Orchids in Moonlight (2 page)

Arista continued, “It's a shame you had to inherit all your mother's bad traits. There's no denying she was pretty, but you– you're so dowdy no man wants to even look at you, much less marry you."

Jaime bit her lip, determined not to yield to the tears burning her eyes. After all, her aunt had been telling her for years how unattractive she was. The only dresses Jaime had were plain and made of gray muslin, even for Sunday. She had never owned a brightly colored gown, not that she'd ever been to a party or a ball anyway. And her hair had to be skinned back tightly and twisted into a bun, which made her look as old as the Rupert sisters, Ida and Inez, sour-faced spinsters who lived in the nicest rooms in the house and whined and complained about everything.

Her hand instinctively went to her breasts, uncomfortably bound with wide strips of cloth to mash them flat beneath her clothes. There were two rooms on the first floor rented only to men, and her aunt had declared she'd not have Jaime's large bosom dangling in their faces as she served them at the table.

"I even had a tutor come in and teach you to read and write, but you don't appreciate anything I've done—"

Arista fell momentarily silent at the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs, then cried, "They're coming! Hurry up, you hear me?" Snatching the coffeepot from the fire, she started out of the room, then paused to say, "At least I won't have to put up with your surly, thankless disposition much longer."

Jaime stared after her, wondering what she was talking about, then felt a sudden flare of hope. Maybe there had finally been a letter from her father, and her aunt was holding it back just to be mean.

It had been nearly a year since her father had written excitedly from California that he had found gold in the Cascade Mountains north of San Francisco. He had made other finds in the past, small discoveries that eventually petered out. But this was his first real strike, and he firmly believed the rich mother lode was located somewhere on the claim he had staked. The problem was, however, that he lacked funds to hire workers and buy the equipment for the hard-rock and deep-pit mining needed to find it. He'd had to settle for placer mining, which meant panning and sluicing on the surface of the ground only, eking out flakes and dust, enough to keep him going. The belief that a fortune waited below, if he could only get to it, had been driving him crazy.

Then he had gone on to explain that he believed he had found a way to get the money to work his strike. A man in San Francisco by the name of Stanton Lavelle was selling interests in a mine near a town called Placerville. James did not have sufficient money to buy into it, but Lavelle agreed, after looking at ore samples, to take an interest in James's strike instead of cash. Then James hoped to use the money he earned from the Placerville investment to persuade Lavelle to sell back his share in James's strike.

However, James had proudly confided to Jaime, he was no fool. He knew some men were so unscrupulous as to salt their mines to lure investors. When no gold was found, those who had staked the diggings were cheated out of their money, while the mine owner, of course, made a nice profit. Therefore, to protect himself, he had given Lavelle a map to one of his old and worthless digging sites. If Lavelle's investment proved sound, there was nothing to worry about. If not, James would lose nothing and Jaime had the map which provided her own claim should anything happen to him.

Her aunt had reiterated her belief that James Chandler was a fool and a failure and predicted nothing would ever come of either his own strike or his investment in yet another foolish venture.

Jaime, however, hid the letter and the map in the family Bible that had belonged to her mother and prayed nightly that one day soon her dream, and her father's, would come true.

When Arista returned to the kitchen nearly ten minutes later, Jaime was surprised to notice how excited she seemed, with eyes shining and cheeks glowing. There was even a breathless lilt to her voice as she ordered, "Fry two eggs for Mr. Slawson. He doesn't want scrambled this morning."

Jaime gestured to the skillet she had just finished scrubbing. "I'll be glad to, but I've already cleaned up, and it will make me that much later getting to work."

Arista gave an airy wave. "Oh, never mind. I'll do it myself. Just make sure you come straight home this afternoon."

Jaime knew there was no time to spare but paused to ask, "Aunt Arista, are you keeping a letter from me?"

"Don't be ridiculous."

"I've just got a feeling there's been word from my father."

Arista shook her head in disgust. "I don't know what you're talking about. There's been no letter from that crazy father of yours in almost a year. It's not likely you'll ever hear from him again. He's probably drunk in some bawdy house, if he's still alive."

"But something is going on. You're acting strange. If he has sent money for me to go to California, I want it, Aunt Arista, because I want to go to him."

"Don't be ridiculous. If you only knew how I've prayed all these years he
would
send for you. If I'd had my way, you would've stayed out there with him and never come back here to cause me such grief, but no, Cyrus wouldn't leave without you. Heaven knows, I certainly didn't want you around all this time to remind me of what your mother made me lose. It's going to be a relief not to be worried with you in the future."

"Aunt Arista, please tell me what's going on." She was going to have to run all the way to work, even if it was pouring rain.

Arista giggled like a child. "Oh, all right. I was going to wait till tonight, at the party, to make a formal announcement.

"Mr. Slawson"—she paused to enjoy her moment of glory—"has asked me too marry him. We'll be moving down south. He says there's lots of construction work there now that the war is over, and he wants to open his own lumber company."

Jaime was stunned. She had wanted her aunt to start socializing when her year of mourning ended, of course, but to realize she was about to remarry—well, that came as quite a shock. Especially since in the few months or so Mr. Slawson had been boarding with them she had not noticed him showing any particular interest in her aunt. Also, Jaime couldn't help but wonder how all this was going to affect her personally.

She did not have long to wonder.

"I've sold the house—"

"Sold the house?" Jaime echoed. "But when Uncle Cyrus got killed, you were terrified at the thought of losing it. That's why you started taking in boarders and told me to find outside work to help. Are you sure this is what you want to do?"

"I need a man to take care of me, and Mr. Slawson will do that quite nicely. The money from the sale will start him in business. He expects to be rich in no time at all."

Hearing that, Jaime was sure she knew the real reason for his proposal but did not dare say so. Instead, she asked about the new owner.

"The Rupert sisters. I never dreamed they had any money tucked away, but they obviously do. They even said you could stay on and work for them. You should be grateful, because Mr. Slawson agrees with me I've done my duty by you, so you won't be going with us. Now get along. But remember, I want everything to be special tonight. I've invited friends I haven't seen in ages.

"I think some of those little butter tea cakes would be nice," she went on to say. "The ones with the candy roses. And maybe some chocolate cookies. Mr. Slawson loves chocolate. Do we have enough sugar?"

When there was no response, Arista looked around to find herself alone.

* * *

Jaime had quietly let herself out and begun walking in the steady rain.

She had no idea what she was going to do, but she was certain of one thing—she was not going to slave for the Rupert sisters. Maybe she was unattractive and plain and doomed to be a spinster, but never, ever, would she allow herself to become as mean and cynical as those two old women.

She stomped through mud puddles, oblivious to the cold, dark water soaking the hem of her dress.

It wasn't fair, any of it. She loved her father deeply and yearned for them to be reunited. If only he would send for her, all her problems would vanish.

"You're late," Ella admonished gently when Jaime walked through the back door. Then, seeing she was drenched, she cried, "You can't work like that. You'll have to borrow something of mine. Come along, hurry."

Doggedly, Jaime followed her up the dark, narrow stairway to the tiny boxlike room Ella shared with Hannah. The furnishings were sparse: two narrow beds and a tiny table and chairs. But to Jaime, it was heaven, because once the workday ended, Ella and Hannah were free to do as they pleased.

Still lost in misery, she began to take off her clothes, forgetting about the binding cloth across her chest. When Ella saw it, she pointed. "What's that? A bandage?"

Jaime snatched up the wet garment she'd just removed to cover herself and began to babble nervously. "It's nothing. I can't afford a chemise, that's all, and—"

"That's
not
all." Ella walked over and pulled the dress away. "Your aunt made you do this, didn't she?"

Knowing it was useless to lie, Jaime attempted to explain. "She says it's not proper for me to work around her gentleman boarders without the binding, because my bosom is so large."

Ella exploded. "That old witch. You're crazy to let her make you do something so awful to your own body. Why is she so mean to you, Jaime?"

Daring to confide in someone for the first time ever, she explained, "She blames my mother for the death of her sons and takes it out on me. I tell myself she just can't help it."

Ella's eyes widened. She sat down on the bed, gesturing to Jaime to sit opposite. "I don't care how mad Mr. Casey gets. I want to hear this. Go on."

So Jaime told the story, as best she could remember. Her aunt never talked about it, but Uncle Cyrus used to reminisce once in a while. He would explain how it was back in 1849, when the East was electrified by news that gold nuggets were lying loose on the ground of the land newly wrested from Mexico. "Argonauts," as they were called, headed west by the thousands. In California, it was said, a fortune could be made in the hills and streams with hardly more equipment than a shovel and a tin pan. So thousands of men abandoned farms and jobs, and those who could not persuade their families to go along deserted them, as well.

Jaime's father wanted to make the trip, and he finally persuaded her mother to go with him and take Jaime, too. Not about to see his beloved sister strike off for California without him, Cyrus badgered Arista till she agreed they and their two sons would join them.

"They made a few strikes, enough to keep us from starving," Jaime said, "but things were awfully bad those four years. Then my mother came down with a fever, and so did my cousins, and they all died. Aunt Arista was expecting another baby, and she told Uncle Cyrus if he didn't take her home she'd leave him. He talked my father into letting me go with them. I haven't seen my father since, but through the years he's written, sending what money he had and promising to come for me when he could.

"It's been a long time since the last letter, though, and my aunt says I'll probably never hear from him again," she concluded wistfully.

Ella reached to clasp Jaime's hands and attempted to cheer her. "Yes, you will. Don't pay any attention to her. But you still haven't told me why she blames your mother for her sons dying."

"Uncle Cyrus told me once how Aunt Arista was always jealous of how close he and my mother were. She said if it hadn't been for that, he'd never have wanted to go to California, and if they hadn't gone, the boys would still be alive.

"What is also sad," Jaime continued, "was how on the trip back here Aunt Arista lost the baby she was carrying and nearly died. The doctor told her she'd never be able to have another, and she blamed that on my mother too. And since she didn't have my mother to take out her resentment on all these years, she used me instead. It wasn't so bad when my uncle was alive. He only let her go so far."

"And now he's gone, and you're stuck with her."

Jaime shook her head and said dully, "Not for long," and proceeded to confide the present situation.

Furious, Ella cried, "So now she's marrying somebody else before your uncle is even cold in the ground and going off to leave you to fend for yourself."

In a gesture of bravery she did not truly feel, Jaime lifted her chin, forcing a smile as she declared optimistically, "I'll be all right. Maybe my father will send for me."

"And if he doesn't?"

Jaime struggled to keep smiling. "Like I said, I'll be all right."

Ella was silent, thoughtful for a moment, then said mysteriously, "Maybe this came at a good time, because there's something Hannah and I have been wanting to tell you but didn't know how."

For a while now Jaime had been fearing the only two friends she had would move somewhere else. They were both orphans. Hannah, seventeen, had been made a widow by the war, and Ella, sixteen, had lost her fiancé. It was only logical that they would eventually make new lives for themselves.

"Are you going away?" Jaime asked, dreading to hear the answer.

"We want to. Maybe you can go with us. Tell me, would you like to go to California to find your father instead of waiting for him to send for you?"