Far Away Home (14 page)

“Don’t you want
to identify yourselves?”

“How much for
two names?”

“I’ll give ‘em
to you.”

“Thank you. It’s
Aislynn and Johnny.”

“You Aislynn?”

She nodded.

“I got a letter
here for you.”

Chapter 13

Tim’s short
letter read:

Aislynn,

I have
trusted Mr. Wall with this letter and pray you will arrive safely to receive
it. I am not at the ranch. Mr. Moran has honored me with a more suitable
position. I will tell you about it when I see you. I am in the mountains just
four miles north of the ranch. Enclosed is a map.

I suggest you
buy whatever supplies you need as it takes nearly four hours to reach Ogden by
wagon.

Come quickly
and come safely. You are forever in my prayers.

Tim

Mr. Reed entered
the office to inform them the train would be leaving and continuing north in
one hour. Aislynn pulled Johnny to the nearest general store. Determined to
reach Tim’s heart, even if she had to get there through his stomach, Aislynn
whirled through the shop buying food.

In a hushed
tone, she asked the clerk for two cots and turned her attention toward a cast
iron stove. She listed reasons why she needed the expensive item to Johnny.

“Aislynn, I only
had four hundred dollars when we started. The money we have left is yours. Do
what you want with it.”

“You don’t think
it’s extravagant?”

“When it comes
to spendin’ money, I trust your judgment.”

They set out
north toward Promontory Point with the stove anchored in the wagon bed. The
road cut through acres of farmland, irrigated by the massive system of ditches
the Mormons had trenched. In the east, the steep hills were topped with bald,
rocky peaks. On certain rises in the road, the Great Salt Lake could be seen in
the west, a huge, blue sea dropped in the dusty desert.

Just beyond the
tiny settlement of Brigham City, they passed a ranch distinguished by its long
log stables and high barns. A huge wood and adobe lodge rose from the sandy
earth. An archway of whitewashed adobe stood at the entrance of the long dusty
drive. Chiseled into its peak were the initials L. M. Johnny marveled at the
size of the house, but Aislynn could only think of the four miles separating
her from Tim.

Excitement
fluttered in her stomach, and she attempted to suppress a broad smile. She
wiggled closer to Johnny and hugged his arm. Unable to contain herself, “Thank
you for bringing me,” spilled over her lips.

Johnny looked
down at her with a tolerant smile and said, “I love you.”

“I know,” she
replied and bounced up and pecked his cheek.

They could see
the cut-off nearly a mile before they reached it, slashing wide through the
thick pines and climbing to the edge of the barren rock. Among the trees, small
squares of white tents dotted the hillside, looking like tombstones from a
distance. Thin strands of smoke, signs of life, swirled among the trees.

Johnny waved to
the soldiers. Then, for the first time in a month, they turned their wagon east
toward home. The road was steep and newly cut. Stumps and brush that had been
blocking the way lay strewn on the sides of the wide trail, damp and still
clinging to clumps of earth. Rock and rubble filled the voids they left behind.
All the underbrush was cleared, and an open roadway remained.

They rolled
through a flat lined with brooks, willows and aspens, then climbed through tall
cottonwoods, until the trail rose among pines, cedars, mountain ferns and wild
rose bushes. The smell of decaying foliage and damp undergrowth filled the air.
The steep incline, thinning air and heavy load strained the mules and Aislynn’s
impatience.

At the top of
the trail, they could see a clearing. Piles of timber and rocks were scattered
among tents and wagons. The road rose to the mouth of a mine, a dark hole in
the face of the rock. They could see a log cabin below the mine, encircled by a
spur road. A large wagon stood at the far end of this drive. Men pushed carts
piled with broken rocks out of the mouth of the mine and dumped them into the
wagon waiting on the circular drive below.

Through the crashing
rocks and the whacking of axes, the humming of an engine could be heard. Men
called to each other as they hauled timber and split logs. The smoke of wood
burning fires added substance to the thin air. The energetic activity of the
camp enhanced Aislynn’s excitement. Her pulse raced. She gripped the wagon
seat. Aislynn found herself holding her breath until she remembered to take in
more air. Her eyes grew wide as she tried to search each face for the one she
longed to find.

Two men on the
step of the log cabin caught her eyes. They stood facing each other, their
profiles clear. Both wore overalls covered in gray dust. Under a dingy hat, the
taller man’s tawny hair hung shoulder-length and a full beard covered his face.

Aislynn’s hand
went to her breast. Her heart seemed to swell, crowding her lungs so no air
could enter. “Tim!” she shouted.

Johnny pulled
back the reins. She jumped down to the footboard and swung her legs over the
side. She pushed off the wagon, gathered her skirt and ran. The taller man turned
and their eyes met. He pushed his partner aside and stumbled down the path, his
hairy face changed from surprise, to relief, to joy.

Aislynn buried
her face in his chest and melted into tears. His hands grabbed her face, and he
kissed the top of her head. She felt his whole body sob. He took a ragged
breath and said, “I was so worried.”

She looked up at
him and wept, “It’s been so long.”

Tim looked over
her head, “Now I know how she got here.” He moved away, extending his hand to
Johnny. Tim pulled him close and hugged him, clapping him on the back,
repeating, “Thank you, thank you.”

Johnny said,
“She wanted to come, and you know how she is when she gets an idea in her
head.”

Tim laughed, “I
know.” He looked at her sternly. Aislynn smiled up at him and hugged him again.
Tim lifted her off the ground and spun around.

Three men
emerged from the cabin clapping and waving. They all spoke at once. “She made
it,” “He vas so vorried,” and “She’s lookin’ fine,” all blended into one sound.

Tim introduced
the men. Mr. Spittlehouse, the assayer, analyzed the ore. Mr. Frank was the
surveyor and engineer. Murphy managed the mine and acted as Moran’s surrogate.
“And me, I’m everyone’s lackey,” Tim said with pride.

“Assistant,” Mr.
Murphy corrected.

Aislynn curtsied
to each man while she held fast to Tim’s hand like a lifeline, afraid to let
go. She gazed at him. He looked dreadful and smelled worse, but for her,
nothing could obscure his beauty.

Johnny shook
hands, asking, “So you’ve got yourselves a mine?”

“We’re workin’
on one,” Murphy replied.

“Expectin’ a
boom?”

Tim answered,
“Yes and no. Men are pouring in but we’ll see how many stay. This land belongs
to Moran. It’s his mine. A lot of them will come to prospect and be
disappointed. They can stay and work for Moran if they want. Murphy thinks
we’ll have a hundred miners by the end of the year, maybe more.”

Wanting to be
involved in Tim’s conversation, Aislynn asked, “With all this space, how is
Moran going to keep prospectors out?”

“Don’t worry
about Moran; he finds a way to control everything he owns,” Murphy answered.

Tim’s tent was
pitched near the mine, close to his co-workers; however, he felt Aislynn should
not be too close to the operation. Miners were a superstitious lot and believed
women were bad luck in a mine. A half-mile down the hill, Johnny had spied a
level area with few trees. To Aislynn’s delight, they established their own
private camp. A spring bubbled through the rocks on the far end of their
clearing, and here, Aislynn had Tim and Johnny set up her stove.

She had come to
camp prepared. For dinner, Aislynn made a potted roast with carrots, onions,
and potatoes swimming in a tomato base. She baked gingerbread with a
lemon-flavored sugar sauce. They were Tim’s favorites. He invited his three friends
to dinner, and they confirmed her suspicion. Murphy said, “This here’s a real
treat for us, Miss. We haven’t had nothin’ but beans and bacon for nearly two
months.” Aislynn smiled, content her stomach strategy had promise.

While they ate,
Mr. Spittlehouse, a serious-faced German, spoke about the difference between
silver and gold mining. “Let me tell it simply. Gold stays on the surface and
vashes down the mountains into streams or sits there right vhere prospectors
can just pluck it up. Silver it’s different. You see vater will take silver and
carry it downvard into the earth and deposit it vhere the vater decides to
stop. Silver sinks deep to the vater level. Could be two, three, five hundred
feets down. It takes thousands, maybe fifty thousands of dollars to reach it.”

“How do you know
it’s there?” Aislynn asked. She was engaged by Spittlehouse but glanced at Tim
every few moments as if to assure herself he was real.

“Good question.
I tests the surface ore. Ve dig down. I tests more. As ve go down, I see the
rock is richer in silver.”

“With all this
land, why did you pick this spot?”

Tim interjected.
“There is an old Ute Indian on the ranch. Mr. Moran took him in last winter
when it was brutally cold. We had very little work to do, so we did a lot of talking.
The old man said he had seen a cave that shone in the dark. So here we are.”

 “Fifty thousand
dollars, where’d Moran get so much money?” Johnny asked.

Murphy explained
he had known Moran for years; they had met during the gold rush days in
California. Moran was very young but very smart. He had a talent for making
money.

Aislynn leaned
against Tim while she listened to the man spin his tale. Murphy was a product
of the West. He appeared to be in his fifties. Round and soft, he had a face
like a ball of bread dough with holes poked in the appropriate places.
Friendly, voluble and funny, Aislynn liked him instantly.

“During the
rush, Moran became an outfitter and a grubstaker in Sacramento. When the gold
washed out, he continued to sell goods and bought up some timberland and a
ranch. Then, round about ‘60, this guy they called ‘Crazy Judah,’ he ‘pproached
Moran and some big moneyed men with a scheme. You see, Judah’d spent the summer
trekking through the Sierra Nevada Mountains. He had this idea about cutting a
rail route straight through ‘em, connectin’ the U. S. from east to west. Well,
these four millionaires got in it and formed the Central Pacific Railroad, so
Moran threw in some money of his own. Now, you’ll know what happened. The
United States government itself gave the CP money and the authority to build
eastward, while the Union Pacific is buildin’ westward. So Moran’s makin’ money
off the railroad ‘fore it’s even built.” Murphy slapped his thigh and
continued, “Now, them roads have to meet. Most folks are figurin’ they’re gonna
meet in Salt Lake, ‘specially since ol’ Brother Brigham is runnin’ the show
hereabouts. ‘Cept, seems Moran gets wind the line ain’t goin’ through Salt
Lake, it might be goin’ through Ogden. So, he takes a chance. He buys up this
here land we’re sittin on for near nothin’ and starts up a ranch. Now, there’s
always money in foodstuff so ‘gardless of where the line runs, his horses and
cattle ain’t gonna be too far from the rail or the market. But, he’s bettin’
it’s comin’ this way, and the value of this land will go sky high.”

“Well,” Johnny
interrupted, “I believe Moran wins his bet. The men we traveled with are
plannin’ to grade through Ogden to Promontory Point. Mr. Reed is goin’ to Salt
Lake City in a couple of weeks to get Young to help with the work.”

“Damn!” Murphy
shot a look at Aislynn and Tim. “Oh, sorry, Miss. Don’t you know it went his
way again? He is one of the luckiest rascals I know. He takes risks but he does
seem to hit those safe bets.”

All the men
nodded in agreement. Murphy concluded, “Now the son of a gun has hit silver.
Can you beat that? Well, money makes money, don’t it?”

Johnny offered
to sleep under the wagon to protect Aislynn, but Tim insisted they could fit
three cots in the tent. They pinned a sheet to the roof of the tent allowing
Aislynn some privacy. She lay listening to Johnny’s familiar snore and strained
to hear Tim’s breathing. She peeked around her cloth barrier and found his bed
empty.

Aislynn slipped
on her shoes, huddled down in her heavy coat, and she stepped through the
tent’s flaps. Tim sat on a log among the moon’s shadows facing the fading fire.
He seemed to glow like a wakened dream. Aislynn silently padded through the
soft pine needles.

Coming up behind
him, she wrapped her arms around his neck and rested her cheek on his hair. His
hands reached up and held hers. They were silent. The woods’ wild noises seemed
subdued, and the still air bordered on the soft side of frost. Aislynn felt his
warm body rise with every breath; she relished the vital and stable feeling of
him. Holding him in her arms, she felt all the pieces of her life pulling
together. For the first time since her father’s death, she began to feel whole.

Tim broke the
silence. “You should be in bed.”

Aislynn moved
around the log and settled herself against him. “I’d rather be with you,” she
whispered, taking his hand in hers. It was golden in the fire light and rougher
than she remembered.

“I missed you,”
Tim said, “and I’m so proud of you. Look at you. You’re so strong and
independent. It makes my heart proud.” Aislynn beamed in his approval. “Of
course, I take credit for the way you’ve turned out.” He laughed quietly and
nuzzled his chin into her head.

“Of course.” She
closed her eyes and felt the strength of her love.

“I’m sorry
things became so difficult for you.” He paused and sighed, “You know life won’t
be easy here.”