The Forever Tree

by Bittner, Rosanne

  Will sat in the portico of his lovely Spanish home. He held six-month-old Glenn on his lap, and as he looked around at potted plants and a statue of the Mother Mary, he wondered if there was anything left of the gringo in him. Today was his and Santana’s second anniversary, and he had taken the day off. The sad thing was, that was not the only reason he wasn’t working. He had lost another man the day before, the sixth death since he had started up three years ago.

  From what he heard from lumbermen who came to work for him from camps in Oregon and in Washington territory, his average of two deaths a year was far better than normal, but that did not ease the sorrow he felt each time he lost a man. This one had died horribly. He’d just topped off a tree when for some strange reason the trunk began to split apart. With his rigging rope tied around the entire trunk, when the tree split, the rope pinched him between it and the closest half of the tree, crushing the breath out of him long enough to kill him before the rope finally gave way. The men below had watched helplessly as he’d flailed futilely, pinned against the tree, then had gone limp. They’d buried him late the day before, and as always when a man died, Will had closed the mill for three days.

  Most of the men would ease their minds about the death by drinking and whoring, pretending it could not happen to them, yet celebrating life in the wildest way possible, because they knew how close death was to them every day on the job. Will preferred to spend this time quietly with Santana and his son. He turned little Glenn around to face him, and the boy grinned and giggled when he tickled him. He kissed the baby’s fat cheek, thinking what a handsome son he had, his hair and skin dark like Santana’s, but miraculously, his eyes still blue. Against his dark skin and lashes, the blue was beautifully enhanced. He was going to be a handsome young man someday, Will was certain. With a mother like Santana, all his children would surely be beautiful.

  His thoughts were interrupted when he saw a covered wagon approaching, lumbering up the roadway that led to their home. It was pulled by four oxen, and someone walked alongside them, driving them with a stick. He recognized one of Dominic’s men riding ahead of the wagon, and watched as the man pointed toward the house. The man driving the oxen waved the stick.

  “Hello, brother!” he shouted.

  Will rose and walked out of the portico, staring, hardly able to believe his eyes. “Santana!” he called. “Come and get Glenn! I think my brother is here!”

  Santana left the kitchen, where she had been directing the preparation of a special meal for their anniversary. “Are you sure?” she asked as she stepped onto the portico.

  Without reply, Will shoved Glenn into her arms and ran out of the gardens and down the road leading to the house. Santana watched as the man driving the oxen handed his stick to a woman sitting in the wagon seat. He headed for Will, and in the next moment the two men embraced, laughing, hugging. Santana blinked back the tears in her eyes, glad for Will, who had missed his brother; glad for herself, for she had always carried a little fear that he would want to go back to that place called Maine. Now it was certain that would never happen. Maine had come to him, in the form of Gerald Lassater. At last Will would have more expert help at the mill, and his family would be together again.

  She walked down to where the wagon had stopped, and there followed a barrage of introductions. Gerald’s wife, Agatha, who Santana guessed was about Will’s age, looked tired and a little confused. It had surely been a long and difficult journey. The children, however, looked none the worse for wear. James was nine, Suellen seven, and Dora three. Will had never seen Dora. She’d been born after he left.

  Gerald looked tired and thin, like his wife, Santana thought, but it was obvious he was Will’s brother. Gerald was a couple of years older and perhaps an inch taller. In spite of his loss of weight from the trip, one could tell he was well-muscled. He and Agatha marveled over everything, from Santana and their handsome, healthy baby boy, to California’s weather and beauty, and the size of some of the trees they had seen on their way from the ranch to Will’s house.

  “Those are babies compared to what’s up at the mill site,” Will told them. “You’ll both have to come and see them with your own eyes. It’s the only way to make a believer out of someone who hasn’t seen the big redwoods yet.” His constant smile since greeting them finally faded. “Trouble is, logging here is one hell of a lot more dangerous than it was in Maine, and it was bad enough there. Handling these monsters is no easy feat. We lost a man four days ago.”

  “Damn,” Gerald muttered. “So that’s why you’re here and not at the mill. Dad always used to close down when someone was killed.”

  Will nodded, then put an arm around Santana. “But today is also our second anniversary.”

  Gerald put out his hand to shake Will’s. “Congratulations!”

  Will smiled again. “Your getting here today makes it an extra good day, in spite of the accident. We have a lot to talk about, brother. The mill is going full force. It’s a regular little city up there, saloons and all. It’s a rough lot of men, but I’ve got good help. One particularly good friend named Noel Gray has taught me a lot about how to fell and log these trees. I have another good man I met on the ship coming here, a big Swede named Derek Carlson. Noel has a home and a family up at the mill, but Derek isn’t married.” He shook his head. “My God, there’s so much to tell you. We even had a fire that I think was deliberately set. I didn’t let it stop me, though, and the equipment you sent last year really helped.”

  “Deliberately set?” Gerald said. “By whom?”

  Will looked at Santana, both of them remembering the note of congratulations and the gift Hugo had sent when Glenn was born. They had returned the gift unopened, knowing full well the real reason Hugo had sent it. Will realized that Gerald didn’t even know about the duel. He had not bothered to explain all that when he’d written to tell Gerald he was getting married. “It’s a long story. Come inside. Santana was just having a royal meal planned for our anniversary, so you picked the right day to get here. Have supper with us. You can put yourselves up in the guest house. When you get straightened out, we’ll see about building a home for you.”

  “A real house sounds wonderful,” Agatha said. “Something without wheels.”

  Gerald put an arm around her waist while the children ran off chasing one of the three dogs that roamed the Lassater homestead. “We have a lot to tell you too,” he said to Will. “That is one trip we’ll never forget. There were several times when I was afraid we wouldn’t make it. So much death, the danger of Indian attacks, coming through the Nevada desert wondering if we’d ever reach fresh water again, then getting ourselves over the Sierras. At least now there are a few forts and little towns along the way. I can’t imagine what it must have been like ten or fifteen years ago when people first started coming out here.

  “We left Maine last February, cut over to the Great Lakes, fought snow and mud across Michigan and down through Illinois to St. Louis, where we took a riverboat to Independence and left from there by wagon. We had to leave in February in order to reach Independence in time to hook up with a wagon train that would get us over the Sierras before too much snow set in. Even then we cut it close. We got caught in one snowstorm that I was afraid would keep us up in those mountains the rest of the winter.”

  “It’s hard to say which is worse,” Will said as they all headed toward the house. “The trip by sea takes even longer and is just as miserable and probably more dangerous. I’m glad you came by land.”

  “Well, I’m here now and I’ve got big ideas, Will. Like we planned, I want to invest in a fleet of ships, do our own shipping, and deal directly with our own customers. And you know, there’s talk of a railroad connecting all the way from Chicago to San Francisco. Some think it can’t be done, but I think it can. If it does come to be, we can open whole new markets in the East for our lumber. The only thing holding up further progress on a railroad is that Congress is more concerned right now about trouble with the South ove
r tariffs and slavery. You probably don’t get much news out here about it, but things are looking real bad, civil war in Kansas and Missouri, some Southern states threatening to secede.”

  Will stopped walking. “Secede from the United States?”

  Gerald nodded. “They’re talking about splitting off and having their own country, their own laws. They don’t like Washington telling them how to run their business and threatening to abolish slavery. We’re supposed to be a free country, and owning slaves has become an embarrassing issue, let alone the way some of those Negroes are treated.”

  Glenn started to fuss, and Will took him from Santana and bounced him on his arm. “You’re right. I didn’t know it was that bad.”

  “Some think it could lead to all-out civil war.”

  Both men’s eyes revealed deep concern for what that could mean. Santana watched and listened, a nameless fear settling deep in her soul at the way the two men looked at each other. She knew little about Gerald’s world back in the East. To her it still seemed that California was removed from all that. She still had trouble thinking of it as part of the United States. There was another world on the other side of the Sierras that she knew nothing about, but Will did, and he still felt a connection to it. He probably always would.

  Will took a deep breath. “Well, let’s not get too deeply into those things today. Let’s just celebrate the fact that you’re here and you’re safe. You and the family can bathe and eat and we’ll visit. Tomorrow we’ll go up to the mill, the whole bunch of us.”

  Santana put an arm around Agatha. “I am so happy to know you. Will has missed Gerald very much. I am glad that his brother is finally here.”

  “Yes. Gerald has been eager to come,” Agatha answered, “but I am afraid I miss home very much. My own family is still in Maine. Living out here, so far away, will take some getting used to.”

  “I will help you. You will grow to love California as much as Will has,” Santana promised. “And we will be good friends. There are many days and nights when we will have to keep each other company, when Will and Gerald go on business trips to San Francisco, or when they have to stay at the mill for one reason or another. But it is not too often. Will talks of building us a home near San Francisco, so that when he has to go there on business he can take us with him. We do not like being apart.”

  Agatha sighed. “I don’t like it either. That’s why I worry so about the trouble with the South. I’m afraid it will lead to war, and I’m not sure what Gerald will do. I know him like a book. He’ll feel obligated to do his part in protecting Northern interests, not just for economic purposes, but out of a sense of duty.”

  Santana frowned. “Surely he would not go all the way back there to fight in a war!”

  Agatha watched Will and Gerald enter the house arm in arm, Will still holding Glenn in his other arm. “I don’t know.”

  The strange feeling of dread came over Santana again, No. Maybe Gerald would go back for such a thing, but not Will. There was too much holding him here now.

  Fifteen

  September 1859…

  Will slid his arms around Santana, pulling her close so that their bodies moved against each other in the middle of the plush feather mattress on their pine four-poster. He and Gerald had built a large home on a hill overlooking San Francisco, big enough so that the two families could share the house, or either family could use it alone when just one of them had to be in the city.

  He looked around the big, airy bedroom, thinking how the house reminded him of the one he had lived in back in Maine. The elegant two-story home had been built in charming Gothic Revival style to please Agatha, who missed living in a house that was more like what she had known back east. Santana did not mind living in a gringo house this time, because this one was warm and cheerful, made of wood and painted white, including the delicate-looking lacelike trim around all the gables and the top of the porch roof, a porch that wrapped around the entire house.

  Both women enjoyed the house. When it was necessary to be in San Francisco, they spent their days tending the children and watching the growing city below, a city burgeoning, sprawling, spreading in every direction. The Chinese population was exploding, and other foreigners were also flowing in, some with dreams of a better life, many shipped there to work in the gold mines. The trouble was, there were more immigrants than there were jobs, and many of them arrived penniless and homeless and stayed that way.

  In spite of the noisy city below them, it was relatively quiet on their hill, which was part of the reason Will and Gerald had chosen this spot to build. It was far removed from the noise and filth and danger below, especially the wild area around Pacific Avenue and Kearny Street, which had been nicknamed the Barbary Coast because it was so much like the ruthless pirate center on the coast of Africa that bore the same name. Santana hated it whenever Will had to go anywhere near there, but sometimes that was the only place to find hardy, unattached men who might be willing to work at the mills.

  Santana snuggled against him and sighed. “Buenos dias.”

  Will kissed her hair. “Good morning, love.”

  Santana smiled sleepily, enjoying the quiet morning, the way the sun filtered through the lace curtains of the large bay window. Somewhere in another part of the house she could hear the families’ two Chinese maids talking together in their own strange tongue. It made her wonder what had happened to the days when her beautiful California belonged only to the Californios, when it was quiet and peaceful and full of Spanish-speaking people who took life slowly and cared little for big cities. The discovery of gold had certainly changed this land she loved. Still, she could not exactly complain about the Americans coming there, for if they had not, she would be married to Hugo now.

  “How would you like to go to the opera tonight?” Will asked her.

  Santana took a moment to gather her thoughts, remembering then what an exciting day this would be. “I would love to go,” she answered, kissing Will’s neck, loving him for always being concerned about her happiness. They could have built their beautiful “city” home on Nob Hill, where all the other wealthy businessmen of San Francisco lived, but Hugo also lived there. She had not wanted to be anywhere near his ugly brick mansion, did not want to take the chance of running into him in the street.

  At the thought of being married to Hugo, she pressed herself more tightly against Will. How naturally they fit together, she thought, how fulfilling their lovemaking still was, in spite of the fact that she had given birth to a second child, a daughter named Ruth, after Will’s mother. Will insisted she was as slender and beautiful as ever, but Santana was sure she had become slightly thicker in the waist. Still, the pain of a second birth and filling out a little more had been worth it, for now she had the beautiful daughter she had wanted. Ruth Maria Lassater Chavez was just three months old, tiny and delicate and dark. She was not the chunky, robust baby Glenn had been when he was born, but she was healthy. She had her mother’s dark eyes, a sweet personality, and was already sleeping through the night.

  Santana turned onto her back, opening her eyes and thinking what a happy house this was. Every room had polished hardwood floors with colorful braided rugs scattered throughout. The parlor floor was covered with a plush Oriental rug, and green-velvet curtains graced the large bay window there. All the rooms downstairs had bay windows, and the entire house was decorated with lovely furnishings from the East, most made of cherry wood. She listened as a wonderfully huge grandfather clock in the parlor chimed seven o’clock, and she relaxed in the pleasure of this quiet moment with her husband. The children were still sleeping soundly, including Gerald and Agatha’s four young ones. Agatha had given birth to another son six months earlier, and they had named him William. Between the two families there were six children, and when they were all awake, the house was lively.

  Back at La Estancia de Alcala, Gerald had built a home only about a half-mile from her and Will’s, but he had not built it in the Spanish style. It, too, was a tw
o-story Gothic, except that it was made of brick because of the fire danger. Agatha had insisted on keeping things more like what she had known in Maine.

  Thinking of her in-laws, Santana turned to her husband. “Will Gerald and Aggie go to the opera with us?”

  “Sure they will. This will be a night of celebration, you know. This afternoon we christen our new fleet of ships, and tonight we’ll go out on the town, dine at the best restaurant, go to the opera. It will be good for Aggie.”

  “She misses Maine and her family there. I think coming to the city helps her forget her loneliness, even though she does not like San Francisco so much. She loves your brother, but she still is not used to being so far from home. I think that if you took me all the way to the other side of the country, I, too, would be homesick, in spite of how much I love you.”

  “You would, would you? Even when we made love?” Will pulled her close again, pushing her satin nightgown up along her thigh, thinking how much she still pleased him after nearly four years of marriage. He kissed her tenderly. What a good four years these had been. The lumber business was booming. Just as he had predicted, his wealth was growing beyond his wildest imagination, prices prime for good lumber. Thanks to Gerald’s help, they now owned a second sawmill farther north. Noel was in charge of that mill and was now a very well-paid man.

  Today he and Gerald would christen their fleet of six ships, all owned by Lassater Mills, ships that would carry Lassater lumber to China, South America, Japan, the East Coast, and even Europe. Buyers from many parts of the world seemed to find their way to San Francisco, lured first by the gold that backed the city’s banks, second by the fact that so many thousands of people had flocked there and merchants of every sort had businesses in the city.

  San Francisco was fast becoming the center of finance and supply not just for nearby mining towns, but for many distant ones. More and more such towns were springing up all over the West, as gold finds spread far beyond California. Clever businessmen, forward-thinking men like himself, were building factories that produced mining equipment. They realized that the real wealth lay in supplying the miners and residents, rather than in panning for gold. More people and goods arrived in the city just about every day, and the docks were so packed that there weren’t enough warehouses to hold everything.