Darkling Spinster No More

By Wes Payton

Reb is back along with Paul, Milly, and Monty. After the harrowing events of last year, the four hope that 1882 will bring peace and prosperity...and perhaps a wedding. However, an old enemy returns and plots to ruin it all. Will the help of an unlikely new friend be enough to save them?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wes Payton
• Release date: Jun 3, 2018
• ISBN: 9781370076789

Wes Payton

Wes Payton has a B.A. in Rhetoric/Philosophy and an M.A. in English. His play Way Station was selected for a Next Draft reading in 2015, and What Does a Question Weigh? was selected for a staged reading as part of the 2017 Chicago New Work Festival. He is the author of the novels Lead Tears, Darkling Spinster, Darkling Spinster No More, Standing in Doorways, and Downstate Illinois. Wes and his family live in Oak Park, Illinois.

Book preview

Prologue

Mining is a dirty business. In Arizona, Chas had watched men crawl deep into the earth and risk being buried alive, searching in the darkness for tiny chunks of dull metal that looked more gray than silver, all in the hope that they’d strike it rich, which they almost never did. Here in Alaska, he watched men sluicing the icy streams, covered in cold mud that made frostbite a frequent companion, searching for tiny chunks of dull metal that looked more orange than gold, all in the hope of striking it rich, which most of them probably never would.

As a minority partner of the mining operation started by Rick Harris and Joe Juneau in the Silver Bow Basin, Chas was putatively an overseer of the sluicing of Gold Creek, as it had come to be known; however, since he knew even less about mining for gold than he had silver, and found manual labor and its attendant grime an indignity to be avoided at all costs, he confined his self-appointed overseeing tasks to walking the steep slopes of Snow Slide Gulch a few times each day, occasionally exhorting one of the laborers in the creek bed below to work faster. Typically this resulted in the laborer glaring, spitting, and saying, Whatever you want, Chuck. Chas loathed being called Chuck, and the laborers knew it.

No one really understood the point of Chas. He was a fat man in expensive clothes who seemed to know almost nothing of what was worth knowing in the Alaskan wilderness. So unlike the other two partners, the laborers thought. Rick and Joe were as knowledgeable and capable as the best of them. Both were hard working, spending their days cold and muddy like the rest of the boys as they were collectively called. However, while Rick was affable and eager to help out the boys when needed, Joe was considered shrewd and cunning, which in the wilderness, just as in the civilized world, could be either a benefit or a detriment to those who worked for him.

Lately, Joe had begun to wonder what the point of Chas was too. He had shown up unannounced about a month ago, seemingly out of nowhere and from nowhere. Joe and Rick had been sluicing the creek for the better part of a year with a small group of miners that came and went, enjoying a moderate amount of success. Then Chas arrived, promised to increase their output tenfold if they in return promised him ten percent of their profits. They both had a laugh, decided there was no downside to agreeing to the chump’s terms, and watched with bemused curiosity as Chas proceeded to do almost nothing.

However, in a few weeks’ time, almost overnight it now seemed to Joe, they began to find more gold than ever before. Just as quickly they had dozens more men working for them, and their small mining camp had turned into a village of over a hundred souls. All while Chas did little more than bellyache about the food and the weather, often while warming himself by the fire. Everything Chuck had promised Joe and Rick had come to fruition, despite his dubious contributions as an overseer, and he was now making overtures about being paid his cut.

Rick was amenable to paying Chas his share. A deal’s a deal, he told Joe when the pair had discussed the matter in private, but Joe thought something smelled off…like maybe somehow Chas had known of their impending success and had managed to get to them just before their little gold rush, so as to swindle them out of ten percent of what they had earned. It was clear Chas didn’t know a lick about mining, but he appeared to understand how to play a trick, and Joe wasn’t the sort of man who could stomach being tricked.

Winter was fast upon their mining village. A miners meeting was planned for that night to discuss, among other issues, the state of affairs at year’s end. Joe intended to bring up Chuck’s incompetence, with the intention of having him run out of the operation, sans payment of course. No one could argue that he wasn’t a burden, eating far more than any other man while doing far less work, but if somehow Chas managed not to be cast out…well, this was a mining operation after all, and accidents do happen.

* * *

The wind howled into the tavern, heralding the arrival of each miner through the door. A fire blazed in the stone hearth, but the whiskey did more to keep the men’s blood warm after another long day spent sluicing from sunup to sundown. Joe arrived last. He was usually the last to leave the creek, inspecting the tools to make sure that they were in good condition for the next day. As he entered the boisterous barroom, he saw Chas warming himself near the fireplace and shot him a pointed look. Chas took notice and followed him to the bar.

Joe, allow me to buy you a drink, Chas said, signaling to the barkeep.

I can afford to buy my own drinks, Joe sneered.

Of course you can, Chas agreed. You can afford a great deal, but consider it a courtesy to me to stand you a drink.

I’d let him buy you one, the barkeep said. He’s been buying rounds for the whole crew since they got here. You might as well let him pay for yours too.

Fine, Joe said, accepting the whiskey the barkeep poured. Why so generous tonight, Charles?

The time for my departure is nigh, and whenever I leave a place I prefer to do so on good terms.

You’ll be on good terms with me if you leave sooner than later.

I’ll be glad to leave as soon as I’m paid what’s owed to me.

Sure, I have no problem paying you what you’re owed, Joe said. I believe in fairness…that a man’s payment should reflect the amount of work he’s done. With that in mind, I figure the food you’ve eaten cost more than any wages you’ve earned, but considering you bought me this drink, I’m willing to call us even.

I’m afraid hard work doesn’t come as easy for me as it does for you and your boys.

There’s nothing easy about hard work…the only thing that’s easy is not doing it.

Joe raised his glass to Chas and downed his whiskey in a single gulp. He turned to walk away but Chas grabbed his arm firmly.

You’ve got about one damn second to let go of me.

You Juneaus have always been a truculent lot, Chas said, loosening his grip.

How do you mean that, mister? Joe asked as he turned back toward Chas.

Your cousin Solomon Juneau…I met him once, briefly.

He’s been dead for twenty-five years.

I said ‘briefly’—not recently.

When did you two meet? Joe asked.

More than two and a half decades ago, I reckon it must’ve been…back in Wisconsin. He was the founder of Milwaukee, if I’m not mistaken.

Yeah, that’s right, Joe said, his ire giving way to interest.

It must be a source of family pride that he founded what’s become such an important city—

Yes, it is.

And, I imagine, a source of family embarrassment that the city he founded was not named for him…his name barely known beyond the members of your bloodline.

What’s your point fat man?

My point is that I can give your family the honor it was denied by ensuring that this town is named for you.

Who cares about this place? Joe asked. It was just a mining camp a month ago, and it’ll be even less than that when the gold runs out.

Don’t be so sure. This town has capital potential, and I’m talking about more than cash and coins.

You’re out of your mind.

I wasn’t wrong about all that gold you found, was I?

Say I believe you…what’s in it for you?

More.

How much more?

Double, Chas answered, twenty percent.

Rick won’t like that, especially if we’re giving you twice the percentage we agreed to just so this town is named in my honor.

Then pay me the difference out of your end…I don’t care where it comes from.

Joe signaled the barkeep for another drink. As he waited for the whiskey to be poured, he weighed the proposition.

Fair enough, if you can pull it off, you’ve got a deal, Joe said, gulping down his whiskey. So how will you do it?

It’s already done, Chas answered. As I was plying the miners with drinks, I suggested that the first order of business for tonight’s meeting ought to be giving this town a proper name. I convinced them, at least most of them, that they should name it in your honor; I suspect of the seventy or so miners here tonight, nearly fifty of them are for you. I’ve long marveled at how much allegiance cheap whiskey can buy.

How did you know I’d agree to your proposal?

I make it my business to know. You see Joe, I prefer to do all the hard work before I strike the bargain. I’ll be leaving tomorrow after I’ve had my breakfast, so I expect my twenty percent first thing in the morning.

Chas made a slight bow and turned to leave, but this time Joe grabbed his arm. Chas looked at the hand holding him in place and smirked at its owner.

"This smells like