by Eveline Hart
Anna thanked the big man and made her way to the stage driver. “Excuse me, sir. Is there room for another?”
The driver motioned to a broken wheel on the back of the coach “Won’t be leaving ‘til in the morning. If’n yore here early you can go then. Ticket is a dollar.”
The driver never looked up.
Some of the folks that were going to board were getting their bags off of the top where they had been tied down with a canvas tarpaulin. Small drops of sweat beaded the head on the driver as he stood looking at the coach. Anna got the feeling this was not the first time he had had to repair something on the coach. She wondered if it might be better for her to wait on another one. The more she thought about it the more she knew she needed to leave as fast as possible just in case Obadiah Jessup came looking for her.
“Rent’s a dollar a week. An’ it’s due on Sundays. Not a speck later.” The round, port-faced proprietor led a nervous Anna through the narrow hall opening from the street and waddled down the narrow hallway over loosely laid wood plank. The walls were dark and dank. A good place to hide, Anna thought.
A wide, bleak fireplace just to the right yawned cold in a room that, in better times, may have enjoyed convivial conversation between guests. Anna feared to be drawn into any conversation, lest her pursuer discovers her location…or her theft. She looked back at the stone hearth. Now the gloomy space stood chill, hungry for the meager rays of warming light that struggled over the lip of a shallow sash window. Anna understood, yearning herself for the sun of her native Ireland.
Two suites of rooms flanked each side of the hallway. Many of the rooms had doors standing open, a vain attempt to encourage any kind of circulation in the cramped quarters.
The first room Anna passed housed a haggard, red-bearded man, toiling away at his bench, cobbling a shoe. A worn woman, ash-blonde tendrils of unkempt hair plastered to a pale forehead, suckled an infant at her breast and scrabbled about the tight space trying to tend a meager stew along with five more rowdy children from two to nine years of age. A palsied grandmother shook uncontrollably as she attempted to dry the only four plates the family owned in dishwater grayer than the mule Da used to use on the farm back in County Galway.
At least there was a window, Anna mused hopefully, though the view through the grimy glass wasn’t much more than a dingy brick wall and the upstairs neighbor’s knickers sagging down on an over-burdened line. A rat, fat and black, scurried over the toe of her shoe. Anna held back a squeal.
“A dollar a week!” the landlord suddenly exclaimed. “Are ye daft?”
Anna jerked her head upward, not realizing the woman had been talking to her.
The large woman sniffed noncommittally and shrugged. “It’s on the ground floor. The lower the floor, the higher the price.”
“But, I only need it for one night!” Anna exclaimed surprisingly
“I’m leaving tomorrow when the coach is repaired. Is that really a fair price for one night?”
The landlord’s face puckered lemon, letting Anna know her comment was insignificant. She stationed two ham hands on her full hips. “Ye don’t want it? That’s fine. There’s always the almshouse. Yer lucky I even got a room. If’n the tenant in here hadn’t drunk himself ta death, I’d be full up as a church on Judgment Day.”
Anna realized nervously that she’d offended the woman. She couldn’t afford to go to the almshouse or any of the nearby charity boardinghouses. That’s the first place Obadiah Jessup would think to search for her. She clutched the little satchel she carried with her. It gave a tell-tale rattle that drew a raised eyebrow from the landlord. Anna held her breath. She gave a forced smile and a brief curtsey.
“I’m sure it’ll be jus’ dandy, Miss. A dollar for the night will be fine.”
The landlord stood for a moment, air whistling like an out of tune bo’sun’s pipe through her wide nostrils. She squinted two bloodshot eyes and studied Anna from head to toe, lingering momentarily on the bag clutched at Anna’s side.
She finally decided it wasn’t worth her bother and dragged a grease-stained sleeve under her nose. She reached under her wrinkled apron for a heavy, iron key. She drew it out and slid the pin and ward into the yawing keyhole and wiggled the lock open. She grasped the tarnished brass doorknob and gave it an angry twist. She swung the door wide open and stood aside to afford Anna a view of the room.
The apartment was dim and uninviting. Apparently, not all the rooms came with a window. A funny smell permeated the air, a peculiar combination of sour and rot. Anna prayed to St. Patrick that the smell wasn’t coming from the squalid, stained bed. An empty cradle, crafted from an old apple crate, told its own story, silent and abandoned in the corner. A single rickety chair waited at a scarred, wooden table, a single slat broken loose like a rotted tooth. A pot-bellied, cast-iron kettle rested on the stove...cold.
Anna slipped her hand in her waist and pulled the wrinkled dollar from the hidden pocket and handed it to the woman. She took the money, running her fingers over it and holding it up as if to check for authenticity.
She walked out and pulled the door behind her. The room felt cold. Just like New York was cold to an Irish immigrant. She felt unwanted, unloved. Anna reached into the little satchel and gently lifted Fiona up to her breast that was full and warm. She had been so good not to give herself away to anyone the entire trip. She knew her prayers had been answered. Looking down into the babe’s face she suddenly felt so safe, and so loved. She gently stroked her cheeks with the tip of her finger feeling her soft skin. After a few minutes, Fiona took a deep breath, as if to say she was full, then rolling her eyes she slowly fell back asleep. A speck of milk ran down the corner of her mouth. Anna wiped it clean and dabbed a bit of cream on Fiona’s face to sooth any rough places the weather had caused. She held her for what seemed like hours before she eased her back into the satchel. Then she prayed for their safety and she prayed that he would not find them. She prayed until she fell asleep.
Chapter 4
“Mama! Mama!” The keening voice of a lost child cut through the babel of accents in the street. On her way to the coach, she saw a little girl, her hair a mass of yellow curls, who had gotten separated from her parents in the crush of bodies who had made the weary journey out west. Anna’s heart leaped in her chest. She gently squeezed her bag to her bosom. For a moment, the child looked and sounded like Pearl, Obadiah Jessup’s youngest progeny. Had he found her out? Was Jessup here? Was this the end? Da would die of a broken heart if he learned his only daughter had been jailed, branded a runaway. He would never hear the whole story, though. Jessup would make certain of that. She’d certainly be shamed, or worse…disowned.
She pulled the edge of her kerchief down further over her porcelain forehead to hide her tell-tale russet waves and ducked behind a big tree trunk. She peeked from her hiding place to keep a wary eye on the lost girl.
A middle-aged woman swept out an arm and deftly snagged the child’s small hand in her own. Anna got a clear view of the child’s trembling lower lip as she received a fine scolding from a worried mother.
Anna let loose a sigh of relief. It was not Margaret Jessup. There was a tempered kindness in the careworn lines in the mother’s face, a kindness that was markedly absent from Margaret Jessup’s stern face.
All the luggage was tied down chockablock with steamer trunks, carpet-bags, and something extraordinarily large beneath a canvas tarpaulin. A small droplet of sweat beaded on the driver’s head near the band of his hat. He looked back to Anna.
She noted the man’s hesitation and quickly jumped to assuage any doubts he may have been harboring. “I’ve only got the one bag, sir. I just need to get to Grass Valley. I’m supposed to meet my husband there.”
The hard lines of the driver’s craggy face melted at the plaintive plea on Anna’s heart-shaped face. He finally caved. He nodded. “Alright. Hop aboard. Mind your head.”
Anna managed a bright smile and climbed aboard the waiting stage. This was
it. The last leg of a long voyage into a bright, golden future. So enrapt in the excitement of her journey, she forgot the old adage…all that glitters is not gold.
Once Anna was inside the stage and the door swung closed, the driver slid the long, dark metal barrel of his Colt revolver back under his duster.
“So, tell me, darlin’, where about are you from? You might as well tell all your deep, dark, dirty secrets now, because by the end of this trip, we’re gonna be the fastest of friends.” The bold, brash talk matched the brassy blonde curls of Mavis Merriwether. Her silk-gloved hand gave a firm squeeze to Anna’s knee. Nearly eight hours had passed on the journey so far, and everyone on the stage had swapped tales of where they had lived or places they had visited. The Marvelous Mavis was an actress who had been all around the world to places like London and Paris. She’d performed Shakespeare for kings and queens.
While Mavis entertained the primarily male contingency aboard the stage, Anna had carefully drawn her betrothed’s letters from her bag and read them over and over. The correspondence had been going on for nearly a year. The initial letters began with a light-hearted courting, sharing brief anecdotes of their respective pasts. She would tell him of her work at the Jessup home; of Little Miss Pearl’s exploits with the family shears and her creative hairdos that drove Margaret Jessup to distraction. He would delight and thrill her with treasure stories of a knuckle-sized nugget he’d pulled from his claim.
Then her stories from the Jessup home took a darker turn. She became more guarded in the details she shared. The time between her letters became longer. Jesse knew she was not in the most ideal situation but he didn’t know the details. He became worried when she stopped sending the letters as freely as she had before. Maybe she was sick. How would he know if she was? For nearly ten months it continued this way, though with each letter, Anna continued to profess her love and desire to make the journey west. Finally, Jesse asked Anna for her hand in marriage. She accepted but insisted their marriage ceremony take place immediately upon her arrival in Colfax City. Jesse readily agreed, and the arrangements were set into motion.
Anna lingered on the missive wherein she had accepted her beau’s proposal:
* * *
August 16, 1851
* * *
Dearest Anna,
I fear I must call for the doctor soon, for I am certain I must be suffering from fevered visions. You have said ‘yes' my love and consented to be my wife with neither sight nor sound of me. Surely this is the stuff dreams are made of. I ready our house for your arrival, but for now, it lacks the one thing that will make it a home…that, my dearest heart, is you.
My Sincerest Love-Jesse
* * *
Anna allowed a smile to upturn the corners of her lips. She let herself imagine standing at the altar, staring into the eyes of her beloved, dreaming of all the possibilities to come. Free to choose whichever path she pleased.
The daydream came to a crashing halt as the stage suddenly lurched to a skidding stop and sent Anna headlong onto the stage floorboards. She scrambled to catch her bag before it toppled to the floor as well.
“Everybody out! Reach for the sky! And if you don’t want to sit down for supper with the Good Lord himself tonight, I suggest you leave all thoughts of fightin’ back in the stage!” A deep, gravelly baritone voice seasoned by smoke and whiskey growled the order with three sharp raps on the outside of the stage. Anna’s tourmaline eyes exchanged worried, anxious glances with her fellow passengers.
Mavis scrambled to loosen her jeweled bracelets and pearls from her wrists and neck and hurriedly cached them in her bodice. Anna had no such finery. Her only valuables rested in her bag.
“Everyone out, now! Hands up!” Anna cast a frantic look toward her bag and decided it would be best to follow the instructions of the man barking orders. She stepped carefully down the steps to the dusty ground, leaving her precious cargo behind on the coach bench.
Three masked gunmen circled the small group, pistols ready, hats pulled low over their shifty eyes. Anna kept her own eyes low at the start, but bubbling concern for her belongings tempted her to take a closer look at their captors.
One bandit was thin, like a desert lizard. His eyes were bulbous as if they could see in every direction around him. His movements were quick and nervous. He looked edgy, dodging the barrel of his gun toward one hostage, then another. He made Anna nervous simply from looking at him.
One man, the one with the whiskey burned voice, seemed to be the leader. When the stagecoach driver dropped his arms just a fraction of an inch, the big man pulled the hammer back on his Colt and leveled it toward him. The driver wasted no time in stretching his arms back toward the heavens. The leader sauntered up toward the stagecoach driver, sniffing for trouble.
“Now, how about that treasure box,” he snarled, lying the barrel of his weapon parallel to the driver’s skull.
“I-I-ain’t got the faintest idea of what you’re talking about,” the driver replied.
The seediest smile stretched the big man’s lips thin across yellowed teeth. “Aw, whatsamatter? You need me to jog your memory?”
He cracked the driver, quick and hard along his temple with the butt of the pistol. The driver crumpled in a heap, knees landing in the dry dust. Anna gasped. Mavis let loose a scream. The big man swung around, the muzzle of his gun arcing in front of the entire group.
“Shaddup!” he bellowed. Mavis swooned.
That’s when Anna noticed the third gunman. He stood back from the other two, gun drawn, but tipped down. His lower face was covered by a kerchief, pulled high and tight across the bridge of his nose. His hat did ample service in disguising the upper portion of his countenance. What stood out for Anna, however, was the intense, stormy blue of his eyes. They were the color of an angry sea off the Galway Coast, the eyes of a man torn, a man who did not want to be party to this violent act. At that moment, Anna felt kindred with the gunman, a second soul forced to an extreme to survive.
Meanwhile, the stage driver noted the gunnysacks fitted around the gunmen’s shoes; an old tracker’s trick to discourage footprints. These men were professionals. If he did not give them what they came for, he would certainly sign the death warrant for himself and each of the passengers.
“The strongbox is up there,” he finally admitted brokenly. He jerked his head weakly to the top of the stage under the canvas tarpaulin.
“I had me a feelin’,” Whiskey Breath grinned crookedly. The Lizard shuttled the passengers and the driver toward an outcropping of rock as the big man levered his way to the top luggage rack. Anna resisted the Lizard’s insistent pull, her gaze stretching back to the open stage door and her bag. He jammed the muzzle of his gun into her side, and she cried out, but reluctantly succumbed to his direction.
“It’s locked solid! Can’t pick it!” Whiskey Breath called down.
“Blow it with gunpowder!” Lizard offered.
“NO!” Anna screamed. The proximity of the strongbox would certainly compromise the passengers’ luggage. But all Anna cared about was her bag. Blue Eyes locked his gaze with hers.
“If’n ya please, sir, I’m naught but a simple bride to be. Truth be told, I was on my way to the ceremony when we stumbled upon you three fine sirs. Beggin’ ya pardon, but I’d be most obliged if I could at least have me bag. It’s got me dress that I’ll be needin’. Me Ma’s, of course, all the way from Ireland. Somethin’ borrowed, don’t ya know. It’s old, too. Me sister gave me a bit a blue ribbon, too. So, if ye don’t mind, sir?”
Whiskey Breath looked at Anna’s simple, worn dress. The evidence of repeated patching and a hemline that had been moved several times suggested to the big brute that there was nothing in her bag that might hold any interest for him and his crew. The Lizard finally waved his gun at Blue Eyes. Blue Eyes poked his head into the stage and reached for Anna’s bag. He opened the latch. Anna’s heart leaped into her throat. Time froze. Then, suddenly, Blue Eyes closed the latch and handed her
the bag.
“Looks like you’ve got ‘something new’ covered as well. Congratulations on your wedding Miss.” As he handed her the bag, she noticed an angry, red scar across the back of his hand, but she was so overjoyed to get her bag back, she dismissed the odd sight just as quickly.
Whiskey Breath went about setting the charge with The Lizard looking on anxiously. Blue Eyes never quite took his eyes from Anna. The other passengers huddled together nervously along with the stage driver. Someone fanned Mavis, trying to bring her round from her dramatic faint. Blue Eyes noticed Anna stood separate from the crowd. She leaned on no one, her slight body straight and tall. The only movement she betrayed was when she gently crushed her valise into her rounded chest. Something instinctual drove Blue Eyes to take a step forward, putting himself between the young woman and the blast. If his partners noticed they said nothing, but Blue Eyes was certain he caught a sidelong glance from The Lizard.
Anna twitched but for a moment when the gunpowder charge exploded, crushing her eyes closed, then reopened them when she heard the celebratory whoop of the bandits as they spied their prize. A second sound, higher-pitched, floated over their cheers, but disappeared as quickly as it sounded. Mavis came around with the concussive boom of the blast.
Whiskey Breath and Lizard cackled and cheered as seven thousand dollars in gold spilled from the strongbox atop the stagecoach. Most of the remaining luggage nearby had been reduced to smoldering rubble.
A piece of Mavis’ lacy unmentionables, however, fluttered through the dusty air and landed on The Lizard’s head. Mavis flushed red and buried her head in the shoulder of one of the male passengers, a gentle cry of embarrassment escaping her lips. The Lizard snatched the bloomers from his head and waved them like a victory flag and did a celebratory jig.
“We’re rich!” he sent up a hoot of victory as he and Whiskey Breath scrabbled through the rubble, gathering the scattered gold pieces and loading them into their saddlebags. Anna watched Blue Eyes hesitate, his gaze vacillating between her and his partners. There was something there, Anna thought. But what, she couldn’t tell. Finally, he strode toward the damaged stage and began to load some of the ill-gotten gains into his own saddlebag.