by Gwen Bristow
“Yes, you told me that,” said Garnet. “You liked the idea of the trail for fun and freedom. But Charles liked the thought of money.”
“Not money exactly. Of course that was part of it.” Oliver pushed his curly hair off his forehead. “When Charles saw California, he knew this was what he wanted. As soon as he could, he asked for a rancho.”
“How does a foreigner get a rancho?”
“It’s very easy. All he has to do is live in the country two years, become a citizen, and get baptized a Catholic. He signs a few papers and asks for a grant of land. There’s so much land, they’re glad to give it to him. After that, he buys a few cattle, sits down to wait for the natural increase, and sells the hides.”
A little dry wind rattled the carriage-side. Oliver reached up to make sure it was fastened, and went on.
“The rancho was granted to both of us jointly, but I’ve never paid much attention to it. I like the trail. But Charles spends all his time on the rancho. There are forty thousand acres and ten thousand head of cattle, and I don’t know how many native retainers running around and getting in each other’s way. He lives in a wild sort of feudal magnificence. The great native rancheros bow to him when they pass, and ask his advice about getting credit for their hides with the Yankee ships that come around the Horn. Charles is a great man in California.”
“But what’s wrong with that?” asked Garnet. “Forty thousand acres, feudal magnificence—it sounds grand to me.”
Oliver took another long breath. “We have forty thousand acres, Charles wants eighty. We have ten thousand head of cattle, Charles wants twenty. When we get all that, Charles will want to double again.”
“But what does he want, Oliver?”
Oliver answered simply, “Power.”
Garnet frowned, trying to comprehend. Oliver turned around, as though he wished he could see her face in the dark.
“I’m putting this as plainly as I can,” he said. “You see, California is like Europe in the Middle Ages. There are a few great families who own everything. The rest of the people work for them on the ranchos, or live in scattered little villages along the coast.”
He moved restlessly. She could barely make out the shape of his big shoulders.
“I’ve used the word ‘work,’” he said. “I shouldn’t have. The native Californios don’t know what work means. Life is too easy. The country is so vast, land is so cheap, and the cattle take care of themselves. There’s nothing to do except round up the cattle once a year and slaughter them for their hides. The Yankee ships buy all the hides they can get. They’d buy more if they could get them, but the natives won’t work hard enough to increase the yield.”
“Oh, I see,” Garnet said slowly. “Charles isn’t a native.”
“Charles is a Yankee,” said Oliver. “He likes to work. He likes to organize, to rule. And California—very few people outside California ever heard of it. But the imperial governments know it’s there. And they know also that Mexico can’t defend it. The United States already has a consul in Monterey—that’s the capital. The British government has sent out several ships to explore the coast. The Russians have fur stations along the northern borders.”
“Oh!” she exclaimed. “You mean somebody is going to come in and conquer it?”
“I mean,” said Oliver, “California is going to drop like a ripe apple into somebody’s lap. When it does, the native lords are going to be utterly bewildered. They’ve spent their lives in a fairytale Arcadia. They’ve never seen a bank or a newspaper or a voting-booth. But a great landowner, a man who has influence with the natives and who also knows business and politics as they’re run in the modern countries—he can have plenty to say about what goes on.”
Garnet tried to get this straightened out in her mind. She said,
“I understand. California is going to be taken over by one of the great countries. And before that happens, Charles wants to be the biggest man in the province. So that when it does happen, he can step into the new government, as a sort of assistant king.”
“Exactly. Don’t ask me why he wants it. I’m not made like that. But Charles is.”
Garnet pulled her knees up under her chin and looked into the blackness around her. “But Oliver, I don’t see what all this has to do with me. If Charles wants to be king of California, I’m not going to stop him.”
“This is going to be hard,” said Oliver. He moved uncomfortably. “All right, Garnet, here it is. There’s a kind of power that comes with property, and another kind that comes with prestige. The great native rancheros respect Charles and stand considerably in awe of him. But still, he’s a foreigner. He wants to be one of them.”
Oliver stopped. He felt for her hand again under the blankets.
“What does he mean by that?” Garnet asked.
She felt Oliver bracing himself to answer. “Charles has set his heart on being allied by marriage with great Californios.”
“But why should I care?” she asked. Then the idea dawned upon her, and she stiffened. “Why Oliver—he means you too?”
Oliver squeezed her hand. “I had to tell you sometime. I’ve blasted Charles’ hopes of me. I’ve gone and married an American girl. And now, because of you, I’m going to leave California next year, and live in the United States again.”
“Good heavens above me!” said Garnet. She jerked her hand away from him and sat up straight. “Do you mean Charles wants you to marry some girl because she’s got a rancho, whether you’re in love with her or not?”
“You don’t know Charles. He’ll never understand why I couldn’t fall in love with a rancho instead of a girl.”
Garnet shook her head. “Why doesn’t he marry one of those California girls himself?” she demanded.
“He probably will. Or when California changes hands, Charles will marry some rich woman of the conquering country. Anyway, when he does get married it will be a mighty good alliance. You can be sure of that.”
“But why doesn’t he let you alone?”
For a moment Oliver said nothing. Then he answered dryly, “Two good alliances are better than one.”
But Garnet had noticed his hesitation. She began to laugh. “Oh Oliver, I understand! You’d choke before you’d say it. But what you mean is, girls don’t fall in love with Charles, they fall in love with you. Darling, I’ve seen how women look at you. I bet they don’t look at Charles like that. I bet you could have married half a dozen rich girls in California before now. Couldn’t you?”
Oliver laughed a little too. “Why Garnet, I don’t know. I never asked them.” He put his big warm arm around her.
Garnet leaned against him. “Oliver, you don’t have to be so modest. I fell in love with you. I don’t have any trouble understanding how other girls could fall in love with you too. I’m just so glad you didn’t want to marry them.”
“You’re mighty right I didn’t want to marry them,” said Oliver. He gave a sigh of relief, as though glad to be getting this off his mind at last.
“But did you think you might marry one of them eventually,” she asked, “to please Charles?”
“Well, I suppose I did. Charles has been so good to me. But I didn’t think about it very much.”
Garnet laughed again, softly. “Oliver, have you had a lot of trouble with girls?”
“Oh Lord, yes.” Oliver braced himself to go on. “I might as well tell you. I’ve always been in trouble with girls. Charles has spent half his life getting me out of scrapes. Oh my darling, you’ve married a wretch, but honestly, I’m an innocent wretch. I never did set out to break any girl’s heart. But I guess I haven’t always been a model of good behavior.” His arm tightened around her. “Garnet, do you mind hearing all this?”
“No, not a bit. I want to hear it.”
“Well, there it is,” said Oliver. “Women do seem to find me a likable fellow. Charles has set his heart on my marrying the daughter of some great native family. And now when I come home with you—Garnet, Charles
isn’t going to see you as the girl I love. He’s going to see you as a block to his plans. He’s not going to welcome you. There. I’ve told you.”
For a little while Garnet was silent. At length she said, “Oliver, you do love me.”
“I love you more than anything else on earth.”
“You love Charles too, don’t you?”
“Yes. But that’s different.”
“I know it’s different. But you’re sorry you’ve had to disappoint him, aren’t you?”
Oliver found this hard to answer. But finally he said, “Yes, now that I’m being perfectly frank, I am sorry. The only thing I could have done for Charles, after all he’s done for me, would have been to marry as he wanted me to. But after I saw you, I couldn’t.”
“Oliver,” she asked after a pause, “why didn’t you tell me all this before?”
“I’ve wanted to. But I dreaded it.”
“You shouldn’t have dreaded it. I’m so glad you finally told me.”
“Are you, sweetheart? I thought it was going to hurt you.”
“I’m not hurt,” said Garnet. “Don’t you understand? Charles can’t hurt me. The only person who can hurt me is you.”
“I’m never going to hurt you, dearest.”
“You never will,” said Garnet, “if you’ll just love me and trust me. I don’t care about Charles. I’m not married to him. I’m married to you. I think Charles’ idea of marriage is stupid. It’s worse than stupid. It’s revolting.”
“Don’t blame him too much, Garnet. A great many people think of marriage as he does.”
“A great many people,” said Garnet, “haven’t any respect for things they ought to have respect for. Charles isn’t going to worry me.” She pulled his rough head down to her and kissed him where his hair grew down into his beard. “I’m going to say something that would put my mother to bed with shock if she could hear me. I’m going to say it because it’s exactly what I mean. To hell with Charles.”
Oliver burst out laughing. He put both arms around her and kissed her so hard that his beard nearly scratched the skin off her face. She did not care. She loved him. Oliver was wonderful. To hell with Charles.
But in the middle of the night Garnet woke up. She woke with a sense that something had been pestering her mind. The camp was quiet except for an occasional kick or bray of a restless animal. Beside her she could hear Oliver’s deep regular breaths, so evidently he was still asleep. With this thought of him she realized what had waked her. She had been troubled about Oliver.
It seemed to her that Oliver was overly concerned about Charles. She raised herself, and felt his powerful arm, and moved her hand up to his hair. The curls were tossed about like the unruly hair of a child. His forehead was warm and faintly damp, like the forehead of a sleeping child. Why did he, right now, remind her so much of a child? She knew before she had asked herself the question. It was because Oliver had been talking like a child. He had sounded like a little boy who was afraid he was going to be punished for being naughty.
Garnet had thought she knew Oliver so well. She had had a much better chance to know her husband than most women had after so brief a period of marriage. Most wives and husbands led such separate lives, the woman spending the day at home while the man went to business. But since they left New Orleans she and Oliver had been together day and night. She shared his work and helped him do it, and she had seen him among the men who worked with him. The men liked Oliver. Everybody liked him, wherever he was, because he had a rare talent for adapting himself to all sorts of people. Oh, Oliver was easy to live with. If he had had any sulkiness or bad temper she would have known it by now. And he was handsome and loving and strong—never until tonight had she felt a suspicion that there were any flaws in his strength. But tonight he had sounded afraid.
Maybe, Garnet thought, I’m imagining things. I was such a baby when I left New York, and since then everything has been so new and surprising. Or maybe Oliver had that frightened manner because he didn’t realize how much I’ve grown up and he thought I was going to be worried. Well, we aren’t anywhere near California yet. There’s plenty of time for us to talk about Charles.
A gust of wind flapped the carriage-curtains. Garnet drew the blankets about her shoulders and snuggled down. She thought of the vast windy prairie outside, and how safe and warm she was in the carriage with Oliver beside her. She went to sleep again.
But they did not talk much about Charles after that night. Oliver had very little time or energy to talk about anything. The trail was getting harder, and he had all he could do to take care of his wagons.
They passed Round Mound and came into the land of the great rocks. Here the trail began to climb. They had to jerk around sharp corners, and the going was rough. Sometimes it took them hours to make a mile. There were streams among the rocks, but the air was so dry that the spokes of the wheels got loose in their sockets; the rims shrank away from the heavy metal tires around them, and the wheels screeched wildly on their shrunken axles. The wagons cracked at the joints, and they had to stop a dozen times a day for repairs.
The men mended the wagons with wood they had cut at Council Grove seven weeks ago. They bound the wheels with strips of dried buffalo hide saved from their hunts. As they went upward the air got drier and thinner. The oxen were nervous, hard to manage; the men were nervous too, and quarreled all day long. As their tempers got shorter the work got harder. The number of miles they could go in a day grew less and less, and to rest both men and beasts they had to take longer noonings.
There were no buffalo among the rocks. But they had brought dried meat, and there was plenty of game—wild turkeys, hares, an odd bird that the men called a prairie chicken, and sometimes fish from the streams. They had no bread, for up here there was not fuel enough for baking it. They roasted the meat and ate it with dishes of dried beans.
Oliver had one of his men drive the carriage while he rode up and down the line of his wagons, giving orders and working as hard as any of his crew. Garnet walked most of the time. Now and then she tried riding horseback, but walking was easier than guiding a horse along these dizzying climbs. By the time the wagons stopped she was so tired that it took all her willpower to wash even a pair of stockings before she went to sleep.
They went up into a fierce land of red and gold, where every noise brought an echo, and the mountains loomed into radiant distances. Garnet had never imagined such heights as these. No wonder so few people had ever crossed this continent, she thought. There were only a few people in any generation who were strong enough to conquer such mountains, and she had a sense of glory to be one of them.
The trail began to descend, as they made a detour around the highest peaks. They went by several squalid little settlements, mud hovels inhabited by people whose main occupation seemed to consist of dozing in the sun. The people were so dirty that Garnet demanded of Oliver,
“Why didn’t you bring a wagonload of soap?”
He laughed at her. “My dear, I’m a merchant, not a missionary.”
“Are the people in Santa Fe as dirty as this?”
“Of course not. Do you think I’d have brought you if they were?”
Now and then some of the villagers had an attack of wakefulness, and came out to the camp offering bread and cheese for sale, and a fiery drink called aguardiente. Several of the men got blissful on the aguardiente, and others welcomed the bread and cheese as a variation of their meat diet, but Garnet declined. She was not as fastidious as she used to be, but she could not eat anything that came out of those pigsties.
The trail climbed again, through more mountain passes, and at last they went up a ridge that Oliver told her was called the Glorieta Range. A thrill of excitement began to run through the line. They were nearly there.
All of a sudden there was a great bustle. The men scrubbed their clothes, and patched them and sewed on buttons. Mirrors appeared from mysterious hiding-places. Whenever they could spare time from work the men clust
ered about the mirrors, preening. Not a man in the train had used a razor since they left Independence, but now they shaved off their beards, and cut their hair, and combed and scoured till the whole camp smelt like soapsuds. A few of them, who had especially magnificent whiskers, did not shave, but instead waxed and curled their beards with foppish elegance. They took out cherished articles of adornment—fancy belts and sashes, new shoes, shirts of red and blue calico or plaid flannel, or even white shirts still crackling from the starch they had received back in Missouri. For as Oliver explained to Garnet, Santa Fe was full of girls, and the girls were—well, very kind. Every man in the train wanted to ride into town in splendor.
Oliver became splendid too. He called Luke, who helped him get rid of his beard. When Garnet saw him she could not help laughing. Oliver’s face was half brown and half white, as it had been the first time she saw him in New York. When she looked around, she saw that all the men had that funny two-faced appearance, and she wondered if the girls of Santa Fe thought Yankees just naturally looked like that.
Then at last, one morning, Garnet looked down from the ridge, and below her in the valley to the north she saw Santa Fe.
The town was a mile away. She saw a river, overgrown with bushes and cottonwood trees; and an open square. Around the square was a cluster of white shoe-boxes, shining in the sun. These shoe-boxes were the homes of the people. Oliver told her they were built of adobe, which meant bricks made of the local earth. The houses were naturally brown, but Santa Fe spruced up to meet the traders as much as the traders spruced up to meet Santa Fe, so every summer, before the arrival of the caravans, the houses were freshly whitewashed in honor of the foreign guests.
Among the houses, facing the square, was a church with a fat bell-tower, and on the north side of the square was a long low building with arches supported by columns all along the front. This was the governor’s palace, where fat Armijo dwelt. Around the town, scattering into the country fields, were brown shoe-boxes. These were the homes of people too poor or too lazy to whitewash. Beyond them were farms, and flocks of sheep and goats. The fields stretched northward, laced with irrigation ditches that sparkled in the sun like silver threads, and beyond the plain the mountains rose again.
