Into the Bright Unknown (The Gold Seer Trilogy #3)(2)

When she sees me, she gives me a relieved smile.

“What can I do?” I ask.

“Coffee. Here, take this.” She shoves the pot into my hands. “Olive’s got a second pot brewing on the stove for when that’s empty. Sure hope that peddler brings another one. We’ll need three pots going at once by the end of the month.”

I start at the nearest table and fill all the cups to three quarters full. Mary grabs dirty plates and heads toward the wash station. One of the miners, a grizzled fellow with a big bald spot dead center on his scalp, reaches up with grasping fingers for Mary’s backside.

Mary whirls and—quick as a viper—whips out a handkerchief and snaps it at him.

The grizzled man snatches his hand back. “I was just being friendly!”

“Be friendly without using your hands,” Mary says.

The man frowns. “You ask me, this tavern ought to be called Uppity Women.”

Mary grins. “Thank you for the compliment, sir.”

He squints. Before he can suss it out, I step forward with my pot. “Hot coffee, sir?”

“Don’t mind if I do!” he says, Mary forgotten.

This is how it is most days at the Worst Tavern. Becky and Olive and Mary work themselves ragged to feed hungry miners, making mountains of biscuits, flapjacks, scrambled eggs, and bacon, cleaning dish after dish, all while avoiding the wandering hands of fellows who think coming to California means they no longer have to act like gentlemen. Sometimes I help out, but most days I’m out in the goldfields, working my own claim or helping my friends with theirs.

I return to the stove for more coffee, just as Mary comes back for more biscuits. “I need to talk to you,” I whisper to her. “Just as soon as the morning rush is over.”

She hefts the plate of biscuits with one hand and wipes her brow with the other. “Sure, Lee,” she says, and she’s off.

Becky leans over. “You’re going to tell her?” she whispers.

“Yep.”

Becky’s brow furrows. “You sure you can trust the girl? She’s young and . . .” Her voice trails off.

And Chinese? And foreign? I’m not sure what it is Becky won’t say, and I keep my face smooth with some effort.

“She deserves the truth, Becky,” I say firmly.

Becky turns away, scrambling her eggs a little too violently.

“She helped me destroy Hiram’s Gulch, remember? We wouldn’t have escaped without her. I can’t begin to guess how many lives she saved. Besides, she’s been working here for a month. In all that time, she’s earned for you three times what you pay her, without once complaining. I trust her, and so should you.”

I’m preaching to myself as much as Becky, I suppose. I trust Mary. I do. It’s just that my secret is such a big one, and so many people have been hurt because of it.

“What does Jefferson say?” Becky says. “He’s going to be your husband; it’s only proper you consult him.”

“Jeff trusts her. He says it’s up to me whether I tell her or not.”

She shovels eggs onto a plate just in time for Mary to dash by and sweep it up. “If you think it’s best,” Becky says.

The morning passes quickly. Miners only linger if they had too much to drink the night before; otherwise, they’re up and away to their claims as soon as possible. Everyone knows the easy diggings will be gone soon, and there’s no time to spare.

A final wave of hungry miners heads our way, and I look up, hoping to see Jefferson, but it’s just Old Tug and his Buckeyes from Ohio. Jefferson must be at his claim already. With our wedding coming up, he’s keen to build his stake.

“Morning, gentlemen,” I call out as Tug and his men find seats. “Coffee?”

Tug wipes at bleary eyes. “Please, Miss Leah.”

“Hard night, huh?” I ask, filling his cup.

He grins through wiry whiskers, showing all two of his teeth. “Won two gold eagles playing cards,” he says.

“Congratulations.”

“Two gold eagles makes me mighty eligible, don’t you think? High time I found a Mrs. Tuggle.”

Not this again.

“It’s a pity I’m already affianced,” I tell him solemnly.

“Oh, not you,” he says with a wave of his hand. “Got my eye on that little China girl.” And sure enough, his gaze follows Mary as she heaps bacon onto plates and wipes up spills with her handkerchief.

I sigh. Poor Mary.

“You think she’ll have me?” he asks.

“I doubt it,” I say.

His eye widen with affront. “Ain’t nothing wrong with me!”

“Course not. But Mary is one of the handsomest girls I ever saw. Also, she’s a woman of intelligence and learning. Did you know she speaks three languages?”

He shakes his head.

“So, I suggest that instead of proposing straight out, you court her. Woo her. Show her what a fine gentleman you are.”

“You think so?”

“I do.” That will give me time to warn my friend. Old Tug has asked every woman he’s met to marry him, starting with Becky Joyner and then me.

“I reckon you might be right,” he concedes. “I don’t want to mess this one up.”