Outside the window, a cold rain fell, filling the muddy holes of Shasta's streets. Tomorrow, he would file his gold claims, which Greasy would supply with working boys. He supposed there was some intrigue in that process, some fleeting pleasure in the look of their eyes as one stood over a sleeping Indian beside the road near Cottonwood, say, the Wintu or Yani waking up to his worst nightmare. The terror of being hauled off while his children screamed as they tried to cling to him like dust balls to a mop. Zane smirked at the pathetic image. Eventually, like all hangers-on, the families would drop off, desert and run, forget their men and boys. Women were fickle, not to be trusted, and children? As disloyal as pups. Best those native slaves discovered it now, before hope bit at them like a rabid skunk.
Greasy said the Indians were theirs for as long as they wished, though the law said at four months they were supposed to purchase their services again. He wouldn't bother. Greasy said no one protested. Oh, the Indians did, but the law forbid them to even speak against a white man in court. Once purchased, they rarely resisted. Amazing, truly amazing. If Greasy's Indians gave him grief at Mad Mule Canyon, he was his own judge and jury and could dispose of them as he did the other refuse that resulted from daily living. Zane brushed at a speck of lint on his cape. With resourceful men like him coming into the state, California might end up with no Indians left at all.
“Seth should have stayed until we were all settled in,” Adora complained, shivering at the morning fire.
“He'd made a commitment to Sister Esther,” Ruth said. “At least give the man credit for keeping it. Here, have some coffee. It'll warm you.”
“Fancy you crediting a man. Any man,” Adora snapped.
“I like men. In their place,” Ruth said. She wore fingerless gloves and sipped from her own cup. “I just like horses better.” Was that actually true?
“Better than anything,” Sarah said.
“Not better than you, I'll bet,” Mazy said. “Isn't that right, Ruth?”
“What?” Ruth said. “Look, this place is right, for now. Your cows and oxen can winter here at Poverty Flat. Your mules, too, Adora, if you want. Looks to be plenty of grass and water. Creek'll freeze over, but I can break the ice until I get a trough rigged from the Sacramento to it.” She looked out across the flat where they'd camped this week while helping move people into their places in Shasta. “And if Matt and Joe Pepin ever get my letter and bring my horses and your bull to us, Mazy, this'll be the place they'll come to stop. Just off the trail as it is. All in all, it's a good spot. A pack string stops most every day, though I guess once the snow falls heavy, that'll end.”
“Will you build a house?” Adora said. “There's no place to live, or haven't you noticed?”
“There is, actually. Back in the trees. An old barn and a small shack.” She pointed. “I found it when Koda and I rode out yesterday. Pretty run-down, and the barn looks like it might have been flooded once, judging by the marks on the walls. But there's a stove left in it, still with a pipe. It's a little small, that's true. You children might find yourselves wanting to visit your other aunties sooner than you thought.”
“Are there beds?” Jason said.
“We've got the mattresses of your mother's, quilts and blankets and tin pans and a coffeepot. It'll be…cozy. And we have a three-legged spider to fry up eggs—if we ever find some laying chickens.”
“I saw some, riding a mule in town,” Ned said. “A man with a long braid was arguing about them. Can we go calling on Chinatown, Auntie Ruth?”
“Maybe tomorrow.” Ruth let herself imagine a day of just exploring with the children. “First we have to figure out which corner of the house you want to claim as yours. We've got to make repairs. Plug up some of the holes in the roof. Might be a skunk or two we can kill before it snows. Skunk oil's good for healing, isn't that right, Lura? Then see about buying and moving a haystack before the snows fall heavy. Your parents left you some money, but we've got to make it last. Girls, you'll be cooking and sewing; that's what you'll be doing. Jessie can even do that without using her crutches. Yes, there'll be a lot of work to do, no doubt about it. Oh, and we need to get Jessie up on those crutches. I'm not having any of you push her in that cart after today. We'll be needing it for hauling firewood, not a spoiled child.”
Ruth watched the faces of her charges. Glances shifted between them. She was just helping them face reality and letting them see for themselves—in time—that living with someone else besides their auntie just might not be so bad.
“Its just up here,” Suzanne said. “I've counted exactly one hundred and twelve steps straight from the digger pine at the end of that street. We should be right at the wrought-iron gate. Are we?”
“I'll be,” Lura said.
“This is…great, Suzanne,” Mazy said.
Suzanne's face could barely stop smiling. Her fingers fidgeted with the latch. She opened it, and Pig led her through the gate. “I know guests are supposed to go first, but I need to count to the porch steps and get Pig through too.”
“Nice big yard, Suzanne,” Tipton said.
“A little dark, truth be known,” Adora said.
“Just shady,” Lura said. “Kind of nestled back in here. No porch though, just one step, it looks like.”
Suzanne stepped up, pulled the latch string, and pushed open the door to her house. She smelled the dampness and wished she'd remembered to ask the land agent to come ahead and start the fire in the fireplace. But it smelled clean. That was what she remembered when she first stepped inside. And there was a scent of…lemon, yes, that was what it was. The woman must have had lemons, the fragrance now permanent in the wood floor. Suzanne patted the walls, walking sideways, counting as she stepped. “The main room is about twelve feet by twelve feet. The bedroom's a little smaller.” She turned to face them.
“Well? What do you think?” she asked as she heard the shuffling of feet as the women moved around to fill the room.
“Is the ceiling too low? Are there holes in the wall, what?” she asked. “Isn't it all right?” Silence greeted her. “What?”
“It's grand,” Elizabeth said. “A little puny as you can tell by our shoulder-rubbing here. But it's dandy for you and the boys.”
“Thank you for that, Elizabeth. Thank you.” She took in a deep breath. “I know you all think I've lost my mind, wanting to be here by myself. And I should tell you now, that I want to do as much as I can without leaning on you as I have these months. I'm not being rude, truly, by seeing less of you.”
“She can't see at all,” Jessie whispered to Sarah. “Why'd she say that?”
“Hush!” Ruth told her, and Suzanne heard a scrape and shuffle, no doubt Jessie walking with a crutch.
“This is my new beginning,” Suzanne said. “You'll all find yours, too.
“You'll have to get someone to build your fires,” Mazy said. “I cant see how you'll make it without that. And to help cook. Look after Sason. I just don't—”
“I have a plan,” Suzanne said. “Isn't that what you always said we needed, Mazy? I can do this. I found this place by myself, didn't I? All I need from you is help to carry what's mine out of the wagons. And your understanding. The rest I can do. I can.”
Lura asked, “Where's your income going to come from?”
“Ma! That's personal-like,” Mariah said.
“We're family,” Lura told her.
“Not that it's your business…but Bryce left me in good stead. For this first year, at least. I'll be able to buy food and pay for firewood, even to have it brought up here. So you needn't worry. The boys will be fine. The agent gave me lots of information, and I've already met someone.”
“A man?” Tipton asked.
Suzanne laughed. “Not a man, Tipton. That is not part of my plan. No, a woman. A very nice lady. She said she's a banker. I didn't know women did that, but she says it's how she supports herself. You'll meet her sometime.”
No one seemed to want to enter the silence that follow
ed, so Suzanne added: “It's the first time in my adult life I have lived…without being in the shadow of a man. I was married and went from living under my father's roof to my husband's. And good as they both were to me, I never discovered whether or not I could make good decisions for myself, recover from bad ones. I rather like the idea of being alone— with just my sons. In fact, I'm looking forward to the adventure.” Still silence. “Can't you share my joy?” she said, wishing she hadn't heard the pleading in her own voice. “Can't you see what I see?”
“What do you see?” Mazy asked.
“Home,” Suzanne said. “Just the way I want to make it.”
Zane stopped by the Shasta post office to see if his claim had been paid. With a knife, he scraped at his fingernails, waiting, watching, listening. People hovered over well-worn letters from back home. He smelled pickles mixed with the cigars of shopkeepers, the lye soap aura of bonneted women, the horse and leather smells of homesick miners. A sorry lot, needing connection from what had been, hearing of things that happened months before. He watched their eyes light up as they read, some teared, even grizzled looking men bigger than him. They read of the death of a mother, the loss of a woman to the affections of another man. Wasted effort, the caring of another.
When he was the only one left, he asked for any letters for Zane Randolph. Still no paid claim. He should sue them for the delay—lawsuits always quickened people's feet.
Good fortune smiled at him already in the few weeks he'd been in Shasta. A few well-placed words—everyone gossiped about new arrivals—and he'd heard of a beautiful blind woman and of a “manish” woman with children settled out at Poverty Flat.
When he was sure just where Ruth was, he'd watch her from a distance. He'd let Ruth settle, feel safe and secure. It would be a good time for him to deliver supplies to the gulches Greasy told him of, then file some of his own claims.
He stopped at King's Bookstore on his way to the St. Charles Hotel, almost stepping on a long-haired cat. He browsed a bit, picking up a classic or two. He'd have time to read, practicing his patience, waiting for the proper moments. Tiresome but necessary. He paid for his purchases, including sweet-smelling cologne, just arrived. When he turned, he saw her.
His breath caught in his throat.
11
David Taylor dropped an armload of wood next to the hearth and looked over at Oltipa. Good, she still slept. She looked so small there, tucked beneath a blanket hide, knees pulled up like a baby. He fixed himself a cup of hot water and threw some wheat berries into it, telling himself it tasted like coffee. Snow fell harder now, outside, but the fire stayed strong. He shook his head, still amazed at how he'd arrived at this place of comfort with a wounded Wintu woman.
Four of Oltipa's fingers on her right hand were smashed when she killed the cougar with the thrust of the rock to its head. As he scrambled toward her, David patted for his gun, found it, and shot the stunned cat in the neck. This time, he was sure. Then he saw her wrist. It hung limp as wet wash. David held her hand in his and poured water on it from the canteen he retrieved from the horse. A twig formed a kind of splint he wrapped with his neck scarf. He tore a section of the green cloth to act as a sling. She never whimpered or winced even with the swelling.
He'd given her food then, ripped the cooked venison he'd brought from the stage stop into bite-size pieces. Her eyes clouded with…uncertainty, David decided, taking food from this foreign man.
“Yeah, I'd wonder too about how much help a man can be who lets a cat lay stunned and needs a woman to rescue him. She gets hurt in the process.” She looked up at him, her face smudged with dirt and a smear of the meat, a blank expression. “Yeah,” he said. “I hope those fingers aren't broken, just bruised bad. And I'm sure sorry about your wrist.” She'd looked at her hand then, so he knew she understood at least some of his words.
The dog pushed against the woman, stepping its rounded toes onto the slinged arm, sticking his face into hers. “He can't be yours,” David said, brushing the dog from her.
She reached out a small piece of meat, which the dog snapped up, scooting back under David's arm to eat it.
“Looks like a monkey sitting there, begging,” David said. “Kinda cute with that beard. He's so dark, I can't even see his eyes.”
The girl just stared at David.
Her hand must have been throbbing, and David made small talk about a mutt. He moved himself to lean his back against the tree, liking the feel of the rough bark against his shirt. He inhaled a deep breath, wiggled to scratch his back.
“So here's what I'm thinking,” he said, handing her the canteen again while the dog plopped itself in front of David, licked its toes. “You can't go on far alone, not with that wrist and those fingers all smashed up.” He scratched at the dog's neck. “So here's our options. You come with me now, and I'll hide you out, close to the station. That Randolph man has already filed his lost luggage claim, and he seems settled enough. He'll keep going north, leaving us alone. In the morning, I'll take the stage run back to Sacramento as I'm bound to, but I'll buy your passage. Pick you up on the way back out.” He was planning as he talked. “Got to get you something decent to wear, though. Maybe I can borrow something from Mrs. Gant. Make up some story of why I need it. Or we can wrap the cloth around you, like I've seen some of those Argentine women wear. Serape-like.” He nodded. “The dog with you will make you look regular,” he said. “And we'll get the twigs from your hair, your face washed, and you'll get along fine in Sacramento, big city and all.” She brushed at her hair, winced as she bumped her damaged hand. “All right. Let's see how we can get that green to wrap around you.
He unfurled the cloth, several yards long, and wrapped it around her shoulder, across her chest and then around her waist. He swallowed with the intimacy of it, of feeling the waist of a woman that wasn't his sister or mother. She held her good arm out so he could wrap the cloth beneath and up and over her shoulder, tucking the cut edge in at the waist. He stood back, gazing at her, and that was when he knew.
“Are you? I mean…” He made a motion with his hands as though he held a baby in them, rocking.
“Baby,” she said and nodded.
“Yeah.” he swallowed. The dog stood on its back legs, tugged at David's pant legs, then ran to the woman, snagging the cloth. Oltipa winced. “With a baby coming, city's no place for you, is it? At least not a big city. Thought maybe you could get work with someone and be fed there and all. But you'll be snatched up again, I'll bet. Declare you destitute. You need someplace safe you can tide over until spring, so you can have that baby and make it back to your people. You got people?”
She didn't seem to understand.
“Yeah,” he said. He ran his hands through his dark hair, thinking. “We've got to find you a home for a while, that's what we got to do.”
Streams of ideas ran through his head, mixed with memories and wishes and wants. He patted her shoulder as if she were a child. “It'll be all right,” he said. “We'll think of something.”
With his hands, he scraped up some pine needles to form a makeshift pad, then he laid out his bedroll on top of it. “Here. You rest now.”
An edge of uncertainty worked its way to the surface, the craziness of what he was thinking of doing for this woman of whom he knew nothing. “I could take you to the cabin my father had, near French Gulch. Well, not far from Shasta City. Bring food enough for a month at a time, in case I don't get back from a run. I'd look after you like a brother.” She stared at David, blinked once. “You'd be safe there through the winter. Until your baby comes.”
David sat on his haunches, pushed his hat back and cocked his head as he looked up at her. “You don't understand a word of this, do you?” he said. “This thinking of mine, to take you to a safe place, be good to you and all. Not a word.”
The dog barked its short sharp yip then, ran from David to pull again at the green cloth. The Wintu woman brushed the dog gently away with the side of her foot, stared at David as s
he did. “Sookoo,” she said then.
“What?” David asked.
“Word for dog is sookoo. We take him, too?”
“You bet,” David said. “You bet!”
Now here he was, his whole life a muddle of meddling. Mr. Hall, his former employer, had listened to his explanation of the missing “luggage,” nodding his head kindly, the fat fingers of his hand grasping the lapel on his fine linen suit. “Fact is, David, the, ah, item was placed on the stage and did not arrive as scheduled. It was of worth to the passenger, and while we may disagree with the, ah, morality of this transaction, it is in fact legal and thus nothing to be done for it but pay the claim. I'm sure you see my dilemma.”
“I don't, sir,” David told him, his heart pounding, this whole situation pushing him into areas he hadn't imagined he'd go. “It's condoning slavery.”
“Not the way it's seen, David.”
David lowered his head, defeated. “I'll repay you from my wages.” Even as he said it, he wasn't sure how he'd ever do it, pay and meet Oltipa's needs for food and shelter. His own, too.
Hall nodded. “And you're, ah, off the roll.”
“You're letting me go?”
He gripped Davids shoulder then, in that friendly way he had. “Perk up, boy. You're young. It's not the end of the world. California's a booming place. You'll make your wages—and your obligation to the line. It's just not worth the, ah, litigation that could ensue unless Hall and Crandall can show they took appropriate measures in this incident. The customer intends to, ah, take out ads, questioning our quality, our service unless we, ah, can assure him that our drivers are above reproach. You understand how it is.”