people are trying to get to the gold fields. Now, if you’ve no objection to a woman doing it…?” He let the unspoken question dangle in the air.
Jacob could think of no reason to care who did the construction and said so.
“Then I’ll ask the Tucker sisters to help you. They’re kind of jacks-of-all-trades.”
“Fine. The sooner the better. It’s hard to provide adequate care out in the open.”
“For sure. How about a tent for now? In case it rains.” He glanced out the window. “Which it’s bound to do soon.”
“That would help.” A short time later, he left with the promise of delivery of tent, lumber and other supplies, though much of what he needed in the way of supplies had to be ordered, with no assurance of when they’d arrive.
He hurried back to the place where his clinic would soon stand. Two men brought over the tent and erected it and helped him move Donald under its shelter, then delivered the lumber, and the news that the misses Tucker would show up in the morning. Despite the urgency he felt, he understood this was the most he could hope for. Soon he would offer adequate medical assistance. No longer would the injured and ill have to depend on superstitious claptrap.
He smiled as he recalled Teena’s quiet stubbornness. She would soon learn she was no match for his determination. And why that should make him chuckle he was at a loss to understand.
He looked into his cup of coffee. Had she secretly poured in some kind of native drug that would make him anticipate a duel of wills with a native?
Snorting at his foolishness, he tossed the rest of the coffee into the dirt.
Chapter Two
At the sound of voices close to his head, Jacob was instantly awake and paused to orientate himself. He’d slept on the ground, softened by furs Mack had sent him. Burns had returned about 11:00 p.m., all wound up because it stayed light so late.
“A person never needs to go to bed.”
“You’ll want to sleep sometime.” Jacob wasn’t sure he’d ever been so enthused about staying up all night. Or so eager to experience life.
He glanced across to where Burns had thrown himself down on his own soft fur and lay snoring gently, his arms outflung like a baby. He didn’t look as if he meant to leave his bed in search of adventure for several more hours.
Jacob smiled, a feeling of affection and protectiveness warming his insides. He’d grown fond of the boy. Perhaps Burns reminded him in a small way of Aaron—young, naive, so certain adventure carried no risks. Maybe Jacob could make up for not being able to protect Aaron by keeping Burns out of danger.
The noise outside his tent grew louder and Jacob scrambled from his covers. He checked Donald. Several times in the night, he’d risen to tend the man, who rested quietly at the moment. A quick glance at his pocket watch, where he’d left it on a small table by his makeshift bed, revealed it was—
He grabbed his watch and held it to his ear. Yes, it ticked. He wound it to make sure. Four in the morning, and yet the racket outside gave him reason to think it was high noon. One voice called, “Right there is good, boys.” It sounded as if the speaker was only a few feet away. A crash fairly rocked him where he stood. Burns grunted and rolled to his side. Donald started, moaned and sank back into oblivion.
Jacob took a moment to smooth his hair. His chin was rough with whiskers. At some point he needed to shave. But first he had to find out the cause of the commotion outside. He pushed aside the tent flap and slapped at the cloud of mosquitoes attacking him.
A handful of men, nudging each other and jeering, stood watching two people struggle with armloads of lumber.
“Frankie, hang on. It ain’t that heavy,” one of the wood-toting persons called.
“You wait until I get a good hold, and don’t drop it without telling me. You left me holding the whole thing,” Frankie sputtered as he rubbed his palm.
“Daylight is wasting.” The second person tapped a mud-covered boot and glanced at the sky, as if to suggest the sun was crossing the sky at a furious pace.
“You tell ’er, Margie,” one sunburned man yelled.
This was a woman? And Frankie, too? The women Mack had said would help? Jacob took a good look at the pair. Both had dark, short hair—or at least what he could see of it, hidden by knitted caps, suggested so. Both dressed in plaid jackets that seemed to be uniform for both native Alaskans and the bulk of the outsiders. And both stood with feet planted a good width apart.
“You gonna take that from your sister, Frankie?” another spectator called. “Come on, show her who’s boss.”
Plainly, the onlookers hoped to see a fight between the two. In fact, he figured the men itched to get a good brawl going. Jacob took a step forward, hoping to prevent such a thing.
The one called Frankie closed the distance separating her from her sister, her expression dark and forbidding.
The men cheered.
Frankie stood in front of her sister and planted her hands on her hips.
The cheering intensified.
Jacob held his breath, wondering if he’d be handing out dressings in the place of his future clinic.
Both women let out a whoop that sent shudders down Jacob’s spine and, laughing uproariously, threw their arms around each other, administering vigorous back pats.
The crowd muttered their disappointment and most of them moved off to attend to their own affairs. That’s when he saw the Indian woman again. Teena Crow, she had said was her name. Her dark eyes watched him with unwavering purpose. I will help you. You will help me. His face felt brittle. His eyes stung as he silently signaled his determination. It would not happen. He had come to provide scientific medical care. He tipped his chin in a gesture that said he wanted her to leave. She held his gaze without a flicker of concern.
Frankie and Margie watched the silent exchange. Then one stepped forward. “Margie Tucker at your service. Mack said you wanted someone to put up a building. This here is my sister, Frankie. She might lend a hand if she can manage to hold up her end.”
He shook hands with the pair. “Appreciate your help.” He glanced toward the last place he’d seen Teena. Only to check that she’d left, he assured himself. She was indeed gone. He glimpsed her heading down the trail leading over the mountain, her graceful gait unmistakable even at this distance. He felt satisfied she had moved on, though somewhat disquieted—only because he’d been rude. Out of necessity, he firmly explained to himself. He turned back to Margie. “I’ve got a young man with me who will assist you.” He would pay Burns to work. Perhaps it would provide incentive for him to stay in Treasure Creek, rather than heading to the gold fields.
“The more the merrier. ’Specially as our younger sister seems more interested in her new husband than in giving us a hand.” Margie’s words growled out, making it sound as if having a husband was worse than having the plague. She turned to Frankie. “Why’d you let her up and marry Caleb anyways?”
Frankie sputtered. “I tried to convince her no Tucker woman needs a man, but you saw how stubborn she was.”
Margie and Frankie rolled their heads and scratched their hairlines in mutual sadness.
Then Margie laughed. “We’ll be glad of your friend’s help. It’ll make the job go faster, too. Now show us what you have in mind, so we can get to work while the sun shines.” She roared with amusement.
Seeing his surprised and somewhat stunned reaction, she patted his shoulder. “My idea of a little joke. In the summer we have no shortage of sun.” She slapped at the mosquitoes. “Nor these little blighters. You get yourself some of that stuff Teena Crow makes up. It helps keep them off.”
“I don’t want her around here.”