I was blamed, though it was not my fault. If it had been my fault, I couldn’t have borne the burden. The children left in the middle of the night when the adults were asleep. In the nighttime, the children were their parents’ responsibility. Yet somehow, I was blamed for their disappearance.
And I accepted the censure, because I felt the children were my responsibility. I did not try to defend myself.
When we finally reached Oregon City, even the dear Catledges abandoned me. I was left as I began, without any resources to my name. I have survived, but I am too ashamed to speak here of how I did so.
My burden is not the reason for this letter. If there is one good thing I have done in my life, it was to care for those children: dear Becky, precious Allie and Cager, little Nan and Mattie, and even Jed and Edwin, as mischievous as they often were.
Further tragedy struck when we reached Oregon City. The two Meredith daughters, Nan and Mattie, died of typhoid fever. Within a few months, Ellen Meredith, who had survived the long trip to Oregon City, was also gone. She too died of a disease, it was said. Jed and Edwin disappeared, no doubt eager to be away from home now that their mother was gone. Jed was an adult by then, and Edwin nearly so.
Not long after, I found a package on my doorstep. To this day, I don’t know who delivered it. I opened it up and found Ellen Meredith’s journals. I had often seen her writing in them and wondered what she was saying.
When I started to read them, my memories of the journey west returned, but now they were colored by new information. It is the contents of these journals that made me write you.
You are the most capable person I know, Virginia. I have heard stories of how you survived the Donner Party. People speak of you in awe, and I have often nodded and said, “Yes, I know Virginia Reed. She is every bit as brave and resourceful as you have heard.”
I have nowhere else to turn, dear Virginia. I am hoping you will come to Oregon City and read the journals and tell me what to do.
It is a lot to ask, I know. If you can’t do it, please write back and tell me so, and I will find another way. For something must be done. There is still one witness to the events on the Oregon Trail, and she is the most precious of all people to me: Becky Catledge, who is growing into a beautiful young woman.
Virginia, there is one more thing I must tell you, which you may have already guessed. When I heard about the discovery of gold in California, I had a sudden suspicion. Before leaving the wagon train for the last time, I had grabbed, as a keepsake, one of the shiny rocks the children picked up while we were lost.
I took it to an assayer, and my suspicions were confirmed. It was pure gold.
It all seems amazing to me now that we didn’t know. But none of us had ever heard of gold in the West. It was not even conceivable in the summer of 1845. All we had seen was white quartz with shiny streaks in it.
I have lived off that gold nugget for the last few months, and it has bought the paper and pen and postage with which I now communicate with you. But the money will run out soon.
I have heard that Jonathan Meredith is looking for me. I have changed my name and gone into hiding. If you decide to find me, I have left a message at this address:
128 Fir Street
Oregon City
Please let me know if you can come. If not, I understand. This is not your problem, dear Virginia, and the situation may well be dangerous. But I have nowhere else to turn.
Yours truly,
Mary Perkins
Chapter Four
Journal of Tad Marshall
Oregon Territory, July 4, 1851
I can only guess what day it is. That is an irony, for on this day I will be free of my pain at last. I will be free of all thought and all worry.
I write this in the last light of the dying fire. I have no more wood, no more matches. Soon the ghosts will come for me, and I will no doubt join them, to become as aggrieved as they are, for I sense that they too were taken unfairly.
Let this serve as my Last Will and Testament, though I have nothing to leave but this diary, scribbled in the dark. I am writing this last message at the front of my small book. What follows is my account before my fall, leading to this last day. Be warned.
***
June 28, 1851
“You can take off your blindfolds now.” Our employer’s voice was loud, as if he thought that in our blindness, we couldn’t hear him.
I reached up hesitantly and pulled the cloth away. The sunlight stabbed into my eyes, and I was forced to close them tight. The red afterglow shone on the insides of my eyelids. When the glow dimmed, I dared squint open my eyes.
Desert—the same desert that had been there before I was blindfolded; the same expanse of red and yellow rock, sandy soil, and occasional scrub brush. In this desolate terrain, a tree was a landmark; the hills all looked the same, piles of boulders and weathered columns of lava, as if sculpted by a colony of lost Greeks.
If my employer had told me then that we hadn’t gone anywhere at all, I’d have believed it, except that I’d just spent most of a day being led around by a rope. We had climbed hills, forded streams, and slid down embankments. Twice, we were led onto a boat and crossed a river, though the second time, I had the sense that the boat had turned around in midstream.
It didn’t matter. I was completely lost. Hell, I’d stopped trying to keep track in the first half hour.
When we’d first left Vale, five other heavily armed men had accompanied us. I am accustomed to hard men, but these men were of a different breed: not brawlers, like I am used to, but men who were quick with a gun.
We reached the banks of a small creek. There, on the other side, were three Indian braves. One of them rode across the creek and stopped only a few feet away.
“You may not pass through this land,” the Indian said. “It is sacred to us. This is where the First People came from out of the earth and taught us to live on the land. No one is allowed here, not even my own people.”
“You speak English very well,” Meredith said.
“I was schooled at the Whitman Mission,” the Indian said. “I speak for my people now. We have noticed you in our lands before, but we have not stopped you. But now more white men come. They let their pigs run wild, and the pigs eat the acorns from which we make our bread. They stop the creeks with mud so the salmon cannot pass. They stop us from burning our fields so that the blackberries will ripen. They hunt the deer and the elk. We can no longer let you pass.”
Meredith turned to his companions. “Well, boys. This is why I pay you. Make sure none of these savages escape.”
The Indian in front of us didn’t move, as if he couldn’t believe what was happening. He was shot down before he could draw a weapon. The two Indians across the creek whirled their horses about, but they were both shot in the back before they had gone more than a few yards. One of them was still alive. Meredith strode across the creek. The water reached his thighs, no higher. He pulled out his pistol, stood over the wounded Indian, and put a bullet in his head.
I turned to Jake and Virgil, who both had their mouths open. I think we all realized at that moment that we were at the mercy of a madman.
Meredith came back, reloading his gun as he walked up to us. He reached into his coat pocket and brought out three bandannas. “I’m going to tie these over your eyes,” he said. “I can’t let you know where the mine is.”
“What about them?” Virgil asked, waving at the armed men.
“They’re here to make sure we aren’t followed,” Meredith said. “They’ll be guarding the perimeter, so don’t get any ideas.”
***
After what felt like almost a full day of walking, we reached our destination and took off our blindfolds.
Virgil and Jake were beside me, blinking, obviously just as lost as I was.
Jonathan Meredith stood in front of us, grinning. He is a big man, but his bulk is mostly muscle, not fat. His black beard reaches his stomach. He looks like a dockworker, e
xcept his boots and coat are of a higher quality, and he carries himself like a boss.
“We’re here, boys,” he said. “Wait till you see this!”
Gold. The idea drove away any other thought. We’d been promised gold, as much as we could carry. When we set out, I had the notion that I’d fill all my pockets as well as the largest rucksack I could find.
It was immediately clear that I would need to reconsider this idea. I was already exhausted from stumbling around, even with empty pockets and a nearly empty rucksack. If we are blindfolded going back—and I am certain Meredith will insist on that—it will be nearly impossible to carry such a load.
I looked up gold prices before leaving Portland, and calculated that I needed only to fill the pack halfway and I’d be set for years. Maybe I’d even start that little hardware store that Libbie always talked about.
I looked around. There was nothing to be seen; no gold mine, only a rubble-strewn hillside that looked like every other rubble-strewn hillside.
“What are we doing here?” Virgil asked. “I thought we were working a mine.”
“Working a mine?” Meredith said. “Well, sure, but first we have to uncover it. It’s right behind you, boys, under all the slag. Well hidden, I made sure of that. See that red cloth? Start under there.”
In midsentence, he turned to the mule and starting unpacking the pickaxes and shovels, handing them over his shoulder to the three of us without even looking at us.
“We gonna work in this heat, we need water,” Jake grumbled.
“Of course,” Meredith said. He untied the water bag from the mule and handed it over. “Drink up. There’s a stream at the bottom of the cave, so the sooner you uncover the entrance, the sooner we get more.”
We found the entrance pretty quickly. Problem was, every time we tried to open the hole, more scree came tumbling down. There was a hillside of rocks above us.
We were still digging when nightfall came.
June 29, 1851
After working all day yesterday, we retreated to the base of the hill at nightfall and started a fire. At the last moment, I had thought to pack a blanket, and for that I was grateful. Though I’d figured we’d have the shelter of the mine, I brought a few supplies as well, just in case it was more than a one-day’s journey back to Vale. I had planned to jettison it all to make room for the gold, but I was glad I’d planned ahead.
Beside me, Jake was shivering, while Virgil was already snoring, lying on his back without any covering at all. Meredith extracted a heavy coat from one of the packs on the mule and wrapped himself in it, then sat staring into the fire. He looked up to catch me staring at him. His eyes hardened, challenging me.
I averted my eyes with a grunt. I’d heard stories about Meredith. The man owns the biggest lumberyard in Portland. He pays well, but he still has a large turnover in manpower because of his rough manner toward his workers, men who are willing to work hard but aren’t willing to take being shouted at.
Yet the man had been nothing but cordial to me since I’d met him a few days ago. He wasn’t exactly friendly, but then, I don’t expect my bosses to be friendly, only fair. At that point, I had no complaints.
As we started digging this morning, the sun rose behind us, and with every hour, it got hotter.
Meanwhile, Meredith sat in the small patch of shade the mule provided, waterskin in hand, sipping. I didn’t think anything of it. Bosses are always like that—that’s why they’re bosses.
Finally, Virgil took command, and we started rolling some of the bigger boulders to each side of the entrance. Jake scrambled down to the base of the hill and came back with a few sagebrush trunks, which we used to bridge the divide. The scree kept sliding, but the branches stopped it, finally.
We were going to need to get on our hands and knees to get in, but the entrance was stable enough. As long as no one did anything foolish, it ought to hold.
We stood back, waiting for our boss to enter first, but Meredith waved us on. “Go on in, boys,” he urged. “I’ll be right behind you.”
Virgil went into the darkness first, then Jake. Meredith had gone back to the mule. I looked over my shoulder right before entering the mine and saw the man taking a rifle out of its holster.
What does he need a rifle for? I thought. I felt a sudden chill. Is there something in the cave?
I fear the darkness; always have. But I wanted gold even more.
I followed my friends, squeezing through the entrance. There was a broad cavern beyond. Virgil was lighting a lantern just as I stood up. The cave was suddenly riddled with points of light, covering the walls and ceiling. I walked over to one of the shiny reflections and tapped at it. A rock dislodged and fell at my feet. I picked it up. It was unexpectedly heavy.
It was gold—it had to be.
“Enough gold to fill all your pockets and not even make a dent,” Meredith said behind us. The man had the wide-barreled shotgun pointed at us and a pistol in his belt. I started backing up immediately, thinking to make a run for it, while Virgil and Jake simply stood there, uncomprehending.
“Don’t worry, boys.” Meredith lowered the shotgun, his point made. “I just want you to understand that I can’t allow you to leave until all the bags the burros can carry are filled. Then you can grab all you want for all I care.”
He left the cave, and in the short time he was gone, the three of us talked in whispers.
“He’s gonna kill us,” Jake said, “just as soon as we’ve done what he wants.”
“Why would he do that?” Virgil asked. “Like he said, there’s enough gold here for a dozen men—hell, a hundred men. We don’t know where we are. That’s why he blindfolded us.”
“Look around, Virgil,” I said. “Other men have worked this mine already. There are tool marks everywhere. So…where are they? Why did Meredith need to hire a new crew?”
“We’ve got no choice,” Jake said. “We’ll just have to look for our chance to get away.”
“What are we going to do?” Virgil said. “He’s got the guns.”
Virgil had been my foreman on the docks of Portland. A tough man, he always carries a big bowie knife. I don’t know Jake as well, but he has a reputation as a brawler. I’m a runt compared to them, and because of that, I carry a tiny single-shot pistol in my pocket, what women call a muff gun. I’ve never shown it to anyone, and even then, when it might have given us an advantage, I was too embarrassed to reveal it.
Meredith returned, and he looked at us as if he knew we’d been talking about him and didn’t care. He threw the bundle of pickaxes and shovels onto the floor of the cave. “Get to work. The sooner you finish, the sooner we can get out of here.”
Virgil grabbed one of the pickaxes and started toward one of the shining walls.
“Not here,” Meredith said. “The easy pickings have already been taken from the front chamber. Farther down the shaft, the gold is easier to get to. Hell, you can almost just shovel it into the bags.”
That’s what he told us, but when we returned with our bags filled, he poured them out onto the floor, picked up a few nuggets, and pushed the rest away with his boot. “This is crap,” he said. “We want the nuggets, not the quartz. Someday we’ll come for the rest, but for now, let’s take only the nuggets. Comprende?”
He was right, of course. We had known it even as we were digging, but we’d been in a hurry to get out of there. Once, the lamp went out while we were working, and there was a blackness deeper than I’ve ever experienced. The darkness surrounded me like the fear.
I was greatly relieved when Virgil got the lamp lit again. Earlier tonight, back in the front cavern, I filled a pocket with matches when no one was looking. I’m not going to be left in the darkness again.
June 30, 1851
There are two natural tunnels leading off from the mine’s entrance, both of which have been widened by tools. When we approached the left-hand tunnel, Meredith stopped us.
“That tunnel has been played out,” he said.
“Take the middle one.”
A few hundred feet farther on, the right-hand tunnel narrowed, filled with rubble. It was here that Meredith told us to work. Our employer retreated back to the entrance, where he sat in the light shining in from the outside, his shotgun in his lap. Sometimes he leaves the cavern altogether, I know not where or why, since there is only the hot sun and desert outside, but it is clear to me that he is nervous in the darkness of the cave.
I have decided that the next time I am alone, I will check out the left-hand tunnel, for I am certain that Meredith is hiding something.
It was late in the afternoon when we heard the boom. Jake must have had the same thought as me, for we started running for the entrance. I was certain that Meredith had sealed the cave, taking the gold we’d already excavated.
Instead, he was standing near the entrance, holding an enormous rat by the tail. “Little buggers infest this place,” he said. “Tried to get into our food. God knows what they feed on when we aren’t around.”
July 1, 1851
After lunch today, Meredith left us alone. I waited until Virgil and Jake disappeared down the middle tunnel before lighting the extra lamp and venturing into the left-hand tunnel. It was narrower than the one we’ve been working in, as if work there had only begun before it was abandoned.
There was plentiful gold, however, the most I had yet seen.
Why aren’t we working on these veins? I wondered. I saw something white glowing on the floor of the cave a little farther ahead. I walked over to it and kicked it curiously with the toe of my boot.
It looked like a thighbone. I reached down and pried it from the ground. At first, I couldn’t comprehend what I was seeing. An Indian burial, perhaps?
It was a small skeleton. As I bent down, I saw that another small skeleton was next to it. This skeleton wore the remains of a yellow dress. To my horror, I realized it was two children, dressed in white man’s clothing.
The Darkness You Fear Page 4
