Chapter 4
After they reached the farm, Rose spent the next few hours helping put provisions away, and then helping Coralee with dinner. Darkness had fallen by the time she put Lucy to bed and decided to go for a stroll. She’d tried to keep so busy she’d have no time to think about Archer Field’s startling revelation, but despite her vow to the contrary, she couldn’t get it off her mind. She headed for the barn, hoping Deke would be there. When she arrived, she found a saddled sorrel quarter horse tied outside, the saddlebags full. Was it Deke’s? She stepped inside the barn and found him sitting on a bale of hay cleaning a pistol. His face lit when he saw her. “Rose! Come sit down. I hoped I’d see you before I left.”
She sat on a bale of hay across from him, spreading her skirt decorously around her. “That’s your horse out there?”
“Yes, that’s Sidney.”
“You’re leaving? I didn’t know.”
Deke’s mouth twisted into a wry grin. “Seems your father-in-law thinks I’m a criminal.”
With a stab of disappointment, she asked, “Ben dismissed you? That’s so unfair.”
“I don’t blame him.” Unconcerned, he continued cleaning the pistol. “We Australians are none too popular around here. Thieves and murderers, the lot of us.”
“Not you. I don’t believe it.”
“Not me.”
“I could talk to him.”
“Don’t bother.” He cast a quick gaze at the crutches resting beside him. “Despite what you think, I can take care of myself. Always have, always will.”
She’d be wise not to pursue the subject. “Before you go, I need to ask—were you my husband’s second at the duel?”
Deke’s head jerked back. “Who told you that? Blimey, no. He asked me, but I turned him down. What’s more stupid than a duel? I wanted no part of it. In the end, he got another of his employees, Jake Grunion, to be his second. I was there, though. He wanted me to drive him, so I did. Now I wish I hadn’t.”
Rose’s heart wrenched. Until now, Emmet’s death hadn’t seemed real, but here was someone who’d actually been there, seen him die. Getting the words out was painful. “One thing I’ve been wondering. Was he killed instantly or did he…well, linger?”
“Instantly. No pain at all.”
She smiled in relief. “Thank you for that. I wouldn’t have wanted—”
“I understand. You can rest easy. He didn’t suffer.”
Thank goodness. Time to get away from such a depressing subject. Besides, she really wanted to talk to him about something else. “You’d never believe what I found out today…”
In great detail, she described the family’s visit to Mr. Field’s office and how Ben had readily assumed the farm and hotel now belonged to him. “Then, just as we were leaving, Mr. Field mentioned that because of the new California Constitution, I’m the one who owns the farm and hotel, and I’ve got to sign some papers in order to turn them over to Ben.”
Deke chuckled. “I’d wager that father-in-law of yours must have been surprised. How did he take it?”
“He wasn’t the least concerned, and neither was Coralee. They expect I’ll do as I’m told. They couldn’t imagine I’d do otherwise.”
“Would you?”
“Of course not. For one thing, Emmet’s family has been good to me. For another, I wouldn’t have the nerve. I can’t even imagine what their reaction would be if I told them I wasn’t going to sign the papers.”
“But you’ve been thinking about it, haven’t you?”
Deke gave her such a piercingly wise gaze that for a moment she had to look away. “Of course I’ve thought of it. You wouldn’t know it to look at me, but I happen to know how to run a hotel.” She told him about the Birchwood Inn in Illinois, and how, when her parents were so ill, she’d practically run it by herself. “Of course, the River Queen is much larger, and there’s more going on.”
Grinning, he replied, “You could say that, being as the River Queen is one of the biggest and most notorious saloons on the riverfront.” He grew serious. “I think you’d like to give it a go, even though you deny it.”
“I’d love it, and I know what I’m talking about. At the inn, the work was hard. There were always things going wrong that I had to fix, but the good part was, I was in charge. I made the decisions, and at the end of each day, when the guests were content and I’d made a profit, I had this…this…wonderful feeling of accomplishment.”
“Well then, seems to me you’d better think twice before you give up what’s rightfully yours. You wouldn’t be the first female owner of a hotel in this town. A woman named Fanny Wentworth owns the Silver Star. She’s quite a gal.”
Rose briefly wondered what he meant by “quite a gal” but didn’t ask. “I might like the idea of running my own hotel, but I can’t imagine actually standing up to my in-laws and saying, ‘I’m not going to sign.’ My blood runs cold at the thought. I’d never have the courage.”
“You wouldn’t? It all depends on how you define courage. What do you think it is?”
She sat thinking a moment. “Courage is a lot of things. For a man, it’s like bravely marching off to war, or running into a burning building to save someone. For me, it’s different. I’m a woman, and women aren’t expected to do heroic things. Women are pretty much expected to do what they’re told, so for me courage means staying in my place, no matter what, and not complaining, no matter how resentful I might feel. That takes courage, too. It’s not easy to be humble and do as I’m told when inside I want way more in this life than I’m supposed to have.”
“Blimey.” For a time he sat silent, lines of concentration deepening along his brow. “In a way, you’re right. There are different kinds of courage, like for me it’s acting like I don’t care my leg is broke when inside…”
The look of pain that crossed his face disappeared in an instant, but she hadn’t missed it. “How did you break it?”
“I’ll tell you sometime. Let’s get back to courage.” He clasped his hands together and leaned forward, his grey eyes intense upon her. “Here’s what I think. Being a woman has nothing to do with it. If the law says you own the hotel and the farm, then so you do, and those in-laws of yours can go take a flying leap. You’re quiet, but you’re strong. Smart, too. I haven’t known you long, but I’d wager whatever you set your mind to, you could do it. The worst of it is, if you don’t speak out and claim what’s rightfully yours, there will come a time when you’ll regret it, only then it will be too late and you’ll spend the rest of your life wishing you’d spoken up when you had the chance.”
She’d been caught off guard by the intensity in his voice and couldn’t think how to answer. Nobody had ever talked to her like that before. “I must say, you’re honest enough.”
“That’s my advice. Take it or leave it.” He stood, shoved his pistol in a holster, and took up his crutches. “I’m done here. Come along. You can hold my crutches while I get on my horse.”
Pleased that he’d actually asked for help, she followed him outside and dutifully held his crutches, noticing how gracefully he swung into the saddle despite the cumbersome cast. She handed him the crutches, which he tied over one of the saddlebags. “Where are you going?”
A thoughtful smile curved his mouth. “I’ll know when I get there.” With a sudden downward swoop, he kissed her on the cheek. “Mind what I said. You’re made of stronger stuff than you think you are, Rose Peterson. It was nice knowing you.” With two fingers he touched the broad brim of his hat. “Very nice.”
Rose watched Deke Fleming nudge Sidney and ride away. He sat his horse well, as if he’d spent lots of time in the saddle. Such broad shoulders. A shame about the crutches. Today he’d opened up enough to let her see how much he hated that cast on his leg. She touched the spot on her cheek where he’d kissed her. Was it her imagination, or was it still warm? Ah, well, he was gone now, and she’d never see him again. He’d given her something to think about, though. What he said made a lot of sense, and she would have liked to talk to him more about it. Not that she’d change her mind.
* * * *
As Deke rode away, he gave a quick shake of his head, his habit when the world closed in around him and his spirits got down. That’s when he’d think of home. He had only to shut his eyes to be back at Amalie Station, in the heart of the outback, where he’d lived all his life on the most beautiful, most unforgiving land on this earth. His beloved Amalie—a place of silence and beauty where the fish-filled streams ran crystal clear and the water birds hovered above; where the beautiful Flinders Range with its ever-changing colors loomed in the distance; where he could herd a thousand bleating sheep for days and never see another soul, only wallabies, kangaroos, lizards, and the like; where he could sleep on the ground by an open fire, stars twinkling above, and consider himself the luckiest man on earth.
Rose made him laugh when she asked if he was a convict. He’d honestly told her he wasn’t. What he hadn’t said was that his father was. At the age of fifteen, Jonathan David Fleming was caught committing the heinous crime of stealing two rabbits off a pushcart in the Brixton district of London. At his trial, he told the judge he’d stolen the rabbits because his family was starving, but his explanation fell on deaf ears. He was convicted, and because the cost of the rabbits was over five shillings, the judge sentenced him to hang. Not until he stood on the gallows, noose around his neck, was he given a choice: either hang or be sent to Australia on a convict ship.
Only in the last years of his life did Deke’s father talk about those months on a convict ship where he was chained below deck the entire time, beaten and nearly starved. Where nothing lay ahead except the dismal prospect of serving time in one of Australia’s notoriously brutal prisons. But he survived the journey, and when he arrived in New South Wales, he got the luckiest break of his life. He never served a day of his sentence in prison. Labor was so scarce he was immediately sent to work on a sheep station near Adelaide. Soon awarded his freedom, he married Amalie, a girl he’d met while they were imprisoned on the ship, and was granted some land of his own. He named it Amalie Station, and that was where Deke was born and grew up.
After his father died, Deke took over the small sheep station. Over the years, he expanded, bought adjacent land. His property got so big that he could get on his horse at one border of Amalie Station, ride three days, and still be on his own land.
The profits rolled in. He started thinking maybe he’d build onto the homestead and get a few luxuries like a pump in the kitchen and rugs on the floor. And maybe he’d start looking for a wife, although on the rare times he got to Willowbrook, the town closest to Amalie, he didn’t see anyone special that he liked, so there wasn’t a hurry about that. Then the Australian market for wool started slumping badly. His profits dropped, along about the time word came about the California Gold Rush. When his friend, Mitch Carter, who owned the nearest station to Amalie, said he’d bought his passage on the next boat to San Francisco, he urged Deke to come along. “The trouble with you, Deke, is you’re sheep-rich but bored,” Mitch told him. “What you need is an adventure.” Deke got to thinking he should go. And why not? He was healthy, fit, and strong. His trusted manager could run Amalie Station just fine without him. His friend Mitch was a sober, deeply religious man whom Deke highly respected. So maybe he’d have a go at it, catch the same ship as Mitch. They would sail to California, make their way to the gold fields, and find enough gold to make their fortunes. Even if they didn’t find those giant-sized nuggets everyone talked about, so what? He’d have had himself a fine adventure. Would that be so bad? What did he have to lose?
Deke bought his passage to California. He’d go to what they called “the diggings,” take a look, and if he didn’t like what he saw, then he’d bloody well go home.
On a bright, sunny afternoon in June, eighty-one days out of Sidney, Australia, Deke and Mitch stood on the deck of the bark Elizabeth Archer along with a bunch of other gold-hunting Australians and cheered as the ship sailed through the Golden Gate into San Francisco Bay. Ahead, they saw a forest of masts, all from ships that had been abandoned, the crews having taken off for the gold fields. To the east, Deke saw what looked like a long, low bank of white clouds. He soon learned they weren’t clouds at all but the snow-covered Sierra Nevada Mountains, 150 miles away. “Looks like we’re not there yet,” he said. “It’ll take a while.”
Mitch shook his head. “Not so. From what I hear, we can sail across the bay and up a river that will take us all the way to Sacramento, so it shouldn’t be a problem.”
His friend couldn’t have been more wrong. In Deke’s worst nightmare, he could not have imagined how big a problem his journey to the gold fields would turn out to be. Both having arrived in California with substantial funds, he and Mitch purchased a longboat taken from an abandoned ship. They were joined by five fellow Australians they’d met on the Elizabeth Archer, each having offered to pay for their passage. After asking directions and checking maps, they started out, aiming their longboat across San Francisco Bay. Because of their ample provisions and the weight of seven men, the boat rode low in the water, but they crossed the northern part of San Francisco Bay to the Strait of Benicia without incident and spent a convivial night in a hotel in the town of Benicia. All the next day, they sailed and rowed east across Suisun Bay toward the mouth of the Sacramento River. With hopes and excitement running high, Deke enjoyed the journey. They laughed and joked a lot, and there was much speculation about what they’d do with all the gold they were going to find. Deke remembered that day well. It was the last day he was a whole man, fit and confident that if he had to, he could take on the world.
When night fell and the tide ebbed, they were still several miles from the river, so they decided to drop anchor until dawn. They bundled themselves against the cold wind and slept as best they could. A few hours later, Deke suddenly awoke to find the boat listing sharply and cold water rushing in. He didn’t know until later that the anchor had gotten stuck in the mud of the bay floor. As the water rose with the tide, the boat tipped completely over. He felt himself being flung into the water just as the edge of the boat smashed down on his leg. At the time, he hardly noticed. Others were screaming. He himself was a strong swimmer, so when Mitch started desperately yelling, “I can’t swim,” and flailing his arms, he grabbed hold of his friend’s coat collar and held him up. What next? He could hang on to the overturned boat, but they were already shaking from the cold, and he knew they’d never last long in the freezing water. Tugging Mitch behind him, he began a one-armed paddle toward what he hoped was shore. Along the way, exhaustion overcame him and he thought he couldn’t go on unless he let Mitch go. But no, he couldn’t do that. Mitch was his friend, and he’d either get him to shore or they’d go down together in the icy, unforgiving waters of Suisun Bay.
Soaking wet and freezing, Deke, Mitch, and two other survivors somehow made it to land. An icy, bitter wind cut into them as they crawled up a bank and lay exhausted on the muddy ground. It was then Deke’s right leg let him know it was broken, sending out such an agonizing wave of pain, he had to grit his teeth to keep from crying out. He tried to walk and couldn’t. In silent agony, he made it through the rest of the night, and when the sun came up, he saw how the raw end of a broken shin bone was sticking through the skin of his right leg.
Deke couldn’t walk. Thank God, he’d kept his money in a waterproof belt around his waist, but like his companions, everything else he owned had been lost in the bay. It was a sorry-looking lot that managed to hail a passing whaleboat. By then, Deke could do nothing, other than grit his teeth to stifle his cries of pain while his companions carried him onto the whaleboat and laid him on the deck as carefully as they could. Even so, the least bit of jostling brought spasms of agony, a couple of times so bad he passed out. When they reached the town of Stockton, they looked for a doctor but were told they must travel on to Sacramento to find the nearest one available. So they found another boat, hauled Deke up the Sacramento River, the most agonizing ride of his life, and finally reached the office of Dr. Horace Andrews, a kindly, white-haired man whose medical school diploma on the wall gave Deke confidence that he knew what he was doing.
“It’s a bad break,” Dr. Andrews said. “I’m going to set your leg and put it in a cast. I’ll use something new called plaster of Paris. You’ll be my first patient to have it.”
With his mates holding him down, Deke had his leg set. Even though the doctor gave him a dose of laudanum, the pain was so bad he mercifully passed out. When he came to, he had a huge heavy cast on his leg. The doctor gave him some crutches. “Here’s so you can get around.”
“How long?”
“At least six weeks. Then come back and we’ll see.”
“What if I don’t wait six weeks before I get off the crutches?”
Dr. Andrews looked him in the eye. “If you walk on that leg a day before I say you can, you’ll likely be crippled the rest of your life.”
After an unhappy parting accompanied by profuse apologies and expressions of regret, his friends went on without him. After all, he couldn’t expect them to stay when they were keen on getting to the diggings. Hiding his profound disappointment, he smiled, told them he’d be fine, and watched as they rode off toward the mountains. So now what would he do? Or more like it, what could he do? One thing he knew: He’d been busy all his life and couldn’t just sit around waiting for the leg to heal.
Lucky for him, one day in the River Queen Saloon, he met a man named Emmet Peterson who loudly complained how he desperately needed a farmhand, but nearly every able-bodied man in town had taken off for the gold fields. Deke saw his opportunity. Would he take a hardworking Australian who, despite the crutches, could still give a good day’s work? Emmet said he would, and that’s why Decatur Fleming, owner of a thirty-four-thousand-square-kilometer sheep station in the heart of the outback, became the humble farmhand on a twenty-acre farm on the outskirts of Sacramento.
Now what would he do? Stay in Sacramento, he supposed. Rent a room. Find something to keep him occupied until the cast came off. Maybe he’d see Rose Peterson again. He would like that. He didn’t like that he’d had to lie to her, but what else could he do? What good would come from her knowing her husband suffered greatly for hours before he died?
And that wasn’t all he hadn’t told her. Mason Talbot. He clenched his jaw. If the Petersons knew what Mason had done? But they didn’t know, and damned if he’d be the one to tell them. Best let sleeping dogs lie.
So he’d stay in Sacramento, at least until Dr. Andrews took the cast off. Nearly five miserable, frustrating weeks he’d waited. Now he had just over a week to go before Rose Peterson saw him walk like a man again, and he’d make sure she did. It would be the longest week of his life.