responsibility, but that doesn’t mean you can’t let others help you now and then.”
Nate considered her words. She was right, of course. With all the mud and the slogging to town and back to get that axle repaired, it would be best for the girls to stay here and enjoy a day in the company of women, in a clean, safe house. But it galled him to admit it.
He nodded his agreement to her plan. “I’ll take Charley with me. But only for today.” He lifted a warning finger, shielding him from those gentle eyes. “The children stay with me. They’re my responsibility and I aim to do my best by them.”
“Of course you want the best for them. So do I.”
She turned to look down into the mining camp as it stirred to life in the early-morning light. Somehow, he didn’t think her version of what was best for the children would be the same as his.
“I can help. Let me help.” Charley hopped on one foot, a flutter of movement in Nate’s peripheral vision.
Shifting his left foot closer to the wagon, Nate shoved again, sliding the wagon box onto the makeshift jack. He ran a shaking hand across the back of his neck.
“Charley, some jobs are just too big for an eight-year-old.” Who was he trying to kid? This job was too big for a thirty-year-old. If Andrew was here...
Nate looked into Charley’s disappointed face. If Andrew was here, they’d still be living in Michigan, and Charley would still have his pa. But a man couldn’t bring back the past, and he couldn’t always fix the mistakes he’d made, no matter how much he wanted to.
He squeezed Charley’s shoulder. “I’ll need your help with the next part, though.” Charley’s face brightened. “We need to get that broken axle off there and find a new one.”
“Loretta can help, too, can’t she?”
Nate looked at the mule, tied to the back of the crippled wagon. It flipped its ears back and stomped its front foot in response.
“I suppose she could carry the axle to town.”
“Sure she could. Loretta can do anything.”
Nate glanced at Charley as he knocked the wheel off the broken axle. Where did the boy get such an attachment to a mule? The animals were outright dangerous when they took it into their heads to go their own way.
He knew the answer to his own question. Andrew had given Loretta to the boy years ago, when Charley was barely old enough to ride. Andrew held that mules had more sense than horses and that she’d keep Charley safe wherever he wanted to take her. Nate had argued, tried to change Andrew’s mind, but Loretta became one of the family.
And now? Charley had already lost so much. He wasn’t going to be the one to take the mule away from the boy. No matter how much he hated it.
Nate fumbled with the ironing that held the axle to the bolster above it. Sometimes he could use a third hand.
“What can I do? I want to help.”
Nate glanced at the boy again.
“Here you go, Charley. Hold the axle up against the bolster while I get it unfastened.”
With Charley’s help, Nate released the ironings with a quick twist, and the axle was free. He glanced at the mule again. It was wearing the pack harness that Charley used for a saddle. It had come in handy on the trail when Nate needed to bring some game back to camp or haul water. Would the thing carry the axle for him?
Nate approached the mule, hefting one part of the heavy axle in his hands. “Whoa there, stupid animal, whoa there.”
The mule rolled its eyes and aimed a vicious bite at his shoulder.
“She knows you don’t like her.” Charley stood off to the side, watching.
“Of course I don’t like her. Help me get these axle pieces on her harness, will you?”
When Charley climbed up onto the animal, Nate was sure the mule winked at him. But it let him load the axle on the harness, and Charley fastened the straps, balancing with his weight on the other side of the mule. Nate looked at Charley’s grin as he perched on the pack saddle. In spite of the work still ahead to get the wagon back on its wheels, Nate had to grin back at him. What he wouldn’t give to be a boy again.
He fixed his eyes on the trail ahead. Those days were long gone.
* * *
Sarah scrubbed the hem of her traveling dress on the washboard. Mud seemed to be everywhere in this place.
“Here’s some more hot water for you.” Aunt Margaret came out the back door of the cabin to the sheltered porch where Sarah and Olivia bent over tubs of soapy water.
“Thank you.” Sarah pushed a lock of hair out of her face with the back of her arm. “It’s so wonderful to be able to do laundry in the fresh air this morning.” She smiled at Olivia as she took the steaming kettle from Margaret. “I would imagine it was hard for you and your uncle to keep up with chores like this along the trail.”
“We didn’t take time for anything,” Olivia answered, swishing a pair of socks in her tub. “Uncle Nate said we had to keep up with the bull train.”
Sarah turned the heavy skirt in the water and tackled another muddy stain. Her thoughts wandered to Nate Colby. Again. Was he having any success with his wagon? Would he be able to get the axle fixed? He’d have to take it into Deadwood to find someone to repair it.
“Did Uncle James say when he was going to show us the building he rented?” she asked Margaret.
Her aunt looked toward the roofs of the mining camp below them. “He said we would go this afternoon although I can’t see why we need a building down there.”
“Because that’s where the people are. And the academy needs to have a place, unless you want the children studying in the cabin.”
And with the church and school in the center of the mining camp, she would have ready access to the unfortunate young ladies she intended to find and educate.
Sarah looked up at the towering pine trees that climbed the steep hill behind the cabin. On those Sunday afternoons last winter in Dr. Amelia Bennett’s crowded parlor on Beacon Hill, she had never imagined the fire that had been lit in her would bring her to such a place as this.
Dr. Bennett was a pioneer. A visionary. Her plans for educating the women of the docks and brothels of Boston were becoming reality in the opening of her Women’s Educational Institution, and Dr. Bennett had urged Sarah to spread the work to the untamed wilderness of the American West, as she had called it. Sarah intended to make her mentor proud.
A sniff was Margaret’s only reply as she went back into the house. Lucy stopped playing with the pinecones she had found and stared after her.
Olivia wiped an arm across her forehead. “Is she always so...”
“Disapproving?”
