My Father's World

by Michael Phillips

  “Who are they?” asked Mr. Drum.

  “It seems they more or less belong to Nick Matthews,” said Mrs. Parrish.

  Mr. Drum rubbed a coarse hand over his mouth. “Well, I’ve known Nick a long time and I know for certain he ain’t got no young’uns.”

  “These are his nieces and nephews—he’s their uncle!”

  The lines on Mr. Drum’s forehead and around his eyes got deeper. A look of real shock passed over his face, and he didn’t say anything for a long time. When he finally did speak, his voice sounded as if he had just had the wind knocked out of him.

  “Nick’s nowhere to be found,” he said.

  “Are you expecting me to believe he’d just pull up and leave, without telling his partner—”

  She was interrupted by the laughter of the men standing around.

  “Ya must not know Nick Matthews too well!” shouted one of the men. “Why, he’s a lightin’ off fer somewhere new ev’ry month!”

  “And he don’t tell me his every move,” added the big man called Drum. As he spoke, he kept throwing quick glances in our direction. “This sure ain’t no place fer a bunch of kids. Where’s their ma, anyway? Why’d she send ’em all by themselves after Nick?”

  “I thought you understood, Mr. Drum,” said Mrs. Parrish, her firm tone softening. “Their mother died en route to California.”

  Mr. Drum fell silent once more, his face like a stone wall.

  “Hee, hee, hee!” came the rasp of Alkali Jones from among the onlookers. “I guess since Nick’s gone, them’s yore young’uns now, Drum! Hee, hee, hee!”

  He spun around and glared at the old miner, then turned back and looked each of us over one at a time, his ruddy California color getting paler as he took in each of our faces.

  When he came to me, I detected something that took away the fear I was feeling. His face still wore a scowl, but his eyes seemed to say that in spite of the bluster he might put on in front of all the tough-looking men in the saloon, down inside he was the kind that could feel sorry for a brood of homeless orphans. But the next moment, I began to think I’d read his eyes all wrong.

  The exchange of looks and thoughts took only a few seconds. Then Mrs. Parrish spoke again.

  “Well, Mr. Drum, what do you have to say for yourself?”

  He shot her a glaring look that seemed to say, Mind your own business, you busybody female! But what came out of his mouth was, “I got nothin’ to say for myself, ’cept that this is . . . some surprise. And I don’t rightly see why you think it’s got something to do with me.”

  “You are Matthews’ partner.”

  “And Nick’s gone!” he shot back. “How many times I gotta tell you that, lady?” He seemed more nervous than angry.

  “You’re closer to their kin than any of us,” persisted Mrs. Parrish. “Mr. Dixon here has to be getting back to Sacramento—”

  Captain Dixon nodded as she spoke.

  “—And I only met these children ten minutes ago,” she went on. “So I think it’s high time you either told us where to find Mr. Matthews, or got on your horse and went to find him yourself.”

  “Even if I knew where he was—” he persisted, “which I don’t—I wouldn’t just ride off so the sheriff could follow me and haul Nick in for somethin’ he didn’t do!”

  I figured by now it was my turn to speak.

  “We’re real glad to make your acquaintance, Mr. Drum,” I said, trying to smile cheerfully. “My name’s Corrie. I’m the oldest.”

  I curtsied like Ma taught me.

  The man looked at me again. A strange expression came over his face, but it only lasted for a moment. Then he glanced around at the others.

  He wiped his hands across his eyes as if he hoped that might make us all disappear. But we were still there. I told him the kids’ names. A pitiful looking lot we were, having spent months on the trail with nary a bath in a month of Sundays.

  “There sure are a heap of you,” he said softly, scratching his whiskers. “And all such big, grown-up kids, too.”

  “There’s a heap of you, too!” said Tad in a soft voice with wide-eyed awe.

  That got a laugh from everyone, especially the men in the saloon, and a few others who had wandered up from the street to see what this strange little gathering was all about. But the fellow in front of us didn’t laugh. He still seemed a little apprehensive about the sight of us all.

  “Hey, Drum,” called out one of the men, “seems to me you’re cut out right well for nurse-maidin’!”

  He pretended not to hear, but I know he did.

  “So, Mr. Drum, what might your intentions be now?” asked Mrs. Parrish, still sounding very stern.

  “Well, Mrs. Parrish,” he answered after a moment’s thought, “I’m meanin’ no disrespect, but I reckon it ain’t none of your dad-blamed business.”

  Then he turned back toward the gawking faces at the saloon door. “And it ain’t none of yours, neither!” he snapped. “So git!”

  No one waited to be told twice. They scattered like birds at a turkey shoot. Apparently his was a voice people listened to in Miracle Springs.

  Mrs. Parrish wasn’t as easily spooked. Even Captain Dixon took a step back, but Mrs. Parrish settled her hands on her hips and didn’t budge.

  “As one of the few voices of decent civilized society in this town,” she said, “I think it is my business. Anyway, I am making it mine. These children came here looking for a home, and now it seems you are the only link there is to that home.”

  “A home!” From the expression on his face I don’t think the thought had yet occurred to him. “You can’t expect—! Even you can see, Mrs. Parrish, that Nick and I ain’t fit to be taking care of no kids.” He glanced a look at me as if to say, I’m sorry.

  “We’d be able to help out on Uncle Nick’s ranch,” I offered, not wanting to sound too eager, but hardly able to keep quiet any longer. “I’m a fair cook, and Zack’s a good hand with a plow and animals. As for the young’uns, they can learn. We won’t get in your way. Then you can go find Uncle Nick and tell him we’re here.”

  “Ranch? What ranch?” Mr. Drum said.

  “The ranch a fellow from California told us Uncle Nick had.”

  “Since when do you and Nick Matthews own a ranch, Mr. Drum?” said Mrs. Parrish. I couldn’t tell if her voice sounded angry or smug.

  A reddish color started to come into Drum’s face. I don’t think he liked being questioned by a woman in front of all his friends from the saloon, several of whom had wandered back toward the door.

  “Now, look here!” he said suddenly, a sharp, cross look coming over his face. “Not that it’s any of your business, but Nick and I did have a ranch once—won it in a poker game and lost it the next night. How was we to know someone’d go spreading it around that we was ranchers, or that Nick’s . . . sister . . . would take it in her blame fool head to come out West after . . . him.”

  “Listen here, Drum,” spoke up Captain Dixon. “Don’t you go speakin’ so of the dead, ’specially in front of her own children. Mrs. Hollister was a fine, brave woman.”

  Mr. Drum looked ready to knock us all down and bolt. He opened his mouth as if he were going to say something, but nothing came out.

  “Indeed, Mr. Drum,” added Mrs. Parrish, and now her voice was angry, “you ought to be ashamed of yourself to speak so!”

  Mr. Drum looked as if he was about to suffocate.

  “And as far as the question of your and Mr. Matthews’ reputations go,” Mrs. Parrish went on as if she didn’t see what distress he was in, “I must agree to some extent. Yet it appears you are all these children have. Technically, if Mr. Matthews doesn’t return, then I would think these children would inherit his half of your property. You might as well face it, Mr. Drum—these youngsters may be your new partners.”

  “Look here, Mrs. Parrish, who knows when Nick’ll be back? Why, I ain’t even got a decent place for them to bunk down.” He was looking more and more like a trapped
polecat with all the eyes of the town on him. “What about you?”

  “I’m not their kin,” she answered matter-of-factly. “I have no connection to their uncle, or to any property to which they might have a legitimate claim. You do. And practically speaking, my business takes me too frequently away from home.” She glanced at me apologetically.

  “So does mine!” exclaimed Drum. “And I ain’t got no intention of havin’ no woman tell me my responsibility toward—my—my partner’s kids!”

  He was looking at Mrs. Parrish, but I thought I saw him throw just a momentary glance at me as he spoke. Something in his eyes seemed to want to say, I’m sorry . . . I’d take you in if I could. But not now, not like this . . . not with the whole town staring at me!

  He spun around and bounded down the steps, striding across the dirt street to where his horse, a pretty bay mare, was tied at a hitching rail. Somehow all the fears I had over the past several weeks never included standing in the middle of a strange town with everyone turning us away.

  But there went our only hope of locating our uncle, galloping off down the road, leaving only a cloud of dust and five pairs of disappointed, staring eyes behind him.

  Chapter 6

  The Town Business Woman

  Even though Mrs. Parrish was a kind lady, the menfolk in town seemed almost afraid of her. As we walked away from the saloon, I wondered about her being the only real lady in a town full of rough, gold-mining men. But they depended on her business for their livelihood, and so maybe they had to watch their step around her.

  She almost reminded me of a stern schoolteacher who one just couldn’t help liking, even for all her sober looks and strict words. I liked her anyway. Ma would have liked her, too. Now, she was a woman who could get on in the world by herself. She sure didn’t look like she needed a man around!

  She took us right to her house. Captain Dixon had to be on his way, but he took our wagon to Mrs. Parrish’s and unhitched the team. She ran one of the town’s livery stables there as part of her business, so they made arrangements with the man there for our two horses. I heard her tell him that she’d see to our care “ . . . until that Drum comes to his senses, or until Nick Matthews gets back in town.”

  We all gave the captain big hugs. How we hated to see him go! He’d been about the only familiar face we’d known for quite a while now, and was just about the closest we’d gotten to having a father. Mrs. Parrish was nice, but we’d only just met her, and seeing Captain Dixon go off down the street brought a fearsome loneliness into me all over again.

  He promised that he’d come to see us before he left for the East to guide another wagon train to California. I wondered if we might be going back with him. But with both Ma and Grandpa gone, we had no one to go home to back in New York. That little wagon was the only home we had left. We wouldn’t be any better off in the East than we were here in Miracle. And I’d rather be orphaned and alone in California, than to face that trip across the country again with a batch of young’uns to watch after. I was practically just a kid myself!

  It was late by the time the captain left and we all got settled in. Mrs. Parrish had a nice frame house—there were only two or three other houses in town, but hers was the nicest. I suppose most of the men lived in one of the two boarding houses, in the collection of tents at the end of town, or out on their claims in the hills someplace. It sure was nice being in such a pretty place. It was all done up fancy-like with beautiful carved furniture, chairs with needlepoint seats, chintz curtains, and fine china in the prettiest cherrywood hutch I ever saw. Mrs. Parrish said her husband had it all brought from the East, from their home in Boston. It came around Cape Horn, she said, in 1849, when she and her husband came to California.

  She was a widow now. She didn’t talk much about her husband except for that, and I didn’t want to be impolite and ask too many questions.

  She had two extra beds with feather mattresses. I could hardly believe how soft they felt after all those months sleeping in our wagon. Tad and Zack were asleep in seconds. Emily and Becky squirmed and giggled until I could get them settled down. But I couldn’t sleep. With all the change, and everything that had happened, my mind was just too full.

  Finally I got up and went to a little desk where Mrs. Parrish had left a small lamp burning for us. I got out the old school notebook I was keeping my diary in, and wrote about the day—how we had come to Miracle Springs and about meeting Mr. Drum at the saloon. I tried to draw a picture of the front of the saloon. Lots of times I’d make drawings along with what I wrote, to help me remember. I couldn’t help shedding a few tears. After all this time of anticipation, Uncle Nick was gone. And Mr. Drum left us here without even wanting to help us find him. I remembered that peculiar look in his eyes, as if he might have wanted to help if everyone wasn’t watching. I felt so alone. I don’t think I ever felt so lonely—even right after Ma died—as that moment standing there on the dusty street of Miracle Springs, watching that bay mare fade away from sight, and knowing nobody wanted us.

  It helped to write it down that night. I was glad Ma got me thinking about keeping a diary, because it made the next few weeks easier to bear. I needed to be able to talk to somebody, even if it was only to myself. Most of what I wrote nobody’d ever lay eyes on. But just saying it made me feel better, like having a silent friend I could tell things to. And if I hadn’t been keeping a journal, I wouldn’t be able to remember a lot of what it was like when we first came to Miracle Springs.

  I wrote late into the night by the dim light of Mrs. Parrish’s lamp. It must have been past midnight when I finally crawled back into bed between Emily and Becky. But as tired as I was, I kept waking up all night, thinking that at any minute Uncle Nick would come to the door and take us to his ranch.

  Chapter 7

  Mrs. Parrish Talks to Us

  I woke up the following morning to a steady rainfall.

  Emily and Becky were still sleeping soundly, and Becky had an arm wrapped around my neck. I gently loosened her arm and slipped out of bed. The sun was barely up, but the clouds made it even darker outside. The black sky reminded me that it was almost the end of October. Even in California, winter must be coming soon.

  Mrs. Parrish fixed us all a fine breakfast of pancakes and sausages. The men in the mining camps called them flapjacks, she said, and prided themselves on tossing them way up in the air to flip them over. Then she had to leave for her office down the street.

  Before she left, she showed us her bathtub in a little room all its own, showed us where to get the water, and told us to help ourselves to baths and anything else we needed. That was her polite way of saying we looked, and probably smelled, like a bunch of mountaineers. She told us where to find the pantry if we got hungry, and then invited us to come by the office later. She didn’t say a word about Uncle Nick. I wasn’t sure if that was good or bad, but I didn’t want to ask.

  After she left, I got the young’uns into the bath. All three of them could fit in that big tub of hers at the same time! I figured it’d be okay for me and Zack, since we were older, to have our own separate baths. While the kids were splashing around, I went to the kitchen to wash up the breakfast dishes; I’d asked Mrs. Parrish to leave them for me to do.

  After a while Zack came in with that grown-up look on his face. “Corrie,” he said, “I been doing some thinking.”

  He sat down in a chair by the table and took a leftover pancake from a plate. No matter how much might have been on Zack’s mind, he could always eat.

  “What about?” I asked, scrubbing away at the grease on the skillet.

  “You know all them stories we heard about kids not that much older’n us who came out West by theirselves?”

  I nodded. Half of them I never believed. “We ain’t heard that many stories,” I said.

  “Well,” Zack went on, paying my comment no heed, “there ain’t no reason we couldn’t do the same.”

  “I don’t think I heard any stories about kids as young as us
doing it,” I added.

  “Aw, come on, Corrie! We don’t need Uncle Nick or nobody else. Pa left us and we all made out fine. Now Ma’s gone, but we’re older, too. We could get by.”

  “I ain’t so sure,” I said.

  I didn’t like the tone of Zack’s voice. He sounded angry. It never occurred to me to be angry with Uncle Nick. It wasn’t as if he had known we were coming and just skipped out on us, like Pa had done.

  “I could get a job. Maybe even do some mining.”

  “Zack, you’re only thirteen.”

  “That’s old enough!” he shot back at me. “I might even strike it rich.”

  He bit into a piece of hotcake as if he was taking his frustration out on it. I decided I’d better not say anything more.

  “Anyway,” he went on in a minute, “I bet I could make us a living, just like Pa did, while you take care of the kids. Then when Emily gets big enough, she could take care of Becky and Tad and you could get work, maybe taking in laundry or such like. Lots of women do that kind of thing.”

  “But that’s just it, Zack,” I replied, “I’m not a woman. I don’t know enough about things—you know, about life, and all that—to take care of all of us. Especially way out here where there’s hardly any civilization. And what about school? Ma always wanted us to have a good education. Seems to me we ought to go back to New York.”

  “And do what?”

  “We got friends who’d likely help us.”

  “Ma would never want us to live off charity.”

  I was silent. Zack had me there. Ma was a proud woman all right. It was one thing to ask family for help, but quite another to go to complete strangers. Mrs. Parrish was nice, but we couldn’t stay with her forever.

  Maybe Zack was right. If we were young like Tad and Becky or even Emily, it would be different. Maybe then folks would feel as if they ought to take care of us. But Zack and I were old enough—at least, almost old enough—to take care of ourselves. But I didn’t feel that way most of the time. Since Ma’d died, it hadn’t been very comfortable being the one everybody looked to for decision-making. And I couldn’t help thinking about what Ma had said about Pa when he was young, how hard it had been on him being all alone. I sure didn’t want that to happen to any of us.