California Woman (Daughters of the Whirlwind Book 1)

by Daniel Knapp

  Listening to Murietta, Esther found herself thinking about an eventual confrontation with Mosby. She might fail. Mosby might kill her. Suddenly she saw the possibility of her own violent death in a new light. She had thought of it before. In the past, the prospect had chilled her. Now it didn't seem to bother her as much. She liked Murietta's concept of death. It made sense. It soothed her. After all, she thought, once you are dead, what does it matter how you died?"

  "You are certainly a different sort of man," she said.

  "I do not feel so different. Just fortunate to understand what is important and what is not… I think."

  "So many do not. So many behave like animals."

  "Not all. And I enjoy the company of gentle, amusing people." He sighed. "Those that are not gentle, well, occasionally they force me to do things I would rather not."

  She thought of Mosby again and spoke without caution. "Have you ever taken revenge? Killed a man?" Alarmed, she hoped Murietta would not be curious about why she had asked such a question.

  He stared at her evenly for a moment. "No. Not for revenge. In self-defense… But there is one man I have thought of killing for what he did to me."

  "Just before I found you by the river?"

  "Yes. But I wish to talk no more about it."

  Esther sighed. "Will you kill him?"

  Murietta was silent for a moment. "In time, I believe the desire for vengeance will pass. I hope it does. I do not like the idea of killing another man. But until my blood cools on the matter, I do not know what I would do if I saw him. I hope I do not, for that very reason."

  Briefly, Esther wondered if she would ever get over her desire to bring Mosby down. She doubted it. She saw from his expression that Murietta was wondering why she had asked him the question. She led him in another direction.

  "One would never know how much there is to you, Joaquin," she said. "Sometimes I want to scream at the lack of such understanding among men—and women."

  "That is when you need to be alone, in a wild place where men do not pass." He smiled. "Sometimes I have seen you slip away, when you thought I was dreaming on my bedroll."

  "Yes. I go to the waterfall. It washes away the things I cannot stop from troubling me with my own will."

  "I have a special place I go to also. It is far south of here, in the land of the Morangos, many miles east of the Mission San Gabriel. There is a place in the high desert, a mile into the sky above millions of strange, tall, cactus-like trees that some say look like monks. From this place you can see at least one hundred miles across the desert and mountains in three directions. To the southwest, across the desert where the earth has come apart and together again many times, there is a mountain called San Jacinto. There is a taller one to the west, San Gorgonio, but Jacinto rises so rapidly off the desert floor that when I gaze at it, I feel as though it draws me, lifts me like an eagle on its air currents, straight up to the sun or the moon. Of all the distant, silent places, it is the one where I can rid myself of my mind and my body most easily, most quickly."

  "You must take me there one day. I would love to see it."

  "One day," he said wistfully, standing up and taking her left hand. He kissed the knuckle stubs tenderly, then reached out with his other hand and stroked her hair. "I think it will be good for me to be gone for a time now. I think you should have this place and the waterfall to yourself, and I have felt the need to gaze at Jacinto for many weeks."

  "Will you come back?"

  "Of course. Just as the snow melts, in time for the work." He laughed. "After all, what would you and Miwokan do without me?"

  He left before dawn, while she was still sleeping. It was not until noon on Christmas Day, as he watered his horse in a stream deep into the San Joaquin Valley, that he found the two large pouches of gold and the note in his saddlebag.

  "I want you to have these. If you do not come back, I will understand. Feliz Navidad. Esther."

  Thirty-seven

  South Fork Cabin

  July 11, 1849

  Dearest Husband, I learned, while in Sacramento City on business last week, that you, like almost every other able-bodied male from here to Santa Clara, have succumbed to the lure of gold and that you are working the streams at Mormon Bar. Found out from Sutter who chanced also to be in Sacramento, attending to some business, as I was. Reduced as he is, Sutter certainly has maintained his network of friends. The man knows everything that goes on within 100 miles of the city, and he seems to have taken pains to discreetly stay informed of your whereabouts.

  I wish you well, hope that your decision to quit your job at Larkin's store four months ago was a wise one, and pray that you do not become ill from the icy waters, as so many miners have. I understand you passed through the city on your way to Mormon Bar. Can you believe the changes that have taken place? It astonishes me that between the fort, which already shows the first signs of decay, and the embarcadero, has sprung up a sizable town almost overnight.

  Went there to talk with Kellerman, the retailer, and was totally taken aback by the city itself, and by the prices Kellerman is getting for the hammers, picks, pans, and other items he is selling for me. (Hammers $8 to $10!) It seems my notion to "go into the hard goods business" was an uncommonly lucky one. Stayed at the still unfinished City Hotel, where I ran into Sutter, and I also happened upon Warren Barnett, who told me that a theater is planned just down the street from the Hotel! Reportedly it will be called the Eagle, the first such in the entire territory. I have never been to a play. But I remember daydreaming once, of dressing gaily and attending a drama with you.

  Interesting talk with Barnett. As it happened, he planned to stop at the South Fork during his "tour," as he calls it, to apprise me of developments at Blue Star. Things there progressing marvelously, as predicted, since San Francisco returned to "normal" last fall. Barnett brought me a statement and documents from the Mercantile Bank as an accounting. It seems I have more than $80,000 at this juncture! With that I ought to be able to do something about Mosby, should I ever find him. And I certainly will not have to worry about survival for many years to come. That is, if I do not eat in Sacramento's (and I would imagine San Francisco's) outrageously overpriced restaurants too often.

  Cannot quite put my finger on what Barnett's purpose in these parts is. He seems to be interested in something more than gaining additional shipping orders for Blue Star. He relays talk, very preliminary at this point, of a drive for statehood, so perhaps he has a political career in mind. Transparent but fascinating man. Essentially uneducated, but shrewd and knowledgeable, along with being extraordinarily likeable. Big and clumsy as a bull in a china shop, but so sincere, so honest, one wants to overlook the rough edges and occasionally bruised senses. I like him.

  In a way, his gentleness and compassion remind me of Murietta. (Thank goodness, he has finally returned. Until these last few weeks, I had a growing fear that Miwokan and his men would not be able to hold the line against some of these ruffians that call themselves "forty-niners." Not all, but many, are a far cry from the civilized prospectors from local parts—all but those few in Hangtown—who were here last year. It is to be expected, I suppose, what with the numbers—Barnett says the latest estimates indicate 40,000 men in the fields and another 40,000 settlers between here and the coast. It is hard to believe that many are from places as far away as Chile, the Sandwich Islands, and Europe. With such a mix and multitude, one cannot expect but to find more than a few examples of primitive behavior.)

  While talking with Barnett, an interesting subject came up: the absolutely unpardonable length of time it takes a letter of any sort to reach Sacramento, let alone the mining towns, from San Francisco. Suggested, admittedly thinking of you, that someone ought to set up a private or government-supported mail service. One could surely make more out of it, and hauling prospector's gold to San Francisco, than from the ore itself. Fortuitously, from the standpoint of finding a way to remunerate you for the $300 left with me at Bent's Fort, Barnet
t said he would speak to "young Todd" about the mail and express idea. Perhaps, dear Alex, it will be your next step to greater prosperity. I hope so.

  Saw little Moses at the Indian village on the way back from Sacramento City. A darling, placid child, serene in the care Solana virtually smothers him with. It may seem heartless of me, but I have accepted the fact that I can never have him with me. I detect an element of the subdued in his nature, young as he is. On those rare occasions when he frowns, the sudden resemblance to Mosby is frightening, and prompts in me so much anger I must look away from the poor child.

  As I must look away from Murietta from time to time for other reasons. I wrote earlier in these pages that I would share things with you that women rarely, if ever, speak of to men. It is time for me to fulfill the promise. Oh, Alex, the absence of you and what I am beginning to realize is a strong streak of base physical nature in me, lead me to torment. I have not broken my vow to sustain my fidelity to you, but the lack in my life of those pleasures we shared so joyously together leads me to gaze upon Joaquin, unbeknownst to him, with unpardonable lust. Particularly when he has his shirt off and I can see the sinewy muscles of his torso and arms. I imagine myself doing unspeakable things with him. In order to take hold of my senses, I think of you with me, naked, instead, but it does little to satisfy my craving. Such desires, I would guess, led to the strange experience I had in bed the other morning before sunrise.

  I had been dreaming of you, us, together, in the barn in Ohio. When I awoke, I found myself rocking, my hand on my privates, which were as moist as if you had spilled your seed in me, and astonishingly, I was in the midst of one of those quivering, tingling flights during which my whole body seemed aflame. It was exactly as I felt on more than one occasion toward the end of our love-makings.

  I was really not fully awake, for as if in some sort of trance, I continued to move my fingers over myself, and the same remarkable sensations repeated even more intensely. I must confess that the feeling of peace and contentment that followed, the absence of my lustful cravings for some days, has tempted me to do the same again—intentionally. I have deliberated on it, and although I recall vividly all the words spoken of such things from the pulpit, I cannot for the life of me see anything wrong with it. It would harm no one. And if it diminishes my desire for Murietta, perhaps it may even be a positive thing.

  I want you to know that there is little likelihood of Murietta ever pressing his own unspoken desires on me. He came here this evening concerning the use of small amounts of blasting powder to clear boulders upriver where he and the men are camped. Our friendship is somehow diminished. He is caring and gentle, as usual, but there seems a gulf between us. Much the same as the unspoken barrier of near-formality that Miwokan has erected and slowly fortifies. Can he as well still be harboring thoughts of me in this vein? It is sad, but perhaps men cannot in any other way deal with a woman they desire but cannot have.

  Useless and irrelevant misgivings, these, my dear husband. I have too much to attend to. Too difficult to remain at peace with what surrounds me. So many people! And, more to the point, I have a much stronger desire to keep my quiet, unheard promise to you, dear man. Rest assured that I will continue to do the mental exercises I must employ to rid myself of such thoughts concerning Murietta. In much the same way as I banished the sadness and remorse that washed over me after seeing little Moses recently.

  I feel the way I feel. Do not feel what I cannot. For Moses, or Murietta, or anyone. And that is that. I will not torment myself over what simply is.

  Enough. I must remember to talk with Murietta about going for a look at the new sluices and flumes being built north of here. The power of the water reduces almost unworkable banks to flowing silt and mud out of which the gold can be practically plucked! Perhaps you and your fellow miners are using such at Mormon Bar. I will pass close to where you are, I would imagine, but of course I cannot go near that place, no matter how much I would like to.

  Just thinking about such a thing prompts me to pine for you. I will not. For I cannot and still go on in my purpose. Good night, dear Husband. And may God keep you well.

  Thirty-eight

  Unexpected labor troubles delayed Esther's tour of the northern camps until mid-August. "Coyote-hole" digging under the bed of the river was required now that the surface deposits were thinning out. A dam had to be built; then a trench, through which to divert water so the bed would be exposed for working. The additional labor and the exhausting work set some of Miwokan's men to grumbling, then to open rebellion. Despite entreaties by Miwokan and his brother, a half-dozen men decided to pack up and move north for less arduous and far more remunerative independent panning. Esther renewed her offer to share her profits with them if all the others became equal partners as well. But Miwokan and those loyal to him refused the increase, and the discontented men left.

  The evening before she and Murietta were to leave on the tour, Miwokan inexplicably flew into a tirade about the trip.

  "There is no need for you to go!" he shouted when the conversation had reached a stalemate.

  "And there is no need for you to raise your voice, Miwokan!" Esther remonstrated. "What is the matter with you? You are acting as though you were my father, and an unreasonable father at that!"

  Miwokan glanced coldly at Murietta, then turned back to Esther. "I will send two of my men. They will draw pictures of these, these…"

  "Flumes," Murietta said.

  "You do not have to tell me what they are called!" Miwokan said, shouting again, his underlying feelings slowly being exposed. "I know the words 'flume' and 'sluice.'"

  "I did not mean to—"

  "Why should you go with her?" he said, cutting Murietta off. "You are needed here. We are six men short now."

  Esther, preoccupied with other things, had let Miwokan's jealousy of Murietta slip her mind. Now she understood why he was so agitated. "Do you wish me to go alone?" she said gently.

  "I wish you not to go at all."

  She placed her hand on Miwokan's shoulder. "Can we walk, just the two of us? I would like to speak with you alone."

  Grudgingly, barely concealing his annoyance with Murietta, he followed. When they were out of sight and earshot, Esther put her arm through his and looked up at him. She smiled and cocked her head and saw that he knew she knew.

  "You are not yourself today. I understand. But there is no reason for it. There never has been."

  "He goes with you, and I do not."

  "You are more important to me here. Don't you know there is nothing between Joaquin and me?"

  Miwokan sighed. "I am sorry I behaved that way. Perhaps I needed to hear it from your lips again after so many sunsets."

  "Well, you have heard it."

  "I have no bad feelings for him. He is my friend. This comes to me from a place in my heart I do not understand."

  "You have a wife. You love her."

  "I know," he said. "And I am sometimes like a spoiled child. It makes me betray her in my thoughts. She has done nothing to make me feel less for her." He stopped and turned to her. "I am sorry. I will not let my heart do this to me again. I promise you that. I will go to the village now. Tell Murietta that it was the leaving of my people that made me speak sharply."

  For five days Esther and Murietta worked their way northward to Georgetown and west to Auburn. While staying there overnight, Esther read in The Placer Times that an enterprising young miner named Alexander Todd and his cousin had recently established a much-needed and already profitable mail and limited express service to and from the gold fields. Excellent, she thought. Excellent. The following morning, Esther and Murietta angled up toward the Yuba by way of Dutch Flat, Yankee Jim's, then on through You Bet, Nevada City, Blue Tent, and Goodyear's Bar. The beginnings of a new system of mining were springing up everywhere. Where the riverbeds were starting to play out, in the claim-jammed creeks and canyon areas where the water was insufficient to the task of washing at this time of year, miners threw in
their lot together. Jointly they built lengthy wooden sluices and enormously long flumes to carry the water from higher points in the mountain. The resultant flow was more than enough to wash pans and rockers full of deeper gold-bearing dirt. In a few locations it was funneled and hosed in primitive ways for carving into the banks and canyon walls to unearth new and even richer placer deposits.

  But more than just the methods of mining had changed. They arrived at Downieville late in the afternoon. As they turned their horses into the town's rutted dirt street, both of them suddenly reined up in stunned disbelief. Halfway to the end of the double line of tents and shanties, a woman hung from a rope, turning slowly, her legs extending down through the crude trap door of a hastily built scaffold. Beneath her, on the ground under the wooden platform from which she had dropped, lay a lump of moist matter the shape and color of a jellyfish. Esther, shocked but also puzzled, glanced at Murietta. The blood had drained from his face. Pulled almost against her will by the unsettlingly strange form beneath the hanged woman, she walked her horse nearer. Murietta shook his head sadly and followed.

  To the right, a few doors down from a shanty bearing a crudely lettered sign reading: Justiss of the Peese, a tall, stately woman with fine features was loading suitcases and personal belongings onto a wagon. A well-dressed man wearing a wedding ring carried an armload of clothing out from their tent-shanty and laid it carefully in the well behind the seat. Esther reined her horse toward the woman and dismounted.

  "In God's name, what has happened here?"

  The woman turned and took a moment before deciding to answer. "These barbarians have done the unspeakable."

  "But what did the woman do?" Murietta asked.

  "It was not what she did," the tall woman said, suddenly angry. "But that made no difference to these… these… animals." She glanced at the dangling corpse and, for a moment, tears welled in her eyes. Collecting herself, she went on. "A drunken miner broke down the door of a house last night. Inside was the Mexican lady who has been hanged, and her paramour. Ugly words were exchanged. This morning the miner returned to the Mexican woman's cabin. His friends claim he meant only to apologize. He apparently used insulting Spanish words, the Mexican woman was angered, and he in turn threatened her and her… male friend. At which point the Mexican woman pulled a knife from beneath her apron. The minor was inside the cabin, well inside it, when they found him after she stabbed him to death. I have no doubt he was up to no good."