Thousand Pieces of Gold by Ruthanne Lum McCunn

Author:Ruthanne Lum McCunn [McCunn, Ruthanne Lum]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-8070-8324-6
Publisher: Beacon Press
Published: 2003-12-31T16:00:00+00:00

NINETEEN

Rockets whistled past the window, exploding in showers of lemon yellow sparks against the cloudless July sky. A string of firecrackers burst, then another, and a smell of burned powder drifted through the open window, mingling with the fragrance of baking and cooking. From the main street came the sounds of last minute hammering, the gathering of men, women, and children from outlying ranches and mines come to celebrate.

In her tiny bedroom adjacent to the larger one in which her boarders bunked, Polly hurriedly stitched the final gold button onto her tight-fitting basque. Charlie had taught her to goldsmith, and she often hammered out trinkets for sale in Mr. Grostein’s store, but these buttons made out of five-dollar gold pieces were made for her by Charlie.

In the fifteen years since he had won her freedom from Hong King, the barriers of misunderstanding which had been torn down that night had never again come between them, for they spoke openly of everything to each other. Neither had Charlie once wavered from the promise he had made, building her this boarding house beside his cabin and giving her the protection she needed while respecting her independence. And so, to Polly, these gold buttons which Charlie had made were special, tangible evidence of his love and understanding and she changed them from dress to dress.

Downstairs, the kitchen door slammed. She bit off the thread and dressed swiftly, her fingers managing the hooks, laces, and buttons with practiced ease. Then, giving waist and skirt one last tug, she grabbed her hat off the top of the bed and ran down the stairs into the combination sitting-dining room.

Of the four rooms in the house, this was her favorite. The windows, filled with plants and flowers, sparkled behind white curtains trimmed with crocheted lace. The wood planks beneath the bright hooked rug were oiled smooth, and the room was made cozy with cross-stitched pillows and runners, and crocheted antimacassars, all of her own making. She walked past the round oak table covered with shiny white oilcloth and peered into the mirror beside the kitchen door to adjust the angle of her hat.

The face she saw was not much different from the one that had gazed out at her that first night in the room behind Hong King’s saloon. The youthful freshness was gone. But the planes of skin beneath the high cheekbones were still firm and golden, and the eyes had lost their fear, the mouth its anxious quivering. Yet beneath the sparkling humor and warmth which now graced eyes and mouth was an intensity not immediately apparent, shadows of the past, the pull of unacknowledged tension.

Hat straight, Polly turned, saw Charlie stooped over the stove, licking his fingers appreciatively. She rapped her knuckles on the doorjamb. “Food is for the dance later, no snitching. Also, I promise Frank and some other boys who dance through the night that they can come for breakfast.”

Charlie, fiddle and bow in hand, strode into the room. “You have enough

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