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THAT EVENING LENA HANDED the second volume of Ivanhoe to Evan, giving the excuse that her throat was a little sore. He settled himself in his usual chair while Lena disappeared into the kitchen.
“Oh yes, we stopped last night at this wonderful passage. Then we all got carried away with a discussion about its meaning.” He laughed lightly, then repeated the lines. “' He that does good, having the unlimited power to do evil, deserves praise not only for the good which he performs, but for the evil which he forbears.'“
Bart summed up the passage in a few words. “We all are pretty rotten folks, except for rare moments when we choose to do something selfless, which ain't that often.”
Jessie passed him an incredulous look.
“Easier to kick a man in the teeth than give him a hand up out of the mud.” All eyes turned to Carrick who had given his unique and succinct summary. “What?”
“You! You been listening,” his brother said, surprise evident in every feature.
“Well, yeah. What 'ya think I've been doin'?
Jessica flapped her hands at the men, shushing them. “We already been down this path! Let's get on with it. I'm worried about Rebecca. I just know she's gonna' get her heart broke.”
“Who loves who?” Bart asked, his face a blank.
“Why she loves Ivanhoe, of course!”
“She does?” Bart asked.
As Evan listened to their banter, he couldn't help but smile at the transformation in this house of men in just a few short weeks. Where most nights they all closed themselves into their rooms and fell into their beds in exhaustion, now they were engaged in conversation, laughing, joking, at times even debating. It occurred to him that men just didn't behave this way naturally. Lena had drawn it out of them and in the process knit them together, almost, he thought, like family.
While the banter continued, Evan watched Lena emerge from the kitchen and without turning her face to the group quietly slip upstairs. He wanted to call after her, sit her down, and explain what exactly Vicki was to him—but a very stubborn part of him rankled at the thought of being forced to defend his innocent friendship. He'd done nothing wrong and if she would so quickly judge him, then what value was there in her opinion, feckless as it was?
For the next few days, the skies remained clear, the temperatures mild—mild enough to finish insulating the chicken coop and chop more wood. Lena made a trip into town to try two more shops in hopes of locating some staples like flour and sugar. Each time she was told the same thing. They were waiting for the next shipment from Ketchum.
Walking through town she passed far too many men lounging around, men who were hoping for the mining company to work out their difficulties back east and restart work in the mine. She also overheard one man talking about word he'd received about new discoveries farther north in Stanley Basin. He went on to suggest it might be a good time to head up before the word got out.
She slowed her pace in hopes of hearing more of their conversation but they'd stepped into a side street, their conversation trailing with them. An unpleasant churning in her stomach made her wish she'd stayed at the house and sent Jessie out on this fruitless mission. At the sound of someone calling her name, she turned. From across the street, she saw Evan and Daniel emerging from the bakery. Daniel clutched a large paper bag and wore a wide smile. He called to her again. “Miss Sommer, come have a sweet bun!”
Hesitating for just a moment, she crossed the quiet street to them. She needed something to lift her spirits. “Those look delicious!” She removed her glove, accepting the confection.
“The baker is closing his shop today and is selling everything half-price! We made out pretty good, Mr. Hartmann and I. Good, ain't they?” Daniel took another bite, giving her a perfect Tom Sawyer grin with sugar-sprinkled lips.
It was a priceless sight and one that made her forget her stress of moments earlier, including this new bit of information about the bakery closing. “Perhaps I should buy some for the men. Is there anything left?”
Daniel said, “Oh yeah! Plenty! Why I bet he baked enough to feed half of Sawtooth!”
That made her wonder if he might be willing to sell a little of his flour rather than tote it along with him. “Hmm. I think I should have a talk with the baker.”
“Do you need any help?” Evan asked after he'd swallowed down his last bite. “The boy and I could tote some things back to the house.
She considered his offer. Choosing reason, she accepted. “Can you wait for just a minute? I'll know if I could use your help after I speak with the baker.” She took a step to the door, then suddenly turned back.” Why aren't you in school, Daniel?”
Daniel's grin spread even wider. “Ain't no more school, miss!”
“Isn't, Daniel, there isn't any more school.” She blinked. “For goodness sakes, why not?”
“The teacher is packing up to leave with the Jamison family. They're all heading to Boise City. Guess Mrs. Jamison has had enough of the cold. I'll miss that girl of theirs though. She was sweet on me. I just know it.” He stuffed half of the next bun into his mouth, looking mournful.
“I heard that Mrs. Jamison was yearning for a bit more society life than Sawtooth can offer,” Evan added.
“But why take the school teacher?” Lena asked.
“Well, I think the Jamisons were paying most of her salary, and with them leaving . . .” He shrugged.
Lena stood there a while longer mulling over this new bit of news, hoping the recently consumed pastry would not further disturb her nervous stomach. She turned back to the shop, calling back over her shoulder, “I shouldn't be but a moment.”
As it turned out, the baker did indeed have two, twenty-five-pound bags of flour and one whole and one partial bag of sugar he'd rather sell than carry out with all his other goods. So, she enlisted Evan’s and Daniel's help to carry them.
“Would you like to stay, Daniel, and help me with a few chores? I'll fix you a nice lunch in exchange for your time.”
Daniel looked back at Evan, who nodded. “You can come up to the claim with me another time. Go on. Miss Sommer probably needs your help more than I do.” He left Daniel in the kitchen with Lena and her list of chores.
Lena put the boy to work covering the vegetable garden with straw and cleaning out the hen house again. Both chores she'd put off too long. Daniel surprised her later in the morning by chopping a substantial stack of kindling for her to keep at kitchen door where it would be sheltered from the snow.
For all his hard work, she rewarded him with a slice of ham on fresh baked bread. Jessie had gone a bit mad with all the flour on hand and baked an extravagant pile of sugar cookies. Lena sat across from him with a cup of coffee and one of Jessie's plate-size cookies.
“How long have you lived here, Daniel? Seems you know your way around very well.” Lena waited for him to swallow a sizable bite of sandwich.
“Hmm. It was the same year my mama died. So that'd make it . . .” He looked up at the ceiling, obviously doing some challenging mental math. “That'd make it three years past, about the same time as Mr. Hartmann I guess. Lots of folks started driftin' in about then.”
“Where'd you live before that?”
“Oh, here and there, mostly where the gold's showin' yellow. We've been in Nevada and over Boise way.” He took another bite of sandwich. “This is real good, Miss Sommer, but I can hardly get it down fast enough. Those cookies look even better! No offense meant to your cookin'.”
A smile hovered at her lips. “No offense taken.”
“It ain't bad driftin' around like we do. I get to take in some pretty sights, and most times I don't have to go to school like I did here.” He scowled before taking a long drink of water. “But it wasn't so good for Ma. She came down with consumption. It was bad. That was the first time I met Mr. Hartmann.”
“Oh?”
“Mmm.” He reexamined the ceiling. “That must have been over a year ago, I guess. Yup! Late spring.” He fell to his sandwich again as if forgetting his life history stories. Lena watched him, hopeful he'd come back to it without her asking.
“He's kind of weird.” He pushed his plate away and looked over at Jessie, cutting apples for a pie. “Can I have one of your cookies now, Miss Leach?”
Jessie answered by placing the full plate of cookies in front of him. “I told you before. Call me Jessie or call me Hey, but please don't call me Miss Leach. I can't tolerate the sound of that name.”
Daniel looked chagrined and passed her a crooked smile. “Okay. Hey, I thank you for the cookies.”
“You scamp!”
He closed his eyes and took a bite of soft sugar cookie. “That's real good!”
“Daniel, you were saying something about Mr. Hartmann being, ahem, weird.”
Jessie looked over her shoulder with an amused expression.
“Oh, Mr. Hartmann! Yeah! So, when my ma was ailing, and my pa was all twisted up about it, Mr. Hartmann came over and chopped us a whole season of wood. You know he did that even when he was working at the mine. Pa would come home from work only after spending a few hours over on Mill Street. But Mr. Hartmann would come to our place and chop wood.”
Lena gripped her cup tighter. “Is that so?”
“It's the honest to God truth.”
Jessie swung around from the counter giving the boy a stern look. “Daniel! I don't think your mama would want you usin' the Lord's name in vain like that!”
“Sorry, ma'am. It's what I hear's all.”
“That's an interesting story, Daniel. And I'm sorry for the trouble you've had, losing your mother like that,” Lena said.
The boy stared at the plate of cookies for some time. “Things ain't the same.”
“Are you all right?” Lena feared she might have stirred up sad memories.
“Fine, Miss Sommer. I was just thinkin' how much I'd like to have another cookie, but I think I might die if I did.” His voice was so mournful that Lena nearly laughed aloud, but she managed to stifle it by taking a drink of cold coffee. Jessie snorted without restraint.
