Whitt tucked the pouch back in his pocket. “You’re more than welcome to join us here if you’re interested. Come on; the boys will be excited to see you.”
As soon as Clint and Whitt reached the streambed, Bo and Boone dropped their pans and came running to Clint. He picked up both boys and swung them around. “I hear you men are working hard.”
Bo nodded. “Yeah, this is a lot of fun. Did Pa show you the gold?”
“Pa said if you came here, you could pan with us,” Boone told him.
“Please stay with us,” Bo pleaded.
It touched Clint’s heart that the boys wanted him to stay with them. “If your pa is sure he doesn’t mind me joining you.”
“I think more and more people will be coming, so it’ll be safer as a team. We can take turns sleeping,” Whitt replied. He didn’t want to scare the boys by saying their safety could become an issue if word got around about finding gold.
Clint nodded his understanding of what was on Whitt’s mind. He agreed with Whitt about safety in numbers. He’d heard stories about greed overruling common sense when men had gold fever. With two boys to protect, it made sense that Whitt preferred to have another man around. Clint placed the boys on the ground and shook Whitt’s hand. “I’ll stay, but I have one thing I need to do before I start working. I need to find Amelia Wakeland.”
“Is she the woman who cared for your mother?” Whitt asked.
“Yes. My mother left me a note asking that I find her. I think she must have been worried that Amelia might become ill. I need to see her and make sure she’s well.”
“I think I know where she is. You told me she was planning to leave with the Nelson family. I saw Ben Wilburn a few days ago, and he said the Nelson camp was less than a half mile from his.” Whitt told him how to get to their camp. “But don’t stop at Ben Wilburn’s camp. Ben’s son is sick with influenza. At least Ben said it was influenza, but there’s a chance it could be yellow fever. They need to keep him away from everyone until they know for sure.
* * *
The wagon at the Nelson campsite was well-hidden behind a row of pecan trees, not far from the water. Clint saw a woman cooking over the fire a few feet from the wagon. Hearing his horse, the woman stopped working and watched him approach with a wary look on her face.
Dismounting, Clint politely removed his hat, hoping to put her at ease as he kept some distance between them. “Morning.”
The woman gave him an almost imperceptible nod.
“Whitt Newcombe told me I could find Tom Nelson here.”
“Yes.”
“I’m Clint Mitchum . . .”
Her expression registered her surprise. “Ingrid’s son?”
Clint nodded. “Yes, ma’am, and I’m looking for Amelia.”
“I’ve heard about you.”
Clint wondered if his mother had told her how disappointed she was that he hadn’t come home in years. No, his mother wouldn’t tell anyone that her eldest son had caused her grief. She’d always given him much more understanding than he deserved. He watched the woman as she turned back to the fire and lifted the coffeepot.
“This is fresh coffee.” She picked up a cup from a makeshift table near the firepit. The woman pointed to some stumps that had been conveniently situated around the fire. “Please have a seat.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” Clint settled his hat back on his head and gratefully accepted the cup of coffee. As he took a drink of his coffee, he thought about what he wanted to say to her. He didn’t know what he expected Amelia to look like, but she was considerably older than he thought she would be. She was also almost as round as she was tall, and he was gratified to see she looked healthy. “My mother . . .” Clint halted when he heard voices approaching.
The woman looked at him and smiled. “Here’s Amelia now.”
Clint’s brow furrowed in confusion. His gaze shifted to two young girls running toward them. The smaller girl ran right to him, while the older girl hung back a few feet. Clint thought they were two of the cutest little girls he’d even seen. They both had long, curly, dark hair and big blue eyes.
“Who are you?” the younger girl asked.
“Remember your manners, girls,” a woman trailing behind them instructed.
“Yes, ma’am,” the girls stated in unison.
Clint glanced up at the woman admonishing the little girl for her question. A beautiful young woman returned his scrutiny. Clint quickly jumped to his feet and removed his hat again. Like the little girls in front of him, the young woman had long, dark, curly hair, lighter blue eyes and porcelain skin.
When Clint felt a tug on his shirtsleeve, he forced his eyes from the woman to the little girl in front of him. She was staring up at him with an impish smile revealing two dimples. “I’m Annie. Who are you?”
Clint chuckled, amused by her direct manner. “I’m Clint Mitchum.”
“Amelia, Mr. Mitchum is looking for you,” the woman he’d mistaken for Amelia announced. She glanced at Clint, giving him a slight smile. “I’m Sophie Nelson, Tom’s wife.”
Clint knew she’d intentionally wanted him to believe she was Amelia. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Nelson.”
“Call me Sophie.”
Clint nodded. His eyes move to Amelia again. “Amelia?”
“Yes.” She placed her hand on the older girl’s shoulder. “This is my daughter, Katherine, and you’ve met Annie.”
“Everyone calls me Katie,” Katherine told him.
Clint inclined his head. “Hello, Katie.”
Three more children walked toward them, a boy and two girls, and Sophie made the introductions. “This is my youngest grandson, Mark. We lost the eldest, Matthew, to the fever. These are my granddaughters, Hannah and Bonnie.”
Clint judged the boy to be about twelve or thirteen years of age, and the girls were a little younger. “Nice to meet you.”
“We’ll give you some privacy.” Mrs. Nelson motioned for
