“Some of these people forget they're human,” Suzanne said. “There's no law anywhere near. They know no one can make them account for what they do—they have to be gentled out.”
“And the whisky—”
“It's all right,” Lura told her. “We'll get you a gun.”
“Mariah's right. We've got to prepare better. Not be letting this happen,” Suzanne said.
“Did he give it to you, then?”
“What?”
“The nugget, of course.”
“Yes,” Suzanne said. She was too tired to manage this argument—one of many between Mariah and her mother. “He did. But I gave it back.”
“What?”
“It came with conditions,” Suzanne said. She sank into the chair, wanting to take her corset off, get out of the powdered wig she wore for this latest performance. She was tired. Too tired. She'd been so happy before going on stage. She'd sung, then declaimed from Elizabeth Barrett Browning's poems that Mariah had helped her memorize.
Then this intrusion, this violation, happened. Almost as it had occurred with Wesley—someone violating a boundary she'd put up, walking right through it. She took a deep breath, felt herself biting her lip. Pig pushed his head against her, and she scratched his ear. “You're tired too, aren't you?”
“What conditions?” Lura persisted. She helped Suzanne lift the wig from her head.
“Marriage,” Suzanne said. “He proposed marriage.”
“Oh. Well, that's nothing new.”
Free of the wig, Suzanne reached for Pig's halter, turned and stepped inside the wagon.
Suzanne heard shuffling. Someone followed her. She smelled Lura's perfume, heard her move as though she looked to clear a place to sit. “He was good-looking,” Lura said then. “You couldn't see that, but he had a good tailor. And money. Nugget tells you that. Want me to help with your dress, there?”
Suzanne nodded. “He was also very persistent. He didn't listen to what a lady told him, which was no, thank you’ in as many different ways as I could. “
“But it could be your way out,” Lura said. “Listen, you can't keep this up forever, Mariah's right about that. But you could…betroth yourself to one like that. Not marry, of course, but accept money. For wedding plans. I heard about a woman who did that. Maybe even accept the interests of another someplace farther on. Wouldn't really be cheating.”
“Ma!”
“You still listening? Go to bed, child,” Lura told Mariah. “A woman's got to use what she's got, to survive,” Lura continued. She lifted the dress from Suzanne, untied her hoops at the waist. “All I've got is my business sense. So I'm putting that to production, here.”
“You have cattle in Oregon, Ma,” Mariah reminded her. “That might be a better life.”
“Shush. This is a bird in the hand.” She turned back to Suzanne. “You, you got your looks and talents. Why, you could even marry and divorce if you don't like them. Mariah? You still out there, Mariah? Go get your ma a glass of water,” she said, and Suzanne heard the girl leave. “Now listen,” Lura said. “I've had a few proposals myself, so I know it's not hard to get them. You got to work them right, though. Think on the grounds for divorce in California. There's six or seven. We could find one that'd fit when the time came. And you'd get half of what he had.”
“Lura…I…my mind is as soft: as a pretzel right now. I don't have another ounce of energy. Let's talk in the morning.”
Lura handed Suzanne her nightdress. She felt the thin chemise cool her shoulders. “You just think about this. Couldn't happen anywhere else but in California, right now, with all this gold and hardly any unhitched women about. Timing's everything. Don't want to hold out too long. You'll need a lacier nightdress if you're getting married.”
“Lura, please.”
The woman left, and Suzanne wondered if it wasn't performing that tired her but this Mad Mule Canyon that just made everyone mad.
On a day in early August, Mazy let her mother know of the plans she and Seth had to ride to Sacramento. “I'll take Ink,” she said. “He's a surefooted mule. If you've no objection.” She wrapped a bedroll, rolled it in waxed canvas, then tied it with a piece of rawhide. She sniffed at one of the soap molds she'd brought back from Ruths, pressed her fingers to it. “Not hard enough to cut yet,” she said.
Elizabeth sipped on a cup of tea with four chunks of sugar. Hot or cold out, her mother did like sweet tea. Simple things, Mazy thought. Her mother was nurtured by them: sweet tea; fresh-cut flowers in a milk tin adorning the whitewashed table next to her bed; that pair of newly cut-out underdrawers hanging from a nail. “Im going to make me a new pair every fall,” Elizabeth said as Mazy eyed the underthings. “One of my traditions. You sure you dont want me with you in Sacramento?” Elizabeth asked then. “I can tell them that Jeremy received money from the sale of my house as well as yours, so it ain't surprising he had a thousand dollars cash extra with him.”
“I hope that's what it's from. But he had to have money for the bull and cows, and after outfitting us to head west—buying your wagon, too—I'm not sure there should have been that much left unless he did have an advance from his brother.”
“Well, time you found out so you can let go and start living again,” her mother told her.
“I've been living, just fine. I like milking the cows, Mother. I always did. But with Matt—Matthew, he calls himself now—and Joe Pepin agreeing to milk my two cows, Seth and I, I mean, I can do what I need to do. About putting Jeremy's past to rest.”
“Your past, too,” Elizabeth added. “You deserve that. Seth'll like time with you without the usual interruptions of milking.”
Mazy smiled. “It does seem every sweet and intimate moment between us has had a milk bucket in it. But he has interests’ in Sacramento well beyond spending time with me getting there.”
“Don't you be lying to yourself, now, child. He feels something special for you, and he's been waiting like a gentleman to tell you, I'll ponder.”
Mazy remembered his pulling her close, his proposal, her own difficulty in even acknowledging it. “Maybe I should clarify for sure why he's willing to go with me,” Mazy said.
“He is a good man, child.”
“Seth loves to wander and he's a gambler. That's just who he is. Even if he gave up cards, he'd still take risks somewhere else. I'm looking for predictable and routine.”
“Taking a chance is what makes life interesting. You got it in your head it's quiet that brings peace. Need something more to fill you up, though. But you got your dicey streaks.” Her mother grinned at her. “Take those bloomers. Why, you were the first real person I knew to wear them. And I see you got yourself a new pair, too. Your own fall tradition?”
“They're practical. And you gave that first pair to me, so you were the risky one.”
Elizabeth leaned back and closed her eyes. “You were never more alive than at your marriage. Getting all ready to leave with your new husband to a new farmstead, a place of your own. I remember that, watching you go, leaving Milwaukee for Cassville. Nice to ponder that.”
“And see what it got me,” Mazy said.
“It got you to doing something new and bold and telling yourself you could. It got you heartache, too, I know. But that's part of living. Finding meaning in life don't relieve us ofthat.”
“I'm just planning to be cautious in courtship.”
“Tell me something I don't know,” Elizabeth laughed. “I hope you ease up in time. You have a heart for loving—loving living things. I'm not pushing you on it. Just want you to know that I see sparks in that man's eyes when you come into view. And I wouldn't want you to be blinded by it when your of mother ain't around to lead you through it.”
Mazy laughed and felt the urge to hug her, spilling the tea as she did. Elizabeth set the cup down, brushed at the darkening spot on her apron, then opened both arms to her daughter. “Come here. I'll take a real one.”
Mazy felt her mothers elbows narrowing into her
, palms kept out like wings, still tender from the burns or perhaps now a habit. She smelled lavender soap, felt the softness of her flesh, and noted a fragility, too, in shoulders thinner than she remembered.
Mazy released her. “We'll probably leave tomorrow if things work out with Ruth. And I'll talk to Seth about his intentions.”
Her mother smiled. Her fingers lifted Mazy's hair at the back of her neck, letting the air bring coolness. “You do that,” she said, “though it's not his intentions I'm worried over.”
“Otis and Truett have the lumber,” Mazy told Seth, “and I can start building. All I need is to give them the thousand dollars for a thousand feet of lumber.”
Seth whistled. “Whoa. There's the gold mine to be into. Looks like all those limitless trees'll yield more treasure than gold panning.” He walked with her from the bakery to the livery where Ink was kept.
“Now that I've found the perfect place to build, I've decided to construct it myself. It'll only take a week, and I won't have to pay carpenters sixteen dollars a day. I want to make it big enough…for Suzanne to have a choice when she comes back. Is that intruding?”
“Pushy maybe. Suzanne's a grown woman. Knows her own mind. Seemed pretty excited about this latest venture, not that I blame her. Imagine doing something you always wanted to, not letting your lack of sight get in your way.”
“She's always wanted to perform?”
“Likes music. Found a way to share it. “
“You didn't waste any time helping her find costumes and such. You are a resourceful man, Seth Forrester.”
“She likes making people happy with her music. I understand that.” He walked quietly beside Mazy for a time. “Gonna build here, huh? Find someone else to join you?”
She sidestepped his insinuation. “I think I've procrastinated long enough anyway. I've been rattling on about people taking advantage, about the lawlessness, the lack of care for the Indians and Chinese, everyone seeming to be driven only by money and how much they have and how to keep it. And as I fretted about my house, I decided I'm no different.”
“Pretty different, I'm saying,” Seth said.
“Thank you. I appreciate that. But I'm not sure it's true. It won't be until I find out if the money I've been living on this past year is really mine to have. And if not, if the bull and the cows aren't mine either, well, I need to begin to pay it back. Find a way to do that. Otherwise, I'm no different from those I'm judging.”
“So when will you go?”
“That depends on you,” Mazy said. “I'd like you to escort me, if you will. To be sure I'll get there in good shape.”
“Is that sarcasm, Mrs. Bacon?” Seth said. Mazy almost didn't hear him, for the cicadas filling the evening air.
“I'd feel safer with you, what with the reports of raids and all. And you know the area. Thought we could stay where Sister Esther is. Maybe get some better news about Naomi.” His shoulder brushed hers as they walked. The smells of roast duck and pork rose from Koon Chong's store. They mixed with the hint of opium lifting from Quong Sing's back room where Mazy'd heard that fifty or so men smoked away their loneliness near the narrow bunks they slept in.
“How soon do you want to leave?”
“I'm ready. Matt, I mean Matthew, has agreed to milk the cows. Jason said he'd help. I was so pleased at that. They'll bring the milk in, too. That last pack train brought in iceboxes, did you know that? And ice blocks wrapped in sand and straw. I want to buy one of those, keep milk fresh and cold, even in heat like this.” She stopped herself. “See how quickly I think of possessing things? When this trip is over, I may not have a dime except what those cows have made me—and I may not get to keep much ofthat.”
Her slippers caught on a tree root reaching out onto the twisting path they walked. She tripped and Seth caught her, held her. She looked up at him. His eyes moved toward hers, and then he kissed her forehead, gently pressed the back of her neck with his wide hands and pulled her to him. His lips barely touched her eyelids—one after the other—forcing her to close them. He smelled of leather and fine cologne. She felt her palms grow wet, her breathing shift, and she almost allowed herself to sink into the safety of his arms, let something new begin.
She leaned back from him instead. “I'll tell them what happened, the lawyers and Jeremy's brother—if I get to meet him. Give them as much information as I can.”
“I'm sure you will,” Seth said and he stepped away, brushed a tendril of hair from her temple. She saw him smile, wistful almost. He took her elbow and turned her so they walked again down the street.
“Maybe Jeremy's brother is a kind man,” she said, aware now that she rambled. “Maybe he'll understand that his brother didn't always tell his wife of things that mattered,” Mazy said. “Maybe what I discover won't surprise me at all. After all, I already know he had a wife and child in Oregon. What more could I discover that would surprise me now?”
“Maybe nothing about him,” Seth said. “Maybe something about yourself.”
It was dawn. A red-tailed hawk lifted and dipped above him. He had waited. Now he watched Ruth ride off down the trail, west, into town. He saw the boy herd up the milk cows, watched as the other two men moved them toward the barn. From his two days of watching, this was the routine. The other woman had ridden out with a man. There were no other children about.
Jessie would come to the privy before long. She would stop either on the way or coming back to look at something spread out on a board. In odd containers. This morning, he would be waiting, close to the privy so he could surprise her with the chloroform on his silk handkerchief. Silence her.
He eased his way through the tree line, leading his horse. He held himself still behind the privy. He heard Jessie walk out, her feet swishing through the grass toward the little house. Good. When she finished in the privy, she would leave, then dawdle at the containers. He could take her then. His heart thumped. He heard his own breathing and slowed it.
The leather hinge squeaked as the door opened. He heard her little feet clomping on the wooden floor. He waited. The hinge creaked again. She was walking out. Steady, steady.
He stepped out from behind the privy. He thought of himself as very small now, smaller than a boy, smaller than dog or bird, small enough to drift toward her, pull her with one arm and push the silk into her face with the other. He heard a cat squeal, the girl jumped, said, “Out of my way, you lazy old thing,” and then she turned and saw him.
The cat! He lunged for her, hoped he could keep her from screaming. Her mouth open, she backed from him toward the containers. She grabbed at a stone, round and heavy, too heavy, he thought for one so little. He had her now. She lifted the stone up over her head as he grabbed her arm trying to stuff the silk at her nose. She struggled, wiry and strong for someone so young. She tried to bite him. He could sense her sinking, sinking. Then with what felt like one giant effort before she eased against him, she kicked him and broke free. She hefted the stone and slammed it with a thud on his foot. He smelled a whiff of tea-scented soap just as the pain shot through him.
“I guess they have entertainment coming sometime this week at that strip of stores they call a town,” David said. He lifted his whip, turned it over to check the repairs he'd made on the cracker. He stepped outside, tied it onto the saddle's front rigging ring, came back inside. “You might hear it from here, the music at least. Funny how sound'll carry in these ravines. Sometimes I cant hear you calling me from the other side of the cabin, but I can hear a man shout about a strike that must be a couple of miles away.”
Oltipa tilted her head, the way she told him she didn't understand all that he said, and he smiled, picked up the baby again in one arm and the dog in the other. “Wish I could be here to take you. Might be nice to step out with you, listening to a tune. Maybe if they're delayed, we could do it next week. A day will come when I don't have to work so long a haul. Claim 11 be paid off and I can take you dancing. Maybe.”
He wished they could hear
the entertainers. They'd have a pleasant outing he could follow with a proposal.
He gentled the baby into Oltipa's arms. As she nursed the boy, David felt a fullness inside him. He loved them both. There, he'd said it to himself. If only he could say the words to her.
Oltipa looked up at David and smiled, then brushed the backs of her fingers at the boy's chubby cheeks. David swallowed. “Let's get me something to eat,” he said. “Then I best be on my way.”
Ruth wore the same dress, the only one she had. Why was she wearing it? She shook her head. How silly. At least she hadn't sunk to riding sidesaddle again. She would never do that. And she wasn't even sure why she decided to keep the lithographer work. It had been hard to leave Jason and Jessie that morning. She'd found that odd. She'd enjoyed the chatter about horses with Matthew too. Then, here she rode to work for a man whose editorial policies she detested. Now that she had her horses back, why did she stay on at the Courier? When she could begin the work of breeding and selling and making her living.
It was ridiculous, that was what it was. She'd be pleased when Matthew left to find his mother. “There're dozens of little mining towns,” she told him. “Some with actual theaters for performances and some with just tents, from what Esty tells me.”
Matthew had leaned on his elbows at the table that morning, and behind him Ruth could see the hearth. For the first time, she noticed how bare the house was, how unlived in—except for the clutter of the children. It was almost as if she didn't live there. All the things that were personal to her had been somehow moved around, taken down, or altered. She thought about telling Matthew. Telling him about the scratched face on her photograph, the cuts made on her whip with a sharp knife. Telling him that none of the children would own up to it, that she felt all alone. But she hadn't, the thought of sharing it making her weepy or worse.
“And my ma learned about this by just listening to people talking at the post office?”
“Your mother listened while she worked as a banker at the casinos,” Ruth said.
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