Wagon Train Sisters (Women of the West) (22 page)

“What is it?” she asked.

“It’s a beehive oven. Ben and I built it last night. It heats with kindling and wood. That means you’ll have to get up early in the day to fire it up and keep it going, but it’s big enough you can bake several pies at once, or anything else you’d like to, all day long.”

Jack had done so much for her already, and now this. Seeing him standing there, his smile full of careless charm, she was hard put to remember why she wanted to be just friends. Oh, yes, she remembered. Jack McCoy was everything wonderful a man could be. He was also completely, forever unavailable, one of those men who wandered and would never settle down. She pulled her thoughts together and politely inquired, “How can I thank you?”

“Don’t bother. Glad to do it.” His answering tone was as polite as hers.

Good. She’d gotten past the momentary lapse in her otherwise strong control. In the future, she must concentrate on her new business and keep those lustful thoughts of Jack McCoy totally out of her head.

Later, while Jack, Sarah, and Hiram still stood talking, Ben came rushing over from the store. “Bastien, the French cook from the brothel, was just here. He’s got a message from Anming. She wants to see you tomorrow, same as last time.”

* * * *

Back of the brothel, the tiny Chinese girl slipped out the back door. “I’m glad you came,” she whispered. She looked terrible. Even in the first light of dawn, Sarah could see she was thinner than ever. The old bruise on her cheek had faded, but now she had a new, bigger bruise on the other side.

“Did you find out anything?” Sarah held her breath.

Anming nodded. “Mr. Hannibal Palmer was there that night with some of his men. He’s the one who took the baby away.”

Sarah got a sudden knot in her stomach. “Do you know where he took her?”

“It wasn’t easy finding out.” Anming glanced uneasily at the back door. “Mr. Palmer and his wife have a fine house in Coloma. They say that’s where he took the baby, but I’m not sure.”

“And she’s all right?”

“As far as I know. That’s all I can tell you. I hope that helps, Sarah. I’m glad I was able to repay you.” Anming looked even more frightened than last time. “I can’t let them find me here. I must get back.”

She started away, but Sarah clasped her arm. “Wait, you mustn’t. I want you to come with me.”

Anming bowed her head. “Mr. Palmer is a powerful man. If I leave, he’ll find me. You’ll get in trouble, too.”

Jack had been silently listening. He stepped forward. “I’m familiar with Hannibal Palmer. He’s not going to hurt you. Come with us. You don’t have to stay here.”

“But where would I go?”

Sarah didn’t hesitate. “Don’t worry, you can stay with me.”

“With you?”

“Of course with me.” During the following minutes, Sarah used her best powers of persuasion before, finally, the fear faded from Anming’s eyes, and she firmly declared, “You’re right. I’m not a slave.”

“Go inside and get your things. We’ll wait right here.”

The faintest of smiles touched Anming’s lips. “I have no ‘things,’ Sarah, just the clothes on my back.”

The words touched Sarah deeply, but right now she couldn’t spare time for sympathy. She looked at Jack. He gave her a quick let’s-do-it nod. Sheltering the tiny Chinese girl between them, they departed the yard with considerable haste. Not until they reached Sarah’s campsite did she breathe a sigh of relief. She put Anming in her tent where she couldn’t be seen, then sat down outside with Jack. “She’s exhausted, and I think she’ll sleep—probably been working all night in that place. Do you think they’ll come after her?”

Jack shook his head. “Now that she’s gone, they won’t try to find her. One small Chinese servant is nothing to them. They only care about the swarms of Chinese who’ve sailed over from China and staked claims in the goldfields. From what I’ve heard, men like Hannibal Palmer will stop at nothing, even violence and murder, to roust them out, even though their claims are legitimate.”

“But that’s not fair. The Chinese are as entitled as anyone else.”

“The world is full of unfairness.”

Sarah bit her lip in thought. “How fair is it that they’ve stolen my little niece away? Where is Coloma? How am I going to get her back?”

“This isn’t the time for a history lesson, but Coloma’s the site of Sutter’s Mill where James Marshall discovered gold.” A wry smile curved Jack’s mouth. “Thereby turning this country—the world—upside down. It’s on the American River about thirty miles from here. It’s built up even more than Hangtown. Some nice homes, I hear.”

“How soon can I get there?”

Jack thought carefully before answering. “I’ll find out about Hannibal Palmer’s home in Coloma, but it will take a while. Meanwhile, be patient. Do what you can to help Anming. Open your pie shop. If you need me, I stay in a room above the stables back of the store.”

“It’s almost hopeless, isn’t it?” Sarah flung out her hands in frustration. “Even if we find where Palmer lives, what are our chances of getting the baby back? I mean, we can’t just walk in and take her.”

“I won’t lie to you. Hannibal Palmer is a dangerous man. He’s got a gang of cutthroats who consider themselves above the law—that is, what law there is around here. Even so, we’ll give it a try.” Tenderness filled Jack’s eyes. “Take heart, Widow Gregg. You know I’ll do my best for you.”

* * * *

Anming slept through the day. When she awoke, Sarah gave her some nourishing stew, as much as she could eat, and sat with her by the fire. The girl still looked exhausted, yet she couldn’t stop smiling. “I’m so grateful,” she kept saying. Sarah assured her she could stay as long as she wanted. She could sleep in the tent. It was big enough for two. Sarah would find her some clothes. Anming frowned. “I can’t take charity. I must earn my keep,”

Sarah had the perfect answer. “I’m opening a pie shop and need lots of help. If you agree, I’ll hire you to work for me.”

Nothing could have been more gratifying than Anming’s beaming smile of acceptance.

* * * *

Sarah’s Pie Shop opened on a bright sunny morning when Main Street teemed with miners. With its canvas walls and rough-hewn tables and benches, the shop was about as primitive as a shop could be, yet as soon as Sarah tacked the Open for Business sign on a wooden post in front, a line formed. Customers came in a steady stream, willing to wait patiently for a cup of coffee and piece of apple pie.

From the minute Anming arrived at the shop, she never sat down. Well before dawn, she was piling firewood into the huge beehive oven and starting it up. During the day, she was tending the oven, keeping it roaring hot, shoving the pies in, timing the baking and taking them out when done. In-between, she helped clear the tables, mopped the floor, and helped Sarah in the kitchen. Despite Sarah’s urging, she never took a break.

Hiram appointed himself keeper of the money. He stood at the front entrance, taking either a dollar cash from each customer or an ounce of gold dust. So he could measure, he’d constructed a makeshift scale out of sardine cans with silver Mexican
reales
as counterweights. Sometimes scales weren’t needed. A miner would simply open his bag of gold dust and Hiram would reach in and take a pinch. At the end of the first day, when he counted the receipts, he gleefully exclaimed, “Four hundred ninety-eight dollars in cash and sixty-five ounces of gold dust. At fourteen dollars an ounce, that’s nearly a thousand dollars. We’re rich, Sarah!”

After a strenuous day of baking pies while managing the shop, Sarah was almost too tired to celebrate. Even so, she was walking on clouds. The first day had gone far better than she ever expected. As in Gold Creek, she loved meeting the miners who came from all parts of the world. Their boisterous laughter and passionate talk concerning every aspect of mining for gold filled Sarah’s Pie Shop with a constant aura of excitement. Every piece of pie readily sold. They could have sold twice as many, maybe more. “We’re going to need more help,” Sarah told Hiram. “Then we could bake different kinds of pies, and other things, too.”

“There’s a boarding house just opened up the street,” Hiram said. “We can afford rooms now. What do you think?”

What a wonderful idea. The next day, they stored the wagon, arranged for the oxen to be fed, and rented rooms in Mrs. Keller’s Boarding House. Sarah found herself in heaven with a room of her own and someone else preparing all the meals. The boarding house had refused to accept Anming, but she solved the problem by sleeping nights in the Pie Shop.

Finally, Sarah could indulge herself. In Mokelumne City, she’d replaced the two tattered dresses she’d worn from Indiana with two “serviceable” dresses that weren’t the least fancy. Now she bought three bolts of the finest fabric at Jack and Ben’s store, found a local seamstress, and ordered new dresses made. The day she entered Sarah’s Pie Shop in her new, full skirted, cotton calico, she felt like a queen. She wished Jack would come in so she could twirl around, show him the pretty pattern of tiny roses, slightly scooped-out neckline, tiny buttons down the front and full sleeves, all of which made her look her best, and very pretty indeed, if she did say so.

A week after they opened, Sarah’s Pie Shop had its first crisis. The usual crowd of miners, all of them white, was sitting at the tables when a small group of Chinese walked in. An immediate, angry stirring brought Sarah from the kitchen. At one of the tables, a husky young man with long, unkempt blond hair, dressed in grimy miner’s clothes, leaped up and shouted, “Get them coolies out of here.” A roar of approval arose from his fellow diners.

Sarah was dumbstruck. She looked toward Hiram who stood at the front door. He called, “They paid their dollar,” and gave her a helpless shrug.

How strange these men from faraway China looked with pantaloons so wide they resembled petticoats, short, loose garments on top, stiff bamboo hats, and long braided queues hanging down their backs. All but one young man, taller than the rest, looked so frightened they were ready to bolt. The taller one stepped forward. Showing no fear, he bowed in her direction and said what sounded like, “Pay dollah, wantchee catchee pie.”

Sarah could hardly hear him over the shouts and catcalls. She was about to ask him to repeat his words when Anming appeared, took one look at the young man, and began speaking in a tongue that had to be Chinese. When they finished, she turned to Sarah. “He says they won’t leave. They paid their dollar, and they want their piece of pie.”

From the door, Hiram called, “I’ll give them their dollar back, Sarah. We don’t want trouble.”

The men at the table were still hurling insults at the Chinese, if anything louder and angrier. The Chinese appeared ready to flee, yet were hesitating because the taller one had folded his arms in a gesture of defiance and appeared to be standing his ground. Sarah had no idea what to do. If only Jack were here, but he wasn’t. She could run next door and ask Ben to help, but no, she didn’t dare leave now. Only one solution. She should take Hiram’s advice—give the Chinese their money back and get them out of here. But what had the Chinese done? Why should she give in to a bunch of bullies?

She smoothed her apron, pulled her shoulders back, and strode to the noisiest table, the one where the blond-haired man still hurled his insults. She directed her remarks to him. “I’m afraid I must ask you to leave.”

The man’s jaw dropped in amazement. “Me leave? Ma’am, those coolies are less than human, and you expect me to go?”

Sarah softened her stern expression. She tipped her head and inquired, “What’s the problem, sir? Are you afraid of them?”

The man’s jaw dropped even farther, if that was possible. “I—I—hell no! I—”

“Here’s the problem. These men”—she gestured toward the Chinese—”have all paid for their pie. That means they have every right to be here, same as you.”

The man was still sputtering. Before he could reply, Sarah went on, “I’m going to clear a table just for them. They will eat their pie at their table, and you will eat your pie at your table. You will not speak to each other. You will not look at each other. They won’t bother you, and you won’t bother them. That’s a reasonable solution, don’t you agree, sir?”

The blond man’s expression of high indignation faded fast. “Well…I suppose we—”

“Thank you, sir, it’s settled then.” Sarah gave him a brisk nod. Without another word, she turned and quickly cleared off one of the tables. Heading back to her kitchen, she waved at the Chinese. “You can sit down now!”

Not until she got behind the curtain of her makeshift kitchen did she press her hand to her pounding heart and breathe a huge sigh of relief. Her first crisis. She’d solved it, and without help from anyone. A very nice feeling indeed.

Late the next day, after the last customer left, Jack came into the pie shop. He’d been on a buying trip to San Francisco and brought back a load of goods for the store. Not easy, considering they went by ship to the port of Stockton, then on to Hangtown by pack mule. “Come sit at a table,” he told both Sarah and Hiram. “I’ve got a proposition for you.”

What now? Sarah was more than curious. “I hope this has nothing to do with investing in a gold mine.” She was only joking, although rumors abounded concerning gold mines being “salted” with gold nuggets and sold to the unwise.

“This is a different kind of gold mine.” Jack addressed Hiram. “Along with everything else, I brought back two faro tables. I can easily sell them to one of the local saloons, but I thought maybe you’d be interested.”

“In gambling tables?” Sarah asked in an incredulous voice.

Jack smiled amiably. “Hear me out. There’s still space next to the store we leased and haven’t used. We can build an extension to your pie shop—another big room walled off by canvas. Build a little bar. Install the faro tables and maybe another for monte. One for poker, too.”

Sarah stared aghast at Jack. “You’re seriously saying we should open a gambling establishment?”

Hiram had listened with rapt attention. “Let’s hear him out.”

Sarah struggled to find words. “You know what Ma and Pa would say about gambling.”