by Daniel Knapp
She sat down on the bed and read the accompanying story quickly, wincing at every other sentence, remembering vividly each of those who had died or survived, then turned to Breen's journal. The memory of the bitter cold, the camp, the cabins almost submerged in snow, was as clear in her mind as though she were there again. She skimmed over what she had lived through, then read slowly or scanned quickly, in proportion to their gravity, the entries relating to events after she had left Donner Lake with the snowshoe party:
Jan. 15, Clear day again, wind NW—Mrs. Murphy blind, Lanthron not able to get wood, but one axe between him and Keseburg—it looks like another storm, expecting some account from Sutters' soon.
Jan. 21, Fine morning, John Battise came this morning with Eliza Williams, she will not eat hides; Mrs.————sent her back to live or die on them.
Esther sighed deeply. The accompanying story reported that Eliza Williams, James Reed's cook, had died of starvation.
Feb. 5, Snowed hard until 12 o'clock last night, many uneasy for fear we shall all perish with hunger… Eddy's child died last night…
Feb. 25, Today Mrs. Murphy says the wolves are about to dig up the dead bodies around her shanty and the nights are too cold to watch them, but we hear them howl…
Feb. 26, Hungry times in camp… Mrs. Murphy said here yesterday that she thought she would commence on Milton Eddy and eat him, I do not think she has done so yet, it is so distressing, the Donners told… that they would commence on the dead people if they did not succeed that day or next in finding their cattle, then ten or twelve feet under the snow…
Esther let the paper fall to the floor. She slumped over, put her face in her hands and wept. When there were no more tears left, she grieved silently for all of them, prayed for their souls. The desk clerk knocked on the door with her supper. Esther had him leave it on the floor in the hall. She couldn't bring herself to touch it. She got up, paced back and forth, stared out the window, then finally slumped down in an easy chair, thinking.
She mourned for the dead and pitied their survivors, but refused to let it weigh upon her any more. She had suffered as they did, and if she had not died, she had lost a son and been crazed for months. She pushed all tormenting thoughts of what had happened to the others out of her mind.
She thought calmly now about Alex. She reconfirmed her judgment, then weighed it against the experiences of the other Donner survivors. Husbands and wives had been reunited after committing the unspeakable. But she was quite certain no other woman in the party had borne a bastard child; that her own and Mosby's part in John Alexander's death were what made the difference, supported her renewed conviction, justified any pain the loss of her was still causing Alex. Sooner or later his sorrow will pass, she thought, and he will meet someone else and find happiness. I am sure of it. He will have his life and his fulfillment. And I will have mine.
She focused on the purpose of her journey. She was here to continue building the financial power to live independently and accomplish the only goal that mattered to her now. Pursuing her aims might well mean running into Alex. She would try to avoid that, but she would not allow it to keep her a prisoner in this room, send her scurrying back to the South Fork, her mission unattempted, like a frightened squirrel.
And if she did run into Alex? The thought of it made her tremble. She pictured it. Remembering his gentleness, the fear left her. We will sit down together, she thought. Perhaps over dinner. No, we will just talk. And I will tell him everything, except what I plan to do, no matter how difficult it is. I will explain the choice I have made. He will not like it, and will try to dissuade me, I am sure. But I will not alter my decision. It will be painful, impossible to carry out if I allow it to be. I will not. Any more than I will allow unrealistic thoughts of us together again to transform me into a wavering adolescent. When he comes to understand that I will not change my mind, he will accept it. Sooner or later, he will have to, and it will be better for him, and that is that!
Esther walked to the window and pulled the curtain partly open. She gazed at the orange, setting sun and sighed. First things first, she thought. I need a bath before I can even begin to organize my thoughts for the meeting with Kelsey. She turned and did not see Alex step out of the shadows down the street diagonally opposite from the hotel.
Thirty-two
Stepping off the wooden sidewalk, Alex walked across the street and through the doorway of the barbershop. When the barber saw him, he dropped his shaving brush and turned away from the customer he had just lathered up. He walked quickly to Alex, glancing back once to see if the man in the chair was still asleep. "Mister, I don't want any trouble," he whispered. "Please."
"No trouble," Alex said. "I just wanted to make sure the gentleman wasn't seriously hurt."
"He'll survive," the barber said nervously, respectfully guiding Alex outside onto the sidewalk. When he was sure his customer couldn't hear him, he glanced up and down the street and said, "The man you cold-cocked ain't no gentleman, mister. No matter how he dresses. And he's looking to kill you. I was you, I'd make myself scarce."
"Gambler?"
"So far as I can see, mister. That's all I can say. I don't want…"
"What's his name?"
"Mosby. Look, mister, I got to get back to my customer."
"Well, don't worry about me," Alex said. "I'm just in town for a few days anyway. And I can take care of myself. Just felt conscience-bound to find out if he was badly hurt."
"Worry about yourself, mister," the barber said from the door of his shop. "You see Luther Mosby again, walk in the opposite direction, fast!"
On the way back to the boardinghouse where he was staying, Alex caught himself glancing back over his shoulder, looking for the tall, wiry man with the moustache. Mosby, he thought. Well, I'm not going to look for trouble, but I'll be damned if I'm going to skulk around or hide from anybody. In his room he thought briefly about remaining another day. Just pride, he thought. There wasn't any reason for him to stay. The intelligent thing to do would be to get back to Monterey. He packed his bags and headed for the livery stable where he had left his horse several days before.
Mosby was awakened by the sound of a woman singing softly in the room next door. He cursed, tried to go back to sleep, but couldn't. His head still ached. He got up and dressed. He heard the woman, humming now, close the door to her room. When he left his own, he glimpsed her entering the bathroom down the hall. She was barefoot, and the sight of her ankles stirred him briefly before she closed the door. He wondered why she was wearing a dress rather than a bathrobe. A torn one, at that. He tried the bathroom door after waiting until he heard water splashing. It was locked. Shrugging, he went down the stairs to the first floor.
At the front desk he asked the clerk if he knew who had burst into his room the day before.
"Man's name was Alexander, I think," the clerk said, unnerved by Mosby's stare and misremembering Alex's name. "Todd Alexander. He forced me to give him the passkey. Held a gun on me. I swear it."
"You told me that yesterday. He staying here?"
"No sir. Never seen him before. Come in inquiring about a lady he thought he knew."
"Rebecca?"
"No sir. He was looking for an unattached lady."
"Let me see the register."
"That's against reg—"
"Let me see the damn thing or I'll stuff you into one of those mailboxes."
"Yessir." Shaking, the owner handed him the guest book.
"Well, you wasn't lyin'. Don't see no unattached ladies, neither."
"No sir."
Mosby reached across the desk, grabbed the clerk by the shirt, and jerked him forward. "Then who's the shapely lady I just saw goin' to take a bath?"
The clerk summoned up all his courage. "I don't know who you mean, Mr. Mosby."
"Never mind," Mosby said, letting him go. "Probably someone's wife."
"Yessir."
"You see that Alexander again, you let me know. You hear?"
"Yessir."
Mosby ran his hand across the stubble on his jaw, walked to the door, and headed for the barbershop.
After her bath Esther ate breakfast ravenously, then headed for a milliner's she had seen on the way from the wharf. Hurrying past the barbershop, she glanced in and fleetingly saw the man laid out and lathered, the barber shaving him. She walked on without a thought about him.
Lying there with the chair tilted way back, relaxed by the hot towels the barber had pressed to his face minutes before, Mosby almost dozed. Through half-closed eyelids, he saw Esther pass the shop but did not get a good look at her. He closed his eyes and let his mind wander over the ten months he had spent in and around Los Angeles after he and Claussen had tried to track the man who had set the bear loose. He wondered where the man had disappeared to. Greaser never showed his face down south, he thought. That's for sure.
Mosby felt the thinned-out role of bills in his pocket. This town was dead. No money to be made gambling here. Go up to the gold fields? In truth, he was tired of gambling anyway. He thought of Texas and began visualizing alternatives for the future.
Esther stopped at a dress shop and bought two new outfits. At the millinery store she purchased two hats with dark, embroidered veils and several remnants of gauzy material for additional veils if she needed them. Then she stopped at another store, where she bought two pairs of high-buttoned shoes, undergarments, and some stockings before heading back to the hotel.
Mosby smiled to himself as he turned out of the stairwell and glimpsed the woman letting herself into the room next to his down on the far end of the hallway. He stopped and looked at his watch. Turning, he went back down to the lobby, took a seat, and finished reading his newspaper. Maybe she'll come down again, he thought. If she looks like anything, I might just strike up a conversation and see what happens.
Esther hung up the dresses she had bought, stripped, and put one of them on over a new set of undergarments. Fitting one of the new hats on her head in front of the mirror, she primped a bit and then left the room. At the head of the stairs she decided to go back and take her carryall bag. She didn't like the idea of leaving all but one of the pouches filled with gold unattended. In the room she saw the mended old dress and well-worn underwear lying across the bed where she had thrown them. On an impulse she stuffed the old clothing and the sorry hat Manaiki had given her into one of the milliner's boxes. Going down the back stairs, she dropped the box into a trash barrel and headed for the Blue Star Shipping Company.
She found William Kelsey writing in a ledger at one of six clerkless desks stacked with papers. Middle-aged, a little shorter than Esther, he had a pleasant, slightly florid face with fine, almost handsome features. He glanced at Sutter's letter of introduction—not knowing the "Captain" had taken some liberties with Esther's history—stood up, and escorted her into his cluttered office.
"I see yah from Bahston." Kelsey offered her a chair. "From Maine, m'self, but most of the family stayed around the Cape."
Esther took out the list of goods she planned to buy or have shipped from the East Coast as Kelsey finished Sutter's letter.
"Widah, hah? And so young. Too bad yah didn't stop by yestiday or the day befowah. Could've introduced yah to a fine young man your age. Wonderful, nice young fella. Alex Todd."
Esther's heart began to pound.
"Loyal and hardworkin' as they come. Runs most of Consul Larkin's business down to Monterey, now that his cousin's gone off to the fields. Up here tracin' a shipment of goods. Too bad. Left yestiday."
Esther breathed slowly and deeply, calming herself.
"One of the few workin' for Larkin didn't run off," Kelsey finished.
"Monterey has been drained of men as well?"
"Same as here. All but one of my clerks ah up there. And he's down with the grippe. Not that it mattahs," he sighed. "Now what can I do for yah?"
"Captain Sutter told me you were one of the most decent, honest men he's ever known."
"Don't know about that. But I've known Sutter since he come here in '39. Fine man. Fine man."
"He told me you have helped many people get started here."
"A few. A few," Kelsey protested. "In small ways. What do yah have in mind, young lady?"
Esther laid the list on his desk. "I would like to obtain as many of these items in quantity as are available here, and order what is not, to be shipped to San Franicsco by your company."
Kelsey read down the list, frowning and shaking his head.
"Can you suggest a wholesaler or two I can trust?" she went on.
"That's not the problem."
"I have arranged for storage space at Sutter's, and Mister Sam Brannan will be selling for me on consignment."
Kelsey frowned again. "Nevah liked that man."
"You confirm my own impression. But for now he is the man to whom you will ship the goods."
"Now hold on a minute! I didn't say I'd be shippin' yah anything! I don't even know if I'll be in business through the end of the year."
"But you own, you are a partner in one of San Francisco's most flourishing shipping concerns."
"Need men to do this sort of thing. And they're all gone. Ships rotting in the harbor. Crews, captains and all, jump ship soon as they drop anchor, leave the cargo aboard to spoil or collect dust. Meanwhile, overhead and accounts payable don't go anywhere but up. Keeps on, we'll be bankrupt by Novembah."
Esther began thinking. "It can't go on forever, can it?"
"No. Six months. A year, mebby. But Novembah is a lot sooner than that."
"The problem is simply manpower?"
"No. Money. Cahn't pay them enough to make them stay. Cahn't afford it."
Esther's mind was racing. She saw an opportunity that exceeded anything she had hoped for, and it made her heart race. She squeezed the carryall bag between her ankles, taking strength and nerve from what the solid feel of the pouches represented. "And the wholesalers?" she asked, controlling her voice, hoping it would not flutter.
"Same pickle," Kelsey said, throwing up one hand in frustration. "They're packin' up and headin' for Coloma just like everybody else."
"If you… someone, had the money to equal or slightly better what the average man can earn in the fields, could he not last this out until the situation is back to normal?"
"He… or they… if there were just a few of them, would have a monopoly for the short run. And more than a toehold on being way ahead of the pack after this passes. But all this is just idle…"
"And all it would take is money?" Esther interrupted.
Kelsey sighed again. "More than anyone in San Francisco has at the moment. It's the old story. Money makes money."
"You have a partner?"
"Yes, ma'am. Warren Barnett. But what…?"
"Tell me about him."
Kelsey checked his impatience. Humor her, he thought. After all, she's just a young girl. And she's a friend of Sutter's. "Warren's a big, open fella. Always smilin'. Talks a lot. But he's got a heart of gold, if you'll pardon the expression. Honest as they come."
"He does not have the money you need?" She held her breath.
"Same boat as I am. Equity poor."
"Would you consider a third partner?"
"Might. But I don't see…"
"Someone to put up the capital you need? As much as it takes?"
"Yah talkin' about the answer to a prayer, young lady. And I haven't prayed in twenty yeahs."
"Perhaps you should take the habit up again."
"Now see here…!"
"I meant no insult," Esther said, caught off balance by her own capacity for sarcasm. "In fact, you don't need to pray at all, for you are looking at just such a potential partner."
"Young lady, I don't know where yah get your nerve, but…"
"Why do you reject the idea of having me as a partner out of hand?"
"Well, first off, you're a woman."
"And that automatically disqualifies me?"
"
Wouldn't want a woman meddlin' in the runnin' of any business. For God's sake! You're young enough to be my daughter. What could yah possibly know about the shipping business?"
"Nothing."
"That's what I mean."
"But I have no interest in being involved in the day-to-day affairs of the firm."
"Oh, yah don't, do yah? Young lady, I have work to do." He stood up.
Esther stayed in her chair. "But I am interested in providing you with money you need and making a profit from such an investment."
"I don't know who yah think yah are, young lady, but…!"
"Just wait one moment," Esther said, fishing the pouches out of her bag. She placed them on the edge of Kelsey's desk. "Now will you listen?" She took one of the pouches, opened its drawstrings, and spilled the gold dust out onto the desk under Kelsey's lamp.
"So yah have four or five bags of gold. So what? Do yah know how much…?"
"This is simply a token of good faith. There is more, much more, where this came from."
"I don't know," Kelsey said, shaking his head.
"What don't you know?"
"A woman. I…"
"Because I'm a woman, are you going to turn down this offer and watch helplessly while your company goes bankrupt?"
"That wouldn't make any sense, would it?" Kelsey said, scratching behind his ear. "It's just…"
"It's just that women don't do this sort of thing. Is that it?"
"I didn't say that."
Esther stood up and began placing the pouches back in her bag.
"Now wait a minute," Kelsey said, trying to set his thoughts in order. "It's just unusual. Highly unusual and unexpected. Give me a chance to think about this for a minute."
Esther sat back down. "No one has to know about any of it except you and your partner. In fact, I would prefer it that way."
"And yah don't want anything to do with running the business?"
"I would be a fool to get in your way. I said I want to make a profit."
Kelsey stared at the spilled gold and whistled. "This could run into some money, yah understand. Are yah certain—?"
