No Eye Can See (18 page)

Dismounting, he looped the reins around the hitching post, satisfied that the horses head hung heavy with fatigue. Next, he untied the lead rope and pushed the woman up the wooden steps and inside, her hands still tied.

“That…person cannot be housed here,” the innkeeper said, his eyes raised over tiny round glasses. “The diners…” he nodded to the side room where a few people ate a late supper.

Zane said, “Might I suggest the stable. Surely this…establishment has access to a livery.”

The clerk hesitated, stared at the woman. “She sick?”

“With child,” Zane added, deciding that even a heathen woman with child could be used to advantage.

The innkeepers eyes softened. “Oh. Well. I expect Mrs. Barnes would allow accommodation then, of some kind.” He looked thoughtful, adjusted his glasses.

“A locked tack room would be suitable.”

The clerk nodded. “No latch on it, but you could rope the door tight. No windows. See she stays tied or you'll be billed for what's destroyed. Pay in advance for your room and hers.”

“I've a horse to sell as well,” Zane said, his fingers clicking gold coins. “Can I leave that in your capable hands?” He held the eagles above the mans fingers, just out of reach.

“You can board him here. Charge you little or nothing for the work of feeding him and sending on the bill of sale when I find a buyer.” He snatched the coins Zane released, counted them. “Need a few more for the horse tending,” he said. Zane sneered, then handed over an additional amount, which the man pocketed, swift as a ferret.

“Excellent. I'm also seeking the agent for the stage north. Would that be you?”

“Yes sir. You wanting for two?”

“This is not a passenger.” He calmed his voice before he said, “This is chattel. Merchandise.” He flicked the glove of his hand toward the woman. “Luggage,” he said when the man frowned. “She'll fit just fine on top.”

“Not the way Hall and Crandle see her,” the clerk said. “Two tickets you got to buy if it's a living thing.”

Zane grunted, handed the man passage for two. “I trust we will be of little bother to you,” Zane said, “once this…package is stored.”

“Tack room and stalls're just beyond. Jehu's working his whip,” the clerk said, nodding toward the stable. “Just head to his light.”

8

David Taylor moved in and out of sleep, sometimes staring at the rafters of the bunkhouse, sometimes dreaming into his pillow, near the edges of awake. He'd finished his whip repair and turned in earlier than usual, noticing moisture sparkle against the kerosene lamp just as he stepped inside. He wasn't sure why he was so tired. Maybe the change in routine did it, maybe the thoughts of his mother, maybe the Wintu woman's eyes.

He was alone in the shedlike structure. The rope bed was a luxury after nights on just a board bunk. Hall and Crandall ran a good line, and he looked forward to seeing the drivers of the other two stages expected yet that night. “Three six-horse stages leave and return daily,” ran the ads. “The public may rest assured that the arrangements of this line, for speed and comfort, are unsurpassed in the world. Neither pains nor expense having been spared in procuring the BEST HORSES, finest
CONCORD COACHES,
and the most competent and
CAREFUL DRIVERS.”
It was a good company, a good life for a single man. The arriving drivers would catch quick sleep before heading on, but David still looked forward to the greeting, hearing about the road conditions north and any news of note. The other drivers wouldn't have a day to waste as David had, at least not for another week.

And he had wasted the day. He lay with his arms folded behind his head. He heard the scuttle of a mouse across the floor.

He was tired from trying to make sense of his inaction. He could respond quickly to risky situations on the trail. He anticipated places where a mud slide might happen following a rain, where the snowmelt could push high water, might shift the footing at a ford. Geography and the lay of the land—those he'd studied, and he felt he'd been a worthy student. It was in these human places where he struggled, the wilderness of relationship that took him down. The wilderness of the spirit challenged him too, he realized as he lay there, eyes cast toward the ceiling.

He'd failed in that realm the most by not standing up for the Wintu woman—or any of them at all—by not raising a ruckus against the treachery of the sales. He recalled a verse his mother sometimes quoted him. Something about doing for the little people—the least, she always said—being the same as doing for the Son of God.

Maybe this jehu term for him was more apt than he'd thought. The biblical Jehu had been a man who wiped out wrongdoing and treachery, all right, who was used by God to do it, but who never trusted God himself and had his own problems with morals and might.

Trust. What did that take? What about the drivers made them “competent and careful,” trustworthy enough for folks to put their lives into their hands? Reliability, that was one quality. Integrity, being what a person said he was no matter where or with whom he stood. Well, he had room to grow in that one if standing at a sale of human flesh was any indication. What else, he wondered? Meeting people who were different, maybe, without looking down on them. He supposed his moth-er'd had the market on that.

“Unconditional love,” she told him. “You just have to look and not be too quick to judge.” Goodness surely reflected in her fair face.

And…honesty, David decided. A fellow blew his trust real fast if he stretched the truth. Why should God trust him to do a work if he wasn't honest with himself?

Then the thought came to him from nowhere and from somewhere—he was worried about what folks would think of him. He felt
his neck grow hot with the admission. He hadn't acted to save the Wintu girl, not because he thought the task too large or too futile to take on, but because of what people might have thought. That he was a little daft or something, trying to rescue an Indian, throwing good money after bad. Or maybe that he'd be judged as wanting her for himself, as
that kind of man.
That could have reflected badly on him. Maybe even cost him his job. “You'll have to hit me upside the head when you want me to be sure to pay attention,” he said out loud.

No wonder he was tired—wearing blinders took work. There was risk in learning to see.

He heard voices outside. One of the horses nickered low. A thumping sound or two followed. David walked to the door that opened onto the covered porch where he'd worked his whip earlier. His stocking feet felt the grit of sand tracked in as he peered through the square window. He didn't see anyone, but he noticed a shaft of light cut the river fog. It came from the tack room. The innkeeper must have been placing something there for shipment in the morning. It wasn't the usual practice.

David wondered if he should dress, see if the clerk needed any help.

Not likely, or he would have asked, David decided.

He yawned. He could sleep now somehow, knowing that if he had another chance, he'd take it, sure. God could trust him. He moved away from the window just as the light went out.

Shasta City

“Begin with the streets. Are they wide, narrow, straight, or are houses just plopped here and there?” Suzanne asked. She tried not to sound frustrated. “Go slowly. I'm trying to count and concentrate.”

“Picture a teacup,” Tipton said. “We're walking down the middle of it, headed west. Going uphill. Feel it in your legs? There are stores, one
row, on either side. Maybe more at the end of the street. The road dips south. Looks like houses that way too. Hills just start right up behind the hotels, and smell the bakery? Pines, oak trees—they look like—and twiney shrubs and brown grasses surround all kinds of houses, if you can call them that. Just a hodgepodge of dwellings on rounded hills that had trees on them, but they're all cut down. Stumps stick up around. No streets, really, just trails twisting like tired snakes. Snowcapped hills above and beyond that.” Tip ton turned slowly in the street. “Wood houses and canvas tents farther up. Looks like maybe a spring coming right out of rock. Right here there are lots of stores, but you can hardly see the road for all the mules and horses and pack animals and dogs and wild-eyed looking people. Most of them look as though they haven't seen either women or a washtub for weeks.” Suzanne laughed. “And, oh, there goes a whole string of animals heading out with no one leading them! Hear that? They're being chased now. The packs are slipping left and right, and the animals are kicking up a storm. Little birds are scattering after them. Must not have used diamond hitches. Tyrellie said those would hold no matter what kind of wild-eyes you faced.”

“Mules or the men? They're both equally wild-eyed, no doubt,” Suzanne said.

Tipton sighed. “Tyrellie would have liked this place, I think. I miss him, Suzanne. As much as if we were married. Despite what Mama says. It was real, our betrothal. Look out! Clayton!”

“What is it, Tipton?”

“You stay close! Your mother's hanging on to Pig, and she's got your little brother. She can't take you, too.” The boy whined. “Don't be complaining.”

Suzanne wondered if she should have asked someone else to go with her for this first trip into town. She hadn't wanted all the women with her. Adora went on and on about Suzanne “needing help,” and she'd overheard Mazy and Seth talking about “taking chances,” with Suzanne's name brought up as a poor example. She thought she'd done right well
taking her children for a walk. And what if she did mix things up in the wagon? So did everyone else, she imagined. A wagon wasn't like a home where a person could put their things away and expect them to stay right there.

She wanted to experience the town so when she joined the others as they oohed and aahed, she'd be better able to keep up with their conversations. But Tipton troubled her now. She was just a child herself, her sharp tongue directed at Clayton. The girl described things well, but she was fluttery. At that moment, Suzanne felt as though she had three children to look after.

A horse with the scent of a hard lather brushed against her, shoving her into Tipton and the boys.

“Get out of the way. Are you blind?” a sharp-toned rider yelled.

“Hey,” Tipton shouted after him. “She
is
blind. Are you?”

The man shouted something inaudible but kept riding.

“He couldn't have known, Tipton. Its all right.”

“I thought Seth said they treated ladies with special dignity here.”

Suzanne sighed. “Maybe it's because we're so early.”

“You mean they might think we've been up all night? That we re—”

“No. We certainly do not appear to be women of negotiable affections,” Suzanne said. “Not with three children in tow.”

“I count two,” Tipton said.

“Of course you do,” Suzanne told her. She released her grip on Pig and pulled at the floppy bonnet that covered her face, tightening the strings.

“Well, he didn't need to be so rude.”

“I don't have the strength to challenge every thoughtless phrase sent my way,” Suzanne said. She adjusted her dark glasses.

“People ought to be grateful they can see,” Tipton said. “Here's a step.”

“Most of us aren't grateful until we lose something—or feel we might. Oh! Pig, wait! Where's he taking me?”

“Up the steps. Lift your skirts!”

“Pig! Wait!” Suzanne heard laughter, and once up the steps, the dog pulled her along a boardwalk. She brushed past people and smelled cigars and stale ale and the drift of fresh bread. She gasped, bumped against a railing, felt Sason bounce on her back and hoped his little head was secure against the pillow she'd fashioned. Clayton squealed. At least he kept up. Then the dog abruptly turned, slowed slightly as she felt a step then the dirt of the street. Tipton shouted behind her to let go of Pig and that she'd catch him up.

Suzanne did, chastising herself that she hadn't let go before. How stupid of her. She must have looked a fright. “What's wrong with him?” Suzanne called out. “Is Sason all right?”

“Leave that cat be, Pig!” she heard Tipton say.

It seemed an hour but was likely only minutes that Suzanne stood, Clayton's sweaty little palms pulling on her hand. With her now free hand reached behind her, she lifted the baby's board, moving it gently up and down. Breathless, Tipton came up to her. “Here's your dog. I've just sashayed around twenty men,” she said. “Danced through lines of pack strings and mules’ legs, past the door of a bookstore—I can hardly wait to tell Mazy—where your Pig chased a cat under another mule who leaped and bucked and left…well, something steaming in the street. Pig ran through it. But the cat's safe, and I've got him, Pig, I mean.” Tipton took a deep breath.