The Rose Legacy (33 page)

But she only shook her head. “No, I shouldn’t say it.”

“Carina, if you know something …”

“I don’t know.”

“But you suspect.”

“No. Èmie …” She stood suddenly and walked across the kitchen and back.

Quillan waited, watching, thinking again of the sprightly Morgan filly he’d seen in Golden. Carina had the same fire, the same spirit. What would it be like to love her? The thought was so incongruous, he forced it away. “Whether you know for sure or not, why don’t you just tell me.” He used his most winning tone, though by what she’d already said he guessed the rest.

She frowned. “You and Mr. Beck. Always talking, telling me what to do.” She stalked as she spoke, holding the sling with her other hand, stopping directly before him. “You think this, he thinks that. I don’t know what to think.”

Quillan stood up also, stepping around the side of the table. “Don’t think I’m like Berkley Beck.” Besides the obvious insult of the comparison, he felt compelled to make her understand their differences. “If you want me to back off …”

She closed her eyes and expelled her breath. “Èmie thinks her uncle …” Her free hand came up again, so expressive. “She thinks he killed William Evans.”

Quillan digested that. He’d guessed right, but, as Carina said, it was only conjecture. “Does she know it?”

“No. She was with me that night. Right in my cot. She neither saw nor heard, only dreamed a bad dream.”

“But?” Quillan leaned his hip onto the cupboard.

“But … she said her uncle was paid to do something, and the next morning there is Mr. Evans with his throat—” She broke off abruptly, her mind making the jump, just as others had and more would.

Quillan scowled, his anger taking the lead. “His throat what? Torn by teeth?”

Her eyes came to him, large and deep. “Is that what Mr. Beck wants? For people to think—”

Quillan’s laugh was low. “What do you think, Carina?”

Again her gaze was penetrating, but this time his armor was in place. She’d see no more than he showed. And he’d show no more than a shell.

Her voice was scarcely more than a whisper. “I don’t know.”

What could he say? If she didn’t trust him, didn’t believe him, what words could make it so? “Then I’m wasting my time.” He turned for the door, paused a moment as the night air came over him, then went out into the dark.

T
WENTY-FOUR

If there is a hell I have found it. Yet here I find a welcome, and the price is no more than I paid to lose everything before.

—Rose

I
T WAS A WONDERFUL THING
the way Crystal healed. Just one week past the flood, new buildings were being erected. Stone from nearby pits was quarried and used for more substantial business establishments, and many of those who had lived in tents now built small cabins. All the families who had been huddled into Mae’s dining room were back in some sort of shelter.

All around her, Carina heard the blows of hammers, the rasp of saws, the strokes of axes. Though she grieved that the slopes were further logged, she saw that the small trees would grow up again as had those at Placer. And much of the wood used had been stripped by nature herself, pines uprooted by the flood and carried down the gulch. So much lumber was salvaged from the old buildings of Placer and Crystal that Carina felt the two had somehow merged. And since Placerville was truly no more, Crystal seemed the stronger for it.

Carina didn’t mourn Placer, didn’t miss the gray buildings that had housed the shades. Perhaps the flood had been a warning, a judgment, as Preacher Paine had said. But the men of Crystal gamely rebuilt. In the same way, Quillan had repaired his wagon and acquired new wheels. From the looks of it across the street, it was better than new. She suspected the wheelwright was only too glad to oblige him, as the freighters were the most popular fraternity at present, so needy was Crystal of supplies.

Carina looked for Quillan by his wagon, but it stood empty, the horses waiting quietly for their driver. She made her way down Central, once again bordered on both sides by new construction, men working together to erect the buildings so swiftly it made her head spin. She didn’t see him anywhere along the street and chided herself for her foolishness.

They hadn’t spoken in the last week, not since the dinner they’d shared. But something had happened that night. Since then, she had been overly aware of him, catching a glance across the field, hearing his voice in a group of men, watching him help Cain to his stump where the old man could see the happenings. She had become attuned to Quillan Shepard in a way that concerned and frustrated her.

And there he was now, tossing a small rubber ball with three ragged boys. He launched the ball high into the air, and all three vied for position. The tallest of them caught the ball with a whoop. Quillan laughed, then waved them off when they clamored for more. He turned and caught her watching.

Carina felt the blood burn up her neck and into her cheeks. She was too far away for him to see her flush, but not too far to notice her watching. He made a slight bow with his head, but she was already turning away. What must he think to find her watching him so? And what was it that held her every time she did see him?

Hurrying on, she passed Cain’s son on the street. His full name, she had learned, was Daniel Cain, and though they never spoke of the night she’d tended him, he did occasionally seek her out and talk. She knew they were close in age because he told her the day he turned twenty. She would be twenty-two in September. Twenty-two years old and not married.

At home Mamma’s worry would be extreme.
“What do you wait for? Choose!”
And the truth was that she could choose, she being favored with Mamma’s beauty and Papa’s position. She didn’t have to wait, hoping someone would choose her. Someone had. Should she have stayed and married Flavio in spite of it all? Impossible!

Here in Crystal, she had only to show she was willing and hundreds of men would propose. This last week as she tended the injured and gave solace to the homeless, she had been embraced in a way she hadn’t thought possible when she first walked the streets of Crystal, seeing only the squalor and degradation.

In Sonoma she’d been surrounded by her people, Papa’s contingent, most of them carrying on as they had in Sardinia. Life had changed little more than location. They worked the vineyards, they made the wine, they made the music and the art and carried the renaissance inside them to the new world.

Here in Crystal, the Italians were less her people than simply Crystal’s people. She watched them playing bocce behind the barns, but she didn’t long to jump in. She didn’t need to. The spirit that joined the citizens of Crystal after the flood reached out and included her … if she wanted it.

Carina felt Mae and Èmie opening up, the three of them forming a cord, a friendship so different from those she had known before. Mae with her brusque, coarse ways that hid a heart both soft and vulnerable; Èmie with her stiff, dutiful manner. Both learning to laugh, to cry, to feel as alive as Carina did.

And she did! Somehow this time away from those who had sheltered her, coddled her, told her how to feel, to think … somehow it was forming her in a new way, independent of her family, of Flavio. For the first time she knew there was a world beyond her own, and she could be part of it.

Stopping outside Mr. Beck’s office, she drew a long breath and went inside. He wasn’t there, and she felt instantly relieved. That whole week he’d been out more than he was in, and she was glad for his absence. With him there she was constantly on edge, feeling his eyes, sensing his thoughts, his suspicions.

She watched for anything amiss, but there was nothing. Mr. Beck was only what he seemed, a busy attorney who was now a city trustee, replacing a man who had drowned in the flood. Mr. Beck was more respected and powerful than before. She walked to his desk, heaped again with papers.
Bene
. There was some comfort in things that stayed the same.

She took his seat and began sorting. Some of the papers were land claims, but many had to do with city business. Mr. Beck’s quick action following the flood had earned him much respect. And with that came expectations.

Crystal was far from peaceful. There was a new undercurrent of suspicion, and though on the surface people worked together, Carina noted them also watching their backs. The roughs took full advantage of the disarray, and the trustees were under fire. Mr. Beck had assured her he intended to bring order to the situation, but how? And how did it involve Quillan and Berkley Beck’s suspicions toward him?

Carina sighed. She wouldn’t think of that now. Any thought of Quillan brought a tremor to her belly. It was the risk of playing both sides. It was the position he’d placed her in—they’d both placed her in. So why did she feel it only in considering Quillan Shepard?

Enough. She must focus on the task before her. The city business she filed in a separate pile. Complaints. Almost as many as land disputes. She would get a new crate to hold them. Why didn’t Mr. Beck buy the cabinets so many kept their files in? Surely he had money enough for that. Yet his office was Spartan. Were his rooms the same?

Since her discussion with Quillan, she had wondered more and more. Was that where he kept her silver? Was there some hiding place in Mr. Beck’s rooms that held the proof Quillan wanted, proof of misdeeds? She got up and again her skirt caught on the loose board. She tugged it free. She should nail it down. Maybe he had a hammer and nail. Slowly she walked to the door and reached for the knob.

A jolt ran up her spine. Suppose he were inside! She withdrew her hand as though scorched.
Pazza!
What was she thinking? She turned back, her heart thumping in her ribs.

She looked around the room where she stood. It was obvious nothing was hidden there. The crates were her own devising. The desks had no locked drawers, no secret panels. They were simple—two drawers and a top. She sat down in the chair and pulled open the right-hand drawer of Mr. Beck’s desk; pens and nibs and ink, his seal and other such things.

The left drawer held paper and envelopes and his ledger. His legal books were on the shelf along the far wall. That was all. Frustrated, she stood, and the skirt snagged again, irking her. Was the man too cheap to fix his floor?

She reached down and felt the board. She would leave it on his desk for him to repair. She pulled it free and froze. Beneath it was a sizable space, and inside she saw a ledger and other things, including the box that held Nonna’s silver. So this was his safe place?

Frowning, she lifted the ledger and beneath it saw deeds, exactly like her own. Illustrations of her property and others and advertisements such as the one she had answered. Quillan had been right. Mr. Beck
was
responsible. He had known from the first moment she would not have her house.

He was the one who had cheated her! Lied! And kissed her hand! Heart pounding, she replaced the ledger and reached for the box of silver, then stopped. She couldn’t take it without revealing that she’d found his hiding place. She would request it. And once it was returned … She replaced the board, then climbed out from under the desk and stood, shaking with fury. She spun when the door opened and Berkley Beck stepped in.

“Carina!” His smile stretched, his teeth white, straight, his eyes wide with delight and blue as a baby’s.

Bestia! Animale! Demonio!

In three strides he had captured her hands and brought them together to his lips. “I have great news. The trustees have decided to organize into a council, and it seems Crystal will have need of a mayor.” He paused, sensing at last her fury. “Are you all right?”

No. I am not all right
. But she knew better than to show it. She tugged a hand free and waved it. “A touch of fever maybe. I’m well enough.” But she shook with anger, and he could feel it when he took her elbow, she was sure.

“Here, sit.” He walked her to her chair.

“I’m fine.”
Animale
. “Please don’t concern yourself.”

His blue eyes softened. “You know I can’t help it.”

No?
You think I don’t know you? I would not learn the truth? You think me stupida?
She said nothing.

His eyes deepened. “Carina.” He dropped to his knee beside her where she sat, captured her hands in his. “If things fall out the way I think they will—”

“Please don’t.” She wanted to kick him as hard as Giusseppe’s mule.

“I must.”

“Then I must refuse.” Or slap him. Her hand itched for it.

“Marry me, Carina.”

“No.”

She saw the anger flicker in his eyes, felt his grip on her hands tighten. His eyes burned as though he would change her mind by staring alone.

“They’re considering me for mayor. The trustees want a leader. The city wants—”

“That changes nothing.”

His jaw tightened. “You should think well before refusing me.”

“I have refused you already.”

His eyes turned cold. She had overstepped herself, and he seethed as he stood up stiffly. She stood up as well, her chest heaving with all the invectives she would like to shout.
How dare you woo me when you have lied and cheated and deceived me. Omaccio!
Mr. Beck was not the man to anger, yet how could she help herself? He was everything Quillan thought him and worse. She couldn’t bear to be in his presence a moment longer.

She stalked out of the office and searched the street, but Quillan’s wagon was gone. Lifting her skirts, she ran back to Mae’s, her back stiff with rage, as much at herself as Berkley Beck. How had she been such a fool? How had she thought Berkley Beck kind when he did nothing but serve himself?

She saw Cain sitting on the stump and made her path straight to him. “Have you seen Quillan?”

“And good day to you, too, little miss.”

She released an exasperated breath. “I’m sorry. I don’t have time.”

“That’s the trouble with you young folks. Always rushing to and fro.” He raised a pointed finger. “Quillan’s the same. He’s got a fire under him and not a minute to spare, don’t ya know. Off about his business with hardly a fare-thee-well.”

“Then he’s gone?”

“Hee-hee. You don’t miss a step.” He waved the finger in her face.

“Please.” Carina was losing her patience. “Has he left town?”

“I don’t know that he’s left. He’s a-haulin’ some ore from the New Boundless. I reckon he’s filled up by now and headin’ down for the smelting works. After that he’s on to Colorado Springs. He’ll be gone a good piece.”

She turned and hurried back toward Central.

“And good day to you!” Cain hollered after her.

Carina made no reply. She hadn’t time for courtesy. She must catch Quillan before he left town, must tell him what she’d found. Tension formed a pain between her eyebrows, but she needn’t have worried. As she reached the street, she saw him standing outside the new livery, which was mostly rebuilt and again housing horses.

He stood with Alan Tavish. His blacks and two new Clydesdales were hitched to the wagon loaded with ore. If he was in such a hurry, why did he delay to chat with an old ostler? Carina shook her head. She should question good fortune?

Raising her skirts, she fought her way across the crowded street. Some things hadn’t changed since the flood. The dust and traffic remained. Disgusted, she stepped around a mound of mule droppings. After one week, the smell, too, was much the same.