Janet Quin-Harkin (39 page)

Libby hoped he was right. She couldn’t help wondering how many more like them there were, roaming the countryside taking what they could, preying on the weak, beyond morals and beyond law. She was glad when the new Chinese helpers arrived. She decided it might be wise to arm them, and with Don Miguel’s help taught them how to use rifles. She also gave in to Don Miguel’s suggestion and had her workers plant a cactus hedge around the house as their first task. She now slept with her own rifle beside the bed and chained Buster outside the front door on guard.

She did not have the rifle with her, however, in the middle of the day when she was out in the kitchen baking bread. Buster cocked his head and sprang up barking. She came out of the kitchen, her apron and hands covered in flour, to see a dark figure riding up to the house. He also had his hat pulled down over his eyes and there was an air of menace about him. Libby thought of Ah Fong and the others out of reach in the fields, the little girls with them. Without waiting to hail the stranger, she raced to the house and got down the rifle, then she planted her feet squarely on the front porch as she watched the stranger dismount and come toward the house.

“That’s far enough,” she called and cocked the rifle. “State your business from there.”

“I’m looking for a Mrs. Grenville,” said a shocked voice. “I was told she lived around here. Would you happen to know where I might find her?”

He looked up so that Libby saw his face clearly for the first time. “Good God,” she said, lowering the rifle. “It’s Edward Percival Knotts!”

I
F
L
IBBY WAS
surprised to see her family’s young lawyer friend riding up on a horse in the middle of the Californian wasteland, Edward Percival Knotts seemed even more surprised to see her.

“Libby? Is that really you?” he asked. “I can hardly recognize you. You look so different.”

“Maybe it’s the lack of velvet,” Libby said with a smile. “I’m sure I used to look different in velvet but it’s such an impractical fabric out here.”

“I just can’t believe it,” Edward Knotts said, shaking his head. “Look at you—you look like a frontiers-woman with your dark skin and your wild hair and your trusty gun in your hand.”

“That’s because I am a frontiers-woman,” Libby said. “I’ve no idea how you managed to find me, but you’re very welcome. Please, come inside.”

Edward Knotts got down stiffly from his horse and tied it to the porch rail. The way he walked up the steps told Libby that it was a long time since he’d sat in a saddle. She grinned and led the way into the house. “What are you doing out here, anyway?” she asked, motioning to the sofa.

“Looking for you,” Edward Knotts said, wiping his forehead with a silk handkerchief from his breast pocket. His face was very red and mottled yellow with dust. “Your father had been going down to the waterfront, trying to get news of you. Finally, he met a man who had seen a lady with two little girls and a Boston accent but no man with her. Your father asked me if I’d undertake the journey and I agreed, although if I’d known what lay ahead, I don’t think I should have been so willing, even for your sake.”

“You had a bad voyage?”

“
Bad
is not the word for it,” Edward Knotts said, replacing his silk handkerchief, now streaked with dirt and sweat, delicately in his pocket. “It was pure torment. I had to share a cabin with three other men, all of whom snored and had the most appalling manners. The food was a disgrace—no fresh vegetables for weeks and the most awful, unidentifiable stews and puddings you’ve ever seen. We were all seasick around the Horn, and to cap it all, three horrible days in San Francisco. That place is a hellhole if ever there was one, and then I had to pay a completely ridiculous price for a horse in Sacramento.”

“Poor Edward,” Libby said, smiling to herself. “What an ordeal.”

“I suppose you must have gone through pretty much the same sort of thing yourself,” Edward said.

“Not exactly. I came overland,” Libby said, still smiling. “We didn’t have to worry about seasickness.”

“Well, that’s a blessing,” he said, not hearing the sarcasm in her voice. He looked at her, shaking his head as if he could not believe she was real. “I think it’s a miracle that you’ve survived so long. And you’re looking well too. Your father was sure that you’d be destitute by now, if you were still alive.”

“On the contrary,” Libby said. “I’m doing rather well. I own this land and I also own land in San Francisco. I plan to make a small fortune in fruit and vegetables this summer and if all goes as I’m hoping it will, I’ll build a house in San Francisco for the winters and spend just the summers out here.”

Edward Knotts paled visibly. “You’re planning to stay on out here—for the long term?”

“I think so,” Libby said. “I like the climate. I like the country. I think it has a great future.”

“But the lack of culture. The lack of civilization,” Edward Knotts said.

“I have very agreeable neighbors,” Libby said, “and I can go down to San Francisco when it seems too lonely up here.”

Edward Knotts looked around the empty room. “You keep using the first person,” he said. “Can I assume that you never managed to find poor Hugh?”

“I found him,” Libby said, “but he’s now dead. He was killed in an Indian uprising.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Edward said. “It must have been a great shock to you.”

“I have learned to survive a great many shocks.”

“And your daughters?”

“They’re out in the fields down below the house with my Chinese workers. They think it is the greatest treat to plant seeds and pull weeds. They should all be up for lunch soon. I was in the middle of baking bread. Come and talk to me and I’ll make you some coffee or tea.”

Edward Knotts got to his feet. “This place is really cozy,” he said, as if he had noticed it for the first time.

“It’s fine for now,” Libby said. “It only has two bedrooms and no guest quarters, so I’m afraid you’ll have to sleep on the sofa, but I had to concentrate more on my fields than my house this year. When I have more time I plan to build an adobe home like my neighbors have.”

“A what?”

“Mexican brick. It’s so delightfully cool. Come on, the kitchen’s out here—another trick one learns in a hot climate.”

She led the way down the steps. Edward’s horse stamped impatiently at the railing. “We’ll have Ah Fong put it in the corral with the other horses and give it something to eat,” Libby said. “He won’t be long. It’s almost noon.”

“I can’t believe you,” Edward said, following her into the kitchen. “You’re not only surviving on your own, but thriving on it.”

“Maybe I was made for this sort of life,” she said. “I never felt satisfied with my life at home.” She took a pot from the stove and poured him coffee.

“You are not lonely?” he asked.

“Sometimes.”

“You don’t feel the need for a man in your life?”

“But I have a man in my life,” Libby said.

“A new man?” Edward asked, shocked.

“Very new,” Libby said. “Would you like to come and meet him?”

“He’s here? Now?”

“He certainly is,” Libby said. “Come on, he’s in bed, but he’d love to get up and meet you.”

“Libby, wait a minute . . . I can’t, I mean, it’s just not. . . .” Edward babbled as she marched into the house ahead of him. A few seconds later she reappeared with Noel in her arms.

“Meet Noel Michael Grenville,” she said.

Edward Knott’s face was a picture of amazement. “You had a baby out here?” he demanded. Then more softly, “Was Hugh alive to see him?”

“Hugh died four months before he was born,” Libby said.

“You poor thing,” Edward said gently. “Fate has indeed dealt you some cruel blows.”

“My father would no doubt say that it served me right,” Libby said, nuzzling Noel up to her face so that he giggled in delight. “I’m surprised that he wanted you to search for me after so long.”

“They say that absence makes the heart grow fonder,” Edward said hesitantly. “And, of course, your mother missed you terribly.”

“Poor Mother,” Libby said. “It must have been an ordeal for her.”

“For all of us,” Edward said, “not knowing if you were alive or dead. Your father is a stubborn man, as you very well know, but I’m sure he has regretted a million times his parting words to you.”

“Now you’ll be able to go back and reassure them that their fragile little blossom has turned into a sturdy vine,” Libby said, smiling at him. “I’ll write them both a long letter.”

Just then Buster started barking and there were squeals from the track below the house. The two girls came running up the path, yelling as they ran.

“Mama! We saw a snake and Ah Fong chopped off its head with the hoe and it went on wriggling and wriggling,” Eden yelled.

“And Lee is going to make it into a soup,” Bliss shouted.

They both stopped short when Libby and Edward appeared at the door. Edward took in the two tall, skinny girls, barefoot and both wearing old brown ginghams. “Merciful heavens,” he said under his breath.

“Girls, we have a visitor,” Libby said. “Do you remember Mr. Knotts. He often came to your grandfather’s house in Boston.”

“I don’t remember my grandfather’s house,” Bliss said.

“I do,” Eden said shyly. “And I think I remember you. You used to play croquet with us when we went visiting.”

“That’s right,” Edward said, “and I remember that you always used to beat me. I don’t suppose you play much croquet here.”

“We don’t have a lawn,” Eden said. “It would be a waste of water.”

“We might plant one later, when we see how this year has gone,” Libby said. “Croquet might be rather nice, or how about a tennis court?”

“Who would we play with?” Eden asked, laughing. “Don Miguel’s too old and Conchita’s too fat. That leaves Manuel and the Chinese.”

“Go and wash your hands for lunch,” Libby said, “then you can help me carry the food through.” She turned to Edward as the girls ran on ahead. “You see, they are thriving perfectly well, aren’t they?”

“Yes, but Libby,” Edward stammered, “not growing into the little ladies your parents would expect.”

“There is not much call for little ladies out here,” Libby said dryly. “I’m sure you too would welcome a wash before lunch. You can use the jug in my room. Come, I’ll show you.”

She led the way through to her room, noting how plain and simple it must appear after the overdone elegance of Boston. Then she ran across to the kitchen to check the meal with Ah Fong. The haunch of venison, steaming under thick brown gravy, would have graced any table and Edward Knott’s eyes registered his surprise and anticipation when Ah Fong put the platter on the table.

“This was marvelous,” Edward said when he had finished every scrap on his plate. “Everything tasted so good.”

“You’re lucky that my neighbors shot a deer,” Libby said. “The beef from their cattle is very tough and stringy. We’re used to it now, but you wouldn’t be. But if only you’d come a month or two later, what a feast you could have had. I’ll ask Ah Fong to see if any of the new potatoes are ready, but you’re too early for tomatoes or fresh strawberries or grapes.”

“You’re growing all those things?”

“And plenty more. I aim to supply Sacramento and then even San Francisco.”

“Good heavens,” Edward said again. “Who would have believed it? Although I suppose I would. You always were in trouble for being too headstrong when we were children. Remember how we were forbidden to walk out on the rocks at the seashore and you did it and were swept off by that wave?”

“And you pulled me ashore?” Libby asked, laughing. “Dear Edward. You were always trying to keep me out of trouble.”

“Maybe that is still my role,” he said, blushing slightly.

After lunch, when Noel was put down for his afternoon nap, Libby took Edward down to the fields. Edward pretended to be politely interested as Libby showed him how she was training grapevines and how she planned to ship her fresh strawberries down to San Francisco before they spoiled. Their conversation deliberately steered clear of Boston.

They had tiny new potatoes for dinner that night and when the children were in bed, they sat together on the porch, talking.

“So tell me everything that has happened to you since you left home,” he said.

Libby began to tell him, finding how difficult it was to leave Gabe out of the story and how melodramatic her adventures now sounded. In the end she glossed over almost everything except the last events: finding Hugh, his stupid, wasted death, and the cabin burning. Edward never took his eyes off her once, looking at her with such pity and understanding that she kept wanting to laugh. He reminded her of a spaniel her mother had once owned, who also sat with head on one side, gazing with big, devoted eyes.

“But you must tell me all the news from back home,” she said. “Tell me what has been going on in the civilized world.”

He began recounting everything he could think of; a second son for dear Katherine, a new house for this friend, a new carriage for another, a scandal in politics, a scandal in love life. “Of course, we’ve completely cut off the Bensons,” he said. “You remember Ginnie Benson? It turns out she was carrying on an affair behind her husband’s back for years and nobody knew about it. It was only when the child was born with dark hair and everyone in the family was so fair that people remembered the music teacher was dark. My dear, what an outrage it caused. It’s completely ruined Toby Benson’s chances of running for legislature, of course. What a tragedy.”

Libby looked away, staring hard at a mockingbird sitting on a fence post, singing its heart out. How small the whole Bostonian world sounded, how narrow and petty. She remembered Ginnie Benson very well—a vivacious young girl who loved to dance—and Toby Benson, solid, middle-aged, and very boring. No wonder the music teacher had seemed so attractive. What would Edward think about me if he knew the truth? she wondered.

T
HE DAYS PASSED
and Edward showed no signs of returning to San Francisco. They went riding together and she took him over to a meal with Don Miguel and Conchita. She showed him around the nearest mining sites and he tried his hand halfheartedly at panning.