“Like dirt,” Jessie said.
“Like wet ground,” Mariah countered, and Suzanne imagined them each touching their tongues to the earth.
“Like home,” Mazy said.
And it sounded to Suzanne as though the words caught in her throat.
6
Sacramento City
Through the dirty window, Zane watched the rain drizzle, the drops slithering down imperfect glass. Puddles formed in the muddy streets, splashing red mud as a wagon or stage plunged through them at speeds fast enough to avoid getting stuck. Inconvenient if not dangerous to anyone standing on the boardwalk. Inside, the smell of wet wool, ale, and smoke caused a man with broken blood vessels across his nose to suggest they should all stand out in the rain. His comrades laughed, slapped him on the back, then picked him up as though to toss him through the window. The barmaid intervened, bringing another round of drinks.
Zane's eyes watered from the thick smoke of cigars and the iron stove puffing out as much smoke inside as out. He swirled his stick in the tumbler now half full of amber liquid. He heard a burst of laughter. A man with pants greasy enough to stand alone sat close to the stove and slapped at his thigh, hooting at some drivel another miner was telling him.
Zane wasn't sure why he stayed. He sat alone at his table, bigger and smaller men both giving him wide berth once he lifted his eyes and offered silence to their inquiries of “You needing this chair, mate?” or “Like some company?” They seldom repeated their question, moved on instead to the smooth bar or a table already covered with peanut shells and cards and cigarette ashes and men laughing and telling tall tales. Sometimes they looked back at him in the bar mirror. He liked being able to move people away from him with a mere stare. He liked perching like an eagle, scanning, watching, seeking prey with his back always to the wall. He liked that he did what he planned, alone, even in the midst of a crowd. He'd learned that in the Missouri prison too: how to be alone while in the presence of many; how to use others without being used himself.
He focused on the worms of humanity squirming in the smoky din but allowed his mind to reflect on the days just past. He'd stepped inside every livery stable, ducked his head at saddle makers, spoken with sooty blacksmiths, gone anywhere he could imagine a horsewoman might be found in Sacramento. His search turned up not one clue of Ruth.
His method of seeking never varied. He tipped his hat, used his most charming voice. Not too charming. He didn't want to be remembered. A big man needed cunning so he wouldn't be recalled. He casually inquired about purchasing a string of mounts. “Need a good mare for my wife,” he told them, or “Considering buying brood mares.” Sometimes he was given the name of a ranchero up in the hills or told to check with a place out of town. He'd done that, followed up on every lead. But most often he was laughed at and told that strings of horses were worth their weight in gold, so many being snapped up by miners heading into the gold fields, north and east. Few good horses made it across the plains. Mules could graze on the sparse grasses, but horses needed grain.
“Army's outfitting northern posts to keep the heathens in line,” one blacksmith told him in between the slams of steel on his anvil. “Got to put your dibs on ‘em long before you need ‘em. Friend of mine has orders to keep him in business for the next five years.”
He was told by more than one person that the only stock in greater shortage were milk cows and mules since those were needed for the miners and pack strings and freighters carrying everything from stoves to soap as far north as Shasta City. That was where the stage line ended. “One or two horses you can buy, but dont go looking for more than that ‘less you want to add ‘em two by two over time. What ya planning?”
Zane disliked men telling him what he should and should not do, and even worse were the questions. He rarely answered with more than a nod.
No one had mentioned any new animals recently herded in and none by a woman. He couldn't ask about a woman, of course. He didn't want to use Jed and Betha Bernard's name, Ruth's brother and his wife. That might well be remembered. Tomorrow he would check newspaper offices, to see if she had returned to her chosen work as a lithographer. He might even secure a position, look into banking. It would allow him reason to show interest in breeding stock as an investment and break through doors for pursuing Ruth.
He knew the note from that wrangler, Matt Schmidtke his name was, said he had Ruth's horses. He never knew his wife to be without them except when he had sold her favorite mounts. She loved horses above all else, certainly above him. Even the birth of the brats hadn't changed that.
Taut as whip handles, Zane and his wife stood in the living room of the estate he'd inherited from his father. Heavy burgundy drapes framed the floor-to-ceiling windows. Outside, rain poured, sphshing on the veranda, obscuring the stable, now empty. They'd been married but one year.
“Hasrit Calle been of help to you?” Zane asked Ruth. His wife seemed defeated, he thought, and he smiled. “I had the agency check on her and she's quite qualified. If she's doing her job, I dont understand why you re so tired. “
“Tm nursing them, “ Ruth snapped back at him. “The children need to eat. A nurse cant do that. They need attention. And there are two children, or haven't you noticed?”
He walked to the sideboard, fixed himself a drink. “Of course I've noticed, dear Ruth. Im their father. “
“You were present at the conception, yes, “she said.
He turned. “Ruthie, Ruthie. Why so hostile? Were accomplices in this. “
Ruth sighed and sank onto the horsehair divan. “My body feels like it belongs to someone ehe. I had no idea the babies would take so much from me. I just cant seem to get rested. “
“You sleep a great deal. Unfortunate that so much time spent in leisure allows you no rest. “
He watched her eyes, looking for the old fire that had made her such a challenge to subdue. He'd been attracted to the fire, the streak of independence. And he'd watched with a mixture of excitement and regret as shed allowed him to slowly strip it from her—quitting her lithographic work, wearing the clothes he chose for her, appearing at his banking functions draped on his arm just as he wished. It was his… creativity, he decided, sculpting this woman into just what he wished. He'd been so proud of his creation.
Now, blank eyes stared at him, and he felt for just a moment that he was looking at himself.
He licked his lips. “Perhaps a new steed would liven you up, give you something to…anticipate. “
“I didn't think you wanted me to ride anymore, “she told him, her voice still as dreary as the rain outside, her eyes staring at the Persian carpet. “Isn't that why you sold the others?”
“You were spending too much time with horses, dear Ruth. Why, I barely saw you. A man likes to have his wife waiting for him at days end, and where were you? Off in the hills, off giving your love away to those creatures.”
“Your days’ ends had no pattern to them, “ she said. “Except expecting me to be here for you, waiting like a hp dog. “
“Well then, let's get you a new horse. Two, and see if we can change that. I'll come home at an expected time, and well ride together. How would that be?”
She'd lifted those empty eyes to him and pierced him like a knife. “Id rather do without. “
These past five years he had done without. Without a fair trial. Without freedom. Without control. Without even the hope of a dutiful wife waiting for him when he was released. As much as she loved horses, she had refused his gift—if his presence came with it.
“You all right, sir?” The woman wore too much powder, and her smile looked pasted on. “You're breathing like a horse rode hard.” She nodded toward his empty glass. “You want another? Sir?” She shifted the tin tray at her ample hip, bent toward him. “Umm,” she said. “You smell good. What is that?”
“Patience and revenge,” he said and motioned her aside.
At the Emigrant Ferry
The river crossing consumed the day
. Two loads of shingles and lumber from Shingletown took precedence at the ferry on the mouth of Cow Creek where it joined the Sacramento. Finally, the women had rolled their wagons, one at a time, onto the wooden craft. The sun had set by the time they reached the other side, so they'd circled there and stayed the night.
The next morning found them both eager and dragging their feet, Mazy thought. At least she was. Knowing that new decisions loomed ahead seemed to stumble them this morning. Oxen resisted their yokes. Biscuits got burned at the fire. Mazy heard complaints of “hurry up” from Tipton followed by “wait for me” from Ned. It was all changing, and with it came the irritations. They were some twelve to fifteen miles out of Shasta, Seth had said, and they'd have creeks to cross. When they'd made a little more than half that distance by afternoon, Seth suggested they camp at a wide flat where the Sacramento looped east before twisting back south. “Only three, four miles out of Shasta there,” he said. “You can rest, wash some duds if you want, then I'll take you in.”
Mazy wondered if they'd dragged this day because they didn't really want this to end, didn't really want to make another big change.
Suzanne was glad they'd done what Seth suggested. They'd stopped earlier, and she could hear people chattering about what was in their trunks they'd forgotten about, not having seen items for months. A teapot still in one piece; a picture album. She heard tissue paper and knew dresses were being unwrapped. She'd given Clayton his top to play with, and Sason slept. She patted the mattress, making her way toward her own trunk. Her fingers found the earrings Bryce had given her, the ones she'd worn in that dream. She put them on, then joined the evening gathering, listening for Clayton's foot bell and the slobber sounds of Pig at her feet. They ate and then all settled around the campfire.
“It is the only way for us to take the bees south,” Sister Esther said. She stood next to Suzanne, who could feel the heat of the low cooking fire made in the shelter of a cluster of oaks. The evening chilled. Smoke drifted up.
“Is it foggy?” Suzanne asked.
“Smoke flattens right out on top the trees,” Ned told her. “Then it drifts back down. Look. I can make puffs with my mouth.”
It must have been the misty fog that felt like rain.
“Placing them on a stage will not be safe for the bees. Is that not correct, Mei-Ling?
“Is correct,” Mei-Ling answered.
Suzanne wondered if Mei-Ling resented having someone always telling her what to do, setting the stage for whatever came next. Or maybe she was just thinking of herself and the subtle but persistent comments of the others telling her how to do this and that. Just when she thought she had her own plan, everyone seemed to think she'd have to move in with one of them. She had money to pay her way—at least for this first winter. Bryce had been forthright about their expenditures and told her that if they were careful, they could claim land, live the winter, plant in the spring, and still have enough to start their photo studio business back up. But that had been his plan for Oregon. Here she was in California, without him. No free land to claim. No way she could run a photographic business. And two children, one with something wrong. She was sure ofthat even if the others patted her like a lap dog and told her it wasn't so.
Eventually she would have to find something to support herself and the boys—but at least she could afford housing and food for the winter. And she had a plan for doing that on her own.
“What about that?” Mazy said, the conversation with Esther continuing while Suzanne's thoughts had drifted inward. “Wait until spring, Esther. Then I might go with you, so I can talk with the solicitor about…my situation.”
“Now there's a story, truth be known,” Adora chided. “What do you suppose that husband of yours was thinking, keeping his other family to himself? Why, if my Hathaway had—”
“I hear Sacramento's quite a city,” Elizabeth said. “Not like my Milwaukee and the lake, but it's got a bakery or two, don't it, Seth? A Strudel sounds so good right now.”
“Chocolate,” Lura said. “Wish I'd a bought a block of it back at Charley's Ranch. Wish I could have bartered what's left of my skunk oil for it, that or a twist of tobacco. I wonder if skunks live in these parts. Seth?”
“Both two legged and four,” Seth said.
“Couldn't you wait just a little longer, Esther?” Mazy persisted.
Suzanne heard Sister Esther clear her throat. She imagined the woman, her hands folded together over the belt of her apron, her shawl tight across her arms. That was how Tipton described her when she'd asked one time. “She's got large knuckles—so do I after driving the mules. They always look white when she clasps them to talk,” Tipton told her. “She pinches her hands just like her words, looking all sour as they come out through her lips.”
“She doesn't really sound…sour, though.”
“That's just ‘cause you can't see her.”
“Oh, I see some things,” Suzanne told her. “Maybe more than others because I'm not distracted by all the sights that others are.”
Sister Esther's voice rose high then, almost argumentative. “We owe it to Mei-Ling's intended to go as soon as we are able. The drawing of her new hive design is completed, is it not, Ruth? It's been replaced. The dowry is still of value. The bees still live. Who knows what the winter will bring? Who knows if we will find suitable lodging for ourselves as well as the bees in this northern outpost? We have known trouble on this journey and we must learn from it, to not pretend we can make the inevitable wait. No, we can make a short journey into the town, but then I believe we must go south to Sacramento.”
“Naomi, I wish you'd stay,” Lura told the girl. “I've got a business proposition for you. I've been thinking about this and—”
Suzanne's heart throbbed in her head. Naomi might remain behind? It hadn't occurred to her that Naomi might be willing to give up her contract! Why hadn't she thought to ask? She'd just assumed Naomi would keep her agreement just as she'd kept the name Sister Esther had given her. She shook her head. Zilah's death must have grieved her more than she realized. She had gotten distracted when the one thing she knew she had to do was stay focused. Now Lura, the woman she often thought of as empty-headed, pressed her own enterprising case. She raised her hand as though to talk, but the words swirled around her, tangled with her thoughts until the moment passed.
“—so I figured you could be a big part ofthat,” Lura finished.
“Thought you talked about a mercantile business back at Laramie,” Elizabeth said.
“You dragged that knife sharpener all the way from New York, and now you aren't going to use it?” Adora said. “I could have brought another trunk had I known that stead of making space for that heavy old thing, truth be known.”
“You didn't even know she had it until after we'd sorted things out,” Mazy reminded her.
“I've come to like Naomi's herbs. That aromatic cooking this winter might be just the syrup for those miner's tongues,” Lura said.
“Those herbs have helped get my smelling back. Tipton likes the flavoring too. Don't you, dear?” Adora said.
Suzanne needed to jump into the fray, press her own case. She would have to interrupt someone, Adora, Lura, Mariah—their words whipped around her, tangling the air the way fall gusts swirled dry leaves. “Could you—?”
“Naomi has a contract. A husband awaits her,” Esther said. “And she has agreed to keep her commitment. It is settled. There will be no restaurant in Shasta City flavored with Naomi's herbs.”
Suzanne felt herself relax. There wasn't anyone safe available for her to hire. She had to do this on her own.
“Actually ma'am,” Seth said, “there are a few such establishments in Shasta already. Chinese have moved in pretty quickly. Have their own little Chinatown, working the mines, running laundries and eateries and such; sending money back home.”
“Yes, well, they will do so without the benefit of Naomi's fine skills as she is going south. As is Mei-Ling. Will you take us, Mr. Forreste
r?”
“Yes ma'am. Said I would.
“Travel east.
Travel west.
Going south.
That's my best.”
Ruth stood closest to Suzanne, and she heard a grunt of disgust from her. She wasn't sure if it was Seth's poetry that bothered Ruth or just his being a man.
“I'm hoping you'd at least take a day or two in town, though. Let the animals get rested and fed. Us too. But I'll take you. I'm a man of my word.”
“Even if you do exaggerate it a bit,” Mazy said. She laughed.
“Let us set the day, then,” Esther said. “Two days to rest, get you all settled for winter, and then south. By mid-October.”
“Bees need warm time,” Mei-Ling said. “Air cool here.”
“Then we'll cover them with quilts,” Esther said.
“Take them to bed with us?” Sarah asked. Suzanne guessed the girl blushed when everyone laughed.
“Whatever we don't need for our own old bones,” Elizabeth said. “A quilt's a treasure, that's sure. And we want to get Mei-Ling where she's headed in good shape. It'd reflect bad on all of us if she don't.”
“Mei-Ling hope new husband as kind as this family,” the girl said, and Suzanne imagined that she bowed then, to honor everyone. She wondered what Naomi thought. The girl had not spoken a word.
Sacramento City
He heard the words blind woman and beauty and turned even before he heard horses and whip. Zane Randolph dropped the eagles as payment on the table and stood, eyeing the crowd and the miner who spoke, huddled close to the stove. Smallish, the man had a beaked nose too large for his face. He chewed peanuts, exposing broken teeth and pelting the air with bits of peanut meat as he talked. His face seemed almost buried beneath an unkempt beard he pulled with his fingers toward his chest during the pauses filled with laughter. “Yessiree, she was a beauty. Gold hair piled up around the prettiest face. Didn't even notice she wore the dark glasses, first. Blind and beautiful. And smart, too. Kept a dog with her. She smiled even though she couldn't see my fine physique.” He caught his breath in the laughter. “Fine addition to our State. Wasn't none of ‘em bad looking. Oh, a few China girls I saw peeked out of the back. S'pect they're daughters of joy, welcome in most parts.”