Jubilee Trail

by Gwen Bristow

  Garnet had hoped she would find somebody she knew among them. But she had had to choose her friends from a small and sheltered circle. As the New Yorkers dropped into Silky’s Place during their first days in Los Angeles, she saw nobody she had ever seen before. But their talk was like a letter from home. Nearly all these lads had grown up in New York state or the states near by, and about half of them had spent their lives in New York City. They talked about Broadway and the Bowery Theater and Barnum’s Museum, about ices at Niblo’s Gardens on hot afternoons, and Sunday excursions to Weehawken for picnics on the dueling ground where Aaron Burr had shot Alexander Hamilton. As she listened to them, Garnet had a strange double reaction. Sometimes it seemed to her that she had left New York only yesterday. But sometimes everything they talked about seemed remote, far more remote than the calendar could make it. So much had happened to her in the past two years that she felt as if she had lived most of her life since that windy March day when she and Oliver had sailed out of New York harbor. Listening to these boys, she had an odd, dazed feeling of enormous time.

  As for Florinda, though she found nobody among them that she remembered, she found a good many who remembered her. It had been four years since she had appeared on the stage in New York, so most of the younger fellows had never seen her. But many of the others had not only seen her but had adored her from a distance, and they were thrilled to see her again, especially close up across a bar. They knew why she had disappeared from New York, for the Selkirk scandal had been talked about everywhere. “You didn’t really shoot that fellow, did you?” they asked.

  “Certainly not,” said Florinda. “Did you think I had?”

  “Of course I didn’t! Some people said you had, but I always stood up for you. Right from the very first.”

  “Did you really? Now that was mighty good of you,” she exclaimed. She always said it as if she believed them, which she did not. But as she said privately to Garnet, it made no difference now.

  “By dropping a few tactful questions,” she went on, “I have found out what became of that precious Mr. Reese. He never was put on trial. But there was such a lot of unpleasant talk about him that he found it convenient to go live in Europe.” She laughed to herself. She was enjoying this influx of New Yorkers.

  At the end of May, when Garnet had been back in Los Angeles two months, John’s errand-boy Pablo came into the saloon with a bow and a bright good morning, and handed her a note from John.

  When she saw her name on the outside in John’s handwriting, Garnet’s heart began to pound so that she had to make an effort to speak even a few words of thanks to Pablo and offer him the customary courtesy of a bottle of wine. He said he would wait for an answer. Garnet went into the kitchen and sank down on the wall-bench.

  Her heart was beating so hard that she felt as if an ox were kicking her in the chest. Angry with herself for being like this, and even more angry with John for being able to do it to her, she wondered if there was any humiliation worse than knowing you loved a man more than he loved you and knowing also that you did not have enough will-power to get over it. She wished she had the courage to tear his letter in half without reading it. But she had not.

  John’ note was short.

  Dear Garnet,

  I can live without you, but I don’t enjoy it. I miss you. I want you very much. Have you relented at all? Will you have me? Say yes, and I’ll come to Los Angeles to get you. Say no, and I’ll probably come anyway.

  John.

  Garnet’s first thought was that she had better wait awhile before writing an answer, but her second thought was that she had better write it now, while she was still so angry with him for making her heart cut up these absurd capers. If she let herself think about how much she wanted him she might lose what little sense she had left. She got the pen and ink from the shelf and wrote hastily.

  Dear John,

  No. Either you love me or you don’t. I won’t have any lukewarm milktoast kind of marriage and I won’t have that kind of man. I am going home as soon as I can find a ship that will take me. Meanwhile I wish you would let me alone.

  Garnet.

  She went back to the bar and gave her reply to Pablo. He smiled and bowed and went off. Garnet set her jaw and began to dust the bottles, while Florinda chattered with a group of New Yorkers. Florinda did not ask what Pablo had wanted. Garnet thought she must have seen the exchange of notes, but as often before, she silently blessed Florinda for minding her own business.

  Several days later, the Brute came in from San Diego. The Brute was enthusiastic, for he had heard there was a Russian fur-ship on the California coast. The ship was said to have put in at San Francisco to buy supplies before going up to the Russian settlements in Alaska. The Brute was on his way north to look for the ship and find out when she was going back to Russia.

  The evening after he left, while Garnet and Florinda took a few minutes to have a cup of chocolate in the kitchen, they talked about him, wondering if he would like Russia well enough to want to stay there. They told each other they would miss him. “And we won’t be the only ones,” Florinda said. Garnet flinched, remembering that John was the Brute’s best friend and would miss him even more than they would, but Florinda caught herself and went on hurriedly, “Everybody will miss him.” She stood up. “Well, we’d better be getting back to work.”

  “Do you mind if I go upstairs first,” Garnet asked, “and have a look at Stephen?”

  Florinda said she didn’t mind, and Garnet went upstairs gratefully. A look at Stephen, healthy and untroubled, could always cheer her spirit. In her room, Stephen was fast asleep in the little bed Texas had made for him. It was a stout wooden structure pegged at the joints, with a well-tanned piece of hide across the bottom to make a springy support for the mattress, and high sides to keep the baby from crawling out. This was the sort of bed children had on the most luxurious ranchos. Few babies in the village slept in such comfort, but Texas said the best was none too good for the baby he had brought and named. Dear Texas, Garnet thought, and felt a tug of pain. Texas had been drinking heavily for several days. He was downstairs in the saloon now, sitting on a wall-bench with a bottle on the table in front of him, drinking steadily and silently, getting it over with.

  She went back downstairs. In the saloon, they had had a minor disturbance. One of the New York volunteers had got into an argument with a native Angeleno. As neither of them knew more than ten words of the other’s language, a quarrel would have been impossible except that they were not sober enough to realize it. Luckily two officers of the regiment were present. They had sent the American back to barracks with an escort, and the bar-boy José had gone home with the native opponent. When Garnet came in, everything was subsiding. Mickey was wiping off the bar. Florinda, having just poured aguardiente for some exuberant young gentlemen, was rearranging the bottles on the shelf. The two officers, Major Lyndon and Captain Brown, leaned on the bar with glasses in their hands.

  They were chatting about the probable fate of Frémont, but Garnet noticed that they stood with their backs to the bar so they could keep their eyes on the room in case there should be a threat of more disorder. She glanced at the table where Texas was. Texas had gone to sleep, his head on his outstretched arm. The far corner where he sat was shadowy, but he lay so that his face was upward, toward the light. It looked like a very uncomfortable position. Garnet wished José would hurry back, so he could help Texas get home.

  She could hear Major Lyndon and Captain Brown as they talked. They were saying that General Kearny had left Monterey, to make an overland march to Fort Leavenworth, and Colonel Mason was now governor of California. Frémont had been required to go to Fort Leavenworth with the general. Nearly all the men took it for granted that he was going to face a court-martial.

  “How many men did the general take with him?” Captain Brown was asking.

  “I’m not sure,” said Major Lyndon. “But I know he took several who belonged to Frémont’s exploring pa
rty.”

  “To testify?” asked Captain Brown.

  “Looks like it.”

  Captain Brown shook his head regretfully.

  The two officers had been to the bar often, but neither of them ever drank much. Major Lyndon was a thickset man with a grayish beard and dark hair going gray at the temples. Captain Brown was younger, apparently not yet out of his thirties; a strong, muscular man of middle height. Though not especially good-looking, he had attractive dark eyes and good teeth and a generally pleasant manner. He had never spoken to Garnet except to give orders across the bar, and these were always brief and impersonal, but she thought she might have liked him. As she glanced in his direction, he lifted his hand in a gesture of goodby to a man who was going out, and said something about an appointment for tomorrow. The door closed behind the man who was leaving, and Captain Brown’s hand stopped in mid-air. He stared across the room at something he had just caught sight of, near the door. Major Lyndon asked in astonishment,

  “What’s the matter, Brown? Seen a ghost?”

  At the sound of his friend’s voice Captain Brown gave a start. With a quick movement he reached to set his glass on the bar, without looking at it. The glass nearly fell off the edge. Garnet rescued it, but Captain Brown did not notice her. He was still staring at the far side of the room.

  “Yes,” he said in answer to Major Lyndon, “a ghost—just about that. Lyndon, look over there. In the shadows, dead drunk with his head on the table.”

  Garnet felt a shiver as though a rat had run down her spine. She might have known this would happen some day. Oh, poor Texas. Poor Texas, who thought he had left his past behind him.

  Major Lyndon turned his head, his eyes following Captain Brown’s. He gasped, and his voice was rough with shock as he said, “My God, Brown! It’s not—it can’t be—”

  “Yes it is,” said Captain Brown. “It’s Ernest Conway.”

  The two men’s eyes met. They shook their heads at each other, and looked back at Texas. Garnet looked at him too. She saw his unkempt hair and beard, his mouth half open, his shirt with splashes of liquor on it, his not very clean hand on the table; she saw the whole grimy clammy look of him, a man drunk and sodden and no good. Major Lyndon made a wordless sound of disgust. “So that’s what became of him,” he said after a moment. He gave a little shudder. “Damn it, Brown, I thought he was dead.”

  “I wish he was,” said Captain Brown. “The most brilliant—oh good Lord, Lyndon, I could cry.”

  He did not sound disgusted or contemptuous. He sounded sorry. He sounded, Garnet thought, as if he felt about Texas the same way she did; as if he knew Texas did not want to be like this, because no man could want to be like this; as if he did not understand him, but he could be sorry for Texas without understanding him.

  A merry freckled private was asking Garnet for a drink. She filled several orders, and declined one proposal of marriage and one of the other sort. At last José came back, and he got Texas out of the saloon.

  The evening was nearly over and the crowd in the room was thinning. A good many of the men had to leave before midnight. Major Lyndon was gone. Captain Brown was half sitting, half leaning on the end of the table nearest the bar. He was gazing moodily at the place where Texas had sat, as though he could not get his thoughts away from what he had seen there. Another officer came in and told him he could go, saying he would himself keep an eye on the place till closing time. Thanking him, Captain Brown stood up. Before he could move toward the door Garnet spoke to him.

  “Captain Brown,” she said.

  He looked around in surprise. “Did you call me?”

  Garnet nodded, feeling a tremor at her own boldness. His knowledge of Texas was none of her business and she did not know how he would like her referring to it, but all the same she felt impelled to do so. “May I speak to you, Captain Brown?” she asked, trying not to sound as shy as she felt.

  “Certainly,” said Captain Brown. He spoke with the formality of a man who would never be rude to any woman unless she demanded it, but he came to the bar without enthusiasm. Garnet kept her voice low so as to attract no attention.

  “Captain Brown, a little while ago you and Major Lyndon were talking to each other. I wasn’t trying to listen, but I couldn’t help hearing part of what you said.”

  Apparently her diffidence impressed him more than assurance would have done. “I’m sure it’s all right,” he said encouragingly. “We weren’t discussing any military secrets. Go on.”

  She spoke with more confidence. “You recognized a man who was—asleep, over at that table there, by the door.”

  “Why yes, I did,” said Captain Brown. He waited gravely for her to continue.

  “I know this is no concern of mine,” said Garnet, “but please tell me, is there anybody else who would know him?”

  He considered. “I believe not. Major Lyndon and I happened to be at Fort Leavenworth the winter Conway was there.” Captain Brown was evidently puzzled. “May I ask why you want to know?”

  “Of course you may. It’s like this. You’re assuming that I know who he is. But I don’t. Nobody here knows him. I’ll explain.”

  “I wish you would,” said Captain Brown.

  “He came to California some years ago,” Garnet went on. “He has never told anybody what his name is, or anything about himself. We know him simply as Texas.”

  “We knew him as Texas too,” Captain Brown said smiling. “He was always talking about the Republic of Texas, telling us what a great country it was. But I didn’t mean to interrupt you. Please go on.”

  “Everybody likes him,” said Garnet. “But nobody has ever tried to find out who he is.”

  Captain Brown was listening with interest now. Garnet continued,

  “You see, before the war with Mexico, several hundred men came to California from the United States and from other countries too. They came here for all sorts of reasons. But gradually, they worked out some rules of living. You might call it a sort of code. One of the rules was that they took a man as they found him. They never, never asked him what he had done at home. You might trust a man or you might not, but as long as he made no trouble you let him mind his own business. Do you understand how that was?”

  “Why yes,” said Captain Brown, “I think I do.” He nodded thoughtfully.

  “Now please,” said Garnet, “let me tell you something about Texas. Have you got time to listen?”

  Captain Brown was watching her intently as she talked. “I should like very much to hear it.”

  “Texas has a fault,” said Garnet. “You know what it is. But believe me, that’s the only fault he has. He’s kind and generous and honorable. More than once he has been a friend to me when I needed help. That’s why I’m asking you now, don’t give Texas away. Whatever it is that he left behind him, let it stay there.”

  Captain Brown answered her with a quiet sincerity. “Thank you for telling me all this,” he said. “I won’t give him away.”

  “That’s very good of you,” said Garnet. “And you’ll tell Major Lyndon?”

  “I’ll tell him what you’ve told me, yes,” he returned. He reflected a moment, and asked, “Suppose Texas sees one of us?”

  “Can’t you pretend you don’t recognize him?” she suggested. “After all, it must have been years since you saw him. That isn’t asking too much, is it?”

  Still watching her with a serious, rather baffled look, Captain Brown answered slowly, “No, that’s not asking too much. I repeat, I’m very glad you told me.”

  “Thank you,” said Garnet. Before she could say anything else there was a tap on the bar, and she saw Mr. Collins and Mr. Bugs McLane, who had dropped in for a nightcap. With an apology to Captain Brown, she turned to pour their drinks. When she looked around again Captain Brown was about to leave. He had put on his cap and was opening the door. Catching her eye, he tipped his cap to her, smiling. Garnet smiled back with a sense of refreshment. Though he was saying good night to a barmaid in
Silky’s Place, Captain Brown was saying it exactly as if he had been standing in the doorway of her mother’s parlor.

  That night she told Florinda about him. She and Florinda took turns washing each other’s hair, and tonight it was Florinda’s turn to get washed. When they had closed the bar they went up to Florinda’s room. There was not much chance for conversation while the scrubbing was going on, but during the last rinsing they could talk. Florinda knelt on the floor in front of two buckets, one empty and one full of water. While she held her head down over the empty bucket, Garnet poured gourdfuls of water over her hair, holding the gourd in her right hand and with her left hand rubbing Florinda’s head to dislodge any invisible specks of soap that might still be clinging to the roots of her hair. While she rinsed, Garnet told Florinda how much she liked Captain Brown.

  Her head over the bucket, Florinda returned, “He likes you too. I saw the way he was looking at you while you talked. And he’s a real gent, that’s plain.”

  “I wish there were more like him,” said Garnet.

  “If there were, dear, Silky’s Place would go bust for lack of trade. A few like him, fine; too many, no. Anyway, it doesn’t hurt you to get to know all sorts.” Florinda gave a chuckle. “All sorts of men, but the same idea in every head. Did you get many proposals tonight?”

  “Several,” said Garnet. “Both kinds.”

  “That nice young fellow O’Neal,” said Florinda, “kept asking me to marry him, saying it over and over till it was like the chorus of a song, repeated with new additions every time.”

  “What did he say?” asked Garnet. Then she added, “That’s the last of the water.”

  With a sigh of relief Florinda straightened her back and began rubbing her head with a towel. “Thanks, I’ll wash yours tomorrow night. On the first few drinks he just asked me to marry him. As he got drunker he elaborated. Kept thinking up more and more details of wedded bliss. By midnight he had me all fixed up with a parlor rug and two children.” She got up and sat on the wall-bench, fluffing her hair with the towel.