Janet Quin-Harkin (8 page)

The outstretched hand convinced Ma Zettel. She straightened up and looked Libby in the eye. “I can’t let them sleep along of a lot of heathen men,” she said. “I’ll squeeze you in somewhere.” She led them up to a tiny room in the attic which was normally a storeroom. “I’ll get a couple of camp cots put in here before day’s out,” she said, shifting a pile of trunks to one side with her tree-trunk arms as she spoke. “At least you won’t be bothered up here.”

Libby now knew what she meant and nodded gratefully.

Ma Zettel looked at Libby with interest. “Your husband’s out getting stocked up, is he?” she asked, then went on, before Libby could reply, “Well, if he hasn’t got his mules yet, my brother-in-law has a fine pair he’ll sell for a hundred and twenty the pair, and that’s a bargain the way things are going around here, as anyone will tell you.”

“I don’t have a husband or a team with me,” Libby said. “I’m going out to join my husband and I’m hoping to join a company to travel with.”

“My dear Lord!” the woman said. “You’ve got spunk. I’ll say that for you. Two little precious dears across all that waste and no man to protect you. Still, I’ve watched many a party set off over the past few years and there’s been women among them you’d have thought would blow away with a breeze. But they’ve made it through to Oregon or California, and sometimes had a baby along the way, while their big strong husbands are the ones stricken with every sort of ague and fever.”

Libby laughed. “I’m tougher than I look too,” she said.

“I’m sure you are, my dear,” Ma Zettel said. “Now, what do you say to a nice cup of coffee? I was just going to pour one for myself.”

Libby took the girls down to the parlor and enjoyed the cool, leather chairs while the coffee revived her.

“Now I have another favor to ask,” Libby said, when her cup was empty. “I have to find a company to join and I’ve no idea how to set about it. Would it be too much of an imposition to leave the children here? They are very good and amuse themselves easily.”

“No trouble at all,” Ma Zettel said. “I’ll take them into the kitchen with me and they can help with the baking. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, my precious ones?” she asked.

“Yes please,” Eden said, looking at her mother as if someone had just offered her a present. “Cook never let us help with baking at home.”

“Right then, off with you to the kitchen,” Ma Zettel said. “And good luck to you, my dear, in your plans.”

Libby hesitated, not sure what to do next. “I find a company that’s about to leave and see if I can get a place with them, so I’ve heard?” she asked.

“That’s what they all seem to do,” the landlady said.

“And there’s no public stage line for travellers on their own?” Libby asked.

“A stage line?” A smile twitched on the leathery face. “I did hear talk of getting one started but I don’t think it ever amounted to anything. They’d lose too many coaches and drivers to make it profitable.”

“Oh,” Libby said.

“You’re worrying that you won’t be able to handle your own team?” the landlady asked.

“My own team?” Libby looked horrified.

“That’s what they do. They get their own teams and then sign up along with a company. But maybe you could find yourself a man to drive your wagon.”

“Buy my own wagon as well as the hundred dollars to join a company?” she stammered.

“Oh yes. The joining fee just pays for supplies and protection. They all have their own wagons.”

“They must cost a lot of money,” Libby said hopelessly.

“Prices are real inflated right now,” the woman agreed. “Most of the men will pay anything to get started to the gold. You’re looking at two hundred for the wagon and another hundred for the team at least.”

“And if I can’t afford that much?”

“Then you don’t go, or you walk,” the landlady said flatly. “Unless you could find someone with space to spare, to take you along with them.”

“Oh,” Libby said. She put out her hand against the doorpost to steady herself. Despair was fighting with anger that she had not troubled to find out the facts before she set out on such a crazy journey.

“Don’t give up heart now, my dear,” the landlady said, putting a big, heavy hand on Libby’s shoulder. “I hear there’s a fine, well-equipped party about to set out this week, run by a Mr. Sheldon Rival—a bigwig out of Chicago, so they say. He had a dozen wagons shipped here and a hold full of supplies with him which he aims to make a fortune with in California. He might have wagon space for the children at least. You could walk alongside. The wagons don’t move fast if they’re pulled by oxen which these are.”

“Thank you,” Libby said. “I’ll go and try to convince this Mr. Rival to take me with him. Any idea where he’s camped?”

“Camped?” Ma Zettel asked. “He’s at the Independence House—best hotel in town. He’s taken the whole second floor.”

Libby felt hopeful and excited as she made her way to the big brick building on Main Street. At least Mr. Rival was a civilized man from Chicago—a businessman like her father. She could talk to him as one cultured person to another. The desk clerk pointed her in the direction of the restaurant when Libby asked for Mr. Rival’s rooms.

“He’s taking his lunch,” he said. “You can’t miss him. Big fellow, dressed real swanky.”

Libby went into the restaurant. It was spacious and cool, decorated with large potted palms and marble pillars. She stood behind one of these as she looked around for Mr. Rival. He was, as the desk clerk had predicted, very easy to spot; a large red-faced man, probably in his forties, with at least three chins, into the last of which a napkin was now tucked as Mr. Rival bent over, slurping soup noisily from a bowl. Libby could see the glint of gold at his cuff links and watch chain. The top of his head was starting to bald although the rest of his hair was very black, making Libby guess that he dyed it. He was accompanied at the table by two wiry young men who looked like Libby’s impression of a cowboy. They both listened politely as Mr. Rival spoke nonstop between slurps of soup.

“I don’t intend losing one bag of that flour, you hear me? Not one bag. You’ll get your pay when I roll into the streets of Hangtown and not before. Understood?”

“Yes sir, Mr. Rival,” two voices chorused like children in a school.

Libby walked over and stood before him. Seeing her shadow, he raised his eyes, soup still dripping down his chins. “Watta you want?” he growled.

“How do you do?” Libby said politely. “I’m Elizabeth Grenville and I understand that you are shortly setting out for California. I’m travelling there alone and thought you might have space to take me on one of your wagons, for a fee, of course.”

She was very conscious of the way Sheldon Rival looked her up and down, then licked the soup from his lips. “Thanks, little lady, but it’s more profitable for me to transport flour than fancy girls,” he said. “Flour will make more for me than you will.”

“How dare you!” Libby said, almost having to restrain herself from slapping his face.

Sheldon Rival looked amused. “Why else does a lady on her own go out to California right now?” he asked. “There’s good money to be made in ‘entertainment’.” He put such meaning into the last word that the two men with him laughed.

Libby’s face had flushed bright red. “I’d like you to know that I’m a respectable married woman from a good Bostonian family,” she said, “and I’m travelling to California to join my husband. I was not asking for your charity or your patronage. I can’t manage my own wagon and I thought you might have room in one of yours if I pay my way.”

“Like I said,” Sheldon Rival drawled, already looking down at his food again, “my wagons are full of supplies. A sack of flour is worth more to me than what you’d pay me. And sacks of flour don’t talk back.” He laughed as if he’d made a good joke and the other men dutifully laughed too.

“I can see I’m wasting my time here,” Libby said in her best Bostonian manner. “I thought I’d be dealing with a civilized man, but I’m talking to an overgrown monkey in civilized clothing. Good day to you, Mr. Rival.”

She heard laughter from a table behind her as she turned to make a dignified exit from the dining room. She gave a frosty stare in the direction of the laughter and found herself looking at the smiling face of Gabe Foster.

“W
HAT ARE YOU
doing here?” Libby blurted out before she remembered that she had sworn never to speak to Gabriel Foster again.

Gabe’s smile broadened. “I thought I’d take a trip out West and see for myself what the frontier looks like.” He leaned back in his chair, looking up at her with obvious enjoyment. “Besides which, I heard that there were all these men sitting around with nothing to do all day. So I thought I’d volunteer my services and do them a good turn by amusing them with a few little card games.”

“You are still despicable,” Libby said.

“And you are still adorable,” he said, “although I see it was misplaced concern on my part to worry about you surviving in the wilderness. I watched you dealing with old Rival there. It’s a wonder he wasn’t turned into an instant snowman with that icy stare you gave him.”

“The man is an uncouth idiot,” Libby said. “I feel myself fortunate that I was able to observe his true character before I signed on with him.”

“It was my impression he turned you down,” Gabe said, grinning.

“Believe me, Mr. Foster, now that I have seen the man, I would not have signed on with him at any price, even if he were riding to California in a golden coach with half the U.S. cavalry at his side.”

“So what are you aiming to do now?” Gabe asked.

“I’ll find another company that can take me,” she said. “There are enough men out there to find one with civilized manners and a kind heart.”

“I wouldn’t count on it,” Gabe said. “Gold and kind hearts don’t go well together.”

“Pray don’t concern yourself about me, Mr. Foster,” she said. “I am a very determined woman.”

“I don’t doubt it for a moment,” Gabe said, “and I’ve no doubt at all that you could walk all the way to California if you had to. But you’ve two little girls with you that need looking after. I hear you had a narrow brush with cholera on that damned ship. I’ll ask around for you, if you like.”

“I can do my own asking, thank you,” Libby said. Then a worrying thought struck her. “You didn’t follow us this far to keep an eye on us, did you?”

“Whatever gave you that idea?” Gabe said, laughing. “As a matter of fact, things got a little too hot for me in St. Louis. The young man on board I helped part from his cash turned out to be the son of a judge—a hanging judge. And since I rather like my head and neck just the way they are, I thought I’d take me a little trip westward. So you see, I’ve got enough headaches in my life without having a mean-tempered, high-moraled, ice-cold woman to worry about.”

Libby flushed. “Then I bid you good day, Mr. Foster,” she said, nodding her head slightly.

“I was just about to eat,” Gabe said. “I don’t suppose you’d care to join me, or would you still consider that to be one step away from supping with Old Nick himself?”

Libby looked longingly at the white cloth, the polished silver and thought of the last time she sat in a proper restaurant, eating good food and enjoying civilized company. She was aware that Gabe Foster represented the one familiar face in a sea of strangers, also that his presence still strangely disturbed her, however much she might despise him. She actually found herself thinking, what harm could there be in a cup of coffee? before she took control of herself. Aside from any other consideration, she was not going to give Sheldon Rival the satisfaction of seeing her dining with a known gambler, especially such a handsome one.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “but I’ve left my daughters alone and must return to them right away. Please excuse me. I wish you good luck, Mr. Foster.”

“And I you, Mrs. Hugh Grenville,” he said.

She spent the rest of the day walking among the campsites, seeing if any party was willing to take on three extra female passengers, but nobody seemed at all willing to divide their precious supplies with three extra mouths, even for money, and even less willing to be saddled with the extra responsibilities of three helpless females. “We don’t aim to stop for nobody, ma’am,” one man said, looking away rather than face her pleading eyes. “If you or your kids gets sick, I couldn’t hold up the wagons for you and I couldn’t provide a doctor for you either. I’d sure hate to watch little kids die, or you for that matter.”

She tried reasoning with him, assuring him that she was as tough as any man, but it was clear that he, like the other men she spoke to, had made up his mind. They were after gold, they had brought enough supplies to get them there, and they were not going to be tied down. Libby came back despondent as night was falling. All around her campfires glowed like red eyes in the dark.

The next morning her luck changed. She was taking Eden and Bliss out for an early morning walk when she heard someone yelling down from an upstairs window. At first she ignored the yelling, sure that it could not be directed at her, but when it went on, she hesitated and looked up.

“Yes, you—who else did you think I meant!” boomed the voice, and there, at the open window of the second-floor suite, was Sheldon Rival, still in his shirt and suspenders with rolled up sleeves and no collar or tie. “You wanted to join my party yesterday. You still want to?”

Libby longed to say that there was no way she would ever consider joining him again, but she remembered all the flat rejections of the day before. “Come up and talk about it, if you do,” Sheldon Rival shouted. “Those brats yours?”

Libby nodded. “Then leave ‘em downstairs in the foyer. Can’t stand whining brats around the place.”

Libby led the children inside. “Stay right here on this sofa, children,” she said gently. “Mama will be down in a few seconds. Eden, take care of your sister.”

“Yes, Mama,” Eden said. She lugged Bliss, like a sack of potatoes, onto the velvet sofa. “Sit still, sissy, and I’ll tell you a story,” she said. Libby smiled fondly at both of them, then went up the marble staircase to Sheldon Rival’s room. On hearing her knock, he boomed, “Come in.” She opened the door. Rival was seated at a table near the window, a half-eaten peach in front of him, a fat cigar dangling at his lip. He did not get up, but beckoned Libby to come over to him.