Yet those eyes reminded him of their endless value. They were there to help, to love, to encourage any who allowed themselves to linger in her gaze. If only he would take a moment to remember, to feel her gentle hand and receive it in his own. She had saved him once, she could save him again.
On the little plot of earth adjacent to their encampment, a tall, ebony-skinned man emerged from his tent. He realized he was in the vicinity of females and removed his hat, regarding them with large, black eyes. They roved from face to face and came to a stop with Lucius. Here his lips broke into a wide grin, revealing starkly white teeth against his black skin.
“Looks like you got yourself a henhouse,” he said.
Lucius laughed nervously.
“Aye, that I do, sir.”
Lucius extended a hand and introduced himself, and the tall man received it with a hearty shake.
“Samuel Davies. Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Flynn.”
Samuel nodded shyly to the ladies, not quite certain how to greet them properly. Evelyn, who was not accustomed to meekness but was certainly impressed by it, took a bold step towards him and held out her hand.
“Mr. Davies, I am Evelyn Brennan, and this is Adele Whitfield and her boy, Bartie. That lovely girl there is Josephine. We are all of us pleased to make your acquaintance.”
Hands were shaken all around, and everyone felt glad to have this pleasant gentleman in their midst.
“Your delicate friends must be in need of rest,” Samuel told Lucius. “Might I assist you with your tent?”
Lucius almost laughed, such was his relief.
“Of course,” he replied. “The help would be much appreciated.”
As the men erected the tent, the women asked where they might find water to bathe and launder their clothes.
“Don’t know what the other men do,” Samuel replied, “but I found a quaint little spring someways out of town, about a mile or so into the jungle. Fine place. Private, too. I would be happy to divulge directions, if you like. No use going this afternoon though, as the sun wouldn’t stick around long enough to see you back. But I would be obliged to watch after your things while you’re gone, as I imagine Mr. Flynn should like to accompany you.”
The women looked at each other in hesitation, but Samuel chuckled.
“Ain’t no cause to worry ‘bout that, you know,” he continued. “Ain’t nothin’ good come out of a thieving nigger. I’d get pursued by every white feller here. They’d catch me and lynch me in front of the whole city. Make an example of me. Naw, I ain’t got no cause to steal from you fine folk. I got everything I need.”
He shook his head and said again, “ain’t no good come out of a thieving nigger.”
The others were curious about him, and as the sun descended, they settled around a fire and roasted peanuts while Samuel told his story.
He had been a slave in Georgia, whose master was killed in an accident with a horse. His master’s wife favored Samuel, as he had been good to her husband, and when news struck of the Gold Rush, she freed him.
“You go on out west and make a life for yourself, you hear?” she instructed. “Find yourself a fortune and a woman and build a little house you can fill with babies.”
“Miz Potter’s a kind woman,” Samuel told his listeners. “Don’t know what I did to merit such a fine family. I got friends who ain’t never known a nice word or a gentle hand, and all they masters give them is a plow and a whip.”
Samuel left Georgia for the first time in his life, making fair time until arriving in Panama City, where he had been stranded for nine weeks.
“Each time a ship come ‘round,” he said, “I find myself booted to the back of the line. White boys get mad when they lose their spot to a Chilean feller, but they’s downright murderous over a Negro. I may have money and rights to go where I want, but I ain’t got the liberty. No sir, no ma’am. ‘Free black’ ain’t nothing but an empty idear’ here, ‘cause I can’t make one move without the general approval of white kind. They don’t approve, I might as well do nothing, ‘cause they’s gonna make hell for me if I do. So I jest sit here and wait. Wait till the sea parts and I can jest walk into the Promised Land unhindered.”
“How do you support yourself?” Evelyn asked. “Surely every day that passes is another dollar lost.”
“Yes indeed. Livin’ here an doin’ nothin’ gets right expensive, and you see men losin’ their minds and pocketbooks every day. They gamble and drink and eat and sleep and it’s all nothin’ but money down the hole. But I got a nice lady lookin’ after my interests. Ol’ Miz Potter is supportin’ me till I make my fortune, and every once in a while there’s an extra errand ‘round here that needs runnin’. The last ship that came through hired me to transport cargo. I reckon one cart of bullion alone had to be worth ‘bout twenty thousand dollars.”
“My God!” Lucius cried.
“Yessir. What you hear ‘bout what they diggin’ up in California ain’t no lie. No sir. I seen it for myself. Jest can’t wait to get my hands on it.”
Lucius lunged from his seat and paced in excitement.
“I can hardly stand it!” he exclaimed. “This place holds us in shackles while lesser men are taking El Dorado for themselves! There must be something we can do to get there faster.”
“You could swim,” Evelyn teased.
Lucius was not amused and cast her a look that said as much.
“You could always hire yourselves a private sailboat,” Samuel suggested. “It’ll cost you a pretty penny and will take more’n twice or thrice the amount of time to get to San Francisco as a steamer. But it’s an option nonetheless.”
Lucius seemed to consider this for a moment, then shook his head.
“No. Losing time is not an option at all. We mustn’t delay a single moment.”
“Fellers sayin’ there’s enough gold to go ‘round, Mr. Flynn,” Samuel said. “Say it’s gonna be years before it’s all gone. We jest got to find ourselves a claim.”
“And every day we tarry, more land is snatched up and cleaned out,” Lucius argued. “Whatever happens, I intend to be on the next ship to San Francisco. I don’t care what it takes.”
Evelyn yawned.
“Well, you must proceed with wisdom and caution,” she said. “I certainly hope you go about making your negotiations in a manner entirely different than Mr. Donnigan went about his in Chagres. You boys and your guns bring nothing but trouble, and I daresay I would be pleased if you, Mr. Flynn, were more apt to rely on your luck than any sort of violence in this matter.”
“I did not think you believed in luck, Miss Brennan.”
“No, but if it stands in disguise for both patience and prudence, it has my vote. It is better to be late than to lose one’s life. Don’t you think we have learned our lesson?”
“She is right,” Samuel added. “Men have died in this race. When the last ship came through here, there was a riot. Six men was either shot or trampled, and even more lost their teeth or had their noses mashed in. We have a better chance than all the rest if we wait for the right opportunity to move.”
Lucius nodded in silence, but in the shadows, his hand slipped to his waist, where he touched the cool barrel of his pistol. Prudence would be wise, but there was nothing wrong with knowing his options.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
At the first light of dawn, young Panamanian boys climbed the turreted towers on every street corner and saluted the rising sun by sounding the old bells, which rang in the air like the tired pieces of tin they had become.
It was Sunday morning.
Evelyn woke to the many distinctive sounds of dawn in American Camp: the crooning roosters, barking dogs, sizzling sausages, crackling fires, and whistling kettles.
She dressed and popped her head out of her tent to see Samuel Davies roasting tomatoes over the campfire. She smiled at the sight of him and emerged into the open, where she stretched and gathered a proper perspective of the world around her. She looked from left t
o right, shocked once more at the sheer size of this transitional location. The entrance of their tent faced the direction they had come, giving them an open view of the field that separated them from the mountains. To their left was the old stone city, splashed and spotted with shades of earthen red, molten black, and flaking white. The dark jungle lay to their right, and behind them was the whole of American Camp, pale against the devastating blue of the ocean.
She stood on her toes to get a clear view of the sea beyond the canvas, a sapphire expanse that stretched beautiful and barren in the distance. There were no ships this morning, and her heart sank a little, for she thought the chiming bells that had roused her might be harbingers of their arrival.
When she turned around, she caught Samuel’s eye, but their gaze was broken by his innate sense of propriety, which was conditioned to avoid eye contact with those above his class.
Evelyn did not think this was necessary.
“Good morning, Mr. Davies,” she said.
Samuel nodded to his tomatoes.
“Miss Brennan. How’de do this mornin’?”
“Just fine, thank you. I love mornings, and the smell of your breakfast is enough to put anyone in a pleasant mood.”
He cracked a smile.
“You’re welcome to it,” he told her. “I made extra for your company. You must be low on supplies, so I thought I’d share mine. ‘Freely you’ve been given, freely give’. Ain’t that right, Miss Brennan?”
“That’s lovely, Mr. Davies. Thank you. I am afraid we are a bit low on food. Is there a market nearby? Perhaps I can do a bit of bargaining to keep us nourished until our ship arrives.”
“There is. I reckon you can find jest what you need; fruit and bread and the like.” He lifted his eyes then and regarded her with interest. “You ever been to the market before, ma’am?”
“Well, of course not. We’ve only just arrived.”
“I jest wondered if you ever done your own purchasing, here or anywhere.”
Evelyn considered. Her servants had always gone to market, but she had gone to the tailor’s when the occasion called for it. Did that count for anything?
“I have never been to a market, no,” she admitted.
Samuel nodded, returning his gaze to his breakfast.
“Thought so,” he said. “I’ll go with you, if you like. Ain’t no safe place for a lady ‘round here, and you wouldn’t have to have your pockets picked to lose all your money in the marketplace. Local businesses prey on foreigners. Make ‘em pay ten times what something’s worth. It ain’t right, but it’s how they do things. I’ll talk ‘em low as I can get ‘em, miss.”
“I’m grateful for the offer. I shall have to learn a great many skills now that I am on my own, and I am happy to have a teacher. Thank you, Mr. Davies.”
Samuel nodded in reply and removed the tomatoes from the fire. He wrapped one in a cloth and offered it to Evelyn, who received it with a smile.
* * *
When everyone had risen and eaten, Evelyn set out for the marketplace with Samuel and Josephine.
Though white women were novelties in this city, the streets were full of people of every color, and as today was Sunday, the locals were brightly arrayed in their church best. The women wore brilliant white dresses, with ribbons of various shades bedecking their hair and lining the hems of their gowns. Their necks were adorned with golden coins of sundry shapes and sizes, glimmering in the stark sunlight of early day. Their hair, black and dense, was gathered into knots and braids, and Evelyn watched curiously as she witnessed one of them add one final adornment to her tresses before stepping into church.
“Whatever is she doing?” she asked Samuel.
He followed her gaze and chuckled.
“These Panamanian women are a peculiar lot,” he replied. “They like to smoke, but it ain’t a proper habit in church, so they save it up for later.”
Evelyn, Samuel, and Josephine watched as the woman plucked a cigar from her lips, turned it around, and popped the lit end into her mouth. Once diffused, she removed it and secured it within the folds of her hair. She disappeared into a dark stone cathedral, and a thin wisp of smoke vanished behind her.
They continued through the streets, looking up as well as down, just in case someone should empty their chamber pot from the above windows. Evelyn pulled a scented handkerchief from her gown and pressed it against her nose to avoid the fetid smell of the gutters.
As they approached the marketplace, however, the smell in the air altered. Herbs and spices made it more breathable, while the powdery scent of flour and grain was thick and dusty. Venders accosted them, pulling handfuls of rice and wheat from their enormous brown sacks and shoving it beneath their noses.
“You want, you buy!” they shouted. “I give you good price, best price! You are welcome. Look for free!”
They wandered through an endless stream of little open shops, where butchers hung their plumpest goat legs and fishermen displayed their morning’s catch, while women sat cross-legged on the ground next to colorful rows of fruits and vegetables. They negotiated the price on eggs and sausages, jerked meat and wheat cakes, cabbages, peppers, tomatoes, bananas, and rice.
As they prepared to leave the market, a perfume stronger than Evelyn’s permeated her senses, causing her to balk in the street.
“Oh, Mr. Davies, where is that heavenly scent wafting from?” she asked.
He smiled and led her to a steaming cart attended by a little old woman, where recycled tins were stacked on top of each other and bananas were strewn on a mat upon the ground.
“You like coffee, Miss Brennan?” Samuel asked.
“Oh, I do, Mr. Davies.”
He gestured for her to approach the cart, where the woman picked up a tin, held it out towards Evelyn, and opened the lid for her to smell. It was full of freshly roasted coffee beans, still warm to the touch.
“This is Mama Paz,” Samuel explained. “She grows her beans outside the city, where she has a little plantation of banana trees, and the coffee plants spring up under the shade, ‘cause they don’t take well to sunlight. They’s the best beans I ever tasted in my life, Miss Brennan.”
Evelyn cupped the rusted tin between her hands and hoisted it beneath her nose, where she lingered some moments, breathing in the aroma.
“I feel as though I have stepped into a dream,” she told the others.
Samuel chuckled and fished some coins from his pocket, dropping them into Mama Paz’s wrinkled hand. She received them with a toothless grin.
“Then allow me the privilege to make it come true,” he told Evelyn.
She regarded him with pleasant surprise.
“Why, Mr. Davies, you are too generous!”
They thanked Mama Paz and began their return walk to camp.
“I am grateful to have friends and neighbors such as yourselves, ma’am,” Samuel said. “Don’ matter how crowded this place gets. I felt mighty lonesome till last night, when your lot arrived. Seems the color of my skin don’t make no difference to you all, and I am much obliged to repay your respect with what little generosity I have to offer.”
“My father taught me that a fellow man’s prejudice does nothing to elevate him,” Evelyn replied. “If anything, it brings him lower, for he is denying himself the very beauty and strength that mankind, in all its splendorous variety, has to offer. To place oneself in a box is to inhibit growth, but to open one’s heart is to expand one’s mind. I have seen the effects of racial war, as my own race is out of favor with much of the world. My father was stabbed to death by an intolerant American, and Mr. Flynn’s mother was killed by our own people, his family driven from Ireland because of an English bloodline. Racism is a deathly disease, but embracing one’s brother and sister is like embracing life itself.”
She smiled at Josephine then, and reached down to take the younger girl’s hand in her own.
“Isn’t that right, dear one?”
Josephine nodded, and the two women progres
sed in silence as they recalled the night they had worked together to save Lucius. If bigotry had separated them, he very well might have died.
* * *
Lucius spent the morning attempting to do some reading while Adele looked after Bartholomew, who was in a frightful temperament. Nothing would soothe the child, for Adele had tried everything she knew. He would not eat, he would not listen to stories, he would not lay down to rest. He simply cried and cried, and Lucius felt as though his head might split in two at any moment. He tried to concentrate, but the moment he got his thoughts in order, the child would make some ridiculous screeching sound or another, and Lucius’ thought would be lost. When he attempted to read, he would stare over a page three times before giving up on it entirely and flipping it over to see if there was something more interesting on the following side.
This was not working. He continually glanced at his pocket watch, wondering when the others would return, but time was against him, for it never seemed to move.
He cursed, shutting his book with a loud clap. He looked up at Adele, who was singing and holding up Bartie’s arms in an attempt to make him dance. However, the child’s legs were like India rubber. He just wanted to sit in the dirt and scream.
Lucius put on his best, most absurdly fake smile and said, “Mrs. Whitfield, are you sure there is nothing I can do to help?”
With one hand, Adele pushed a stray curl from her forehead.
“I am utterly spent for ideas,” she replied. “It is rare I do any sort of mothering without Josephine nearby. I am at a loss without her. It is my fervent prayer she returns soon.”
“And mine,” Lucius agreed.
Adele dropped Bartie’s arms and the child slithered onto the ground, where he writhed with a red face and continued to wail.
“Perhaps he will cry himself to sleep,” his mother said with a yearning sigh.
Lucius raised his eyebrows incredulously.
“That’s a capital idea!” he cried, casting another glance at his pocket watch. Inwardly, he was grimacing.
Liberty Hill (Western Tide Series) Page 24
