Coming From California (The Pioneer Brides 0f Rattlesnake Ridge Book 2) Read online

  Coming from California

  The Pioneer Brides of Rattlesnake Ridge, Book 2

  Catherine Bilson

  © 2019, Catherine Bilson

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  Cover Design by RockSolidBookDesign.com

  Proofread by Alice Shepherd

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  No part of this work may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission of the publisher.

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  Contents

  Publisher’s Note

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Epilogue

  What’s Next?

  You May Also Like

  More from Sweet Promise Press

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

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  Prologue

  WANTED: A Qualified Schoolteacher to establish and teach at a new school in Rattlesnake Ridge, Nevada, for children of all ages. Accommodations and a stipend will be provided to the successful applicant as well as travel expenses. Apply to Box D, Rattlesnake Ridge, Sierra County, Nevada, attn: J. Winthrop.

  Chapter 1

  September, 1871

  The stage to Rattlesnake Ridge left from the railway station in Reno promptly at six in the morning. She’d been warned arriving even a minute late would mean she’d be left behind. Afraid to risk it, Miss Daisy Jackson was standing outside the station with her carpet bag in hand when the coach rolled up in a great thunder of hooves and dust.

  Coughing, Daisy politely thanked the man riding shotgun who helped her into the cramped interior of the stage. The only other passenger was a middle-aged, nondescript sort of man who’d already taken the forward-facing seat. He gave her a comprehensive look over, gaze narrowing as he saw her eyes, and pointedly didn’t move.

  She’d always been taught that a gentleman should offer the forward-facing seat to a lady. Daisy’s lips thinned. She sat down facing backward, grateful she’d never suffered from motion sickness.

  The rude gentleman gave her a single, dismissive glance before returning his attention to the book of accounts he was inspecting. Annoyed, she peered through the window, eager for her first sight of Lake Tahoe and the town where she hoped to make her new life. Even though she knew it was fifteen miles and about a six-hour ride to Rattlesnake Ridge, there was plenty of scenery to take in on the way.

  Gazing up at the mountain peaks as the stage drove the rutted valley track, Daisy marveled at the clear, fresh quality of the air and the pin-sharpness of the view. I’ve lived too long in the city, she thought. Though San Francisco was among the most scenic of cities, this pristine wilderness was more beautiful by far.

  Her traveling companion coughed, and she turned her gaze back to him, thinking she should at least try to be friendly. “Are you going to Rattlesnake Ridge?”

  The man nodded with a brief grunt, not even bothering to look at her.

  “Do you live there?” Daisy pressed. “I’m Miss Daisy Jackson, and I’ve been offered the position of schoolteacher by the mayor, a Mr. Winthrop.”

  Pale eyes lifted to hers briefly, and he gave her a hard look before snapping, “That remains to be seen. Does the mayor know you’re Chinese?”

  Daisy flinched at his remark. The man sniffed and buried his nose in his books again.

  “Half-Chinese,” Daisy whispered, but she was pretty sure he neither heard nor cared. Hot tears burned at the backs of her eyes, but she blinked them back fiercely.

  I’m just as qualified to teach as anyone else they might find. And I’m not giving up before I’ve even begun just because one prejudiced, mannerless boor is rude to me!

  Clenching her teeth until her jaw ached, she turned her head to look out the window again.

  At least the view is nice.

  Hours passed in the blink of an eye as she admired the scenery. Daisy delighted in the occasional glimpse of blue in the distance from the lake as the road twisted and turned, rising and falling through valleys and mountain passes. Eagles soared in the blue mountain skies, and she fancied she could almost hear their cries.

  That must be the mine, she thought, as she spied a cluster of buildings against the side of a mountain up ahead. The Michigan Queen: opened just a few years before. She’d taken the time to read up on the history of Rattlesnake Ridge at the newspaper archives, discovering the town had been abandoned for a few years after a disaster at the old Spanish Main mine before a new lode of silver was found and the Michigan Queen established.

  Nervous excitement, quelled on the long ride from Reno, began gnawing at the pit of Daisy’s belly again. She took the letter from her bag for one more glance at the final part of the travel instructions. It didn’t state much; only that she would be met once she disembarked from the stage.

  The man sitting opposite her closed his book with a snap, making her startle slightly.

  “We’re almost at Rattlesnake Ridge?” Daisy asked hopefully.

  An affirmative grunt was her only response, cementing her opinion of the still nameless man as a mannerless boor. She hoped he wasn’t representative of the other townspeople.

  The stage drew up beside what appeared to her disbelieving eyes to be a railway station just below the mine. “Why did I have to take
the stage if there’s a railway station here?” she asked the guard with some annoyance when he assisted her from the coach.

  “It’s for goods only, ma’am,” he advised. “No passenger car on the trains. Just ore from the mine and cattle from the yard.”

  “Oh.” She thanked him as he lifted her trunk down and set it at the side of the roadway. He tipped his hat to her, and with a crack of the driver’s whip, the stage was off again, leaving her coughing in the dust.

  The silent man had already disappeared, and Daisy glanced around hopefully. After all, the letter had said there would be someone there to meet her. However, she didn’t see anyone except a middle-aged man with a horse and cart, supervising the loading of what looked like some crates of liquor from a warehouse beside the train track.

  Wrinkling her nose a little—she did not approve of strong drink—Daisy sighed and headed for the man.

  “Excuse me?”

  “One moment… twenty-three, twenty-four! Excellent. Thank you.” The man signed a receipt for the crates before turning to her. “Miss Jackson?”

  “Uh…yes. Yes, I am.”

  “Phillip Dobson.” He offered a hand then bowed surprisingly elegantly over her proffered one. “Delighted to see you here, Miss Jackson. My son will be one of your students.”

  “Oh, well, how lovely.” She cast a sideways glance at the cart loaded with liquor.

  “I own the local saloon, and I’m also on the Rattlesnake Ridge town council.” Mr. Dobson was staring at her with something like shock in his face. She could guess why. “I, uh. Didn’t expect you to be so…”

  “Foreign?” Daisy said cynically. “My mother was a Chinese immigrant to California, Mr. Dobson. My father, as I mentioned in my application, was a well-respected doctor in San Francisco.”

  “I was going to say so young, actually, considering the experience and travel you listed in your application.” Mr. Dobson gave her a wry smile. “You won’t be the only person in Rattlesnake Ridge with Chinese ancestry, Miss Jackson. Miz May, who runs our boarding house, is Chinese too.”

  “Oh. I am twenty-two,” she said a little huffily, the wind taken out of her sails somewhat by his lack of concern about her race, especially since her nameless traveling companion had obviously been prejudiced about it.

  “A fact you neglected to mention in your application letter.” His tone was mild, but his eyes held a touch of reproof. “Your experience and your travels—indeed, the whole tone of your letter—led us to believe you were a good deal older.”

  There wasn’t a lot she could say since she’d carefully written the application to imply exactly that. “I told no falsehoods, Mr. Dobson,” she said finally.

  He gestured to the two men who’d loaded up the liquor crates, and they hefted Daisy’s trunk up easily, strapping it to the top of the cart before climbing up onto the back. They were armed, Daisy saw, which she supposed made sense. They were carrying valuable cargo, after all.

  “Where are we going?” she asked, twisting her fingers together. The letter from Mr. Winthrop offering her the position of schoolmarm had said she’d be provided with accommodations. While Mr. Dobson seemed perfectly gentlemanly, she’d really rather not be housed in a tavern.

  “Miz May’s boarding house. The schoolhouse isn’t quite finished yet. Your house will be nearby, but,” he shrugged. “It’s harvest season.”

  “A busy season in farming country, I understand.”

  “As you say, miss. T’ain’t so far now, just a couple of blocks.” He pointed out sights as they rode: the general store; the church; his saloon, which was kitty-corner from the boarding house at the crossroads of the town’s two main streets. Pulling the wagon up outside, Mr. Dobson left his two men to unload the crates. He led her up the boarding house’s front stoop and knocked on the door.

  The woman who opened the door was of indeterminate age, slender and beautiful—and indeed Chinese, as he had said. Daisy found a grin spreading across her face.

  “Mr. Dobson.”

  “Miz May.” He bowed his head politely. “Miss Jackson’s arrived.”

  Midnight eyes studied Daisy closely.

  She tilted her head respectfully before saying, “Xìng huì.”

  Miz May looked startled before saying, “Jiŭyăng,” in return. She continued in English without the slightest trace of an accent. “The men will bring your trunk in, Miss Jackson. Please, come this way and I’ll show you to your room.”

  “Thank you for escorting me,” Daisy said to Mr. Dobson as he took a step back, obviously preparing to leave. “I’m looking forward to meeting your son.”

  He hesitated before tipping his hat. “He’s looking forward to meeting you too, Miss Jackson.”

  “And I think I’d better start having everyone call me Miss Daisy; I don’t want to confuse the children by having them call me one thing while adults call me another. I’d prefer to be Miss Daisy to everyone, if that’s fine with you.”

  From the corner of her eye, she spotted Miz May nodding approvingly; Mr. Dobson did the same before bidding her a good day and departing.

  “This way, Miss Daisy,” Miz May said then in Chinese while leading her toward a door which she unlocked with a key before handing it over to Daisy. “The upstairs is for ladies and children only. I won’t tolerate any funny business under my roof.”

  “Of course,” Daisy said in the same language. “I’m very glad to hear that, Miz May.”

  “Good.” Miz May locked the door behind them with another key she drew from her pocket before ascending the stairs. “You’re young and pretty, and there’s a fair few single men around these parts who won’t hesitate to fall at your feet. I hope you’re not the type to have your head turned easily.”

  “I grew up in the gold camps of California, Miz May,” Daisy said dryly. “If an excess of men were likely to turn my head, I think it would have spun right off by now.”

  That made Miz May laugh, a full, rich sound. The smile she turned on Daisy as they walked along the upper hallway together was genuine. “You’ll do, girl. You’ll do.”

  Daisy grinned in return. A door at the end of the hall was slightly open, and she saw a small face peeping out at her. “One of my future pupils?” she asked Miz May quietly, slipping back into English.

  “It is indeed. Come out and say hello like a gentleman, Ishmael,” Miz May encouraged. The door opened to show not one, but two children there; a boy and a girl of about seven years of age, Daisy guessed, both dark-haired and dark-eyed.

  “You’re our new teacher?” the girl asked inquisitively.

  “I am indeed; I’m Miss Daisy. And you?”

  “Isabelle Jones, and this is my brother Ishmael.”

  “What are you two doing… oh,” a tall woman came to the door, and smiled welcomingly at Daisy. “Hello, you must be our new teacher!”

  “This is Miss Daisy,” Miz May introduced. “Mrs. Barbara Jones.”

  “Call me Barb, everyone does.” Barb offered a long-fingered, capable hand to shake. She had long, curling blonde hair and bright blue eyes. Daisy thought she was the tallest woman she had ever met, and also one of the most beautiful. “I’m sure you want to get settled in, but please come by and have a cup of tea with me later?” she invited. “These two rapscallions have been just dying to meet you.”

  Daisy looked down at the two children, who were both eyeing her with fascination. “I’m very excited to meet you too,” she said sincerely, “and I shall certainly come by for tea, once I’ve unpacked a little and washed up.”

  Isabelle beamed at that while Ishmael gave her a grave look. Miz May unlocked another door and gestured Daisy inside as Barb swept her two children back into her rooms.

  “There is no Mr. Jones?” Daisy dropped back into Chinese to quietly ask Miz May as the door closed.

  “Not anymore,” Miz May shook her head. “Left her without much, I fear. She’s a strong woman, not the kind to let life crush her.”

  “She won’t remarry?” />
  “As you might imagine with the way she looks, she has suitors battering down her door, but I don’t think she’s in any hurry. Wants the right man to be a father to those twins.”

  Daisy nodded thoughtfully, glancing around the room Miz May had shown her into. It was a pleasant enough room, decently sized, with a comfortable-looking bed, a table and chair, and an armoire tucked into the corner. Her trunk was set on the floor at the end of the bed, and there was a basin of water waiting on the table.

  “Your room key.” Miz May handed it over. “I have a duplicate, of course, but nobody else does. Still, I advise you to bolt your door from the inside at night.”

  The advice seemed out of place. “Is there much lawlessness in Rattlesnake Ridge?” Daisy asked curiously. The town had appeared clean and prosperous when she rode through with Mr. Dobson: a marked contrast to the often ramshackle gold camps she remembered from California. Even the houses between the mine and the town—where she guessed most of the miners lived—had looked well-built and tidy.

  “There is not.” Miz May hesitated a moment and then said quietly, “We’ve got a new sheriff in town, not the kind of man you want to cross. Any undesirables get run out of town pretty quickly.”

  So why should I need to bolt my door as well as locking it? Daisy wanted to ask, but Miz May’s face had turned smooth and cold as marble. She was certain no further information would be coming from that quarter, so she merely thanked the older woman.