She observed the wild excitement in Washington when the war ended as if from very far off, unable to understand why the joy and happiness all around her didn’t move her. She was very glad the soldiers could now go home to their wives and families, and so very relieved that there would be no further casualties, but how could she delight in a victory won at the expense of six million dead?
There was only one clear picture in her mind as the people of Washington cheered, hugged and kissed one another and celebrated. That of James’s funeral, and the long, long trenches, some already filled with bodies, others lying empty, waiting to be filled.
Because of James’s rank, someone had covered the mounds of waiting bodies with sacking. But that didn’t prevent Matilda and Tabitha smelling them, or seeing the black cloud of buzzing flies around them. She didn’t think she would ever get that smell out of her nostrils, or wipe the image from her mind.
Tabitha had gone back to Ohio now, to pick up her medical studies again, and as they had parted at Washington station some six weeks ago, Matilda pretended for Tabitha’s sake that she was excited to be going home to San Francisco. The truth of the matter was that she didn’t really care where she went; if she’d been ordered to go to nurse in another town, she would have gone willingly. It was easier to be with strangers than to face people who loved her.
As a series of trains carried her across America, and California became closer, she told herself she must snap out of this apathy and look forward. She was lucky that she had a home to go to, the whole South lay in ruins, people were starving, their homes sacked, crops destroyed, and so many women had lost not only their man, but their sons too.
Sidney had managed to get himself sent home because of his infected foot, and in the last letter she received from him he’d been joyfully anticipating Peter’s arrival. She knew she should be mentally making plans for the future, she had London Lil’s to open again, the Jennings Bureau, and the girls’ home in Folsom Street, but instead of planning she just stared out of the window, watching the miles go by without even noticing the scenery.
It was only when she boarded this stage-coach in Denver, and passed by the hotel where she once stayed with James, that she felt something. They had been so happy there, and she knew he wouldn’t want her to go on mourning him this way. She could almost hear him whispering, ‘There will always be people who need your strength, Matty, you can’t let them down.’
Suddenly the stage-coach lurched sideways, making everyone inside it gasp. Matilda glanced round at them, all at once aware that she had been completely oblivious to her fellow passengers, despite travelling with them for several days.
There was nothing particularly unusual about any of them, they were just a bunch of quite ordinary people, such as you’d see on any street, in any town anywhere in America.
A fat man in a checked suit, his companion a somewhat worn-looking woman with a pinched, narrow face. Two young soldiers returning home, their uniforms shabby, yet their boots highly polished. A young woman in a smart red dress and matching bonnet, travelling with an older lady who might be her mother, and finally a small, rather wizened clergyman, who was holding his broad-brimmed hat in his hand and twisting it nervously.
Matilda had been aware of them talking to one another most of the way. At first, some of them had tried to engage her in conversation too, but due to her lack of response they had soon given up. Even when they pulled in at coach stops, Matilda had kept herself aloof.
The sideways lurch had been caused by the coach reaching the summit of the hill and they were now going down the other side, right beside them a steep rocky chasm. For the first time in the entire trip she felt a stirring of excitement for it was very reminiscent of travelling in the wagon all those years ago.
The young soldier sitting opposite her must have observed her sudden interest because he leaned forward in his seat. ‘Scared?’ he asked.
He was just a boy, perhaps twenty, pale and thin, with a lock of fair hair falling over his eyes. Something about him touched her and she smiled. ‘No, not scared,’ she said. ‘I trust the coachman. I expect he’s been this way hundreds of times.’
It was a funny thing, but just making that remark cheered her. If she still had faith in a coachman, then she could get back her faith in herself.
‘Are you going home?’ she asked the boy.
He nodded. ‘My folks live in Sacramento. I hope to hell they ain’t moved on, I ain’t had no letters for two years.’
‘They’ll be there,’ she said reassuringly. ‘Do they know you’re safe?’
He shrugged, and somehow that little gesture summed up the whole folly and heartbreak of war. Letters were sent and never arrived, countless families all over the country had no idea if their men would come back to them.
‘Well, there’s going to be one happy mother in Sacramento tomorrow,’ she said, her smile now coming from deep inside her. ‘You hurry on back to her now, don’t dawdle on the way.’
He laughed, a little embarrassed. ‘Have you got sons coming back to you?’ he asked.
‘I’m going back to them,’ she said, and found herself telling him about Sidney and Peter. ‘I guess they were both luckier than most,’ she finished up. ‘So many men were forced back into the action even with bad injuries.’
She lapsed back into silence then, looking out at the view and straining her eyes for the first glimpse of the ocean through gaps in the mountains. That brief conversation, the first she’d had with anyone since leaving Washington, had made her see she was glad to be going home after all. Maybe her apartment and London Lil’s were going to bring back more painful memories of James, but with her family around her again, perhaps she could rise above them.
‘Matty!’
Matilda was just stepping down from the coach in San Francisco when she heard Sidney’s joyous bellow. Her head swivelled round and she saw him racing towards her through the crowds of people, his mop of red hair a welcoming beacon.
He flung his arms around her and lifted her right off her feet, almost crushing her, and all at once she was crying.
‘Oh Matty,’ he sighed, planting a kiss on both her cheeks. ‘It sure is good to have you home again. Now, what are you cryin’ for? This ain’t no time for tears, Mary said I’d got to get you and rush you home right away. Why, she’s been cleaning and polishing for days in your honour.’
Matilda reached up and just held his face in her two hands for a moment. He seemed so much bigger than she remembered, his face rounded out, and the freckles less pronounced. It was over three years ago that he enlisted, and he was a thirty-year-old man now, the boy gone forever. But his exuberance was unchanged, and she could almost feel a thaw beginning around her heart.
‘I love you, Sidney,’ she said simply, resting her head on his broad chest for a moment. ‘It’s so good to be back.’
She had expected everything to have changed, but it hadn’t. Still the same jostling crowds, the sunshine, noise, smells, music and gaiety. Her little gig was waiting, bright with a coat of fresh paint, and even Star snorted a welcome when she saw her mistress.
As they drove up California Street Hill and Matilda saw London Lil’s up ahead, a lump came to her throat. The paint was dull and peeling, the shutters still closed on the saloon windows, but despite its neglected appearance it still dominated the hill, reminding her of what an important role it had played in this town.
There was a big brown hound lying on the veranda. As Sidney pulled up the gig, it stood up, stretched and yawned before bounding over to greet Sidney. Treacle had died at a very old age soon after Matilda left to go nursing, and she guessed Mary had got this dog as a replacement.
‘This is Lincoln,’ Sidney said, patting him. ‘Say hullo to the boss,’ he said. ‘Come on, the way I taught you.’
The dog held up one paw, looking at her with questioning eyes. Matilda took his paw and shook it. ‘I’m so pleased to meet you, Lincoln,’ she said with a chuckle. ‘I do hope no one shoot
s you!’
The saloon door opened and there was Mary, her arms open in welcome, her smile as wide as a slice of water-melon. ‘Matty! ‘she shrieked, and ran down the steps to hug her.
An hour or two later, Matty felt almost bruised by the sheer number of hugs and kisses she had received. The upstairs parlour had been decorated with a ‘Welcome Home’ banner, Chinese lanterns, paper streamers, and so many flowers. The table was laid with party food, and people kept arriving to see her.
Peter was still limping badly and he needed a stick to walk with, but he looked strong and healthy again. Mary was expecting a third child, and it seemed impossible to Matilda that Elizabeth was now four and James, the baby she’d helped deliver just before leaving San Francisco, was now three, walking and talking. Both children had Sidney’s red hair, with Mary’s curls, and they shared their parents’ happy dispositions.
Dolores’ hair was peppered with grey, and she looked every bit as severe as she always had, but she had burst into emotional tears as she embraced Matilda and in a hoarse voice said she had missed her so much that sometimes she felt she was going crazy.
But of all the surprises, Fern was the greatest, for she’d changed from a skinny girl into a beautiful woman while Matilda had been away. Her coppery skin had a delicate sheen, her body had filled out with voluptuous curves, and her soulful eyes were framed by the thickest, darkest lashes. Gone were the timid, frightened glances, she was self-assured and poised, even in male company, and just looking at her made Matilda’s heart swell with pride.
All day people came and went. Henry Slocum, on two walking sticks, old and tired now, was so thrilled to have Matilda home. Shop-keepers, ex-gold miners, and some of the business men she’d sold timber to right back in 1850 came to see her. She had thought it would be unbearably painful if anyone spoke of James and offered her their condolences on his death, but they did speak of him, and their heartfelt sorrow for her filled that empty space inside her.
That night she shared her old bed with Elizabeth, and as she lay with her arms around the sleeping child, caressing her silky hair, the few tears she shed were ones of happiness. No one could ever take the place of Amelia or James, she would never stop mourning them, but she could see now she still had a great deal to live for.
At seven the next morning she was dressed and sitting at her desk in the parlour. The apartment was silent, everyone still asleep, but then Peter came in, still in his night-clothes and a dressing-gown.
‘I thought you’d be resting up today after the hectic time yesterday,’ he said. ‘Couldn’t you sleep?’
‘I slept like a baby,’ she smiled. ‘But I had to get up, there is so much I want to get started on.’
‘Already,’ he groaned, running his fingers through his tousled hair. I would have expected you to want to catch your breath first,’
Matilda was very glad of this opportunity to speak to Peter alone. He was the only one who hadn’t mentioned James yesterday, or spoken of his plans for the future. She guessed his state of mind was much like hers had been.
‘It’s almost two years since you were wounded and James died,’ she said gently. ‘It’s time we both got going again, Peter. You have to plan a career for yourself, I have to pick up the reins here.’
He sat down on the armchair next to her desk, his light brown eyes looked troubled. ‘What can I do walking with a stick?’ he said.
‘I know you are still in pain, and that perhaps you feel you are a cripple, but you survived that wound, you are only twenty-two, and there are a great many things you can do.’
‘Like what, Aunt Matty?’ he said dejectedly. ‘I can’t run, lift anything heavy, I’m so slow.’
‘There’s nothing wrong with your brain,’ she said. ‘You were always so good at figures, how about accountancy?’
He gave a cynical smile. ‘So I can do your books?’
‘Yes,’ she grinned back. ‘But other people’s too, it’s a good way to earn a living, now the war’s over, all businesses will be picking up.’
‘It wasn’t what I planned,’ he sighed, and she knew that even after all the horror of war he still saw himself as a soldier.
She reached out and put her hand on his shoulder. ‘I know. But there’s nothing cissy about being an accountant, Peter. Armed with knowledge you can fight people’s battles for them, raise and manage money for causes you care about. I think if James were still with us, he’d say the same.’
He was silent for a moment or two and she guessed he wanted to say something about James. She waited.
‘I loved and admired him more than any other man in the whole world,’ he said at last, his lips trembling. ‘I wanted to be just like him.’
‘But you are,’ she said, her eyes filling with tears. ‘It wasn’t being a soldier that made him a great man, it was his goodness, intelligence, courage, and his love of humanity. You have all those qualities too, Peter,’
He looked right into her eyes, saw her tears, and reached out tenderly to wipe them away. ‘We’re both scarred, aren’t we? We lost Cissie, Amelia and Susanna, and now I’ve got to live with a limp, and you’ve got to get by with a broken heart. But we did come through it. I guess you’re right, the only way to make sense of it all is for us to pull together and make a whole new life for ourselves.’
‘That’s the spirit,’ she said, taking his hand and kissing the tips of his fingers. ‘Now, it just so happens I’ve made a list of things that need to be done. Shall we look at that now?’
Peter laughed then.
‘What’s so funny?’ she said indignantly.
‘You, Aunt Matty! Right from when I was a little boy you always had something up your sleeve, whatever happened. Ma said once that you were always two jumps ahead of everyone else.’
On 1 September, London Lil’s opened again with a huge party. The outside had been repainted, new gas lighting installed, and the interior revamped entirely. The old worn mural of London scenes had been painted over, and another had taken its place. The bar and floor had a new coat of varnish, the cracked mirrors, old tables and chairs replaced with new ones, the stage rebuilt and the floor sprung.
Matilda wanted Sidney, Mary and the children to stay with her permanently, so she had two new rooms added to the apartment upstairs, with a private staircase leading down to the back yard. She called in a gardener to turn part of the yard into a garden, and on the rough ground at the front of the saloon, he’d planted a few trees and shrubs. Maybe it would be noisy in the evenings for small children, but as Mary pointed out, it was better to have their pa, Aunt Matty and Uncle Peter close to hand, a garden of their own to play in, than a silent, and dull home.
Matilda remembered with nostalgia how hard it had been to find dancers and entertainers for the first opening, the hours of fruitless auditions and the agony of thinking they would never get anyone good. It was all so different this time – as soon as word got around she was re-opening, there were theatrical agents beating a path to her door, offering everything from snake-charmers to opera singers.
This time, too, the opening was by invitation only. Matilda heard with some amusement that many of the leading socialites in the town, who wouldn’t have dreamt of coming in during the early days, were now offering bribes to anyone they thought could get them invited.
The band struck up at seven in the evening and the doors were flung open. Sidney, in a green jacket and embroidered waistcoat, was ready behind the bar with his new staff, the waiters in red jackets, the waitresses in red flouncy dresses, each with a simple feathered headdress.
Almost all the girls had previously been residents in Folsom Street, and moved on to become maids or waitresses. But as soon as they had heard Matilda was back in town, they had gone to see Dolores with the hope she might persuade her mistress to take them on. It gave her so much pleasure seeing their glowing faces, but at the same time it was a reminder that soon she’d have to pick up her crusade against the evils of ‘the Coast’ again, for Dolores had
told her that since the emancipation of slaves, hundreds of very young Negro girls were coming into the clutches of the brothel owners.
In a new black velvet gown, and a feathered and sequinned headdress similar to the waitresses’, Matilda greeted all the guests personally. She had vowed that she would stay in mourning for James for the rest of her life, but as Dolores had dryly commented as she dressed her hair, ‘It sure is lucky you look good in black, ma’am. Some ladies, they look like an old crow. You’s jist look like a fallen angel.’
But beneath her gown and petticoats, Matilda was wearing the one remaining red garter. It had made her cry when she took it from the box, remembering where its partner was, buried with James up in Gettysburg. Yet by putting it on, she felt she was drawing on his spirit to get her through the night.
Everyone she had really wanted here came. Old miners, now turned shop-keepers, hotel owners, carpenters and bricklayers, stevedores and businessmen, almost all with their ladies. There were no flannel shirts and muddy boots as there had been on her first night, everyone looked scrubbed and polished. Even Alicia accompanied Henry, and it gave Matilda just a little pleasure to see she wasn’t ageing well. Her teeth were gone, her cheeks caving in, and her gown of lavender silk was very matronly and old-fashioned.
The show opened with the dancing girls doing the cancan, and though everyone had seen the dance countless times before, they were still as spellbound as when Zandra launched it here originally. A troupe of tumbling clowns came next, making everyone shriek with laughter as they seemingly fell off the stage, only to land on their hands and quickly jump up again. Their finale was making a human pyramid, and they played for laughs right to the end, wobbling and threatening to hurl themselves into the audience.
The waiters and waitresses were run ragged filling up glasses, for all the drinks were on the house tonight. But clearly everyone had enough to drink, for when the Negro minstrel band called for a sing-song, everyone uproariously joined in with ‘Oh Susanna’ and many other old songs from the gold rush days.
Never Look Back Page 81
