Tara's Gold (10 page)

Eleven

Aaron kept his hand on Miss Young’s elbow as they hurried down the wooden porch steps toward the wagon. How was it that he’d come to ask a few simple questions and ended up almost getting shot? He didn’t know what there was about this woman, but she certainly seemed to be a target for trouble. The attack at the station, the incident at the post office, and now this. . .even her new violet shade of hair seemed to be a sign that the woman couldn’t avoid getting herself into a mess. And with a sheep and a pot of dye bath no less.

Grabbing the reins of his horse in his free hand, he escorted them both across the hard ground outside Mr. Martin’s house toward her wagon.

Miss Young bustled beside him to keep up. “Mr. Jefferson, I am sorry. I never intended—”

“If you would just be quiet for a moment, please.” Without stopping, Aaron turned to check on the whereabouts of Mr. Martin. The last thing he wanted was a bullet in his back.

The middle-aged man stood in the doorway watching them, but thankfully, he’d set the gun down beside him. Mr. Martin might not seem to be mentally stable, but that didn’t change the fact that Miss Young’s presence could have cost him not only a lead in his case but also his life. There was no telling how much more he might have uncovered on his own. Mr. Martin had gone to look for something, and now Aaron was quite certain that he’d never know what it was.

“It looks as if he’s not going to shoot us.” Aaron gritted his teeth. “Though I’d say that’s the only good thing about this morning.”

“I hate guns.” Miss Young stumbled on the uneven ground, and he tightened his grip to steady her. “Mr. Jefferson, I said I was sorry. I thought my presence could help, my being a woman and all. One would think that he would prefer to open up and talk to me over a lawman like yourself.”

“Your charm might do wonders at a church picnic, parties, and other social gatherings, but as you can see, it had little effect in a professional capacity.” Aaron frowned. His words might hold a dash of truth, but hadn’t she managed to work her way straight into his heart? “Besides, sorry won’t change the fact that Mr. Martin will never want to speak to either of us again.”

He stared out across the fertile pastureland toward the west, where a decent-sized herd of cattle grazed, and scowled. While his words held truth, he’d seen the compassion in her eyes as she’d asked Mr. Martin about the woman in the picture and heard the gentle way she’d talked to him. In truth, it wasn’t her fault that the man got upset. But all of that didn’t change the fact that they’d lost a valuable lead, and unless he wanted to take another chance at getting shot, he was going to have to come up with another way to find Mr. Schlosser.

Working on an alternative solution, Aaron stopped at the wagon to help her onto the buckboard. She lifted the hem of her skirt and pulled herself up into the wagon, ignoring his outstretched hand. He dropped his arms to his sides and grunted. He’d never met a more stubborn woman.

“I’m going to accompany you home.” He scratched the back of his neck and wondered if he were simply a glutton for punishment as her blue eyes widened.

Tara picked up the reins and clicked her tongue at the horse. “I don’t need an escort, Mr. Jefferson.”

Aaron raised his brow as he mounted his horse. “Considering the fact that you can’t seem to stay out of trouble, I believe an escort would be most appropriate.”

She reached up to touch the back of her hair, and despite the seriousness of the situation, Aaron found himself wanting to laugh. The shade of purple was actually quite becoming on her. There was little doubt in his mind that life around Miss Young would never be dull.

Which was exactly what was bothering him. Aaron stared straight ahead as they left Mr. Martin’s house and tried to avoid the temptation to sneak another peek at her. She was beautiful, intelligent, compassionate. . .why then couldn’t she drop this ridiculous quest to find the gold?

And then what? Did he really think that would change things between them? That he would find a way to court her? He was leaving soon and would most likely never see her again. Even if he did buy a farm and settle down somewhere nearby, Miss Young wasn’t the kind of woman who would be content living the rest of her days on a secluded farm in Iowa. He was quite certain that she wouldn’t last six months here. Once the cold hit and the snow began to fall, she’d no doubt miss her upscale Boston home with its piped-in gas and plush furnishings. Besides that, Browning City boasted little shopping or parties or. . .

He looked at her and willed his heart to not to care. While her cheeks were rosy and her eyes bright, her jaw was set in determination. She was just as determined as he was to find the gold. But that wasn’t all. The gold had just been an excuse as to why things wouldn’t work between them. The truth was, even without the quest, they’d never be able to make a relationship work. They were simply too different. Their relationship would prove to be more difficult to achieve than finding the government’s lost cache.

He would accompany her to the Carpenters’ farm, then say his farewells. He still had a chance to find Mr. Schlosser—on his own. But first he owed her an apology.

He tipped the brim of his Stetson. “I’m truly sorry for my harsh words, Miss Young. While the situation was strained, you didn’t deserve such a reprimand.”

❧

Tara’s eyes widened at the apology. She had expected a lecture, not a confession from the man riding beside her. He was turning out to be quite an anomaly. Practiced lawman on one hand yet willing to ask for forgiveness when the situation warranted such an action. She found the gesture not only surprising but also refreshing.

“I do appreciate the apology, but. . .”

She hesitated. Apology or not, it was obvious that his own determination to find the gold hadn’t wavered. And she’d just lost her last lead. Until she could either interpret the rest of her aunt’s journal or find Mr. Schlosser through another means, instead of returning home a hero, she was stuck in Iowa eating pickles, carding wool, and whatever other messy project Mrs. Carpenter asked her to do.

She looked to her right at the endless sea of corn planted by one of Mr. Martin’s neighbors. At first, she’d found the setting monotonous, but she had to admit that there was something about the open space of the land and lush rolling hills that gave her a sense of peace she’d never felt before. She loved the sincerity of the people and the quiet surroundings after the constant rush of life in Boston. Even the fresh scent of the summer air was a welcome relief from the congestion of the city. But that didn’t mean she wanted to stay.

Mr. Jefferson’s plan to buy a farm had briefly caused her to entertain the idea of staying in Iowa. But it would be presumptuous to even imagine that he would ever want to share his piece of land with her. That he’d want to share his life with her.

“Were you going to say something?”

She glanced up at him as he spoke and bit her lip. He was handsome, intelligent, even compassionate at times. Why then couldn’t he allow her to continue her quest to find the gold? In the end, both she and the government would be happy, albeit the government would be out the hefty reward money. No. She was determined not to let Mr. Jefferson’s handsome profile and undeniable charm get in the way of her proving her worth to her family.

“It doesn’t change anything, you know.” She braced herself as the wagon went over a slight dip in the road.

“What doesn’t change anything?”

“Your apology. While I do very much appreciate your kindness in the situation, I’m still determined to find the gold.”

Mr. Jefferson’s lips curled into a slight smile. “I hadn’t expected anything less from you, Miss Young. I believe that in the past few weeks of our acquaintance, I’ve come to recognize that your determination matches your beauty.”

“I. . .” She closed her jaw, now knowing what to say in response.

If he was trying to sweet-talk her, he was doing a fine job. But she wasn’t going to let him manipulate the situation. His profile, tall and well built while sitting high on the back of a black stallion, was one that took her breath away. But she wouldn’t allow such thoughts to fill her mind any longer. There was certainly more to life than good looks, and all the charm in the world wasn’t going to remedy the situation between them. No, she would return to the Carpenters’ home, do her best to manage all the jobs Mrs. Carpenter asked her to accomplish. . .and find the gold.

The judgments of the Lord are true and righteous altogether. More to be desired than gold. . .

The passage from Psalm nineteen fluttered through her mind. She gripped the reins tighter and frowned.

But I don’t actually want the gold, Lord. Just the. . .

Just the what? The recognition? The chance to prove herself to her country in an important fashion? The honor that would come with finding something the government hadn’t been able to track down for years? Something that even Mr. Jefferson hadn’t been able to track down.

Where your treasure is, My child, there will your heart be also.

Tara rode in silence beside Mr. Jefferson, her heart suddenly heavy with the Lord’s clear reminder from His Word. She couldn’t deny the truth. She’d been so wrapped up in following the treasures of this earth that she’d stopped focusing on storing up treasures in heaven.

Can’t I do both, Lord?

There had to be a way. The Carpenters’ farmhouse came into view, and while she couldn’t ignore the pointed words, neither was she ready to let go of her search.

I need to do this, Lord.

She was tired of living in the shadow of her parents and aunt. While there might be little she could ever hope to achieve in her life that would come close to their noble accomplishments, she’d never forgive herself if she didn’t at least try. The last thing she wanted was to wake up one day, old and unhappy, because she’d failed to do something important with her life. Surely the good Lord understood how she felt.

Tara brought the wagon to a stop in the front yard. Clothes fluttered in the breeze on the clothesline. A sheep bleated in the pen, and she caught sight of the violet colored lamb. Turning away, she sighed. Good looks and charm had never proved to be enough. She’d always managed to bungle what was important.

She turned and caught Mr. Jefferson’s gaze, hoping he hadn’t noticed the tangible results of her morning escapades running through the sheep pen. “You know I’m going to do this on my own.”

He shot her a grin. “And so am I.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less from you.”

What does God expect?

She tried to push aside the words, but they lingered in the back of her mind.

“Then may the best man, or woman as the case may be, win.” Mr. Jefferson tipped his hat, then with the nudge of his boots against the side of the stallion, he raced across the fertile farmland and out of sight.

❧

Aaron wanted to hit his head against the wall. He’d spent a week tracking down Mr. Schlosser, but every lead had come up empty. Except the last one. The rumors were plentiful, but the final piece of proof had just confirmed that Mr. Schlosser had died in a mineshaft somewhere in South Dakota eighteen months ago.

He glanced around the hotel restaurant that was empty except for an older couple sitting at a corner table. Sunlight streamed through windows that overlooked the main street of town. At least today, all seemed quiet as shoppers hurried about their business. With red tablecloths, a stone fireplace, and a few simple paintings, the atmosphere was as pleasant as the meal. But today he could barely taste the food.

He dropped the telegram onto the table and took another bite of the roast beef and potatoes he’d ordered for lunch, frustrated. Another dead end. And perhaps his last. There was only one thing left for him to do before returning to Washington with nothing more to show for his efforts than a handful of hotel bills.

He was going to have to speak to Miss Young. If he didn’t, he would have to admit that he’d run this investigation as far as it would go, and it was over. He wasn’t yet ready for that. Not when there was a chance for one last lead.

Aaron picked up the pencil and piece of paper he’d borrowed from Mrs. Meddler and began to scrawl out a message. It wasn’t as if he didn’t want to see Miss Young again. Because he did. Every day, as he walked the streets of town, he watched for her, but there had been no sign of the beauty. He’d even considered stopping by the Carpenters’ farm, knowing the elderly couple would welcome a visit from him. But he hadn’t. He was ashamed to think that his pride had gotten in the way of seeing her again, but there seemed little other explanation. Instead of that line of thought, he focused on the note he was writing.

Dear Miss Young,

I have new information and a proposition you might find interesting. Please meet me for coffee at the hotel restaurant tomorrow at two if it is possible.

Sincerely,

Aaron Jefferson

He tapped the pencil against the table. He wasn’t sure his plan was going to work and that she’d actually agree to see him, but he didn’t have much choice. Aaron reread the note one last time. A young boy who worked at the hotel walked into the restaurant, and Aaron called him over to his table. The boy had promised Aaron he’d deliver the message to Miss Young for a small fee. Aaron pulled out some change from his pocket and set it on the table beside the note.

It was time to call a truce.

Twelve

Tara fingered the note, surprised at Mr. Jefferson’s desire to meet with her. Of course, the request was strictly business, but that didn’t stop her pulse from quickening at the thought of seeing him again. For the past week, she had attempted to put him and his piercing toffee colored eyes out of her mind, but her efforts were in vain. He’d managed to leave an imprint on her heart that she couldn’t erase. And no matter how irritated he made her with his determination to find the gold single-handedly, she hadn’t been able to ignore his other, more gallant, characteristics. His apology, for one, had shattered any remaining impressions that he was simply a tough lawman compelled only by his assignment. The man had a heart.

She stuffed the request into the pocket of her apron, then finished drying the last of the dishes. With both new information and a proposition, she couldn’t help but wonder exactly what it was that he had discovered. Her attempts to locate Mr. Schlosser had resulted in nothing. No one in town seemed to remember much about the man, and she didn’t have the resources Mr. Jefferson had. With no leads to follow, she’d stayed up late at night reading her aunt’s journal by the smoky light of a kerosene lamp, trying to uncover any additional clues that might lead to the gold. But the result had only left her frustrated—and tired.

Mrs. Carpenter bustled into the kitchen with two jars of pickles in her hands. “You’ve done a fine job, Tara. Thank you so much for your help. With my joints seemingly stiffer by the day, I don’t know what I would do without you.”

Tara smiled at the comment. For the first time in her life, she was finding satisfaction in hard work. “Are you sure you don’t mind my going into town this afternoon?”

“Not at all, dear.” Mrs. Carpenter set the pickles on the kitchen counter and dug through a drawer until she pulled out a thin red ribbon. “The fresh air will do you good. I told Mr. Carpenter last night that you’ve been working far too hard this past week. Between farm chores, the garden, and knitting, you’ve had little time for yourself.”

Tara placed the stack of dry plates on the shelf, then wiped her hands on a towel. She was surprised at how much she was beginning to enjoy life on the farm. While the Carpenters had primarily retired and now rented out the majority of their land to tenant farmers, there was still plenty of work.

Certainly, she missed her mornings of sleeping in and never relished the early crow of the rooster, but she’d found a sense of pride in seeing the results of her efforts on the breakfast table or in a batch of jam to be given away to the tenants’ wives. There had even been enough of the purple wool for her to start her own shawl. Something she’d never imagined herself doing.

Mrs. Carpenter tied the ribbon around one of the jars and made a neat bow. “Can I ask you to do a favor for me?”

“Of course.”

“Dr. Harding’s wife, Wilma, is a bit under the weather. If you wouldn’t mind taking her one of these jars. My mother always believed good homegrown food to be good for the constitution, so I figure why not my pickles? And the other jar is for that handsome lawman, Mr. Jefferson.”

Tara felt a blush creep up her cheeks at the mention of his name. “You know, of course, that our meeting is strictly for business. He has some information on an old friend of my aunt’s that he wants to pass on to me.”

Mrs. Carpenter rested her hands on her hips and smiled. “It’s a shame he won’t be stopping by the farmhouse. Feel free to invite the gentleman over for lunch. Perhaps Sunday after church, if he isn’t too busy.”

“I will.” Tara slipped the yellow apron over her head and folded it.

Thoughts of church left her feeling somber. While her quest for the gold had uncovered few, if any, answers regarding its location, the pursuit had exposed a vast number of spiritual questions. And like the gold, the answers seemed out of reach.

She placed her apron on the counter, then tapped her fingers against the wood. “Mrs. Carpenter, would you mind if I asked you a question?”

The older woman worked to tie the second ribbon. “Of course not. I may not have all the solutions, but I do have a listening ear.”

“Is it wrong to want to do something important?” Tara fiddled with the hemmed edge of the apron and tried to rework her question so she said what her heart really felt. “I guess what I’m trying to say is, is it wrong to want to something that perhaps would. . .would prove one’s self to the world? To prove that one is. . .”

“. . .Worth something?”

Tara winced. “That sounds shallow, but yes.”

Wasn’t that exactly what she was trying to do? Prove her worth to herself, her family, and even God?

Mrs. Carpenter cocked her head. “I suppose whether or not it’s shallow would depend on the situation and one’s heart.”

“It always goes back to the motives of the heart.” Tara remembered the words that had stuck with her all week. “Where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.”

“Jesus did say that, and there is a lot of truth to it.” Mrs. Carpenter poured herself a cup of hot coffee from the stove, then sat at the table. “I’ve worked on this farm for almost forty years, and while I can’t begin to do what I did when I was younger, for a long time I believed what I did was completely unimportant. What good is milking a cow every morning or the endless gathering of eggs from the chickens?”

Tara grinned. “Believe it or not, I’ve started to find satisfaction in such chores, but I see your point. That’s exactly how I’ve been feeling. As though nothing I do is enough.”

The older woman took a sip of her coffee before adding a spoonful of sugar. “I spent years longing to accomplish something heroic for God, and I was never happy with who I was. Then I learned something from a dear friend of mine that has stuck with me for years. I might long to accomplish something big that the world sees as impressive, but what’s even more important is that I approach every day’s household tasks and duties as if they were indeed just as valuable. To spend each day as if I were doing everything for Christ Himself.”

Tara leaned back against the counter. “That’s quite a profound statement.”

“Jesus said as much when He told us to seek first His kingdom and His righteousness, and all these things shall be added unto us. It’s always been a matter of the heart.”

Tara knew Mrs. Carpenter was right. She’d been so obsessed with her mission that she’d neglected her own relationship with God. And, as hard as it was to admit it, she knew she needed to work on getting her heart right with God and get her treasure in the right place. But surely, that didn’t make what she was doing wrong.

Or did it?

“God looks at our heart,” the older woman continued. “The motives behind our actions, whether it’s a big task like Moses leading the Israelites across the Red Sea or a simple one like cleaning out a horse stall for God’s glory. If you’ve ever read through the Old Testament, it’s amazing at how God looks on the inside before He ever looks at what we have accomplished.”

Tara pressed her fingertips together. “It reminds me of Sampson. Always whistling a cheerful tune even when he’s mucking a stall.”

She knew there was nothing innately wrong with her quest for gold. But her motives had become self-seeking. That’s where the problem lay. Now all she had to do was figure out how to set things right with God.

❧

Aaron watched as Miss Young entered the hotel restaurant; then he breathed out a sigh of relief. He stood as she approached his table, trying to ignore how lovely she looked. Her blue dress, with its contrasting white trim, highlighted her eyes, and her hair, pinned up neatly beneath one of her fancy hats, was now back to its normal shade of auburn.

He pulled out her chair and waited for her to be seated. “I wasn’t sure you’d come.”

She gave him a shy grin. “You made it a bit hard for me to refuse. New information and a proposition? Sounds like a bit of a truce.”

“You could say that.”

Aaron sat down and laid his Stetson on the table. He shouldn’t feel so pleased that she was sitting across from him at one of the restaurant’s corner tables, or that he was about to ask her for assistance in a government matter. But he couldn’t help it. He’d wanted to see her again. Wanted to continue their conversations on farming, art, and spiritual matters. To simply spend the afternoon getting to know her better without the gold coming between them.

However, that wasn’t why he was here. Nothing had really changed. He planned to ask for her help—beg, if need be, to get his job done. And once he found the gold, or some sort of proof that it couldn’t be recovered, then he’d take on the next assignment. Or retire to some rolling hillside near the banks of the Mississippi. Alone.

“I. . .thanks for coming.” He pressed his lips together, determined not to get tongue-tied today. “What would you like to drink?”

Miss Young set her light wrap on the chair behind her. “Lemonade would be wonderful.”

Aaron motioned for the waitress and ordered them each a glass before continuing their conversation. “It’s hot today, isn’t it?”

“Very.” She smiled and his heart tripped. “But I still enjoyed the drive here. The fields are sprinkled with Queen Anne’s lace and the perfume of wild roses.”

“And there are clouds in the horizon.” He tugged on his collar, longing for relief from the stifling heat. A light breeze filtered in from the open front door but did little to alleviate the humid air. “I believe we’re in for some wet weather. Might help cool things down.”

“Mr. Carpenter said the crops could use another good rain. He’s afraid production will be down this year.”

The waitress put tall glasses of lemonade in front of them, then headed back to the kitchen. At two o’clock in the afternoon the place was quiet with no other patrons, which was exactly what he’d counted on. What they had to discuss had to be kept between them.

“For a city girl, you’ve learned a lot since your arrival in Iowa.” He caught her gaze, grateful for the few minutes of small talk before things between them got serious. “You need to be careful, though.”

“And why is that?”

“For instance, wild parsnip is often mistaken for Queen Anne’s lace, but the wild parsnip is a rather toxic plant that can actually burn the skin if one isn’t careful. Things aren’t always what they appear to be.”

“Apparently, I have much to learn.” She cocked her head. “Does that apply to people, as well?”

“In my line of work, I’ve found that one must always be cautious.”

Aaron toyed with the cloth napkin. Looking at her heart-shaped face and full lips, it was easy to forget the real reason he was here. He shifted his gaze to the decorative wallpaper behind her. Swirls of lavender blurred before him as he tried to refocus on the matter at hand. He wasn’t here because the woman sitting across from him made him want to retire and settle down. He was here to make a deal and find the gold.

“Is there anything else I should watch out for?”

He blinked at her question and turned back to her. Was there anything else to watch out for? Here was a woman who’d been attacked, shot at, threatened, and had somehow even managed to color her hair purple. If anything, people needed to watch out when they were around
her
.

He shook his head. But she’d been talking about plants. Queen Anne’s lace. . .roses. . . “To watch out for what?”

“You mentioned wild parsnip.”

“Oh. I don’t know. . .” He shook his head and tried to think. “Poison ivy, stinging nettle, and the black locust tree, I suppose, for starters.”

She smiled at him. “I didn’t know you were interested in such matters.”

“My grandfather taught me a love and a respect for the land.”

“But we’re not here to discuss plants, are we?” She looked around the empty room then leaned forward. “I’m anxious to know what information you have to share with me.”

Aaron cleared his throat. She was right. It was time to get to the issue at hand. “I found out yesterday that Mr. Schlosser is dead.”

Miss Young drew in a sharp breath, and he cringed. He hadn’t meant to be so blunt. He’d found himself so wrapped up in her presence that he knew he needed to forge past all the small talk or he’d find the afternoon spent with no progress made. But what happened to his skills of diplomacy and discretion? If he had any hope of getting what he wanted, then he would have to be careful how he said things.

“I’m sorry.” He picked up his lemonade and let the small chunks of ice swirl in the glass. “It came as quite a shock to me, as well. I was hoping that your lead would pay off.”

“I’m just surprised.” She took a sip of her drink. “This changes things substantially.”

“It means that we are both out of leads. Unless. . .” He let his voice trail off. He had to sound convincing. “Unless we work together.”

Her eyes widened. “You want me to help you?”

“You have information. I have the resources. Together, we might actually be able to recover the gold.”

He liked the thought of them working together. He couldn’t help it. A lonely retirement wasn’t an appealing future. As hard as he’d tried not to, she was the one he saw sitting beside him on a porch swing watching the sunrise or on a cold winter evening in front of the fireplace.

“What about the reward money?” She eyed him cautiously. “Would you still be willing to make good on it?”

“Of course.”

She lowered her gaze. “I know what you’re thinking, and I don’t want you to believe that I’m completely self-centered.”

He wasn’t sure what she meant. “I don’t.”

She frowned “It’s really not about the money.”

“Then what is it about?”

She stared at her glass and began wiping away the condensation. “It’s about proving I can do something worthwhile in life.”

“I don’t understand.”

Miss Young folded her hands on the table and looked at him. “My aunt was a spy for the Union in the war. She made a difference, risking her life while passing important information to key people. My parents were a part of the Underground Railroad. They helped countless people escaping from slavery. And as for myself. . .” She shrugged. “I’ve failed to do anything of value.”