Callie took a step closer to Levi. Her hair was parted down the middle and plaited to hang on either side of her face, making her look sad and worn. But even if it had been pinned up like most ladies wore it these days, he thought she’d still look sad. She certainly had reason.
“Did they give him a good burial?” she asked.
If someone from Seattle had asked him that question, he would have extolled the wisdom of the minister who delivered the eulogy, numbered the attendees who had honored the deceased with their presence and described the casket and the flowers. After watching men die in the northern wilderness, he was fairly sure what Callie was really asking.
“A team of six men buried him good and deep. Nothing will disturb Adam’s rest.”
She nodded, shifting back and forth on her feet as she gazed out the open door. With a rattle, the boys passed, dragging a rickety wagon with Mica bundled in the bed. He heard Callie’s sigh, felt it inside.
“I’m sorry,” Levi said. “He was too young to die.”
“So was Anna,” she murmured, rubbing at her arm. “That’s Mica’s mother. Our ma and pa died too young, for that matter. Pa stayed in the stream so long he contracted pneumonia. I wouldn’t be surprised if Adam went the same way.”
She and her little brothers had seen too much death. She was younger than his sister Beth. She ought to be giggling over fashion plates, planning for a bright future. What sort of future had her father and brother bequeathed her? She was all the family the boys and the baby had left. The need to help her was so strong that he wondered she couldn’t see it hanging between them.
“A man I knew at Vital Creek was fond of saying that life is for the living,” he murmured. “What do you want to do with your life, Miss Murphy?”
She made a face. “Not so much a matter of wanting as what must be done. Frisco and Sutter need to go to school, learn a trade. I won’t have them dying with a pan in their hands, too. And someone has to raise Mica.”
Levi closed the distance between them, put both hands on her shoulders. Though they seemed far too narrow, there was a strength in them. “What about Callie? Do you want nothing for yourself?”
Her gaze brushed his, and for a moment he thought she’d confess some dream of her own. Then she shrugged as if dismissing it. “You do right by my kin, preacher, and I’ll be satisfied. I can always find my own way later.”
So brave. He might have given another woman a brotherly hug to encourage her, but something told him Callie wouldn’t take kindly to the gesture. She was all prickles and thorns, a hedge thrown up in defense of the heart within, he suspected. He wasn’t sure how to convince her he only meant the best for all of them.
Lord, I thought You sent me here. I thought You were offering me a chance to be the man You want me to be. Give me the words. Help me win her over, for her sake and mine.
“You don’t believe I’ll take care of you all,” he said aloud.
She shrugged as if she didn’t believe much of anything.
He released her shoulders. “I want to help you, Miss Murphy. Adam supported me when no one else would. I want to honor his wishes.”
She scrubbed at her cheek, but not before he saw the tears that had dampened them. “Adam’s gone. Besides, it wasn’t as if you two were partners.”
Partners. The most sacred of ideals where she came from. And that gave him an inkling of how to proceed.
“We weren’t partners,” he acknowledged. “But you and I might be.”
She turned her gaze his way again. “How do you figure?”
“We both want the best for your brothers and little Mica. We should work together.”
She cocked her head. “I’m listening.”
“You, your brothers and Mica can come to live at Wallin Landing as my wards. I’ll see your brothers and Mica clothed, fed, housed and educated. I’ll help you find a future for yourself.”
Still she regarded him. “How do I know I can trust you?”
“When two people decide to partner on a mining claim, how do they know they can trust each other?”
“They give their word and shake hands,” she allowed.
“I give you my word that you and your family will be safe at Wallin Landing.” He stuck out his hand.
She eyed his hand, and for a moment he thought she’d refuse. Then she slipped her fingers into his, sending a tingle up his arm. “And I give you my word to help you raise Frisco, Sutter and Mica,” she said.
He shook her hand. “Partners?”
“Partners for now,” she agreed. “But don’t expect anything more.”
Releasing her, Levi frowned. “What more would I want?”
She shook her head. “Sometimes you ask the silliest questions for a man who claims to have been on the gold fields. You just hold up your end of the bargain, preacher, or this will be the shortest partnership you ever heard of. Wallin Landing may be north of Seattle, but I can still walk away.”
Levi Wallin came back the next day with a wagon. By that time, Callie had talked herself into going with him.
She had a number of concerns. For one thing, she still wasn’t sure she’d made the right decision by agreeing to partner him. It was fine and good to say he wanted to help, but once he was back at his church, everything neat and tidy and clean, surely he’d start to regret his promise to her. What sort of fellow willingly took on four more mouths to feed, the raising of two boys and a baby? She’d accepted that responsibility out of love; she was kin, after all. What was Levi Wallin’s reason?
He said he had been Adam’s friend, and it seemed he owed Adam a favor for helping him. This was a mighty big favor. The preacher might recall some of the same events she did at Vital Creek, but she didn’t remember meeting him there, couldn’t see his face along the crowded stream of her memories. Charity only went so far, and this partnership was a fair piece further. She simply couldn’t figure him out.
And their visitors didn’t make matters easier.
Carrying Mica in her arms, she’d walked the mile to the Kingerly claim to confirm the elderly farmer had indeed given her brothers the pumpkin and turnips they’d dragged home. She’d returned to find two men with her brothers at the back of the cabin. Their rough, heavy clothing and the pans affixed to their horses’ trap told her what they were before they introduced themselves. Zachariah Turnpeth and Willard Young claimed to be prospectors heading home for the winter. They begged a room for the night. It was one of the unwritten rules of the gold fields. You shared bedding, food, drink, clothing, equipment. About the only thing you didn’t share was your claim. Only the worst of the worst came between a man and his claim.
But she wasn’t about to let strangers stay in the cabin.
“You can pitch your tent out back,” Callie told the older men. “We’ve no grain for the horses, but you’re welcome to share our dinner.”
Her brothers scowled at her as if they thought she should be more generous. As little food was left, she knew she was being generous indeed.
The twins were quick to quiz the prospectors on where they’d panned, what they’d done as she’d fed them all roast pumpkin and turnips.
“Alike as two peas in a pod,” Zachariah said with a smile to Callie.
“Puts me in mind of Fred Murphy’s young’uns