Impatient with Desire
A Novel
Gabrielle Burton
This book is dedicated to
my husband, Roger,
and
our daughters, Maria, Jennifer,
Ursula, Gabrielle, and Charity,
companions on this long voyage,
steady in rough seas and smooth,
always providing a harbor.
Contents
Map
1846
November
Nov 9th 1846, Sierra Nevada Mtns, still snowing
Nov 15th 1846
Thanksgiving 1846
Personal History for the Children
A Ship Is Sighted
December
Dec 2nd 1846
December 3rd 1846
December 5th 1846
December 8th 1846
December 11th 1846
Dec 21st 1846
Dec 22nd 1846
Our Hopes
Dec 23rd 1846
January
Jan 4th 1847, rained all night, snow beginning now
Jan 8th 1847
Two Days Ahead
Jan 11th 1847
Jan 12th 1847
Hardcoop Left Behind
What I Know About Hardcoop
Jan 15th, 75 days in the mountains
Jan 16th 1847
Hastings Cutoff
Jan 18th 1847
Jan 19th 1847
George Building His Wall, 1839
Jan 22nd 1847
Jan 26th 1847
Personal History for the Children
My Little Frances
February
Feb 3rd 1847
Feb 4th dawn
Night
5th
Feb. 6th ’47 more thaw
The Germans
June 16, 1846
Feb 7th 1847
Night
Feb 8th 1847
June 1831, North Carolina
Feb 9th 1847
Feb 10th ’47
Feb 11th
Oct. 6–13th 1846
102 days in the mountains
Feb 13th 1847
15th
15th near midnight
Nov 1st 1846
Truckee Meadows, October 1846 Sister
Feb 17th 1847
Night
June 1846
Feb 18th 1847
February 19th 1847 Three months and eighteen days trapped in the mountains
Jean Baptiste’s Report
Feb 20th 1847
Spring 1846
March 1846, Springfield
Our Second Burial, Luke Halloran
Feb 24th 1847
Our Third Burial
Feb 25th 1847
May 12th 1846
Our Fourth Burial
March
March 1st morning
March 2nd 1847, four months trapped in the mountains
March 4th 1847
March 13th—four and a half months trapped in the mountains
14th
1829, North Carolina
Today
Middle of the night
Author’s Note
Books of Interest
Acknowledgments
Credits
Copyright
Map
1846
Imagine all the roads a woman and a man walk until they reach the road they’ll walk together.
I never intended to marry again after Tully died. It wasn’t for lack of chances, but that’s nothing to boast about. In Ohio, and in Illinois, even an outspoken woman like me has her pick of men. Most of the men were barely older than my Thomas would have been had he lived. Some women marry those boys, and I say to each her own, but young or old were not for me. I thought I had buried my heart with Tully.
I met George Donner in a cornfield, and the beginning wasn’t auspicious. I had stripped an ear of corn for my students, discovered a larva, and put it on my finger for them to see.
“Corn borer larva,” I said. “It’s the larva of a moth. If unchecked, this little thing will feed on and destroy the hardiest crop of corn, potatoes, or beans.”
As my students examined the tiny worm crawling on my finger, I looked up to see a tall gentleman in his fifties watching me intently. When I met his eyes, he said, “You need permission to be in this field, ma’am.”
How many tall gentlemen have hectored me about one thing or another in my lifetime? I drew myself up to my full height, forcing myself to speak civilly because of the children.
“I am the teacher, sir. My students are gathering botanical specimens.”
He considered that a moment, then said, “I’ll still need to know when you’re here, ma’am. When the corn gets taller, I may have to send in a search party for you.”
My students snickered. I am hardly taller than some of them, but I’ve never equated height with strength or virtue, and certainly not with good manners. I was about to give this gentleman a piece of my mind when I noticed how his eyes crinkled as he smiled, how benign and good-natured he looked, and yes, how handsome he was.
“Never underestimate the power of small beings, children,” I said, and not breaking gaze with him, I squashed the borer between my fingers.
His smile grew broader, and he made a small bow.
“George Donner, ma’am.”
I smiled and bowed back.
“Tamsen Eustis Dozier, sir.”
Here in the mountains surrounded by snow, I have had occasion to remember that golden day, the corn rustling, the sun shining on all of us, the giggling children looking from me to him and back again as we smiled at each other, really one could not help smiling at this genial man. I remember writing my sister, Betsey, soon after we married, “I find my new husband a kind friend who does all in his power to promote my happiness & I have as fair a prospect for a pleasant old age as anyone.”
The first part remains true to this day; there has never been a time I wasn’t happy to see George walk in the door.
He always told the story of our first meeting the same way. “She came into my fields looking for specimens,” he said and, after a pause, “and I’m the specimen she found.”
For both of us, time stopped for a moment that day.
Now time has stopped in quite a different way. Instead of a golden moment being suspended, each day is relentlessly endless, relentlessly the same. During the day I move in ceaseless activity. I have never had less to do and each day it takes me longer to do it, and still there are hours left over to fill. At night when everyone sleeps, I try to make sense of it all. Try to retain hope. Try to pass the time.
I must sleep. Sitting here at the table thinking or writing hour after hour while the others sleep or lying on my platform listening to their sighs and groans and caught breaths, it seems I never sleep. But then I awaken with dread, and it is morning with another day of interminable hours of unbidden intimacy.
We came here November 2nd, 1846. The day before, we were trying to outrun a sudden fierce snowstorm, my sister-in-law, Elizabeth, and I and our older children walking ahead of the wagon to spare the oxen, our eyes on the looming mountains. My little Frances was bravely trudging along, and I said to her, “Every step we take gets us closer to California.” The huge flakes fell faster, thicker, and suddenly a sharp crack rent the air, I turned, saw the broken axle, the wagon heaving sideways, started running, screaming, “The babies,” but George and Jacob were already pitching things out of the overturned wagon. They reached Georgia first, screaming, scared, but unhurt. Then Jacob uncovered Eliza and put her limp body in my arms. For a terrible second I thought she was dead, and I thought, I will not be able to bear it. Then she opened her eyes an
d began screaming. We all laughed with relief.
It was November 1st, my 45th birthday, and I gave thanks that Eliza was unhurt, and I did not have to hold a dead baby in my arms a third time.
All my life I never had enough time, and now I have nothing but time. My senses have become very acute. Several times here late at night, it seems I can even recall the precise sound of the corn rustling.
November
1846
Nov 9th 1846, Sierra Nevada Mtns, still snowing
There are twenty-one of us here at Alder Creek in three shelters.
IN OUR SHELTER:
George Donner, 60
Tamsen Donner, 45
Elitha Blue Donner, 13
Leanna Blue Donner, 11
Frances Donner, 6
Georgia Donner, 4
Eliza Donner, 3
Doris Wolfinger, 19, from Germany (Her husband disappeared in the second desert—Oct 11–12?, 1846)
Uno, the children’s dog
IN JACOB & ELIZABETH’S SHELTER:
Jacob Donner, 58, George’s brother
Elizabeth Donner, 38
Solomon Hook, 14
William Hook, 12
George Donner, 9
Mary Donner, 7
Isaac Donner, 5
Samuel Donner, 4
Lewis Donner, 3
IN THE TEAMSTERS’ SHELTER:
Samuel Shoemaker, 25, our teamster from Springfield, Illinois
James Smith, 25, the Reeds’ teamster from Springfield, Illinois.
Joseph Reinhardt, 30?, from Germany (Augustus Spitzer’s partner?)
Jean Baptiste Trudeau, 16, joined us at Fort Bridger—we say he’s our factotum, because he can do anything
The second time I saw George Donner, he walked into my classroom with two other gentlemen. My thirty students, ranging in age from 6 to 12 years old, were reciting their times tables or working industriously on various projects. I was at my desk knitting. Mr. Donner, a step behind, looked reluctant, a little embarrassed; the other two men bustled with self-importance. The School Board Members. I had been waiting for them ever since my landlady told me that slanderous gossip about me was going around town.
“Children, we have visitors.”
My students stood up. “Good morning, sirs.” They sat down, folded their hands, and waited expectantly. I continued knitting.
The two officious school board members looked at each other with smug satisfaction. A smile played on George Donner’s face.
“Is there anything you’d particularly like to see, gentlemen?”
Mr. Greene, a gentleman originally from the East who puts on airs and generally makes himself ridiculous, stepped forward and said, “We have heard that you knit during school hours, Mrs. Dozier.”
“Well, now you can trust your eyes as well as your ears,” I said pleasantly. “Please ask the children anything you wish. 13 times 7. The capital of Delaware. The inventor of the cotton gin. The main export of Brazil, the author of The Last of the Mohicans, the process of photosynthesis—”
Mr. Donner put on his hat and tipped it to me. “Thank you, Mrs. Dozier. Sorry to have taken up your time. Good day, children.”
He steered the flummoxed board members out. Later, he told me that he said to them, “I told you hounds you were howling up the wrong tree. I think she deserves an increase in salary, and I’m going to propose it next board meeting.”
And he did. The first of many promises he has kept. George Donner is a man of his word, I was told by more than one person in Springfield before I even met him.
Nov 15th 1846
Jean Baptiste came back from the lake camp last night. He had been gone so long we thought he might have been lost. He said that when he arrived, a group of fourteen were just starting out to cross the pass and he joined them. They had to turn back at the end of the second day. He was very disappointed that they didn’t even reach the end of the lake. He said it’s much more difficult to walk in deep snow than he imagined.
They had more time to build their shelters so they’re better housed than we, but other than that, Jean Baptiste says their situation is pretty much the same as ours. He says that everyone is confident that James Reed and “Big Bill” McCutchen will lead rescue to us soon. Their wives and children wait anxiously for them.
At the lake camp, there are sixty in three shelters.
The Breens moved into an existing cabin where an emigrant from the Stevens Party of ’44 spent the winter. Jean Baptiste said that Mr. Breen calls it their “shanty.”
IN THE “SHANTY”:
Patrick Breen, 51, from Ireland via Iowa
Margaret Breen, 40
John Breen, 14
Edward Breen, 13
Patrick Breen, Jr., 9
Simon Breen, 8
James Breen, 5
Peter Breen, 3
Isabella Breen, 1
IN A LEAN-TO BUILT AGAINST THE “SHANTY”:
Lewis Keseberg, 32, orig. from Germany, most educated man in our company
Philippine Keseberg, 23
Ada Keseberg, 3
Lewis Keseberg, Jr., born on the trail
ALSO:
Charles Burger, “Dutch Charley,” 30, from Germany, our teamster
Augustus Spitzer, 30, from Germany (Joseph Reinhardt’s partner?)
About 150 yards away, Jean Baptiste said the Murphys and Eddys built a cabin against a large rock. In this cabin
THE MURPHYS:
Levinah Murphy, 36, a widow from Tennessee, Mormon?
John Landrum Murphy, 16
Mary Murphy, 14
Lemuel Murphy, 12
William Murphy, 10
Simon Murphy, 8
MRS. MURPHY’S MARRIED DAUGHTERS & THEIR FAMILIES
Sarah Murphy Foster, 19
William Foster, 30
George Foster, 4
Harriet Murphy Pike, 18 (her husband, William, 32, accidentally killed, Oct, 1846, along the Truckee River)
Naomi Pike, 2
Catherine Pike, 1
THE EDDYS FROM BELLEVUE, ILLINOIS:
William Eddy, 28
Eleanor Eddy, 25
James Eddy, 3
Margaret Eddy, 1
A third cabin was built a half mile away, a double cabin for
THE GRAVESES:
Franklin Graves, 57, from Vermont
Elizabeth Graves, 45
Mary Ann Graves, 19
William Graves, 17
Eleanor Graves, 14
Lovina Graves, 12
Nancy Graves, 9
Jonathan Graves, 7
Franklin W. Graves, Jr., 5
Elizabeth Graves, Jr., 1
ALSO, A DAUGHTER AND SON-IN-LAW:
Sarah Graves Fosdick, 21
Jay Fosdick, 23
THE REEDS:
Margret Reed, 32
Virginia Reed, 13
Martha “Patty” Reed, 9
James Reed, Jr., 6
Thomas Reed, 4
Milt Elliott, 28, from Springfield, the Reeds’ teamster
Eliza “Lizzie” Williams, 31, the Reeds’ cook
Baylis Williams, 25, Lizzie’s brother, the Reeds’ handyman
THE MCCUTCHENS:
Amanda McCutchen, 25, joined us at Fort Bridger (Her husband, “Big Bill,” went ahead with Charles Stanton in September 1846 to Sutter’s Fort for help)
Harriet “Punkin” McCutchen, 1
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