“Hello,” she said as he dismounted not too far from her. “I don’t know you. Have you come to see my daddy?”
Ned tipped his hat and smiled, realizing how long it’s been since he’d interacted with children. The girl belonged to a different world, one where people cared for one another, and where death only came from illness or old age. “Yes, apologies for the late arrival, but I’m sure he’ll understand.”
She smoothed out the checkered apron covering the front of her short dress. “He’s seeing someone now, but you’re welcome to have tea with me in the meanwhile, sir,” she said, imitating a fancy lady’s way of speaking, even though she was young enough to show her lower legs without causing outrage.
Thrown off guard, Ned took in the fabric doll in her hand, and the childlike hairdo of curls and blue ribbons, but why not entertain her if she so pleased? He had to wait for his turn either way, and the tea would most likely involve sugar.
“I’ll be honored,” he said, and stepped toward her.
“Just please, remove your hat, sir. This is a civilized house,” the girl told him and led the way to a circular table, where a small meal of plain cake and tea was indeed being served. Perhaps the doctor had been sharing it with his daughter before the current caller arrived?
“Yes m’am. Let me introduce myself. My name’s Ned.”
The girl sat her doll on the cushion-covered chair in the corner. With dark woolen hair, eyes made of buttons and a stitched mouth, the toy could be the work of the girl’s mother. “This is my friend, Miss Rose. My name is Clara Permilla Dawson. My daddy wanted to use Permilla as my first name, since that was what his grandmother was called, but Mommy says it’s too old-fashioned for a modern woman.”
“It is. A bit. Your mother is very smart,” Ned said, removing his hat. “Good day to you both, ladies.”
Clara sat next to her doll, which left the simple wooden chair for him.
“Are you one of the people who found the treasure, Mr. Ned?”
Ned stalled, his gaze moving from the iced pound cake to the girl’s round, rosy features. “A treasure? Why—why would you assume that, Miss Clara?” he asked, calling on remnants of politeness the gang life hadn’t yet managed to drive out of him.
She picked up the teapot, which was heavy enough to make her tiny hands tremble from the effort, and poured tea into a fancy little cup waiting in front of Ned on a saucer. It reminded him of being invited to eat Aunt Muriel’s cake for dessert. A life long gone now.
“Well, sir, because I don’t recognize your face, and the only strangers who call on us are the people who found the treasure.”
“I’m afraid that’s not me. What is this treasure?”
Clara’s little face got pinched by a frown. “I am not allowed to say, but if you enjoy riddles, Mr. Ned, I can put it into one. It’s ancient, priceless despite having value, and would make a grown man’s eyes go wide.” She’d declaimed the ‘riddle’ so fast that Ned got the feeling she’d come up with it earlier.
“Sounds like pirate treasure to me, Miss Clara, but where would one find such a thing? In the desert?” Ned smiled and had a sip of tea, which was way stronger and more aromatic than the weak brew Bertha made at the camp, but he listened as this might prove to be valuable information.
Clara could barely use the metal tongs, but she somehow managed to place a slice of cake on Ned’s plate before settling in front of one of her own. “I also wished it was more romantic like that. They found it buried on Mr. Solomon’s ranch and are gathering all the pieces inside his barn. Daddy tells me he’ll take me and Mommy to see it once they’ve unearthed it all. They’d come all the way from Boston for it.”
“That really does sound exciting, Miss Clara. I would very much like to see this treasure.” Even though he had no idea what it could be. He’d heard of cities with golden walls discovered in South America, so could this treasure be of similar value?
He flinched when the door behind him opened and two men emerged, but while one, clad in a dusty work outfit was surely the patient, the other—dressed in an elegant suit of a mustard shade could only be Clara’s father. He stalled, eyes swiping over Ned, but seeing that no harm had come to his daughter, he saw his other guest off and approached Ned once the stranger rode off.
“Dr. Bartholomew Dawson. How can I help you?”
Ned was sad that he hadn’t gotten a taste of the cake, but there were more important things than dessert. He followed the doctor to his office to explain the reason for his visit, but it turned out the man wouldn’t have the right medicine until next week. Lotta wouldn’t be happy about the wait, but they weren’t leaving their new camp any time soon, so he could pick it up for her at the later time. Maybe by then Cole could accompany him, because the stupid spat they were having wouldn’t last forever.