Janet Quin-Harkin

by Fools Gold

  “And yours,” Libby replied, lifting her own mug.

  It was almost like a dream, she thought, to be sitting opposite Gabe eating oysters and sipping champagne. Surely, she’d wake and find herself curled in the narrow bed with the stove almost out and cold beans for breakfast.

  “So where are you going now?” she asked him, her voice slightly unsteady.

  “If I make it back to Hangtown successfully and do not get buried under any new drifts, I’m heading down south to the southern mines,” he said. “I hear the weather is milder down there and it doesn’t rain as much. Also the rivers aren’t running as high and the men are still digging, which means they have gold in their pockets.” He scowled at her reproachfully. “Don’t sigh like that. You know that the leopard can’t change his spots. You are not going to turn me into a preacher, especially when I have landed myself in gambler’s heaven.”

  “So the other places aren’t as hostile as Hangtown?” Libby asked.

  A broad smile spread over Gabe’s face. “Oh, I’ve made a few hasty exits and I have a bullet hole in my hat to prove one of them, but on the whole, I find the men lining up for the privilege of having their gold taken away. I made five hundred dollars one Sunday, if you can believe.”

  “Gabe! And on the Sabbath too,” Libby said, shocked.

  Gabe laughed again. “Sorry, my dear, but in the mines Sunday is gambling day, not church. Anyway, doesn’t the Bible say he who hesitates is lost?”

  “I think that was Benjamin Franklin, not the Bible,” Libby said, laughing too. “You really are a rogue, Gabe Foster.”

  “And you are really glad to see me. I can see it in your eyes.”

  “I’d be glad of any friendly face at the moment,” Libby said guardedly. “When you’ve been alone as long as I have, stranded up here with just two little girls for company and knowing that you dare not make friends with any of the miners in case they get the wrong idea.”

  Amusement flickered in Gabe’s eyes. “By the way, do you know what they call you in town?” he asked. “Lady Muck.”

  “I know,” Libby said, “and I’m glad that they do.”

  “How come?”

  “As long as they think of me as an unapproachable, stuck-up snob, I’m fairly safe from unwanted attentions. Lady Muck is my shield—that and Hugh.”

  Gabe took a long, slow drink of champagne. “And if you don’t find him this summer? You’ll go back home?”

  “I suppose so,” Libby said slowly. “This is no place for a woman, or for little children.”

  “I thought your father had forbidden you to darken his door again.”

  “Maybe my absence will soften him,” she said, “and Mother would want me back. Maybe I’ll go and claim Hugh’s house in England and start a new life there with the children.” She stared at the red glow from the open stove door. “And you? Will you go back to New Orleans when you’ve made your pile?”

  “I don’t think so,” Gabe said. “I’ve nothing to go back for. I think this is the future. I’ll make my fortune and turn respectable businessman, if a bullet doesn’t get me first.”

  “Don’t,” she said, shivering.

  “Let’s not talk about the future,” he said. “Look, you’re not eating your oysters. Here,” he stabbed an oyster with the fork and held it up to her mouth. “Come on, open wide,” he said. The gesture was somehow so intimate that she felt a shiver go all the way down her spine.

  “Shouldn’t you be getting back?” she asked. “It takes a good hour to walk down, even in fine weather.”

  “You’re not thinking of sending me back tonight?” Gabe asked in horror.

  “You were not thinking of staying here? There’s only this one room.”

  “And?”

  “What will people say?”

  “There are not too many people around to see, are there? The nearest camp must be down on the creek.”

  “But they knew in town that you were coming up here. If you don’t show up until morning, there will be talk.”

  “So? Let them talk.”

  “But you don’t understand, Gabe. If they think I’ve entertained one male visitor for the night, then I’m vulnerable. Any of them could try their luck.”

  Gabe laughed. “Let’s hope they’re luckier than I’ve been,” he said.

  “It’s no joking matter,” Libby said, getting up and walking across the room to his coat. “I’m all alone here, completely alone, and I don’t know how long I can keep going like this. So please go. You’ll be able to follow your footprints. You’ll get back quickly. . . .”

  Gabe came over to her and took his hat from her hands. “Very well, if that’s what you want, I’ll go. I’ll probably be able to find my way down to town again, although I think it’s beginning to snow harder. If I fall into a drift, or lose the trail and they find my frozen body in the morning, don’t worry about it. Just think of it as the ultimate sacrifice I made for you. Goodbye, Mrs. Grenville.” He took his coat from her and started for the door. “Thank you for a most pleasant visit.”

  “No, wait,” Libby called, grabbing his arm.

  “You don’t want me to go after all?”

  “Yes. No. I don’t know,” Libby said with a sigh. “I don’t want anything to happen to you, but I’m scared if you stay.”

  Gabe’s eyes narrowed. “After all those nights on the trail when I could have crept into your wagon any time, you’re still scared of me? Don’t you trust me, Libby?”

  “It’s not that,” Libby said, turning her face away, hoping he wouldn’t see the blush rising in her cheeks. “I don’t trust me.”

  “Ah,” Gabe said slowly. “So Lady Muck really is human. That’s comforting to know.”

  “Of course I’m human,” Libby said.

  “Then wouldn’t it be an act of humanity to allow a poor frozen traveller to sleep on your floor for the night?” Gabe asked, taking his coat from her. “See, I’ll spread out my coat over here and curl up in my little corner.” Very slowly and deliberately he spread out the coat on the floor. “There,” he said. He came over and sat beside the stove again. “Let’s talk some more, you and I. I’m sure you are starved for good conversation as you are for—other things.”

  “Yes,” she said hesitantly perching herself on the bench. “Sometimes one does get weary of talking only to children.”

  Gabe laughed. “You should see yourself, sitting up poker-faced and poker-backed as a schoolmistress. Relax, Libby. Let’s enjoy each other’s company while we can. We might never have this chance again.”

  “I know,” she said softly, “Do you think I don’t realize that? This is so hard for me, Gabe. Having you sitting here beside me and forcing myself to keep thinking of Hugh.”

  “Hugh’s not here right now, I am,” Gabe said. “You’ve been in my thoughts often, Libby Grenville. I can’t seem to forget that kiss, on the hillside, before we said goodbye. I expect you’ve forgotten all about it?”

  Libby looked down at the red glow of the stove and shook her head. “I’ve tried to make myself forget,” she said in a low voice. “I’ve tried not to think about you, Gabe.”

  “Libby,” Gabe said softly. He reached over and took her hand. “Do you know how lovely you look in the firelight? Your hair is glowing like spun gold. Do you know what you’re doing to me right now?”

  Libby pulled her hand away. “Don’t, Gabe,” she said. “Please don’t.” She got to her feet and turned away from him, her hands to her face.

  “Very well.” He rose to his feet too. “You don’t have to worry about me, Libby,” he said, gently touching her arm. “I don’t want to upset you. I’ll go over to my place in the corner, if that’s what you want.” She was conscious of his closeness, her hand still on his arm.

  “What I want and what is right are not always the same thing,” she said. “I’m still married until somebody tells me I’m not.”

  “Libby,” he said, gently stroking her cheek, “you’re trembling. Do you want me to
go to my corner now?”

  “You know I don’t,” she whispered, closing her hand over his hand that still rested on her cheek. Slowly he bent his head down to her, bringing his lips toward hers. Libby gave a shudder as his arms came around her. His lips were warm and demanding and she could feel his hands fumbling with the buttons at the back of her dress, but she had no power to resist him. She had never felt such overwhelming desire in her life. She was conscious of Gabe lowering her down onto his coat on the floor, his lips kissing a trail down her neck as he eased her dress over her shoulder.

  “I’ve wanted you from the moment I first saw you,” he murmured. He moved to unbutton his pants while his lips still played over her shoulder, nuzzling down to her breast.

  Libby was lost in a red haze of desire. She was not conscious of the hardness of the earth floor beneath them or of the cold air blowing in under the canvas wall. All she knew was that she felt as she had never felt before and that this man was awakening her body like a skilled musician fine-tuning an instrument. Then she was aware of something else. She heard a whimper come from the bed on the other side of the room and a little voice called, “Mama? Are you there?”

  Hastily, they scrambled apart and Libby righted her dress. “What is it, darling?” she called back.

  “Mama, I had a bad dream,” came Bliss’s voice. “Are you coming to bed now? I can’t sleep unless you’re here.”

  Libby looked at Gabe and gave a rueful smile. “It’s no use,” she said. “I don’t think fate wants us to be together.”

  “They’ll go back to sleep,” Gabe whispered.

  Libby shook her head. “I can’t, Gabe,” she said. “Not with them in the room. I don’t know what came over me.”

  “I do. You finally admitted that you’re a woman for a few seconds,” he said.

  She touched his arm. “Don’t be angry. Try to understand.”

  He got to his feet. “I think I will try and make it back into town tonight after all,” he said.

  “But Gabe—all that snow.”

  “I need to cool off,” he said shortly, “and all that snow is the next best thing to a cold shower.”

  He put on his coat and pulled his hat down over his ears, then walked out into the night.

  CHAPTER 21

  THE JANUARY SNOWSTORM proved to be the the last gasp of winter. After a few days all trace of snow melted and the wind that blew in from the west was already mild, scented with blossom. New grass began to appear on the hillsides and sun-bleached gold of last year’s grasses was replaced with soft green. Rainstorms came, but not so frequently and cleared to blue sky and cloudless sunshine. The midday sun was warm enough to make Libby and the children take off layers of clothing and the first green sprouts showed in the potato patch. Libby weeded and watched as if she were guarding her children.

  Although the weather down in the diggings was mild and springlike, the creeks and rivers still ran high with melting snow from the higher mountains and many of the miners were still idle. It was a hard time for them; no gold was coming in and game was getting scarcer all the time. The boredom and enforced idleness made some of them drink more than they should or spend their days playing cards. Others resorted to playing outlaw, riding around the countryside and taking what they needed from the more prosperous. It was a rare day when Libby did not hear shots echoing through the hills and never knew whether they came from deer hunting or a violent quarrel or marauding bandits. She always kept the rifle loaded, just in case.

  Food was becoming a problem. They soon finished the dried meat Gabe brought and an occasional dove or quail was not enough for the three of them. In spite of practice, Libby was still not good enough to shoot a rabbit. She noticed that the girls were becoming listless.

  “Why don’t you go out and play?” she would ask.

  “I don’t feel like it today,” came the tired answer and Libby would watch them in concern.

  The concern changed to alarm when Eden complained, “My teeth hurt me,” and Libby found her gums were bleeding.

  “And I got boo-boos on my legs,” Bliss complained, annoyed that Eden was getting the attention. She held up her skirts and Libby noticed that there were far too many bruises for the number of times she fell or hurt herself. There was a nagging ulcer on her own shin and for the first time she tied it in with her children’s problems.

  To the children she tried not to show any alarm, but later she went for a walk alone, striding through the woodland, trying to get her thoughts in order. It was imperative that they get a better diet, but there was no money and no real hope of getting money until the miners went back to work. All the diggings on the creeks nearby were still idle and the men had all the time in the world to do their own washing and mending and cooking.

  “I have to get some work,” Libby thought desperately. “I can’t wait for the potatoes to grow. Somebody must hire me.”

  She left the children in the cabin, feeling that they would be safe enough if they stayed inside, and set off down to Hangtown. The path was still muddy in places and she had to wade across several streams that had not been there in the fall. She made it with no mishap, meeting nobody on the route. The town had grown since she saw it last. Most of the tents had been replaced with sturdy log structures. There were now three saloons instead of one and the fine new hotel was complete. When she sought out her friend Mark Hopkins, she found that he had moved from tent to wooden store.

  “I see your plan’s progressing on schedule,” she said, looking around the well-stocked shelves.

  Hopkins spread his hands wide in a gesture of hopelessness. “Now if only the water would go down and the miners would get money to buy this stuff. I spent every penny of my profits to get all this up here. You’ve no idea what they are charging for freight these days.”

  “Almost as much as you are charging for these pants, I expect,” Libby said, picking up a new pair of blue overalls with a ten-dollar price tag.

  “Ah, well these are special pants,” Mark said. “They are made extra strong for the miners—and notice the little rivets at the seams and pockets. They’ll hold up through anything, at least that is what Mr. Levi Strauss down in San Francisco promises me.”

  Libby looked out to the empty street. “So I take it you haven’t reached the stage of needing an assistant yet?”

  “Not until some buyers appear,” he said. “How are you managing up there in the cabin?”

  “We’re keeping going, but only just,” Libby said. “We’re all beginning to suffer from lack of fresh food.”

  “You’re not the only ones,” Mark said. “What with the floods down in the valley and the bad trails, we haven’t had any shipments of fruit or vegetables since Christmas. You go to Herr Otto’s store and all he’ll offer you is rotten pork or green bacon. He’s even sold out of canned peaches at two dollars a can!”

  “Oh dear,” Libby said. “I was hoping to find some work down here and at least be able to buy food.”

  “The roads should be open soon,” Hopkins said, “and there are several new businesses in town, although I’m not sure you’d want to work in them—they are all saloons or gambling places and I really don’t see you as a bar girl.”

  “What about that big new hotel I saw?” Libby asked. “They must need maids and cooks there.”

  Hopkins shrugged. “I hear the owner went down to San Francisco and hired straight from there,” he said. “He’s got Chinese help and he probably only pays them room and board.”

  “Who is the owner?” Libby asked.

  “Not a very pleasant man. Name of Rival,” Mark said.

  “Sheldon Rival?” Libby asked. “I came across the plains with him. I wondered when he’d show up.”

  “He’s already made a fortune selling supplies on the new diggings up beyond Grass Valley, so I hear,” Hopkins said, “and now he’s building hotels and saloons in all the major towns. The man looks as if he aims to take over the whole gold country.”

  “I hope not,�
� Libby said. “He’s one of the most obnoxious, heartless individuals I’ve ever met. I’m glad I spoke to you before I went looking for a job at his hotel.”

  “I wouldn’t worry,” Mark said. “I hear he doesn’t run these places himself once he’s got them started up. He puts in managers and just checks on them from time to time. He’s having himself a mansion built, down towards Sacramento, well away from the primitive conditions at the diggings.”

  “As long as it’s well away from me,” Libby said. “I’ve seen quite enough of Mr. Rival to last me a lifetime.”

  She left Mark Hopkins’s store and came out into the main street. Although more buildings had sprung up, there had been no attempt made to relieve the squalor of the town. Castoff clothing, broken tools, and empty sardine cans littered the streets and there were still yawning potholes where men had hopefully mined for gold. It seemed that small-scale dry digging was still going on around town, for new pits had appeared and piles of gravel were mounting up behind and between buildings. But these pits were idle at the moment, probably because it was much harder to separate the gold without running water. This problem was obviously being addressed, as a series of flumes was being built. Men were working on high trellises as they constructed a wooden channel to carry water where they wanted it. Libby stared up at the ambitious wooden waterways and decided that they must have cost a fortune to build. Obviously, gold mining was no longer a one-man operation. It was already turning into big business.

  At one end of the town the sickly smell of incense came from the new Chinese quarter. Libby looked curiously at the expressionless Oriental faces as they walked past her, not seeming to notice her presence at all. Some of them were patiently working through the gravel which had been cast up by previous diggings. They squatted there, meticulously digging and sifting, then throwing away and digging some more. As Libby paused to watch, one of the men called out excitedly and held up something in his hand. She could see it looked like a good sized nugget. Immediately, the other Chinese came running over and started digging next to the lucky man. But Libby was not the only one who had witnessed the discovery. From the hotel porch several men materialized, strolling up to the Chinese digging, as if they had all the time in the world. When they reached the spot, however, they fanned out, encircling the diggers.