Page 30 of The Prospector's Only Prospect
“I’ll take that haircut.” He held up a pair of scissors.
Did he think she had ten hands? The two she had were covered in potato starch, Harley was clinging to her skirt, and Nettie couldn’t keep her fingers out of the syrup.
Whatever persecuted look was on her face had him quickly ducking his head.
“I’ll get the meat started. Nettie, you carry this.” He took the bloody package off the shelf and gave it to the girl. “And you…” He picked up Harley with a scoop of one long arm, holding him upside down against his chest. “Can start chorin’ with the rest of us.”
Harley squealed and grabbed his shirt. Nettie giggled. They left the door open as they departed, but at least Marigold had a moment to catch her breath. She got the last of the potato through the mesh and put it back into the pot with the chopped onion greens and a dollop of evaporated milk.
She tidied up as best she could, putting off going outside. She could hear the men had arrived. The potato soup needed to go back over the fire, since it had grown tepid while she finished it, but she wasn’t looking forward to all the jokes at her expense.
Virgil strode in. “Everyone is asking to meet you.”
She looked around, ankle deep in an imaginary pool of muddy humiliation. “I hope they’ve brought their own dishes. We don’t have enough.”
“And their coffee cups.”
“Coffee?!” She snapped her head to search the shelf. “We don’t have any.”
“Owen brought the pot from the office. He’ll make it. I always drink mine at the office, but get some for yourself if you want it.”
“Thank you,” she murmured, hating that she couldn’t seem to catch a grip on herself. She started to pick up the cup of syrup and the bowl of biscuit dough, but her hands were shaking so badly, she had to set them down again. Her eyes started to sting. “Can you take the soup?”
He was frowning at her, which only made her defensive. She crossed her arms.
He tested the heat of the cast iron before he picked it up and tipped the lid, giving the contents a sniff. “Smells good.”
Did he have to sound so surprised? She bit her lip, afraid it was quivering.
He wasn’t looking at her. He put the lid back on and took a half step, paused when he realized she wasn’t moving.
She was going to cry, and she didn’t want to. She looked to the side and hugged herself tighter.
“Marigold.” He said it in the way that questioned how she could possess such a silly name, like his patience was being tested. He set the pot back on the table. “I’m not angry anymore if that’s what’s got you looking so vexed.”
“Iam! I’m furious with myself. Youtoldme there were wild animals, named them all, and Ididn’tthink. What if something h-hap…” She started to bring her apron up to her dampening eyes, but it was stained and crusted with soggy potato, and that really felt like the final straw.
She stood there with her head hanging, the back of her wrist pushed against her mouth, stifling sobs that were filling her chest and trying to split her throat. Everything ached—behind her nose, inside her shoulders and chest, all the way to the bottom of her stomach.
“Hey, there. It didn’t.” His voice was grave. His boots came into her blurred vision, and firm hands took hold of her upper arms, giving a bolstering squeeze.
He dipped his head, catching her gaze with his own, silently demanding she lift her sorry expression to look him in the eye.
Her insides wobbled even harder because he wasn’t angry, just very, very serious.
“Now you know,” he said. “And it won’t happen again. We’ll have a good meal, and it will all be forgotten.”
“No, itwon’t. They’ll tease me forever.” She flung her hand toward the door to indicate the men outside. “I’m so tired of being the person everyone points at and mocks. The worst part is this time I deserve it.”
His hands dropped away, making her feel even more bereft. Why couldn’t he hug her the way he’d done with Nettie? As if she was precious and he’d lay down his life for her.
She looked to the cracks in the walls and sniffed back the tears that were right there, trying to fall.
“Come on, now. You think there’s anyone in this valley who hasn’t made mistakes? The good people stay where they are and live their good lives. This is where the desperate misfits come, following rumors of riches and whatever else they think will lead them out of the shit they’re standing in. Then they discover it’s just a different pile.”
She choked out a startled laugh. “Thanks very much. I feel much improved now.” She did, though, even if the shoe fit a little too well.
His mouth curled at one corner. It wasn’t a proper smile. It was wry amusement and a hint of self-deprecation, telling her his disparagement applied to himself as much as to her. It made her feel…likehim. As though they were…not equals, exactly, but not so very different.
