Tara's Gold (6 page)

Aaron searched for his Stetson, then remembered he’d lost it at some point. Maybe
she
had found it and had left it with the postmaster in case he stopped by looking for it. Feelings of guilt rushed over him. He should have gone back and made sure she was all right. The sheriff hadn’t really needed his help escorting the prisoner to the jail, and their conversation could have waited.

You’re a coward when it comes to women, Aaron Jefferson
.

Shaking his head, he locked his room and headed downstairs. How could he have spent half his life fighting crime, taking down criminals, and risking everything to make this country a better place to live, yet become tongue-tied when standing next to a beautiful woman?

When standing next to
her
.

There was something about this particular blue-eyed woman with the auburn hair that left him feeling like an inadequate greenhorn instead of seasoned lawman. He couldn’t help it. Her soft voice. . .the sincerity in her eyes. . .the way she smiled at him. . .had him completely captivated. Part of him hoped he ran into her again before he left town, while the other part of him preferred to finish his work as quickly as he could and avoid any such encounter

He headed outside, pausing only to nod his greetings at the young woman working the front desk.

“Mr. Jefferson?

Aaron stopped near the entrance to the hotel. “Yes?”

“Is this yours?”

Aaron retraced his steps across the carpet, this time stopping at the desk where he picked up his Stetson. “Where did you find it?”

“Mrs. Meddler had wanted to give it to you herself, but she went to help with the delivery of Mrs. Acker’s new baby. Anyway, before she left she said that a woman brought it by who thought you might be staying here.”

Aaron fiddled with the brim. The faint scent of roses mingled with his own shaving soap.
She
had brought it by.

He had to know who she was. “Do you know the name of the woman?”

“No. Mrs. Meddler just said to be sure to give you the hat and tell you that the woman’s name was. . .” The young woman’s smile faded. “Perhaps she did tell me the lady’s name, but. . .I can’t remember.”

“Was she young or old—”

“All I know for sure is that Mrs. Meddler said that a woman brought it by. I never saw her.” She shrugged and turned back to her magazine. “Sorry.”

“Thanks, anyway.” Aaron set the hat on his head and started outside.

He was disappointed that he’d been so close to finding out who she was, just to come up against another brick wall. He’d have to speak to Mrs. Meddler once she returned. He shook his head. Whoever this woman was, she’d become a distraction. And he couldn’t afford that. The government was counting on him to find the money. Which brought him back to his real concern.

Aaron crossed the street and headed toward the land agent’s office. Truth was, rumors were always plentiful, especially when a large amount of money was involved. He had no doubt that there would always be others looking for the lost gold, but this person seemed to have information that was keeping him a step ahead. How could this person potentially know more than he did?

Unless the person had somehow uncovered specific information leading to the location of the missing gold.

Six

Aaron glanced down the street, looking for the woman who’d delivered his hat. It had to have been her. Who else would have known where to find him? It appeared that she’d done a bit of detective work herself—but not a difficult assumption considering he was new to town and would most likely be staying at the hotel.

He tipped his hat at an older woman coming out of the mercantile and smiled in passing. Truth was, if he wanted to, he could do the same kind of investigation. In a small town like Browning City, it would be easy to find out where the Carpenters lived and, in turn, learn where she was staying.

Aaron pressed his hand against his front pocket and felt the crinkling letter of introduction signed by the chief himself. In his chosen career, when lives often hung in the balance, duty had to come before pleasure. In turn, thoughts of love and a family kept getting put off until after the next assignment came along.

Or until I prove I can live up to my own family’s expectations for me.

Aaron pushed aside the thought and quickened his steps. This wasn’t about his family. He simply didn’t need the distraction from his work, especially when he had competition. The government would prefer not to pay the hefty reward money, but that could only be done if he found the gold first. And they were counting on him to do just that.

He stepped into the land agent’s office and held back a sneeze. A layer of dust covered a desk piled high with papers and ledger books. The only two chairs in the small office were also covered with stacks of papers. He couldn’t imagine how anyone could work in such an environment. Even the windows appeared as if they hadn’t been cleaned for months, with their accumulation of grime from outside.

“Good afternoon. I’m Mr. Lehrer.” A thin man appeared from the back of the room, held out his hand, and offered a broad smile. “How can I be of service to you today?”

“Name’s Aaron Jefferson and I need some information.” Aaron decided to get right to the point. “The sheriff said he sent someone to see you as they were tracking down either a person or perhaps the owner of a piece of land?”

The man shoved his wire spectacles up the bridge of his nose. “Today certainly is turning out to be quite a busy day for information.”

“So someone did stop by?”

“About an hour or so ago. I answered a few questions, and we had a nice chat.”

Aaron worked to conceal his interest. Finding this man
might not be the ticket to finding the gold, but he wasn’t going to ignore any leads.

“I need to know exactly what this person wanted.”

Mr. Lehrer sat down at his desk and took out a steel nib pen as he shook his head. “I am sorry, but all transactions are private. You have to understand—”

“Not when it comes to the law.” Andrew withdrew his badge from the front pocket of his vest and held it where Mr. Lehrer could see it.

Mr. Lehrer dropped his pen. “Who exactly are you?”

“I work for the United States government.” Aaron shoved the badge back into his pocket. “I need to contact the person who was in here asking questions. He has some information I need.”

“She—”

“She?” Aaron dipped his head. “I was under the impression that it was a man.”

“Then you obviously haven’t seen this woman. She was beautiful. Wide eyes, smooth skin, hair pinned up neatly, smartly dressed. . .”

An image of
her
filled his mind at the description. Aaron closed his eyes and tried unsuccessfully to push away the vision of the lovely stranger. The whole thing was ridiculous. How could he have become so enamored of someone he’d never properly met? He knew as much about Mr. Lehrer as he did about the woman. He had to forget her. Time to focus on this lead, not on a woman he very well might never see again.

“What else about her description?” Aaron leaned against the side of the desk. “What color was her hair?”

The land agent held up his pen and winced. “That, I’m afraid, I can’t tell you. I’m color-blind.”

“You’re color-blind?” Aaron let out a sigh. All he needed were a few details, and he couldn’t even get those. “Certainly you can tell me what she was looking for.”

“Of course.” Mr. Lehrer nodded. “A man by the name of Richart Schlosser.”

Aaron worked to keep his frustration in check. In an office this unorganized, he wasn’t sure he could trust the man’s memory. “Are you sure that was the name?”

“I’m quite sure. I might be color-blind, but I never forget a name.”

“And what did you tell her?”

Mr. Lehrer tapped his pen against the desk. “The man moved away about four years ago. James Martin now owns the farm.”

Aaron stood up straight and tapped his Stetson against the palm of his hand. There was only one more thing he needed to know before he left. “Last question. What was the woman’s name?”

“Her name is Tara Young. And if you’re looking to find her, she was pretty persistent. I wouldn’t be surprised if she heads out to Mr. Martin’s the first chance she gets.”

❧

Tara finished reading aloud the last few verses from Psalms, chapter nineteen, then paused to take a peek at Mrs. Carpenter.
The older woman sat sound asleep in her slat-back rocker. Tara yawned and wondered if she could sneak a few minutes of sleep, as well. Getting up at five thirty for the second day in a row, followed by boiling a new batch of brine for the pickles, had her longing for the quiet mornings back home where no one ever wakened her until the decent hour of eight or nine. And pickles were something they purchased from the shelves of the local grocer, never sweated over in the kitchen.

Her gaze rested once again on the weathered Bible with its thin pages. Her father had often read to her from the Psalms and other books of the Bible, but she didn’t remember this particular one and its pronouncement that the Word of God was far more precious than gold. An interesting comparison, considering her own quest. While the thought was convicting, and she believed it to be true, her desire to track down the missing government gold had only intensified. Surely God would overlook her search for earthly treasures if He knew that her motives were in the right place.

How she was going to find the gold, though, was proving to be more difficult than she’d first imagined. Even now, she debated whether or not she should borrow the wagon this morning and pay a call on Mr. Martin. Not only did she worry about shirking her duties with the Carpenters, but obviously, a single woman such as herself paying a visit to a man she didn’t know would never be considered appropriate. She wondered what Aunt Rachel would have done. There had to be a way to achieve her objective without tarnishing her reputation.

She pulled her copy of
Harper’s Bazar
out from under the edge of the serpentine-back sofa, determined to work on a plan as she flipped through the pages. While she’d read the magazine from cover to cover at least a dozen times on the trip here, she never tired of looking at the latest fashions. Skirts of pink coral trimmed with matching flounces and pink roses for the hair. Fawn colored silk parasol, and a gorgeous lilac silk walking suit with a violet tunic.

Tara turned another page, stopping at a drawing of a beautiful parlor set made of black walnut and a contrasting trim. She read through the description of the grand room with its bold Chinese red walls. Included in the drawing was an Italian inlaid table with matching mirror, heavy curtains, and even a sidewall arrangement of shelves where daguerreotypes and prints were elegantly displayed.

She eyed the Carpenters’ old-fashioned sitting room with its worn fabrics and out-of-date furnishings and wondered if Mrs. Carpenter would be opposed to a few minor alterations of the room. A bit of paint, stylish fabric, and rearranging of the furniture would do wonders for the room’s mood. And it would certainly beat the pickling process.

Tara looked up at the sound of Mr. Carpenter’s booted footsteps on the wooden floor. He stopped at the doorway and nodded in the direction of his wife. “She often falls asleep this time of morning if she didn’t rest well at night, but she couldn’t wait for you to read to her. Like mine, her eyes aren’t strong anymore, and she has been missing her daily devotionals from the Word of God.”

“I’m glad she enjoyed it.”

Tara smiled, surprised at the feeling of contentment that washed over her. Though not quite as laborious as making pickles, reading aloud wasn’t her favorite pastime. Knowing Mrs. Carpenter enjoyed hearing her read from the Bible shed a different light on things. While Tara had come to enjoy her years of education, it hadn’t given her the chance to feel as though she were making a difference in anyone’s life. And she liked the feeling.

“Why don’t you go take a rest yourself?” Mr. Carpenter picked up a newspaper from his rocker and folded it under his arm before leaving the room. “You must be tired. With the pickles soaking and lunch simmering on the stove, I don’t suppose there is anything else for you to do right now.”

“I’m fine, really. I thought I would just read a bit.”

He paused in the doorway. “It’s a shame for you to have to stay cooped up inside. It’s such a lovely day, but after your experience in town yesterday, me and the missus are a bit concerned about your safety. Granted, such a barrage of gunfire isn’t a common occurrence, but all the same. . .”

Tara flicked at the edges of the magazine as his voice trailed off. If she could convince Mr. Carpenter to accompany her, she wouldn’t have to worry about her reputation or her safety.

She cleared her throat. “While I understand your apprehension, I would love to go for a ride. I’ve always enjoyed exploring, and I wouldn’t go far.”

Mr. Carpenter pressed his lips together. “I just hate the idea of you out alone, but. . .”

Tara held her breath. A quick trip to town was one thing, barring another episode with a crazed gunman. Exploring the surrounding isolated farmland was different, and she knew it.

He tapped the newspaper against the wall. “I wouldn’t mind at all going with you, though we’d have to take the wagon. I’m not much for riding horseback these days.”

Tara glanced at his sleeping wife, remembering her words of caution, and wondered if she’d spoken out of turn. “I thought the wagon and your joints—”

“Don’t you worry about me. The missus does enough of that. And besides, I need to get out of the house every now and then. Keeps me young.”

Tara laughed. “Then I’ll fetch my shawl and parasol and meet you outside.”

Fifteen minutes later, they made their way up a grassy ridge. From this vantage point on the buckboard, Tara could see the surrounding landscape with its groves of oak trees and wildflowers nestled between cornfields that stretched as far as the eye could see. Sampson waved at them from the edge of one of the fields, his ever-present smile in place.

She waved back, then twirled her silk parasol between her fingers. “I hadn’t expected Iowa to be so beautiful.”

Mr. Carpenter nodded. “I agree with you now, but when Ginny and I first arrived, I wasn’t sure I’d stay. Life was harder back then.”

“Tell me about it.”

Mr. Carpenter pulled back on the reins and slowed the horses to an easy trot. “The surroundings were quite different from what we were used to back east. Timber was limited, so we had to find alternative materials for building our homes and for fuel and fencing. We used things like Osage orange hedges for fencing, and our first house was made of sod. And there were other concerns. Not only did we have to build our own homes and our furniture, we also had to watch for signs of fires that could wipe out everything we’d built. It was lonely, and sickness was prevalent.”

A frown covered the older man’s normally jovial expression. Tara pushed a strand of her hair out of her face, struck by the hard life this couple had faced. “What made you decide to stay?”

“Besides being too stubborn to admit defeat?” Mr. Carpenter shook his head and laughed. “Things eventually began to change. The soil is rich and fertile, and as the population grew, we found ourselves connected to people again.”

Tara couldn’t help but notice the irony in the situation. “While you were longing for contact with people, we often complain that the city is too full of people.”

“That, my dear, is one of the main reasons I left.” Mr. Carpenter stopped at the top of another rise, showing her the beauty of the prairie that extended for miles. “Any place in particular you’d like to go?”

“Yes, actually.” Tara paused, wondering how she should broach the subject. She didn’t want Mr. Carpenter to find out about her search for the gold, but she needed his help to find Mr. Martin’s farm. “I’ve been reading my aunt’s journal, and she mentions a man by the name of Richart Schlosser. Did you know him?”

“Schlosser.” Mr. Carpenter shook his head. “Can’t say that I do, though that doesn’t mean much. The railroad has brought scores of immigrants who have settled into the area.”

“I found out in town that Mr. Schlosser moved away about four years ago, and James Martin bought his farm.”

“Now there’s a name I recognize. Lost his wife last year and hasn’t ever been quite the same.”

Tara leaned forward. “Do you know where he lives?”

Mr. Carpenter’s eyes twinkled. “It’s not far from here, if you’d like to stop by, though the man isn’t extremely friendly.”

“It’s worth a try, if you don’t mind.”

With Mr. Carpenter’s entertaining spin on stories from his past, it didn’t take long before they reached the farmhouse that, at one time, must have been lovely. Wind, rain, and neglect, though, seemed to have worn away most of the character of the saltbox house. She wasn’t even sure anyone still lived there.

Mr. Carpenter stopped the wagon in front of the house and called out, but his voice was quickly carried off by the wind.

Tara strained to look through the small glass panes in the front of the house, wondering if she should get down from the wagon and knock on the front door. “It looks empty to me.”

The golden ball of the sun rose toward its zenith behind the farmhouse, leaving behind a trail of white light that pierced through the cloudy sky. The silhouette of a man on horseback appeared from the east and made its way toward the wagon.