Never Look Back (59 page)

Both Lily and Giles had often spoken of Tabitha’s future. It had been their intention to find a good school for her once she got to eleven. Lily would perhaps have been content for her to learn lady-like pursuits and marry well, but Giles had wanted much more. Tabitha was very intelligent, her old ambition of becoming a doctor had never left her, even on the wagon train she’d mentioned it often. Matilda didn’t think the medical profession allowed women to become doctors – if they did she’d never heard of one – but she did know that even to try for such a career meant getting the right education first.

‘How on earth are you going to find the money for that?’ she said aloud.

A letter had eventually arrived from the Milsons in England, sent on from the Treagars in Independence. Matilda had been shocked that a father replying to the news of his son’s tragic death could show so little sorrow or compassion. He barely mentioned Giles, saying only that it had come as a tremendous shock that their son should end his days ‘gunned down in a frontier town’. He dismissed Matilda’s request to become Tabitha’s guardian as ‘kindly meant, he was sure, but inappropriate’, and said that he believed there was an orphanage for children of clergy in New England which would be an ideal home for her, where she would have the benefit of a good,
Christian education. He suggested Matilda get in touch with the local Dean to this end. There was no mention that he or any of his family intended to keep in touch with Tabitha, or even any offer of financial aid. He ended the letter curtly saying he hoped Matilda would soon find a new position.

That last cold line said everything, a reminder she was a lowly servant and that she could keep her place. It was also confirmation that he was a stupid man as well as heartless, because he preferred to think his grand-daughter would be better cared for in an orphanage than with someone who had loved her since babyhood.

Matilda burned the letter without ever telling Tabitha it had arrived. In her view it was better for the child to believe any reply was lost, or even that her grandparents were dead, than to know the truth. As nothing came from the Woodberrys, Lily’s parents, she had to assume they cared even less.

Yet her anger at these people was tinged with relief, at least they hadn’t snatched Tabitha away from her. But a little voice at the back of her mind kept warning her too that Mr Milson might very well have written to the Dean himself and stated his wishes. That might cause trouble at a later date.

It was all this and more that Matilda thought about as she made her way down to the stream to collect some water. She knew Cissie and John loved having her and the children here, they claimed the work she did was worth far more than the food they ate, and this was probably true, but just the same she couldn’t stay with them indefinitely, it wasn’t right.

But what could she do to make herself independent? She had forty dollars, that was all, and that had come from the sale of the oxen. She might be able to claim a parcel of land, but how would she build a cabin and buy seeds for crops, tools and animals with so little? Her idea of being a teacher had been dashed some time ago when she made inquiries in Portland. Such jobs went to spinsters, and paid so little they had to live with their families. No one would take her on as a maid, housekeeper or for any other domestic job because she had children.

‘You’ve been strange all day,’ Cissie said in an accusing tone as they were preparing the supper. ‘What’s wrong?’

Although Cissie could read no more than the simplest words,
Matilda had found her to be very astute. John had once lovingly said, ‘She knows how many beans make five,’ and she did. She did everything by instinct – cooking, raising her children and growing crops – and her instinct served her far better than those who studied books. But her greatest talent was with people, she could tell just by the look of someone if she could trust them or not. She sensed even the best-hid anxiety or secret.

Knowing she wouldn’t rest until she’d dug it out of her, Matilda told her what was on her mind.

‘I love being here with you, Cissie,’ she finished up, terribly afraid she might have offended her friend. ‘But I can’t stay for ever.’

Cissie surprised her by agreeing. ‘I loved it at the Waifs’ and Strays’ Home,’ she said. ‘Just after you’ve had a baby you want nothing more than security and to be fed. But I got to want something more, a home of my own, a man. Maybe we ought to look around for a husband for you.’

Matilda riled up. ‘Finding a man to look after me and the girls isn’t an answer to me,’ she snapped. ‘I want a life of my own.’

‘Whatcha gonna do then?’ Cissie retorted, putting her hands on her hips, eyes flashing with irritation. ‘Sell flowers on the street again?’

‘I doubt anyone in Oregon would buy flowers,’ Matilda said, putting her nose in the air. ‘From what I’ve seen of your neighbours they are too dull to want a little beauty in their lives.’

‘That ain’t fair, and it ain’t true neither,’ Cissie snapped back. ‘You know city folks only buy flowers to cover up the stink under their noses, so don’t you get all high and mighty with me.’

Matilda was ashamed then, she knew Cissie thought she was implying she was dull too. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘There’s nothing wrong with anyone around here, least of all you. I guess I’m just getting nasty because I don’t know what to do. How can I earn enough money to get my children a good education?’

Cissie shrugged. ‘To me giving them good food and loving them is enough,’ she said with a look of bewilderment in her eyes. ‘I don’t know nothing about education.’

‘You’ve done all right without it,’ Matilda said soothingly. ‘But things are changing, Cissie, by the time our children are grown up it will be necessary for everyone. Don’t you worry about Peter and Susanna?’

‘They can go to the little school near the sawmill when they’re old enough,’ Cissie said stubbornly. ‘And their pa and me can teach them everything else they need to know.’

Matilda fell silent then, she knew Cissie hoped her children would never go near a city, that they’d stay here, and eventually in the fullness of time take over the sawmill. She couldn’t sneer at her simple ambitions, Cissie knew the dangers in cities, and perhaps she imagined education would make them too curious about the world beyond these mountains and pine forests. Yet while she understood Cissie and knew she and John had worked so hard to create this safe haven for their children, it was their haven and dream, not hers.

Chapter Sixteen

One afternoon around the middle of May, Matilda and Cissie were just collecting the dry washing from the clothes-line when John came riding up the lane in a fury, his horse steaming with perspiration from being ridden so hard.

‘What’s wrong?’ Cissie called out, dropping the clean washing into the basket and running to him.

John worked long hours at his sawmill and he rarely came home before six-thirty in the evenings, so Matilda immediately imagined the worst, that he’d heard hostile Indians were heading this way. She looked nervously towards the cabin where the children were playing on the porch.

‘Gold!’ John yelled as he leaped off his horse. ‘They’ve found gold out in California, bucket-loads of it.’

Matilda laughed, mostly in relief that it wasn’t Indians, but also because it was unusual to see staid, sensible John in such a lather. Yet as she looked to Cissie, she saw alarm in her face at such uncharacteristic behaviour.

‘Is that the reason you’ve left the sawmill, you great oaf?’ she yelled at him. ‘Don’t you know any better than to believe in fairy-tales?’

‘It ain’t a fairy-tale,’ John said indignantly. ‘It’s true, Cissie, and half the men in town are already preparing to go and get some.’

‘Well, they’re knuckle-heads,’ Cissie retorted. ‘Whoever heard of gold lying around waiting to be picked up!’

Matilda decided to keep out of it, although she guessed it had to be true as Captain Russell had spoken of the rumour a year ago, so she continued to get the washing in. John went off to tether his horse under a tree, he was clearly deflated to find himself in trouble rather than bringing joy and excitement. By the time he’d given the horse water and rubbed him down, Cissie
and Matilda were back in the cabin folding the washing ready for ironing.

Cissie started in on him again the moment he came in, admonishing him for leaving his work early because he might have missed some customers.

‘No one wanted timber today,’ he said, shrugging his shoulders. ‘You can’t imagine how it is, Cissie, everyone’s going crazy. Everyone’s looking for a way to get to California.’

‘I’m surprised you haven’t yoked up a couple of oxen and gone yourself,’ Cissie said tartly. ‘Or were you intending to go on that poor horse you’ve already whipped half to death?’

‘Did I ever say I wanted to go?’ he asked, catching hold of Cissie to hug her. ‘Would I leave my darling and my little ‘uns for a bag of gold?’

His tone was teasing and Cissie’s anger faded as suddenly as it had reared up. She responded to his hug and giggled. ‘Well, why did you come home in such a hurry?’

‘Because I thought you might like a ride down there to see all the men rushing into the store to get provisions and tools,’ he said. ‘I’ve never seen anything like it.’

Over coffee they discussed it further and finally decided it was much too late to go now, but they’d go first thing in the morning instead. Cissie had a great many jars of jam and preserves left from the previous autumn she could take in to sell, and by morning there would be at least a dozen freshly laid eggs too.

‘Maybe I could sell my wagon to someone,’ Matilda said thoughtfully. It had been laid up at the sawmill ever since she arrived and until now she hadn’t imagined anyone would ever want to buy it.

‘I’m sure you could,’ John agreed, his grin stretching from ear to ear. ‘Horses and mules are fetching a high price. I wish I had a couple of spare ones to sell.’

They talked of nothing else but gold all evening, John listing people they knew who were preparing to leave, and the gossip he’d heard about each of them.

‘Jonas Ridley’s wife is hopping mad,’ he said. ‘They said she reckoned she would take up with another man if he left.’

Cissie snorted with laughter at this for Mrs Ridley was a plain, fat woman with five children and known to be a terrible nag. ‘I
don’t reckon she’ll find many wanting to hop into Jonas’s boots,’ she said.

Matilda told them how Captain Russell had predicted that folk would go crazy if the whisper was true, and that in his opinion the smart people would let the fools rush off to start mining and they’d sit back and think of ways to provide goods or services to make a more certain fortune.

John looked thoughtful at this. ‘Maybe I could supply timber for pit props and the like’ he said.

‘You aren’t going off and leaving me,’ Cissie said quickly.

John smiled at her anxious expression. ‘I’ll never leave you,’ he said. ‘This is my home and here I’ll stay. I’m gonna be one of those smart folk like Matty’s captain talked of, I’ll figure out a way to make a few bucks out of this gold without ever leaving Oregon.’

It was those words of John’s which stayed in Matilda’s head long after they’d all turned in for the night. She couldn’t for the life of her see how John could organize any business with miners from such a great distance away. She thought only the man on the spot would get orders for timber, tools, building work and the like.

Oregon City
had
gone crazy, just as John had reported, and it was clearly extremely infectious, for although the men who were jostling, pushing and even fighting each other to buy picks, shovels and firearms at the stores came mainly from cabins up in the mountains and outlying farms, even the steady, sober residents who had established homes and businesses in town for some years appeared to be caught up in the madness. Anyone who had anything remotely appropriate to sell was out offering it. The blacksmith had a large sign outside his forge reminding people to get their shoes shod before they left, at the clothing store a table had been set up outside with piles of flannel work-shirts and pants for sale. Brisk business was being done by horse and mule traders, the general store had long since run out of tents, and a missionary was standing on a wooden box proclaiming to deaf ears that chasing gold was the road to ruin.

The saloon was packed to the doors, women stood around in groups twittering, many as wild-eyed and excited as their men
who were intending to leave them, others crying pitifully and clutching babies to their breasts as if convinced their world was about to end.

After being in town for an hour or two Matilda was no longer so sure which side of the fence she was on. Although it did seem crazy for these men who had struggled across America to claim land, then worked so hard to clear it and grow crops, to suddenly up and leave, expecting their women and children to cope alone, she sympathized with them. Farming was a laborious way to make money, for most it would be years before they could make enough to move their families on from a shack to a real house, and perhaps too they even missed the excitement and adventure they’d experienced on the trail coming out here.

She too felt that yearning for sudden riches – a nugget or two of gold would be enough to start a small business, become independent, and maybe realize those dreams she had for her children.

By midday she had sold her wagon for sixty dollars to four men who intended to start the 630-odd-mile trek to San Francisco the very next day. If she was going she’d take the quicker sea route, and be first in line to stake a claim, but she didn’t voice this, just in case it made them change their minds about buying the wagon.

Yet on the way home Matilda didn’t dare admit she understood this rush to the gold fields for fear of coming between Cissie and John. She sensed that whatever John said, he was very tempted to go. Like her, he’d probably worked out for himself that only timber merchants there would get the orders. Clearly Cissie suspected he was torn because she kept up a barrage of scorn for the men who were abandoning their families.