“Is that…?”
The words trailed from Abigail’s lips—emotionless, disbelieving. Papa cared about the mine. The people who worked in it were his friends. He would never have put their lives in jeopardy.
“This is your father’s lantern, is it not?”
Abigail tore her gaze from the horrible lettered truth and stared into Gavin Nichols’s compassionate eyes.
Swallowing hard, she plucked the words like cotton bolls from a dry field. “There must—be some—explanation.”
“I had hoped so myself.” Gavin grasped the lantern’s handle and replaced the lamp under the desk. Once it was out of sight, he folded his hands in his lap and sighed. “Believe me, Abigail, I looked for another explanation. I questioned the miners who were working that night—even went to a few who weren’t there, hoping I might be able to glean something that would hint to another possible cause. I found nothing.”
“Then you didn’t look hard enough.”
Despite her strong words, fear had begun to mingle with the desperation Abigail felt—fear that all the horrible things that had ever been said regarding her father’s future, and hers, were true. That neither of them would ever amount to anything, and her mother, whose family was wealthy beyond Abigail’s imagining, had made a terrible mistake in marrying him.
Abigail whirled away from Gavin, wishing she could just as easily turn from the lies slamming her in the face. At the door she paused, knowing that there was still one thing they had yet to discuss.
Reluctantly she turned. “About the cabin…”
An even deeper look of pity darkened his face, and somehow she knew she didn’t want to hear the answer.
“I’m sorry, Abigail,” Gavin said, shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his trousers. “I’m afraid I have more bad news.”
The early morning sun crested the mountains, its warm rays driving the chill from the livery. Nathan hustled to scrub the last bit of food scraps from the skillet he’d used to cook his breakfast before dunking the lot in a barrel of icy-cold water.
A passel of men from the mining company had arrived yesterday, all dressed in suits and sporting derbies. While the unexpected business meant his stable was full, it also delayed any extra work he’d hoped to accomplish on the lean-to he was building for himself and Lizzie. Plus, he couldn’t help wondering what the men were doing in Calico—or if their presence had anything to do with Abigail.
Nathan eyed the door to her cabin, worry knotting his gut. It had been two days—and she’d only ducked out a couple of times to fill the water bucket. Even her friend Caroline had been unable to coax her outside for more than a few minutes. Something was wrong, and more than likely it had to do with the men who’d ridden in on the row of quarter horses munching his straw.
In the corral Charlie brayed, bringing Nathan’s thoughts skittering back to the hungry mules.
He hitched up his pants and headed for the feed bin. “I’m comin’. Keep your harness on.”
“Pa?”
Lizzie scrambled from her blanket, bits of hay clinging to her tangled braids. It was Saturday, and Nathan had decided to let her sleep late. He plucked a piece of hay loose and then dropped to his haunches and wrapped her in a hug. “Morning, sweetheart.”
“Mornin’, Pa.”
“You hungry?”
She nodded.
“Good. Your breakfast is on the tack bench.”
She grabbed a stray lock of tousled hair and twisted it around her finger. “You goin’ to feed Charlie?”
“I’m on my way right now.”
“Can I help?” Her eyes wide in her round little face, Lizzie’s look turned pleading.
Though tempted to chuckle, Nathan resisted the urge and swiped his thumb down his daughter’s smudged cheek. Mud even dotted the hem of her dress. “Tell you what. You go get washed up and put on a clean dress, and then I’ll let you help me polish the bridles.”
Lizzie’s pink lips drooped into a frown. “I can’t put on a clean dress. I don’t have any, Pa.” She lifted both hands, palms up, and shrugged. “They’re all dirty.”
Nathan’s gaze bounced from her smudged toes to her grubby fingers. Charlotte would’ve been horrified to see her daughter in such a state. “Just wash up, then,” he said, swallowing his guilt. Patting Lizzie’s back, he added, “I’ll see about the laundering tonight.”
Her pout still in place, Lizzie shuffled off to do his bidding. At least he could be grateful for one thing—Charlotte could not have given him a more obedient child.
At the thought of his dead wife, a familiar ache throbbed inside Nathan’s chest. He turned from it and continued toward the feed bin. He’d really have to get a move on now, if he hoped to have enough daylight left after he finished his chores to be able to wash the few garments he and Lizzie owned.
By the time he’d finished oiling the leather harnesses for the mule teams, replenished the troughs with fresh water, and turned the horses into the corral for exercise, Nathan felt he’d gotten a decent jump on his workday. Now he’d find Lizzie and make good on his promise to let her help him polish the bridles.
Rags in hand, he headed toward the tack bench for a piece of lye soap and some beeswax. The soap and warm water would clean the bridles; the beeswax would polish and soften the cheekpiece and throatlatch. Lizzie, however, was nowhere in sight when Nathan reached the tack bench. Worse yet, her breakfast of bread crust and beans sat uneaten on her plate.
“Lizzie?”
Nathan shot a quick glance around the stable, nervousness setting his stomach to fluttering. Where could she be, and how long had she been gone?
Tossing the rags onto the bench, he hurried to the corral where he kept Charlie. The old mule lifted his shaggy head and blinked sleepily at him, as if surprised to see Nathan back so soon.
“Lizzie?” Nathan called again, this time cupping his hands to his mouth. The sides of the horse trough were damp where water had splashed, so he knew she’d washed up as he’d asked. In fact, the soap still lay in a frothy puddle where she’d left it when she finished.
“Lizzie!” Fear edged out every other emotion. In a town like Calico, it wasn’t only the wild critters and harsh conditions that could kill a person. Rushing around the side of the stable, Nathan stared across the street at the weathered sides of Belle’s Saloon. She wouldn’t have gone over there, not when he’d warned her time and again to stay away. Surely—
“Pa!”
Nathan’s heart jerked at the childish voice. Lizzie stood on Abigail’s porch with her hand extended above her head.
“Over here, Pa,” she yelled, adding a cheerful wave.
The nausea rolling in Nathan’s stomach fled, swallowed by a mixture of relief and irritation. He reminded himself, as he strode across the yard, that Lizzie was only a child. Still, anger over the fear she’d caused made his limbs shake.
Upon reaching the cabin, he dropped onto one knee and grasped her by the shoulders. “Do you know how worried I was? How many times have I asked you to never leave the stable without telling me where you’re going?”
Lizzie flinched at the sharpness of his tone, and tears filled her eyes. Tucking in her bottom lip, her chin trembled as she fought not to cry. “S–sorry, Pa.”
“It’s not safe, Lizzie. You shouldn’t wander off.” Fear flickered in her eyes. Feeling like a heel at having been the cause of her change in temperament, Nathan forced himself to calm down and wrapped his daughter in a gentle hug. Still, the father in him needed to remind her of the dangers outside their safe little world in the livery. He tucked his thumb under her chin. “Lizzie—”
The cabin door swung open. “Here you go. Milk to go with your pan—” Abigail broke off in midsentence. “Nathan. Hello.” One hand held a tin cup filled with milk while the other fluttered upward to smooth her hair.
Nathan rose and stood before her in awkward silence, unsure of what to say but suddenly glad that Lizzie’s little prank had brought him face-to-face with Abigail. The woman’s eyes were red-rimmed, and she had an air of weariness about her that tugged at hidden places deep inside his chest, but at least she looked strong—beautiful even—if a little pale against the stark black of her mourning dress.
“Abigail.”
Her name left his lips in a soft whisper. He hadn’t meant to make it sound so tender. It surprised her, too, judging by the way her eyes widened. He cleared his throat and dropped his gaze to Lizzie’s upturned face. “Sorry about the little one, here.” He patted the top of Lizzie’s head then smiled at Abigail. “Hope she hasn’t been a bother.”
“No bother. Lizzie and I were just having some breakfast together.” This time it was Abigail who cut her gaze away. She held the cup toward Lizzie. “Here’s your milk.”
“Lizzie.” Nathan directed a gentle scowl toward his daughter. “We’ve got plenty of food and milk over at the stable. You shouldn’t be asking Miss Abigail for any of hers.”
Lizzie grimaced. “Our milk is icky, Pa. Tastes like goats.”
“It’s from goats; it doesn’t taste like goats,” he corrected. “And it’s perfectly fine.”
Abigail smiled at Nathan. “It’s all right. I have plenty.”
Without further hesitation, Lizzie grabbed the cup and took a hasty swallow. Abigail gave an indulgent smile as Lizzie drew her sleeve across her mouth and then burped with satisfaction.
Abigail turned her gaze to Nathan. “Please don’t worry. The pancakes were nothing, and I have milk aplenty. Caroline and her family bring me whatever they don’t need from their cows. It’s almost more than I can use, and after everything you’ve done”—her voice dropped to a whisper—“well, I don’t mind.”
Nathan missed the warmth from her fingers the moment she pulled her hand away—and immediately felt awash with guilt. Charlotte had only been gone a little more than a year. He shouldn’t be missing any woman’s touch but hers. Besides, he hadn’t done a thing for Abigail except help to put her in the predicament she now faced. Troubled by what Anson would think, he shot a glance toward the wood box next to the cabin.
“Your firewood’s low. I’ll take care of it this evening.”
Abigail didn’t offer her thanks. Instead, she looked frozen. Had he said something wrong? Finally she gave a weak smile and waved her hand.
“Oh, don’t bother. It’s just me, after all, and the weather hasn’t turned cold enough to warrant a fire every night.”
Prodded by Anson’s memory, Nathan shook his head. “It’ll turn soon enough. Best if you’re prepared before winter hits. When I have time, I’ll see about fixing the holes in your chinking, too.”
He nodded toward the cabin walls, where small patches of light filtered through the gaps between the logs. Nathan had noticed them before, but with cold wind and rain threatening, something would have to be done to keep drafts from chilling the house. Anson would have seen to it, had he lived. In his absence, Nathan would shoulder the responsibility.
Lizzie had finished with her milk. Nathan passed the cup back to Abigail and then took Lizzie’s hand. “I’ll be by this evening. Thanks for seeing to Lizzie.” He’d cleared the steps and started toward the livery with Lizzie in tow when Abigail’s voice stopped him.
“I can’t pay you.”
Glancing over his shoulder, he shrugged. “No pay necessary.”
“You don’t understand.” A light breeze ruffled the cotton fabric of her dress. She caught the apron tied around her waist and gripped it tightly in both hands. “I don’t have money to buy firewood—at least not right now. I intend to inquire around town this afternoon—to see if anyone has need of a seamstress.”
Shock plucked the words plumb out of Nathan’s head. Seeing the tension straining Abigail’s features, he barely noticed the tug Lizzie gave to his fingers.
“We goin’, Pa?”
Calico had begun to rouse. In the distance, a faint rumble spoke of charges being set off in the mine. Wagons and horses clopped noisily through town, and vendors began sweeping the boardwalks in front of their stores. No doubt Abigail didn’t need or want to discuss her business near the street where anyone could hear.
Nathan bent to Lizzie’s height. “Charlie is in the corral. Think you can fetch him some fresh straw? I’ll be along in a little bit.”
The freckles on her nose danced with her smile. “Yes, Pa.”
She scurried straight for the livery. Though she’d be away a piece, Nathan had a clear line of sight to the corral, and he’d be able to see if she got into trouble. Satisfied, he rejoined Abigail on the porch. “Mind if we sit a spell?”
Her face was red and she refused to look him in the eyes, but she sank onto the old stump Anson had used as a stool. Nathan took that as an invitation and sat on a second stump next to her.
“What happened? I thought you said you were going to speak to Nichols about Anson’s pay. I know it wouldn’t have been much, but it seemed as if you thought it would be enough to carry you for a while.”
Her shaking hands went to her temples, hiding her face from view. For a moment he thought she was debating whether to answer, until her throat worked to swallow several times. Nathan’s gut plummeted. She was fighting not to cry.
Nothing made him feel more helpless than a woman’s tears. Charlotte cried on occasion, sometimes for no reason at all, and Nathan never understood what drove it. This was different. In the short time he’d known Abigail, he’d come to learn that no small thing reduced her to tears.
Tugging a handkerchief from his pocket, he leaned forward and dropped it onto her knee. It was a pathetic effort, perhaps, but he was still far too conscious of his reaction from the last time they’d touched to risk further contact again. “What haven’t you told me, Abigail? Maybe I can help.”
She shuddered as she retrieved the handkerchief and pressed it to her nose. “At this point I doubt there is anything anyone can do, but I thank you for offering.”
“How do you know?”
“What?” She lifted tear-filled eyes.
Nathan gentled his tone. “How do you know I can’t help if you won’t tell me what’s wrong?”
“Nathan—”
“Your father helped me plenty when I first came to Calico. I owe him.”
The stark words hung in the air between them, but he refused to draw them back. Abigail might not want or need his help, but he was determined to at least try.
“It’s terrible,” she whispered at last, and then her voice fell so low that he strained to hear. Even the cicadas humming in the distance threatened to drown out her words. “Papa—it’s rumored it was his lantern that caused the explosion.”
The wind whistled through Nathan’s teeth as he sucked in a sharp breath. “I’ve heard no such rumor.”
“Me either.”
“Then why would you think such a thing?”
She dropped her hands to her lap, her fingers wringing the handkerchief. “I did speak to Gavin Nichols the other day. He told me about the gossip that’s been circulating. Said he thought I should know.”
Stunned, Nathan brought both hands to his head to help him think. Surely he’d misunderstood. He didn’t work the mines, but he knew the repercussions if what she said was true.
“Did he say how he knew?” Nathan lowered his hands and formed the words carefully.
Shame flooded her face. “He showed me Papa’s lantern.”
Nathan quickly thought through the events of that night and realized the truth immediately. His jaw tightened. “What else?”
“Isn’t that enough?”
“Not to destroy a man’s reputation. It’s true; we couldn’t find Anson’s lantern when we went back to the mine, looking for George Kennedy. We grabbed a couple of spare lights instead. Anson was human and he made mistakes, but there’s no way he would have been so careless as to cause the mine explosion. There has to be another answer.”
Gratitude softened Abigail’s brown eyes. Her fingers shook as she reached out to grasp his hand. “Thank you.”
The simple words, spoken so sincerely, filled Nathan with more pleasure than he’d felt in months.
“But until I can prove Papa’s innocence,” she continued, pulling her hand away, “I have to accept Mr. Nichols’s explanation whether I agree with it or not.”
Though he knew the answer, he still had to ask. “You don’t, do you? Agree, I mean?”
She shook her head. “Of course not. Papa was many things, but he was never careless—especially when it came to endangering another’s life.” She bit her lip, worry drawing a thin line between her brows. “Still, according to Mr. Nichols… Somehow, I’ve got to prove that Papa wasn’t at fault. Mr. Nichols offered to help, thank goodness, but I’ve been struggling for days just trying to figure out where to start.”
Nathan choked back an angry retort. He didn’t trust Gavin Nichols and wouldn’t put it past him to throw the blame on someone else to cover his own mistakes. Right now, however, his suspicions did Abigail no good. Tamping a rising sense of frustration, he inhaled deeply and let it go. “So how does all of this affect the money the mining company owes you?”
Abigail looked down at the porch floor. “Mr. Nichols said he had no choice but to keep Papa’s wages to help the families pay their doctor’s expenses.”
“They didn’t have doctor’s expenses. They all went to Mattie for treatment.”
“Except for Tom Kennedy.”
“His brother is alive because of Anson. I doubt that Tom would turn around and punish his daughter.”
Pain flashed across her features before she closed her eyes. In the moment it took for her to regain her composure, he studied the smooth planes of her face. Anson had always said she reminded him of his wife, Olivia, but Nathan recognized the curve of her chin and tilt of her nose. They were Anson’s.
Abigail walked across the porch and gripped the railing with both hands. Finally she sniffed and turned to face him. “There were also burial expenses.”
Hui. Shamed to admit he’d not thought of him, Nathan swallowed hard. “All right. Still, if you subtract—”
“I told Mr. Nichols to give whatever was left to the Chens.”
Of course. What was left to say? He let go a long sigh and rubbed his hands down his thighs. “You did the right thing.”
She searched his face earnestly. “You think so?”
It put her in a difficult financial position, but Anson would have been proud. He nodded. “I do.”
Her shoulders sagged, as though all of the tension seeped out of her body through her fingertips. “Thank you.”
While she sat again on the stump next to him, he fished for the words to ask his next question. “Where does this leave you with the cabin?”
She stiffened, tightening the knot in Nathan’s gut. “Rent was due on the first,” he said, frowning. “Surely Anson paid it?”
“Normally he would have,” she said, with a crack in her voice. Eyes pained, she leaned toward him. “But a few weeks back, Papa took one of the Oriental children to Los Angeles to see a doctor. He went to Mr. Nichols to ask for an extension on the rent, claiming he would catch up when he got paid. Mr. Nichols approved it.”
“You mean—”
“I will be fine for a little while. Mr. Nichols gave me until the end of the month to decide whether to stay or go. Said it was the least he could do. I have the money I saved before Papa…” Her face twisted into a mask of grief and worry, and she rubbed the weariness from her eyes with her palms. “Anyway, I’ll use the money I saved to pay this month’s rent. After that—well—I’ll worry about it when it gets here.”
Three weeks. That gave her no time to recover from the loss of her father and barely enough time to search for a way to support herself. He clenched his jaw, fighting a whirlwind of helplessness and anger. “I’m sorry, Abigail.”
She gave an almost imperceptible nod of her head, which was followed by a single tear that rolled down the smooth, rounded curve of her cheek and dripped off her chin. “It’s not your fault.”
Nathan disagreed. Cupping his fist in the palm of his other hand, he braced his elbows on his knees and brought his knuckles to his clenched lips. It was his fault, all of it, and once Abigail realized that, she’d probably never speak to him again.