can do for either of them here.” He stood up with a groan. “I need to get me an assistant,” he muttered. “Someone with younger knees.” 

“Doc, Doc, my arm’s busted!” Deputy Schmidt called out. “I can’t even move it.”  

Dr. Hinton went off to help him, but I stayed with Arthur, my eyes hungry for more signs that he lived. If I watched his chest, I saw it rise and fall. That was all. His eye did not open. It did not even move under his closed eyelid. 

Gently, I closed my fingers around Arthur’s wrist. I did not know how to find the pulse, but his warmth reassured me. I slid my fingers down until they held his hand instead. This was better. Maybe somewhere inside him, he could feel it and know he was not alone. 

Behind me, Dr. Hinton said, “It’s not broken, you big baby, it’s only dislocated. Here, Ben, you hold his other shoulder from behind a minute. Yes, that way. Now, on the count of three, I’m going to pop the arm back in place. Ready? One… two…” When he said “two,” I heard a loud click. 

“Hey!” the deputy yelled. “You said you’d do it on three!” 

“Sure, and you’d have tensed up and made it a lot harder on yourself. You’ll be all right. If it’s sore, I’ll rig you a sling. Might take a day or two to get back to normal.” 

“Say, that does feel better already.” The deputy sounded like he was smiling. 

I smiled myself at how happy he sounded, after having been so angry a moment before. But still I watched Arthur Wendell’s face for any movement. I held his hand, never wanting to let go. “God be thanked.” I repeated this out loud, over and over, I think in English. Maybe in German: “Gott sei Dank.” Maybe in both. 

 

 

I scooped up the last of my stew into bowls for anyone who still had hunger. I was rinsing out the empty coffee pot when Guan Jin ran over calling, “Miss Beckmann? Miss Beckmann?” 

“Yes?” 

“Guan Hai found this. He says it’s what Alex was searching for. I think you should keep it for him. And for your brother.” Guan Jin held out an old cloth sack, a small one for a pound of coffee beans. It sagged and bulged at the bottom, and was tied with twine above that bulge. 

“Is it…?” I did not want to say the word. I did not want to touch that bag. This was what had broken my brother’s leg, trapped Alex and Arthur and Guan Hai, and killed Older-Than-Harry. 

“Please, take it.”

I let him give me the bag. It was heavy, the lump at the bottom bigger than my fist. I dropped it into my apron pocket, not liking how it dragged at me. I did not wish to carry this reminder of Alex McLeod’s suspicions about Arthur. But I did not know what else to do with it. And, after all, it was proof that he had been wrong, that Arthur had never sought or taken anything from Alex’s brothers. 

“I will be sure Alex gets it,” I told Guan Jin. “Isn’t some of it your brother’s, if he was helping them long ago?” 

“No, Guan Hai always brought his share home right away whenever they found anything. He bought me a stick of peppermint with a little of it sometimes, I remember.” 

“Thank you. I will take it to Alex.” I went back to helping pack away the cooking things which I had used. 

The miners loaded Older-Than-Harry’s body onto a wagon, and the camp of rescuers slowly dwindled away. When the men filed past the dying cookfire on their way back to Silverdale, I thanked as many as I could for staying to help dig. Some men ducked their heads and said that it was nothing. Others nodded a simple acceptance of my gratitude. Ivan shook my hand most solemnly. 

Big Ben had the strangest response of them all: he placed one hand on my head and said, “Bless you for reminding us to be human, Miss Beckmann.” Then he turned away before I could pretend I had not seen the tears in his eyes. 

Dr. Hinton decided that Guan Hai and Deputy Schmidt were well enough to go home, riding in a wagon. The doctor gave Guan Jin many instructions about how to watch Guan Hai for signs of injuries inside his head or body, and then promised to ride down to town the next day to check over him.  

Peter rode to Mr. Wendell’s house ahead of us to tell Mrs. Craig how many beds to prepare, and who would be needing them. Some miners stayed with us to carry Mr. Wendell and Andreas on their blanket-and-pole litters. Dr. Hinton did not know yet what was wrong with either of them. Or, if he had some ideas, he did not speak them. 

I stayed close to Mr. Wendell’s litter whenever the rough mountain slope would allow, until we reached the muddy road outside Busted Luck. My thoughts kept scattering and then huddling together again like anxious chickens, and I wondered how long it had been since I truly slept. 

It was dusk before we reached the house. Lights beckoned to us from every window on the bottom two floors. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Forty-Four 

 

 

I woke up hours later on a mattress on the floor in the little unused dining room that opened from the kitchen. The table and chairs had been replaced by two mattresses, one for me and one for Jakob. I had no memory of anyone guiding me there, and I still wore my shoes. I must have been almost sleeping while I walked, and someone simply took me to this room and let me be. 

The bag of gold in my apron pocket had dug into my leg when I rolled onto my side. Sleepily, I pulled it out and laid it between Jakob’s mattress and my own. Then I pulled the blankets up around myself and fell back into a dreamless sleep that even my fears about the injured men did not disturb. 

When I woke again, it was morning. Jakob still slept, so I took care not to waken him when I got up off the floor and went out to the kitchen. It was empty, but I smelled fried meat and eggs and coffee. The sunlight through the windows told me I had slept much too late. I almost climbed the stairs to seek my old room, but I stopped when I remembered my things were not there anymore. 

My feet ached. I could not remember ever before sleeping with my shoes on my feet. My toes begged for release, and I sat to unlace and remove the shoes before I did anything else. 

I pumped water near the door and washed my face and neck. I longed for a real bath. I would have settled even for a change of clothing. My skirt and petticoats were stiff with mud. 

Since all my things were now in Silverdale, I had nothing clean to change into. Could Mrs. Craig loan me something? I took down my hair and combed through it with my fingers. I braided and pinned it around my head again, and I wondered how the night had passed for the injured men. By now, the doctor might have learned much. 

I wished to hunt until I found Dr. Hinton or Mrs. Craig. But I no longer belonged there as a servant, and I did not yet have another role in the household. I was a guest for now. But I was a guest who knew her way around the kitchen. A great stack of dirty dishes told me what to do first. 

And so, when Mrs. Craig entered, I stood at the basin with my hands busy in hot and soapy water. She said, “I should have guessed I’d find you busy already. Is Jakob awake?” 

“I have not heard—”

Jakob called from the little dining room, “Yes, I’m awake. Good morning to you, too.” When I hurried over, he added, “I see you’re up before everyone, as always.” 

“Only before you. How is the leg?” 

“I don’t know.” He laughed. “The doctor keeps giving me laudanum so I won’t feel it. Or anything else.” 

“Can you feel hunger?” 

“Yes, yes. And if there’s coffee, bring it in a bucket, please!” 

I laughed too. The sunshine and my brother’s light words made me wish I could fly. I had worried this accident and the broken leg might plunge him into one of his black moods. But, maybe he would remain steady. The medicine might be helping with that too, I supposed. 

God was good. He renews His mercies with every sunrise. 

“I will find you food and a bucket of coffee,” I promised, and whirled around, ready to do exactly that. And to ask many questions. 

“Mrs. Craig?” I crossed the kitchen to her so briskly that the sound of my stockinged feet echoed. 

She had taken my place at the washbasin and was scrubbing at an iron skillet. “After all this time, you’re still calling me that? I’m Maggie, you’re Marta, and that’s that.” 

“So, then, yes. Maggie. Do you know yet how Mr. Wendell and the others… will they be… are they…” 

“Yes.” 

“Yes?”

“Yes, they’re all still with us.” 

“All?”

“So far, thanks be to God.” She ticked off names on her soapy fingers. “Andreas Kirchoff has a broken collarbone, a broken wrist, and at least two cracked ribs. Arthur has a concussion and about a hundred bruises, but nothing worse, miraculously. Alex has several broken ribs and… and we’re not sure what else yet.” 

“What is this concussion?” 

“It means something hit his head real hard. Doc Hinton says that’s why he hasn’t come to yet.” 

“He is still unconscious?” 

“Yes. And Doc’s keeping Alex that way too, for now.” 

“Where are they all?”

“Andreas is in one of the guest rooms upstairs. Mr. Wendell is in his own room. Alex is in the other big room upstairs. His parents, too. I’ve tried to convince them to take a guest room, but Mrs. McLeod won’t leave him, so we made do.” 

“So many people here. It is good to have this big house.” 

Maggie Craig looked surprised, but she laughed. “I guess it is. All these years, all these empty rooms, and I’ve thought… but it’s good to have this big house now. You’re right.” 

“I am smelling food, but think it must be gone already? Jakob is hungry…” 

“I’m sure he is, and you too. I fried up all the ham and eggs I could lay my hands on, but I’ll find something else for you both.” 

“Thank you. And… this is so personal I do not want to ask it, but if I could borrow something clean to wear? I worry I will make things dirty by brushing past them.” I gestured to my skirt. 

“Heavens, yes. I’ll fix you and Jakob some food while you run up to my room. All my clothes are in the wardrobe there. Borrow anything that’ll fit. If you need a belt, those are in the trunk.” 

“Many thanks.” I hurried up the back stairs. I would change, then eat with Jakob. After all that, I would ask if I could see Arthur. And then, I would begin to bake. With so many people here, we would need much food. 

Or, if the river had gone down and the bridge in Busted Luck was useable again, I could take the wagon to town with Peter and bring back whatever in my bakery was still good to eat. I had not given even one thought to my bakery since the storm. Surely, some of the bread and rolls would be still good to toast, at least? How long had it been sitting there, some on the table in the kitchen where I had left it to cool, and some on the counter? No matter. First, food for Jakob. Beyond that, I would not think now. 

No, first, a prayer to thank God for His mercy and goodness, and to ask His help in whatever came next. Always, always, that should be first. I was glad I had remembered that this time. 

 

 

Peter staggered inside with a sack of flour over his shoulder that must have weighed nearly as much as he did. I carried a clean sheet filled with a dozen loaves of bread. They were a little stale, but they would still feed people. Emily Ames followed with a large bag of coffee beans. 

The rest of my bread, and all of the rolls, I had taken to Mrs. Ames when I went to fetch my own clothes. She promised to take them to the Kirchoff family with news that Andreas would be staying at the Wendell house for a few days. In return, she had given me a folded note for Jakob from Polly. 

Peter knelt to lower the flour to the floor, then stood up, rubbing his shoulder. “I wonder where Mother is.” 

I set down my bundle of bread on the table and saw there a slip of paper. “Oh, here—this note from her says, could you please kill two chickens.” 

“I’ll do that once I’ve unloaded the wagon and unhitched the team.” 

I helped Peter and Emily finish bringing in the food supplies. Then I set about starting the dough for raisin buns, another favorite of my brother’s. Emily took a broom and left to sweep the front hall without being told to. I approved of her already. 

When Jakob awakened from his latest napping, I gave him the note from Polly and left him to enjoy it alone. I set water to heat for plucking the chickens. And I started a fresh pot of coffee. Always, people wanted more coffee. 

I had sliced a stale loaf for toasting when Mrs. Craig bustled in. “I saw Emily just now, and she says you bought out the whole mercantile, almost.” She gestured at the packages on the table. “Did you get everything?” 

“Yes. I have told Peter about the hens. He will kill two when he has seen to the horses.” 

“Good. We need the carcasses to make broth for the injured men, and the meat to feed everyone else.” 

“Mrs. Ames says if we need more help with cleaning, she will gladly come tomorrow. Polly Ames wishes to come on Monday, which is her day off at the mercantile. To help, if we need.” I glanced at the little room where Jakob lay recovering. I hoped that, by Monday, he would be ready to have visitors. “Also, Mrs. Ling says they will make time for all the extra washing we will have. Yue An offered that she and Guan Jin could come to collect it and bring it back here, if we need. Mr. Martin at the store says to send down a list any time, and he will see our supplies get to us even if we cannot spare Peter to fetch them.”  

I did not mention all the people who had stopped us along the street to express concern for the injured men, even for Jakob. Strangers offered to come and clean, or to make food. I thought some of them were only curious to see inside of Mr. Wendell’s house, but most sounded sincere in their desire to help. Was this a result of my words to the miners about all Mr. Wendell had done for them? They might have told their friends and families what I had said. I hoped Arthur would not be upset that I had revealed a little of how much he helped people. 

“Wonderful. We’ll need all the help we can get around here, I suspect. Emily is good with a broom and a scrub brush, but nothing is more demanding than an injured man stuck in bed while he recovers, and we’re saddled with four of them. Even if Andreas goes home in a few days, we’ll still have three to manage.” She sighed. “And you’ll be wanting to get back to your bakery before long. But I’m glad you’ve stayed to help for a bit. And thank you for all the bread.” 

“No. I have hung a sign on the door that says it is closed for a few days. People will understand. I made sure the fire in my stove is out, and the doors are all properly locked. When there are not so many here to look after, I will go back. But, until then, I brought my bag from the Ames house. I will stay. That is, if you wish me to.” 

Maggie surprised me by coming to where I stood slicing stale bread. She put her arms around me and held me tight. “Oh, Marta. I don’t know what I’d do without you here.” 

I set down the knife and returned her hug. “You would pray for help, and God would send it. I am one person. Not so special.” 

She stepped away. “Not so special? Arthur would disagree. I do, too.” 

I blushed. “Thank you, but I do not know if he…” 

She laughed. “You forget, I’ve known Arthur for years and years. I can see it every time you two are in the same room. He’s so different with you around. Or, he’s so much like he used to be, maybe. It’s been a long time coming, but you’ve reminded him how to smile.” 

“Then you do not disapprove?” 

“Not at all.” 

I went a little weak with relief. “That means more than you can know. I have been unsure of what to do, of what is right and proper, and what is expected here. This is not Thuringia, not Germany. So much is different here.” 

“And I suppose you didn’t talk to me about it because I’m Arthur’s friend.” 

“Yes! You have been his friend for so long, and I could not wish to push between you.” 

“You haven’t, and you won’t. You’re not like… like that. If you were, you would never have worried about getting between us.” 

Peter came in from the yard, and our talk shifted to dinner and the next day’s work. My hands and words tended to the ordinary things, but inside, my heart sang praises to the Lord for all His goodness. 

Almost, I wanted to tell Maggie about Arthur’s proposal. But, I did not. I wanted him to wake first. I would ask him if he still wished to be marrying me, now that the danger had passed. I worried that he had proposed only because… what? He thought it would comfort me? Arthur Wendell did not make idle promises. I knew that. But, still, I hesitated. There would be time later, when he was awake and I knew for sure he still wished for us to marry. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Forty-Five 

 

 

At dinnertime, I carried a heavy tray up the wide front staircase. Mrs. Craig carried another ahead of me. We stopped outside the room that I had once seen Arthur Wendell bring books out of. 

Maggie called, “Dinner!” in a cheerful voice. 

Mr. McLeod opened the door at once. Until I had deposited my tray safely upon a fine oval table near the door, I did not pay attention to the room. I had told Alex I had no questions about it or why it was locked. But once I learned from Arthur that it had been meant for the woman who had scorned him, I could not help being a little curious about what it would be like inside, although not for the same reasons as Alex. It would reflect Sarah Dixon’s tastes, and those would reflect her mind. And I could not fathom the mind of a woman who would break Arthur Wendell’s heart so cruelly. 

I stepped away from the table to give Mrs. Craig room to place her tray. While she unloaded bowls, cups, a water pitcher, and plates, I stood with my hands behind my back and studied the room. 

Rich drapes of mild pink were closed over all the windows, keeping the room dark and cool. Two lamps lit it dimly. A soft carpet filled the center of the room, with intricate designs in pink and red and yellow. Painted vines covered the walls, stems and leaves twining together endlessly. Roses blossomed from them in every shade of pink from demurely pale to brazenly dark. 

Perhaps it was meant to be a sanctuary, but, to me, it had the feeling of a cage. I thought at first that the roses must be wallpaper, but I discovered later that they all had been painted on by Sarah Dixon. 

The outside corner curved outward, forming the inside of the tower I had seen only from outside before this. It was dark and shadowy with the curtains drawn. 

To my surprise, I saw a curling metal staircase near the door. It spiraled upward around a central pole and disappeared through a hole in the ceiling. I knew it must lead to the other locked room, the one on the top floor next to Jakob’s room. I remembered then that Arthur had said there was to have been an artist’s studio at the top of the house. Sarah Dixon would have been able to go up there from her own room to paint whenever she wished. How thoughtful to have designed everything to suit her so perfectly. 

It was an odd room to contain Alex McLeod. He lay unmoving in the elegant four-poster bed, his face almost as pale as the white pillowcases. 

A movement from the corner tower caught my eye. Mrs. McLeod rose from a padded bench built along the tower’s walls, under all the windows. I had not noticed her, she had been so still and quiet. When she neared the table, I saw that she was a tiny woman, slender and no taller than a girl. Her gray hair she wore coiled into a neat knot at the neck, and she kept her plain blue dress buttoned close around her thin neck and wrists. Her steps faltered, almost as if she hesitated to come closer. 

Mrs. Craig turned away from ladling up soup. “Marta, I want you to meet my friend Amelia McLeod. Amelia, this is Marta Beckmann.” 

Mrs. McLeod held out a dainty hand. “I’m so pleased to finally make your acquaintance. Both my husband and my son speak highly of you.” Her light and graceful voice matched her slender figure. 

I gently closed her hand in my own. “Thank you. I am sure it must be my bread and rolls of which they mainly speak.” 

“Those speak for themselves. I’ve enjoyed all that I’ve tasted. No, it’s you yourself Alex speaks of. And my husband.” 

I knew something then with a horrible certainty. Mrs. McLeod thought I would marry her son one day. Always, Alex had been attentive and flirtatious. If he had spoken so much of me to his mother, she would have expectations. And I would have to disappoint her. 

“That is so kind,” I murmured. “Your family have been good customers for the bread I sell. And I know your husband is a good friend for Mr. Wendell.” 

She nodded politely, then carried a bowl of soup and a cup of water back to her place within the tower’s curved walls. 

Mr. McLeod rose from beside his son’s bed. He came over to claim his own food, or so I thought. But instead of picking up a bowl, he said, “Doc Hinton is in the sitting room. Can I help you take food to him there?” 

This seemed to me a strange request, but Maggie smiled. “Thank you, that would be such a help.” She gave him a bowl of soup and picked up the pitcher of water. “Marta, please bring a glass.” 

I followed them, wondering if it would not have been easier simply to call the doctor to the sickroom. 

 

 

Dr. Hinton lay stretched out upon a fine settee, reading a newspaper he held above him. I saw this must be a private sitting room that joined Arthur’s bedroom to the one which had been intended for his wife. The walls were plain white, with no pictures hung on them or designs painted directly on their surface. Dark blue drapes tied away from the two tall windows let in much light. 

The wall to the right of the door was lined with half-size bookcases that reached about to the height of a table. Books of all colors and sizes filled these shelves, though not arranged so neat and tidy as those in the library. This room did not feel unused like the other bedroom. The books must be Arthur’s, then. Part of me wanted to kneel down near the bookcases and read their titles. Were these books his favorites? Or simply books he had bought after he filled the shelves in his library? But now was not the time for this, and I focused my attention on the doctor. 

When we entered, Dr. Hinton dropped his paper, swung his legs down, and sat up all in one motion that showed he was active still, even if he wished for younger knees. “Shut that door, young lady,” he told me. 

I did so. 

Mr. McLeod set the soup on the table near the settee. “Now’s as good a time as any, Doc. Tell me, and I’ll decide how to tell Amelia.” 

I set down the glass beside the water pitcher. “I should go.” 

Maggie said, “No, stay. We should all know what to expect.” She pulled a chair forward. “Dan, why don’t you sit.” 

When he did, she laid her hand on his shoulder, reassuring him she would not leave. 

I put my hands behind my back and stayed by the food. 

Dr. Hinton cleared his throat. “It’s hard to know where to begin. I’m sorry, Dan, but… it’s not just a couple of broken ribs. The men that found Alex told me he’d been trapped under a beam, twisted up and pinned there when the roof fell the first time. His back’s the real problem. I fear it may be broken. Maybe in more than one place.” 

None of us made a sound.

“The good news is, I don’t think his legs are paralyzed. Which is a miracle, if you ask me. I’m keeping him asleep with the laudanum so he won’t thrash around and injure himself more. He’s got to stay still for as long as we can manage it. A broken back can heal, at least somewhat, but it needs time and rest. But it’s probable he will never fully recover. Even though he’s escaped paralysis, his legs and feet may never work normally again. I don’t know. Every back injury is different, and I’m certainly no expert at treating them. All we can do is wait. 

“I’ll leave it up to you how you tell your wife. But I’ll be letting Alex wake up this evening so he can eat a little. He’ll stay drowsy, but he needs food and drink to heal. And we’ll have to explain to him, and to Amelia, why he must not move anything but his hands, why he can’t try to sit up.” 

Slowly, Mr. McLeod said, “Thank you, Doctor. I’m grateful you told me first. Thank you.” 

Dr. Hinton nodded. “I know it’s a great deal to take in. I’ll go check on Wendell now. If you have questions, you can ask me when I’m through there.” He ignored the food and left through the door in the other wall, not quite closing it behind him. 

Mr. McLeod said, “We can’t move him. I’m sorry, Maggie. It will mean so much work. And you already have Arthur to look after, and young Beckmann, and Kirchoff…” 

Maggie shook her head. “No more of that. Even if Alex could be moved, Arthur would insist you all stay here. So would I. Amelia won’t have to keep house this way; she can devote herself to caring for Alex. Besides, Marta wants to stay and help nurse her brother, and Mr. Kirchoff won’t be here forever.” 

“Well, then, I won’t argue any of that.” He pushed against the arms of the chair to help him stand up. “I think I need a little fresh air while I take this all in. I’ll tell Amelia I’m going for a walk.” 

Maggie accompanied him back to Alex’s room, leaving me alone. The door to Arthur Wendell’s room stood open maybe three or four inches. I wanted to cross the room and go through it, but I had not been invited to do so. Even if Arthur was not conscious, I would be intruding on his privacy simply to enter that way. Yes, he had asked me to be his wife, but we had not told anyone this. Jakob had overheard, but he would not speak of it until I did. I should not presume on an unknown betrothal to push my way into Arthur’s rooms. 

There were two doors to this sitting room, one to Arthur’s and one to Alex’s. No way to go directly out to the hallway. I could not stand there all day. I should be checking on Jakob, seeing to my raisin buns, and tending to the simmering chicken bones making a good and nourishing broth. All of those demanded my attention. I turned to go back to Alex’s room and on through it, even though so much within me begged to go through the opposite door instead. 

I had barely reached Alex’s door when Dr. Hinton called out, “Say, bring that pitcher of water in here!” 

This was invitation enough. I grabbed up the water and hurried to obey. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Forty-Six 

 

 

Arthur’s room was darker than Alex’s. One lamp burned softly near the head of the bed. I had the impression of blank walls and dark drapes hanging to the floor, closing out the sunlight. No fancy rug softened the sound of my footsteps. 

“A little water in this glass, please,” Dr. Hinton asked. I poured and gave it to him. I did not know if this meant Arthur was awake, or if the doctor hoped to waken him. He stood between me and the bed, so I could not even be seeing for myself if Arthur’s eye had opened. 

Dr. Hinton leaned over the bed again. I stepped away a little and hugged the water pitcher to me. 

Dr. Hinton murmured, “There, now. Easy, easy. Just a little.” 

He would not be talking if Arthur were asleep, would he? 

Then I heard a reply of rasping and hoarse words that I could not understand. That made my whole body tremble. For a moment, I thought I might need to find a chair. Sternly, I told myself to stand up straight, to not be weaker in my joy than I had been in my fear. The doctor might even be needing my help in some way, and falling in a maidenly swoon would not be of use to him. 

Dr. Hinton straightened. “Good. Very, very good.” He asked me, “Can you fetch the stethoscope from my bag in the other room?” 

I must have looked confused, for he explained, “You know, stethoscope. Um, for listening to—” He pointed first to his ear, then to his chest. “Oh, never mind. I’ll fetch it myself.” He set down the glass and went back to the sitting room. 

Now I could see Arthur Wendell’s face. His eye was closed, but he was not so pale and weak as Alex. Though that might have been because of the bruises that covered his face. Even in the dimness, I could see those. His dark hair was damp and sticking all across his forehead, almost down to his eyebrows. I wanted to push it back for him. But I did not dare to move. 

Then Arthur turned his head and opened his eye a little. I did not know if he saw me, but he could move, open his eye, even drink water—all of these things encouraged me greatly. I put the pitcher down and sank into the chair close to his side. I had no words to speak. I only watched him, more hungry for the sight of his face than I could have thought possible. 

Arthur shifted a little, and his mouth puckered with pain. He closed his eye again, but he worked one hand out of the covers until it lay on the bed between himself and me. 

I placed my own hand in it, and he closed his fingers around mine. I could feel the strong life in his grasp, and I knew then that he would be well, and soon. 

I realized that it had taken the doctor a long time to find his stethoscope. I glanced away to see if he had returned. There he stood in the doorway, a little smile on his face. He carried a long tube shaped like the letter Y, and this he used to listen to Arthur’s chest. 

Finally, Dr. Hinton said, “There’s nothing wrong with your heart, Wendell. And your lungs sound clear. I don’t think you breathed in too much dust and dirt. I wouldn’t worry unless you get to coughing overmuch. I think your head will clear in a day or two. That was a nasty whack it took. It’ll give you some pain for a while yet. That, and enough bruising to make you think you got trampled by a buffalo. A few more days of good rest and you’ll be up and about.” 

Arthur blinked his eye and tried to answer. He managed to whisper, “Thank you,” and closed his eye again. 

“You’re most welcome.” Dr. Hinton told me, “I think we should let him rest. Shall we go check on your brother?” He went out into the hallway, clearly expecting me to follow. 

I raised Arthur’s hand and pressed a kiss to it. “Thanks be to God,” I murmured. He did not speak, but squeezed my hand. 

I gently slipped from his grasp and hurried after the doctor before he could wonder whether or not I would follow him. And before I could see how Arthur had reacted to my kiss and my leaving. I did not think, if he had opened his eye again, that I would have been able to leave the room, not even for Jakob and his broken leg. 

 

 

Two days later, at dinnertime, I took up to the sick rooms two mugs and one bowl filled with good chicken broth. I would have added soft noodles to the soup for everyone but Alex, to give the recovering men something more solid to build up their strength, but Dr. Hinton had insisted on only broth. 

It had been my idea to use mugs instead of bowls for those who could sit up to eat. Spoons lead to spills when you try to eat soup in a bed, which I had learned long ago when helping my mother through her long recovery after Greta was born. And, with not even noodles in this broth, no one had any reason to miss their spoon. 

Maggie had convinced Mr. and Mrs. McLeod and Dr. Hinton to eat dinner in the dining room instead of upstairs. I gave Andreas his next and promised to come back for the empty mug soon. I needed to speak to both Alex and Arthur alone, and this was the first good chance I had found. Always before, their rooms had other people coming in and out, or sitting beside their beds. 

It was time for making myself clear to Alex. Every encounter with Mrs. McLeod was awkward, for she said small things that showed she thought of me almost as her new daughter already, and this must not continue. In my apron pocket, I carried the bag that Guan Jin had given to me. Jakob had refused to open it, but we knew what it must contain. 

I stopped first in Arthur Wendell’s room. He was awake and sitting up when I entered, three pillows between him and his bed’s headboard. 

“Dinner,” was all I said. Where had my boldness gone now? I had much that needed saying, but the words hovered out of reach. 

“Ahh, yes.” He reached for a mug, letting his fingers touch mine. “Won’t you have a seat? That is, if you have time?” 

I set aside my tray and sat down in the chair next to him, too stiff and straight for comfort. 

“I suspect you have something to say, Marta.” 

“Yes, you are correct. I do.” 

He set the mug down on the bedside table. “What is it? What’s happened?” 

“Nothing. It is only that I am… wondering.” 

“Wondering about what?” 

“Do you remember the things you said, what you asked of me, that night we sat outside the mine?” 

I held my breath and prayed I had not mistaken his proposal or misunderstood his kindnesses, his kisses, the hundred small moments when I thought we comprehended each other perfectly. 

If he wished to take the offer of marriage back again, I would let him. I knew he had enjoyed my kisses at the bakery, but what if his proposal had been only the work of a worried mind faced with danger and darkness? 

“Which part? The part where I said yes, I’ll attend church services with you? Or the part where I offered to lie and say digging for Alex wasn’t dangerous?” 

“No, I mean—”

“The part where I asked you to marry me? As soon as would be practicable?” 

“Yes, that part.” 

“Would you give me your hand?” He held his out, so I placed one of mine in it. Arthur turned it palm up, and then he placed a gold ring in the center. “Does that answer your question?” 

I studied the ring lying on my palm. It was not a plain band, but looked like three strands of gold braided together. Like I wore my hair. 

“I hope it fits,” he said. “I sent to Denver to have it made almost two weeks ago. It’s a betrothal ring. If your answer is still yes, I’d be proud for you to wear it.” 

I slipped Arthur’s ring onto the proper finger. “It is a little loose, but I do not mind.” 

“We can have it adjusted. Or you can wear it loose until we replace it with a wedding ring.” 

“Weeks ago, already, you sent for it?” 

“I picked it up from the depot last Sunday. But I didn’t have it with me the other night, so… do you like it?” 

“It is perfect, exactly the betrothal ring I would choose myself. But, then… you knew, even before the mine, that you wished…” 

“Wished to marry you?” He studied me, looking serious and thoughtful. “I’ve known that a long time, Marta Beckmann. Your leaving to open your bakery gave me hope, strange though that may sound.” 

A great heaviness lifted from me. “Then, it is all right for me to speak of this to other people?” 

“What? Yes, of course. You haven’t told anyone? Not even Jakob?” 

“Oh, no, Jakob heard. He was awake that night. But for anyone else, I was waiting. To be sure.” 

“Be sure, then. Tell anyone you want. As far as I’m concerned, our wedding is only waiting for one thing.” 

“What is that?” 

“The answer to a telegram. And that’s all I’ll say, so it’s no good trying to wheedle it out of me.” 

“I do not wheedle.”

Arthur Wendell laughed softly. “No, you don’t.” He pretended to frown. “You don’t kiss your fiancé often enough, either.” 

“Perhaps it is because my fiancé is ill in bed with a concussion and many bruises.” But I leaned over and kissed him. Gently, of course. “Now, drink your broth. I will be back for the mug soon.” I left him grumbling about broth with nothing to chew and kisses that did not last long enough. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Forty-Seven 

 

 

I closed Arthur’s door behind me and stepped across the hall to Alex’s room. For once, the drapes were pulled away from the windows there, letting in the golden light of evening. “Time for your dinner, Alex.” I spoke brightly, for he had been irritable and sour when we had brought his luncheon up. 

“As long as it’s not broth, I’m glad to hear it.” 

“It is broth. I am sorry.” 

“Broth, broth, always broth. Couldn’t it be bread tonight?” 

“Doctor Hinton says you may try soft bread with your tea for breakfast tomorrow. If you finish your broth now.” 

“You could sneak me some bread to go with it.” 

I tried to look stern. “You know I could not, and I would not.” 

The doctor had allowed us to gently raise Alex’s head enough that he could sip from a spoon. I sat down and lifted a spoonful of broth to his lips. 

Alex swallowed obediently. “I see you’ve acquired something new.” 

I could not for a moment think what he meant. He nodded at my left hand, and then I knew that he referred to my ring. 

“Ahh. Yes, that is true.”  

“Should I congratulate you?” His voice remained quiet and smooth, but his eyebrows drew down in distaste. 

“You may.” 

“You’re marrying Wendell.” 

I lifted the spoon to his lips again. “I am.” I had been wondering how to tell Alex of my betrothal, and I was glad for my ring, even though it slid around on my finger. I would have to take it off before mixing bread so it would not slip off and be baked inside something. 

“Sort of a funny time to propose, isn’t it? With a house full of invalids, and him with a concussion.” 

“You are wrong if you think that he asked me to marry him because his mind is not clear, or if he thought I would be more likely to agree because I feel sorry for him.” 

“No, I meant…” He stopped there and swallowed more broth instead of finishing his words. 

“Your own mind is not so clear yet, so I think I should accept your congratulations and let that be all. Before you create any more suspicions in your own mind, or speak them to others, I will tell you that Mr. Wendell had asked for my hand in marriage already before he was injured.” 

“Oh. I see. Well, I hope you’ll be very happy.” 

“Thank you. I hope that too. I do not know of anyone who wishes to be unhappy. Do you?” 

He turned his face away. 

“And now, I think we should be speaking about something else.” 

“Hmm.”

“I have something for you. Finish this broth, and then I will give it to you.” 

He looked at me again. “You said no bread, but how about pie?” 

“No. But the time for pie will come.” 

“Not soon enough.” 

I searched the room for another subject that would distract him. “You have had one wish granted, at least. That should make you glad.” 

“What wish?”

“To see inside this room.” 

“Oh, that.” He grimaced. “I might go crazy staring at these horrible vines. They run around and around the room, and I can’t find where some of them start or end.” 

“I would feel the same. I will see if we can find time to paint the walls soon. Maybe Peter and Emily would do this.” I pointed at the wrought iron stairs which spiraled so elegantly up through the ceiling. “Have you learned what is up there too, now?” 

“No. I didn’t want to mention it to my parents.” 

“Ahh. Because you did not speak to them of your idea that there was gold hidden here.” 

“It does sound ridiculous now.” 

“Finish this broth, and then I will go up there for you.” 

“Really? Well, spoon it up faster.” Alex swallowed broth like he had entered an eating contest and was determined to win.  

Once it was gone, I set the mug and spoon aside. From my apron pocket, I pulled out the little bag Guan Jin had given me. “This is yours.” I held it up where he could see it. 

“Is it…” 

“Guan Hai found it. He recognized it as having belonged to your brothers.” 

“Have you opened it?” 

“No, but I will now.” I laid the heavy little bag on my lap and unwound the string that tied it closed. Then I reached inside and felt rough chunks of rock. I pulled out three of them. They were a dull brown, with flecks that caught the light, and heavier than an ordinary piece of stone. 

“Is it gold?” Alex sounded breathless. 

“I do not know.” I held up the pieces where he could be seeing them. “Is it? It does not look like gold to me.” 

“I think it is. My father would know.” 

“Well, then, you should show it to him.” I put the pieces back inside the bag and tied it again. “I will leave this here, and you can speak to your father about it.” 

“Some of it is Jakob’s.” 

“Yes, he told me it would be. When you know how much it is worth, you can divide this with him.” 

Alex held my gaze. “Then I was right about one thing. My brothers did find gold.” 

“Yes.” I put the bag on his table. “Mrs. Craig told me, when I first came here, that gold is trouble. That it takes hold of a person’s mind. I think you should shake your mind free of this, or find someone who will help you do so if you cannot free it yourself. Open your eyes and see the real world around you instead of dreaming of gold, gold, gold.” 

Alex scowled.

“I have heard your sighing and seen how you close your eyes to your mother and father. Stop that. See them. Almost, they lost their last son. Let them hold you close in their hearts, even if they cannot embrace your body right now. Do not always be wishing for things to be different. Not when you have so much that is good in your life already.” 

“I never took you for a scold.” 

“I think you are needing a scolding. Because you are my friend, I am reminding you of your blessings, in case you are thinking you can be feeling sorry for yourself that you must lie here and drink broth and look at ugly flowers and vines. Or if you are upset because I am marrying Mr. Wendell. I think you need the reminding.” 

“Enough.” He turned his face away again. 

“Very well.” I stood up and crossed to the spiral staircase. It curved up and up, taking me through the ceiling into the room above. A matching metal railing around this hole at the top kept people from tumbling accidentally down it from above. 

 

 

I stepped out into a ghostly world of light and shadow. White sheets lay draped over several large and strange objects. Tall windows with no curtains let in the golden sunlight. From the windows inside the curved top of the tower, I could see Lonely Lake. 

Alex called, “What’s up there? Marta?” 

“Things that are covered with sheets.”  

“What sorts of things?” 

I peeked under the sheet that covered a tall, pointed object near the windows. An artist’s easel. Another sheet covered a comfortable chair. A third was draped over an empty table. The room’s walls, ceiling, and floor were white. In full sun, it must be almost as bright inside as outside. I called down, “Old things. A chair, a table, an easel for painting. Nothing so important.” A low bookshelf built under one window had large books, some bigger even than Arthur’s ledger. “Also, more books. I can bring you some.” I pulled a few out and blew the dust from their covers. Books of paintings, they were. So, now I knew where Arthur had gotten the book with the pictures of our mountains back home. 

There was only one real painting in the room: an unframed canvas leaned against the wall near the little railing around the stairway hole. The canvas had its back to the world, but I decided that, since I had been curious about the rest, I should look at it too. Then I could give Alex a full inventory of the room and he would have no reason to dwell on it anymore. 

The top of the painting came higher than my waist. I turned it around slowly so I would not hit it against the railing. 

It was a portrait of Arthur Wendell before the bear attack. I had always known he would have been a handsome man, one that women would watch the way men watched me. But I had never imagined enough, I saw now. His face had been as beautiful as mine, in a masculine way, with a strong and wild beauty. His expression in the painting held much pride. It was clear that he knew how handsome he was, and he dared anyone not to gaze at him in awe. 

I turned the painting back around and leaned it against the wall once more. That Arthur Wendell looked like he needed to learn much about people and about life. I preferred the one I knew. 

I carried three books back down with me. Alex might enjoy to go through them with the help of his mother or father. One had lifelike paintings of birds and animals, another had landscapes, and a third had famous masterpieces from long ago. I thought it strange that Sarah Dixon would have left them here when Arthur ended their engagement. Perhaps they had been gifts from him, and she had no longer valued them. 

But Alex was asleep when I reached his room. I picked up the empty bowl and settled the books on the little table instead. They were the only treasure the tower room had held after all. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Forty-Eight 

 

 

On Monday morning, Peter drove a wagonload of laundry down to town. Dr. Hinton rode on the seat beside him, with Andreas Kirchoff cushioned in the wagon bed by laundry and many pillows. Andreas had fretted so much over being away from his wife and children that Dr. Hinton decided he would heal more quickly at home. The doctor promised to come back up the next day to check on his remaining patients, and left us with instructions on food and care for each of them. 

Before they left, Peter and Dr. Hinton helped Jakob get up off the mattress on the floor for the first time. They eased him through the doorway of the little dining room where he and I slept still and settled him in a chair near a kitchen window, with his broken leg out straight before him on a low bench. 

“Who knew I’d ever be so tired from getting out of bed?” Jakob said when the doctor had finished adjusting his leg on the bench. I knew he was glad to be up and in a chair before Polly Ames arrived. 

Maggie and I laughed and joked with Jakob after Peter and Dr. Hinton departed. She and I busied ourselves making up breakfast trays for invalids and guests, and Jakob dozed a little in his chair. I could see he was more tired even than he had admitted. Healing a broken bone is not such easy work. 

With several days of practice, Maggie and I had found the most efficient way to pack food and dishes onto trays so we did not have to climb the stairs too often. Maggie would put all the food on one tray, and I would bring another with plates and bowls, cups, and silverware. One trip up the stairs for each of us with the heavy trays, and everyone was provided for. 

Once we had finished serving out the breakfast, Maggie and I took a short break with raisin buns and cups of coffee before we washed dishes. Jakob woke up from his small nap in time to join us. He took his first bite, and went back to watching out the window while he chewed it. I knew he was waiting for Polly to arrive, even though it was much too soon for Peter to have driven all the way to town, taken Andreas Kirchoff to his house, and then taken the laundry to the Lings. “That’s strange,” he tried to say around the mouthful of bun. 

“Such manners,” I pretended to scold him. “Chew and swallow before speaking, the way I know our mother has taught you.” 

He swallowed. “Peter’s coming back.” 

“Already?” Maggie opened the back door. “What’s happened now?” Through the doorway, I saw Peter ride up on a dun horse that I thought was the same I had hired from the livery stable for the long ride to the mine. He slid to the ground before the horse had quite stopped. 

“What is it?” Maggie rushed to him. 

“Telegrams!” He pulled two yellow papers from his shirt pocket. “Telegraph man found me before I even dropped off the washing. Dr. Hinton said he’d take care of that so I could come right back up. This one’s marked ‘urgent.’” 

These could not be telegrams for us, could they? Something from home? If Vater sent us telegrams, they would be most likely the news that Mutti had passed from this life to the next. But why would he send two? 

Maggie took the telegrams. “Yes, that one does say it’s urgent. I’ll take it right up to Mr. Wendell. Well done, then, Peter.” 

“I promised I’d get the horse back right away. Should I go?” 

I was so happy to hear that at least the urgent telegram was not for us, I wanted to reward Peter somehow. I snatched a raisin bun from my plate. “Here, Peter, have this first.” 

“Jakob and Marta?” Maggie said. 

“What?” my brother and I answered together. 

“This one’s for you.” She held out the second telegram. I took it, but I could not bring myself to be opening it. Instead, I brought it slowly to Jakob. 

Jakob did what I could not. He unfolded the paper and read aloud, “Gott sei Dank, Mutti spricht.” 

“Oh!” I cried. “Oh, thank you! Thank you!” I sank to my knees on the floor, weak with the sudden relief. I leaned against Jakob’s good knee. “Danke, danke himmlischer Vater!” My eyes closed and I prayed a silent stream of joyful thanks. 

Maggie asked, “Why, what is it?” 

Jakob’s voice was hoarse and unsteady. “Our mother can speak again.” 

When I opened my eyes, tears washed down my cheeks. “God be thanked. She will be getting better. She is already getting better.” I could not dream of finer news to be contained in a telegram. I knew Mutti might never be wholly well, but if she could speak—that seemed to me the largest hurdle to overcome. Not being able to speak must have been harder than not being able to read, for it would cut you off from the world so completely. But, now, who knew what else within her might heal, with time. 

Maggie shooed Peter away to return the borrowed horse. “I’m so glad for you, both of you,” she told us. “But this telegram says it’s urgent. I should take it up to Arthur.” 

“No need.” There stood Arthur Wendell in the dining room doorway. “I heard Peter ride up, and I hoped… but, Marta, did I hear you say your mother can speak again?” 

“Yes, yes!” I still was leaning on Jakob’s knee, too happy to wipe away my tears, and too wobbly from the joy to stand. 

“What a blessing.” His smile was meant for my brother as much as for me, but it made me warm and light inside, even happier than before. 

“Here, then.” Maggie gave Arthur his telegram. 

He opened it, scanned it, and said, “Jakob? I’ll need your help again.” 

I glanced at my brother, confused. How could he be helping Mr. Wendell with a telegram? And what did ‘again’ mean? 

Arthur crossed the kitchen and gave it to Jakob. 

Jakob’s smile widened while he scanned this message. “Shall I translate it aloud?” 

Arthur helped me to rise and then tucked me close to his side, one arm around my waist. “Now I’m ready,” he told Jakob. 

“It says, ‘You have my permission to marry my daughter Marta, and Mutti and I give you both our blessings.’” 

I could not speak. I looked up at Arthur, my eyes filling with fresh tears. 

“Well,” he said, “I told you I was waiting for a telegram. You set the date and I’ll be ready.” 

“The first Sunday in September, then.” 

“September? That’s too long!” he protested, but I could see he was only pretending to be upset. “Why that particular day?” 

“Because it is my birthday, and then we will always remember the day we were married. And because it will give Jakob several weeks to heal his leg. And because it gives us time to ask the minister from Denver if he will come to perform the service.” 

“All right, that makes sense.” 

“And because that will give me time to make my bakery a success. I will be keeping my bakery, yes?” Now that Mutti was getting better again and would not need so much medicine and care, the money I earned with my bread, plus Jakob’s gold from Alex’s mine—all that would help Vater get his own bakery back even more quickly than we had hoped. 

“Of course.” 

“Then I will figure out, during those weeks, which days are my busiest and which I do not have so much business. Then I can spend some days more at the bakery, and the others more here…” 

“…at home,” Arthur ended for me. 

“Yes, at home.” I looked at Jakob and Maggie, both smiling at us with so much real joy. And I saw with fresh eyes the truth that God works in every small and large thing for the good of those who love and follow Him. Even broken hearts, broken dreams, and broken bodies, ruined by the sinful world and sinful people around us—even those, God could work with to bring about good for His people. 

 

Brötchen 

(German breakfast rolls) 

 

Makes 8 rolls

 

3 cups all-purpose flour 

1 teaspoon salt

1/4 teaspoon sugar 

2 teaspoons active dry yeast 

1 1/4 cups warm water—divided 

 

Add yeast and sugar to 1/4 cup of warm water. (See note 1 below.) 

 

Stir together salt and flour in a large mixing bowl. Slowly add the water and yeast mixture while you stir. Once all the water is added, get your hands into the dough like Marta and combine the ingredients by gently kneading the dough until it forms a ball that doesn’t stick to the sides of the bowl. (See note 2 below.) If the dough is crumbly, add more water one teaspoon at a time. If it’s too wet and sticky, add a little bit more flour. You should end up with a ball of dough that is not sticky to the touch, but if you press your thumb into it, the dough will rise up again and fill the dent you made. 

 

Cover the bowl with a clean towel and place it in a warm spot with no drafts for at least 75 minutes to allow the dough to rise. (See note 3 below.) 

 

Once the dough has risen to be about one and a half times as big as it started out, sprinkle some flour onto a clean countertop or other sturdy flat surface. Place the dough on that and knead it about twenty times, or for about two minutes.  

 

Cut or pull the dough into eight equal pieces. Roll each piece on the counter or between your hands until it is basically round. Or you can pretend the dough has four corners and tuck them down under the bottom to make a rounded roll that way. Place your rolls on a baking sheet you have lined with parchment paper (waxed paper works okay if you don’t have parchment paper). 

 

Slice each of your rolls one time through the top, not quite halfway deep. Then cover them again and let them rise for another 15 minutes. 

 

Preheat your oven to 420 degrees Fahrenheit. To make your rolls golden and crusty, place a metal or glass pan filled with water onto the bottom rack of your oven. This will create a steamy environment that will give your rolls an amazing texture.  

Bake the rolls on the middle rack for 15 to 20 minutes, until golden brown. Remove from the oven and let cool slightly. You can enjoy Brötchen warm or cold. If you keep them in an airtight container, they will stay good for a day or two. 

 

If you’re baking for a crowd, you can double this Brötchen recipe without making any changes to it. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

NOTES

 

1. Be careful not to make your water too hot because that will kill your yeast. Test the water on the inside of your wrist. If it doesn’t feel hot or cold, but feels like your body temperature, it is just right.  

 

2. Kneading means you fold the dough in half, press down gently on it to flatten it a little, then fold it in half the other direction, and repeat. Imagine you’re folding a towel, where you fold it one direction, then turn and fold again the other way. 

 

3. If it’s at least 70 degrees Fahrenheit in your house, it should rise fine on the counter. If it’s not at least that warm, then I suggest putting your covered bowl of dough into a cold oven, then adding a casserole dish or cake pan filled with boiling water to the oven and closing the door. The hot water will raise the temperature of the oven just enough to encourage your dough to rise, but it won’t be hot enough to kill your yeast. 

 

 

 

 

 

German Bread

(The kind Arthur Wendell liked best.) 

 

Makes two loaves 

 

1 1/2 cups milk 

1/2 cup butter—room temperature 

1/2 cup sugar 

1 teaspoon salt 

4 1/2 teaspoons active dry yeast 

1/4 cup warm water 

2 eggs—beaten  

6 cups flour 

 

Scald the milk. That means heat it in a small sauce pan on the stove over a medium-low heat just until tiny bubbles appear around the rim of the pan. 

 

Remove milk from heat. Stir in the butter until melted, then stir in the salt and sugar. Let this cool to body temperature—about 15 minutes. 

 

Dissolve the yeast in warm water. (See note 1 above.) 

 

Measure the flour into a large bowl. Add yeast and water, beaten eggs, and scalded milk. Make sure your milk has cooled until it only feels warm because hot milk will kill your yeast! Mix together and knead lightly for two minutes. (See note 2 above.) 

 

Place your ball of dough into a greased bowl and cover. Let rise until doubled, about 90 minutes. (See note 3 above.) 

 

Cut dough into two equal parts and place into two greased loaf pans. Cover and let rise again for 30 minutes. 

 

Bake at 375 degrees Fahrenheit for 30 to 35 minutes, until golden brown. Resist the urge to cut open the hot loaves and let them cool for at least 15 minutes before devouring. 

Discussion Questions 

 

1. What elements of “Beauty and the Beast” did you notice in My Rock and My Refuge? 

 

2. Did you have a favorite character? How about a least-favorite character? 

 

3. Did you have any guesses about why Mr. Wendell kept those rooms locked? 

 

4. What did you think of Marta’s attitude toward her beauty? 

 

5. There are several sets of siblings in this book. Compare the different sibling relationships. How do those affect the characters and their actions? 

 

6. Do you believe in luck? 

 

7. What are some of your gifts and talents? How are you using them? 

 

8. My Rock and My Refuge also contains elements of Jane Eyre. If you are familiar with that story, did you notice any similarities between the two books? 

Suggested Reading 

 

If you would like to learn more about the lives of Chinese immigrants in the Old West, I recommend these books as a good place to start. 

 

 

 

For younger readers: 

 

Asian-Americans in the Old West by Gail Sakurai, Children’s Press, 2000. 

 

Prairie Lotus by Linda Sue Park, Clarion Books, 2020. (Fiction) 

 

Which Way to the Wild West? by Steve Sheinkin, Roaring Brook Press, 2009. 

 

 

 

For teens and adults: 

 

An Illustrated History of the Chinese in America by Ruthanne Lum McCunn, Design Enterprises, 1979. 

 

The Old West: The Forty-Niners by William Weber Johnson, Time-Life Books, 1974. 

 

The Old West: The Miners by Robert Wallace, Time-Life Books, 1976. 

 

The Old West: The Railroaders by Keith Wheeler, Time-Life Books, 1973. 

 

On Gold Mountain by Lisa See, Vintage Books, 1995. 

 

The Poker Bride: The First Chinese in the West by Christopher Corbett, Atlantic Monthly Press, 2010. 

Acknowledgements 

 

I wrote My Rock and My Refuge for the glory of God and for the benefit of my neighbor. God blessed me with the ability and determination to make up stories, and I write them down to share some enjoyment, entertainment, and maybe a little education with my neighbor, which is you! To God alone be the glory. 

 

My husband Larry puts up with my late nights at the keyboard and all my muttered complaining about fictional people who aren’t behaving the way I want them to. My kids are my Ideal Readers and keep me writing by asking when they’ll ever get to read my new book. Thank you, Mouselings! 

 

Deborah Koren keeps me sane. She also kicks me when I get lazy, cajoles me when I get discouraged, and edits my lumps of raw story ore into something shiny and beautiful. I couldn’t do this without you, Pard. Thank you. 

 

Many thanks to my sensitivity readers, Charmaine, Trinity, and Lilly. Your generosity in sharing your wisdom, knowledge, and experience with me makes this book so much richer. 

Erika Ohlendorf created her most beautiful book cover yet for this book. I don’t know how she manages to evoke westerns and fairy tales so well in one image, and I am forever in awe of her talents. Thank you once again, dear friend and sister! 

 

Dr. Ray Ohlendorf provided me with theological guidance for some of Marta’s deeper conversations. Any mistakes Marta makes are my fault, not his. Thanks, Dad! 

 

My thanks to Elisabeth for her help with German language and culture, and to Charity for her help with Colorado topography and weather. Any errors or inaccuracies that may remain are my fault and not theirs. 

 

And I owe a huge debt of gratitude to my beta-readers and proof-readers: Eva-Joy, Jennifer, Alura, Beverly, Sam, Sadie, and Abby. I couldn’t have done this without you, my friends.  

 

Lastly, thank YOU for reading this book! Thank you for sharing my stories with friends and leaving reviews for my books. Your encouragement is more important to my writing process than you know! Vielen Dank!  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Turn the page to read an excerpt from 

One Bad Apple, 

Rachel Kovaciny’s retelling of 

“Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs.” 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

One Bad Apple

by Rachel Kovaciny 

 

Chapter One

 

 

“He’s the one.” Mrs. Mallone pointed a slender brown finger at me. “Take him away. He did this. He took my husband from me.” She seemed to choke on the words. “And my daughter.” 

“She was your stepdaughter,” I corrected her. No one heard me over the clamor raised by all those around us. Everyone either burst out weeping afresh or discussed Mrs. Mallone’s words and what they should do about them. About me. 

My sisters and little cousins huddled in shocked silence near me, away from the mourners, at the edge of the camp. As if they were somehow guilty too, because they happened to be related to me. 

Me, the orphan boy about to get hauled away for the deaths of a righteous old man and the kindest girl who ever walked these trails to the west. 

Where was Jacob? I looked around, trying to see beyond the edges of the crowd. Where could he be? 

Sanderson stepped toward me, away from Mrs. Mallone. “I’ll see he gets what he deserves. Don’t you worry.” 

Mrs. Mallone gave herself over to her grieving and sank down on the ground, her anguish louder than the rest. She was the widow, after all. Only right she should cry the loudest. Folks would expect it. 

Sanderson pulled my arms behind my back and slid a coil of rope over my right hand. 

“I didn’t do this.” I swiveled my head around so I could see him. “It’s all a mistake!” A new fear gripped my fourteen-year-old mind tighter than Sanderson could ever bind my hands. What if he took me away too soon? Before the burying? 

“I didn’t do this!” I screamed so loudly that the gathered people looked my way. They’d heard me even over all that mournful noise. 

All the faces I could see were varying shades of brown. Some so light you could almost call them white, and some so dark they did look truly black by comparison. But the only white faces there were mine and Sanderson’s. And my sisters’ and cousins’, of course. 

Sanderson looped the rope around my left hand and yanked it so tight it bit into my wrists and threw me off balance, making me stumble backward. 

My sisters began crying when they realized I was about to be dragged off to jail, and my little cousins joined them. Why were my own eyes dry? Seemed like everyone I knew was crying, all except me and Jacob. Where was Jacob? 

I wondered how long it would take Sanderson to finish tying my hands. If he would haul me away to jail right then and there. Or did he intend to take me out of earshot and rid this earth of me? 

The idea of dying didn’t scare me as much as the thought of missing the burying. I just had to be there for it. Otherwise, though the truth would come out clear and loud without me, it would do me no good at all. 

Men stood knee-deep in the graves, still digging. Two graves, with about a hundred colored people clustered around them. And us. 

Why did graves always come in pairs? First both my parents, years ago, then my aunt and uncle last week, and now Hopeful and her father. Only a week between funerals, I realized with a shiver. Two graves ended this story, just as two graves had begun it. 

But we’d had to dig those first ones ourselves. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Don’t miss the rest of the  

Once Upon a Western series! 

 

 

Fairy tales retold as non-magical Christian fiction with an Old West setting. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs”…re-imagined... 

 

When a wagon train of Black pioneers rescues the seven orphaned Dalton cousins from the side of the trail, it seems like an answer to their prayers. As they roll west toward Kansas, fourteen-year-old Levi Dalton is dazzled by the beautiful healer, Mrs. Mallone. Her knowledge of medicines inspires Levi to want to become a doctor. Maybe he can save others from dying of fevers like his folks did.

But Mrs. Mallone's stepdaughter, Hopeful, warns Levi not to become too attached to the healer. Levi dismisses her warnings and his own misgivings until the day he sees something dreadful.

Levi knows he needs to tell someone what he’s seen before it’s too late. But will anyone believe the story of a fourteen-year-old orphan? Will anyone stand up to evil, no matter how beautifully it’s packaged? 

 

“Twelve Dancing Princesses”…re-imagined... 

 

Fifty dollars just for asking a few questions? Jedediah Jones figures it must be his lucky day. What dancing and doughnuts have to do with anything, he neither knows nor cares. He’s only interested in earning that money so he can finally eat something other than the apples he's been living off for days. Once his stomach and his pockets are filled again, he plans to move on. 

 

But answering the advertisement plunges him into a forest of painted trees, twelve pretty sisters, trouble, and more trouble. And, yes, doughnuts. So many doughnuts. 

 

Can Jedediah Jones solve the mystery and earn that fifty dollars when the whole town has failed? Or will the twelve sisters lose their family's business no matter what he does?