Gold Rush Girl

by Avi

  But Jacob remained a constant problem. In all the books I had read, I could recall no heroine who had been so troubled by a younger brother. It annoyed me more and more.

  November came. Mother hadn’t come. Father wasn’t back. Jacob, not sure what to do with himself, tried to be with me all the time, needing me to take care of him, so that I was constantly shooing him away. As a result, he grew lonelier, unhappier about being in San Francisco.

  But something else had happened, which bothered Jacob greatly. I had found a companionable friend. His name was Thaddeus Colton.

  SHORTLY AFTER WE ARRIVED, I WAS AT THE COVE beach trying to improve my rowing. I had observed that bringing in ship passengers was an easy way to make money, and we had great need of it.

  As I struggled to manage the two long, heavy oars, I realized a boy on the cove beach was watching me. I tried to ignore his gaze. But when I managed to get back to shore and needed to walk by him, he called out, “Having trouble rowing?”

  “What business is it of yours?” I replied, thinking he was about to mock me.

  “Ayuh,” he said. “You’re a girl.”

  Let it be recalled that my knowledge of boys — other than my brother — was slight. Such experience as I had — at Mrs. Coldbrett’s Academy of Dancery — was not positive. So when this boy said “You’re a girl,” my retort was “What if I am?”

  His response was “I’ve got a sister who rows right enough. I’m willing to bet I can teach you.”

  “Why make it a bet?”

  “Bets make things interesting. Besides, I’m always broke.”

  “Where is your sister?”

  “Back east: Maine. Rowing is what we do.”

  “What would the bet be?”

  “If I can teach you rowing, you stake me at the gambling tables.”

  “For how much?”

  “Say . . . two dollars’ worth. Gold or coin.”

  “What’s your name?” I asked.

  “Thaddeus. You can call me Thad.”

  “Why are you sitting here?”

  “Just taking a break. I clerk at the Howard & Mellus store.” He pointed. “Right there.”

  I considered this boy. He was tall and gawky, with unruly ginger hair, a splish-splash of freckles on his cheeks, and ears large enough that they might have served as flying jibs on a sailing ship. Fifteen years of age (as I would learn), he was rather clumsy, as if not yet accustomed to his own size. His earnest awkwardness made me smile. He rather reminded me of a scarecrow that was poorly stuffed with straw.

  But since I really wanted to learn to row, I decided not to waste the opportunity.

  “If you can teach me,” I responded, “I’ll stake you.”

  So it was that Thad instructed me and did so with some impatience — “No, hold your hands this way, not that.” But while he could be critical, there was no condescension.

  When he reminded me of the bet that he could teach me to row — which assuredly he had won — I gave him two dollars in gold grains. He went promptly to the gaming tables and lost it. I watched him do so.

  He may have lost the gold, but he’d won my friendship. Whenever I’d see him at the cove, he’d offer more lessons. But he never asked for money again.

  I also learned more about Thad.

  His mother and sister had yet to arrive from back east. His father was a printer for the city newspaper, the Alta California.

  Thad was not one to often smile or frown but maintained an amiable face with a mirror-smooth calmness. He spoke little, but when he did, it was with purpose. He was near my age, and I liked him because when I talked, he was willing to listen. In my life’s experience, not many boys cared about what I had to say.

  He, I think, enjoyed my chatter. I appreciated his calm, a kind of easy counterweight. To my exuberance, he had composure. In boat terms, that gave ballast to us both and kept our ship of friendship on an even keel.

  As I learned, Thad was far from perfect. While happily he did not drink, he, like most everyone else in San Francisco, was fascinated by gambling.

  He loved to wander about the gambling halls — the Mercury saloon, being nearest his work, was his favorite. Once there, he would gaze upon the thousands of dollars’ worth of stacked coins and heaped gold grains. By then I had learned that his family had been quite poor in Maine. His father’s coming to California — much as with my father — was an act of desperation. Thad once told me the piles of San Francisco money and gold were the nearest sight of Paradise he might ever get.

  Thad would take his weekly wages and play the most popular games, faro and monte. These were card games of chance and seemed to require less skill than guesswork, which is to say luck. They were fast games, and money came and went rapidly. Sometimes Thad won, once as much as a hundred dollars. More often he would lose. It was when he played that he showed the most emotion. I came to see he loved the elation of taking risks. At times, I even felt obliged to trail after him, to make sure he did not throw away all his wages.

  “It’s a waste of money,” I kept telling him.

  “Taking chances,” he returned, “adds excitement. And I just might win big.”

  Spending more time with Thad meant I spent less time with Jacob, which caused my brother to become unhappy about this friendship.

  I explained to Jacob that Thaddeus was not my sweetheart. “There are few girls here,” I said. “And they are too snobbish to be friends with me, dismayed by my muddy boots and hard work. Thad accepts who I am.”

  “I don’t like him,” said Jacob.

  “Why?”

  “Always going to the Mercury to gamble.”

  “Not that much, and I keep him from doing more.”

  Jacob, who could always find something to worry about, said, “What’s going to happen if Thad gets hold of the money Father left us and gambles it away?”

  “I won’t let it happen,” I insisted.

  “But what if he does?”

  “Jacob,” I repeated with some anger, “it won’t happen!”

  Then came Monday, November 26, 1849. Rain had fallen for five straight days. When it finally paused, the mud was, in places, four feet deep. On California Street, a mule had tripped and drowned in the mire.

  That early evening, Jacob was sitting outside our tent, staring out over the bay. He was whistling a sad melody over and over again, while continually toying with that election token Father had given him. It was damp and chilly. The rain was pattering down, like the tip-tapping of nervous fingers.

  Having something to tell him, I sat down next to him. “What’s that song you are whistling?”

  “It’s called ‘I Often Think of Writing Home.’” He turned the token over a few times. “I heard some miners singing it at the post office.”

  “It’s a sad song,” I said.

  After being quiet for a while, he said, “Look at all those ships.” He was gazing down at Rotten Row. “There must be five hundred of them now. Just sitting there. Like me. A couple are about to go east. Wish I was going.”

  Having learned only to listen when he complained this way, I said nothing.

  He went on. “I heard ship captains are offering tons of money to hire on sailors so they can sail back east. Except no one wants to go. Some captains are even going to crimp for crews.”

  I asked, “What’s crimp mean?”

  “Captains who kidnap people to get sailors. Least I’d go somewhere.”

  “Jacob,” I cried with exasperation, “no one is going to kidnap you.”

  “See that ship?” He pointed to a two-masted ship, the kind called a brig. “She’s the Yankee Sword. Going to sail for Panama in a few days. Some kid told me the captain is looking for a cabin boy.

  “I was thinking,” he went on, “I should sign up. Get away from here and make some money doing it. When I get back, Mother might be here. Or Father.”

  “They’ll never hire on a boy like you,” I told him.

  “Might,” he said almost wistfully
.

  I thought, I wish you would go, but, instantly ashamed of myself, I said, “I promise: Father and Mother will get here soon. Father said December first. That’s in five days.”

  “What if he doesn’t come?” Jacob said mournfully.

  I wasn’t going to say that I could hardly wait for Father to return so that I’d no longer have the care of him.

  Jacob was silent for a while before bursting out, “Tory, what if they don’t ever come?” It was his old unhappy refrain. He reached for his hat and touched his good-luck pelican feather, which he had kept all this time.

  “You’re feeling bad tonight, aren’t you?” I said.

  “’Bout as hollow as a barrel of air. And I hate the rain.”

  “It’ll stop.”

  “Yeah, but it’ll start again. Always does.”

  After a moment, I said, “Thad and I are going to a dance tonight. You might come.”

  “How you going to dance in all this mud?”

  I smiled. “By lifting my feet high.”

  He didn’t laugh and declined my invitation. I had never seen such despondency in him. Please, Father, I thought, come home. You’ve just five more days.

  I didn’t press Jacob to come to the dance. Looking forward to the evening’s frolic, I had no need of an unhappy younger brother stepping on my heels. The truth is, I was glad I was getting away from him.

  I FETCHED UP A DRESS, MADE SURE IT WAS MOSTLY clean, and for the first time in many a day, put it on. I even scrubbed my face and brushed out my hair. I had to smile. I had forgotten what a pleasure it was to dress as a young lady.

  When Thad came down the hill to our tent, he looked at me and with surprise in his voice said, “You look real pretty.”

  I truly believe I blushed.

  The dance was held at the El Dorado Hotel. I beg you to recall my Providence dance lessons and all the rules of conduct there. This San Francisco dance was altogether different.

  When Thad and I got there, the gambling tables had been pushed to one side. A fiddler and a banjo player were seated on the bar playing music, pausing only now and then to dive, like horses into their feeder bags, into buckets of drink.

  “What kind of music is that?” I asked Thad.

  “The polka. All the rage.”

  It seemed wild: great wide steps, with much whirling about, all at a rapid rate. Many people were cavorting, but since there were not many women (or girls) in San Francisco, most of the men were dancing with men. Nor were these men dressed in fashion as in Providence, but in their regular miner’s garb. I would like to say that at least they were clean. Not so. As for noise, the carrying-on brought nothing but constant caterwauling — and no cats in sight. Rather continual hooting, hollering, and shouting, sometimes screams of elation as well. As for drinking: bottles, jugs, and barrels, constantly lifted and imbibed. Not tea, either, but not by me or Thad.

  No sooner did I appear at the dance room’s threshold than I was truly rushed. No dance cards here. It seemed as if three-quarters of the men asked me to dance. To my relief, Thad held them off, at least at first, while he commenced to teach me how to do that wild polka.

  As for the polka, it was a dance designed for Thad’s long legs, sharp elbows and knees. It was as if he came to a new life as a whirligig. As he spun me about, I became breathless, altogether hiddy-giddy. Yet the look on Thad’s face was, as always, perfectly calm.

  “Can’t you ever smile some?”

  “Thought I was,” he declared. I truly believe he didn’t know how.

  While I danced at least thirty times with Thad, I also danced with thirty other men, who, let it be said, treated me with great respect.

  All in all, nothing, nothing like Mrs. Coldbrett’s Academy of Dancery. It was a riot set to music, though I could barely hear the tunes.

  I loved it.

  In my exuberance after the dance, as Thad and I walked back to my tent, we made plans that, since he had the next day off, we’d go down-bay in the morning and do some fishing and crabbing. Without much eagerness, I added, “I suppose I should ask Jacob.”

  “Do you have to?” said Thad.

  “Think so,” I returned, but I was annoyed; with Thad or Jacob, I cannot exactly say.

  When I got back to the tent, exhausted but happy, I stepped right behind my curtain, glad Jacob was asleep so neither of us was obliged to talk. In any case, I wished to recall the evening alone. Once on my bed, I believe I redanced every dance. How wonderful to rollick.

  In the morning, I got up early, reclaimed my miner’s garb, bent over Jacob, and told him where Thad and I were heading. “Want to come?”

  “No,” he said, rolling away from me.

  He was being, as usual, bad-tempered, making it clear he wished to have nothing to do with Thad. I, still full of my elation from the night before, thought, Why should I let Jacob diminish my joy?

  I made one of my quick resolutions: I had done my duty. Let him sleep.

  Shortly thereafter, Thad arrived at our tent. It being yet partly dark, he had brought his oil-lit lantern.

  We went down to the cove.

  After selecting a boat which had oars, Thad and I headed down-bay.

  I don’t know how many miles we both rowed, or how long it took, but we caught four salmon and fetched up a basket of crabs. With no rain or fog and a warm sun, it proved an altogether charming day. How blessed is blue sky.

  Let it be said I was quite aware that I could never have spent such a time back east. A frothy dance. A morning float down the calm bay. Fishing. Crabbing. With a boy who was a friend. Next day, I’d work with Mr. Lyall, a carpenter, and make money, since he was constantly building houses. How fine it all was. I felt as if I were no longer the person I had been in Providence. I had achieved all the independence I could ever want. My spirits were so elevated, I raised my arms high and called out, “I love San Francisco!”

  “Ayuh,” said Thad, his Maine way of saying yes.

  All the same, I felt obliged to return to Jacob. “We should get back,” I said.

  But no sooner did we start than what did I do? Rowing hurriedly, I snagged an oar on a rock so that it snapped in two.

  Thad jumped into the water and, being a good swimmer, retrieved the lost half, then climbed back into our boat, dripping wet.

  I used my knife (the one Father had given me) and tried to whittle a new blade from the stump of the remaining broken oar.

  “Let me do that,” said Thad.

  Frustrated, I gave the knife over, and though it was sharp, his efforts were no better than mine. So it was that we had to work our way to town with but one full oar, paddling the boat like a canoe. At times the tide and currents ran against us. Getting back to the cove seemed to take as long as sailing to California from back east.

  It must have been close to midnight, then, when Thad and I, holding our catch in our hands, trudged uphill to my tent. Thad’s lantern had long expired. There was just enough moonlight to make our way.

  Thad set down the basket of crabs he had been carrying. I flipped the tent flap open and poked my head into the deeper darkness.

  “Jacob,” I called. “Sorry I’m so late. Our oar broke. We had to paddle home. But look: we caught some fish and crabs. Jacob?”

  There being no response, I looked closer. Jacob was not in his bed.

  I BACKED OUT OF THE TENT. “JACOB’S NOT HERE.”

  “You sure?” Thad poked his head in, only to retreat. “Nope,” he said. “Not here.”

  Doubting myself, I looked a second time. Jacob was not there.

  “Where do you think he went?” Thad asked.

  “Must have got tired waiting for me and went to a friend.”

  Though I said that, I knew my brother had few friends and those he had were not people I knew. I did look up and down the hill, but as far as I could see, the dreary, muddy street-paths were desolate. Nearby tents were dark. A tent farther off, lit from the inside, glowed. But I didn’t think Jacob, being shy, was likel
y to seek refuge with strangers. I felt uneasy.

  Thad said, “Want to find him?”

  Across the way, Señor Rosales’s restaurant, where Jacob often was, stood closed down for the night. Since the café had no door, I crossed over and peeked inside. Señor Rosales was asleep in his coffin. There was no sign of Jacob.

  “He’ll be back,” I said, feeling more annoyed than anything.

  Thad said, “Got to go. My old man will be fretting. I’d bet you’re right: he’ll show up in the morning.”

  I didn’t take the bet, but I gave Thad two fish. “Your share. And take the crabs. Jacob doesn’t like them.”

  Thad pushed his fingers through the salmon gills and hefted the basket. “Guess I need my lantern,” he said.

  I hung it over his free fingers. “Sorry about that oar.”

  “Nothing,” he said, then stepped away through the mud. As he went he lifted the fish and let their tails wave goodbye. “Got work tomorrow,” he called.

  “Me too,” I called back. “But we need to replace that oar. When I get some time, I’ll come down to your store and get one.” I watched him move uphill and soon disappear.

  I stood before the tent, thinking about Jacob, where he might be. Downhill, I saw that Portsmouth Square, the center of the city, was yet abloom with lights along with shouts of men, and music too. Since my brother had no affection for gambling or drinking I was sure he had not gone to such places. Besides, at that late hour, I didn’t think it was safe for me to go there alone.

  All this meant I had no idea — and, let it be said, no great desire — to seek Jacob out. All the same, I kept wondering, Where is he?

  Standing in the darkness, the chill wind rising, I turned back to the tent and stared into it. This was something that Jacob had never done before. Of course, I had to acknowledge, I’d never come back so late, either. I recalled that though I had told him where I was going that morning, he had been sleepy and might not have heard. A twinge of self-blame reminded me I had not made certain he’d heard me.