MATCHMAKER BRIDES
Collection
Sting of Mercy
Opening Scene
Prescott, Dakota Territory 1880
The heat from the cast iron oven blasted Sarah Trent’s face as she bent to retrieve the pan of biscuits while rowdy miners elbowed past each other to get their grub. Even in the midst of their commotion, “How Firm A Foundation” hummed from her heart and lips. Their numbers had dwindled to a fraction of the mob she’d served less than a year ago. How could so much racket come from fewer than twenty men?
The wood-framed tent with the unpainted clapboard front housed more than Sarah’s Hash House at the Three Pines Mining Camp. The makeshift structure also served as a gathering place for men who’d converged on the Black Hills area hoping to fill their pockets with gold. When they all started exchanging opinions over whether or not any of them would pull more than a few more gold flakes from the sandy creek bottom, she could barely hear herself think. Hymns were her refuge.
Once she had all the men served and their mouths were occupied with supper, she switched from humming to singing. “‘What more can He say than to you He hath said; to you who for refuge to Jesus have fled?’”
Jarvis, one of the men sitting closest to the serving counter, sent her gapped-toothed grin. “Thet there voice o’ yourn is so sweet, I don’t even need no honey for my biscuit.”
Sarah’s brother, Lanny, slouched behind the serving counter with his feet propped up on the flour barrel. He snorted at Jarvis’s remark. “You might think so, but you don’t have to listen to her screech those church songs the whole blessed day.”
The remark stung–not because he’d insulted her singing voice, but because her brother had no love for the hymns their mother had taught them in the years before she died. An ache born of guilt and regret assailed. Sarah pressed her lips together so tightly, her teeth pierced the tender flesh. She’d tried to finish the job her mother had begun and raise Lanny to be a fine man who loved the Lord. Tried, but failed. Once again, her inadequacies gnawed on her spirit.
She retrieved the large, graniteware coffeepot and made the rounds, tucking her emotions into her pocket. It wasn’t as if she’d never heard Lanny express discontent before. All cups filled, she retreated to the kitchen and lifted the stewpot lid. “There’s plenty more if anyone wants seconds.”
Lanny tossed his empty tin plate into the washtub. “Not like it was a few months ago, is it? When Three Pines was overflowing with miners and men had to wait in line to eat.” He wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “Every week there’s a few less, because the ones who’ve already left have better sense than the ones still here.”
Sarah shifted her gaze to the men sitting at the table closest to Lanny, hoping they’d not take offense to his statement. But Lanny wasn’t finished.
“Why are we still sitting here when the Homestake Mine upstream is drilling all the gold out of the rock before it has a chance to come downstream?” His derisive grumble underscored the bitterness of his words. “The creek side claims haven’t sifted out more than a few flakes in months. There’s no more gold to be had here, not with Homestake’s operation grabbing up the gold way up there in the hills. It’s not right.”
Sarah refilled her brother’s coffee mug. “I might remind you that you did, indeed, find some gold, and you spent most of it in the saloons and gambling houses. If you’d saved it like I told you–”
Lanny’s boots hit the floor with a thump loud enough to draw the attention of every man in the room, and his coffee sloshed over the edge of his cup. “Get off my back and quit preaching to me. You’re not my ma. It’s my gold. I’ll do what I want with it.” He set aside his coffee. “Even the saloons have closed down. Slade’s place is the only one left in camp now.”
Through gritted teeth, Sarah forced a smile she didn’t feel. “It’s not a mining camp any longer. The miners have voted to establish a town. They’ve even given it a name–Prescott.” She reached to touch his arm, the way their mother used to do. “Lanny, maybe it’s time you settle down and become a part of a community.”
He shook off her hand, his retort muffled. “I don’t intend to be shackled anywhere. Look around, Sarah. This place is dying. I want to go places and see things I’ve never seen before–things I can’t see sitting here panning for a measly few grains of gold.”