Emmy (Gold Rush Brides Book 2) (3 page)

New and old buildings lined Broad Street which, she learned on the long walk into town, had mostly been spared by April’s fire. Wagons trundled along every which way, carrying goods and lumber and people. Women were scarce and when she spotted one, she was bustling along toward a shop in what could only be described as a
practical
dress.
 

Fashion didn’t seem to be as high a priority for the ladies of Nevada City as it was for those in New York, or even San Francisco. That would take a little getting used to but she was up to the task. She’d always secretly found shopping and all the fuss and bother that went along with high fashion to be altogether tedious. Dressing plainly would be a refreshing change.

The excitement and energy of the town was infectious, and almost made her want to head off to the gold fields herself. There was no question the town was inhabited by a much rougher quality of people than she was accustomed to, but they were also much tougher than anyone she knew back home. Most of her family friends would not have been able to endure the journey west that she’d completed, to say nothing of living in the wild mountains of California while trying to hit paydirt. No, other than a handful of bad apples, she admired the grit of those who embarked on this grand adventure.

If only her friends back home, the ones who abandoned her when they discovered she was destitute, could see her now, striding into one of the two largest hotels in town, the Bailey House Hotel. They would be impressed by her mettle, she was certain, and that was something to hold onto, something to remember during the dark moments.
 

If she could maintain a facade of confidence, perhaps one day she would actually feel it deep inside. But for now, no one needed to know that, after so many years of having everything she wanted, she was mortified and terrified that she only had a few meager coins left to her name. Never before had she been expected to make her own decisions, but since her father passed, her days had been filled with nothing but. These last several months had been the most trying of her life.

“Miss Gibson, it’s my pleasure to meet such a lovely young lady,” said a portly gentleman as he walked out from around a corner. He was dressed in a fine suit, and his salt-and-pepper hair was slicked back with some kind of greasy pomade. His round face beamed with a joy that was contagious. Despite her worry that he wouldn’t honor the rate Jack and Dell had quoted, she couldn’t help smiling back at him.

“My name is Mr. Portnoy, and I understand you have a letter for me from the Daltons?”

“Yes, I have it right here.”

Emmy hadn’t read the contents of the letter because it was sealed and addressed personally to Mr. Portnoy, but whatever was in there made him chuckle and, if she wasn’t mistaken, blush ever so slightly.

“Oh, how I enjoy those two,” he said as he tucked the letter back in its envelope and into an inner coat pocket. “I had the great honor of meeting them a few months ago when they delivered my Jacqueline to me.”

“Your…Jacqueline?” Emmy wondered if that was some kind of musical instrument or piece of furniture she’d never heard of.

“Yes, my wife. I was lucky enough to find my bride through their newspaper, you see. They were kind enough to make the journey to Nevada City as escorts to bring her to me almost two months ago now. That’s when we negotiated our bargain for a special room rate for their, um, clients.”

“Oh!” Emmy cried. For some reason, she almost believed she was the only person in the world to have met her match through
The Nuptial News
. It was comforting to realize she wasn’t alone. “Well, congratulations, Mr. Portnoy!”

He dipped his head, clearly pleased as punch at his good fortune. “Now let’s get you a room, shall we? I understand from the letter that you’ll be with us only one night, yes?”

“That’s correct,” she said, smiling brightly. “My intended, Roy Kirby — do you know him? No? Anyway, he expects to meet me at the station at eight in the morning. I was hoping to sneak in a bath today in preparation for our wedding tomorrow.”

Mr. Portnoy clapped his hands happily. “But of course!”

He turned to a young porter standing nearby. “Son, please go instruct Celia to prepare a bath in room fourteen. And then take Miss Gibson’s trunk to her room.”

“Oh, but these fine men…” Emmy turned in time to see the backs of the remaining strapping young men heading out the hotel’s front door. They obviously heard the discussion about her impending nuptials and took off for more fertile ground. No matter, the porter would handle her luggage.

“Jacqueline and I would be honored if you would join us for dinner at six, Miss Gibson, and then after, perhaps you would enjoy the show,” Mr. Portnoy was saying.
 

“Show?”

“Oh, yes! Yankee Robinson has brought his troupe here and tonight is their premier. Have you heard of the man? He’s a very entertaining and funny performer.”

Emmy had been escorted to many theatrical performances in New York and was curious to see what the west had to offer in the way of the performing arts. At the very least, it would be a fine way to pass what would otherwise be an anxious evening alone.

~ * ~ * ~

“I dunno, Mace, do you really think it could be the same fellers?”

Mason’s lead deputy, Fred Merchant, wasn’t much of a thinker but he was dependable and as honest as the day was long. A widower with no family, he’d traveled to California with the first wave of Argonauts in ’49. After his trip around Cape Horn, he made it as far as Nevada City — then called Caldwell’s Upper Store, after a mining camp built up around Dr. Caldwell’s general store near the Dry Creek diggins — before realizing he was too old and tubby to work a claim.
 

Fred managed to keep himself fat and happy by working odd jobs, using his carpentry skills to get by, until Mason brought him on to help keep the peace in town. It was no easy task but Fred had a calming way about him.
 

When Mason was elected sheriff, he made it his top priority to hire Fred as his right-hand man. He didn’t need the man to be so smart as much as he needed him to have a strong moral code, and Fred had that in spades.

They were at the scene of the hold-up, seeing what they could see. The road agents knew what they were doing, that much was certain. They were waiting for the stage as it rounded a tight bend in the road, where the whip had to slow the horses to a walk so the box wouldn’t tip over. They would have had no problem finding a place to hide, since chaparral and boulders as tall as a man lined the road.
 

“I’m starting to think so,” Mason replied. “The witnesses from that robbery six months ago said there were five of ‘em, just like this one. They barely said two words the entire time, just like this one. And look here…”

He hunkered down and pointed to a patch of disturbed red dirt off near the edge of the road, where three lines intersected crudely. “What’s that look like to you, Fred?”

Fred scratched what was left of his hair, trying to read the dirt. Finally he shrugged and said, “I dunno, a star?”

Mason nodded. “That’s what it looks like to me, too. I saw it at the last hold-up, too. Looks like it was done on purpose, don’t it?”

A cold settled in Mason’s bones as his brain scrambled to remember something. He’d seen that same star somewhere else and, for a moment, his instinct for self-preservation refused to allow himself to think about it. But this was too important to push away. Breath caught in his throat as he recalled another robbery, one where the same star was scraped into the dirt.

“Last
two
hold-ups,” he said quietly. Fred’s concerned gaze burned the back of his neck but he brushed it off. “I didn’t think much of it at first, but now it seems to mean something. Can’t make head nor tails of it, though.”

“Hmm…it’s sorta like they want us to know it’s the same gang,” said Fred. “Like their brand or somethin’. Don’t make no sense, though. Why would a band of highwaymen want to advertise which jobs they done?”

The truth of Fred’s words slapped Mason in the face. That symbol was the crew’s mark. He silently chided himself for not catching the clue before now, and for thinking his deputy was anything less than brilliant. He jumped to his feet and clapped Fred on the back.
 

“Darned if you aren’t right. Good thinkin’, Fred. Who cares why they’re doing it, just that they done it.”

Fred glowed with pride for a moment before a deep groove furrowed his brow. “But what good does it do us? So what if we know’d they got all three coaches? Don’t help us catch ‘em.”

“True, but when we do catch up with those bandits, we got proof to pin all three robberies on ‘em.”

“And three murders,” Fred added quietly.

Mason nodded soberly, thinking of the woman and two men the gang had shot to death at the scene of the first robbery a year earlier. His gut clenched as the memory tried to bubble to the surface but he pushed it back down.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Mace. I shouldn’ta…”

“Hush now,” Mason said, scrubbing a hand across his mouth. “Let’s see if we can follow their tracks for a bit. Maybe we can peck out a general direction before they peter out.”

Dinner in the hotel’s dining room was quite delicious, and Emmy was very happy to make the acquaintance of a sister mail order bride. Jacqueline, a lovely older widow from Boston, seemed truly happy with her new husband, and this gave Emmy hope that she too would find happiness with Roy.

Their correspondence had been necessarily brief, but of the ten or so ads she’d responded to in
The Nuptial News
, his had interested her most.

A happy-go-lucky sort of individual who has always been fond of ladies’ society, now that he approaches forty summers, feels as if he likes their society better than ever. In fact, he feels as if he ought to marry. He means business. He is five feet eleven inches tall, with sandy hair, and possesses a rollicking cheerful disposition as well as all his own teeth. Would like a blonde, cheerful wife. Proprietor has address.

His response had been the first to arrive, and she found him to be utterly charming. He was witty and promised grand adventures, as well as a comfortable life of a well-to-do businessman. In describing himself, he presented the image of a tall, lean man in his late thirties, with sandy hair and blue eyes. His comment about having all his own teeth made her laugh for the first time since her father’s passing. Of all the responses she received, Roy’s was her favorite.

She immediately wrote back about her father and the trouble she was facing, and was careful to include a very detailed description of herself. She hoped some of her physical appeal would rub off in her letters and get him to propose quickly. Her time was running out, so she needed to act fast but she didn’t want to appear as desperate as she actually was.

She was thrilled when he proposed in his very next letter, and the timing couldn’t have been any better. This was the answer to her prayers! She rushed to the ticket agent that very day and booked a bunk on the next ship to San Francisco — departing two days later — and ran home to pack.
 

Almost everything would have to be left behind, but most of it wasn’t hers to take anyway. Thankfully she had managed to squirrel away enough money to see her through the journey, and that night she carefully sewed it all into the hem of her dead mother’s wedding dress. That was the biggest reason she objected to the bandits rifling through her trunk. If they’d discovered the remaining coins, she would not have been able to pay for her room.

She was grateful to the Portnoys for treating her to a wonderful meal of steak and potatoes, and for being such lovely distractions. The last several months of her life had been lived in a constant state of fear. Fear of what would become of her, fear of marrying a stranger, fear of the journey to California, fear during the robbery. It was too much for a fine lady who’d lived her whole life in comfort.
 

If it hadn’t been for the Portnoys, she might have sat in her room all night worrying over her impending vows. But seeing their happiness calmed her fears about binding herself to a man she hardly knew. If it worked for them, there was no reason it couldn’t work for her.

After dinner, Mr. Portnoy led the ladies upstairs to the top floor of the hotel, where chairs had been arranged around a low stage. It was like no theatre she’d ever attended, but didn’t want to offend her host by saying so. He must have sensed what she was thinking.

“This floor of the hotel was originally used for storage,” he explained as he guided the ladies to the front row, where three seats had been reserved for them. “When Yankee Robinson was searching for a venue to perform in Nevada City, I jumped at the chance to host his troupe. They’re the most popular entertainers in California so this is quite a coup. I mean, look at this turnout…and it’s only their first performance!”

Emmy was impressed that only standing room remained for latecomers. She’d never heard of this Robinson fellow but was thrilled to have something else to distract her.

The oils lamps around the room were dimmed, and the ones at the stage brightened. A tall, angular man in a suit and top hat strode out to center stage, smiling brightly. The crowd erupted in cheers and applause.

“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for attending our premier in Nevada City!”

The crowd went wild again. Emmy craned around in her seat, astounded that theatergoers would behave so obnoxiously. The most they did in New York was clap a little more loudly than normal. Never did anyone shout or whistle, like they were doing now.

“Miners are starved for entertainment, you see,” Jacqueline whispered to her. “This is a real treat for them.”

Emmy nodded and turned her attention back to the man on stage, who introduced himself as Dr. David G. Robinson. “Tonight, we’ll be presenting a musical I’m sure you all can relate to:
Seeing the Elephant!”

Once more the crowd went wild as the man strode off stage and performers rushed on. The play was a musical satire about the Gold Rush, poking fun at hapless prospectors thinking they were going to find their fortune in the Sierra Nevada. One actor kept shouting, “I think I see the elephant,” but always turned a corner a moment too late.