The Ladies of Sutter's Fort

by Jane Toombs

  “Like I said, I was standing at the bar listening to the young lady sing, thinking she’s singing to me, she is, when this bloody Englishman says, ‘I’d give two hundred dollars to get between the sheets with that wench.’ So I says to him, ‘Take that back,’ and he says to me, 'Take what back?’ and I says, ‘What you just said,’ and he says, ‘Fuck you.’ So I made a grab for him and that’s all there is to it.”

  “English Bob?”

  “I thought we’d be hearing a bit of the blarney from this lad but that’s the size of it. I was complimenting the young lady on her charm like the lad here says and for no reason at all he was at my throat.”

  “Danny,” Rhynne said, “English Bob was paying Selena a compliment. After his own fashion. You owe him an apology.”

  “You’ll see me in hell first.”

  “Enough.” Rhynne’s voice became steel. “You gave me your word, son. You’ll apologize.”

  Danny met Rhynne’s eyes and then his glance fell away. “Sorry,” he said to English Bob.

  “That’s all right, bucko. No hard feelings.” They shook hands and started for the door.

  “Just a minute,” Rhynne said, as English Bob went back inside. “Listen to me. It’s not so much a man’s words that count, it’s the meaning behind them. Learn the difference. I’ve been called a son of a bitch by a man who wanted me to know he considered me his boon companion, and I’ve been called a son of a bitch by a bastard who meant I was a son of a bitch. To his way of thinking, English Bob couldn’t have paid Selena a greater compliment than saying he’d pay two hundred dollars for her.”

  Rhynne, who had been reaching for the door latch, suddenly stopped and stared straight ahead.

  “Are you all right?” Danny asked.

  “All right?” Rhynne smiled. “I’ve never been better. I just caught sight of an idea that glittered like gold. I fear that when money is mentioned, I lose interest in most other matters. Ah, the music’s started again. Inside with you, Danny O’Lee.”

  Rhynne put his hand on Danny’s shoulder and together they reentered the Empire. The men, crowding around the piano, had their backs to them. Rhynne raised his eyebrows when he saw Selena perched on top of the piano with her skirts drawn up to reveal her crossed ankles.

  “Another chorus,” English Bob called and Selena sang:

  “Hangtown gals are plump and rosy Hair in ringlets, mighty cozy, Painted cheeks and jossy bonnets— Touch ‘em and they’ll sting like hornets!”

  The men joined in and when the song was over they waved their hats and cheered.

  Something struck Selena’s shoulder. “What are they throwing?” she asked Ned.

  “Gold. They’re throwing nuggets. Pick them up.”

  Selena looked down at the nuggets scattered on the floor.

  “No,” she said, “no, I won’t. Abe will. Abe can pick them up and give them to me later. I won’t be seen on my hands and knees scrabbling for money.”

  The piano player shrugged. “They want more,” he said. “Which tune will it be?”

  “It won’t be any tune.” Rhynne stood beside them. “Leave them unsatisfied,” he said. “Leave them wanting more.”

  Rhynne raised his arms toward her and Selena, smiling and waving at the clamoring men, slid from the piano. She took his arm and the miners cleared a path for them to the door. She walked close beside Rhynne, her heart thudding, repeating over and over to herself, they like me, they like me.

  Selena woke much later, with a clanging in her ears. She sat up, her head awhirl from the singing and the cheers of the men, reliving the elations she had felt as she looked down into the admiring faces from her perch on the piano.

  That clanging. The fire bell! She threw off the blankets and ran to the window. Drew aside the red calico curtain. The sky glowed orange. Fire!

  With a sinking feeling she recalled Varner’s threats to burn the Empire.

  “Mother, mother,” she cried, shaking Pamela. Her mother groaned in her sleep. She shook her until Pamela sat up.

  “Get up, get up,” Selena said. “The Empire’s on fire!”

  Selena threw a robe over her nightgown, pulled a shawl around her shoulders. Behind her Pamela was sleepily getting out of bed. Selena ran out into the night and up the path leading to the hotel. Shouting men ran past her. She heard the crackle of flames.

  When she reached the top of the first rise she realized something was wrong, not the way she thought it would be. The flames came not from ahead but from off to her right. Not the Empire! She ran on. No, not the Empire—the hotel stood dark against the sky.

  Breathing a sigh of relief, she slowed, following the men hurrying along the street. Flames shot skyward from a building ahead of her. The church? The stable? Not the church, for there was the cross at the peak of the roof. Not the stable either; the stable was farther on.

  “It’s Varner’s,” a voice next to her shouted.

  She left the road and climbed to the top of a rise from which she could look down at the burning building. It was Varner’s. The log grocery was engulfed in flames. Men had formed two long lines on the street and were passing buckets from hand to hand, throwing the water on the nearby cabins and the church. It was too late to save Varner’s.

  Selena noticed a figure in the shadows near her. A familiar figure. Rhynne. She walked to him, seeing his eyes flick toward her then return to the blaze. The firelight gave his face an unearthly appearance.

  “Rhynne?” she said tentatively.

  “Did I congratulate you on your triumph tonight?” he asked, still not looking at her.

  “No,” she said in a hushed voice.

  “You deserve to be congratulated. We both do.” For the first time he looked down at her. “You’d think,” he mused, “worried as Varner was about fire, he’d have taken greater precautions.”

  She felt a shiver of fear.

  Rhynne leaned down and kissed her on the mouth. His lips were cold on hers, without passion. She shrank away, then turned and ran. When she paused, out of breath, to look back, Rhynne was again staring down at the flames. She couldn’t he sure but she thought she saw him smile.

  Chapter Nine

  Pamela made her morning toilette with no special quietness but Selena didn’t rouse. When she was ready to leave for the store, Pamela shook her daughter awake.

  “Get up and bar the door after me, Selena,” she said. “After all the commotion last night I wouldn’t feel safe otherwise.”

  As Pamela walked up the path toward the Empire, she noticed the stench of burned timber was still in the air. But the sun was out and a multitude of golden butterflies fluttered in the clearing, birds chirped and called, and bushes near the trail had blossomed out in showy pink. She must ask Reverend Colton what they were.

  She realized she’d put the burning of Varner’s store out of her thoughts. W.W. was her partner--she refused to think ill of him. Pamela sighed, knowing she had ignored many things in the last few years that she would never have countenanced back home in England. But survival came first! Not only hers. Selena’s as well.

  Three blue-shirted miners approached, gallantly stepping off the wooden planks into the mud as they neared her.

  “Morning ma’am,” they said almost in unison.

  “Good morning,” she answered.

  In front of the Empire a small group of men were gathered in a loose circle, all talking loudly.

  “I say we ought to run ‘em out of Hangtown. Bastard foreigners.”

  “Yeah, but did they have it in for Vanner any more than some others I could name?”

  “You a greaser lover, Lou? You like them stinking Spanish Chilenos?”

  “Hell, Harry cheated all of us when he could, you know that. And you better think twice afore you call me names, Pike. Just ‘cause I got a Kanaka for a partner you ain’t got no right to ...”

  “Nothing wrong with Kui. Hell, we all like him. It’s them others.”

  “Good morning, gentlemen,” Pamela said
, coming up to them. “It’s good to see the sunshine, isn’t it?”

  They greeted her, standing silent while she unlocked the door to the store. But before she’d closed herself inside, they’d started up again.

  Pamela’s first customer was a Digger Indian clad in a dirty white sheet he’d draped about himself after the fashion of a Roman toga. She couldn’t help but smile at the Indian’s incongruous appearance as she weighed his gold. He stared at her from unreadable dark eyes. What did he think about all the people who’d suddenly appeared in his territory? He showed no emotion, but what smoldered underneath? Surely resentment at the very least.

  A leather thong was tied across his forehead and knotted at the back, the thong decorated with red and blue beads. She wondered if the beads had any significance. More than likely not—some sharp Yankee trader had probably given them to him in exchange for gold.

  Shortly after the Indian had carried off his provisions, Rhynne came in.

  “I see you’re doing business early,” he said.

  “I suspect we both know the reason why.”

  He shrugged. “At least that brave got an honest measure.”

  “But did Harry?”

  “Vengeance is mine, sayeth the Lord.”

  Pamela raised her eyebrows. “As long as God didn’t have help. I heard some of the miners outside blaming the Chilenos. They spoke of running them out of town.”

  “The boys do get carried away. Sometimes I think the old Spanish proverb says it about right: Children speak in Italian, ladies in French, God in Spanish and the devil in English.”

  “Certainly I’ve heard many of the devil’s words in English since I’ve come to California. However, I suspect that if my Spanish was better I’d hear the same words in that language. Men are men.”

  “I fear that’s true. We stand abject before you.”

  “W.W., you’ve never stood abject before anyone in your life.”

  “I haven’t met many ladies,” Rhynne said. “However, what I came over to tell you was that the boys will be having a wake for old Matt Murphy tonight and I suggest that Selena stay at home with you.”

  “Matt? He’s the one who fell into the mining pit?”

  “Coyote holes they call them in these parts. Matt was too clever for his own good. This hole was filled with water and Matt was paid to pump it out. Not having a pump, he killed a dog and threw the body into the hole.”

  “What on earth for?”

  “He left dog’s blood around the hole, so as far as we can figure out he intended to report the blood. ‘A man’s been murdered and drowned,’ he’d say and when we all pumped the hole dry we’d find the dog and Matt would have earned his fee. Unfortunately for Matt, he’d had a few drops to drink and threw himself into the hole along with the dog.”

  “But why should you tell me to keep Selena home? She’s always home at night.”

  “Because when men settle in around a twenty-gallon keg of brandy with quart dippers for glasses, they aren’t likely to be responsible for their actions. And since the wake isn’t being held at the Empire, I’ll have no control over them.”

  “You haven’t answered my question.”

  “Selena sang at the Empire last night, Pamela. She was, to put it mildly, a sensation. The men loved her, didn’t want her to stop.”

  Pamela’s hand rose to her mouth.

  “Oh, come, Pamela, you must have known she’d defy you sooner or later. What’s wrong with her performing there? I’m on hand as well as Abe and Ned. Besides, the miners themselves wouldn’t harm a hair of her head. They look at her and dream, yes, but if one of them tried to hurt her the others would kill him then and there.”

  “It’s demeaning. I won’t have them gawking at her.”

  “Then what is Selena to do? Have you thought of that, Pamela?”

  “She’ll assist me in the store.”

  “But the store is yours. Ours. What does Selena have? She’s not a child--she’s a beautiful young woman. Every man who sees her desires her, to put it bluntly. How long will it be before she finds one who interests her? Do you want that to happen? In Hangtown?”

  “Of course not. There’s no one even remotely suitable for Selena here.”

  “That’s my point exactly. Let her be the toast of the Empire, give her something of her own, some acclaim, and she won’t need a man. She won’t need one man when she’s adored by hundreds.”

  “I don’t like it.”

  “You’d do well to accept it, though. But I don’t want her out tonight. Keep her home with you.”

  Selena came out into the sunlit afternoon, shutting the cabin door behind her. She yawned and stretched, then laughed as a chipmunk flicked his tail at her and fled from sight. She was in no hurry to go to the store since she’d yet to tell her mother about last night. Not the fact that she intended to continue singing at the Empire. She hugged herself recalling the excited praise of the miners. Even Mr. Rhynne said she’d done well. Her arms dropped and she frowned. Had Rhynne set the fire at Varner’s?

  The sound of voices caught her attention. She climbed onto a knoll in back of the cabin and looked toward town. A procession was headed her way, twenty or more miners, some of whom seemed to be carrying a box or crate of some kind. As they came closer she saw it was a rude, un-painted coffin. There was no pall or bier, only ropes passed under the pine box. She shuddered--she hated to be reminded of death.

  The first of the men looked up and saw her.

  “Howdy, Miss Selena,” he said. “You sure were a treat to hear last night.”

  “Thank you.” She nodded to the coffin. “Whose funeral is it?”

  “Matt Murphy. But we don’t aim to bury him yet. Got to have the wake first down to his cabin. Can’t put an Irishman in the ground without the wake.”

  He waved and went on. Most of the others raised their hats to her as they passed.

  She scrambled down from the hill and wandered to the creek below, avoiding the holes where men had dug for gold. She amused herself for a time waving branches at the grizzly cubs Tiny Johnson was trying to tame. He’d killed their mother and kept the cubs tied to a pine by the stream, hoping to raise them and make his fortune exhibiting them in the East.

  Ah well, it was no more ridiculous than many other dreams. The little bears were ungainly but still young enough to be cute as they swatted and chomped at the branch she teased them with.

  The admiration of the miners made her feel a little like she had when Diego held her in his arms. Would she ever have a man to love and marry? Certainly Pamela expected her to marry well and she had no objection to that. But right now she wanted . . . she wanted love. Love and being held and caressed. She wanted someone to love her to desperation.

  Still—who? Not one of the miners! Her nose crinkled. Although that black-haired young man last night had been appealing. At least before he’d acted like such a rowdy, nearly ruining her performance.

  “Selena!”

  She looked up to see her mother standing on the path above the creek.

  “Come to the cabin at once,” Pamela told her.

  As Selena tossed the branch away and started up the bank, the sun disappeared behind a cloud. I will go on singing at the Empire, she told herself. I know mother isn’t well, that she has to take medicine, but I must have a life of my own.

  When they were inside the cabin, Pamela faced her. “You deliberately deceived me. I won’t have such behavior!”

  “Oh, mother, I’m not a child. I had every intention of talking the matter over with you today. But don’t tell me you won’t have it, because I’m going to sing at the Empire anyway.”

  “I object to the secrecy and deception more than the singing. Can’t I trust you, Selena?”

  “Not if you always oppose me.”

  “Well, you shan’t sing tonight. Mr. Rhynne tells me it won’t be safe for us to be out after dark. It seems there’s a wake for . . .”

  “I’m aware of Matt Murphy’s wake. Why shou
ld that affect my singing at the Empire? You’ve talked to Mr. Rhynne, haven’t you? You’ve convinced him I shouldn’t sing again.” Selena began to cry.

  “That isn’t the way it was at all, Selena. Calm down and listen to me.”

  Selena turned away from her mother and covered her ears with her hands. “I won’t. Don’t talk to me anymore. I refuse to listen.” She threw herself on her bed and sobbed.

  That night, Selena raised her head from her pillow and listened. Pamela was asleep. Usually she slept heavily, but Selena double-checked her mother’s breathing, which was deep and regular. She eased herself from her bed then and stood upright in the dark cabin. She’d fallen asleep for a while herself—what time could it be? Not too late to slip away to the Empire at any rate. W.W. couldn’t refuse to let her sing once she’d begun. She’d simply walk up to Ned and say, “The Minstrel Boy, please”—that was always a good song to bring a tear to the eye—and the miners wouldn’t let anyone stop her.

  She put on the pale green gown again, leaving off the chemisette, put her white shawl around her shoulders and quietly let herself out of the cabin.

  Danny O’Lee put the dipper back on the plank table and stood up. If he stayed longer he’d have to fill it again and already his head spun with the brandy he’d downed. Would he ever learn to hold his drink? He’d come to help speed old Matt on to the next world, though what that world might be like he didn’t know, for all the priests said. He’d had his drink for Matt and sung a song and it was better to go now. He’d scarcely known the man, but any son of the old sod deserved a decent send-off.

  “You’re not leaving so soon?”

  Danny turned to English Bob with a grin.

  "Sure, mate. You wouldn’t deny a man has to relieve himself?’"

  English Bob grinned back and waved his hand. “Be my guest, Danny me boy. Never let it be said an Englishman kept an Irish lad from his appointed duties.”

  Out in the darkness with the chill damp wind in his face, Danny’s head cleared. He looked back at the light spilling from the open door of Matt’s cabin and heard the shouts and laughter. He was tempted to go back. Instead he sat on a pine stump. Bob was likely to need a bit of help getting home tonight and better he should stay sober and see to him than have the Englishman die in a coyote hole like poor Matt.