The Furies (32 page)

“I’ve heard the overland route is trying,” Amanda said.

“Disillusioning would be more like it. I had to throw out most of the heavy goods I freighted from Georgia to Missouri with the last of my savings. I dumped a Franklin stove, a pile of furniture—anyone can find California just by following the trail of abandoned bedroom suites! But I got here, by heaven. I carved my name on Independence Rock, crossed the mountain ranges and even survived the stench of the rotting carcasses of horses and mules that collapsed in the Humboldt Sink. After all I went through, I’m not going to behave like that stupid Armbruster, throwing his dust away as fast as we paid him. I don’t mind telling you we had some fierce conbobberations concerning his errant ways—”

“Conbobberations?” Amanda repeated.

Amused, Pelham said, “Arguments. If it’s English they speak in this part of America, they’re jolly well inventing it more quickly than I can learn it. However, Joseph addresses a valid point. I’ve observed that those who strike it rich, as the saying goes, need more than a spot of luck. Success requires ample perspiration and a diligent, scientific approach. We can control those two factors. If we also have luck when we move to the higher elevations, we could all be exceedingly wealthy. At very least, this claim alone should keep us comfortable for a long time.”

“Comfortable isn’t good enough, Mr. Pelham. I prefer rich.”

He saluted her with his cup. “We shall do our best to shower you with gold, dear lady.”

“My cousin’s son is a preacher. I don’t think he’ll have much use for it. But I do, believe me.”

At that, Israel stared down into his cup, visibly unhappy.

Amanda stood up. “Do they serve dinners at that so-called hotel on the main street?”

“The Bear Flag?” Nichols said. “You bet—pretty good ones.”

“Outrageously overpriced, though,” Pelham added.

“I’ll pay the bill, so let’s not worry about price. Since I have to be there for court at five, we might as well go up to the hotel now. We can eat and discuss more of the details of this—”

She noticed Nichols studying his muddied boots.

“You’re not hungry, Mr. Nichols?”

“Ma’am”—a quick glance at Israel—“please, now, don’t anyone be insulted, but the Bear Flag has a policy—that is—” Scarlet again, he stopped.

“Joseph means they don’t serve persons of color,” Pelham said quietly.

Weary as she was, Amanda still spoke firmly. “I think they’ll suspend their policy”—she moved her right hand to the butt of her holstered revolver—“just about as quickly as that jury of miners will clear me when I tell my story.”

“God save me”—Pelham grinned—“you
are
a determined woman.”

“Miz Kent usually gets whatever she goes after,” Israel said. A second later he added, “Sometimes that can be downright harmful to a person.”

He didn’t mean the remark as a joke. Amanda knew she should call him down for it. With Nichols present, she concealed her anger and didn’t.

That Israel spoke the truth was a risk she’d already accepted.

C
APTAIN BARTON MCGILL HAULED BACK
his right foot and kicked the rock he’d stumbled over. “Son of a
bitch!
”

The rock went skittering down the path that led to the top of the semaphore hill. A few steps above him, Amanda waited, her face hidden by her bonnet.

“My,” she said as he joined her, “you’re in a fierce temper.”

“Are you surprised? I go away for three and a half months”—he linked her arm in his; they resumed their climb toward the ramshackle house and the wooden signal tower perched on the hilltop—“and when I come back, nothing’s the same. I waited two hours for the lighter from shore!”

“You just made the mistake of anchoring on the day the mail boat arrived, Bart.”

“Ship,” he grumped. “Mail ship.”

A fragrant cigar clenched between his fingers streamed smoke into the clear air of early evening. For February, the weather was unusually warm and beautiful. He took a puff of the cigar, asked, “How often are they sending that steam monstrosity out here?”

“Twice a month.”

“Never seen such crowds! Kicking, punching each other—must have been a couple of thousand people in those lines at the post office.”

“You can turn a nice profit if you get a place at the front of a line. You call sell it to someone else for twenty-five, sometimes fifty dollars.”

They circled the side of the hill about fifty feet from the summit. On the front porch of the house, the elderly man who raised the arms on the semaphore tower to signal when a ship was sighted sat rocking slowly. A paper in his lap snapped in the wind.

Bart’s gray eyes searched the soft gold sky, then the shadowed hills across the channel to the north. He didn’t want to look behind him. He didn’t care to be reminded of what he’d seen when he stepped on shore: masses of people; pack animals and every sort of wheeled conveyance; new buildings of raw pine or red brick—the only word for it was chaos.

What pained him most were all the abandoned ships in the harbor. It was unconscionable that worthy vessels should be left to rot. Their crews had succumbed to the lure of the diggings. Bart’s own officers were standing armed guard on the
Manifest Destiny.
He’d threatened to whip and chain any man who attempted to jump ship.

The changes in San Francisco were only part of what troubled him, though. Certain changes in Amanda’s situation—and in his own state of mind—were equally responsible.

Feeling dour, he was sharp with her. “That all you can think about these days? Profit?”

She wheeled to face him, her dark eyes catching the western light. He marveled at how lovely she was. She possessed a beauty no girl of sixteen or seventeen could hope to match. She was assured, not gawky, calm-spoken but purposeful. Secretly, he admired her strength, though he wouldn’t have admitted it. Her strength was one reason he feared he’d lose her—

He realized he was extremely nervous. He had been worrying about this moment ever since the harrowing passage through the Strait of Magellan. For a time, he’d thought
Manifest Destiny
was going to founder and break apart in the violent winds and towering seas.

They’d run against the gale six days and six nights. Even now he could hear the roar of the waves smashing over the bows, feel the bite of the ropes that held him lashed to the helm.

He’d fought the storm as if it were a human enemy, dogged by a conviction that his luck had played out, and he’d never reach San Francisco. But he refused to give up. Finally, the clipper escaped the worst of the weather.

Although he’d already been awake seventy-two hours straight, he’d sprawled in his bunk for another two or three, thinking. Sorting out what he wanted of life and what he didn’t. He reflected that perhaps only the prospect of imminent death could force a man to arrange his affairs. Lying there with the cabin lamps unlit, he’d reached a decision.

The freight-laden clipper arrived in San Francisco harbor nine days behind schedule. He’d been on shore since noon. He’d yet to speak to Amanda concerning the decision. He was fearful she wouldn’t care about it. Besides, she had much to tell him about the past weeks—

And now the walk had taken a bad turn. Alone with her, away from the rowdy town, he’d hoped to tell her what was on his mind. Instead, just a moment ago, his nervousness and uncertainty had prodded him to make a remark better left unspoken.

She tugged off her sunbonnet as she faced him. Evening sunlight set her dark hair ablaze.

“Bart, that was unkind.”

He studied the cherry-colored tip of his cigar. “Mentioning profit?”

“No, what you implied about me.”

“Maybe so, sweet. But you have a look you didn’t have last time I was here.”

“I told you—a great deal has happened.”

She leaned against him, letting him feel the curve of her body. The contact somehow heightened his uneasiness. He felt exactly like a callow boy, angry with the world because he expected it to reject him—

He tried to smile. “I found that out the minute I walked into Kent’s and Felix informed me Sam Brannan was the new owner. How much did you squeeze out of him?”

“I asked ninety thousand. Firm. He complained but he paid. It’s prime real estate.”

“That uppity nigra of yours told me he got himself a last name, too.”

“Why shouldn’t Israel adopt a last name? He’s a freeman. And he’ll have a responsible position, helping to manage the claim—”

“Israel Hope.” Bart shook his head. “The whole world’s haywire. Niggers naming themselves after mining camps—Billy paid off and gone chasing up the Yuba—your cousin showing up from Oregon one day and getting shot the next—” He fixed her with an uncompromising stare. “And you weren’t there when the lighter tied up at the pier.”

“I’ve already apologized for that. I had to sign papers with Brannan.”

“Well, it makes no difference.”

“You sound as if it does.”

“What the devil’s my opinion worth? I’m just a common sea captain—” His bitterness grew uncontrollable. “I’ve never owned a speck of gold. And believe it or not, I’ve never killed a man.”

Amanda stiffened. “How did you learn—?”

“Israel”

“He had no right—”

“Oh, don’t score him for it. He was only recounting what happened in the camp. Besides, it’ll be all over San Francisco soon. Someone from Hopeful is bound to come down here and talk about it.”

“There’s no reason why they’d—”

“There certainly is. Most women don’t know which end of a gun to pick up, let alone how to shoot one. Have you decided what you’re going to say to Louis when he finds out?”

“That I’m not guilty of any crime! The miner’s court brought no charges against me. I can explain the shooting to him—”

“For his sake, I hope so.”

Bart turned away, glowering down at the sprawling town. Lanterns beginning to wink in the dusk softened its jumbled look. Westward, darkness was thickening above the channel. A fog bank hid the horizon. The air was growing chilly.

He was ashamed of the things he’d said. Yet he’d said them, hadn’t he? Hell! He ought to head back for the clipper this instant. The confusions of shore life were too much for him to handle any longer. Ferocious as the tides and winds could be, they were antagonists a man could understand, and master. Here, he understood nothing—not how to deal with the demons that drove Amanda, nor how to control himself so he didn’t hurt her.

And he
had
hurt her—to the point where she couldn’t even summon anger.

“Would you care to listen to my side of the shooting scrape, Bart?”

“No. The Pike got in your way. And nothing—no one—is allowed to do that, correct?”

She shook her head. “It sounds like you don’t think much of me any longer.”

Bitterly: “I think more of you than you’ll ever realize. That’s why I wish I’d never helped you find those books, or asked those damn questions. Now you won’t stop until you own Kent’s again. I suppose that means you won’t be coming back here.”

She avoided his eyes. “I haven’t decided.”

“You don’t fib very well, sweet.”

Her cheeks darkened.

“You going straight to Boston?”

“No, Virginia first—to visit Jared’s son. He deserves to know what happened to his father.”

“You could write him.”

“I considered it. That sort of news isn’t easy to deliver in any fashion. But I think I can soften it better in person.

He had no comment. After a moment, he said, “Suppose you get all your humanitarianism out of the way and approach Stovall and he refuses to sell—what will you do then? Aim a gun at his head?”

“You’re unreasonable. And very unpleasant, I might add!”

She spun to gaze at the thicket of bare masts in the bay. He all but abandoned his plan to discuss what he’d decided after surviving the storm.

“I plead guilty to unpleasant,” he said. “But not to unreasonable. Putting your personal crusade aside, you still don’t know what you’re getting into by deciding to settle in the east.”

“I know very well.”

“Permit me to disagree. There’s real trouble brewing. Has been ever since that damn Democrat from Pennsylvania tried to tack his antislavery proviso onto the Congressional bill for money Polk could use to negotiate with Mexico.”

“I’ve heard some people actually approve of Mr. Wilmot’s proviso.”

“Nobody down south approves of it! Wilmot tried to violate the 1820 compromise line. Tried to make sure slavery would be banned in any new land acquisitions, north
or
south. The proviso passed in the House, but the Senate voted it down, thank God. Still, ten state legislatures in the north endorsed it. Not that it makes much difference to me personally, but I’ll be flogged if I can see how the federal government has any business interfering with the rights of states, new or old. There’s no such thing as a state surrendering a little bit of her sovereignty. Just as old John Randolph of Roanoke said thirty years ago, that’s like asking a lady to surrender a little bit of her chastity.”

“It was my impression you avoided thinking about politics, Captain McGill.”

“Who the hell can avoid it when everybody on the east coast talks of nothing else? The hotheads on both sides of the Congress are screaming because of Wilmot. Someone’s got to settle the question of slavery in the new territories. And figure out a better system of enforcement for the fugitive slave laws. It better happen soon, too.”

“The newspapers on the last mail packet said Mr. Clay proposes to work out a compromise of some sort.”

“Yes, he’s supposed to introduce a flock of bills to calm the abolitionists
and
the secessionists—”

The last word brought a sharp glance from Amanda.

“That’s right, the southerners are raising that threat again. The damn fanatics in the north are driving them to it! You’ll be drawn into it if you go back. Nobody can stay neutral—”

Now it was her turn to sink a barb. “Except at sea?”

“I’m not ashamed to say I’ve retreated. I don’t want any part of such quarreling. It never decides anything—it only hurts people. I hope the situation doesn’t get worse, but I’m afraid it may. Zach Taylor was a capable soldier, but as a president, he’s a failure. So it’s up to the Congress to resolve the differences peaceably.”