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He frowned. If he really was a minister, he’d probably lecture her on being kind to strangers, respecting her elders, even though he could only be five or six years her senior. That was what ministers did, she’d learned from the few she’d met—criticize her, show her exactly how different she was, why she would never fit in with good society. She figured the best thing to do was let them go their own way while she went hers.
But this fellow didn’t show any sign of leaving. “I knew your brother well,” he said, voice soft. “Adam had honey-colored hair, just like you, and his eyes were lighter. He was a little shorter than me, but that didn’t stop him from fighting for his place or protecting his family. When Gap-Tooth Harding offered to buy you, every man in camp weighed in on one side or the other.”
Now Callie frowned. “You were at Vital Creek?”
“To my sorrow,” he admitted. “Scout Rankin and I had a claim at the opposite end of town from yours. I met Adam in a card game at Gillis’s. He cleaned me out.”
Just when she wanted to trust him! “Now I know you’re lying. Preachers don’t gamble.”
He smiled, and something inside her bubbled up as warm as a hot spring. “I wasn’t a preacher then.”
He wasn’t one now that she could see. Those rough wool trousers and caped duster looked warm, but they weren’t nearly nice enough to belong to a fancy minister. Ministers liked to show how important they were, how much better, smarter. If that was what it took to win God’s favor, she never would.
“Well, whatever you are,” Callie told him, “I’m not sure what to do with you.”
“I’d like to talk to you and your brothers.” He nodded toward Mica in the basket. “And your husband, of course.”
He wasn’t the first to assume Mica was her daughter instead of her niece, for all the differences in their coloring. She told him what she told the others. “I don’t have a husband.”
Again, she waited for the expected response—the gasp, the finger shaking, the prediction she would suffer for her sins.
Instead, his eyes widened. “Adam has a daughter? Where’s his wife?”
She could lie, claim Adam’s wife was in the house with a gun at the ready, but suddenly Callie felt as weary as this fellow looked. She jerked her head over her shoulder. “Buried over there. I’m in charge until Adam gets back.”
He moved closer yet, carefully, as if unsure whether she’d hit him or snatch up the baby and run. She considered doing both, but he was close enough that she could see the lines fanning out from the corners of his eyes. Worry lines, Ma had called them, and she’d had her share. What worried this man?
“That’s a heavy burden,” he murmured. “I can see why Adam wanted me to help.”
“Adam asked you to help?”
He nodded. She studied his face, but he didn’t avoid her gaze or blink rapidly like she’d known some men to do when lying.
She drew in a breath. “I wish he’d thought of us before hightailing it back to the gold fields the minute his wife Anna died of a fever. But you needn’t worry, mister. My brothers and I are handling things just fine. We’ll make it through until Adam gets back for the winter. If you see him before we do, just remind him that if he doesn’t live on his claim in the next two months, we could lose it.”
His face sagged, and he put a hand on her arm. “I’m sorry, Miss Murphy. Adam won’t make it back in time. He died three months ago. I only received word yesterday.”
* * *
There was no good way to say it. Even if he’d been a minister eight years instead of eight months, Levi thought he’d have stumbled telling Callie Murphy what had happened to her brother. Adam had been so alive, so feisty, so determined to strike it rich. It was hard for Levi to believe all that energy had been snuffed out.
“Are you sure?” he’d asked the two grizzled miners who’d stopped by Wallin Landing with the news and to bring him Adam’s belongings and the note to the Murphys.
They’d hung their heads, avoided his gaze.
“Surer than we wish we was,” one of the old timers gritted out. “He caught pneumonia and couldn’t fight it off. All that’s left of Adam Murphy now is a pile of regrets.”
Levi knew something about regrets.
He kept his hand on Callie’s arm now, ready to catch her if she fainted. She didn’t so much as sway. Her eyes, a mixture of blue and gray that reminded him of the swirling waters of Puget Sound, narrowed on him.
“Prove it.”
She spat out the words, as if he’d lie about anything so important. How ironic. He’d lied enough over the years, to escape punishment, to win something he’d wanted, to make himself appear more important. Now he was telling the truth, and she didn’t believe him.
“My horse is tied out front,” he said. “I have Adam’s letter in my saddlebag. Come with me, and I’ll give it to you.”
Her jaw worked as if she fought hard words. “I’m not going anywhere with you. And I don’t trust you out of my sight.”
She was either the most suspicious woman he’d ever met, or the wisest. She was also plenty brave, ready to lay into him with that stick. Having been raised in the gold camps and now living so far out, she probably had to take precautions. He hadn’t intended to look dangerous, but then, he’d used his boyish charm too many times in the past to think that danger couldn’t look pleasing.
“Then maybe I can help you until your brothers get back.” He bent to reach for the clothes, and she stepped in front of him.
“You want to help?” she challenged. “The pump’s been stuck for weeks. We have to lug all the water through the woods from the creek. Fix the pump, and we’ll talk.”
Levi straightened. “Fair enough.” He located the pump near the back of the cabin and went over to it. Easy enough to spot the problem. The device was orange with rust. He glanced up to ask her whether she had any oil, and words left him with his breath.
She’d picked up the baby and stood there, swaying from side to side, singing softly. The buckskin coat and trousers, so common on the gold fields, still hinted of a figure. The sunlight shafting through the forest sparked around her, sending gold skipping along her hair.
Levi turned his back on her. Oh, no. You have no business admiring Adam Murphy’s little sister. You have a lot of work to do before you’re fit to be a husband to any woman.
A movement in the bushes caught his eye, and a moment later two boys about eight years of age scampered into the clearing, dragging a burlap sack between them. The pair was identical, down to the dirt on their round cheeks and the mud on their worn boots. Sutter’s Mill Murphy and San Francisco Murphy. Back at Vital Creek, the miners used to make a game of guessing which boy was which.
“Look what we got, Callie,” one crowed.
“Old man Kingerly didn’t even try to stop us,” the other bragged.
Callie shot Levi a look before hurrying to meet them. “He agreed to give you that, didn’t he?” She tipped her head toward the house.
The closest boy glanced Levi’s way and stiffened, then elbowed his brother. The other looked toward Levi and dropped his corner of the sack.
“Sure,” he said. “Of course.”
“Who’s that?” his brother demanded.
“That’s Preacher Wallin,” Callie answered them. “He came to tell us something important. I think we should go inside to hear it.”
Her brothers exchanged glances, then the one retrieved his corner of the sack, and they dragged it toward the house. The shapes bumping against the material told him they had at least one pumpkin in the batch.
Callie followed them, baby up in one arm. The little one seemed to like him. She blinked big blue eyes surrounded by long black lashes and offered him a wide smile that revealed a set of four teeth. He remembered his oldest nieces being that age before he and Scout had set out to seek their fortune.
Regret stabbed him. He’d missed more than six years with his family chasing after something he had never needed. He’d thought striking it rich would give him standing, make him a man. He’d become a man all right, and not one his father would ever have wanted him to be. He would spend the rest of his life atoning for what he’d done on the gold fields. The Murphy family was only one step along the way.
Callie paused beside him as if she wanted to ask him something. She barely came to his shoulder, so he bent his head to give her his full attention. The blue-gray of her eyes was cool, assessing, as if she could see his darkest secret. He willed himself not to flinch.
She reached down, grasped the handle of the pump with her free hand and tried to yank it up. It didn’t move.
“Pump’s still broke,” she pronounced, straightening. She passed him for the door.
Levi was the last one inside. “The pump is rusted solid. Unless you have some oil and a wrench, it’s likely going to stay that way.”
She shrugged as if she didn’t care or doubted he would be of much use regardless. He suspected her nonchalance had more to do with the fact that she had no way to procure oil or a wrench.
In fact, she had no way to procure much of anything if the state of the cabin was any indication. It held a single room, though a ladder against one wall told of a loft overhead. Unlike his brothers’ sturdy cabins, this one was more crudely made. The logs hadn’t been seasoned properly, and the chinking was falling out in places, letting the sunlight spear through. The windows at the front and back held no glass; only shutters kept out the wind. The stone fireplace was barely big enough to keep the place warm. The shelves next to it listed, even though they held no more than a sagging sack of flour and some tough-looking carrots.
How could Adam have left his family in such dire straits?
A bedstead piled with quilts lay against one wall, with a plank table and benches near the fire. The boys dropped their sack by the table and climbed up on a bench. Callie, still holding the baby, went to stand at the head of the table. She frowned at Levi, before turning to her brothers. Her face softened.
“The preacher brought us news about Adam,” she said. “I warn you—it ain’t good.”
Her brothers’ eyes widened, and they looked to Levi.
He stepped forward until he stood at the end of the table. “I’m very sorry, boys. Your brother has passed on.”
They frowned in unison, mirror images of each other.
“Passed on to where?” one demanded.
“Were there better pickings there?” the other asked.
Levi’s heart tightened. “Much better pickings. Adam is in heaven.”
The first boy turned to his sister. “Where’s the Heaven strike? In Washington Territory?”
“Nah,” his brother scoffed. “It’s in Idaho, you dolt.”
The first boy scowled. Callie was regarding Levi, challenge in her eyes.
He squared his shoulders. “What I’m trying to say is that your brother Adam has died, boys. But he didn’t want you to worry. He asked me to take care of you, and I will. I want you all to come live with me.”
Chapter Two (#u52076679-b701-5138-ae23-b95a263f4e2e)
Callie was so shocked that she clutched Mica close to keep from dropping her. Live with him? Was he touched in the head?
Her brothers looked just as surprised, mouths hanging open, their normally busy bodies stilled. As usual, Frisco recovered first.
“Why’d we want to come live with you?” he demanded, hands braced on the table. “Callie takes care of us real good.”
“Always has,” Sutter agreed.
“Always will,” Callie promised them.
As if she thought so, too, Mica rested her head against Callie’s shoulder. Frisco and Sutter climbed off the bench and pressed against Callie’s side.
The preacher didn’t look dismayed to find them all ranged against him. He merely inclined his head.
“Your sister has done a good job,” he said, gaze moving from face to face. “But even Callie has to get tired once in a while.”
How did he know? She’d been so careful not to let her brothers see it. Neither of them knew the nights she broke down and cried, trying to think of a way to change their circumstances. She was up before they were, in bed long after they climbed to the loft. There weren’t enough hours in the day for tending to the claim let alone all the washing and cooking and cleaning.
Adam and Pa had both promised better things.
“Just you wait, Callie,” Pa would say, eyes bright and cheeks flushed like he was feverish. “One day you’ll dress in fine silks and live in a big house with servants to do all the work.”
He’d had a fever all right. Gold fever. This preacher seemed no different.
“We get by,” she told him, warmed by her brothers on either side. “What are you offering that’s any better?”
He took a step closer and spread his hands, as if intent on making his case. He had nice hands, strong-looking and not too soft, like he could wield a pick or shovel if he needed to. He was slender for a man, but those broad shoulders and long legs seemed made to crouch beside a stream for hours panning.
And when had she started judging men by their ability to hunt for gold!
“I have a solid house,” he said, “with a good roof and a big hearth.”
That would be nice. Frisco and Sutter kept having to reposition the tick they slept on to stay out of the drips from the roof when it rained.
“Our house is solid,” Frisco blustered.
The preacher had to know that was a lie, but he inclined his head again. “I also have a kitchen stove, plenty of food set aside for winter, a separate bedroom and a sleeping loft overhead.”
Her brothers brightened, but Callie had spotted the fly in the ointment. “Who do you figure’s sleeping in the bed?” she asked.
His brows shot up. Preachers—they never liked to talk about practical things, like sleeping arrangements or taking turns in the privy.
“You and the baby would have the bedroom,” he assured her. “I’ll bunk in the loft with the boys.”
Sutter and Frisco looked around her at each other, and she was fairly sure they didn’t like the idea of having the preacher so close at night. She’d heard them open the shutters in the loft after they were supposed to be asleep, the thud of their feet against the logs as they climbed down. And she’d stayed awake until she’d heard them climb back up again.
Still, she couldn’t believe the preacher would be so generous. “You’d take us into your own home,” she challenged. “People you barely know?”
He smiled. “I knew Adam. He saved my life once, gave me food when I was starving. I was his friend. That makes us friends, too.”
Friends, he said. She had had few over the years, young men her age mostly, and they’d quickly lost each other as families traveled to different strikes. She couldn’t believe this man was her friend. She couldn’t make herself believe any of it—Adam’s death, this stranger’s kindness. Either Levi Wallin was one of those do-gooders who donated to the poor only to brag about it, or he was after something.
“We don’t need your pity, preacher,” she said.
He smiled. Such a nice smile, lifting his lips, brightening his eyes. She could imagine people doing anything he wanted when he smiled at them that way.
“I’m not offering to help you from pity,” he promised her. “Adam asked me to look out for you. Some people might say he gave me guardianship of you all.”
Her brothers stiffened. So did Callie.
“Don’t much care what others say,” she told him. “I don’t need a guardian. I’ve been taking care of my family since I was twelve. And I’ll reach my majority in six months.”
He didn’t argue the fact. If he really did remember Vital Creek, he’d know about the parties Pa threw on any of his children’s birthdays, with music and treats. Anyone who recalled those would know she would turn one-and-twenty in the spring.
“Still, Adam asked me to take care of you,” he pointed out. “Perhaps you’d like to read his letter now.” He turned for the front door before she could respond. “I’ll be right back.” He strode out of the house.
