by Gwen Bristow
John laughed, and Florinda laughed merrily, and Garnet laughed too, for this at least was something she could understand. The Brute laughed softly and said,
“Only an American would have thought of that.”
Florinda demanded. “But it’s true, isn’t it? It’s true, and it’s right.”
“Oh yes,” said the Brute, “it’s true and it’s right, just as you said. But—” he spoke gravely. “But I am not sure this gold is altogether good.”
“Why not?” Florinda asked quickly.
“Because, if there is so much, gold will be cheap. It is not good to have something you have valued all your life turn out to be cheap. People do not behave well when that happens. They feel like somebody has not been fair to them.”
“You’re right there,” John agreed. “Up near the gold-fields, gold is already getting cheap. It’s worth sixteen dollars an ounce in Washington, but at the stores on Sutter’s property they’ll give you only eight dollars’ worth of goods for an ounce of gold-dust. As for what that’s going to do to the men, I don’t know.”
“I don’t know either,” said the Brute, “but I do not think it will be good. But maybe,” he added, “there is not so much as you think.”
“Do you want to come and see for yourself?” John asked smiling.
The Brute shook his head. “Oh no. I want to go to St. Petersburg. I do not need a lot of gold. What would I do with it?”
Florinda laughed at him. “Brute,” she said, “you great big halfwit, I adore you.”
But then she fell silent. John and the Brute and Garnet talked about the gold. John told them more about how the news had come into San Francisco—how Marshall took some gold and showed it to Sutter, and Sutter wanted it kept secret, but when the laborers began chipping flakes of gold out of the rocks with their knives they could not resist telling. They told a man who had been sent up to the sawmill to bring them provisions, and this man gathered a gold-supply of his own. When he got back to Sutter’s property he went by a store and bought a drink and offered gold-dust in payment for it. The storekeeper did not know what the stuff was and refused to take it, but this started people talking, and three men employed at Sutter’s flour-mill remarked that they felt tired of work and thought they’d go up to the woods and hunt deer. They brought back no venison, but they did bring back bags of gold. And now a good many men were setting out—quietly, almost stealthily, for they did not like to be made fun of. They were buying picks and shovels in San Francisco, besides beef and flour and blankets and other camping supplies. So far, John said, most of these gold-seekers were men with nothing much else to do. Men with good jobs or farms were not leaving them yet. But they would be leaving soon. The gold was there. Still Florinda said nothing, and at length the Brute turned to her, asking,
“What is your trouble, Florinda? You are so quiet.”
Florinda roused herself with a start. She poured a cup of coffee, and smiled. “I’ve got some important thoughts.”
“Can you tell us?” asked John.
“Why yes,” said Florinda, “I’ll tell you.” She was serious. “Johnny,” she said, “I’m interested in all this. You really believe that before the end of summer this gold-country will be full of men, all digging.”
“Yes,” said John, “I’m sure of that. What are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking of going north,” said Florinda.
Garnet started, though she thought at once that she should not have done so. This tale was so exactly to Florinda’s taste. John was not surprised, but he was doubtful.
“It’s a hard country, Florinda,” he warned her. “And a hard journey to get there.”
“Yes, Johnny. But don’t be worried. I’m not going to tag along on your honeymoon. It may be a hard journey, but I can get there. And as for its being a hard country, who said I was going to the gold-fields?” She smiled calmly. “There’s a village up there. Rustling bustling American town, I hear. San Francisco. It kind of sounds like it was meant for me.”
Garnet and the Brute were listening with curiosity. John was interested too. He asked, “What are you going to do there?”
“Well, bright boy, it’s now the month of April. It’s still liable to rain any day. But this is California. By June there won’t be any more rain. That country will be full of men digging for gold. There aren’t any houses for them to live in, but they won’t need houses. You’re going to get a tent for you and Garnet, but that’s just because you’re civilized people who want some civilized privacy. You won’t really need it, because you’re going to have perfect weather, and I imagine most of those gold-hunters won’t bother with tents. Right?”
John nodded, laughing, and Garnet exclaimed as she had often done before,
“Florinda, what have you got in your head now?”
Florinda answered coolly, “What I have got in my head, dearie, is the month of November. Maybe December. It’s going to rain, all of a sudden. It’s going to drown those golden rocks and turn those inch-deep golden creeks into howling torrents. And those gold-hunters are going to come running to shelter. They’ll come to town, where they can find roofs, and fires, and some good warming drinks of whiskey. They’ll come laden with little bags of gold like this one. And I think, my pretty chickens—” she nodded sagely—“I think there are other ways of getting gold besides digging for it. I always knew I wasn’t going to spend my life in any backwoods village like Los Angeles. I think I see my future before me. I think your friend Florinda is going up north, and she’s going to open up a saloon in San Francisco.”
Garnet began to laugh. She, always did when Florinda decided to be completely frank. Florinda viewed the world with such clearness that to Garnet, with all her own dreams and her hopeful demands on life, it had to bring either tears or laughter. The Brute and John were laughing too. Florinda went on.
“I think what John says about that country is true. It’s fabulous, and I wouldn’t believe any other man on earth. But if John told me there was a two-headed mermaid on the back porch I’d believe him, because he hasn’t got enough imagination to make it up. If John tells me there’s gold lying around all over the place, I know it’s true. And I think I’ll go get it. And so, Johnny, when the rains hit the gold-fields, when you have to come into San Francisco, just ask anybody you meet to direct you to the best saloon in town.”
John was listening to her with a teasing admiration. He asked,
“Why are you so sure it will be the best saloon in town?”
Florinda had an Olympic calm. “Because I’ll be running it,” she said. With a smile of challenge, she glanced around the room and back at them. “Whenever I run anything, it’s the best in town. Look at this place, for instance.”
“I thought,” John suggested, “that Silky ran this place.”
Florinda laughed under her breath. “That’s what he thinks too. Quaint, isn’t it? One of the secrets of my success in life.”
They talked about Florinda’s plan. John approved of it. There were several saloons in San Francisco already, but this was no reason why Florinda should not start another one, and he agreed with her that hers would be the best in town. Garnet wished she had Florinda’s serene confidence in her own destiny. She wished she could have a little while alone with John, to talk about this gold business and get herself straightened out. But the night was moving toward morning; John had been in the saddle for more than twelve hours that day, and in the middle of a sentence she realized that he had fallen asleep, his head on his arm. Florinda sprang up.
“Oh, the poor fellow! Brute, we’re a couple of insects. We haven’t let these two darlings have a minute alone and they must have a thousand things to say to each other. Garnet, John can have my room. I’ll get my nightie and stay with you for what’s left of the night. See if you can get him waked up enough to walk upstairs.”
The Brute promised to return in the morning to say a last goodby to them. Florinda walked out with him. Garnet hated to wake up John. He looked
so tired that she wished she could leave him as he was to sleep. But now that the fire had died down the room was already chilly, and when the Brute had opened the door she had seen that a fog was rising. By daylight John would be miserably cold.
She spoke to him and shook his shoulder gently. John opened his eyes and saw her. He put his arm around her and drew her close to him and went back to sleep. Garnet let herself rest against him. Being there, like that, with John asleep and his arm around her, gave her such a sense of rightness and peace. It was good to have an occasional minute of peace, because she had had so little of it. And now she was about to go out on a new adventure.
She started up. This was why she had not been glad to hear the news of gold.
Peace—she had dreamed of it so longingly. She had looked forward to it, the remoteness of John’s rancho, the great flowering solitudes, the long, long time when she would be safe and quiet because nothing was going to happen to her. But she was not going to have it. John wanted her to start with him on a new trail. It had not entered his head that she might not want to do it.
Florinda came in, and together they woke up John. He was surprised that he had fallen asleep, and laughed and said he was sorry, but even as he said it they could see that he was no more than half awake. Florinda held the door open for him, a candle in her hand so he could see his way upstairs, and John was not too sleepy to kiss Garnet and whisper, “Good night, sweetheart.” Oh, he did love her, she thought. Then why couldn’t he see that she didn’t want to take that new trail?
In her room, she and Florinda moved about softly so as not to wake Stephen. Garnet wondered what she was going to do with a child in that crazy country up there. While they were getting undressed they said nothing, except that Florinda remarked that they had mighty little sleep ahead of them if they were going to be up to say goodby to the Brute in the morning. After they had gone to bed they lay silent for a few minutes, then Florinda raised herself on her elbow.
“Garnet,” she said in a low voice, “are you worried about something?”
“How did you know?” Garnet asked.
“You look like it. When I came in after the Brute left, you were staring at John like you didn’t know him and wondered what he was doing there. And you were so happy before. Can I help?”
“Maybe you can,” Garnet said impulsively. “At least it might be a help if I talked. Aren’t you sleepy?”
“Yes, but make it short and I’ll listen.”
Garnet told her what she had been thinking. “I’ve been so yearning for peace and rest,” she finished. “Now there’s no chance for it. Oh Florinda, I do love him so much—but why does he think I want to go up to that wild country?”
Florinda did not answer at once. Garnet turned her head inquiringly. She could hardly see her in the dark, but now she realized that Florinda was laughing.
“What’s so funny?” Garnet demanded.
“You,” said Florinda. “Garnet, John doesn’t just think you want to go up to the gold-fields. He knows you want to go.”
“I do not!” Garnet exclaimed.
“Garnet,” said Florinda, “I love you, but sometimes you’re so ridiculous. Peace and rest! You don’t want peace and rest any more than you want to live on milk.”
Garnet scowled at the darkness. Florinda didn’t know what she was talking about—but still, Garnet had a curious feeling that she had heard this before, somewhere. Florinda sat up in bed. Because of Stephen she kept her voice down, but she spoke with an amused assurance.
“Garnet, you silly woman, haven’t you noticed that people in this world get exactly what they look for? Everybody lives by a pattern. The same things happen over and over to the same people. So they must make the patterns they live by. They say they don’t want this or that, but they keep on getting it, time after time, while other people get something else. And you don’t want a quiet life, my dear.”
Oh yes I do, thought Garnet—but what she says does make sense, somehow. Where have I heard this before? Aloud she asked, “How do you know I don’t want a quiet life?”
“Because,” Florinda said with conviction, “you’ve turned down every chance you ever had to get one. Why didn’t you marry a nice man in New York and live like your friends? I don’t mean Henry, but he wasn’t the only man in town. What made you pick me up in New Orleans and go to all that risk and trouble about me? It was very sweet of you, but I bet most young ladies with your training wouldn’t have done it. What made you come to work at the bar? Sure, I understand, you didn’t want me supporting you and I admire you for that, but if you’d really wanted peace and quiet you’d have stayed out of my saloon. Why didn’t you go back to live with Charles when he wanted you to? You’d have been safe there. When we were at Doña Manuela’s you had several chances to marry men who wanted to settle down and raise a family, and very nice men some of them were, but you turned them down without thinking twice about it. You could have stayed there too, you know, instead of coming back to the bar. If you’d told Doña Manuela you wanted to live with her until you met a man you felt like marrying, she’d have been glad to have you.”
“I never thought of that!” Garnet said faintly.
“I never did either till this minute,” said Florinda, “but what I mean is that if you’d really believed peace and quiet were the most important things on earth you would have thought of it. Why didn’t you marry Captain Brown?” Florinda began to laugh again. “Garnet, you know damn well why you want John. You want him because he’s exciting. You want him because you never know what he’s going to do tomorrow. You want excitement and you want adventures, and if John told you all about that gold-country and then said you would never get a chance to see it, but would have to stay at home doing embroidery—holy Christmas, what’s the matter with you now? Are you crying?”
“No,” said Garnet, “I’m laughing.”
She held the blanket to her lips to keep her laughter quiet. But she could not help laughing. Florinda was so right, so bluntly and wisely right, and now Garnet remembered where she had heard this before. Her father had said it to her that day in New York when he had told her she could marry Oliver and go to California. He had told her why he was letting her do it. He had reminded her of her people, those adventurers who would not stay at home and behave themselves as the right-thinking folk of their day had thought they should. They had gone smashing into the wilderness, they had had their own way, they had made her and they had made her country. And now she had their blood and their zest, and she wanted the same thing they had wanted, the danger and challenge of a new world.
And she had thought she wanted to go back to Union Square. She had thought she wanted the monotony of days when she would always know what was going to happen. What a fool she had been. She did not want peace and she did not want a husband who would give it to her. She wanted John, because with John the tomorrow would always be unknown, and life would always have a beckoning thrill.
Florinda had lain down again. Garnet whispered,
“Florinda, are you asleep?”
“No, but I will be in a minute if you’ll keep still.”
“I just wanted to tell you, you’re quite right. I do want to go to the gold-fields.”
“Fine,” said Florinda. “I’ll see you in San Francisco.”
FIFTY
THE SUN WAS BREAKING through the morning fog, and the Brute was ready to go. His train stood before the saloon, pack-horses and saddle-horses, looked after by serving-men whose serapes were like spots of colored light against the fog. At the head of the line was the Brute’s big stallion, his saddle and bridle bright with silver. The horses stamped, and knots of townspeople stood gazing at the splendid cavalcade. The men chattered and adjusted the packs and flirted with the girls who had come out to see them off. The men were going to ride with the Brute to San Francisco, and he had told them that when he had taken his ship they could have both horses and saddles, so they would come back as splendidly as they had left.
> The saloon was not open for business. Florinda had declared that it was not going to open until the Brute was out of sight. She made so few demands of her own that Silky had thought it wise not to object to this one. Silky himself had come down to accept the gloves the Brute had brought him last night, and after wishing him a prosperous voyage and a safe landing he had gone to Mr. Abbott’s to check a shipment of whiskey.
The Brute was in the kitchen, with John and Florinda and Garnet. The girls both wore the gold pins he had given them. They were all hazy-eyed from lack of sleep, but Mickey had appeared without any orders to do so, and had put large pots of coffee before them. “That dear Mickey,” Florinda said as they drank the coffee. “I hope he’ll come to San Francisco with me.”
“Do you think Silky will come with you too?” asked the Brute.
“I rather hope so, though I could do without him easier than without Mickey. But when Silky hears this tale of gold, I can’t imagine his not wanting to get some.”
But their conversation straggled. There was so little they could say. They loved the Brute and hated to part with him, but they could not find fault with his wish to see his own country and his own people again. They were all wondering if he would ever come back.
