Chapter 1
Wilhelmina Bergmann lay in a patch of shade too close to a prickly pear cactus for her liking. Arms spread wide, she aired out her armpits in a decidedly unladylike fashion. Truth be told, this wasn’t the only thing she’d done in the last twenty-four hours that would shock her friends back in Boston.
She closed her eyes against the bright sun, bemoaning for the hundredth time her black crepe shirtwaist and long skirt. But she was in deep mourning, and thanks to Queen Victoria, God rest her soul, this was what fashionable women wore when in mourning.
Her uncle splashed in the small creek not twenty yards from her. As he swirled his pan, the sound of rocks scraping on tin rose above the gurgle of water. She prayed he would find gold soon, so they could move on.
“Water feels great,” Uncle Dale called. “Grab a tin and join me.”
Billie opened one eye and squinted in his direction. Wet up to his knees, with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his exposed skin paled from the cold water. His prospector’s hat, filthy thing that it was, and purchased from a man leaving the valley, shaded his face so she couldn’t read his expression. His chevron mustache bobbed as he chewed tobacco, and his formerly clean-shaven chin sprouted the makings of a beard, marking the hours they’d been away from civilization.
Ah, Uncle Dale. He could talk a dying man into buying a vacation home.
She shouldn’t have given in so easily. Had they stuck to the original plan of mailing her cousin the watch and contacting an attorney to handle any other business, they would have been home by now. She didn’t understand his quick change of mind, but after spending a day holed up in Daddy’s home office, he was adamant that they travel through Bisbee.
Billie had never even heard of the place, but Uncle had caught her at a weak moment, when her brain was so muddled she couldn’t even make basic decisions like, did she want toast or oatmeal for breakfast? Her whole life had changed when she moved out to California, and now she was returning to her old life, minus her father’s oversight.
Uncle said not to worry; he would take care of everything, and she could return to her school before the fall session started to resume her social life as it was before.
However, if she were honest with herself, she’d admit that she was scared to go home, worried that Holly and Jane and Suzanne had replaced her with someone else and wouldn’t make room for her return.
A side trip put off the unknown. That’s why she agreed to this fiasco. Uncle Dale told her it would be a lark, a fun detour, and when would she have a chance like this again? She could go back home with a pocketful of gold to show her friends instead of the red-rimmed eyes she was currently sporting.
There was no gold, but there was no telling him that. There also wasn’t any point asking him to hurry up, regarding either the gold panning or settling Daddy’s estate.
Her friends didn’t even know she was coming home. There hadn’t been time to send word, and Mother wouldn’t think to tell them. What with all her doctor’s appointments and specialists, Mother’s life in Boston was full, if not pleasant.
“Found something. Ah, no. Never mind.” Uncle dumped the contents back in the water and scooped up more mud.
Billie groaned. “How much longer?” My life is wasting away.
“Not much.”
Daddy died a few days after the finishing touches went on the big house in California, and then Uncle, instead of Mother, was there at her side taking care of everything. The funeral arrangements, the estate, going through Daddy’s unorganized mounds of paper in his office. Before Billie knew it, Daddy was in the ground, and she and her uncle were on a train back to Boston. Back to their old life.
With one detour.
She fanned her face. What would her friends think of her lying in the dirt? What would Branson Hughes think?
If she’d stayed in Boston, he might have declared himself by now. She’d spent months trying to assure him his interest was reciprocated, but he was so shy the progress was slow going. They’d finally had a moment when she was leaving. He’d seen her off at the train when she’d left with her dad for California and offered to carry her luggage. When she handed it to him, he held her gaze, and deliberately brushed his hand against hers. Deliberately. No young man was able to make her insides flip like Branson Hughes, the biggest catch in Boston.
And, had she stayed, she would be with her friends right now planning the next season of parties. She and her girls. This was to be their year. They were the ones to set the bar higher than any other class, to show them all how it was done. Just like her daddy taught her.
Tears welled in her eyes, but she blinked them back. She didn’t expect to miss her father so much. He was never around when he was alive, but in the end, he had been trying. Boston was going through a smallpox epidemic, and he wanted her away from the illness.
Mother refused to leave her own doctors. She was not in favor of moving to the west coast, but Daddy hoped to change her mind with a pretty new house near his new mine. In the end, it wasn’t Billie’s or Mother’s health that was in jeopardy, it was his. Heart failure comes without warning.
A fortuitous event, Uncle had said, that their train ride east would take them from California to Boston via Arizona. What better time to see her long-lost relation, a cousin to whom her father had bequeathed a watch. Billie could exchange news about the German side of her family.
But she’d had no idea how difficult Uncle’s little side trip was going to be. Nor had she realized her long-lost cousin lived out in the middle of nowhere in Arizona Territory. No wonder it wasn’t a state yet. Miles of nothing but scrub. It was frightening. Wild. She’d never fully relax until curled up in a cozy hotel bed in Bisbee.
She considered her high-top boots, not made for traipsing about the countryside, and certainly not made for crossing creeks. They were made for tea parties and strolling Boston Common. They were her favorite pair; she’d begged Daddy to get them for her even though his secretary advised that they were too mature for her sixteen years. White leather with twenty-two lace holes—two more than Sally Johnson’s fancy boots—and a buckle detail near the base of the foot. Most striking, they had a black leather flower rising up from the heel. No one had ever seen that before. They were perfect.
At least, they used to be. Now they were brown with Arizona dirt and the binding near the right toe was pulling loose. She’d snapped the left set of laces last night when she was angry at Uncle for taking so long panning that they had to spend the night under the stars with the coyotes.
She was sure if Mother knew where Uncle was dragging her, she’d never stand for it. Gold Rush fever was over. Her uncle was late to the party, and no amount of panning was going to pay off for him.
Uncle Dale splashed out of the water. “Got a little dust,” he said. “May as well head into town and sell it.”
Billie sat up. “Now?”
“Sure. Town’s less than an hour that-a-way.” He jerked his head to the right.
Billie widened her eyes. “What are we waiting for?”
Restaurants. Hotels. Proper bathrooms.
She was already standing and slapping off the dried bits of scrub from her black skirt. She could practically feel the warm bathwater washing away the dust clinging to her legs. It would be the best thing this side of heaven. “You should’ve told me sooner.”
“I scouted the trail out this morning while you were sleeping.”
Billie gasped, surveying the rugged land. “You left me out here alone?”
Uncle dried his tin pan along his pants. “You were getting your beauty sleep. It wasn’t like you were going to wander off.”
“Coyotes? Bears? Bandits?” Billie waved her arms to emphasize her point. She could have been killed—or—or worse.
Uncle raised his eyebrows. “You seem perfectly fine to me. Besides, you’re tougher than you think. I just proved it to you, and now you’re the better for it.” He turned his back and shoved the pan into a sack. “Let’s go.”
She clenched her jaw while carrying her own carpetbag. The rest of her belongings had been checked through to Boston. Her shirtwaists and shoes would be home before she was.
They’d taken the train as far as Tombstone where Uncle had complained that all the jostling was affecting his lumbago, and the stage would only make it worse. Besides, wouldn’t it be an adventure if they did some hiking in the desert?
The thing was, when they got off the train in Tombstone he went into a saloon to ask word about the local silver mines. He was gone long enough to gamble their money away. It was the only logical explanation for why they were walking instead of taking the stage as planned. In fact, Uncle had been acting strangely ever since leaving California.
She worried about what terrible secret he was keeping from her. Was she a pauper now that Father had died? Or worse, had her mother finally succumbed to her illness, too, and Uncle Dale was putting off telling her? And if so, did he plan on leaving her in Bisbee with this relative they’d come to see?
“Tomorrow we’ll take the stage to the nearest town with a train, yes?” she reiterated. She was determined to keep her uncle focused on their tasks. “Headed for Boston?”
“Hm. We’ll see.”
“I need to get home to Mother. She’s grieving alone.” And so am I. She felt like she couldn’t freely grieve until she got home to the place where she knew her dad best.
“I know what my sister is going through,” Uncle said with an edge to his voice as they reached the top of the ridge. “That’s why we’re here.” He spread his arms wide where the town lay nestled in the valley. “To secure your future.”
