“An’ you can always dig up some more carrots. Maybe use ’em all up before we get back,” Hector added hopefully.
Helen laughed and hunkered down to put her face eye level with the little boy, who’d become dear to them all. He gazed back at her with his huge chocolate eyes, and she pulled him into her arms, squeezing tight. “You behave now,” she whispered.
Hector pulled away with discomfort at the open show of affection.
Rafe shook his hand, then in an undertone advised, “Take care of Zeb. He needs you.”
Hector eyed Rafe questioningly. “He does?”
“Definitely.”
Hector broke into a wide smile.
“Are you sure you took enough gold dust, Zeb?” Rafe worried.
“I got plenty. Don’t want ta take no more or we’ll have miners followin’ me back ta jump our claim.”
And they were off, with Zeb calling over his shoulder to Rafe, “I left one of my rifles. Those pistols of your’n won’t be worth bat turd if that bear comes back.”
“That’s a reassuring thought,” Helen said.
The rest of the day went surprisingly well. Rafe worked the claim alone all morning while she did her meditation routine, then tidied the cabin, weeded the garden, and washed some clothes. After a simple lunch of bread and coffee and leftover fish, Rafe went back to digging, and Helen swept up the dead ashes from the fireplace into a crock. She was saving them, according to Zeb’s directions, for soap making on his return. In addition, another crock held ashes for the making of pearl ash or saleratus, a primitive form of baking soda.
Whistling contentedly, she cut up one of the rabbits for stew, combined with mushrooms, wild onions, parsley, and yes, the last of the carrots, and set it to cook slowly on a hook at the back of the fire. Then she added some flour, water, and a pinch of sugar to her sourdough mixture, which the bear luckily had missed, and kneaded out the dough on the table. Before long, she had two loaves baking in the hot coals.
Her “housework” done, Helen walked down to the stream to help Rafe. “How’s it going?”
“Okay.” He was sitting on the bank with his widespread legs planted up to the knees in the water. Every few seconds he leaned forward and added more water to his pan, then swirled and sloshed until only the heavy material remained at the bottom. “I probably got another few ounces today.”
Helen filled another pan with gravel and sat beside him, following the familiar routine. At first, they just worked together in companionable silence.
Rafe finally spoke. “I’ll bet your father is worried about you.”
“I suppose so, assuming we’re missing in the future.”
He cocked his head inquiringly. “What do you mean?”
“Well, maybe we’re living a separate, double life then and now, though I don’t think so. Surely we’d sense that. Heck, we don’t even know if time passes at the same rate then as now. Or if they’ve found our bodies. Or anything.”
“Hmmm. I never thought of it that way.” He pondered those different scenarios while picking out three wheat-sized flakes of gold from his pan and putting them in a sack behind him. “Helen…” he started, then stopped himself.
“What?”
“I was just wondering… uh, what about Elliott?”
“What about him?” She couldn’t understand Rafe’s sudden reticence, or his somber demeanor as he continued to twirl his pan. For a second, she was mesmerized, watching his hands, the long fingers moving expertly. They were really beautiful hands, despite the callouses and grime.
“Are you still going to marry him?”
Rafe’s question jolted her. “Marry? Elliott? Rafe, I would never have been able to make love with you if I considered myself still committed to another man. No, I won’t be marrying Elliott.”
“Good.”
Good? What did that mean? Helen’s heart expanded with all kinds of possibilities. “Why do you ask?”
“No reason,” Rafe said, then smiled at her — a warm, telling smile that kissed her senses.
“Tell me about your father and your childhood,” Rafe urged. “I spilled my guts about my fun-house family. Don’t I deserve a little payback?”