California Woman (Daughters of the Whirlwind Book 1) (22 page)

"I don't know, but it would be worth
even more to me if you told me she was, and knew the young lady's name."

"How would I know her…" She
swallowed the rest of the sentence. She was suddenly afraid of what Arabella
might do if she spoke out of turn.

"Then a young lady
did
come
in."

"I didn't say that, mister. I just
mean how would I know her name even if she was there?"

"You're lying! I can tell by your
voice."

"Listen, mister!" She stood up.
"I don't have to listen to that kind of talk! I had enough grief?f
today." She spun on her heel and stalked toward the door of the restaurant
grimacing with pain. "Take your twenty dollars and shove it…"

When
he finally left the restaurant, Alex thought briefly of going back to the
bordello, but his common sense took over, and he decided the best thing was to
depart for Monterey as quickly as possible. He had one more appointment—at Blue
Star Shipping. After that there was no reason for him to stay in San Francisco.
He swore to himself that he would make every effort within his power to put his
dead wife out of his mind hereafter. The last thirty-six hours had been insane.
It was time, he told himself, to begin a new life without the ghost of her
haunting him every time he saw a woman of her approximate age and appearance.

Still trembling, but certain that Alex
and the girl had left the hotel safely, Esther undressed and lay down on her
bed, exhausted. She wondered how much effort Alex would put into searching for
the girl he had seen. She heard the man next door swearing,  heard another,
more timid-sounding man placating him, but there was no more evidence of
violence. She heard someone leave the room next door and walk down the hall,
then picked up the sounds of a second person leaving. She lay back in the
welcome silence, tension draining out of her, and drifted into sleep. She awoke
midway through the afternoon, went to a mirror, and was startled by how
disheveled she looked. She walked to the closet where she had left her bag and
took out her comb and brush. When she was finished, she returned to get her
dress so she could go down the hall to take a bath. On the high shelf in the
closet she noticed a yellowing newspaper. Out of curiosity she reached for it
and shook off the dust. It was the May 22, 1847, edition of the
California
Star
. Realizing it was more than a year old, she started to put it back but
then noticed the name "Patrick
Breen"
in subheadline type on the front page.
The issue carried Breen's diary of his experiences at Truckee, or what they
were now calling Donner Lake.

She
sat down on the bed and read the accompanying story quickly, wincing at every
other sentence, remembering vividly each of those who had died or survived,
then turned to Breen's journal. The memory of the bitter cold, the camp, the
cabins almost submerged in snow, was as clear in her mind as though she were
there again. She skimmed over what she had lived through, then read slowly or
scanned quickly, in proportion to their gravity, the entries relating to events
after she had left  Donner Lake with the snowshoe party:

Jan. 15, Clear day again, wind NW—Mrs. Murphy blind, Lanthron
not able to get wood, but one axe between him and Keseburg—it looks like
another storm, expecting some account from Sutters' soon.

Jan. 21,
Fine morning, John Battise came this morning with Eliza Williams, she will not
eat hides; Mrs.————sent her back to live or die on them.

Esther
sighed deeply. The accompanying story reported that Eliza Williams, James
Reed's cook, had died of starvation.

Feb. 5, Snowed hard until 12 o'clock last night, many uneasy for
fear we shall all perish with hunger… Eddy's child died last night…

Feb. 25, Today Mrs. Murphy says the wolves are about to dig up
the dead bodies around her shanty and the nights are too cold to watch them,
but we hear them howl…

Feb. 26,
Hungry times in camp… Mrs. Murphy said here yesterday that she thought she
would commence on Milton Eddy and eat him, I do not think she has done so yet,
it is so distressing, the Donners told… that they would commence on the dead
people if they did not succeed that day or next in finding their cattle, then
ten or twelve feet under the snow…

Esther let the paper fall to the floor.
She slumped over, put her face in her hands and wept. When there were no more
tears left, she grieved silently for all of them, prayed for their souls. The
desk clerk knocked on the door with her supper. Esther had him leave it on the
floor in the hall. She couldn't bring herself to touch it. She got up, paced
back and forth, stared out the window, then finally slumped down in an easy
chair, thinking.

She mourned for the dead and pitied their
survivors, but refused to let it weigh upon her any more. She had suffered as
they did, and if she had not died, she had lost a son and been crazed for
months. She pushed all tormenting thoughts of what had happened to the others out
of her mind.

She thought calmly now about Alex. She
reconfirmed her judgment, then weighed it against the experiences of the other
Donner survivors. Husbands and wives had been reunited after committing the
unspeakable. But she was quite certain no other woman in the party had borne a
bastard child; that her own and Mosby's part in John Alexander's death were
what made the difference, supported her renewed conviction, justified any pain
the loss of her was still causing Alex.
Sooner or later his sorrow will pass
,
she thought,
and he will meet someone else and find happiness. I am sure of
it. He will have his life and his fulfillment.
And I will have mine.

She focused on the purpose of her
journey. She was here to continue building the financial power to live
independently and accomplish the only goal that mattered to her now. Pursuing
her aims might well mean running into Alex. She would try to avoid that, but
she would not allow it to keep her a prisoner in this room, send her scurrying
back to the South Fork, her mission unattempted, like a frightened squirrel.

And if she did run into Alex? The thought
of it made her tremble. She pictured it. Remembering his gentleness, the fear
left her.
We will sit down together,
she thought.
Perhaps over
dinner. No, we will just talk. And I will tell him everything, except what I
plan to do, no matter how difficult it is. I will explain the choice I have
made. He will not like it, and will try to dissuade
me,
I am sure. But I will not
alter my decision. It will be painful, impossible to carry out if I allow it to
be. I will not. Any more than I will allow unrealistic thoughts of us together
again to transform me into a wavering adolescent. When he comes to understand
that I will not change my mind, he will accept it. Sooner or later, he will
have to, and it will be better for him, and that is that!

Esther walked to the window and pulled
the curtain partly open. She gazed at the orange, setting sun and sighed.
First
things first,
she thought.
I need a bath before I can even begin to
organize my thoughts for the meeting with Kelsey.
She turned and did not
see Alex step out of the shadows down the street diagonally opposite from the
hotel.

Stepping off the wooden sidewalk, Alex
walked across the street and through the doorway of the barbershop. When the
barber saw him, he dropped his shaving brush and turned away from the customer
he had just lathered up. He walked quickly to Alex, glancing back once to see
if the man in the chair was still asleep. "Mister, I don't want any
trouble," he whispered. "Please."

"No trouble," Alex said.
"I just wanted to make sure the gentleman wasn't seriously hurt."

"He'll survive," the barber
said nervously, respectfully guiding Alex outside onto the sidewalk. When he
was sure his customer couldn't hear him, he glanced up and down the street and
said, "The man you cold-cocked ain't no gentleman, mister. No matter how
he dresses. And he's looking to kill you. I was you, I'd make myself
scarce."

"Gambler?"

"So far as I can see, mister. That's
all I can say. I don't want…"

"What's his name?"

"Mosby. Look, mister, I got to get
back to my customer."

"Well, don't worry about me,"
Alex said. "I'm just in town for a few days anyway. And I can take care of
myself. Just felt conscience-bound to find out if he was badly hurt."

"Worry about yourself, mister,"
the barber said from the door of his shop. "You see Luther Mosby again,
walk in the opposite direction, fast!"

On
the way back to the boardinghouse where he was staying, Alex caught himself glancing
back over his shoulder, looking for the tall, wiry man with the moustache.
Mosby
,
he thought.
Well, I'm not going to look for trouble, but I'll be damned if
I'm going to skulk around or hide from anybody.
In his room he thought
briefly about remaining another day.
Just pride,
he thought. There
wasn't any reason for him to stay. The intelligent thing to do would be to get
back to Monterey. He packed his bags and headed for the livery stable where he
had left his horse several days before.

Mosby was awakened by the sound of a
woman singing softly in the room next door. He cursed, tried to go back to
sleep, but couldn't. His head still ached. He got up and dressed. He heard the
woman, humming now, close the door to her room. When he left his own, he glimpsed
her entering the bathroom down the hall. She was barefoot, and the sight of her
ankles stirred him briefly before she closed the door. He wondered why she was
wearing a dress rather than a bathrobe. A torn one, at that. He tried the
bathroom door after waiting until he heard water splashing. It was locked.
Shrugging, he went down the stairs to the first floor.

At the front desk he asked the clerk if
he knew who had burst into his room the day before.

"Man's name was Alexander, I
think," the clerk said, unnerved by Mosby's stare and misremembering
Alex's name. "Todd Alexander. He forced me to give him the passkey. Held a
gun on me. I swear it."

"You told me that yesterday. He
staying here?"

"No sir. Never seen him before. Come
in inquiring about a lady he thought he knew."

"Rebecca?"

"No sir. He was looking for an
unattached lady."

"Let me see the register."

"That's against reg—"

"Let me see the damn thing or I'll
stuff you into one of those mailboxes."

"Yessir." Shaking, the owner
handed him the guest book.

"Well, you wasn't lyin'. Don't see
no unattached ladies, neither."

"No sir."

Mosby reached across the desk, grabbed
the clerk by the shirt, and jerked him forward. "Then who's the shapely
lady I just saw goin' to take a bath?"

The clerk summoned up all his courage.
"I don't know who you mean, Mr. Mosby."

"Never mind," Mosby said,
letting him go. "Probably someone's wife."

"Yessir."

"You see that Alexander again, you
let me know. You hear?"

"Yessir."

Mosby
ran his hand across the stubble on his jaw, walked to the door, and headed for
the barbershop.

After her bath Esther ate breakfast
ravenously, then headed for a milliner's she had seen on the way from the
wharf. Hurrying past the barbershop, she glanced in and fleetingly saw the man
laid out and lathered, the barber shaving him. She walked on without a thought
about him.

Lying there with the chair tilted way
back, relaxed by the hot towels the barber had pressed to his face minutes
before, Mosby almost dozed. Through half-closed eyelids, he saw Esther pass the
shop but did not get a good look at her. He closed his eyes and let his mind
wander over the ten months he had spent in and around Los Angeles after he and
Claussen had tried to track the man who had set the bear loose. He wondered
where the man had disappeared to.
Greaser never showed his face down south,
he thought.
That's for sure.

Mosby
felt the thinned-out role of bills in his pocket. This town was dead. No money
to be made gambling here. Go up to the gold fields? In truth, he was tired of
gambling anyway. He thought of Texas and began visualizing alternatives for the
future.

Esther stopped at a dress shop and bought
two new outfits. At the millinery store she purchased two hats with dark,
embroidered veils and several remnants of gauzy material for additional veils
if she needed them. Then she stopped at another store, where she bought two
pairs of high-buttoned shoes, undergarments, and some stockings before heading
back to the hotel.

Mosby
smiled to himself as he turned out of the stairwell and glimpsed the woman
letting herself into the room next to his down on the far end of the hallway.
He stopped and looked at his watch. Turning, he went back down to the lobby,
took a seat, and finished reading his newspaper.
Maybe she'll come down
again
, he thought.
If she looks like anything, I might just strike up a
conversation and see what happens.

Esther hung up the dresses she had
bought, stripped, and put one of them on over a new set of undergarments.
Fitting one of the new hats on her head in front of the mirror, she primped a
bit and then left the room. At the head of the stairs she decided to go back
and take her carryall bag. She didn't like the idea of leaving all but one of
the pouches filled with gold unattended. In the room she saw the mended old
dress and well-worn underwear lying across the bed where she had thrown them.
On an impulse she stuffed the old clothing and the sorry hat Manaiki had given
her into one of the milliner's boxes. Going down the back stairs, she dropped
the box into a trash barrel and headed for the Blue Star Shipping Company.

She found William Kelsey writing in a
ledger at one of six clerkless desks stacked with papers. Middle-aged, a little
shorter than Esther, he had a pleasant, slightly florid face with fine, almost
handsome features. He glanced at Sutter's letter of introduction—not knowing
the "Captain" had taken some liberties with Esther's history—stood
up, and escorted her into his cluttered office.

"I see yah from Bahston."
Kelsey offered her a chair. "From Maine, m'self, but most of the family
stayed around the Cape."

Esther took out the list of goods she
planned to buy or have shipped from the East Coast as Kelsey finished Sutter's
letter.

"Widah, hah? And so young. Too bad
yah didn't stop by yestiday or the day befowah. Could've introduced yah to a
fine young man your age. Wonderful, nice young fella. Alex Todd."

Esther's heart began to pound.

"Loyal and hardworkin' as they come.
Runs most of Consul Larkin's business down to Monterey, now that his cousin's
gone off to the fields. Up here tracin' a shipment of goods. Too bad. Left yestiday."

Esther breathed slowly and deeply,
calming herself.

"One of the few workin' for Larkin
didn't run off," Kelsey finished.

"Monterey has been drained of men as
well?"

"Same as here. All but one of my
clerks ah up there. And he's down with the grippe. Not that it mattahs,"
he sighed. "Now what can I do for yah?"

"Captain Sutter told me you were one
of the most decent, honest men he's ever known."

"Don't know about that. But I've
known Sutter since he come here in '39. Fine man. Fine man."

"He told me you have helped many
people get started here."

"A few. A few," Kelsey
protested. "In small ways. What do yah have in mind, young lady?"

Esther laid the list on his desk. "I
would like to obtain as many of these items in quantity as are available here,
and order what is not, to be shipped to San Franicsco by your company."

Kelsey read down the list, frowning and
shaking his head.

"Can you suggest a wholesaler or two
I can trust?" she went on.

"That's not the problem."

"I have arranged for storage space
at Sutter's, and Mister Sam Brannan will be selling for me on
consignment."

Kelsey frowned again. "Nevah liked
that man."

"You confirm my own impression. But
for now he is the man to whom you will ship the goods."

"Now hold on a minute! I didn't say
I'd be shippin' yah anything! I don't even know if I'll be in business through
the end of the year."

"But you own, you are a partner in
one of San Francisco's most flourishing shipping concerns."

"Need men to do this sort of thing.
And they're all gone. Ships rotting in the harbor. Crews, captains and all,
jump ship soon as they drop anchor, leave the cargo aboard to spoil or collect
dust. Meanwhile, overhead and accounts payable don't go anywhere but up. Keeps
on, we'll be bankrupt by Novembah."

Esther began thinking. "It can't go
on forever, can it?"

"No. Six months. A year, mebby. But
Novembah is a lot sooner than that."

"The problem is simply
manpower?"

"No. Money. Cahn't pay them enough
to make them stay. Cahn't afford it."

Esther's mind was racing. She saw an
opportunity that exceeded anything she had hoped for, and it made her heart
race. She squeezed the carryall bag between her ankles, taking strength and
nerve from what the solid feel of the pouches represented. "And the
wholesalers?" she asked, controlling her voice, hoping it would not
flutter.

"Same pickle," Kelsey said,
throwing up one hand in frustration. "They're packin' up and headin' for
Coloma just like everybody else."

"If you… someone, had the money to
equal or slightly better what the average man can earn in the fields, could he
not last this out until the situation is back to normal?"

"He… or they… if there were just a
few of them, would have a monopoly for the short run. And more than a toehold
on being way ahead of the pack after this passes. But all this is just
idle…"

"And all it would take is
money?" Esther interrupted.

Kelsey sighed again. "More than
anyone in San Francisco has at the moment. It's the old story. Money makes
money."

"You have a partner?"

"Yes, ma'am. Warren Barnett. But what…?"

"Tell me about him."

Kelsey checked his impatience.
Humor
her
, he thought.
After all, she's just a young girl. And she's a friend
of Sutter's.
"Warren's a big, open fella. Always smilin'. Talks a lot.
But he's got a heart of gold, if you'll pardon the expression. Honest as they
come."

"He does not have the money you
need?" She held her breath.

"Same boat as I am. Equity
poor."

"Would you consider a third
partner?"

"Might. But I don't see…"

"Someone to put up the capital you
need? As much as it takes?"

"Yah talkin' about the answer to a
prayer, young lady. And I haven't prayed in twenty yeahs."

"Perhaps you should take the habit
up again."

"Now see here…!"

"I meant no insult," Esther
said, caught off balance by her own capacity for sarcasm. "In fact, you
don't need to pray at all, for you are looking at just such a potential
partner."

"Young lady, I don't know where yah
get your nerve, but…"

"Why do you reject the idea of
having me as a partner out of hand?"

"Well, first off, you're a
woman."

"And that automatically disqualifies
me?"

"Wouldn't want a woman meddlin' in
the runnin' of any business. For God's sake! You're young enough to be my
daughter. What could yah possibly know about the shipping business?"

"Nothing."

"That's what I mean."

"But I have no interest in being
involved in the day-to-day affairs of the firm."

"Oh, yah don't, do yah? Young lady,
I have work to do." He stood up.

Esther stayed in her chair. "But I
am interested in providing you with money you need and making a profit from
such an investment."

"I don't know who yah think yah are,
young lady, but…!"