California Woman (Daughters of the Whirlwind Book 1) (28 page)

Isaac Claussen did not fail to notice
Esther. Turning to the man carrying his mining equipment, Claussen laughed. He
nodded back toward the attractive woman in the veiled hat. "Like 'em
plumper, myself. But that's just the sort of machinery drives old Mosby wild.
Skinny with big tits." Claussen looked back one last time as he headed
away from the
embarcadero
dock.
"Maybe old Alamo knows somethin' I don't," he said, laughing again.
"I'll have to ask him." His face went curious. "Wonder where the
son'bitch is keepin' hisself these days?"

Esther stood staring out through the
window in William Kelsey's office, wondering where fate or luck would place her
next. Before her lay what seemed like a forest of tall trees denuded by a
raging fire. Between eight hundred and a thousand sailing ships sat crowded
together in and beyond the cove, abandoned, stripped of their sailcloth and
rocking gently in the still, midmorning interval between the fog and the
formidable afternoon wind. Here and there a stately vessel cut slowly through
an open channel dissecting the marine graveyard.

A block down Montgomery Street on the
waterfront, one huge ship had been shoved up against a wharf, demasted, leveled
to the deck, and rebuilt to serve as a giant warehouse. Another, its decks
ripped off and turned over on its side, had been partitioned and fronted with
canvas compartments. In and out of the tent flaps, men, women, and children
moved back and forth, carrying furniture, personal items, and provisions.

Esther walked back out through the office
and gave William Kelsey a comforting look. Harried, he had spent a few minutes
with her earlier, then, after sending someone for Warren Barnett, had excused
himself. He was virtually surrounded by clerks, each of them holding a ledger,
a sheaf of lading bills, consignment orders, or correspondence that needed his
attention. The din of a hundred hammers pulsed through the doorway as Esther
stepped back out onto the wooden sidewalk to reconfirm what she had seen from
her room at the Parker House on Portsmouth Square early that morning.

Everywhere men were busy building, teams
of them nailing down roofs, others raising preconstructed house frames into
place; draymen hauling lumber, barrowmen wheeling shingles to waiting
carpenters. Here and there bricklayers moved incessantly, scooping, slapping,
placing, and setting in a continuous rhythm. The walls they were erecting
seemed almost to grow, back and forth, line by line, by themselves behind the
blurred movements of the craftsmen.

The city was three times the size it had
been when she last saw it. Wooden houses, many of them enlarged by canvas
extensions, and a veritable sea of tents spread across the flatlands and crept
up the hills like an enormous living growth of multihued ground-cover. Clusters
of shy, narrow-eyed Chinese hurried across intersections. Several Frenchmen
argued volubly with an express agent across the street. Twenty Chileans, their
heads poking through ponchos, labored under the weight of mining equipment on
their way to a steamboat and Sacramento. Malays, Sonorans, Yankees,
Kanakas—Esther was certain she had counted a dozen nationalities, not including
the fairer faced men whose clothing did not immediately identify their origin.
Finally she saw Warren Barnett step out of the door of his newly established
assay office down the street.

"Well, what do you think?"
Barnett said as he guided her back toward Blue Star's private offices. "Do
we not have a city abuilding here?"

"Indeed you do."

"It will one day be one of the world's
great trade centers."

"Gold or no gold," Esther said,
thinking beyond the present.

"Exactly." Barnett ushered her
to a chair and then sat down himself. The desk seemed like a toy from a child's
playhouse with his bulk behind it.

"You are comfortable at the Parker
House?"

"Quite comfortable, and fascinated
by the gaming establishments on the plaza."

"Yes," he said, noting her
expression of tolerant amusement. "Well, we have a city, and with cities
come problems. We are looking for ways to unseat some unscrupulous men in
office who are busy lining their pockets by allowing such things to get out of
hand. It will all end well, though. I think the outcome of the convention—one
outcome, at least—will be the legislative and judicial tools to deal with these
rascals."

"Convention?"

"It will be a glorious thing. Just
between you and me—and William, of course—I think a great deal more will be
framed at Monterey. The
Frémonts
will
be there—drumming up support for a U.S. Senate nomination."

The incongruity of a senatorial campaign
before California achieved statehood was lost on Esther as she wondered if the
Frémonts
might know of Mosby's whereabouts.
My
God
, she thought.
Why haven't I thought of them before?
Suddenly she
was filled with excitement. Aware that Barnett was watching her, she quickly
said, "I hope something will be resolved about the lack of law in the gold
fields. And steps taken to ensure the rights and safety of those who lived here
long before we arrived."

"The Indians? Yes, something has to
be done. Why, just the other day, near the Mokelumne River, a band of drunken
miners amused themselves by taking target practice on a Maidu encampment!"

"Miwok," Esther said absently,
still thinking of
Frémont
and
Mosby.

Barnett looked puzzled.

"South of the American and in beyond
the foothills, the Indians are of the Miwok subtribes," Esther explained.

"Yes, of course. You would know
that, living near Placerville."

"I mean for it no longer to be my
home."

Barnett was surprised. "You're moving
here, to San Francisco?"

"No. That's one reason I wished to
talk with you. As William may have told you, I am… ah… of a somewhat reclusive
nature. I find it no longer tolerable to live in an area so overcrowded."

"Are you planning to sell your
property?"

"No, it's in capable hands. Mr.
Murietta, whom I believe you have met, will be running things for me at the
South Fork."

"I'm happy to hear that. He's a good
man, and I'm convinced you haven't even touched the potential of the
country."

"You may be right," she
replied, remembering what Sutter had once told her: Mosby had left
Frémont
soon after arriving in California. Still…

"In any case," Barnett went on,
"where do you wish to live? There is much land here, although I wouldn't
advise building in town. There's a lack of privacy, and I foresee a danger in
the central areas. We have already experienced several disastrous fires."

"Really? One would never know from
the look of things."

"Rebuilt within a matter of
days." Barnett shook his head in wonderment. "It is as though
nothing, not even God, can stop the growth of this city."

"Yes. Well, for the moment, I don't
wish to live here. I would like to remain in the foothill area."
Frémont
must
know
, she willed silently.

"It will be difficult to find a
place not teeming with prospectors. They range as far north as the Yuba, and
there are literally hordes of Sonorans as well as native miners down around the
Stanislaus and the…" Barnett paused. "There is one area," he
said, musing. "The
Frémonts
are
building a ranch near a place called Mariposa."

Esther's heart leaped.
If they do not
know now, perhaps in the future, if I am situated near them…

"It's wild and beautiful
country," Barnett continued, "relatively unsettled at the moment.
It's more than possible another tract of land could be obtained for you with
the help of Consul Larkin."

The name triggered a burst of nostalgia
and longing for Alex. She fought it off. "I would like that very
much." Her mind churned again about Fremont and Mosby. "Would it be
possible for me to meet with Mr. Larkin?"

"I am sure I can arrange it."

The strong possibility that John Charles
Frémont
could provide her with information
concerning Mosby's whereabouts made her hands tremble. "Would it be too
much trouble to make another request?"

"Name it, dear lady. If it is within
my power
…
"

She pretended she could not look Barnett
in the eye. "You will think me foolish…"

"Never you mind about that. What is
it?"

"I have… I have heard so much about…
John Charles
Frémont,"
she
whispered, feigning a shyness she did not feel. "And his extraordinary
wife. He is… has become a…"

"Sort of a hero to you?"

Esther put her glove to her lips and
lowered her gaze. "Yes." She wondered if acting on a stage was this
easy.

"And you would like to meet
him?"

"How did you…? Yes. And his wife, of
course."

"Consider it done," Barnett
said as Kelsey walked into the office. "And don't be so shy about your
admiration for the man. It's shared by many. John Charles
Frémont
may be too conservative for some
political tastes, but he's nonetheless a hero of the first order. Am I not
right, William?"

Kelsey glanced at her, then at Barnett,
glared briefly before deciding to avoid a political debate centering on
Frémont.
"Of course." But then, unable
to control himself, he added, "Everyone knows he conquered California all
by himself."

"Oh, William!" Esther said,
maintaining her pose, "you're just jealous."

"Of that vain little squirt? That
windbag?"

"Well, Warren and I think he is a
patriot, don't we, Warren? And I would like to meet him."

"No harm in that," Kelsey said,
backing off. "Just take along some cotton."

"Cotton?" Esther said.

"For your ears. The man never stops
talking."

I hope not
,
she thought.

Barnett and Kelsey took her to lunch at
Tong Ling's in Jackson Street. As they argued about
Frémont,
she toyed with her food and wondered how
she would get The "Pathfinder" to talk about Mosby without being
obvious. The dishes were too hot for her taste, but Esther's first experience
with the delectably milder chow-chow took her mind off Monterey for the moment.
Over steaming tea she made arrangements for a shift in procedure at Blue Star.
She had long since paid for her third of the company's privately held stock,
and she wanted any funds due her henceforth to be deposited at the newly
established banking arm of Adams and Company.

"What's wrong with the Mercantile
Bank?" Barnett asked. "Blue Star has been doing business with them
since—"

"I engaged Adams and Company to haul
my gold yesterday. This will simplify matters."

"The Mercantile people are
powerful," Barnett said. "We don't want them as enemies."

"I'm not suggesting Blue Star shift
its account. I simply find that the Mercantile seems to be far less efficient
and much more rude these days," Esther said.

"She's right about that."
Kelsey was enjoying having her on his side now that the
Frémont
discussion was over. "That bank not
only is putting people off by smugly assuming there are few other places so secure,
it's resting on its laurels. Eventually, Adams might be a better place to have
your money."

They got up, and Barnett paid for the
meal with gold dust. The Chinese proprietor slowly weighed it on a small set of
scales.

"Why aren't you paying in bills or
coin?" Esther asked.

"Dust is handy to me at the assay
office."

"And there is a shortage of coins
and bills," Esther said as they left the restaurant. "I learned of it
yesterday."

"That's true," Barnett said as
they passed a market displaying squash from Hawaii. "A lot of people are
finding it inconvenient to pay with dust."

"I asked if something could be done
about the problem yesterday at the Mercantile," Esther said. "All I
got was exasperated looks—and rudeness."

"Too cocksure of themselves,"
Kelsey said. "Keep it up, theyah gonna lose all theyah customers."

They picked their way across a street
reduced to a quagmire by heavy rain two days earlier. The lids of a score of
submerged cast-iron stoves served as stepping stones.

"Mind you, don't snap one of them
open," Kelsey said, taking Esther's hand. "It was a fine idea to set
them in the mud. They were going to waste. But yesterday one of the lids flew
up and cracked a man's shinbone."

They reached the wooden sidewalk in front
of a hardware store.

"Can't anything be done about this
coin and currency business?" Esther asked.

"Until the government establishes a
mint here," Barnett said, "I doubt things will get any better."

"Mebbe they will if we become a
state," Kelsey said, nudging Esther and winking. They passed a man
throwing brush and branches under the rear wheels of a buckboard stalled in the
mud. "Myself, I'd just as soon see us get some cobblestones first."

"
If
we become a state?"
Barnett said defensively. "There's no question about it. You can bet the
matter will be settled in Monterey."

"Monterey is one thing," Kelsey
said, "but Washington is another."

"Oh, come on, William," Barnett
went on. "Polk is for it. The Congress can't ignore us. We're too rich,
there's too much gold flowing eastward for statehood to be delayed very
long."

So much gold and not enough
coins
, Esther thought, as an idea
struck her.

"And in the meantime," Barnett
continued, "if I judge the temper of those headed for Monterey correctly,
we will function as a state with or without the government's blessing."

"With or without coin of the
realm," Esther mused out loud.

Barnett turned to her, puzzled. For a
moment Esther stared at several men unearthing a carriage that had sunk up to
its windows into the mire on Kearny Street. In front of it, the head of a dead
mule protruded from the surface of the street.

Esther shuddered and turned back to
Barnett. "Is there any law against coining gold privately?"

"Why, I don't know," Barnett
said, a bit flustered. He prided himself on his self-taught knowledge of the
law.

"I'm sure you can find out,"
Esther said. "You run an assay office, through which a formidable amount
of gold passes. For the price of some machinery, which could be made at the
foundry I saw from my hotel-room window, you could turn out coins from that
gold. Would there be any profit in it?"

"Why, I'd never thought of it,"
Barnett said.

"What did I tell you about this
little lady?" Kelsey nudged Barnett in the ribs, enjoying every minute of
the big man's being caught off balance.

"Yes. Yes," Barnett
said,
thinking. "She has a fine mind for business."

"It was just a thought," Esther
said, smiling knowingly at Kelsey. "I don't know if it could be turned to
advantage."

"Easy," Kelsey said. "Just
start turning out coins."

"That wouldn't sit well with the
Mercantile," Barnett said.

"The Mercantile be damned!"
Embarrassed, Esther sucked in a breath and put her hand to her mouth.

Barnett's jaw dropped open. Kelsey
roared.

"If they don't like it," Kelsey
said, "tell them we'll just have to pull our account out of the
bank."

Barnett suddenly enjoyed the prospect of
it all. "Why, it would be simple. You must add another metal to a gold
coin to keep it from bending, breaking up with use. If a five-dollar gold
piece, for which a minter received five dollars in nuggets or dust, contained
only four dollars' worth of gold, there would be a dollar's profit in each
coin."

"Less the cost of the additional
metal," Kelsey said.

"Minimal. Minimal," Barnett
responded, his mind racing as they started downhill toward Montgomery Street
and the Blue Star offices.

"If you stayed within a reasonable
proximity of what the government puts into its coins, that would be fair, would
it not?" Esther asked.

"Honest. Honest. Couldn't be fairer
than that," Barnett answered.

"Why don't the three of us go into
the mint business?" Esther wondered out loud. "At least until the
government takes it upon itself to remedy the situation."

"It
would
be a natural
outgrowth of the assay office," Kelsey said.

"A third each for the
equipment," Esther suggested.

"And a three-way split of the
profits," Kelsey added.

"Less a shared expenditure for
additional space and the men you will have to hire," Esther said.

Barnett was beaming like a child with a
new toy. "Why, we might get rich on this."

"Richer," Esther said.

"Richer is right." Kelsey
laughed, putting his arm around Esther and giving her a fatherly squeeze.
"Now, will you pack up your things and come stay with Connie and me?
You're too valuable an asset to be left alone at night in a hotel on Portsmouth
Square, fancy Parker House or not."