Janet Quin-Harkin (21 page)

Libby wanted to say that she’d do that if she had the money, but she tossed back her hair and looked proudly at George. “I’m not leaving until I find my husband,” she said, “and I know I could do it if some of you men would only help me.”

“I’ll keep my ears open,” George said, “but why don’t you wait for him down in San Francisco, or at least in Sacramento? There are plenty of women down there.”

“We’re staying here,” Libby said, “if it’s at all possible. Even if I have to start digging gold to pay for my board.”

George looked horrified. “You could never do that!” he exclaimed.

“Why not? I’m strong. I’m not afraid of work,” Libby said, eyeing him haughtily. “I’m not even afraid to show my ankles, like some women.”

George shook his head. “I don’t think you realize what’s involved,” he said. “It’s no longer a case of swishing around some gravel in a pan. The surface gold’s all been picked up by now, at least in the settled places you can get to. Right now the men are digging up tons of earth, spade by spade, day after day. They’re loading it into the rockers, they’re sifting it and they’re throwing it away again. It’s backbreaking. It would kill you.”

“Then what do you suggest?” Libby said angrily, because she had seen something of what the miners were doing and knew in her heart that it was beyond her. “What I need is a job. Could you use more help here in the hotel?”

A smile spread across George’s face. He shook his massive head. “Lady, you’d cause me more headaches than you’d be worth. I’d have to stand over you with a shotgun day and night to keep the drunken miners away from you. And you can’t blame them, poor devils. They’ve been without women long enough. If you worked here, they’d think you were one of the fancy girls and there for the taking and I’m sure you wouldn’t want that.” A slow grin spread across his face. “Of course, if you’re interested in that direction, you could make yourself all the money you want. There’s not enough of them to go around.”

“Certainly not!” Libby said, and stalked from the room.

She walked through the town hoping for inspiration. At the far end a new tent had been set up with the sign, Trading Post. M. Hopkins Proprietor, tacked up. Barrels and sacks were piled up around it and inside it was stacked almost to the roof with pans and shovels, tobacco, whiskey, boots, and tough denim work pants. Libby peered inside and a scholarly looking face with a high serious brow and a neat little beard looked up at her in surprise.

“My word, you gave me a fright,” the man said, grinning pleasantly. “I thought I’d been away from the real world so long that I’d started hallucinating. I certainly didn’t expect to see a woman here.”

He got to his feet and Libby saw that he was very tall and thin, older than most of the men she had seen around and far too distinguished looking to be a storekeeper.

“I’ve been in town a week,” Libby said. “I came to find my husband, but I hadn’t realized how hard it would be. Nobody wants to tell me anything and it’s so hard to get around and it costs so much . . .” Her eyes went to a crude price list tacked to his wall: Shovels $15 each. Pants $12.

“It’s insane,” Libby said. “How in good conscience can you charge men so much?”

“I know it’s insane,” he agreed, “but that’s the way it is up here. Gold is king. As long as the gold keeps on coming they don’t care what anything costs. I aim to make a tidy fortune in keeping them supplied with what they need.” He reached out a hand to Libby. “Mark Hopkins at your service, ma’am.”

“How do you do, Mr Hopkins, I’m Libby Grenville. I came from Boston to join my husband. You must see lots of men in your store. You haven’t seen him, have you? His name’s Hugh and he’s an Englishman—tall, slim, and lots of dark curly hair?”

Mark Hopkins shook his head. “By the time I see them, they all look the same, all hidden under straggly beards and black hats,” he said. “I could have served a gorilla here and not known it.”

“If you ever do hear of him, you’ll let me know, won’t you?” Libby asked.

“I’ll try. Where are you staying?”

“I’m at the hotel, but I’ve got to move out. I can’t afford their prices any longer.”

Mr. Hopkins smiled. “I’m sure you’d have more than enough offers of bed and board, but I don’t think they’d be what you had in mind.”

Libby found him immediately likable and pleasant and realized what a strain it had been to be constantly on guard with every person she had encountered for four whole months. She suddenly felt the burden of the overwhelming responsibility she had shouldered since setting off from Boston five months ago. Before that she had not known what responsibility was. Her parents ran their household. Choosing a governess for the girls had been her only major decision, except for deciding that she wanted to marry Hugh. She hadn’t liked the governess after she hired her and Hugh had probably been a mistake too.

“You don’t need an assistant here, do you?” she asked hopefully.

He looked at her with understanding. “Not yet I don’t. I came up here with one cartload of supplies. When I sell them I aim to go back to San Francisco and stock up with two cartloads, then four, until I make my fortune. I’ll need assistants later, but now I have to save every penny for the next step.” He gave Libby an embarrassed smile. “I’d really like to help,” he said, “but up here, if you don’t take your chances when you’ve got them, you lose out forever.”

“I understand that,” Libby said. She started to walk away, then hesitated, not really sure where she was going. What would she do when the money finally ran out? She had never felt more completely alone and empty.

“I tell you what,” Mark Hopkins’s voice called after her. “I could let you have some canvas at cost, enough to make yourself a tent. That would keep you dry, at least. Do you have household stuff with you?”

“It all went over a cliff with a wagon up in the Sierra,” Libby said. “We were lucky not to go with it.”

“I’ve got a nice big dutch oven I’ll let you have,” he said, “and a couple of blankets. You can pay me what I paid for them.”

“But I can’t accept favors from you.”

“I’m a good businessman, not a monster,” he said, already picking up a bolt of canvas and then adding blankets and the cook pot to it. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll just add a little onto the price the miners pay to cover it.”

“There’re lots of other things I need,” Libby said, “but I’d feel better if I paid the real price for them. I’ll need a knife and an ax and plates and cutlery and food “

“I can’t help with the food,” Mark said. “I’m strictly a nonperishable man. You’ll have to go to Herr Otto at the trading post for that, and pay what he asks, I’m afraid. He’s got the monopoly on food around here because he knows a Chilean sea captain and he gets whatever is shipped from Chile.”

Mark took down a large, lethal-looking knife and handed it to her.

“It’s a little large, maybe,” Libby said hesitantly. “I only want it for cutting food.”

Mark looked at her steadily. “You might need to defend yourself,” he said.

Libby had not considered that aspect. Would she really be able to defend herself against wild animals or bandits or whatever else roamed these hills? If only Gabe would come back, she found herself thinking. He’d know what I should do. But it was unlikely Gabe would bother to come back to a town where they hanged people so readily, especially after rumors of cheating at cards.

With a heavy heart Libby carried her goods back to the hotel. On the walk, her mind racing like a fly, trapped against a closed windowpane, she came to the decision not to put up her tent in the town, where there were always drunken men. She had to find somewhere that was safe for herself and the girls. The trouble was that she wasn’t sure where was safe.

At the hotel she handed over most of her money to pay the bill. It came to one hundred and twenty-five dollars. Then she divided all the items she had bought from Mark Hopkins into three bundles, a large one for herself and smaller ones for the girls.

“You’ll have to be big girls and help Mama,” she said.

“We’re big girls, aren’t we, Eden?” Bliss said, taking her bundle and trying to throw it over her shoulder as she had seen men do.

Libby laughed and ruffled her hair. “Come on, let’s get going,” she said.

They set out away from town, up a small wooded valley, far above the nearest miners’ camp.

“Where are we going, Mama?” Bliss asked. “Are we going to Papa now? When are we going to find him?”

“Soon,” Libby answered with a tired sigh. “But as for now, we’re going to make ourselves a nice little home.”

W
HEN THEY CAME
to a clearing, surrounded by live oaks and tall pine trees, Libby dropped her heavy bundle to the ground.

“I suppose this is as good as anywhere,” she said. “At least it’s private here and sheltered. Now let’s see if we can make a tent.”

“Are we going to be Indians, Mama?” Bliss asked excitedly.

Libby smiled at her. How wonderful to be four years old, she thought. How wonderful not to worry all the time. She managed to cut a couple of straight branches and make a crude tent. Then she took the girls back into town and spent the last of her money on supplies at a trading post behind the hotel. She didn’t even bother to ask this man for work; he was a fat German with an unfriendly face and a cigar hanging from his mouth, reminding her of Sheldon Rival. She wondered for a moment about the latter. She had expected Rival to arrive in town any day and was glad that she would not be there to face him. Looking at the prices posted on the wall, she cautiously bought only what was absolutely necessary: some rice, flour and sugar, beans and bacon. As the man unwillingly dug flour from a barrel for her, she noticed something moving in it.

“What’s that?” she asked, stepping back in horror.

“Weevils,” Herr Otto said, as if it was too unimportant to mention.

“I don’t want moldy flour!” Libby exclaimed.

“It’s all moldy by the time it gets here,” he said. “The miners like the weevils. They say it saves them the trouble of going out and shooting meat.”

“It’s disgusting,” Libby said.

Herr Otto stood with the scoop poised in his hand. “Do you want it or not?” he asked.

“I suppose I’ve no choice,” Libby said with a sigh.

“That’s right,” he agreed with an unpleasant grin.

When she asked for potatoes, Herr Otto bent under the counter and handed her one, as if he were bringing up a large gold nugget. “That will be a dollar,” he said.

“A dollar? For one potato?” Libby shrieked. “That’s absurd. Look at it—it’s so old it’s sprouting.”

Herr Otto shrugged his massive shoulders. “These are the only potatoes between here and San Francisco,” he said, “and they get like that by the time they’ve come around the Horn on a ship. Do you want it or not?”

“What other vegetables do you have?” Libby asked.

“I got some onions,” the storekeeper said, “but they’re also a dollar each. I can’t keep vegetables in the store. The moment I get them, everyone buys them.”

“Forget it,” Libby said. “I’ll make do without.” As she walked back to the tent, she almost wanted to laugh at the absurdity of the situation.

The children thought living in a tent was a big adventure. They loved playing in the outdoors and were excited by every bird and squirrel they saw. Libby was frightened to let them roam at first, aware of rattlesnakes and bears and wolves, but as the peaceful surroundings soothed her and the sun shone from a perfect blue arc of sky, she gave in and let them run and climb to their heart’s content. They had their first narrow escape that evening when Bliss came running up to her mother excitedly. “Come see, Mama. I’ve found a dear little kitty.” Mystified, Libby followed her daughter and found a large skunk waddling through the trees. She tried to imagine what would have happened if Bliss had decided to pick it up.

The nights were cold and Libby was glad she had accepted the pelts to sleep on. She would lie awake, staring up at the stars in the clearest of clear skies and worry about what was going to happen to them.

“I’ll have to give up,” she said each night. “I’ll have to admit that I’ll never find Hugh and that he has either learned to survive or given up and gone home or died by now.” She realized how ironic it would be if he arrived back in Boston only to find she had gone to California. “How stupid I was,” she muttered over and over. “How little I knew in those days.” But it was no good blaming herself or thinking what might have been. She was stuck in the gold country and she had to decide what to do before winter came and she could no longer live in a tent. The big question, of course, was whether she could ever go home. Would her father take her back, if she managed to get that far? That was another thing to worry about, if she ever raised the money for the fare, which at the moment seemed impossible.

If she had not been so terrified about the future, the clearing would have been a delightful spot. It would have been an ideal picnic site, sheltered by giant trees, with the sweet smell of pine, manzanita, and bay and a thick carpet of pine needles, if only one could have packed up the picnic and gone home to a real house and a real bed at the end of the day. Libby could not afford a lantern, so the day ended at sunset and the nights were unbearably long. She kept a candle for emergencies only and prayed there would be none of those.

The next morning she served the girls flapjacks and tea for breakfast. She knew she had better do something soon. They would soon get sick on such a poor diet. She fought with her repugnance and now reconsidered an idea she had pushed firmly to the back of her mind until now. She wasn’t selling her body for anyone or anything, so all she could do to get money was wash the miners’ clothes. That was something they certainly needed.

She thought of the sweat-stained, mud-stained garments and shuddered at the thought of touching them, but it was something they might be glad to pay for, so it had to be done. She set out for the nearest mining settlement and went up to the men as they worked.

“Morning, ma’am,” they called politely. “Any news of your husband yet?”

“Not yet,” Libby said. “I wanted to tell you that I’ve set up house nearby while I wait for him and I’m taking in washing. Do you have anything you need washed?”