by Rebecca Tope
‘And yet?’ interrupted Fanny impatiently. ‘Where is the disadvantage? What more are you trying to say?’
‘What indeed? Perhaps it is all clear and simple, after all. I broke the habit of many years, and it was hard. Walking in here, and catching the perfumes of your business, the soft silks and satins, reminds me powerfully of what I have given up. Now if I catch the eye of passing men, it is to no avail. I cling to these foolish garments from old habit, knowing I must discard them and clothe myself in the drabs of an ageing woman. Many would say I have just made the greatest mistake in a life that has been misdirected from the first.’
‘You are handsome yet,’ said Carola. ‘Why give up so soon?’
‘Why indeed? Just as the world is gripped by gold fever and there are fortunes being made at this very moment.’
‘Which you have seen for yourself,’ said Carola eagerly.
‘I have seen it, in all its fantastical madness.’ The woman fumbled in a velvet reticule and brought forth a shining yellow nugget. ‘I keep this to remind me. It was the first time I was paid in crude ore. Feel it for yourself.’ She handed it to the girl. Carola hefted it in the palm of her hand, then stroked it with a fingertip. ‘Is it not beautiful,’ Marybelle sighed. ‘Of all the bounties and wonders of this world, gold is the greatest. It comes pure and shining from the ground, and lends itself to being worked as mankind wishes. I have sat close to a group of prospectors, as they converse around their fires at night, and listened to their tales of discovery. They are drunk on the magic of it, as well as on the spirits they buy with it. They are like little children on Christmas morning.’ She sighed again. ‘But they will quickly turn into red-eyed monsters, frantic with greed. They will fight amongst themselves, and turn brutal. The gold will one day all be gone, and they will be left staring about in bewilderment. I did not wish to witness that day – which might come sooner than anybody thinks. I have amassed my own little fortune, and now I leave the younger ones to exploit the prospectors.’
Fanny tried to imagine the scenes, with little success. She understood the rudiments of how was gold discovered and what had to be done to extract it from the ground. She knew that ordinary people really were permitted to simply find it and keep it for themselves, like picking wild berries and mushrooms. But still she could not believe it was real. Her impression of California was coloured by images of unruly Mexicans, arrogant politicians and uncomfortably hot weather. Californians were bullies, gamblers, drunks and now, it seemed, profiteers. They were greedy and selfish, forcing all Oregon commerce to pass through their hands. On all sides there was a perpetual exasperation with their southern neighbours, born of a continuing dependence. If everyone in California were to become rich with gold, that would only render them all the more unsavoury.
‘You chose wisely,’ she told Marybelle. ‘As we made the same choice, way back in Missouri. My father never doubted that the Oregon Trail offered the finest future for us all and he was right.’
Marybelle shook her head ruefully. ‘You know the things they say about the Oregon families? Dull unambitious farmers, taking few risks and recreating the homelands of England and Germany. Those with any character turned south towards a brighter bigger life.’
‘Like the Donner Party from our wagon train,’ said Fanny. ‘Only to perish in the snow.’
‘You knew them?’ Marybelle’s eyes widened. ‘I have just this past week been reading again of their tragedy, in an old journal. It does not bear thinking of, those poor people.’
‘My sister was friendly with the Reed girl for a little while. It was many months before we heard what had befallen them.’
‘Our newspapers went crazy over that story. It already has the character of a legend.’
‘Then Oregon will create its own legends,’ said Carola. ‘Beginning with the lovely Misses Francesca and Carlotta, who make every single man happy.’
‘You check their marital status?’
Carola laughed. ‘Not really. But this town is small. A married man would quickly find himself exposed and castigated if he were to enter our door. It takes little effort from us to ensure our customers are lonesome wanderers. Trappers, traders, adventurers, starved of the touch of warm skin.’ She stopped herself and waved a white hand airily. ‘And so forth,’ she concluded.
‘And they show due appreciation, I trust. They do not find any cause for dissatisfaction?’
‘Not one has objected to our charges. A few complain of the delay when we’re busy.’
Marybelle scanned the room, with a little frown. ‘Little by way of entertainment,’ she judged. ‘You risk them fighting, without distraction. When their blood is up, it takes the merest spark to ignite them.’
‘Hugo dislikes any hint of violence,’ said Fanny, reaching for the great dog and fondling his ears. ‘He is our policeman.’
‘Curious how diverse two adjacent territories can be,’ Marybelle mused. ‘I should never have believed it before seeing with my own eyes.’
Fanny had almost despaired of hearing what their visitor really wanted to say. There was a But hovering in the air, more and more faintly. The woman had offered all her favourable observations, along with a small crumb of personal history. Yet there was more – some kind of warning, it had seemed. It irritated Fanny like grit in her boot and yet she saw no way of shaking it out into the open.
‘The town of Portland grows apace,’ said Marybelle suddenly. ‘With parlours and boarding houses and talk of yet another newspaper, it is set to overtake Oregon City, with the better riverside and docks. I stayed three days there, before moving on. Curious, the way humanity so rapidly establishes itself in the same familiar patterns. Ten years since, it had barely even a name. Now it promises to be the new Richmond – or perhaps I should say Philadelphia. A handsome city in the making, in any event.’
‘We have not seen it,’ admitted Carola. ‘The only way is by river, and Fanny dislikes to travel on water.’
Marybelle shook her head. ‘The world looks better when seen from water,’ she asserted. ‘And this is a land of rivers and falls, for the Lord’s sake.’
‘No more than many another,’ Fanny argued. ‘After months of crossing an everlasting succession of rivers with oxen and wagons, they have somewhat lost their charm for me. I intend to keep my feet on dry land from this time on.’
‘Now, young ladies, I must take myself off. I am glad to have met you.’ She pulled her mouth into a tight line, as if resisting a painful thought. ‘It has surprised me to hear the way you talk.’
It seemed to Fanny that Carola wilfully misunderstood. ‘Fanny speaks with the tongue of the east, with a dash of the Old Irish from her people. And I am cursed with the strains of Charleston for the rest of my days, I fear.’
‘I refer to your words, not the voice with which you utter them,’ Marybelle corrected. ‘Your confidence is so very admirable.’
‘And even yet you cannot tell us the reason for your reservations,’ said Fanny with a burst of impatience. ‘I can see it on your face that you think us reckless in some way.’
‘That is the truth. I cannot say the words. I have not the skill, nor the right. It is not for the likes of me to set you straight. It may not be the same for you.’ She raised herself from the cushions with an effort, putting one hand to the small of her back with a low moan.
‘Are you ill?’ asked Carola. Hugo watched the woman closely as she moved across the room.
‘I trust not. There is a pain in here which gnaws me. But it has been less severe in the past days. Perhaps if I could pay a quick visit to your privy before I leave?’
She returned looking pale, rearranging her skirts restlessly. ‘Does this town boast a doctor?’ she asked. ‘I fear I am in need of a consultation.’
The girls looked blank. ‘There is no medical man that we know of,’ said Carola. ‘Although there must be a sawbones attached to the Mill, I suppose. They are prone to so many accidents. A woman tends those in childbed, as well as laying
out the dead. Margaret, her name is. You can find her close by the mission, if you ask.’
‘What ails you?’ asked Fanny. An odour was rising from Marybelle, forcing its way through her perfume. A sweetish smell that brought memories of rotting meat, and caught at the stomach.
‘I am discharging something noxious. It has not happened for some days now, and I thought it gone. I will seek out this Margaret. She could be of help, no doubt.’
‘Could it be the clap?’ asked Carola. Fanny thought of the possible contamination of their privy, and how she would go and pour lye into it when Marybelle had gone.
‘I think not. It is something deeper within me. A purgative will surely set me right again. I have never known significant sickness in my life.’
‘It would be a pity if it upset your plans,’ sympathised Carola.
‘I shall not permit such an interruption. I feel well enough in myself.’ But the fear was unmistakable on her face.
The girls watched with mixed feelings as Marybelle took her leave. Fanny’s belly was curdled with the smell and the veiled warnings they had been given. Carola appeared relieved to be rid of the woman, whilst yet curious as to her life experiences.
‘She is very sick, I think,’ said the older girl. ‘We had a neighbour with something similar. I recall that stink. She had it a few weeks before her death. My mother made me take flowers and gifts to her in the last days.’
‘She might return,’ worried Fanny. ‘She will see us as a friendly shelter in a strange town.’
‘We must hope not. Margaret offers bed care in her own home, I understand, for those in need of it. She is creating the Mill’s first hospital, to meet a need.’
Fanny was faintly reassured. On all sides, people were establishing the first instances of so many essential services – including themselves. Blacksmith, pharmacist, dressmaker, livery, cooper, and others were all diligently building up a settlement which would meet needs and form a foundation for a thriving community. Her own father was in the business of producing every kind of harness and saddle, in Oregon City. Already he had four employees, and an emporium displaying his wares. Her mother wrote to her every week with news of burgeoning success, as well as the frustratingly slow progress on the homestead, ten miles east of the city.
‘What does your mother believe you to be doing?’ Carola had asked, many months before. ‘You surely did not tell her the truth? Are you not afraid she will pay us a visit one day?’
‘I am proprietor of a salon, where ladies come to choose fabrics for frocks and furnishings. I write to her of silk and brocade, fur muffs and feathered hats. She has no time for journeying, with my father in town so much. I have promised to pay a visit in the springtime.’
‘Word will reach her,’ warned Carola darkly. ‘There is no chance of secrecy for long.’
‘You’re wrong. I am Francesca, here in Chemeketa. And Oregon City is many miles away. Besides, who would speak to my mother of such creatures as we are? It is not a subject for polite conversation.’
‘Your father, then. He is a man, and men do certainly discuss such matters.’
Fanny had shrugged. ‘What will be will be,’ she said.
Chapter Six
The weeks following Marybelle’s visitation saw an increased falling away of business, which at first the girls took personally. What had they done wrong? What harmful gossip had been spread about them? When a stray trapper enlightened them, they groaned at their own foolishness. ‘All gone for the gold,’ said the man, rolling his eyes. ‘Barely a man left on the Territory, at this rate.’ He laughed. ‘Now which of you fine fillies will attend to my wishes, then? Seems a pity to have to make my pick.’ He raised a hopeful eyebrow, looking from one to the other. They both knew what was in his mind. It was not the first time a customer had suggested a frolic with both girls together. Quite how it might work, they still found a puzzle.
‘Take your time,’ smiled Carola, deliberately missing his meaning.
From that day on, the streets grew steadily quieter, with almost all the single men gone. Women and children could not make up for the absences, and the strange quietness was unsettling. No shouts or cracking whips, considerably less mud on the street and even the all-pervading whiff of male piss had diminished. A makeshift urinal at the poorer end of the street had been emitting its distinctive smell more and more as the weather grew warmer, with townsfolk complaining more loudly each day.
Carola and Fanny kept anxiety at bay for another couple of weeks, pretending that things would quickly improve. Wagon trains were still making the trek from Missouri and Illinois, although none would arrive until much later in the year. The dawning implications of the tangible fact of untapped gold reserves created a perpetual buzz of excitement on all sides. The talk, which had begun four or five months earlier was now louder and more certain than before. Husbands were leaving their wives, with emphatic promises of wealth beyond their dreams on their return.
‘But when?’ wondered Carola. ‘How long does it take to dig the stuff out and translate it into greenbacks? We have seen only two people with gold in their pockets, after all this time.’
A bank had appeared in the main street, with a large notice announcing that it would accept gold dust, and transfer it east if required. By early February, there was no sign that this service had been used even once. ‘We are too far to the north,’ Carola complained. ‘We will always lag far behind the centre of the action.’
Fanny remembered the pioneer prospector who had made his modest fortune early and escaped the rush with his pockets full. Had he not made some comment to the same effect?
‘Perhaps we could take a short vacation?’ she suggested. ‘While it’s quiet. We could pay a visit to my family. I should like to see Lizzie and Nam again.’
Was this true, she asked herself doubtfully. Whilst not aware of any conscious nostalgia for any of her sisters, there remained a lingering despondency or regret at being so very absent from the family circle. How were the young ones faring? Lizzie would be sixteen and Naomi ten now. Growing into young women without either of their elder sisters there to guide them, they might feel bereft. Perhaps Charity paid regular visits, although this seemed unlikely. She would be fully occupied with her own family, and the distance was at least a half day’s ride away. And Reuben? Her crippled brother, who had gone for a soldier and returned with one arm unusable, would be hard pressed with work of whatever nature he could manage. Her mother’s letters, seldom more than a single page in length, gave scant detail of the lives they were living day by day.
‘I shall be so glad to see how they’re faring,’ she said again a few days later, when the idea had hardened into a firm plan.
‘Am I invited, then?’ asked Carola.
‘Naturally. You are my business partner. They would be enchanted to meet you. Just promise me to be discreet. Speak to them of bales of cloth and the difficulties associated with the brigs and barks, their delays and excessive charges.’
Carola gave a huff of disbelief. ‘How should I know of such things?’
‘Be inventive.’
‘When do you think of going?’
‘In three days’ time. I can send a letter ahead, to give them warning. We might take two days or more to reach the homestead.’
‘And how will we pass the nights?’
‘Seek hospitality,’ said Fanny, without due consideration. ‘I believe Mr Foster offers shelter for travellers, even in the quiet season where there are no wagon trains. He is not directly on our path, but I trust that there are others who follow his example.’
Mr Foster was well known across the region. He had taken the role of gatekeeper at the end of the Barlow Road, where travellers were required to pay a toll for their passage. A year or so earlier, he had set himself up on a homestead, of the usual square mile, and was currently engaged in developing a store full of provisions and equipment for new settlers. The Collins homestead was some five miles south of the Foster farm. Fanny’s fathe
r supplied leatherwork to the store. Her mother had given a very full account of this arrangement in a recent letter.
Fanny had already visited the livery stables and agreed to hire a horse and buggy for three weeks, at a price of fifteen dollars. The horse was a bay gelding with a crooked flash down its nose. ‘Bring him back in good fettle and I shall refund ye five dollars,’ said the man.
It was a while before the question of Hugo forced itself onto their attention. ‘He must come too,’ insisted Fanny. ‘There is no other possibility.’
‘Can his soft feet bear such a long distance?’ Carola had never conceived much liking for the animal, citing his delicate pads as one of many reasons to doubt his prowess.
Fanny had assumed without thinking that the dog would ride with them in the trap. With closer attention, she understood that this was never going to happen. While Carola tolerated him, she was averse to his touch. His size ordained that there would be a crush in the vehicle, and additional weight on the gelding. ‘He will have to use his legs,’ Fanny decided. ‘The ground is softer now and his feet are hardened.’
Carola simply rolled her eyes as if to say there had never been the slightest doubt that the animal must travel under his own powers.
And so they set out, with bundles containing fresh garments and sufficient food and drink for a long day. A trail had been created alongside the Willamette river, leading to Oregon City. It was generally well enough used to ensure company along the way. But five or six miles before the town, it was necessary to take a right-hand fork, and from there the trails and trackways dwindled to near invisibility. Signposts had been erected, and Fanny remembered well enough how to find the Collins homestead.
