The familiar tinkle of the bell above the shop’s door announced her arrival. Her mother hurried out to greet what she thought would be a customer. Her smile faded at the sight of Mariah. “What do you want?”
“I’m traveling to California in the morning to take a job as a housekeeper, and I’ve come to say good-bye.”
“Then go on with you, you ungrateful bitch.”
She spat the last words as if they were fire and they burned Mariah as if they were. Taking in a deep breath while reminding herself this might be the last time they’d ever speak, she said quietly, “Aunt Libby told me the truth about my father—that he didn’t die.”
“He did die!” she snapped. “He was swept overboard on one of those ships and left me here alone to raise his lazy, witch-eyed git who was more trouble than she was ever worth.”
“I’m sorry for your pain, Mother.”
“Be sorry for yourself. Go on to California or wherever the hell you’re going and don’t ever come back here again. You understand?”
“Yes, I do.”
For a short moment they stared into each other’s eyes. Mariah had no idea what her mother saw reflected in hers but in Bernice’s, Mariah saw anger, pain, and what appeared to be grief and loss. “If you ever need—”
“I’ll never need anything from you. Now, get out!”
Mariah didn’t have to be told twice.
Outside, she climbed back into Libby’s carriage and saw the concern lining her aunt’s face. Taking a moment to wipe at the tears forming in the corners of her eyes, Mariah whispered, “That certainly went well.”
“At least you tried,” Libby offered assuringly. “And it’s certainly more than she deserved.”
Mariah agreed, but still, her heart ached for what might have been.
The next morning, Mariah was accompanied to the train station by Libby and Kaye. Hugs were shared as were tears, but Mariah was admittedly excited about the adventure ahead.
Eyes wet, Kaye stated, “Make sure you write to me just as soon as you can, and thank you so much for my beautiful gown. I do wish you were coming back to stand up with me.”
Mariah wished the same but doubted she’d have the money saved to do so, nor did she envision Mrs. Yates allowing her take the time off after only a few months of employment.
Libby said, “Wire me when you arrive, so that I’ll know you got there safely.”
“I promise.”
The train’s whistle blew. It was time to depart. She gave the two women who meant so much to her another fierce hug. Having already sent her trunks to the baggage car, she stepped aboard. Through another round of tears, she blew them a kiss and went to find her seat.
Chapter 4
As the whistle sounded and the train slowly pulled out of the station, Mariah was filled with mixed emotions. On one hand, she was embarking on a new life, but on the other, leaving her mother under such acrimonious circumstances continued to resonate with sadness. Would they ever reconcile, or live apart until death? In spite of all the pain and heartache she’d suffered, Mariah tried to remain optimistic, even though she knew her mother held no such feelings.
For the rest of the morning, the train made the trek across the state of Pennsylvania before crossing the border into Ohio. The conductor said the cross-country trip to Sacramento could take as many as five days; what with stops to pick up passengers in places like Chicago, St. Louis, and Denver, the possibilities of inclement weather, engine failures, derailments, and accidents with livestock on the tracks, travel time could be increased to a week. Mariah wasn’t looking forward to being stuck in her seat that long, but was grateful the conductor wasn’t enforcing Jim Crow, otherwise she might’ve been forced to pass the time in the end of the train with the cattle or with questionable men with pipes and cigars in the smoking car.
While the train chugged along, she took out her embroidery hoop to keep busy. She also gazed out her window and wondered about the people on the farms and in the towns they passed. Were they content with their lives? Did they have dreams of adventure, too? Were any of them estranged from their parent? She had no answers.
By the time they took on more passengers in Chicago and pulled away from the station, it was full dark. Although Mariah’d had no seat mate upon leaving Philadelphia, she was now joined by a tiny, dark-skinned older woman who got on with a large number of brown shopping bags. She introduced herself. “I’m Mrs. Daisy Stanton. Was in Chicago visiting my cousin.”
“I’m Mariah Cooper. Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Stanton.”
“Same here. Where are you traveling to?”
“California.”
“Ah, the only state in the Union named for a Black woman.”
Mariah stilled.
Mrs. Stanton gave her a kind smile. “You look surprised.”
“I am. I never heard of such a thing.”
“Few outside of the state have. I’m a native of California and taught school there for many years. Live with my daughter in Denver now. I’ll tell you all about Queen Calafia in the morning. Too tired right now, so I’ll bid you good night, Mariah.”
“Good night, ma’am.”
A few seconds later, her eyes closed, leaving a very stunned Mariah to try and find sleep as well.
The following morning, true to her word, Daisy told Mariah about the Black queen the state of California was named for.
“She was written about in a book back in the fifteen hundreds titled, Las sergas de Esplandian, which in English means, ‘The Adventures of Esplandian.’ Its stories of Calafia and her island of gold are what many believe first brought the Spanish conquistadores to our shores.”
“She wasn’t a real woman was she?”
“No, dear, but the world would be less exciting were it not for myths, don’t you think?”
Mariah had been given a limited education, and so had no idea how to answer that, but apparently Daisy didn’t need a reply, because she launched into the telling with a gusto that kept Mariah riveted for miles. The tales of warfare waged by the queen, her army of Amazon warriors, her battle-trained griffins and fleets of ships, were interspersed with historical truths about the first Spanish explorers, particularly a Black Spaniard by the name of Estabanico. He, along with Cabeza de Vaca wandered from Florida to the Southwest on a seven-year journey that laid the foundation for the explorers that followed them. “I always told my students that Estabanico was the first man of African descent to set foot in America.”
After hearing more about Queen Calafia being captured during a battle in Constantinople, Mariah asked, “What happened to her?”
“She converted to Christianity and married a Spanish knight, but she and her army eventually returned to California for more adventures.”
Mariah sat back, satisfied. She didn’t know what impressed her more: hearing about the Black queen’s exciting adventures, or Daisy’s knowledge of all things California. Thanks to further stories, Mariah learned about the Black forty-niners, and that both slaves and free men panned for gold; Jim Beckwourth, who discovered a pass through the Sierras that bears his name and who was also a member of the Bear Flag Party; William Leidesdorff, who operated the first steamship in San Francisco Bay and was so wealthy and influential he was appointed American vice consul to Mexico under President Taft; and the fascinating Biddy Mason.
“She came to California as the slave of a Mormon man named Smith,” Daisy explained. “And in fifty-five, Mr. Smith decided he wanted to move to Texas and take his slaves with him. Biddy brought suit against him in court and won freedom not only for herself but for many other Mormon slaves as well.”
“And after she won her freedom?”
“She worked as a housekeeper and a nurse, and eventually became one of the wealthiest women of any color in the city of Los Angeles. Her efforts to provide schooling for youngsters of our race is still celebrated to this day.”
Mariah was very glad Daisy chose to sit next to her. She’d learned a lot. “You must have bee
n a very good schoolteacher.”
“I like to think I was.”
“Thank you so much.”
“You are most welcome.”
“I’ll miss when you get off in Denver.”
“I’ll miss you as well. Not many young people will allow an old hen like me to ramble on for hours about the past.”
Mariah didn’t think it was rambling at all. “I enjoyed myself.”
And when the train reached the Denver station, she and Daisy shared their good-byes and a content Mariah settled in for the rest of the ride to Sacramento.
A weary Mariah stepped off the train in Sacramento after nearly a week of travel, and the wealth of people rushing back and forth caught her by surprise. She knew California was home to a large number of people but she hadn’t expected the crowds to rival the ones back East. She saw a few women, but most of the passersby were men, and were of a variety of races. Black, European, Spanish. There were even a few Chinese; the first she’d ever seen, and she did her best not to stare their way like a country girl at her first fair. Myriad conversations assailed her from all sides and were in so many different languages she wondered if the train had somehow deposited her in a foreign country.
It was wonderful. The hustle and bustle and the new surroundings competed with her excitement of being in a new place. Some of the men passing by smiled and tipped their hats. She returned their greeting with polite but terse nods. Libby warned her not to encourage strange men, lest they think her fast.
Instead she trained her attention on the area beside the idling train in an effort to search out the porter she’d tipped in advance to retrieve and deliver her two trunks. Since he had yet to return, she began to worry that he’d simply taken her coin and gone on about his business, but he suddenly appeared pushing a small handcart holding her trunks.
“Here you go miss. Do you want them sent on? What house will you be working in?”
“I’m to be employed by a Mrs. Yates.”
“Yates,” he echoed. “Don’t know a pleasure house run by a Yates.”
Pleasure house! It took all Mariah had not to faint right there on the spot. She had such difficulty breathing and her heart pounded so hard in her chest, she was certain everyone in the depot could hear it. The porter had mistaken her for a woman of ill repute! She supposed he’d made the assumption because she was traveling without a companion, but it was 1885. Women were making all kinds of strides toward equality. Surely dressed in her smart gray traveling ensemble she didn’t resemble a prostitute! When she finally calmed enough to draw in a steady breath, she told him, “She lives near Guinda. Someone’s supposed to meet me here.”
“I didn’t know the Coloreds up there had a pleasure house.”
“I am not a pleasure woman,” she gritted out. She’d had just about enough of this conversation.
His face beeted up. “I’m so sorry, miss. Most of the girls traveling alone—I—”
“Thank you for bringing my trunks. I’ll manage from here. I don’t wish to keep you from your duties any longer.”
He left her trunks on the hand truck and beat a hasty retreat. She was happy to see him go. According to the wire she’d received from Mrs. Yates, someone from the household would be meeting her, but Mariah had no idea who it might be, or how she might go about locating the person. Then she heard one of the porters calling her name in the singsong manner used by street vendors selling ice or vegetables. “Mrs. Mariah Cooper. Looking for Mrs. Mariah Cooper.”
“Here!” she called and waved her gloved hand so she could be seen in the crowded station.
The porter waved back. Walking beside him was a tall, wide-shouldered man. From the dime novels she often peeked in at the lending library, she knew the brimmed hat on his head was a Stetson. His brown suit had a western cut. The short heels on his fancy black boots increased his already towering height. He had a long commanding stride and an even more ruggedly handsome brown face.
“Are you Mrs. Mariah Cooper?” the giant asked while paying the porter, who took the tip and melted away.
“Yes, I am.” In spite of the sea of people flowing around them, Mariah felt alone with the big man and his cool, assessing brown eyes.
“Do you ride?” he asked.
“A horse?”
“Yes, a horse,” he replied in a tone that made it sound as if her question had been an ignorant one.
“No.”
He didn’t bother masking his displeasure, which caused her to point out, “In Philadelphia we ride trolleys, or we walk.”
“Can you drive a buggy?”
“No.”
Muted impatience showed on his face in response and he didn’t bother hiding that either.
“Your name, sir?”
“Logan Yates.”
“Thank you.”
Logan wasn’t sure what to make of this short, terse woman who seemed to question his manners for not introducing himself. She was certainly not the older, spinsterish female he’d expected to be meeting. She was wearing a pert little hat, and dressed in a dove gray traveling dress with a long-sleeved, formfitting bodice that emphasized her nice curves. A thin line of white lace peeked above the high collar and across her wrists. Arresting gold eyes were set in a light brown face that could only be described as beautiful. She certainly didn’t look like any housekeeper he’d ever seen. “Welcome to California.”
“Thank you.”
Prim, he thought, but the feline gold eyes and the ripe mouth, in tandem with the curves, exuded something else entirely. Sensuality wafted from her like the arousing notes of a heady perfume. Shaking himself free from thoughts of what it might be like to slowly open all those buttons marching between her breasts and sample the glory inside, he returned to the matter at hand. “Those your trunks?”
She nodded.
“Then let’s head out. Buggy’s parked over there.”
Pushing the handcart holding her trunks, Logan led her away, all the while thinking she wouldn’t be staying. The widow Mariah Cooper was way too citified to take on the job she’d been hired for. Hell, she couldn’t even ride a horse. By his estimation, once she got a gander at the state of his place, she’d be on her way back to the train and to Philadelphia real quick, which suited him just fine.
“I need to send a telegraph to my aunt to let her know I’ve arrived safely. Is there an office near the station?”
Logan wasn’t pleased with her request because it would further delay the long ride back, but from her stance it was obvious she didn’t care how he felt. “This way.”
Once her business with the telegraph agent was accomplished and her trunks loaded in the bed of the buckboard, he helped her to climb up and was lured by the soft sway of her skirt. That aside, it had been his hope she’d be able to drive the wagon so he could spend the four-hour ride home to Destiny on horseback instead of on his ass on the decidedly uncomfortable seat. Being a horseman, he preferred the familiar comfort of a saddle. Resigned, he cast a longing look at his stallion, Diablo, trailered to the back of the wagon, then took his seat. Glancing her way and receiving an unflinching gold-eyed response, he slapped the reins and guided the team away from the depot.
After leaving the train station they headed east, and soon the land opened up like a banquet for the eyes. There were mountains in the distance, the first Mariah’d ever seen. Living in Philadelphia, with its bevy of buildings, she was unaccustomed to seeing so much open sky and she found it enthralling. She had many questions about the surroundings and where they were heading, but Yates didn’t seem to be in a conversational mood, so she settled for enjoying the beautiful scenery.
“Lived in Philadelphia all your life?”
“Yes.” That he was actually speaking to her after nearly an hour of silence was pleasing. “And you? Were you born in California?”
“No, Texas. Parents came here to work the mines right after I was born.”
“The gold mines?”
“Yes.”
Na
tural curiosity compelled her to ask if they’d struck it rich, but she was too polite and well-mannered for that. Instead she focused her attention on the large birds lazily gliding overhead. Having no experience with wildlife she didn’t know what they were, but their winged soaring was fascinating.
“Are there eagles in Philadelphia?” he asked.
“Is that what those are?”
“Yes.”
She tracked the flight. “I’ve no idea. I’ve never seen one before.”
He shook his head.
“Are you always so judgmental?”
He glanced over. “Meaning?”
“Well, first, you were unhappy about my inability to ride a horse or drive a buggy, and now, you seem to be finding fault with my ignorance of eagles.”
“You always speak your mind?”
“I do.” Or at least, she planned to. She never wanted to be browbeaten or walked on by anyone ever again. A new life called for a new Mariah, and although it might be considered silly to emulate a myth, she wanted to be as formidable as the warrior Queen Calafia.
“A woman out here needs to know how to ride.”
“And if she doesn’t, is it expected that she learn before she leaves the train station?” Eyebrow raised, she waited for his counter. If he had one he didn’t voice it.
Instead, his attention back on the team, he asked, “Your late husband like your feistiness?”
A small wave of panic roiled her insides. “Yes, he did,” she lied.
“How long have you been widowed?”
“Almost three years.” It occurred to her that maybe she should’ve worked out the details on her fictional marriage and widowhood beforehand, but she hadn’t anticipated being questioned about what is normally considered a private matter, at least back East. She thought it best to change the subject. “Mrs. Yates didn’t inform me who’d I’d be employed by.”
“Me.”
She went weak. He settled his eyes on her just long enough to show dry amusement before concentrating on his driving again. “Mrs. Yates is my madrastra, my stepmother.”