California Woman (Daughters of the Whirlwind Book 1) (30 page)

"Well, as I said, I don't
know." Jessie was obviously restive. "But John might. Why don't you
ask him this evening? You
are
going to be with us for dinner and the
dance that will follow? We've hardly seen you at table."

"For dinner… I'm not too taken with
dancing, with large crowds." She paused for a second. "Your husband…
is so
busy
. I'm sure he'll not have time—"

"I'll speak to him. Surely he can
spare a moment to help someone seeking information about a patriotic
relative."

"Thank you. You've been most kind,
and I must let you get on with your preparations for this evening."

"Think nothing of it." Jessie
started to turn away, then hesitated. "Would you mind if I asked you a
personal question?"

"Why, no."

"It is none of my business. But I
simply cannot control my curiosity at times."

"Please," Esther said, steeling
herself, sure Jessie was going to ask something that might possibly lead her to
reveal her intentions about Mosby.

"It's just that… I… I simply cannot
understand why you wear a hat and a veil so often. Almost… without fail. I can
see that you have a lovely face from its outlines, and I cannot for the life of
me…"

"I have a scar," Esther said,
relieved, drawing in a deep breath, controlling her feelings. "Suffered in
an accident coming west." She lifted her gloved left hand. "And two
fingers missing on this hand. That is why I wear gloves around strangers, as
well."

Jessie winced, sucked in an embarrassed
breath, and brought the back of her hand to her mouth. "Oh, dear. I'm
so
sorry. I should never have asked."

"It's quite all right. I suppose
avoiding crowds of people and preferring to dine alone does seem odd."

Jessie
gently put her hand on Esther's forearm. "You poor dear. And so young.
Well, don't you worry, I'll see to it John and you have a moment alone in the
study before dinner. You can be sure of it."

The early arrivals were mingling and
talking in the patio when Jessie ushered Esther into a book-lined room off a
long hallway toward the front of the house.
Frémont,
preoccupied with a map of California,
turned when they came in, and his wife explained Esther's quest for
information.

"You are in luck, young lady,"
Frémont
said, gazing at Esther with the most
soulful eyes she had ever seen. "I have had no call to keep in touch with
Mosby myself, since he chose, characteristically, to desert my forces when we
were in the… pitch of battle… here in early '47. But I did receive a letter
from Kit Carson just a week ago. Kit mentioned he heard Mosby is now a U.S.
Marshal… in south-central Texas, I believe. Some vague business about studying
the law in his spare time. I wouldnot have been informed, I would guess, but
that Carson thought it amusing. The idea of Mosby a lawyer, I mean—or, God
forbid, a judge."

"I don't know the man well."
Esther's heart began to beat faster. "The humor of it escapes me."

"Let us say,"
Frémont
said, weighing his words, "that
Luther Mosby has yet to show the integrity, the loyalty, one would expect of a
man of the bar."

"I would like to write him,
regarding my… my cousin." Esther held her breath.

"His exact whereabouts I cannot give
you. Kit did not mention precisely where he was. But I would imagine you could
obtain it easily enough by writing the proper agency in Washington."

And that
,
Esther thought, crestfallen, numb with disappointment as
Frémont
droned on about how to go about writing
the letter,
might reveal to him that I am alive
.

Frémont
came
around from behind his desk and put his arm around her. "Have patience,
dear woman," he said consolingly. "And faith. God usually helps
someone with as much familial love as you obviously have in your heart."

Mariposa
Ranch

December 28, 1849

Moved into this half-finished ranch house in November. (Barnett,
bless his soul, has seen to everything, including the building.) I wish you
could see it, Alex. When it is finished, it will be a home you would be proud
of. I know you would love the silence of this wild and beautiful country. As I
look out my window, it glistens even in this damnable rain that has hardly let
up since the beginning of the month, it snows higher in the mountains, but here
the roads have turned into rivers of mud.

No chance to write in this journal until now… Busy arranging for
furniture to be shipped here, and a thousand other little items that one is
swamped with when establishing a new residence. The builders are proceeding
apace, but what a racket they make! Some of the furniture has arrived. Thank
goodness Murietta saw fit to bring the hide bed after I informed him of my
whereabouts. A marvelously subtle hint, if those were his thoughts. But you
have nothing to be concerned about, Alex. My intentions will not change in the
matter, and although Murietta was more at ease with me during his visit, he
knows where I stand and takes great pains not to crowd me.

Have thought many times about that night in San
Francisco
when I believed I saw Mosby. A small voice within me would like
to banish such vengeful tendencies, but I tell you, a larger voice shouts it
down. I know I will not be at peace until I have dealt with him. It took me
several weeks to get over the deep disappointment, no, despondence I felt when
Frémont
informed me of Mosby's return to Texas. For a time, I despaired
also that there was no way on earth that anyone, let alone a woman, could bring
a U.S. Marshal down on his home ground. But while that is true, I began
thinking about the extraordinary turns my life has taken since we last held one
another. One simply never knows. And for the time being I am simply going to
wait to see what happens. It is possible that Mosby may one day return to
California. If he does not, I will simply continue to build my financial strength
against the day when I can seek him out, wherever he is.

So much for him. Happy as a purring cat with the old Mexican
woman, Marianita, and her husband,
Emilio,
whom
I have hired to help me. The
Frémonts'
place is
some ten miles southeast of here. They have invited me to dinner, but thus far,
I have declined. Much as I find the woman small and abrasive, I am happy for
Jessie about John Charles's election, along with the Southerner William Gwin,
as U.S. Senator. Considering that California is yet to be recognized, it would
seem more practical being elected State Senator, as was Warren Barnett's good
fortune following the convention in Monterey.

Received a note from Barnett concerning the Sutter business. All
has worked out well for the poor man. After returning to the Kelseys', I
arranged to have a draft of four thousand dollars transferred to the Bank of
Monterey and delivered, anonymously, to Sutter. I would like to have seen the
look on his dear face when he opened the envelope. And on Peter Corbett's, when
he learned that Sutter had paid the debt. I suppose Sutter could find out who
sent the money if he had a mind to and was persistent. I hope he will not.

I do not know just what
Frémont
will
do as a senator in Washington until
California
is
admitted to the Union. But whatever that spellbindingly ascetic-looking
gentleman accomplishes, it will not be without wifely support. I must confess
to you, Alex, that I found myself exceedingly jealous of the woman. Of the way
she looks. Of that enviable mind. It is always ticking, strategizing,
arranging, and manipulating the strings for future puppeteering. How well I
could use such mental capability in an effort to ensnare Mr. Mosby. Jealous,
too, of the life she has, the home, the husband, all the things I do not. But
most of all, now, her beauty. I would admit such a thing only to you. Is it not
silly of me?

The prattle of a jealous girl of twenty with a horrible nose! I
will try the face-colors and rouge I bought in San Francisco from the little
peddler lady outside the Bella Union. Perhaps a delicate application will
conceal the whiteness, with equally subtle blending of cheek color, without
making me look like a strumpet. Little need of it here, however. But it will be
interesting to try in the event I travel abroad of these parts.

Which, of course, I will be doing early in the coming year. I do
not like the continuing reports of depredation and viciousness directed against
the Indians. I must speak of such matters to Miwokan. The thought of placing
little Moses in a mission school grows more practical, and now, a matter of
safety, one would guess, with each passing month. I will think on it and
perhaps make a decision before journeying to Sacramento City in January. I pray
for your health, dear husband, and do miss you so.

In early January, Esther rode up to the
South Fork by buckboard, old
Emilio
at
the reins and one of her saddle horses trailing the rig. It rained off and on
during most of the trip, and more than once the old man had to lay logs and
branches where the road had turned into a quagmire. Noting how exhausted he
was, she sent
Emilio
back
to Mariposa after a night's rest at the cabin, then spent most of the following
morning going over accounts with Murietta. Shortly after lunch they unharnessed
the buckboard team, saddled up, and headed for Miwokan's village.

All the way up from the ranch she had
been excited over the prospect of attending her first play at the new Eagle
Theater. Barnett's last letter mentioned he would be in Sacramento City during
the first week of 1850. In a postscript he had added that, should she happen to
be there for any reason as well, he would take her to see Mrs. Henry Ray, of
The Royal Theater of New Zealand, in
The Bandit Chief
. The timing was
perfect, but her eagerness was diluted by a mixture of concerns as she made the
long, wet journey northward. Violence against the Indians had increased
everywhere in northern California, and her fears for Moses—and everyone else at
Miwokan's camp—had been the source of several nightmares.

Now, as she and Murietta worked their way
eastward along the muddy bank of the South Fork and it began to drizzle again,
he put her at ease: There had been no signs of trouble. The village was far
enough out of the way to be overlooked. He saw no reason why things would not
continue as peacefully in the future, at least in this area. Still, more of
Miwokan's tribesmen had left after the work had been halted in December.

"He has held half of them
together," Murietta said, "in the face of constant temptation to
disband and go their separate ways."

"Into a white world he is certain
will destroy them."

"That is what he believes, and I
believe it will happen, also, to those who try to live as we do."

Esther sighed. "Their leaving
saddens me for many reasons."

"It has been a great strain on
Miwokan," Murietta continued. "He wishes to keep them together, and
he is also deeply troubled that soon there will not be enough left to keep his
promises to you."

Esther was shocked to see how much
Miwokan had aged when he greeted them at the village. There was something else,
something beyond what she knew was eating away at him, but she could not put
her finger on it. When she embraced him, he quickly pulled away and called out
to
Solana.
The
Indian woman burst out of their hut, trailing the two boys behind her,
delighted to see Esther after so long.
Solana
kissed Esther on both cheeks and hugged
her, but then she glanced past Esther and saw it: Miwokan couldn't keep his
eyes off her. Quickly, she turned her attention to the two children. Esther
couldn't understand why
Solana,
too,
had retreated emotionally, but she let it go for the moment as each of the
tribesmen and their wives came out into the heavy drizzle to welcome her.

Later, Esther asked Murietta to accompany
her to Sacramento the following morning. Over her shoulder the
Californio
saw a fleeting but unmistakable look of
pain and longing cross Miwokan's face. Esther missed it, and she was somewhat
surprised when Murietta wisely decided to return and wait for her at the cabin.
Then she couldn't understand why Miwokan suddenly found things to do in the
rain and did not reappear all afternoon.

For a moment she wondered if it had to do
with the feelings he once had for her.
But I have been gone for months
,
she thought. And Murietta has been here. Remembering what Miwokan had said
about never letting his jealousy dominate him again, she dismissed the idea.
Still troubled, she sat with
Solana
in
the central hut watching two-and-a-half-year-old Moses, dressed in deerskins,
resolutely playing simple games with Mwamwaash and several other children their
age. For a while she was preoccupied with the boy and what she should do about
him. Aside from the ripple of unexplained uneasiness in Miwokan and his wife, a
feeling of peace reigned at the village. Her apprehensions about Moses' safety
suddenly seemed exaggerated, and she decided to leave him with
Solana
for a while longer. Finally, her thoughts
back on Miwokan, she turned to the Indian woman.

"Your husband acts strangely toward
me. Is he not well? Is there something I don't know?"

Solana
remained
silent.

Esther reached out and took her hand.
"Tell me. Please. Is he ill?"

"Only here and here,"
Solana
said, touching her temple and then her
heart. "He is saddened by the loss of so many brothers. Saddened more by
how many he knows will leave here."

"It's the gold," Esther said,
thinking of the legend. Suddenly, she was so forlorn she had to bite her lip to
keep from crying. "And he thinks it is my fault."

"You are a part of it,"
Solana
said guardedly. "But not in the way
you think. In many ways you have helped him keep them together. They work for
you, their chief's sunsister, and Miwokan. They love both of you, and that
binds them. They have some of the gold without leaving, because you are
generous to them."

"I wanted them to share…"

"I know. They could have had much
more. I think it is wise that Miwokan did what he did. And no one here would
speak against it. But they hear how much more they can have elsewhere. They
believe what Miwokan says about the sun's anger is true only here. Their
brothers come and show them the bright things they have bought, and pour
Claussen's whiskey into them. It does not take much after that."

"Claussen?"

"If not from that man's still, there
are many others who make it."

"But whites are forbidden to sell
liquor to them."

"Some here are secretly going to the
store Claussen has made in Placerville. I have seen them go in."

"But the new laws—"

"Mean nothing,"
Solana
interrupted, "when an Indian has
gold and men like Claussen want it."

"The gold again. And I am a part of
it all."

"Do
not trouble yourself with that. He knows that if you had never been born, this
would have come."

As they ate by firelight in the central
hut, one side of which had been torn away and enlarged with canvas, Miwokan
drifted off in his own thoughts. He scarcely looked at Esther. When she spoke
to him, he answered as briefly as possible. With his fur cape off and the
dancing light of the fire etching the deep creases in his wan face, his loss of
weight was startlingly obvious. When he finally rose and left the hut, most of
his meal uneaten, Esther experienced a sudden stab of anguish.

She weighed the effect on Miwokan if she
stayed at the cabin with Murietta, and she decided to remain overnight at the
camp. Settled in an abandoned hut, wrapped in furs and wearing only her
chemise, she lay staring for hours at the fire. Unable to sleep, she pulled one
of the furs around her, slipped on some moccasins, moved the bark door covering
to one side, and stepped through the entrance flap into the clearing.

The rain clouds had passed. Moonless, the
night sky was awash with brilliant stars. She looked straight up and saw the
pale white streak of the Milky Way overhead. She wondered for a moment how far
away it was, but then a sound and a movement to her right caught her attention.

Two human shadows played against a thin,
canvas-covered enlargement of Miwokan's shelter. At first Esther was puzzled,
but then it became obvious that inside,
Solana
was attempting to arouse her husband's
sexual interest. Esther felt a tremor in her loins. Embarrassed, she began to
turn away, but the shadows moved again, riveting her attention and overriding
her normal sense of propriety. The breasted shadow of
Solana
hovered, now, over her husband. She
massaged and then mounted him and moved slowly up and down. Almost overcome by
long-suppressed desire, Esther forced herself to turn away. She had just
entered her own hut when she heard Miwokan growl,
"No!"

Esther turned just inside the entrance to
her hut and saw Miwokan push
Solana
off,
rise, and come stalking out of the hut. He stopped and looked around but did
not see Esther watching him. For a moment he gazed straight ahead, then glanced
quickly at her hut. She saw him take in a deep breath, let it out, then walk,
head bent, across the central clearing. Esther waited a moment, then stepped
outside. Across the camp she saw Miwokan disappear into the sunken sweathouse.
It
is I
, she thought. Sadness enveloped her. Sighing, not knowing what she
could do, she was about to return to her sleeping throw when she saw
Solana
watching her from in front of the main
hut. Gathering the fur around her again, Esther walked slowly to where the
Indian woman stood. There were tears in her eyes. Esther reached out and
embraced her.

"It fills me with pain to see him
this way. I couldn't sleep. I came out of the hut for a moment, and I couldn't
help but see…"

"Go to him,"
Solana
said, quickly regaining control of her
emotions.

"Go to him? I don't
understand."

"Go to him and heal him—any way you
can."

"But
you
are his wife. He
loves you."

Solana
looked
at her and smiled sadly. "Know that I have no bad feelings for you as I
speak this. I know you have done no wrongs. But you are more of his pain than
anyone or anything else. He feels a hollow place in him since you are gone. He
would have it another way, I know that. He would be done with it. But he cannot
kill what is in him for you."

"But he loves
you
. And you
love him."

"Each is true,"
Solana
said, her eyes drifting downward.
"That is why he has not sent me away. And that is why I ask you to do this
thing."

"But I do not feel… I have
never…"

"You make too much of it, as all
whites do. It will be no different than lying with someone sick and cold."

"You don't understand! It
is
more than that to me. I can't…"

Solana's eyes flashed with anger.
"You will not do this for him, your sunbrother? Or for me, when I care for
your child as my own?"

"Oh,
God
. I can't!"

"You can. And you will. You have the
strength to do it. He lay upon you when you were like ice. He carried you to
Sutter when that was not enough to heal you. For two of your years, his people
have worked in the icy river so you would have the gold. He found a way to do
this only because
you
wanted it.
Go to him!
"

At the entrance to the sweathouse, Esther
trembled as she watched Miwokan inside. Stark naked, he stood a yard or so from
the central firepit, fanning embers and new logs he had placed beneath an
ingeniously suspended platform of smooth, round stones. There was no one else
in the large, open-peaked enclosure. Torn by conflicting emotions, she stared,
mesmerized by the sight of his extraordinary body. Confused as well as
fascinated, she watched as he poured a finely ground powder into a large bowl
of water and threw it on the heated stones. A cloud of steam rose above the
fire as she stepped into the hut. Lost in his own thoughts, he did not see or
hear her. She could not take her eyes off him. In the soft firelight, the loss
of weight served only to accentuate the remarkable musculature of his torso,
arms, and legs, the perfect shape and proportion of his dark genitals.

She inhaled silently, and her lungs were
filled with the pungent steam that was rising and spreading out from the
stones. He put more of the powder in the bowl, refilled it with water from a
barrel, and placed it on the warm rock-wall of the firepit. Her heart raced as
she inhaled deeply again, trying not to be heard. Suddenly, then, in the midst
of her indecisiveness, her soul searching, the tension left her and she began
to feel as if she were floating.

She looked at his face as he tamped some
of the finely ground powder into the deep bowl of a long pipe. She found
herself wanting to reach out and smother the sadness in his eyes with a
mother's kisses, take his head in her arms and soothe him like a child. Her
gaze dropped to his loins again, and a wave of raw animal desire washed over
her. For a second, as she continued to breathe in the moist, aromatic steam
that now filled the hut, fear and reluctance licked at her mind. Then, in rapid
succession, she thought obliquely of Alex, Murietta, and John Alexander.
Desire, compassion, tenderness, and sexual arousal blended together, flooding
through her and wiping away all thought. She dropped the fur on the earth floor
of the hut and took a step toward him.

He heard the sound, turned, and frowned.
"This place is forbidden to women."