Nearly everyone had packed too much. Loads had to be lightened no matter what the cost. Pots, pans, mattresses, chests of drawers, food, clothing, and everything imaginable had to be abandoned beside the trail. To her disgust, Sarah discovered much of what was left behind had been rendered unusable. If I can’t have it, nobody can have it. Piles of sugar soaked in turpentine—heaps of flour purposely sprinkled with dirt—wagons chopped to pieces. Ma had a hard time believing what she saw. “How could people be so selfish? How sad we’re seeing the worst of human nature.”
Pa had to dump his leather-bound Complete Works of William Shakespeare, as well as his beloved copy of The Vicar of Wakefield. He left them in good condition, gallantly declaring, “Perhaps someone will have room for them.” Sarah doubted it. Everyone was abandoning items they’d thought they couldn’t do without. Ma cried when she discarded her treasured Tiffany sterling flatware and French Haviland china, both inherited from her mother. Sarah threw away all but one of her extra dresses. A gold-plated hand mirror her grandmother gave her also got tossed, along with shoes, hats, reticule, and nearly everything else she didn’t need to survive. She, too, wanted to cry. So hard to bear—seeing all their lovely possessions, some of them heirlooms, lying deserted in the dust.
In the wagon behind, Becky was throwing away most of her clothing. She had a pair of scissors in her hand. Ma looked closer and gasped. “Becky, what are you doing?”
Her daughter-in-law jutted her chin. “What do you think I’m doing? I will not have some strange woman wearing my clothes.”
Ma and Sarah could do nothing but exchange disapproving glances. Nothing they said would change Becky’s selfish attitude. Besides, neither had the strength to upbraid her. Like everyone on the train, it was all they could do to keep going. The dust was ankle deep. Water was scarce. They resembled convicts in chains as they shuffled along, lips parched and swollen, their faces, hair, and clothing looking as if they’d been rolling in heaps of dry ashes.
At first, Sarah worried about how awful she must appear, especially in Jack’s eyes, but by the end of the first day, she didn’t care. Nobody cared. Nothing mattered except getting through this terrible stretch of desert. At least everyone else looked as bad as she did, sometimes worse. Her family suffered greatly, the oxen so exhausted Ma had to walk. Toward the end of the day, she could hardly put one foot in front of the other and cried, “I wish I could just lie down by the side of the road and go to sleep forever.”
“But you can’t do that,” Sarah replied, even though she wanted to do the same thing. “It’s only a little bit farther. By the end of tomorrow we’ll be through the desert and into the nice, cool mountains.”
She was right. Late the next afternoon, the oxen and horses started sniffing the air. Water ahead! At last, the Sierra Nevada Mountains! Just a few peaks and valleys to cross, and they’d be home.
Chapter 7
No bath ever felt so good as the one Sarah took in the icy cold waters of the Truckee River. How wonderful to be clean again—to feel her hair floating light as a cloud down her back after she washed the grit away. The train had camped by the side of the river. She, along with every woman on the train, spent a large part of the next day getting rid of the dust and grime that had accumulated on wagons, clothing, bedding, animals, and humans.
That night the members of the Morehead wagon train gathered around a big campfire to celebrate their successful arrival at the foot of the Sierra Nevadas. In her newly washed lavender gingham dress, Sarah’s spirits reached a new high at the sights and sounds of a fiddler playing, people dancing and having a good time. So much to be thankful for. Hiram still suffered from his injury, but he’d left his sickbed to join the family. Both her parents looked more frail than ever, but at least they’d survived the cruel trek and would soon be settled in their new home. If only they could find Florrie. The mystery of her sister’s disappearance was like an ongoing nightmare from which she couldn’t awake. She wouldn’t let it spoil her evening, though.
Jack. Where was he? People were dancing to the fiddler’s lively rendition of “California Bloomer.” Was he dancing? She hoped she wouldn’t find him with another partner. It could happen, though. The young, unmarried girls on the train were always after him.
“Good evening, Widow Gregg. Care to dance?”
Her heart did a flip-flop. Jack stood beside her, offering his hand. How handsome he looked with those great wide shoulders, standing tall, straight, and so very sure of himself.
“I’d be delighted, Mr. McCoy.”
He was an excellent dancer—something she would never have guessed—and graceful, too. They danced to fast-paced tunes such as “Clementine” and “Sacramento Gal.” When they stopped, both breathless, he seemed to be watching her intently, his eyes filled with…what? Curiosity? Desire? Expectation? She wasn’t sure, only that she ached to be near him, no matter what her mother said. When the fiddler began playing the next tune, Jack took her arm. “Let’s go for a walk, shall we?”
Oh, indeed she’d like to take a walk with Jack McCoy. People would notice, but she didn’t care. He took her hand. They left the camp and strolled along the riverbank without speaking until the sounds of the fiddler nearly faded away. They found a grassy spot, sat down, and for a time were silent, listening to the soft ripple of the flowing river. At last Jack turned to her and spoke. “You don’t know me at all.”
What a strange thing for him to say. “How well am I supposed to know you?”
“I’ve done some things I’m not proud of.”
“We’ve all done things we’re not proud of.”
He gave a cynical sniff. “You’d never understand.”
“Does it have to do with that ring you wear?”
“The ring belonged to a woman named Jenny who I loved very much.”
“You said I reminded you of her.”
“In many ways, yes.” He took her hand and gently cupped it to his chest. “There was only one Jenny, and there’s only one you. You’re like no woman I’ve ever known—beautiful, proud, and brave. I watched you crossing that desert—”
“I looked a mess, covered with grime and my lips all cracked.”
“Looks don’t matter. You’re beautiful to me, always.” His breath came fast. His arms slid around her and his mouth hungrily covered hers. Her heart pounded. She gave herself freely to his kiss, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him closer still. He lifted his lips and murmured, “Couldn’t stay away from you.”
“Why would you want to?”
Her words were a trigger. With a groan, he laid her back on the grass and covered her face with kisses. His hands roamed her body. Everywhere he touched caused a delicious shiver of wanting to run through her. All those years with Joseph—she’d never felt like this, never had any idea what she’d been missing. By the time he unfastened the top button of her dress, she could only moan with pleasure and arch toward him, wanting more.
It seemed so right, lying on the soft grass by the river under the brightest stars in the universe, breathing the pine-scented mountain air, making love with the man she’d longed for, who kept her from sleep at night imagining what this moment would be like. Now she knew how beyond wonderful it was to press close to the heat of him, to feel his hands caressing the most intimate parts of her body, to open up to him with heart throbbing in anticipation and hear herself moan with ecstasy as she tumbled over the last edge of pleasure. Hearing him cry out, too, she sensed a golden wave of passion and love flowing between them and knew no matter what lay ahead in their lives, she would never forget this moment.
Afterward, she lay in the crook of his arm. He lay propped on one elbow beside her, gently twisting a strand of her hair. “My, God, Sarah, that was—”
She reached to press a finger to his lips. “Beyond words, I’d say. We needed to do that, didn’t we?”
In the moonlight she could see him grinning down at her. “Yes, we did.”
&nb
sp; When they returned to the campfire, no one seemed to notice they’d been gone, or so Sarah thought. At the end of the evening, when she and her mother strolled back to the wagon, Ma remarked, “I see you and Jack went off together.”
“What an eagle eye you have.”
Ma raised an eyebrow. “All mothers are eagle eyes when it comes to watching out for their daughters.”
“So I spent some time with Jack McCoy, so what?” She hadn’t meant to reveal her feelings, but the words burst out. “I think I’ve fallen in love with him.”
They walked a few more steps in silence until her mother softly said, “Oh, dear.”
“You don’t have to worry. I know what I’m doing. Need I point out I’m twenty-nine years old?”
“I know how old you are. As I said before, Jack is a fine man, but he’s not for you.”
“I’m aware of that.”
“I’m sure he’s aware of it, too, Sarah. He’ll never settle down.” Ma slanted a warning glance. “Won’t the train soon be splitting up? Some are headed for the goldfields, and that surely includes Jack and his friend. That most definitely doesn’t include us. We’ll be headed out of the mountains and straight to Mokelumne City where we’ll have a roof over our heads, a warm bed and a bathtub, and we’ll never have to ride in a covered wagon again.”
During those blissful moments Sarah spent with Jack, they hadn’t said a word about the future. She’d better face the truth. They had no future together, and she’d be a fool to think otherwise. “That’s what I want, too, Ma. Just the usual comforts of home and a secure, ordinary life. After this journey, I’d be content if nothing exciting ever happens to me again.”
A shadow of a worry tugged at Sarah’s heart. Was that really all she wanted, or was she mouthing those words for her mother’s benefit? Either way, she’d be better off listening to her wise and perceptive mother who had a habit of always being right.
* * * *
Next morning, before the trek began, a group of men on horseback rode into camp. They had all been working claims at the mining town of Gold Creek on the other side of the mountains. Most were headed east with their bounty. Invited to stay for breakfast, the men described their successes at the goldfields.
“I found a nugget big as your fist,” said one with great exuberance. “Just lying on the ground.”
“I was boiling a salmon I caught in the Yuba River,” said another. “When I dumped the water out, danged if there wasn’t a bunch of gold specks on the bottom of the pot. I went back to the spot where I caught the salmon and found seventeen ounces of gold the first day. Ended up making over twelve thousand dollars in eleven days.”
Another miner added, “Just a mile from his diggings, I found a nugget weighing fifteen pounds. Now I’m headed home, set for life.”
Another thrust out his chest. “I panned for gold in Missouri Gulch. Earned at least a thousand a day the whole month of May.”
Pa listened with rapt attention to the miners’ tales of instant wealth. When they finished with their considerable bragging, he remarked, “Sounds like all a man has to do is put a pan in a stream and he’s made a fortune.”
A miner with a thin, haggard look about him remained silent while the others were bragging. Now, he laughed with scorn. “Don’t you believe all you hear, sir. For every man who gets rich, there’s dozens of failures, maybe more. They make finding gold sound easy. Let me tell you, it’s back-breaking work standing hip-deep in freezing water for hours, sweating in the summer, shivering in the winter, getting poison oak all over yourself, smashing your fingers, wrecking your back, and God knows what. The insects drive you crazy. Swarms of mosquitos. Sand flea bites that cause a man’s face and eyelids to swell. You can’t get away from them. They fill the air like dust, stinging your ears, nose, eyes—everywhere. Then there’s the diseases. Cholera, measles, diphtheria, scurvy because you don’t eat right. Mostly you’ll just plain starve. Many a time I lived for days with nothing to eat but flour mixed with water made into dough and baked in ashes.” His mouth twisted wryly. “No, sir, they don’t tell you that.”
“Don’t mind Virgil. He’s going home broke,” said the man who had bragged the most. “Sure, luck plays a part. Maybe you won’t go home rich, but you sure as hell ought to try.”
Sarah couldn’t remember a time when her father listened to anyone so intently. He appeared to be pondering, his forehead furrowed in a deep frown. Finally he spoke. “I’m impressed by what you gentlemen have told me. So far, I’ve ignored this crazy rush for gold. I’d planned to join in partnership with my brother to run a general store in Mokelumne City.”
“If I was you, I’d save that for later. Look at us!” The man made a sweeping gesture toward his friends. “Except for Virgil, we’re rich, the lot of us. You could be rich, too, if you take a chance and try.”
Pa said no more until the next morning while they were eating breakfast around the campfire. “I’ve been thinking about those miners we talked to, the ones who are going home rich.”
Uh-oh. Sarah knew what was coming.
“They’re not all rich!” Ma cried.
Pa ignored her. His eyes held a sheen of purpose. “If those men found all that gold, I can, too. I’d be a fool to miss this opportunity. We’re heading for Gold Creek, Luzena. The store can wait.”
* * * *
The two Bryan wagons weren’t the only ones to change course. The miners’ glowing tales of wealth caused four more families to change their plans. Now, more than half the wagons in the train were headed for the gold diggings. Ma surprised Sarah by accepting Pa’s decision with little argument. “I know your father, and he won’t last long. Besides, if we stay a while, maybe we’ll come across someone who’s seen Florrie.”
Becky made no effort to hide her disapproval. Half the camp heard her screaming at Hiram. Still weak and disabled, he could at least drive the wagon now, but otherwise could hardly get around.
“I don’t want to go to Cold Creek! There’s lowlifes and thieves and God-knows-what there. I want to go to Mokelumne City like we planned.”
In his quiet voice, Hiram tried to reason with her. “It’s Pa’s decision. Not much I can do.”
“We don’t have to stay with your parents. We could go to Mokelumne City on our own.”
“Fine. If you can feed the animals and yoke the oxen by yourself, then I’m all for it.”
Sarah and her mother exchanged smiles at the silence that followed. A reluctant Becky grumbled but said no more. “So what do you think?” Ma asked Sarah.
She returned an elaborate shrug. “If it’s what Pa wants, how can I argue?” No need to mention her inner turmoil. The sensible part of her yearned for the peace and tranquility of a real home again. Another part of her, the crazy, unreasonable part over which she had no control, made her pulse leap at the thought she hadn’t seen the last of Jack McCoy.
The following day, thirty-one wagons started on the trail that would take them over the highest peaks of the Sierra Nevadas and down into the gold country. Sarah was riding Rosie when Jack rode up beside her and touched the brim of his hat. “Good morning, Widow Gregg. I hear you’re headed for Gold Creek.”
“Fancy that!” She threw him an impudent smile. “You haven’t seen the last of me.”
“Nor do I want to.” He nudged his horse and rode away, leaving her with a heart-welling uncertainty about what would happen when they reached the gold country.
* * * *
“Gold Creek dead ahead!”
Pa’s excited yell caused the sagging spirits of the Bryan family to rise sky high. The trek over the mountains had been harder than Sarah could ever have imagined. In some places they traveled along sheer ledges that soared into the sky like dungeon walls and hemmed them in. In others, they crossed over passes so steep it seemed the oxen crept forward on their knees. There were times they encountered giant drops on both sides of the trail, making it necessary for several men to brace them
selves against a wagon so it wouldn’t tip over and plunge into a ravine far below. Sometimes the climb was so steep they had to take their wagons apart and drag them up over the ledges using ropes and a wench. Occasionally they had to pry and lever their wagons over huge boulders that blocked the way, all the time keeping an uneasy eye on more huge boulders hanging overhead. Deep ravines had to be navigated and mountains so steep Sarah couldn’t count the number of times she had to get behind the wagon and push.
To make matters worse, during the five months they’d been on the trail, their food supply had dwindled to practically nothing. Their small store of “luxury” goods, such as tea, maple syrup, vinegar, and pickles was long gone. Eventually they used up their dried fruits, vegetables and potatoes. At lower levels, wild game had been plentiful, but the higher they got, the scarcer the animals. Toward the end, their diet consisted of hard biscuits, beans, and an occasional hunk of beef jerky. “If I never see another biscuit, it will be none too soon,” Sarah complained over a cold supper one day.
Riding by, Jack overheard her. “When we get to Gold Creek, I’ll buy you dinner at the finest hotel in town.”
She’d laughed at his foolishness, so weary of trekking clear across the Sierra Nevada Mountains, she couldn’t even imagine the delights of sitting at a real table, eating good-tasting food, actually enjoying her meal.
What a relief the day they crossed the highest summit of the Sierra Nevadas and started down the other side. Now, as they rolled into the busy main street of Gold Creek, Sarah stared with amazement. Buildings of all descriptions lined both sides of the street, some no more than tents. Others were rickety, thrown-together affairs built of wood. The only substantial buildings of any sort appeared to be two- and three-story hotel-saloons, all with tinny piano music blasting through their wide-open front doors.
All kinds of people swarmed the street, mainly men in their teens and twenties. Most wore bright flannel shirts—red was the prominent color—slouch hats and pants with suspenders. Many had let their beards grow long and looked as if they hadn’t bathed for a while. The main street was laid out directly beside a river where, between the buildings, Sarah saw men wading hip deep in the stream, gold pans in their hands. A woman in a shortened skirt and rolled-up bloomers scooped her gold pan alongside the men.
Wagon Train Sisters (Women of the West) Page 8
