Page 70 of The Prospector's Only Prospect
I thought briefly that our arrangement might progress to marriage. Virgil is a good provider and a good father, but after an incident in which he accused me of theft, I have realized my past will always color how people see me. He will never truly trust me, and for that reason I am better off regarding him as my employer and only my employer.
I miss you dreadfully every single day. I wish often that I could hop on a wagon to come see you, but I would be heartbroken to leave the children. They are the sweetest things you would ever want to meet, Pearl. In that way, my situation is ideal. I feel very blessed.
Stoney returned within the week. The wagon was loaded with lumber. By then, the exterior walls of split logs were in place and the roof shakes ready. The roof went on at a rapid pace, and a hoopla of cheers erupted one afternoon.
“I think you have yourself a house, Missus Davis,” Gristle said, shading his eyes to look up toward the cabin.
“You mean the children do, John,” she corrected gently. “It’s not mine.”
Nettie paused in turning the coffee grinder handle. “Can we go see?”
“Yes, of course.” Marigold had barely spoken to Virgil and preferred it that way. Once she did, she would have to decide how long she could cling to her principles and weather the elements in that shelter made of saplings and branches that were dropping their needles. Joining him in the comfort of his new home sounded like the depth of capitulation. It would also be pure torture come winter, when they wouldn’t have the luxury of stepping outside to get away from one another.
“Harley?” Marigold dried her hands. “Do you want to go see your papa?”
He dropped the rattle Emmett had made him and ran out of the cookhouse in the direction of the office.
“Not that way, Harley,” Nettie called. “Papa’s at home.” She held out her hand for him. He quickly caught up to her and clasped her hand with his. Nettie’s face was bright with excitement.
Harley wrinkled his nose as he smiled up at her, sensing her anticipation. “Papa home.”
“Yes. He’s at ournewhome,” Nettie told him.
“New.”
“Mmm-hmm.” Nettie nodded.
Oh, they were so endearing, Marigold could have spent all day with her arms wrapped around the three of them, absorbing the love that emanated from those children like warmth from sun-soaked blankets.
Buster was coming down the track toward them and halted when he saw them.
“I was coming to fetch you, Missus Davis.” He took off his hat. “There’s still some mudding to finish, but Boss wants to see if you approve.”
She blushed and practically shoved the children ahead of her. “Go on, Nettie. Your papa wants to know if you like it.”
It was a cool day, but most of the men were standing around, swiping their foreheads and holding out mugs for the berry juice that Marigold prepared every morning. Ira nodded a greeting while he poured it. Owen smiled and started to step forward. Emmett slapped a hand into the middle of his chest and said, “Nope.”
As they noticed her, the men stood straighter, all watching her with eagerness for their hard work to be recognized.
“Goodness,” she was compelled to say. “What a fine house! And built in record time. Well done, gentlemen. Nettie, Harley, say thank you to everyone for building such a warm and sturdy home for you.”
“Thank you,” Nettie said shyly, backing into Marigold.
“Ta-too,” Harley said.
Virgil came out the door, and Harley ran toward him. Virgil stooped to catch him up, and Harley grabbed his nose, saying, “No.”
Virgil caught Harley’s hand and lowered it, keeping hold of it as he said absently, “We’ll play that game another time.”
Virgil wore his dirty work clothes. His hair had grown shaggy since his last cut, and his expression was stiff and remote, but he always looked irresistibly attractive when he was being soft with his children.
Marigold’s heart was trying to pound itself out of her chest after that little climb up the path that she’d made a thousand times. Maybe it was all the attention. She refused to attribute it to the man, but—
“Can I see, Papa?” Nettie asked.
“Sure thing, little bug.” He waved her in but stayed on the small, covered porch, waiting for Marigold with a “ladies first” nod.
She bit her lip, wanting to see inside and definitely wanting to take any conversation on whether she would move in here away from the listening ears of the men.
