California Woman (Daughters of the Whirlwind Book 1) (42 page)

He came over and shook Esther by the arm.
"What's the matter with you?" he snapped. "Come on!" He
jerked her forward and out into the hallway. The floor was ablaze at either
end. The stairway was gone. Fingers of blazing heat clawed up under Esther's
veil and tore at her face. She backed into the room again.

"Wait here!" Mosby bellowed.

She peered out through the door and saw
him leap a low wall of flame and try the door to another room. Moving quickly
to the bed, she pulled at its brass foot-post and moved it away from the wall.
Picking up the gun, she cocked it and ran back to the doorway. Mosby was at the
door to another room. She saw him open it as she raised the pistol, but halfway
through her upward swing, the floor beneath Mosby gave way in a shower of flame
and sparks, and he dropped from sight. She heard him scream in pain, but then
there was nothing but the deafening, unearthly sound of the fire. Staring down
through a gap in the hallway floor, she tried to see where he had fallen but
couldn't make him out. Enraged, she flung the gun after him. Smoke blew into
her eyes and mouth, and she backed away involuntarily and closed the door.

She looked around and saw all four walls
going up in flames. She coughed as the smoke level dropped rapidly from the
ceiling and a shaft of fire suddenly roared up through the floor beside her.
Jumping back, she felt the flames licking at her right calf before she saw the
hem of her dress was afire. Quickly, she bent down and slapped the flames out.
When she stood erect again, she felt herself almost go. The heat was almost
unbearable. Another column of flame shot up in front of her. Dizzy, she turned
and saw the curtains were completely consumed now, a pile of sparkling,
paper-like ashes below the window. She realized the lower half of the sash was
partially raised. Rushing to it, she gripped the smoldering lower slat and
tried to open it further. It wouldn't budge. She choked on a billow of smoke.
Forcing herself not to give up, she threw Mosby's shirt and jacket off the
ladder-back wooden chair where they lay, lifted it, and smashed the glass out
of the window.

She looked out. The overhanging shed-roof
on the side of the house was gone. A thick oak beam ran out and away from the
building just left of the window to an upright stanchion. It was smoldering but
still not ablaze. She got out onto it and slowly, carefully, walking foot in
front of foot, eased her way to the stanchion, crouched down, and leaped into
the alley. She felt a sharp pain as one of her ankles twisted when she landed,
but the heat of the burning house next door was so intense she ran out into the
street without stopping.

Only then, when she glanced left and
right, did she realize that one side of the street was afire for a block in
either direction. The entire bordello was ablaze now, flames reaching thirty
feet into the sky from its glowing roof. Scores of people were standing dazed
or running about, almost haphazardly, not knowing what to do. She thought she
saw Arabella, but then the face was swallowed up in a throng of people running
straight at her. Esther stepped back so she would not be trampled.

She heard bells ringing and turned. A
team of horses pulling a tank wagon full of water churned into the street.
Half-dressed volunteer firemen dropped from it and began uncoiling hose. She
looked up and saw sparks and small bits of burning debris float
ing
across the street onto the roof of her
hotel and the adjacent buildings. Suddenly, as though her hearing had just been
restored, she realized people were screaming.

Limping, she made her way to the first
intersection and, pushing through gaping onlookers, turned away from the area
of the fire. When she was about a block away, she stopped and leaned against
the side of a building. She glanced up and saw that the sky was almost as bright
as day. Small sparks sailed over, even at this distance. Crowds of people ran
toward the fire. She moved on and rested against a street lamp. In the
flickering gaslight, she watched as another fire wagon rushed by. A man in a
buggy carrying a woman who was either unconscious or dead raced past in the
opposite direction. Only then did the recent imminence of her own horrible
death reach her consciousness. For a moment she imagined herself back in the
doorway of the room and gasped. She began to weep, at first silently, then
uncontrollably, shaking and sobbing in the aftermath of terror. She sat down at
the curb and held her head in her hands, trembling.

She didn't realize almost an hour had
passed before she got control of herself. All she knew was that she was lucky
to be alive and that Mosby was dead. She stood up and suddenly heard the voice
of Elizabeth Purdy Todd in her brain. "I am glad it was not I who killed
him," she heard the voice say. But then Esther Cable took over, and she felt
cheated.

Still partially dazed, shaking,
exhausted, she walked aimlessly for hours. Her dress was charred along the hem
and on one shoulder, her shoes covered with soot. Dark charcoal fingermarks ran
diagonally across one of her cheeks. She could shake off neither the chagrin of
having failed to have her revenge nor the small measure of relief she also felt
about not killing another human being.

The shivering and the constriction in her
throat Passed. She walked on, numbly, stooping to pick up a newspaper when she saw
the word "Adams" in the headline. It was an afternoon edition, dated
the day before, the first Friday of 1855. She had been so involved in preparing
herself for her confrontation with Mosby that she had not even bothered to eat,
let alone leave her hotel room until after dark. She opened the paper:

"BLACK FRIDAY. ADAMS AND COMPANY
FAILS."

Below, in a subheadline, she scanned the
words: "Run on Page Bacon & Company Causes Bank To Close Doors."

For a moment it did not register. But
then the meaning emerged in her mind. She had not transferred much of her
account to Wells Fargo. Most of it, perhaps over $900,000, was still at Adams.
If they were bankrupt, so was she. At least to the extent of her deposits.
Strangely, it did not seem to matter.

Walking slowly along the side of a
gambling establishment, she dropped the paper and looked at her locket watch.
It was two thirty in the morning. She suddenly felt faint. Stopping for a
moment, swaying, she fought the feeling off and continued on around the corner.
Her head tilted downward, not looking where she was going, she ran straight
into a man walking in the opposite direction. The force of the collision
knocked her down.

"Forgive me,
señora,"
she heard the man say.

She was still dizzy from the collision when
he reached down and began helping her to her feet.

Partially bent over, she brushed at her
skirt. "I'm terribly sorry. It was my fault. I wasn't paying
attention." Only then did she look up into his face.

It was Murietta.

SILVER AND STEEL

Sacramento

May
7, 1869

9
a.m.

Absorbed by the almost total recall the
diary pages evoked, Esther didn't hear the ceremonial band begin playing
fifteen minutes before the scheduled departure of the Union Pacific Express.
Thoughts of the massacre, the night with Mosby, the fire, the reunion with
Murietta, and the complex eighteen months that had followed shut off all sense
of the present. She turned another page and remembered her short-lived relief
and thankfulness for not having killed Mosby in the bordello. The irony of that
righteousness and her subsequent discovery of Mosby's survival made her laugh
out loud. Only then, as the sound of her bitter laughter reverberated in the
parlor car, did she become aware of the military air the band was playing, the
festive noise of the crowd.

She glanced at the locket watch, and more
thoughts tumbled across her mind. If I had told Murietta everything during that
first six months of 1855, before Mosby rode to—God, the absurdity of it—to a
judgeship on Gwin's coattails
. If I had told Joaquin everything then, he
would have helped me, it would have been over and done with, come what may… and
so much more could have been prevented. But then again, considering how much
Joaquin had changed, he might not have lifted a finger for me, as amazing as
that seems now…

Esther sighed, stood up, and peered out
of the parlor  car. She couldn't see the bandstand. Curious, she walked back
and opened the door to the rear platform. Making sure no one was back this far,
she stepped out and went to the railing. A twin-stacked paddle-wheeler nearly
startled her out of her wits as its steam whistle sent a loud, congratulatory
note across the river toward the train. Glancing forward, she saw
Solana.
Above her, Mister Sam nodded in the
locomotive window. Young Todd's excited face was visible just beyond him. The
music and the sound of the crowd milling around the main station building rose
to a deafening level as the last of the passengers boarded. She thought of her
late husband Bull Carter's partners, then saw Billy Ralston hand some coins to
a young man who had carried his bags from the hotel. Finally, Alex Todd came
through the throng and boarded the train.

She wondered if he and Mosby would be
sitting near each other.
No matter
, Esther thought.
There are too
many of Alex's friends, too many witnesses for Mosby to attempt anything on
board.
And, God willing, he would never see the other side of the Sierras.

Esther
glanced up the side of the train again. Two cars forward she saw John Sutter
leaning out of a window, watching her. Sutter nodded, his bald head gleaming in
the morning sunlight, and she smiled back.
He has the note in his pocket.
She pictured what she had written before handing it to him just after dinner in
the hotel lobby the previous night.

To
the Conductor or Trainman:

My instructions to you notwithstanding,
Captain John Sutter has my express permission to visit with me, should he wish
to, at any time following the train's departure from Dutch Flat.

Esther Cable Carter

Esther recalled Sutter's surprise when
she had said, "I'd like to spend some time with you tomorrow. This note
will allow you to come back to the parlor car. Can you join me one half-hour
after the train leaves Dutch Flat? I'll be resting until then."

He had been delighted. And after
expressing his opinion that Mosby's intention to do Alex Todd harm was probably
just talk, that time had undoubtedly cooled the firebrand's anger, Sutter had
said good night.

But it was not just talk. And Mosby's
anger would never cool. Esther knew better than to entertain even a hope of
that. Once he set his mind to something… He had spent a year badgering Arabella
Ryan in his attempt to find the woman he had been with the night of the fire.
Fruitlessly. But he had.

Esther
dismissed thoughts of the past for the moment as she scanned the crowd for
Solana.
Giving up, she reentered the parlor car
and locked the rear door. Inside, she cracked one window to reduce the rising
heat. Once the train was rolling, the overhead vents would cool it down. It
will be hell until then. But it would be a small price to pay if she could send
Mosby
to hell when the sun reached the western heavens. Holding the
journal closed on her lap, she began rehearsing the elements and timing of her
plan as it would unfold after the train pulled into Dutch Flat.

Forward, on the side of the locomotive
obscured from the station,
Solana
stood
on her tiptoes in the gravel between two sets of tracks. She smiled, motioning
to young Todd Carter, and the boy leaned out of the cab window, straining
against the belt strapping him to a built-in metal seat. She hoped the boy
would not suspect her motives for wanting to be aboard the train.

"You will be good?"

"I wouldn't do
anything
to
make Mister Sam put me back in one of the passenger cars."

"You are lucky to ride in such
a—machine." She wondered if he would understand and act on what she was
saying, make it easier to stay aboard the train by reducing the amount of time
she would have to remain concealed in the equipment bin. "I am just an old
Indian woman," she went on. "I could never be so lucky, to have such
a ride, even for a short distance."

"You are
not
just an old
Indian woman! You're special, and I love you very much—almost as much as
mother!" He thought for a moment. "Do you want to ride in the
locomotive?"

"They would not let me." She
saw the sudden determination in the boy's expression.

"Maybe Mister Sam will. I'm going to
ask him."

"No! I cannot ask you to do such a
thing for me."

"Why not? You do all kinds of nice
things for me. I'm going to ask him."

She watched as he pulled himself back
into the cab and waited until the engineer stopped talking to his coal-heaver.

"Mister Sam?"

Sam Collett turned away from his gauges
and levers, looked at the boy, and winked. "Busy now, son. Talk to you
after we git goin'."

"I just have one question to ask.
Please."

The engineer's handlebar moustache curled
down in a slight frown. "All right, then. What is it?"

The boy took a deep breath. "Can…
can
Solana
ride
with us?" He thought quickly. "Just… just to Dutch Flat? She's… she's
an Indian. She's never been on a train."

Collett moved over, his massive body
towering above the boy, and glanced down at the Indian woman.

Solana
held
her breath.

Collett ran a hand over his moustache and
scowled. "Well… I don't know. Against regulation for you to be here,
even." He turned to the boy. "Skeered of goin' alone? I'll take good
care'a yah."

"I'm not scared, Mister Sam. Honest
I'm not. I just know
Solana
would
love it. She's… she's been so good to me.
Please?
"

"Well, all right. But just to Dutch
Flat. She kin kitch a ride back here on the first empty supply. Have to stay
out of the way, though. You tell her that."

When
Solana
climbed
up into the cab, the engineer took one look at her broad-boned, pale-brown
face, exchanged deprecatory glances with his Russian assistant, turned away,
and stifled a laugh. The white woman's purse and the black dress with the
white, Quaker-style collar were one thing. But the tiny hat sitting askew on
her head and the contrasting Maidu moccasins on her feet were an absolute
sketch.

Esther fingered one corner of her
journal, thinking:
We stop at Dutch Flat for ten minutes or so. Mosby gets
off and comes to the window, as instructed last night. I then tell him to
return, via the ladders and the roofs, exactly one hour after we have left
Dutch Flat. The danger will appeal to him. He will go forward first, out the
front door of his car, before he returns this way. No one will see him come, no
one will ever know he was here in this car.

Before that, a half hour
after we have left Dutch Flat and Mosby is forward, in his seat in the
passenger car, Sutter shows the note to the conductor. Sutter stays with me
until I ask him to leave—so I can "freshen up a bit." He leaves five
minutes or so before Mosby arrives—unbeknownst to anyone—by the roofs. I will
have already asked Sutter to return after
we
have passed
Donner
Lake. He will understand why
I would want to be alone passing that place. And that will give me time enough
to… it will be done by then. And afterward, the conductors will know the doors
have been locked and only Sutter has been here. As time passes, it will amount
to having someone with me during the entire time it happened… if it ever comes
to that… In the unlikely event I would even be suspected… If his body is ever
found…

There.
I am satisfied. The rest is in the hands of…

She was wondering whether
"God," "the Devil," "Fate," or "Luck"
was the appropriate word when the train lurched once, then again, and finally
started rolling forward. The sound of the bandsmen, outdoing themselves now,
grew louder. She got up, pulled a shade aside, and watched the passing faces of
the noisy well-wishers and celebrants gathered at the station. She sat down
again and raised the shade by her side; as the train continued to move forward,
Esther raised the shade farther. To her left, smoke rose from thousands of
chimneys in the sprawling state capital. The river, close by to her right, was
lined with streamers, launches, barges, small boats, and at least a half-dozen
paddle-wheelers. It was a far cry, she thought, from the days when there were
only a fort and a few ranches. And even farther, mentally and spiritually, from
the night Miwokan and
Solana
had
brought her to that fort. Miwokan… John Alexander… Moses… Murietta…

She bit her lip.
I would not die
,
she thought.
I did not die, you scum. You will learn that today, and it will
be the last entry in your vicious brain.

She glanced at the time as the train
picked up speed beyond the station and began circling eastward around the city.
Opening the journal, she began scanning quickly; turning, scanning, then
turning again. Oh, God. What the years in hiding had done to Joaquin… She knew
there would not be enough time to read every word now. The significant entries
would be enough. Her mind would recapture all the rest. By the time the train
left Dutch Flat, all that would be left would be the rereading of the ribboned
entries. She would relive every word of those during the half hour before
Sutter knocked on the forward door of the parlor car. Every single word. And
then she would be ready. Ready… and waiting.