What Once We Loved

by Jane Kirkpatrick

  Once when she had delivered washing to a new district, the clothes piled high on top of her head, the baby on her back, she thought she had seen the blind woman led by the dog. The dog barked at her, and the woman calmed him. She recognized the voice. “Who goes there?” Missy Suzie asked.

  Naomi had almost spoken when Missy Esther came out of a shop. She looked straight at Naomi and gasped, her fingers pressed against her mouth.

  “What is it, Esther?” Missy Suzie asked.

  “I think its…”

  Naomi had disappeared between the buildings, cobwebs brushing her face as she ran.

  “Have you learned a few Spanish words?” Nehemiah asked. “One or two,” Tipton told him.

  “Splendid! And as your reward, I have a gift for you.” He handed her a stone.

  “Oh. An agate.”

  “They bore you,” he said.

  “They're lovely. I just don't know what to do with them,” she said to him.

  “Eventually I'll put them into settings,” he said. He drew a design with a pencil on a piece of paper before him at the table. “This would make a lovely brooch. And this one, for a silver letter opener.”

  “You have so little time when you're here for dabbling in such things,” she told him.

  “Designing soothes me. Perhaps you should draw more.”

  “I'm occupied with…study,” she said.

  “I think of you always while I'm gone,” his words softened. “Soon I'll be campaigning.” He cleared his throat. “Unless we were to begin our family.”

  Tipton stood, dropping the agates onto the carpeted floor. “I'll put these in a jar and cover them with water,” she said. “They look like rainbows then.” She hurried into the kitchen, catching her breath. She had no intention of discussing such intimacies with her husband. She was quite sure her parents never had talked of those “private things,” and she certainly wasn't going to. She hadn't even allowed him to see her unclothed, and she wasn't sure she ever would.

  “I am sorry, Mrs. Kossuth,” Nehemiah said, following her into the kitchen. “I…fumble at these things.” He reached for her hand, held it. She knew that she shook. “It's just that I am not getting any younger and—”

  “Progresso, “ she said, spinning away from him. She slid the curtain back from the little cupboard, moved things around. “I'm sure that was one of the words Chita told me about. It means making progress,” she said, holding up a wide-mouthed jar.

  “Something we apparently aren't,” her husband said.

  That first afternoon out had gone well. They'd agreed to tie Carmine to the wagon and keep Ewald moving in the rear. Then the next day, they exchanged it, tying the black jack to the wagon. They hobbled both animals that night, letting Carmine loose in the morning. There were no mares open, Jumper having bred Ruths animals; and the stocky mares Matthew had bought up were said to promise foals come spring. At least Ruth hoped she had no open mares. From the size of the jacks, she could tell there'd need to be some accommodations made to get her mares bred when the time came. She didn't want it to be happening on the trail north, didn't want foals born next year just before winter.

  She eyed the dusty trail ahead as it meandered around clusters of oak or an occasional pine that acted as prelude to the dark timber covering the hillsides farther ahead. It wasn't a well-traveled trail though it was well marked. Matthew said folks talked about a stage run that would head this way someday, north through Yreka and into Oregon. Ruth didn't see how. There were sections that required bringing the mares single file, with the wagon wheels barely narrow enough to keep to the road. The children walked then, and Ruth drove the wagon. Not that Lura couldn't, but the older woman appeared to dislike looking down onto the manzanita and oak trees that dribbled off below her into steep ravines.

  Ruth kept thinking about Jumper, couldn't seem to stop it. His presence would have made this new journey so much richer. Even Koda acted strange, as though he knew that something was wrong, that one who'd once traveled with him no longer shared his trail. Ruth was silly, she supposed, imagining that horses missed each other. Just struggling with her own missings—of her brother, her boy, her horse, and even Mazy, she decided.

  Koda did not like the black jack. He snorted and shook his head as Ruth stood off to the side of the trail allowing the wagon to pass with Ewald tied behind. Ruth couldn't ride Koda anywhere near the animal, not that she wanted to, his being Matthew and Luras now. But once or twice the day before, when she rode back to tell Matthew something, the blackjack brayed out of nowhere, its trot-trot gait full speed toward them, nearly skidding to a stop in the dust just before he would have crashed into Koda's side.

  “I believe that jack knows exactly what he's doing,” Ruth said. “Running up, all threatening. Maybe we should hobble him.” She backed up a nervous Koda who raised and lowered his head in irritation, his bit and bridle jangling in the autumn air.

  “Got his own personality, that's for sure,” Matthew told her. “He'll be all right.”

  “I just wondered how far you thought we should go tonight before making camp?” Ruth asked.

  “Whatevers your pleasure.”

  “You've been this way, so I'm deferring to you.” She didn't know why she needed to explain to him her request for information. Maybe she was still feeling a little embarrassment about their conversation, his assumption that she'd “partner” more than just for jacks or to get cheap land. “And you've done a good job choosing,” she said, offering the compliment both as something genuine and as an olive branch against their sparring.

  Matthew nodded. “Would have gone over the Trinity Mountains through French Gulch if you hadn't gotten Elizabeths letter when you did,” he said. “He will have received it by now. What you sent on.”

  “And be roaring mad if I know Zane. And I do.”

  “Nothing wrong with being angry. It's what a man does with it that counts him,” Matthew said. He cleared his throat. “We should make it to a place across from a ridge that looks just like a backbone,” he said. “Rest there for the night.”

  Ruth felt an edge of disappointment that he'd changed the subject from her future to resting places. But it was no one's business but her own, she guessed, though Elizabeth's last-minute announcement had made it pretty public.

  David Taylor had agreed to deliver the divorce papers she'd had drawn up. There was little left to do but wait until Zane responded through her solicitor. There would be a messy court event, but with her and Jessie in another state and his own body ravaged by the amputation, perhaps he'd realize the futility of resisting. That was probably wishful thinking, and she'd promised to tell herself the truth.

  “You rub that whip handle,” Matthew nodded his hat toward her right hand. “Tells me you're hungering for something. I figure if you're ever going to use it on me, watching your hand'll be fair warning.”

  They rode side by side for a ways, the white-topped mountain Matthew said was called Shasta shimmered in the distance.

  “I was thinking of my future,” she said. “Well, maybe hanging on a bit to what I left behind, too. And about what I hope to find in Oregon.”

  “Shasta's a lot hotter than Jacksonville. Fewer folks there too. Table Rocks are interesting. I want to climb them sometime. Supposed to have unusual flowers up there in the spring.”

  Ruth nodded. He was so much more talkative about weather and land and…things.

  “Carmines a good-looking jack,” Matthew said as they prepared to camp for the night. “I'll catch him up now, if that's all right with you. At least he doesn't race toward a body the way Ewald does.”

  “So far he's demonstrated better manners,” Ruth said. It was the last bit of gentle conversation she had with Matthew for the next few hours as they attempted to round up her jack.

  Ears perked forward, the big red animal let her and Koda approach. He lowered his head like a tame goat, then thrust his head up, bolted, and ran, kicking up his heels so close to her horse, he nearly got Koda
in the neck. Ruth jerked the reins back, while the gelding sidestepped. But the jack took this as a challenge, and he turned. This time with ears back and mouth open, he lunged for the gelding.

  “You're not hurting this horse,” Ruth shouted.

  She spun Koda away from the jack who quick-trotted up the side of the trail then down into the mares, pushing them aside, biting a neck, kicking at a hindquarter as he moved against the tide. Just as Ruth would get close to him again, the animal would forge up the trail, pass the wagon on the ravine side, and end up in front of it as though to harass the oxen who were lumbering along and braying as though he did it for sport.

  The sounds and quick movements and kicking and nipping got the mares all skittery and startled. Then Ewald, still tied to the wagon, brayed and pulled back when all day he'd been happily plodding along with the herd.

  Ruth realized it was the first time they'd tried to catch Carmine up. He'd been corralled at the ranchero, tied up for them when they rode out the day before, and kept that way until today.

  “Maybe he can be roped,” Jason shouted from his smallish mare who sidestepped and snorted as the red jack approached.

  “Give it a try,” Ruth shouted. She watched the boy swing his rope, surprised at his skill for someone just ten. A few missed loops, and then it was Matthew who swirled his lariat closest. While he tossed the rope to Carmine's head, the jack lowered his ears, bucked and pulled and got himself so woven within the trail herd that Matthew's rope slipped off.

  “Let's wait until we're into a more open area where we can round up the mares in a rope ramuda,” he suggested, wiping beads of sweat from his forehead with his arm. He replaced his hat and stared at Ruth who nodded agreement.

  Once over a ridge, they located a spot wide enough. “String that rope from that oak there, to that big pine,” Ruth shouted. “Mariah, you tie off the other end. Soon as the mares are driven into the center we'll try for the jack.” While they did that, Ruth noticed the whitish row of hide at Carmine's left: fetlock, and something rang a bell inside her head.

  She dismounted carrying her whip at her side. Carmine trotted back and forth beyond the rope corral, acting as though he wanted in but was not likely to stay settled even if they let him. Ruth walked slowly, staring at those dark eyes, one wandering to the side, and when he saw she had no rope, he slowed his trot but still moved back and forth before the mares and lone milk cow.

  “Easy does it, Carmine. Easy now,” she cooed, swirling the whip at the ground. He stopped once or twice and stomped with both front feet toward her, but she stayed steady, didn't back away. “Like fishing for trout,” she whispered to herself. And the next time he ran back and forth in front of her, she acted: She cracked the whip, winding it around his left front foot just about where that white hair ran its ring. He stopped as though struck with a club. Carmine never moved a muscle. It was as though the rawhide around his foot was a cage of steel, a bear caught in a trap.

  Ruth walked toward him, keeping the whip taut around his foreleg. The animal breathed hard from his running, hung his head low, but made no action to bite at her or lunge or pull away. “I wondered if your feet didn't do your thinking for you,” she said. Ruth smiled. Elizabeth always said that the scars of a person's past gave clues to what would hold them hostage. “Bring the hobbles, Jason, and a little grain,” she said. “We've got this one figured.”

  “It's only for a short time, David,” Mazy said. “I want to take the bull south, to meet your uncle and give him his due. Unless you'd rather,” she said.

  David Taylor shook his head. “I've applied for the mail run,” he said. “Between French Gulch and Weaverville, here and south. I'll be home most nights that way. Keep Oltipa and Ben safe.”

  “If you could, if you would, handle the cows for me—”

  “I've never milked a cow,” he said. He sounded annoyed. It reminded Mazy of David's father.

  “It's easy enough. Reliability is what matters. Having someone I can count on being there to do the work two times a day and make the deliveries, too.”

  “What about Charles Wilson?” David said.

  Mazy scoffed. “He's reliably unavailable for any real work,” she said.

  David rubbed his chin with his hands. Mazy didn't want to push him, but she wasn't sure who else she could ask. Seth had agreed to go south with her, and they needed to head out before it got cold if they were to make it back before the snowy season. “I need some time to think about it,” he finished.

  “I understand,” Mazy said. She stayed to take a bowl of Oltipa's acorn soup, asked her how she made it. It smelled heavenly and tasted the same. She'd come up with something else, maybe hire a packer to drive the bull south.

  “I'll let you know in a few days,” David said. “And I'll think about it, I will.”

  Back above her mother's bakery, Mazy broke a tendril of thyme and rubbed the stem on her forehead. Her mother said it was good for headaches and fainting and sleeplessness, too. That, she could use. Something to help her sleep. She just missed Ruth, she guessed. Ruth and the children and what was familiar.

  No time to sleep now, she thought. She hadn't seen her mother all day, a fact that surprised her since her baking was usually finished by late morning. They often took lunch together. She drove back out to Poverty Flat to begin the evening milking.

  She had more cows now, with the Durhams. But she decided she'd wean only a few of the calves so she would have less to milk until later. She might sell some stock for beef this winter. She would be able to get a good price, she was sure. The miners had scared wild game so far into the hills even venison was becoming a delicacy.

  She finished with milking, grained the bull in his pen, and stood watching the sunset. She'd have to move her things from town soon, take over the cabin. She didn't have the heart to try to build another place even though the man she leased from had said she was welcome to do it. The Sacramento River looked gold in the twilight, shimmering, promising ore but delivering something quite different: steamers bringing passengers; ferries bearing wagons of people from miles away, all stepping into new places. She wasn't alone, and she was better off than most. She knew Poverty Flat. Ruth would have to learn a whole new place. Tipton had already, discovering Crescent City s coastal ways. And she still had her mother as a friend; neither Ruth nor Tipton had that. She should remember to be grateful. It was so easy to think complaining thoughts when all around her was abundance. She took a deep breath. She had to trust that she had stepped out onto a cloud of faith believing she would not fall through. So far, despite the loss of an unborn child and a husband who both betrayed her and left her widowed, she'd found faith enough to take the next step. Why should she think she deserved more?

  She placed the wooden bucket back in the barn and noticed a pale light coming from the cabin. Who could that be? Maybe David had decided they would come after all? She picked up her skirts to move more quickly toward the cabin, more curious than concerned.

  6

  Crescent City

  “Chita, what ever did you put in those beans?” Tipton said. “My stomach is a tumble.”

  “Just what is always in them,” the Mexican girl said. “As Senor Kossuth say to fix them. A little vinegar, to take the wind away.”

  “Please. Dont even say that word.” Tipton held her side, and then put a hand over her mouth before retching into the pan Chita held for her just beneath her chin.

  “I've never been so sick in my life,” Tipton said, wiping her mouth. Her knees buckled when she stood, and Chita steadied her. “I must look a fright,” Tipton said.

  She wobbled toward the mirror and peered at herself.

  “You are lovely, sefiora,” Chita told her.

  Tipton pulled at the skin beneath her eyes, revealing dark pockets like heel prints in the beach sand. Her usually creamy complexion looked pasty as a wet sand dollar.

  “Maybe it is h nina?” Chita told her.

  “Nina? What baby?” Tipton said. She lifte
d her chin to stare at the round face beside her in the mirror. The girl had eyes so brown they looked sable, hair so black and shiny it was the night sea. Beautiful, that was what she was. Maybe that was why Nehemiah kept her around.

  Tipton pinched some color back into her own pale cheeks. “What baby?” she repeated. “Did you let someone bring a child into our kitchen? You know how dangerous that can be.”

  “No, no.” Chita pointed and smiled, those dark eyebrows opening up her whole face when she did. “The baby inside sefiora.”

  “What?” Tipton turned to stare, too quickly, and the room started to spin. The kerosene lamp smell made her sick, and she pushed her hand over her mouth again, her eyes searching for the retching pan. Chita found it. Tipton filled it. Then with a clay cup Chita handed her, she rinsed her mouth of the foul taste.

  The stale beer did little to improve her disposition or her breath, but their water supply was dismal. Everyone had taken to drinking wine and beer brought in by ship. At least until the rains filled the streams and reservoirs.

  “Your peppers, that's what it was,” Tipton insisted. “Women… indisposed…get morning sickness, not evening sickness, Chita, not that I should even be discussing something so intimate with you. No, this is from your cooking. Don t you pawn that off on some nonexistent condition.”

  “You lay down now,” Chita said. “I will get a cool cloth for you, yes? Mr. Kossuth, he comes home. We will clean your face and put fresh linens on you. He will be so happy to know he is a father, pronto.”

  “Oh, just stop that. I guess a woman knows if she's…or not. Well she does. There is no way I can be, Chita. I know that much.”

  Chita grinned at her. “How do you think this happens?”

  “I know,” she said though she wasn't totally certain. “That's why I'm sure it could not be happening to me. Not that it is any of your business.” Tipton took the cool cloth Chita offered her and settled it on the back of her neck. “I have never once, not ever, sat on my husband's lap. That's how I know.” She closed her eyes. “Which is exactly what my mother warned me against doing to avoid an…unplanned event ofthat nature.”