Love's Story (29 page)

After only a week in the courtly residence, Marshall called for a private meeting with Rachel in his darkened study. He sat pompously behind a great desk and addressed her in a very solemn tone. “You will continue your education, Miss Phillips.” Marshall always addressed Rachel as “Miss,” as though the use of her name might unnecessarily endear her to him.

He continued, looking over his spectacles. “You can receive your credentials for teaching within the year. As the state grows, there are many towns in need of competent instructors. This education, which I will happily finance, will provide you with the ability to earn an adequate income of your own, so that you may support yourself. Do you understand?” He stood up with finality, his butler waiting to escort her from the room.

Rachel most certainly did
not
understand. California was no place for a lady to live on her own and the mansion was large enough that they might never see each other. Didn't
he
understand? Rachel stood looking questioningly up at her stepfather, her generous mane of auburn hair falling loosely down to her lower back, her eyes wide and clear. “Am I to understand that you would like me to find accommodations elsewhere?” Rachel managed to stammer meekly.

“Miss Phillips, your mother and I plan to start a family soon. Of course, we will need help with the baby for the first year, but then you will be free to pursue your teaching career.” And with that, Rachel's future was arranged. Teaching was to be her “chosen” profession, and she completed her studies in June of 1863.

That same month, Marshall and Peg welcomed George Timothy Winsome into their home. A darling, healthy baby boy with a sweet personality and a ready smile, his parents lavished him with love and attention.

Although Rachel was to help her mother for the first year of Georgie's life, Marshall soon found Rachel's presence to be a hindrance to his new family and “released” her to begin her teaching duties. Through his many connections, Marshall located an immediate opening in the small town of Searsville, a logging community, just a day's travel from San Francisco.

Rachel roused from her memories to find herself once again on a journey. She stood on a crowded pier, saying “Good-bye” To her best friend and partner in life, her mother.

T
he port of San Francisco was a frenzy of activity. Ships of every size and description could be seen both in port and shipping out to sea. In the distance, Alcatraz, a military fort on an island of solid rock, was barely visible through the fog. The schooner
Redwood
bounced about wildly in the choppy waters of the bay.

Rachel was readying to board when her mother stroked her long chestnut curls and whispered, “Remember, Rachel, the only man for you is a believer in Christ Jesus who loves and cares for you as the Lord cares for His church. Believe that He will provide, and wait on Him.”

Embarking on a new life, and for the first time making daily decisions entirely on her own, nothing could have been further from Rachel's mind than finding a husband. Her main objectives now were to
avoid
men and handle a schoolroom full of children, which she must do without the aid of her closest confidante. Rachel's mind quickly cleared of her mother's words and her own thoughts as a loud voice bellowed a final call and passengers began quickly boarding the schooner.

This is really happening,
Rachel thought.
I'm actually leaving my mother, my only family, to get on this ship headed toward who knows what kind of future.
She clung to the words from her old, leather-covered Bible,
“Thou wilt shew me the path of life: in thy presence is fullness of joy; at thy right hand there are pleasures for evermore.”
She couldn't remember where the verse was from, but it provided the momentary courage she needed to step onto the boat.

Overwhelmed by her emotions, Rachel was numb as she watched her mother disappear in the distance as the
Redwood
pulled away from its slip. She extended her arm as if to touch her mother one last time. Rachel's spirit that had been so strong in days past now seemed broken in the harsh reality of life alone. Rachel's forest-green eyes dampened with tears amidst the cold, foggy backdrop of the San Francisco Bay.

She was so lost in her thoughts during the trip that it seemed mere minutes before the Port of Redwood City came into view. This was to be the first stop on her journey. From here, she would board a stage in town en route to Searsville.

As the captain maneuvered the ship through the muddy slough, the excitement of the embarcadero ahead stirred a rush of conversation among the passengers. The docks bustled as men rushed to unload their cargo-laden oxen carts onto waiting schooners and sloops before the outward turning of the tide, which could transform the bay into a depressed mud flat with disabled boats bogged down helplessly in the briny muck.

Redwood was a logging port which supplied lumber to the many towns in California that had sprung up as a result of the Gold Rush. Lumber, shingles, firewood, and fence posts were piled high in stacks along the docks to help the men load quickly. Rachel briefly watched the confused scene before the boat docked and the passengers were hurried off to make room for cargo. Her trunk was dropped carelessly onto the pier before her.

Stepping onto the dock, Rachel felt her first real tinge of panic as she tried to navigate the walk and steer clear of the shoremen and their work while lugging her oversized trunk by its worn leather handle. The men that weren't behind a stack of lumber took time out to eye the beautiful stranger, and made their observations known with loud talk amongst themselves. No offer of help with her luggage came, though, and Rachel silently thanked God the men didn't bother her.

Rachel's fear mounted when she noticed that all the women from the ship had quickly disappeared with escorts, leaving her utterly alone and without aid to find her stage stop. Afraid to ask one of the shoremen for directions, she began to wander from the docks into town, hoping to find a friendly woman there.

Redwood was clearly a bachelor town. Rachel walked along the dusty path past the McLeod Shipyard and the various storehouses on the docks and soon found herself amidst a bevy of saloons, boot shops, and liveries. She spied a beautiful white building with the words A
MERICAN
H
OUSE
painted in black across its face.

Rachel sighed with relief, feeling as though she'd found an oasis. She quickly crossed the street, dodging the horse-drawn carriages and oxcarts that lined the road.

When Rachel reached the American House, she immediately realized with disappointment that this was not a hotel like her stepfather's. The entry hall was grand, with elevated ceilings, red wallpaper, and dark mahogany furniture. Upstairs, however, Rachel spotted an open door to the sleeping quarters. The large room was bare, its white walls free of decor. Cots and bunks lined the edge of the room dormitory style, and men could be seen lying upon them. Rachel, disturbed by unwillingly invading their privacy, turned to leave the lobby before she was spotted.

“May I be of service to ya, my dear?” A cheery-looking, older man presented himself behind the ornate wooden counter.

“Yes. I'm looking for the stage. The one that goes to Searsville. I–I'm the new teacher for the loggers' children,” she blurted carelessly, trying to conceal her uneasiness.

“Teaching. Now, that's a right important job, I'd say. And for someone so young.” He paused, looking dubious. “Ah, but I'm sure you'd know that,” he added quickly.

The man's face was warm and his voice seemed to offer genuine concern for the lost young woman. “The stop you want is on Bridge Street. That's the small bridge in front of this hotel; do you know the one I mean? Well, no matter, it's only half a block out front, so you really can't miss it.”

“That's where I got off the ship, but I didn't see a stage.” Rachel looked out the door to see how she'd missed the stop.

“The mail stage to Searsville leaves at one o'clock, so you've got a little time to spend in our fair city. We keep a right good table, if you're hungry,” The man said. “The men'll be through loading soon, so it's just as well you stay inside.”

“Now that you mention it, I
am
hungry.” Rachel hadn't thought about her stomach all morning, and up until now, her nerves had been too tightly strung for her to eat anything.

“Go ahead. The dining room is right through those doors and the missus will make sure nobody bothers you.” The man pointed to double doors that opened to a room with about fifteen tables covered with sturdy red cloths. “Joseph Williams is the name if you need anything.”

“Thank you, Mr. Williams. I'm Rachel Phillips.” They shook hands warmly. “And I'm obliged to you for all your information and kindness.”

Mrs. Williams offered a sweet smile. She sat Rachel at a table in the corner by the kitchen and quickly helped her to a meal of chicken and biscuits. It was a delicious, satisfying meal. Afterwards, Rachel thought a walk around town might do her good.

Rachel silently praised God for using these good people to comfort her in her state of agitation. She expressed her appreciation, left her trunk behind, and headed out to stroll the streets of Redwood until her stage arrived at one o'clock.

Rachel turned right outside the hotel and strolled along Main Street beside the waterfront. Her steps echoed along the wood-plank walkway. The first place of business Rachel passed was a saloon and billiard parlor called The Bowling Alley. Rachel could hear poorly tuned piano music playing inside as she neared the swinging double doors that marked its entrance. She also caught the agitated shouts of men embroiled in some type of disagreement.

“I'll teach ya!” a burly man yelled right before a fist landed upon his cheek.

“We'll see!” shouted the other as he took the next punch.

Before Rachel had time to discern any danger in the situation, the two men were locked in battle, the momentum of their brawl carrying them straight toward her. Never letting go of one another, the men continued to throw punches with complete disregard for their surroundings. Horses in the street reared and onlookers cleared the boardwalk quickly.

Rachel was so stunned, she stood motionless as the men, lost in their struggle, came tumbling closer. Bracing for the impact, Rachel suddenly felt herself pulled from their path and into the solid arms of a man. Rachel looked up and found herself staring into the most fascinating eyes she had ever seen. They were brilliant, partly blue, partly green, and the pattern captivating, seemingly drawing her in closer. The fight continued to rage, but Rachel was a hundred miles away in the arms of a dashing stranger.

When Rachel regained her composure, she consciously averted her gaze from the man's bluish-green eyes. Once she did, she was caught up in his clean-shaven face and freshly cut dark hair. These features were in sharp contrast to the men she had seen on the docks.

Rachel was at a loss for words as she studied the handsome man, standing tall in a dark shirt with light suspenders. Without warning, he suddenly gripped her shoulders and shouted, “You could have been hurt! Where is your husband?”

Rachel's mouth opened but no words came out as she took the barrage of questions like a beating. “Well, where is he? In the saloon?” The man roared.

“No. He's, I mean… there is no ‘he.' I'm not married.” With this statement, Rachel's temper flared. Who did this man think he was, anyway? He had no right to question her. She had a perfect right to walk on a public street in the middle of the afternoon.

She was ready to let this stranger have a little piece of her mind. She shook free from his grip and continued, “I beg your pardon, but if I had a husband, his whereabouts would remain none of your business. Now, I appreciate your rescuing me from those childish men, but I assure you I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself.” Rachel's tone was attracting attention and people began to cross the street to watch the action unfold. Fist fights were a common occurrence, but a lady in a conflict was something new.

The tall stranger stepped back in surprise at Rachel's outburst, letting his eyes take in a full view. He eyed her inquisitively.

“I beg your pardon, ma'am, but this here's a logging town, with the loading done for the day. These men are ready to play, and that makes this no place for a woman alone. Certainly not one as pretty as you. Now, where are you going? I will escort you personally.” He resolutely reached for her arm.

“Hmmph.” Rachel's eyes had fire in them now as she shook free of his hold. “I am quite capable of finding my own way, and I certainly do not need any more help from you. Now please excuse me.”

The onlookers, sensing the nature of the argument, were beginning to snicker. One of them called out, “Hey Dylan, little lady more'n you can handle? Maybe you need some help.”

Rachel's face became hot with embarrassment. When she looked around her she noticed that everyone was staring and that she was the sole focus of their attention. Unable to conceal her anger and frustration, she walked briskly back to the American House to wait for her stage.

Mr. Williams stood behind the elaborate counter, smiling as Rachel entered the hotel. “Ah, Miss Phillips. What a pleasure to see you again so soon.” Mr. Williams' amiable style softened Rachel immediately.

“Mr. Williams, it seems I stepped into a bit of trouble during my walk. Would it be all right with you if I waited here for a few minutes until the stage arrives?” Rachel asked, her voice flustered. She plopped herself forcefully into a high-backed chair, exasperated.

“Of course, my dear. We'd love to have such a pretty ornament grace our lobby. Dresses the place up a bit, don't you think, Mrs. Williams?”

Mrs. Williams stood in the doorway of the kitchen, her face wrinkled in concern. “Was there a problem, Miss Phillips?” Before Rachel answered, the stranger from the street entered the lobby. She stood immediately.