Page 74 of The Prospector's Only Prospect
“You tell Marigold when she wakes up that I said you could.”
“Okay. Thank you.” Nettie pecked his cheek. “I love you.”
He nearly dropped her, he was so shocked. “I—”
He’d never said those words to anyone except Clara. Even then, he hadn’t been sure he’d meant them, not with anything more than the superficial infatuation of a young man. Not like this, where he would lay down his life to protect this earnest face and wiry but delicate body.
“I love you, too, little bug.” The tangled knot in the depths of his chest felt pulled so taut, its threads threatened to snap, but the ache of that tension felt strangely good. Terrifying, but the fact those knots held strong was reassuring in its odd way.
He cleared his throat, feeling foolish for how moved he was. He set her on her feet.
“Do you want me to show you how to make the oatmeal?”
“I know how, but the pot is too heavy. I need help lifting it.”
He moved the pot onto the floor near the cupboard where Marigold kept the oats. He handed Nettie a tin cup. Then he picked up the shawl she had let fall to the floor. He folded it and put it back on the bench.
As he glanced up, he saw Marigold watching them through the cracked door.
How long had she been there? Long enough to hear him turn himself inside out to his daughter?
“If you’re up to help Nettie, I’ll fetch the water.” He was practically strangling on his tongue. He hurried out.
…
Marigold had heard, “tell Marigold,” and had quickly risen, thinking she was needed. She cracked the door in time to hear Virgil tell his daughter he loved her. It was a poignant moment of realizing that he did, in fact, possess a heart.
He wasn’t about to let Marigold anywhere near it, though.
He brought the pail back, filled with water, but didn’t come in. “I told Nettie she could wait at the office with me later, to see if Levi comes home today.”
“I was planning some baking at the cookhouse. We’ll come down when the dough is ready.” She could only boil and fry on the top of their new stove, which was better than cooking over an open fire, but bread and rolls still needed an oven. The covered cast-iron pot set in the coals of the outside firepit worked in a pinch, but it wasn’t big enough to feed a family of five and it was usually full of stew.
He nodded and left.
Marigold slipped into his bedroom, ostensibly to “make” his bed, which was still his old pallet on the newly strung ropes. Straightening his blanket took two seconds, but she was really watching him walk away down the path.
She stifled a sigh. Everything felt awkward between them. She was so sensitive these days, any little thing he said hit like a criticism. When he had asked last night whether she was still accepting gifts, she’d taken it as a reproach and responded with a retort that she still regretted. She wanted things to be easier between them, but it wouldn’t happen if she was defensive and tossing out provocations.
Nothing smoothed a man’s mood better than food, so she made extra dough for rolls, intending to leave a batch in the office with a little of the rose hip syrup she’d made. She and Nettie had been picking them whenever they saw them and spread them on paper in the loft for drying, seeing as the children weren’t sleeping up there right now. She would use the dried hips for a tonic that eased winter coughs, and they made a nice tea when paired with pine needles.
Nettie was nearly two feet off the ground as they walked to the office. Marigold dreaded the fall if Levi failed to turn up. The wagon could easily be delayed considering the blustering rain, but she was on her way from the cookhouse with her first batch of cooling rolls when she heard the noise of the mules and the wagon.
Smiling, she stepped into the office where the well-stoked stove made it cozy enough that Nettie was playing a game on the floor with Harley. Virgil was at the table with Ira, studying the ledger books.
Tom had disappeared again, perhaps with a shipment of gold. Marigold imagined Bing Sun had taken some to San Francisco. There was every likelihood that Emmett and Stoney had used gold to pay for the equipment they were bringing in. Owen and a small crew were still eking a little of the ore from the ground, but only a handful of men remained. Owen was rarely on horseback these days, more often standing in the river alongside the men.
“They’re coming,” Marigold said.
Nettie leaped to her feet and shot her hands in the air. “Yay!”
Harley quickly copied her. “Yay!”
“No, wait.” Marigold caught Nettie. “It’s cold outside. Stand at the window until they’re closer.” She left the basket of rolls on the table, where Virgil and Ira pounced on them.
Ten minutes later, the wagon ambled to a stop in front of the storehouse. Levi was hunched between the two men on the bench, seemingly for warmth despite his new winter coat. It was meant for a young man, not a boy headed that direction. He had the front doubled over across his chest and wore a new wool cap pulled down to his squinted eyes.
He smiled and waved when Yeller greeted him. He was already looking toward the cabin as he climbed off the wagon behind Stoney.
