Jubilee Trail (83 page)

G
ARNET WAITED
AND WAITED
for John to come back from San Francisco.

At first she was merely puzzled as to why he should stay so long, then she grew apprehensive. She knew he had reached San Francisco safely, because she had heard from him. General Kearny had established a military courier service for the garrisons between San Francisco and San Diego. Since there were no mails, the couriers sometimes carried letters for citizens, and John had taken advantage of this to write to her.

Like all John’s letters, this one was brief. He said the voyage north had been a stormy one, and the ship had taken twenty days to go from Santa Barbara to San Francisco. But they had had no real trouble. His boys had taken good care of him and his injuries were greatly improved. He could walk now, and as she could see, he could also write. He was leaving in a few days to see his new property, then he would come south again and they would be married.

But January went by, and February, and March, and John did not arrive.

Garnet was not usually given to inventing fears. But she thought of a hundred things that might have happened to him. Or was it possible that he did not want to come back? When she thought of this Garnet’s heart gave an angry flutter. No, that was not possible. Not with John. After all he had said to her, he was not changing now. But even if he were, John would not have run away. If he did not want her he would say so.

But then why didn’t he come back?

She would have found it a comfort to talk to the Brute, but he had left Los Angeles shortly after the earthquake. The long voyage to Russia required a lot of preparation.

Florinda reminded Garnet how hard it was to travel in winter. San Francisco was four hundred miles away; the rains up north were heavier than they were here, and the mountains were full of snow. John might have decided to wait for easier weather.

Garnet exclaimed, “That could be true of anybody else I know. But not John. If John wanted to get here, he would get here. You know John.”

“Yes,” said Florinda. “Yes, I know John.”

For a moment Garnet did not answer. It was late at night, and they were both in Florinda’s room. Florinda sat on the floor arranging the chest where she kept her jewelry and her best clothes. Garnet watched her as she put her jewel-case into a corner and folded a silk shawl on top of it. Garnet said, “I believe you still don’t want me to marry him.”

Florinda looked up. “Why no, Garnet, that’s not true. I think you ought to marry John because you’ll be miserable the rest of your life if you don’t.”

“But you don’t think much of it, do you?”

“Garnet, dearest,” Florinda said slowly, “I don’t want to meddle with your business. But John and I are so much alike. We’ve both lived alone in a sense that you never have, and that’s a hard habit to break. I just wonder if he can give himself up to anybody.”

Garnet thought this over. She asked, “Is that why he’s staying away so long? Because he’s not used to having anybody worry about him, and he doesn’t realize I’m doing it now?”

“Yes, I think it is. John is tending to some business of his own, and he hasn’t thought about you pacing the floor in suspense down here. When he does turn up, he’s going to say, ‘But what were you worried about? I told you I’d be here, and here I am.’”

“Do you think he’s always going to be like this?”

“I can’t tell,” answered Florinda. “But anybody who’s so used to going his own way, he’ll find it hard to change. And you won’t like that. You can give half and a little more, but you won’t be a piece of jelly.”

“John wouldn’t want me,” Garnet retorted, “if I were a piece of jelly!”

“No,” said Florinda, “he wouldn’t want you if you were, but he’s liable to punch you in the nose because you’re not.”

They did not discuss the matter any further. But when Garnet got up to go to her own room, Florinda smiled and said, “Maybe I’m wrong about John, dear. I hope I am.”

The next morning they walked over to Mr. Abbott’s to get some cloth for spring dresses. It was a dazzling day, and the anise and the little mustard flowers danced against their skirts as they walked. Florinda remarked that on the way back they might pick some leaves for dinner, and Garnet felt a tug of mingled tenderness and wrath, remembering how John had first showed her how to cook these wild plants.

They went into Mr. Abbott’s. He greeted them heartily and called for Mr. Collins to come show the ladies those fine calicoes he’d been saving for them. While Mr. Collins unrolled bolts of cloth, Mr. Abbott asked them if they’d heard the news. He was always full of news. Some soldiers had been loafing around here earlier today, and they had told him about poor Colonel Frémont. Too bad. He’d always kind of liked Frémont, Mr. Abbott said. The boys had told him Frémont had been court-martialed. Charges were mutiny and disobedience. Found guilty and dismissed from the service. But President Polk had—er, how did they put it?—he had approved the sentence but remitted the dismissal. Probably the President wanted to show appreciation for Frémont’s fine work as an explorer. Still, it was too bad. Mr. Abbott shook his head sadly.

Garnet was sorry for Frémont, but at the moment she could not be much concerned about any problems but her own. She asked Mr. Abbott if there had been any news from San Francisco. Mr. Abbott ran his hand over his bald head and reflected. Not much had come through of late, he murmured, bad time of year, you know. But he did not like admitting there was no news when he was asked for it, so he began talking about San Francisco. Fine town, he said. Regular American town. Growing fast. Men coming in from Oregon and everywhere. They had hotels and newspapers, and they were even building a schoolhouse for the young ones. Plenty of young ones. Four men to every woman in town, so you could be mighty sure there weren’t any old maids, and the population would be growing even without any help from Oregon. Mr. Abbott chuckled at his own wit. Garnet laughed too, but this was not the sort of news she was looking for.

Mr. Abbott slapped his fat hands on the counter. “Well bless my soul,” he exclaimed cordially. “Come right in, sir!” Garnet and Florinda turned around, and there was the Handsome Brute.

When she saw the Brute Garnet’s heart leaped, for he might have news of John. But for the first few minutes she had no chance to ask him. Everybody was greeting him at once, Mr. Abbott and Florinda and Mr. Collins and a native ranchero who had come in to talk about the hide trade. The Handsome Brute said he had ridden in last night to say good-by to his friends in Los Angeles, for he was going north in a few days to take his ship. He had been so covered with mud that he was ashamed to be seen, so he had gone straight to the home of his friend Señor Cereceda, where he often stayed when he was in town. Here he had cleaned up and got a night’s sleep, and the first thing this morning he had gone by the saloon. José had told him the ladies could be found at Mr. Abbott’s, so here he was. And they both grew more beautiful every day, didn’t Mr. Abbott agree with him?

To be sure he did, and Mr. Abbott called for wine and Mr. Collins passed the cups around. As always, Mr. Abbott scolded Florinda for declining, but she laughed and said she was sorry but wine always gave her indigestion. The others drank a toast to the Brute’s health and happiness and a good voyage to St. Petersburg. Under cover of the welcoming voices, the Brute spoke to Garnet. “Where is John?” he asked.

Garnet felt as if a lump of dough had taken form in her throat and was dropping slowly down through her windpipe. “I don’t know where he is, Brute,” she said. “I thought you could tell me.”

The Brute shook his head in surprise. “No, I have not seen him. I have been up on my rancho. On the way here I went by Torosa, but they have not heard from him there, so I thought he was in Los Angeles getting married to you. You have had no letter?”

“No, except one I had last January, saying he had reached San Francisco.”

The Brute looked perplexed, but he smiled at her encouragingly. “It is hard to travel so far in the rainy season,” he said.

Garnet did not answer. She was tired of hearing that. Here it was the first of April, and she could not believe weather alone would hold John away so long. Not if he wanted to get through.

In a quick gesture of sympathy Florinda slipped her hand into Garnet’s, and changed the subject by asking the Brute about the preparations he had had to make before taking the ship. The Brute said he had engaged an overseer for his rancho, a smart Yankee who had come down from Oregon. The day of the great Mexican land-grants was over, and the men newly arrived were eager to get work on the ranchos already established. The Brute had brought some papers to Los Angeles to be put in the care of the American alcalde, Mr. Foster. These were orders that his land was to go to John, if he himself had not returned from Russia in ten years from now.

“Ten years!” they all gasped together.

The Brute smiled and shrugged. The Russian Czar did not send a ship to California every year, he reminded them, not by any means. And once a ship started, the voyage took a long time. At least a year, maybe a year and a half.

“How far do you have to go to get from here to St. Petersburg?” asked Florinda.

“Maybe ten thousand miles,” said the Brute. “Maybe more, maybe less, I am not sure.”

Florinda gave a long wondering whistle. “How do you get there, Brute?” she asked.

“We go around the Horn. Then up through the Atlantic Ocean and into the North Sea and then the Baltic Sea.”

“Where are they?”

“Why, I don’t know,” the Brute said innocently. “That is what the captain told me. I suppose I sailed through those same seas on the way here, but I didn’t know the names of them.”

“But won’t you die of scurvy?” she exclaimed.

“I don’t think so. I got here without dying of scurvy.”

“But really, Brute, aren’t you afraid you—” She stopped.

He laughed at her. “That I won’t get there? Of course that is possible. But I got here once.”

“You’re mighty calm about it,” she said admiringly.

“I have wanted to do this for a long time. I would not be happy if I did not see Russia again. So what is the use of being frightened?” He smiled around at them all, and spoke to Florinda again. “Now I must go to see Mr. Foster, but if you should invite me to supper I would come.”

“You’re invited,” said Florinda.

The Brute waved his hat to them as he went out. Florinda turned back to the counter. “Now about this calico, Mr. Collins. I like the blue flower print, and the white with the little green sprigs. Have you got some big white buttons?”

Garnet bought some calico too, but her mind was not on it. She was thinking about John. She was also thinking about how much she was going to miss the Brute. She wondered if he would like St. Petersburg.

That night their supper was half gay and half wistful. They were all thinking about how few more times they would be together like this. When Garnet and Florinda finally went upstairs, Florinda said,

“Garnet, I think that big savage is the dearest, kindest man I ever knew. If they aren’t good to him in St. Petersburg—” She stopped with a shrug. If they were not good to him in St. Petersburg there was nothing she could do about it.

Isabel had carried up a pile of Garnet’s laundry. While Garnet was putting away the clothes she found a petticoat that belonged to Florinda, and took it to Florinda’s room. Florinda was sitting on the floor in front of her chest, turning over the ornaments in her jewel-case. As Garnet came in she said,

“I was just about to call you. Look, Garnet, would you like to have this?”

Garnet sat by her on the floor. Florinda was holding out the ring with the great aquamarine.

“Why I couldn’t, Florinda!” Garnet exclaimed.

“Oh, take it. I wish you would. It’s quite pretty.”

“It’s much too pretty. And too valuable.”

Florinda tilted her shoulder carelessly. “I’m not giving you a fortune, dearie. Aquamarines aren’t very precious stones. Besides, I don’t value it.”

She tossed the ring into Garnet’s lap. Garnet picked it up. The candlelight stroked the blue-green surface of the aquamarine and struck glitters from the depths of it. Maybe it was not very valuable, but it was costly enough for her not to want Florinda to toss it into her lap like this. A guilty idea struck her, and she exclaimed, “Florinda, do you think I’m mad because of what you said about John last night? Because I’m not. I hope I’m not silly enough to be mad with you for speaking your opinion when I ask for it.”

“Oh, of course, I know that. But I was already planning to give you this ring. I don’t want it. I tried to give it to Doña Manuela, you remember, but she said she’d rather have the silver buttons. Don’t you like it?”

“It’s lovely,” said Garnet. “But I still wish you’d keep it.”

“I’ve got no use for it,” Florinda insisted.

“You don’t have to wear it on your hand,” Garnet urged, turning the ring again to watch it catch the light. “You can have it re-set. As a pendant to a necklace, for instance. You’ve got a lovely throat.”

Florinda did not answer. Still turning the stone. Garnet became aware of the silence. She looked up. Florinda sat watching her intently. There was a faint smile of astonishment on her lips. As she saw the smile, Garnet realized what she had said. Her own thoughts on herself and John, she had tripped over the resolution she had made in the hotel room in New Orleans, the resolution that she would never say a word about Florinda’s scars. She felt a hot wave of color creep over her cheeks as Florinda said,

“Garnet, do you know, in all the time we’ve been together, that’s the first hint you’ve ever given that there was anything wrong with my hands?”

Garnet dropped her eyes. “I didn’t mean to now,” she said faintly.

“Why Garnet, it’s all right,” Florinda said. “Don’t blush like that.”

But Garnet could not look up. “Please forgive me,” she said. “I won’t talk about it again.”

“But Garnet, I tell you it’s all right! Look at me, dear.”

Garnet raised her eyes. Florinda was smiling fondly.

“If you had asked about my hands that day in New Orleans,” said Florinda, “I couldn’t have answered. It was so new and I was still having a fight to keep going in spite of it. I expected you to ask me when I took off my dress, and I was going to say I had stumbled into the fireplace. But you didn’t ask. I knew right then what I thought of you. I knew you were great. I couldn’t say it. I couldn’t talk about my hands and what they meant. But I can now.”