California Woman (Daughters of the Whirlwind Book 1) (19 page)

South
Fork Cabin

May 27, 1848

Oh, Alex, it seems impossible that almost five months have
passed so quickly. I must review what I have written since the turn of the
year. Think upon it with a cool head, and be sure that what I am about to
propose to Sutter and the Mormon, Sam Brannan, as well as those in charge of
things at the Blue Star Shipping Company in
Yerba Buena
—or
rather San Francisco, as it is now called—is sound. I wonder now what you would
think of this imminent journey; whether it and my plans are sensible or simply
the harebrained ideas of a foolish young woman.

So much has happened since the discovery of gold that I must
list things as they happened, in order:

Marshall's discovery was known to the men, several Mormons, and
a number of Coloma Maidu among them, working on the sawmill. In the beginning,
Sutter wished to keep it all a secret. Yet he told me and, if I recall the
conversation, immediately wrote of it to his
Californio
friend,
Mariano Vallejo, in Sonoma. Vallejo kept the confidence, but others did not.
Little wonder that the word has spread. And now Sutter tells me there are
literally hundreds of men searching, panning, then quickly moving on to other
sites all around the area of his mill. At first I was alarmed, but thus far I
am told the men are orderly, well-behaved, and although they do not pay the
Indians equal wages, they have not lifted a hand to harm them.

Miwokan seems a bit reassured by all this—resigned might be a
better word. He does not complain and has never tried to dissuade me from my
goal. But he is far from happy. I have honored his request that we not touch
what is beneath the waterfall and that I do not reveal prior knowledge of the
gold to Sutter. I am certain he is satisfied that as long as we do not remove
the original cache from its sacred place, his god will be appeased, but I am
not sure how he feels about the future and the part I play in it. He does not
reveal his deepest feelings to me on the matter. I must confess that
instinctively I sense that sooner or later that gold will cause fearful things
to happen—some of it to the Indians. It would have come to pass sooner or later
anyway, all of this. I cannot do much elsewhere, but I give you my word, Alex,
that one way or another I will use some of the power the gold brings to me to
see that Miwokan and his people are protected.

Alex, if you could see the astonishing amount of gold nuggets,
flakes, and dust that now almost covers the floor of the new storage shed
Miwokan's men have built! Already I possess more wealth than I ever dreamed of!
And there is no end in sight! At first we panned with close-woven, shallow
grass bowls, my skillets, and two washbasins, swirling the bottom sand out of
them, as Sutter instructed, until only the gold remained. Some of the men still
do that, as do I, for as long as I can stand the icy-cold mountain water, which
is to say for about an hour at a time. Lately we have been using also something
Miwokan devised by altering Mwamwaash's and Moses'—rocker cradles. Oh, God,
Alex, he IS my son, even if Luther Mosby is his father. And he is named after
my grandfather, Moses Purdy. Thank God he is daily showered with love since I
gave him over to Solana's care, for such feelings are simply not in me.

I wander from my original purpose. In any case, Miwokan removed
a slat from the foot of each cradle and fitted wooden ridges across their
bottoms. We shovel in the river dirt, pour in water, and then, tilting and
rocking the cradle, wash the dirt out through the opening more quickly and in
much greater amounts. The result is much more gold, caught on the wooden
ridges, than before. Sutter saw the device on his last trip through here and
told us it resembles a larger invention called the Long-Tom, which has been
used elsewhere, according to one of his books. He suggested we build a number
of them, as he plans to, and dispense with the ordinary panning entirely. No
doubt we will.

Now what does it all portend? First, there is no one here but
us—for now. But there is gold here as well as at Coloma, and sooner or later
prospectors are bound to arrive. Second, Miwokan has heard of nuggets being
found in many places by Indians both north and south of here, so it is more
than possible that it will soon be "discovered" by whites in a great
number of locations in these mountains. How many and how far a distance in both
directions from here? Impossible to say. But probably considerable.

Which brings me to my idea. Would you not agree that if the
prospectors come, they will need supplies? And that if they do not come in
great numbers, surely settlers will, at least at the rate they did last year.
Thus, if the supplies are such as might be used by settlers as well as
prospectors, they would be equally, if not as quickly, salable. Now, I do not
wish to become involved in such a business directly, nor do I desire yet for
traffic with so many people as it would entail. But if I were to do what my
father did to supplement his meager income from the ministry—that is to say,
become a partner to one or more businessmen by providing money for them to
increase the number of their transactions—then I could reap the possible
rewards of such a venture without direct involvement.

I have read and reread the last paragraph and it seems sound.
Why then do I have such a queasy feeling in my stomach? Perhaps, Alex, it is
that I am a girl not yet twenty who no longer has you to lean on. And these
things seem exceedingly intricate to me because I am ignorant of the workings
of business. But then my father was not a businessman by any measure. He cared
nothing to learn of every action, every ledger entry. He relied only on common
sense and his estimate of a man's intelligence and honesty… and so shall I!

There. It is decided. Fears or not. Tomorrow night I will begin
mending the slits in the dress I wore when I… crossed the mountains. Oh, God,
Alex, I cannot think of that time without filling up with hatred and
vengefulness. I must suspend that train of thought until it can be implemented…
think of the immediate task… The long matching gloves are here somewhere. And
surely Sutter will have a hat bearing a veil to cover this ugly nose. He has
just about everything at the fort! As soon as it is possible, I will go to
Coloma to speak with him, journey on to New Helvetia and see Brannan, and
thence to San Francisco! Pray for me.

When Esther reached Sutter's idle sawmill
just before noon on the last day of May, she was shocked by his appearance.
There were dark circles under his eyes. His lustrous gray hair was dull,
unkempt, and speckled with mud. Normally erect in bearing, he stooped as though
the weight of two worlds were on his shoulders. She found him idly setting out
a lunch of bacon,
frijoles,
flour
tortillas, and coffee for his
Californio
friend
Mariano Vallejo. Esther had not expected Sutter to have a visitor, and at first
she was reluctant even to dismount. She still had no veil. The heavyset alcalde
of Sonoma would see her scar. Beyond the embarrassment, he would undoubtedly
ask questions. But Sutter would not hear of her leaving without refreshment.
Even before she dismounted, he began putting her at ease.

"Mariano, this… is… the widow of the
settler, Cable, I was telling you about. Is she not a lovely lady?"

Esther was relieved by Sutter's
introduction but disturbed by the weak, quavering tone of his voice.

Vallejo bowed, took her hand and touched
it with his lips.
"Muy
hermosa,"
he
said, looking straight into her eyes and smiling. There was not a trace of
sexual interest in his voice or expression. It comforted her when he looked
away without so much as a glance at her scarred nose.

"My friend Vallejo," Sutter
said too heartily, "is a gentleman, a former general, and a fast and loyal
comrade. He virtually rules Sonoma."

Vallejo took Esther's arm and led her to
the camp table Sutter had set out. "He exaggerates,
señora.
I merely see that the law is carried
out."

"Were there only an alcalde in these
parts," Sutter grumbled, as he sat down and toyed with his food.

Vallejo turned to Esther. "He is
beset by troubles. You have come to see him at the worst of times."

Puzzled, Esther caught a glimpse of
Sutter's expression. He had been signaling Vallejo to silence. "But the
gold…?"

"The gold is the least of his
problems," Vallejo responded. "It
could
solve everything
else—if he could find enough of it. With gold, he could—"

"Curse the gold!" Sutter
shouted, spraying bits of food onto the table. He looked sheepishly at Vallejo.
"Forgive me Mariano. But you know I am distressed."

"Of course," Vallejo said.

For the first time she could remember,
Esther heard a note of pleading in Sutter's voice and saw a trace of tears in
his eyes. "
Please
speak no more of it, Mariano. I do not want to
burden her with any of it."

Vallejo nodded. "As you wish,
John."

Sutter could not look straight at Esther.
His hands were trembling.

"Is the panning not going well for
you?" she asked.

"Yes… We can speak of that…"
Sutter answered vaguely, his mind obviously on something else. "We are not
taking nearly the amount of ore out of the river I expected. Not one quarter as
much." He gazed off, distracted for a moment, then turned back to Esther.
"Oh, yes, the Indians," he said, as if she had asked about them.
"Those who work for me dawdle while their brothers, working for
themselves—on the land
I
leased from them up- and downriver—pull nuggets
and flakes out of the gravel and the riverbank by the handful."

Vallejo tried to soothe his friend.
"It is only a matter of luck."

But Sutter suddenly waved his arms
wildly. "Industry!" he shouted, off on another tack entirely.
"If only I had a dozen hardworking, industrious men!"

"Can't you hire them?" Esther
asked.

"They will
really
work for no
one but themselves, these Indians." Sutter's voice trailed off again. He
gazed at the rushing water of the Middle Fork, nodding first, then shaking his
head, holding a conversation with himself. "On
my
land… my
land."

"You have leased more than you can
control," Vallejo said gently.

Sutter brought his hand down on the table
so hard his coffee cup jumped. The liquid spilled and dripped onto his pants,
but he didn't seem aware of it. "I have
paid
for the use of this
land!" he shouted. "And they ignore my protests, white and red alike!
They
seem to find gold without even trying! Wherever I have my men stop
to pan, the stones bearing ore are in pitifully short supply."

Esther was increasingly unsettled by
Sutter's behavior. She watched now as his hands moved constantly, touching his
lap, the table, his metal camp plate, his hair. "Is there no way to stop
them?" she asked quietly, hoping to focus his attention, wondering at the
same time what it might be like if the prospectors overran her own claim—and,
more frighteningly, the land she was leasing from Miwokan's people.

"What am I to do,
kill
them
all?" Sutter snapped. As he continued, his voice shifted eerily from loud
to soft and back again in midsentence. "There are too many. Too many men,
too many places along the river and its tributaries." He sighed and ran
both his hands back along the sides of his head. "Too many… other things…
to think… about… as well." Silent once again, he drifted into his own
thoughts.

Vallejo looked at Esther and shook his
head sadly. "I'm sure the two of you have things to discuss privately. I
will go down to the riverbank to find myself a souvenir." He stood up.
"If you will excuse me for a short while,
señora."

Esther waited until Vallejo was out of
earshot and then turned to Sutter. He was totally preoccupied now, more
dejected than a man of his means had a right to be simply over poor prospecting
luck.

"You have so much on your
mind," Esther said, bringing him out of his musing. "Perhaps it is
the wrong time…"

"No, no," Sutter protested, a
little unconvincingly. He managed a smile and took her hand. For a few moments
he seemed almost himself again. "What a beauty you are. And so
considerate. No, I have always the time for you. What is it?"

"I wish to go into business."

"Good. Good." His eyes were off
her again, drifting, starting to go slightly blank. He caught himself and
brought his attention back to her. "But you are… already in business. The
mining business. And doing well, I hope?"

She was uncomfortable about how much
better her yield had been than his. "Quite well," she finally said,
adding quickly, "I'm sure your luck will change for the better here."

He shrugged. "It… doesn't matter
anymore… It is too late, anyway."

"What do you mean?"

He waved a hand. "Nothing,
nothing," he whispered, realizing he had hinted at more than he intended.
"Go on. What sort of business besides mining have you in mind?"

"A wholesale business in general
supplies for the miners—or settlers, should the mining not last. Hard goods.
Pans, hammers, nails, picks, shovels. Other tools. Cooking utensils. That sort
of thing."

"I do not see how you can fail at
such a venture in these parts."

"I was hoping you would become my
partner, invest with me, sell the goods I will be arranging to purchase in San
Francisco—"

"Out of the question!" Sutter
barked. He had never spoken to her in such a tone. "I have no time! I have
too much to deal with now! My hands are too full to take on even a dollar's
worth of additional responsibility! Look at this mill. Idle. The flour mill,
unfinished… I do not wish to speak of it, do you hear?"

She was crestfallen, and he saw it.
Contrite, he put an arm over her shoulder. "Forgive me, my beautiful
friend. If I could only tell you." He sighed. "I have come to the end
of my…" He stopped and stared off into the distance. "When I first
came here… the dreams I had… But this is not your concern. Go to the fort, make
your arrangements with someone else, and I will provide you with all the
storage space I can find. I will have to charge you rent, but it will be
reasonable."

"I have heard of a man named
Brannan…"

"Yes, he might be willing to join
forces with you."

"Do you know him?"

"He is a Mormon. A hard bargainer,
but Mormons keep to their word once they have given it. Usually."

"Will Brannan keep to his word? Can
he be trusted?"

Sutter frowned. "He is a Mormon.
That is all I can say for him."

"In
Yerba
—San
Francisco, I wish to arrange with the man you have spoken of—Mr. Kelsey—at Blue
Star. To have the goods shipped from the East."

"Say no more," Sutter said.
"It is done. Before you leave, I will give you a letter of introduction.
He is an old friend. A good man, and
i
would trust him with my life."

"Will you tell me what it is that
troubles you so much? Beyond the difficulties here?"

"You
will understand everything soon enough. Forgive me, but I do not wish to speak
of it to anyone. Not even you."

On the ride to the fort, Esther passed
dozens of prospectors walking and riding toward Coloma, her thoughts
alternating between the purpose of her journey and the possible sources of
Sutter's appalling state of mind. But her thoughts were abruptly swept away by
what she saw as she approached New Helvetia late the following afternoon.

There were at least two dozen crude
houses between the fort and the riverfront now. Stacks of unthreshed wheat sat
amid new growth that already showed signs of withering in the sun for lack of
water. The Indians were gone. All but two of the white men employed by Sutter
had left. Manaiki did the bidding of a domineering man named Kyburz, who had
leased Sutter's two-story house for five hundred dollars a month and converted
it into a hotel. Merchants, strangers, had opened stores in rented rooms along
the walls of the fort. Cattle and horses, sheep, pigs, and dogs wandered and
dropped waste everywhere, unattended. A completely new crowd of men Esther had
never seen before hauled wagonloads of goods into the fort. Others reined their
teams to a halt in front of the general store Sam Brannan had opened in an outbuilding
leased from Sutter. Now she understood the look of fear she had seen in
Sutter's eyes: the hint of a man drowning economically. Now she knew why he had
passed the point of even considering a partnership with anyone. The acrid
stench of two thousand abandoned, rotting hides stacked outside Sutter's
unmanned tannery confirmed the impending disaster.

She took a room, asked Manaiki to find
her a hat with a veil, ate an early supper alone, rested briefly, then, her
face sufficiently concealed, went to see Brannan. Burly, chin-whiskered but
moustacheless, he was wearing a Sunday-meeting black hat, a colorless, dirty
shirt, and black trousers tucked into knee-high boots. His store was crammed
with merchandise and dry goods of every kind and description.

"Don't need no partners,"
Brannan said when she broached the subject. "Doin' right fine by
myself."

"I had hoped…"

"Say you're goin' to San Francisco?
What for? Nothin' to be had there now. Everything's bought up. Goods that
isn't, you can't find a man jack to get it here for you. Into the mountains
neither. I had the foresight…"

"I have made arrangements,"
Esther said, stretching a half-truth. "The goods will be delivered. But if
you do not wish to become partners…"

"Now just wait a minute, little
missy. You got brass, you do. Don't want a partner, I said. But I might be
willin' to strike some sort of arrangement with you—if you can get supplies
delivered here."

"I can," she said, trembling.

He regarded her coolly, and she saw a
mercenary glint in his eyes as he manufactured a smile. "Tell you what
I'll do. I'll receive any goods you get shipped here, store 'em and, ah,
attempt to sell 'em. You pay for 'em, pay for storage—reasonable, reasonable,
rates the market bears these days—if I don't turn them over. What sells, why,
we'll split the profits. What don't… well… you'll just have to cart it off, say
after six months. At your own cost, of course."

Esther thought for a moment. She could
not believe he would have any trouble selling anything, anywhere. The storage
and carting expense likely would never materialize.

"Sixty-forty on the profits,"
she heard herself say.

"Good-bye, young lady."

"All right. Fifty-fifty."

"Ought to charge you an extra 5
percent just for your cheek." Brannan fabricated another good-natured
smile. "But I like you. Admire your gumption. Fifty-fifty. Do we have a
deal?"

"We do, Mr. Brannan."

"No, we don't."

"What do you mean?"

"Got to show me some earnest money.
S'pose I get stuck with a whole room full of goods and can't sell 'em? Got to have
a little payment against possible storage costs."

Esther frowned. She did not like Brannan,
but he was all she had for the moment, and she had to make a start somewhere.
She opened her carryall bag and handed him a pouchful of nuggets and dust.
"Will this do for now?"