Page 23 of The Prospector's Only Prospect
Why did he get the feeling there would be a lot of “Marigold says” in his future?
“The oat sack? Sure.”
Nettie grinned and brought fists of anticipation together under her chin.
“The children have eaten, but there’s plenty of stew left. I was about to wash hands and faces, then put this one into bed.” Marigold looked down to where Harley’s head rested on her shoulder. His eyelids were drooping.
“I’ll serve myself.” He caught Levi’s expectant stare and said, “After we nail the bed together.” Virgil was bone tired and his stomach was about to eat the rest of him, but there was just enough light to hammer in the needed pins. He had picked up the nails and rope on his way home, figuring Marigold would need the bed tonight.
Of course, calling it a “bed” was generous. Levi had helped Virgil build the outhouse, and these six boards nailed onto a Z were exactly the same as the john door.
Still, the boy had measured and cut the boards himself and took care which board went where, obviously having spent a lot of time working out the best configuration. Damned if he wasn’t looking proud as a new father once they had it ready to install.
“I’m starting to think you have a talent for woodworking, son.”
Levi’s mouth hitched with his crooked grin, but it faltered as he thumbed an uneven end on one of the boards. “I didn’t cut this one very good.”
“It’s fine to notice things you wish you’d done different. That’s how you learn to do better next time, but it’s sturdy, and all your cuts were measured right so there’s no waste. I know plenty of full-grown men who don’t take the time to be sure. You did well.”
“Thanks.” Levi’s head turtled into his shoulders. “I guess we could put that end against the wall where no one will see it.”
“Now you’re thinking.” Virgil had an urge to ruffle his hair or pat his back, but Levi turned away for the rope.
Twenty minutes later, Virgil had the bed suspended off the wall in the only space available. They would have to shove the table under the window every night to lower the bed, but so be it. Levi didn’t have a mattress, either, only a spare blanket Virgil used with his bedroll in winter. Marigold promised to see Gristle about setting aside some potato sacks that she could sew together and fill with dry grass to make Levi his own mattress.
Harley was scrubbed and fast asleep when Marigold returned from escorting Nettie to the john. Both had washed their faces and combed out their hair, leaving it in a braided tail.
Virgil had to consciously drag his thoughts from imagining unraveling Marigold’s and feeling it across his naked chest and thighs— No. Just no.
Levi couldn’t wait to put himself to bed, so Virgil left Marigold to settle them and went outside to finally plant his ass onto a log round and eat.
He stirred up the fire enough to throw some light so he could see what it was.
“Leyohna made it. I only had to warm it,” Marigold said as she joined him a few minutes later. She scooped a tin cup into the bucket of hot water and dropped some pine needles into it.
“Have you eaten?” He paused his shoveling of stew into his mouth. She looked as weary as he was.
“I have. It’s good. Leyohna was kind enough to give me a tutorial. Nettie said she would show me where to collect more herbs after Leyohna leaves. With her two burrows.”
Virgil tugged his earlobe. What could he say? Tom drove a hard bargain when it came to letting his family do favors for white men.
“I don’t think the children realize that Leyohna is expecting,” Marigold said quietly. “I imagine that’s why she feels such urgency to head south with the rest of her family. Is that something you would like me to explain to them?”
He sure as hell didn’t want to tackle it. “You think Nettie is old enough?”
“I think it would help her understand and feel less abandoned.”
Shit. He had known that’s how the girl felt, but it was hard to hear it blunt like that.
“I presumed you had written to your wife to join you here and something happened after she arrived,” Marigold continued. “Nettie told me their uncle sent them here with a couple who carried on to Oregon. I don’t expect you to talk about it if you don’t want to, but it makes me concerned that they lost their mother, then the aunt who was caring for them. Now they’re losing Leyohna.”
The same thing had been chewing at him. “That’s why I wanted them to have a mother.”
Maybe he said it with more blame than was fair, because her mouth became a flat line before she touched her cup to it. Her gaze was in the fire, the flicker of the flames reflecting in her eyes.
He kept eating, piling food into his mouth in an effort to swallow down a frustrated defensiveness. He didn’t know how she put him on his back foot by saying nothing at all, but she did.
“You don’t want to marry, either. You said that,” he reminded.
