California Woman (Daughters of the Whirlwind Book 1) (46 page)

"I'm fine. A bit shaken, but
fine."

"You'll have a bruise on your neck,
young lady, but you can be thankful it's no more than that."

"Yes. Thank you. I feel fine now. I
just want to go home."

"I can understand that. Come with
me. I'll escort you out to the plaza."

There were a dozen men in the corner near
Mosby's cell, talking and gesturing. She saw Coleman glance at her, then turn
back, absorbed. No one called to the doctor or Esther as they went out the
front door.

Outside, the crowds had dwindled. Only a
small number of vigilante troops stood at ease nearby. The police lieutenant
outside the sandbags looked at her, and her heart stopped, but he simply tipped
his cap, smiled at the doctor, and turned away. She looked back once, just
before thanking the doctor again. The bodies of Cora and Casey were still
dangling on ropes hung from rafters above the top-story windows. The hinged
platforms they had stood on lay flat against the side of the building.

"My Lord, I almost forgot," the
doctor said. "I was asked to take your name."

"Cordelia Plaggett."

"And your address? I should have it
for my records, and they'll undoubtedly want to ask you a question or
two."

"Perhaps I should go back and write
it all out for them."

"No need, no need. I recommended
they wait until you have a chance to recover. You should get some rest. I can
pass it along."

"Four hundred aught seven, Orchard
Street. Cordelia Plaggett. With two t's."

The doctor fished out a notepad and
pencil and wrote it down. "Orchard Street. Coincidence. I have a patient
at three hundred aught six. Are you sure you'll be all right? I have a carriage
nearby. It would be no trouble to take you."

"No. I'll be fine. Someone is
waiting for me at a restaurant. She'll be half out of her wits with worry by
now."

"If you have any difficulty, please
send for me." He gave her his card and tipped his hat.

Quickly, she put distance and people
between them. Her throat hurt. The pistol was bruising the lower portion of her
spine.
Small price to pay for the chance I had….
She felt chagrined and
disappointed, grateful, thankful, all at the same time
. I am still alive…
If I can get to
Solana
and
get home before they learn of my ruse… No one but the doctor had seen her
unveiled face, and she had never seen him before. With luck she would never see
him again. No one had seen anything but the clothes she wore—and hundreds of
women wore similar outfits every Sunday of the year.

She kept walking, not looking back.
I
will stay at home… perhaps even travel, leave San Francisco until enough time
has passed so no one, not even the doctor, could identify me with certainty… If
I can just reach
Solana…

Anger
over her failure began blossoming again. She squelched it.
First things
first… Get away… Get to
Solana
and
get away… So there can be another time, another opportunity… if I am patient
enough… lucky enough…

Solana
was
waiting in the buggy in front of Delmonico's. She seemed to look knowingly at
Esther, had almost the beginning of a smile on her mouth. But the Indian woman
said nothing, simply turned, clucked, and snapped the reins. As they began the
ride out of town, Esther took off her hat, reached back, and threw the
forest-green shawl over her head, shoulders, and chest, then covered her black
skirts with the beige carriage blanket. Sitting back and letting out a deep
breath, she watched the people they passed. No one took particular notice of
her. It was already cool enough for a woman in a carriage to want cover,
warmth. She sighed with relief. Wrapped in the shawl and blanket, she no doubt
looked like a different person. There was nothing to connect her with the black-clad
"Baptist lady" at number 41 Sacramento Street.

Later, in her bedroom with the door
closed, the pistol put away, after her pulse had slowed and her hands had
stopped shaking, she felt only the hollow, bone-deep loss of Murietta. She
still could not believe that he was gone, that she would never see him again.
She wanted to talk to someone about him. Not
Solana,
who had long since retreated into a shell
of virtual silence. Not Barnett, who knew nothing of Murietta's return. But
who? She thought of Alex. Dear, sweet Alex. She had not addressed herself to
him in the pages of her journal for some time. It had been necessary to stop.
But now she needed him. He was the one. He was the only one she could
"tell," the only one who could really understand how she felt, know
why she needed so to write to him again.

She went to her desk, yearning for the
blessed relief she knew she would feel when she picked up the pen, began
forming the letters, the words. She sat down and opened the journal. She noted
the date and place. Then her mind went blank. She did not know where to begin.
A minute passed. Then, as she sat there detached, watching her hand, it began
to move. Almost independent of her, it wrote the first line:

"Solana
and
I buried 'Jack Marin' today."

And then the rest of the words flowed as
freely as her tears.

Esther and
Solana
were sailing through the Golden Gate
aboard the clipper
Flying Cloud
by the time a messenger surprised
William Kelsey with her letter. In it, she explained that she wished to be away
from San Francisco for the duration of the vigilante madness, that she felt a
need for a temporary change of scenery, and she apologized for not saying
good-bye. She also requested that he have Billy Ralston look after her affairs.
Half of the profits accruing to her from Blue Star and her wholesale business
were to be placed in her security vault at the Miner's Exchange Bank. A
separate letter of authorization and a key were enclosed. The remaining half,
Ralston was to invest for her as he saw fit. She added that he was to receive
20 percent of any income he made for her, nothing if he did not.

At first she planned only to spend a few
months in New York and New England, then return to California. But after a
surreptitious carriage drive one painfully nostalgic fall afternoon past her
Vermont home and the old school where her younger sister now taught, she
decided a trip to Europe would do wonders for
Solana
as well as herself.

They spent an enthralled month in London,
then moved on. Establishing an apartment in Paris as a base, they traveled the
Continent for almost a year. She wrote to and heard from Sutter, Kelsey, and
Barnett several times, learned in one letter that Warren had been a target of
the vigilantes. He had come out of it unscathed politically and, more
important, unharmed. Kelsey's life was still as placid as Sutter's was
troubled. The petitions for title Sutter had sent to the U.S. Government were
getting no further than they had with the State of California.

The extended tour broadened and restored
her. But by the end of eighteen months she began to feel homesick. She was sure
even Dr. Sims could no longer be certain she was the woman who had visited
Mosby's cell. Twenty-two months after the vigilantes disbanded, she returned to
San Francisco by way of London, New York, and a second, eighty-day clipper
voyage around the Horn.

The first thing she did after reopening
her house and unpacking was to check on Mosby's whereabouts. U.S. government,
state, and military officials had put pressure on Coleman. Mosby had been
charged only with assault, let off with a fine. He was back on the bench in
Sacramento. She would go there, observe his movements, and find out where he
lived. Perhaps then she could begin planning again. But that could wait for the
moment. He wasn't going anywhere, and there were other things she wanted to do
first.

Initially she had enough on her hands
simply adjusting to all that had happened while she was gone. Discomfitingly,
the city had crept to within two miles of her hilltop. There were thousands
more people, among them a growing number of Chinese who had worked off their
contracts with the large hydraulic-and shaft-mining combines and set up small
businesses.

Going over her accounts, she discovered
that Ralston had done far better with her money than she'd ever dreamed he
would. She had spent almost all of the profits she'd made during the year and a
half following the panic. But more had accumulated while she was away. Ralston
had quadrupled that base with investments in commodity firms, real estate, a
foundry, and a railroad that someone named Theodore Judah had built from
Sacramento
up into the gold fields. She recalled the
extensive railroads of the Eastern seaboard, two of which she'd traveled on to
Boston, and briefly considered the importance such transportation might play in
California if Judah's system could be expanded. She would have to look into
that. Setting the matter aside, she went back to the accounts. Ralston had
provided funds for three separate coffee merchants: the Hills brothers, James
Folger, and Max Joseph Brandenstein, whose coffee sacks, Ralston informed her,
bore his initials. All were thriving. The last item on the list was a
relatively small investment in a silver mine in Nevada called the Ophir.

Impressed, she read the letter Ralston
enclosed. He had continued to represent her interests after leaving Blue Star
to become a bank manager. She thought of the advantage money had meant in
coming face to face with  Mosby  in the bordello. It seemed prudent to have
Ralston expand his activities for her. She had just decided to find
a
way
to meet him without danger of
being recognized when she glanced at the front page of the
San Francisco
Journal
sitting on her desk. Alex Todd was campaigning for a judgeship. He
was better qualified than his opponent, the article said, but the man he was
running against was favored because he had unlimited financial support from the
city's Southern faction. And, as if that were not enough, the piece added,
Todd's own efforts were curtailed because his wife was gravely ill.

Esther gazed out through her bedroom
window at the city. She suddenly had an unquenchable urge to see Alex again; to
just look at him. She thought of how she could meet with Ralston, then of
Alex's political predicament. Slowly, a means of fulfilling both wishes began
to materialize. A dangerous means, to be sure, but, surprisingly, the
danger—along with the possibility of succeeding—excited her more than any of
Europe's endless wonders.

The following day she scoured the
financial district and found a vacant office with western exposure in a
four-story brick building. It was September, and by midafternoon the sun
streamed through the windows of the small room, casting everything before them
in silhouette.

Satisfied,
she bought handsome office furniture: a couch, a leather desk-set, and a
calendar. She had louvered shutters installed on the windows, nailing all of
them shut except those directly behind the desk. Of the three lamps she
acquired, one was a floor model. She placed it behind her leather desk-chair.
The smaller fixtures on the desk itself and the end table next to the couch,
she left empty of oil. If she had to turn on a lamp, the only one operable
would be behind her. Even in the unlikely event that someone could see through
the heavy veil she planned to wear, it would be impossible to make out her
face.

"You won't understand why I'm asking
this," she said to
Solana,
"but
if for any reason I faint while they're here, you're to make them leave
immediately. Just tell them I'll see them another time."

The sun had just dropped below the upper
frame of the office windows. The louvered shutters slanted down, and the
brilliant light spilling through them blacked out every vertical,
eastward-facing surface in the room.

"You do not feel well?"
Solana
asked as Esther sat the Indian woman in
the desk chair for the third time.
Solanas
features were barely discernible even
without covering.

"It's nothing," Esther said,
satisfied.

"I will not have to speak?"

"Not unless I'm taken ill."

Solana
grumbled,
then sat back down on the couch. She wondered why Esther was going to so much
trouble to remain unseen. They would hear her, recognize her voice… She decided
the matter did not
concern
her.
She was beyond wondering about the inexplicable things Esther occasionally did.
If it was part of the large work the sun had given her, then so be it. Esther
would tell her if she cared to, or if she needed help. Still,
Solana
was aware of how nervous Esther seemed,
then puzzled when she flinched visibly at the knock on the door. She listened
and watched, fascinated, as Esther began speaking in a loud whisper, dragging
the words across the back of her tongue so she gargled slightly and sounded
like someone else.

"Forgive me for not getting up and
shaking hands," she said, after they had been introduced to
Solana
and seated. "I have a touch of the
ague."

"Pleasure to meet you again,
ma'am," Ralston said. "I'm excited about the business ventures you
outlined in your letter, and Assemblyman Todd here is sure grateful for the
support you've offered."

She had not looked at Alex when they came
in. She still did not trust herself. She had to become accustomed to the
pounding of her heart and the tremor in her limbs. When he spoke, she gripped
the arms of her chair until her knuckles turned white under her gloves.

"I certainly
am
grateful," he said diffidently. "And I want to say it's a privilege
finally to meet you after all those years associated in business. I hope you
were satisfied with my handling of things at the South Fork."

"More than pleased," she
whispered, shifting her eyes toward him slowly. When she finally looked
straight at him, she was certain her voice would crack. He looked marvelous,
even if his suit was a bad fit and slightly rumpled. Alex would do justice to
burlap. She glanced at Ralston's meticulously selected, carefully pressed
clothing. By comparison, he looked like a dandy.

Thirteen years since the day Alex had
left her at Bent's Fort; eleven since their near encounter here in San
Francisco. And yet he still looked young, had not lost that endearing touch of
awkward shyness. She felt as though a tiny bird was trapped beneath her chest,
beating its fragile wings against her rib cage in an effort to free itself. His
face was even more handsome than she remembered. His pale, slightly sad blue
eyes made her want to fold him in her arms.

She looked at Ralston out of desperation,
anything to take her eyes off Alex. He was still fit. Ralston was also trim,
but she guessed he had to work long and hard with barbells to stay that way.
Alex would probably retain his athletic build through his fifties with half the
effort.
They age better than we do
, she thought, the strangely detached
observation floating in a sea of emotion.

She looked back at Alex. "Much more
than pleased," she heard herself say. She had to shift her gaze back to
Ralston again to keep from breaking, giving in to the impulse to rip her hat
and veil off, plead with Alex to leave his wife and take her back. She had not
turned her head, and she knew Alex thought she was still looking at him.
"You had a great deal to do with our success, right from the start."
She did not dare take her eyes off Ralston's solid-gold stickpin. 'That's why I
want to help you now. I feel I owe you that."

"No need to feel obliged, Mrs.
Cable."

His voice made her ache inside. "But
I do, and nothing you say will change that."

Ralston shifted impatiently, trying to
avoid the sunlight shining in his eyes.

"Please forgive the glare. I have to
have it behind me. My eyes are very sensitive to light."

"No trouble, Mrs. Cable,"
Ralston said. "I just can't see you."

Esther took in a breath, trying to work
up moisture in her mouth so her speech would remain glottal. "I'm sorry
about the veil, Mr. Ralston. As you may know, I am of a retiring nature. It is
most unusual for me to meet with anyone this way—" Out of the corner of
her eye she caught sight of Alex moving his chair slightly closer, and nearly
panicked. "And as you can plainly hear… the ague… is sufficient to affect
my voice. I wouldn't want to pass it on to either of you gentlemen."

She glanced at Alex and felt a little
calmer. Satisfied that she could carry it off, she asked Alex's forbearance and
went over the expanded activities she wanted Ralston to undertake. He was
delighted. Finally she knew she could put off speaking to Alex for only a
question or two more. She gathered her courage as she asked Ralston, "You
don't mind working for—" She corrected herself, sensitive to the notion
most men had of a woman's place"—
representing
a woman?"

"Not at all," Ralston smiled.
"I don't really care who or what a person is when they're giving me what
might be the opportunity of a lifetime. I think a man who does has got to be a
jackass, if you'll pardon me."

"I'm glad you feel that way."

"You might be surprised at the
number of ladies who—ah—quietly, secretly have their hand in things."

Esther smiled at the double irony.
"Would it be any help to you personally if I transferred my savings to
your bank? To an account rather than a safe deposit?"

Ralston beamed. "
Very
helpful, Mrs. Cable. It would also be more convenient all around."

She steeled herself. "Mr. Todd…
Thank you for your patience. What I had in mind was something like this. I'd
like to contribute nine hundred dollars to your campaign."
Three times
what he left with me at Bent's Fort. Nearly ten times the interest a bank would
have paid. I hope he will one day consider that fair.
"Use it as you
see fit," she went on. "I'll also ask William Kelsey to lend a hand.
Perhaps he can enlist some business acquaintances. If you need more than that,
I'll be happy to advance it." She wanted to give him all of it, anything
he needed. But that would raise questions in his mind. She was certain of it.
"Anything above the nine hundred I will expect you to pay back. Whenever
you are able, of course, without interest."

She wondered if he could sense that her
eyes were sweeping back and forth beneath the veil, resting on his face for
only seconds at a time.