Whatever it was called, it was a big, wild, dangerous land. Bea had never seen anything like it, and she had often regretted insisting on coming along. To Kirk the trip was nothing short of sheer joy. His love of this land she hated was obvious. He had actually spoken to Indians along the way, and knew several of the rugged, dangerous-looking men who had visited the fort during the winter. He had hunted for meat and lived much as he had before he married Bea.
For Kirk the trip had been exciting, but Bea found the long journey to California difficult and miserable. She had feared losing one of the children to sickness during the horribly cold winter in the mountains. To make things worse, she had become pregnant again, and now she lay having her baby alone while Kirk was off digging and panning for gold.
She had learned to use a rifle, something she thought very unladylike, in order to protect her children. She often felt terror at night, listening to wolves howl and bears claw around the cabin looking for food. And there was always the threat of being harassed by lonely, woman-hungry men in these mountains, which were flooded with prospectors.
This was not the life she had planned, not what she had expected. Kirk had made certain promises to her, and he had not kept them, although he had sincerely tried. She knew he meant to do what he said, and that trying to find gold was his way of trying to give her a good life. But she had little faith in that dream, and now that Kirk was living in the mountains again, she feared she would never get him back to civilization.
She groaned with another pain, furious that she lay here alone while her husband was off on his own adventure, not caring that his wife could deliver at any time. Her anger increased even as her pain grew.
Kirk should be here. This crude cabin was a far cry from the pleasant little house in St. Louis, and here there were no supply stores, no doctors, not even another woman to talk to.
She could not help crying out then, and Irene ran into the bedroom. “Mommy,” she sobbed, touching Bea’s arm.
Bea tried to reassure her everything would be all right. She wished she had the strength to get up and build the fire, but the pains were too close together now. She feared she would die or faint, and the fire would go out, leaving the children cold and hungry. It was August, but at high elevations in the Sierras summer nights were freezing. It would be dark soon. Dark…wolves…bears.
She took Irene’s tiny hand in hers. “Find some…bread for Johnny,” she told the child. “Can you do that, Irene?”
The child nodded and scrambled back into the main room. Bea remembered little after that. Her pains grew closer together, and she fell into deep labor, hardly aware of anything around her. She vaguely remembered the baby being delivered, remembering pulling it to her breast and cleaning membrane from its eyes, nose and mouth, doing everything from natural motherly instinct. She covered the baby and held it next to her to keep it warm, letting it feed at her breast. She wasn’t even sure whether it was a girl or boy.
“Bea?”
She recognized Kirk’s voice. Bea opened her eyes to see him bent over her, his eyes teary with remorse.
“My God, Bea, I thought you weren’t due for another week or two. That’s what you told me.” With an aching heart Kirk saw the hatred and resentment in her eyes. He told himself it would go away in time, that she was just hurting and afraid.
“What are we doing here?” she said, her voice weak but the words bitter. “This isn’t…what you promised, Kirk.”
He closed his eyes and sighed, reaching toward her, but she moved her head as though she didn’t want him to touch her. He pulled his hand back. “Bea, I’m close, I’m sure of it. I’m doing this for you…for us.”
“Are you? It’s just…an excuse, Kirk…so you can live in these mountains again.”
“That’s not true. If I did plan to just live in the mountains, I’d be living in the Rockies. That’s where I like it best. I came here for the gold, Bea, and I’m going to find it. I swear I’ll find it.”
She closed her eyes, too weak and tired to argue for the moment. “I don’t want…any more children, Kirk…not for a long time. It’s…too hard out here. I’m afraid…they’ll die.” Her heart filled with alarm, and she pulled the blanket away. “The baby—”
“Let me see it.” Kirk gently took the child from her and examined it. “She’s fine, Bea. I’ll clean her up for you.”
So, Bea thought, it’s a girl. She wondered how long she had lain here, oblivious to anything around her.
“I’ve built up the fire,” Kirk was telling her. “Don’t worry about a thing. Irene and Johnny are just fine. They’re asleep now. When I’m through with the baby I’ll help you bathe and get you something to eat.” He started to leave the tiny bedroom.
“Kirk,” Bea spoke up. He turned to look at her, holding his tiny new daughter in one arm. “There must be…a town somewhere below. I want to go there. I’ll…find a way to get by…while you’re up here. The children and I…we can’t stay in these mountains any longer. It’s too dangerous.” She closed her eyes again. “Besides…it’s best if we’re apart for a while. I want no more pregnancies. Our money is already nearly used up. You can’t even provide for the children you already have.”
The remark cut deep. He wanted to shout at her, but this was not the time. “I’m trying, Bea, the only way I know how,” he answered. “If you want to go below, I’ll take you; but I’m telling you now that I’m going to find gold, and I’ll do more than just provide for you and the kids. You’ll live like a queen, better than that aunt and uncle of yours back in Kansas City. Maybe then you won’t regret marrying me.”
He watched for her reaction, but she made no reply. He knew she didn’t believe him, but he was determined to show her he could do it. “I’m sorry,” he added, “about you having the baby alone. I’m sorry I made you leave St. Louis, but someday you’ll be glad you did, Bea.” He swallowed back the hurt of her silence and turned away.
He carried his new daughter into the main room of the cabin, where he stopped to look down at little Irene, who slept quietly in a corner on a pile of deerskins. He watched her a moment, a picture of innocence and beauty. It was because of Irene that he was burdened with a wife and two more children, but he didn’t really mind, if only Bea wouldn’t look at him with such fury. He was trying his best to be a good husband. He would continue living this life that was so foreign to him, not just for Irene now, but for his son and his new daughter.
Secretly, in his heart, Irene would always remain special, because she was part Indian, a part of the life he had left behind. It was not that he loved her more than his other children. He just loved her in a different, special way. Half of her belonged to the land, to his past. He had never been quite sure it was right not to tell her of her Indian blood, but Bea had insisted, and for now Irene was too young to understand anyway. He had often wondered about her brother, Yellow Eagle, the son he would never know. It was far too late to tell Bea about the boy now. She had put up with enough. The knowledge that he had another child somewhere out on the open plains near the Rocky Mountains was something he would never share.
He turned to pour some heated water into a pan so that he could clean up his new daughter. Then he would bathe Bea, if she would let him touch her. Perhaps she would allow that much, but it was obvious it would be a long time before she let him back into her bed.
Bea looked up from her scrub board to greet another man bringing her his laundry. She was not sure her hands and arms and back could continue the aching, difficult task she had chosen, but at eight dollars for a dozen pieces of wash, she could not resist, no matter how hard it was on her.
It was already September 1850, and she had not heard from Kirk in four months. She and the children had spent another winter in the mountains before Kirk finally brought them in May to the small settlement called San Francisco. Right after the baby was born, he had discovered gold along a creek and had staked a claim there. Suddenly, again, there was no time to get his family down to civili
zation until another terrible, lonely winter had passed.
It had been a winter Bea hoped she could someday forget; more than that, she hoped she could find a way to forgive Kirk for keeping her in the mountains another nine months, nine months of hell, during which she and Kirk had made love only twice, if it could be called making love. Her heart had been so full of resentment that she had shown no emotion. She had literally prayed she would not get pregnant, and was grateful that the prayer had been answered.
Now Kirk was back in the mountains. He was intent not just on panning the placer gold, as it was called, but finding the mother lode, the source of the gold he had panned from the creek.
Bea wondered if he really intended to come back for her. Sometimes she regretted the way she had treated him before he left. She had been bitter and angry and had hardly told him good-bye. Some of her ill feelings had not fully left her. When she considered the possibility that her wandering husband had abandoned her, she grew even more angry. She worked much harder now just to survive than she had ever worked for her Uncle Jake.
She had three children to keep fed and clothed. Husband or no husband, she was determined to realize her dreams. Someday she would write to Cynthia and tell her what a rich woman she was, how much she had accomplished. If any woman could become wealthy on her own, these mining towns were the place to do it, if a woman was willing to work hard enough. Bea was so busy that she had hired a woman to watch the children while she scrubbed clothes all day long, every day.
It was back-breaking work, but in the three months she had been taking in wash, she already had three thousand dollars saved, which she kept hidden under a floorboard of their cabin. It was hardly better than the cabin in the mountains, except that this one at least had wood floors. The man who had owned it had already given up on mining. He missed his wife and children, whom he had left in Michigan. Kirk had paid the man ten dollars for the cabin and helped Bea move in their few belongings. He had left her fifty dollars—all the money he had—and had gone back into the Sierras.
Living was expensive in mining towns, and the fifty dollars had quickly vanished, mostly for food. Bea had been forced to find a way to feed her children and herself. Little Eleanor, the daughter to whom she had given birth in the mountains, was still breast feeding. Bea had begun taking in laundry for others, discovering that the men in these parts were willing to pay outrageous prices to get their clothes washed.
She had considered cooking for the miners, another lucrative business in these parts. But that would mean spending part of her profits on new supplies of food, on plates and silverware. The money she made taking in laundry was almost pure profit, since she could make her own soap. It was harder work, but the money was better.
The business had grown quickly, but her days were long and grueling. Doing wash meant carrying heavy buckets of water, keeping a fire going to heat the water, scrubbing clothes on a washboard until her knuckles were raw, hanging out clothes, and sometimes even pressing shirts. She washed by day and ironed at night, and she soon put little Elly on a bottle. She felt a little guilty having so little time for her babies, but she was determined that if Kirk did not come back for her, she would have a good life, even if she had to do it all on her own.
She took the bundle of laundry from the man who approached her and counted out the pieces, noticing again how callused and ugly her knuckles had become. The hard work was putting muscles on her where a woman shouldn’t have them. Having two babies in three years had changed her shape somewhat, and since she was already tall and big-boned, she knew when she looked in the mirror, even at nineteen, that she would never be dainty and feminine. The long, hard days were taxing what little beauty she once possessed, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t be rich. That was one dream anyone could realize if she wanted to work at it hard enough. Every time her back screamed with pain from carrying water and scrubbing for hours, she reminded herself how much money she was accumulating.
“Seventeen dollars,” she told the man. “You have twenty-six pieces here. I take gold coins, gold nuggets, or gold dust, and I get paid up front. You can pick up your clothes tomorrow.”
The man grumbled. “For those prices, I might as well buy all new clothes.”
“That’s your choice, sir. But I think you’ll find the price of new clothes is much higher. And don’t try to fool me with pyrite. I know the difference between fool’s gold and the real thing.”
“I’ll bet you do, lady,” the man answered, scowling as he took a leather pouch from his gear. He handed her ten dollars in gold coins, then gave her another pouch. “This is gold dust, a good ten dollars worth.”
Bea took the pouch and inspected its contents. “I’ll go weigh it,” she told the man. She took the pouch into the cabin, setting it on a little assayer scale she had purchased.
“More gold, Mommy?” Irene asked, her blue eyes wide with curiosity. She was four and a half years old now, a sweet, caring little girl who was always offering to help her mother with chores. Irene didn’t quite understand why her mother had to work so much that another lady had to watch her and her brother and sister. She missed her mother and wished Bea would spend more time with her.
“Yes, Irene,” Bea answered. “More gold. Someday soon we’ll have lots of money and live in a pretty house. Mommy will have lots of time to play with you and Johnny and Elly.”
Frances Beck, the woman who cared for the children, was feeding them lunch. “I don’t know how you keep going, Bea,” the woman told her. “You look so tired. I could never make my living that way.”
“I’ll do whatever I have to do to give these children a better life than I had,” she answered. She met the woman’s eyes. “I’m going to be rich some day, Fran.”
Fran smiled and shook her head. “I don’t doubt that.” She sighed. “I’ve never met a woman so determined. Me, I’m willing to rely on Hubert. He’s doing well with the supply store. I only watch the children because it gets so lonely out here with hardly any women around, except the kind folks like us wouldn’t want to be seen with. Someday we’re going back East, after Hubert makes enough money and the mines play out.”
Bea took the little pouch from the scale. “It’s the ones who furnish the prospectors with services like mine and your husband’s who will get rich off this mining, Fran. Hubert has the right idea. I might go back East someday myself, as soon as I have accumulated enough money.”
Fran read the hurt in her eyes. “I’m sure your husband will come soon, Bea.”
Bea held her chin proudly. “Perhaps. If he doesn’t, it isn’t all his fault. And if he does, it will probably be more for the children than for me. He’s not the best husband in the world, but he loves his children.” She struggled to show she was undaunted. “Either way, it will be a while. It’s already September. He could be snowed in somewhere up there and can’t come down.”
“I’m sure that’s all it is,” Fran told her. “He’ll be here, come spring.”
Bea did not reply. She walked back outside, determined that “come spring,” she would be a wealthy woman. At a thousand dollars a month, she could be rich within a year. Maybe she would invest her money in a mine, find some way to make money that didn’t involve such hard work.
When she’d run off with David Kirkland, she’d never dreamed she would end up in a tiny gold town clear out in California, scrubbing other men’s dirty clothes. She could just imagine how Cynthia would sneer at her now. But someday things would be different. She would make sure of it.
She handed back three dollars in coins to the man who had left his laundry. “You’re right. There is at least ten dollars in gold dust in this pouch. You can take back some of these coins. Come back tomorrow at about this time and your clothes will be ready, unless it rains.”
He took the money and nodded, wondering if Bea Kirkland might be lonely. Other men had told him it had been quite a while since her husband had left her to go searching for gold, and some said he wasn’t coming back. She w
as a hard-working woman, and he thought she might make a fine wife, a little bossy, perhaps, but a man could fix that if he set his mind to it.
The man rode off, and Bea looked up at the snowy peaks of the Sierras. At least here below the mountains, the weather was pleasant and warm. Even in winter most days were sunny. She had never lived where there was almost never any snow, where she could smell the ocean. If not for the loneliness and hard work, she could learn to like it here in San Francisco. Someday, somehow, life would be easier.
For just a moment she let herself think fondly of Kirk. She had hurt him, she knew. She also knew that he was a good man at heart, but he was a man who didn’t understand what a woman like Bea needed. It had been difficult for him to change his life. He had tried, but only for her sake. Kirk didn’t care about the same things she did. He could survive with nothing more than his horse and a rifle and the clothes on his back. But Bea wanted more than that—much more—especially for her children.
Little Irene came running outside, hugging her mother around the legs. Bea looked down at her little adopted daughter. She was such a lovely thing. Kirk loved his children, but she knew Irene was his pet. She touched Irene’s golden hair. Yes, he would be back, for Irene, if for no other reason. But she could tell even from this distance that there were blizzards in the mountains. If he returned, it wouldn’t be until spring—if he lived through the winter.
“Where’s Daddy?” Irene asked, looking up at her with Kirk’s blue eyes. She asked the same question every day.
“He’s off looking for gold, darling. He’ll be back,” Bea promised again, hoping she was right. Her heart ached at the thought of actually losing him. She swallowed back a sudden lump in her throat, refusing to cry, as she had done so many times in her life. After all, she thought, she was accustomed to losing loved ones and being left on her own. If David Kirkland never returned, she would survive.
In the Shadow of the Mountains Page 5
