Ten Thousand Charms

by Allison K. Pittman

  “Keep praying,” she said, “if you think it helps.”

  “Thank you,” John William said, tearing his eyes away from his family to glance first at Sadie's face, then down to her hands.

  “If you need us, you know where we are.”

  He didn't see her leave, but he heard the latch of the cabin door fall into place.

  Heal my wife.

  His arm ached, trying to keep the baby attached without leaning on his wife's pain-wracked body

  Keep me strong.

  At some point the baby's mouth went slack, the sucking stopped. John William pulled her away, and a few drops of milk drooled out of perfect pink lips. Tiny snores came from the bundle of calico. Sadie had placed the warm quilt in the makeshift cradle, and he opened the folds of it and laid the child within, then carried the cradle and set it down on the floor just below Katherine's sleeping head. Kneeling by the side of his marriage bed, he took Katherine's hands in his and continued his simple fervent prayer.

  Heal my wife. Keep me strong.

  At some point, fatigue overtook him. He awoke to a mewling sound coming from the folds of the quilt. His head lay on Katherine's stilled breast, her hand dropped from his grasp.

  He spoke his last remaining prayer into the daylight that flooded his home. “Dear God, keep me strong.”

  loria looked up sharply at the sound of the knock. No one ever visited her. No one who knocked, anyway She crossed the small room and pressed her ear against the wood.

  “Who is it?”

  The first response was a masculine rumble, muffled by the steady beat of the storm outside. Then Sadie's voice rang clear.

  “Open the door, Gloria.”

  Within seconds, the small room was full of people and rain. Sadie had braved the short distance between the main house and Gloria's room without donning any sort of cover, and her face and shoulders were dotted with raindrops.

  The man, however, looked as if he had waded through rivers to get here. His drenched hat was drawn low on his face, the collar of his coat tugged up to his chin, but Gloria recognized him immediately as the man she had met at the supply wagon. The man with the pregnant wife. MacGregan.

  Danny's basket was close by the small stove in the corner. Gloria lifted the basket, set it on her bed, and drew her only chair close to the stove.

  “Here,” she said. “Sit down.”

  “Let's take off that wet coat first,” Sadie said.

  She removed the drenched garment from his shoulders and hung it on the hook by the door. Sadie then led him to the chair and said, “Give her to me.”

  That's when Gloria noticed the bundle in the sling across his chest. It had the shape of a baby, but it was deathly still and quiet.

  Sadie held the child while MacGregan reached behind his head to pull the sling from his neck. Once relieved of his burden, he collapsed into the chair. Gloria stepped back, sat on the edge of her bed, and placed a grateful, protective hand on her sleeping child.

  “What have you brought here?” Gloria asked.

  “You remember Mr. MacGregan. John William—”

  “I know who he is.”

  “His wife died last night.” Sadie cradled the baby in her arms and lifted the quilted cover from its face. “You remember her from that day at the supply wagon.”

  Of course Gloria remembered. The wife. Respectable, married. Gloria thought back to the look of withering disdain and tried to conjure an appropriate emotion.

  “She had a real hard time of it.” Sadie sat next to Gloria on the bed, the baby on her lap. She peeled away layers of damp swaddling, then bent her head down close and whispered, “Wachen Sie auf, sweetie. Wake up.”

  “What are you doing here?” Gloria asked. “Why is he here?”

  “We need your help,” Sadie said, looking up from the baby for the first time.

  “We offered to help,” Gloria replied. “We offered to help and she said no. Not from us.”

  “Well, she cannot refuse now. This baby needs to nurse, and you're the only one who can do that for her.”

  “Why should I?”

  By now Sadie had the baby completely uncovered and Gloria saw the tiny body A little girl silent and cold. Without thinking, Gloria took a blanket from her sons coverings and held it out in silent offering. Sadie lifted the little girl, and Gloria spread the blanket on Sadie's lap. As Sadie drew the warm corners across the tiny shoulders, Gloria sensed a now familiar tugging at her breast.

  “I'll answer that,” came the gruff voice from beside the stove. Gloria looked at him, but he wasn't looking at her. His face was firmly fixed on the hands clenched in his lap. His lips barely moved. If he hadn't been the only man in the room,

  Gloria wouldn't have been sure he was speaking.

  “First off,” he said, “I'll apologize for my wife's rudeness. She wasn't a happy person. She didn't want to be here.”

  Sadie spoke up. “There's no need for—”

  “And maybe 1 don't have the right to ask. But I'm not askin’ for my wife. I'm not askin’ for myself. It's for my little girl.”

  He looked up, and Gloria saw his face for the first time since that January afternoon nearly five months before. He ran his fingers through his wet hair, raking it from his face. She saw his piercing, pleading eyes, the color lost in the shadows. His nose was large and, she guessed, had been broken at least once. His jaw was strong, as was his chin, which now quivered in betrayal of the strong front he seemed determined to maintain.

  “It seems," he continued, “that God brought you here and brought me here for a reason. He took my wife, but he saved my child.”

  Gloria snorted. “If God can save your child, why do you need me?”

  “Because, sometimes God needs a little help.”

  There was a brief moment of almost complete silence broken only by the sound of Sadie softly patting the baby girl's back.

  Then, in an instant, everything broke free.

  A boisterous cry burst from the bundle at Sadie's shoulder.

  John William leapt from his chair and rushed to Sadie's side.

  “She's alive!” he cried.

  “Well, now,” Sadie said, bringing the baby back to a cradle in her arms and smiling into the scrunched, screaming face. “It wasn't ever a question of her being alive. She is a strong girl. She was just a little sleepy. A little cold. And now,” Sadie looked pointedly at Gloria, “she is a little hungry”

  Gloria felt an unexpected rush of milk. Her fingers fumbled with the buttons on her blouse and then with the ribbons of her chemise. She looked up at John William, who flushed and turned his back. His shyness made Gloria smile. She couldn't remember the last time she'd seen a man blush.

  “Give her to me,” she told Sadie.

  Soon, without further question or conversation, the little girl was in Gloria's arms, rooting impatiently as Gloria worked to uncover her breast. The impatient cries continued until Gloria guided the tiny face to the nipple and the hungry mouth latched on as if for life. She looked down at the baby's face, now pink and flushed, and asked, “What's her name?”

  John William didn't turn around when he answered.

  “We—she wanted to name a little girl Celestia.”

  “Celestia?" Gloria said, her voice tinged with amusement. “Such a big name for such a little girl.” She took the blanket that had been used to wrap the baby, draped it over her shoulder, and told John William it was safe to turn around. “What was your wife's name?”

  “Katherine,” John William replied.

  “Well, then, how about Kate?”

  “Yes!" Sadie chimed in. “Celestia can be a middle name. She can be Katherine Celestia, and we—well, you—can call her Kate.”

  “Well, that would be fine, I guess,” John William said. He seemed confused, overwhelmed, relieved. “Katherine Celestia MacGregan.”

  Just then, another sound joined the room—a soft stirring from the basket on the bed.

  “That," Gloria said, “is my so
n. His name is Danny-—” she stopped short, startled by the emptiness of his name. “Just Danny”

  John William reached behind Gloria and took her child up in his arms.

  “Hello, Danny,” he said. “Do you mind if I hold you for just a minute? Your mama's busy right now.”

  Little Danny replied with a contented coo, and John William returned with him to the chair by the stove.

  Soon a new quiet settled in the small room. One of peace, of life. Nobody spoke, not even to Sadie when she silently slipped out the door.

  pring ushered life into the small camp of Silver Peak. As snows grew scarce and days grew warm, more and more men arrived to find their fortune in the mine. Two more girls came to claim their piece of that fortune in Jewell's house. Yolanda, a beautiful, dark-eyed spitfire from the Mexican Territory, brought added spice to the group. Donna was a stunning quadroon trained in the brothels of New Orleans. Shortly after she arrived, arrayed in finery and accompanied by five trunks of dresses, Jewell staged an impromptu welcome party complete with sandwiches and beer.

  Gloria did not attend the party The cozy meals the women had shared around the table in the house's kitchen were a thing of the past. Yolanda and Donna brought new life to the house, and with it new customers. Men began to litter the parlor shortly after sundown and stayed in a steady stream late into the night. Under Jewell's watchful eye, a small piano was brought up the narrow mountain roads, and music pounded steadily whenever someone could play. The budding friendship Gloria had established with the girls faded as she became what Donna called “the mammy behind the curtains.”

  Biddy and Mae visited occasionally, but they much preferred the jovial atmosphere of Jewell's bawdy parlor over the subdued mood of Gloria's cabin. Jewell herself rarely darkened Gloria's door, except for the occasional reminder of what Gloria owed her, and she soon made it clear that Gloria was welcome in the big house only when she was willing to work upstairs.

  But Sadie remained a true friend. She brought trays of food from the kitchen and watched the babies so Gloria could get out for an occasional walk or breath of fresh air. She helped Gloria keep up with laundering the endless stream of diapers and dresses, the tiny scraps of cloth strung to dry right alongside rows of petticoats and stockings.

  One afternoon, as the women hung the wash on the line, Sadie turned to Gloria and said, “Just how long do you think Jewell is going to put up with this?”

  “What do you mean?” Gloria forced a note of innocence in her voice.

  “Staying here. Not working.”

  “I work." Gloria clipped a diaper to the line. “I'm in there every morning tidying up while you all sleep. I've been doing my part.”

  “You know what I mean,” Sadie said. “You are a good-looking woman. You have your figure back. It's spring. The men have come back. They ask about you.” She took a step closer and lowered her voice. “Jewell asks about you, too.”

  “I'm just not ready yet,” Gloria said. “MacGregan comes in the evenings to see his girl. I can't very well ask him to watch the babies so I can go entertain a few of his friends. What would he think?”

  Sadie stared at her. “What do you think he thinks? He thinks you're eine Dime. The girls are starting to talk, Gloria. This is a whorehouse, not an orphanage.”

  “Danny and Kate aren't orphans. They have—”

  “Parents? Do you think you're that girl's mama? Do you think MacGregan plans to be Danny's new papa? He is using you, Gloria. You are his cow until he can get a real one up here.”

  Gloria wrenched her arm from Sadie's amazingly strong grasp. “What do you know about it?”

  “I know enough. I know he is planning to leave as soon as he can get a wagon and supplies together.”

  Gloria felt as if she'd swallowed a rock. True, she and John William didn't talk much when he came to visit Kate. The times were often awkward and silent, consisting of his holding his daughter, head bowed low over her tiny body, and low, whispered phrases Gloria could not understand. Then he would leave, tipping his hat and saying, “Thank you, ma'am.” But surely, Gloria thought, if he planned on leaving Silver Peak he would have said something.

  “Did he tell you he was leaving?”

  “No, of course he did not tell me.” Sadie moved to a second line and started hanging bed linens. “He never darkens the door of the house. Not since that night. But he talks to his friends, and his friends talk to me, and they say he is leaving after the next payout. They say he has promised his cabin to Bud Lindstrom in trade for some tools.”

  Gloria looked at Danny and Kate, nestled together in a large basket on the ground. The basket itself sat on a strip of oilcloth so the dampness of the earth wouldn't seep through. They were both awake, and four tiny fists swung aimlessly in the air. They emitted tiny, grunting, happy noises. Gloria estimated that it had been about two hours since they last nursed, and she could feel her breasts growing heavy in anticipation of the next feeding. Kate first, since Danny was a little more patient, a little less pushy than the seemingly insatiable Kate. At first, Gloria worried that Kate would take all the milk, leaving none for her son, but through the weeks she became more and more amazed at the capabilities of her body to meet the needs of both children.

  Now, as she looked at baby Kate, her tiny fist brought up so she could suck on her knuckled finger, Gloria was hit with a feeling of loss.

  “Why wouldn't he say something about leaving?” Gloria said, more to the sheets than to Sadie. “What about his daughter?”

  “Well, I have my theory,” Sadie said.

  “Of course you do,” Gloria said, amused.

  “I think he is a good man at heart. But he cannot know what to do, alone with a baby. He is the kind of man that—well, let me just say this. Be careful.”

  “Careful? Why?”

  “Careful that he doesn't take off in the middle of the night and leave you with both of those kids. A man on his own has got no use for a baby girl.”

  “He wouldn't do that.”

  “Oh no? Men do it all the time. Where is your baby's father? For that matter, where is your own?”

  Gloria remembered searching the faces of the countless men who frequented her mother's room, studying their features, trying to find a small bit of herself in them.

  “This is different,” Gloria said. “Danny's father is out there somewhere with no idea he has a child. My mother didn't know who my father was.”

  “You think because he has made a few visits and held that baby, MacGregan is going to take her off to a farm?”

  “He doesn't just hold her. It's like he—” Gloria searched for a word, “like he worships her.”

  “Well, he can worship her all he wants, but he cannot feed her and she will not be any help on the farm. Is he coming to see her tonight?”

  “I suppose. He comes most evenings.”

  “Well, then,” Sadie said, clipping the last of the sheets on the line, “you must tell him what you know”

  ou're early,” Gloria said as she opened her door to the heavy persistent knock. “Danny and Kate are still sleeping.”

  John William normally arrived just at dusk, freshly washed after a day spent in the mine. Often Gloria caught the scent of a harsh soap as he breezed past, barely acknowledging her in a rush to take his daughter up into his arms.

  But now it was just late afternoon. The girls hadn't even called her over for supper yet, and the babies were still down for their afternoon nap. She realized that this was a part of her life John William had no concept of. He took no part in the day-today routine of caring for two infants. As far as he knew, Kate spent her days nestled in her makeshift cradle waiting for the hour or so she would spend in her father's arms.

  “They'll probably sleep for another hour or more,” Gloria continued, “and then it'll be time for Kate to nurse and then, of course, Danny, so if you'd like to—”

  “1 need to talk to you,” John William said.

  “All right.” Gloria was glad for the
interruption of her nervous chatter. She motioned to his accustomed chair in the corner of her cabin.

  The earlier conversation with Sadie played over in her mind, and Gloria braced herself to be strong. She perched on the edge of her bed, faced him, and assumed an expression of what she hoped came across as curiosity.

  “I'm leavin',” John William said. “I can't stay here anymore.”

  Gloria considered her options for reply—anger, sadness, indignation—but she was shocked at John Williams next statement.

  “And I need you to come with me.”

  “What?”

  “I know it seems sudden, but it's not, really This place is dyin'. There's no fortune to be made here.”

  “It's just a dry spell,” Gloria said, not quite sure if she was trying to reassure him or simply buy time. “It happens all the time. The next mother lode might come tomorrow.”

  “No it won't.” He stood and took the few steps necessary to cross over to the window. He pulled aside Gloria's curtain and spoke as if to the camp as a whole. “There's no water to sluice the veins. We've just about tapped it out. They've just about decided to close down production.”

  “When?”

  “Probably not till end of summer. But I can't wait that long.”

  Gloria looked around her little room. Her four walls. In it was the only bed she'd never had to share. Hanging from the window were the only curtains she'd ever owned. This was a home, her first.

  John William's voice continued to linger at the margins of her thoughts.

  “If I wait until they officially shut down production,” he said, “they can claim my property. That means my goods, as well as any of the gold I have.”

  “How much do you have?” Gloria asked.

  “Enough to start over,” John William said, turning to look at her for the first time. “To build a new life.”

  “And just where would this new life be?”

  “Oregon.”

  “Oregon? Since when is there gold in Oregon?”

  “There isn't,” John William said. “There's land. I don't think I was ever meant to do this,” he gestured vaguely at the gritty world outside of Gloria's cabin. “After I—well, married Katherine—our plan was to farm. We just got wind of the silver here and my— Katherine wanted us to make a go of it.”