Robert nodded, though he was painfully aware that an entire ship was waiting for him.
“It’s you, Robert Goodenough. You’re the miner I’ve been lookin’ for—the one who’s saved his gold money, who I can put my feet up with. You got some money from all that mining?”
“A little. It cost a lot to be a miner, but I saved a little.”
“Good. You got enough to pay for a woman and two babies to go to England?”
Robert stared at the babies in their basket. “Can they go on a ship?”
Molly laughed. “Honey, babies are made and born and live on ships.”
“But—don’t you want to stay here?”
“Here?” Molly looked around the kitchen. “I could. Mrs. B.”s the only woman I’ve met in California I like. But I was three years in French Creek. I wouldn’t mind movin’ around some, babies or not.” As if that were her cue, Sarah began to whimper in preparation for full-blown crying. “The question ain’t about me, though, it’s about whether you want to be alone or with us. Now, we don’t have to come with you. I got offers of work at Murphys and up at Cally Grove, or I could stay in San Francisco and work, find a gal to look after the babies. I could make a life in California, and have fun without even havin’ a miner to look after me. So don’t you say you want me to come because you feel you have to. You got to want to.”
“Molly, I’m not good at family.”
“You’re doin’ all right with Jimmy and Sarah.”
When he didn’t speak, she added, “You ain’t like your parents, you know. If that’s what you’re worried about. You ain’t violent. I don’t have any worries on that front. Besides, the way you described it back in Cally Grove, it sounds like your parents didn’t mean to kill each other. It was an accident—a double accident. You said your Ma was goin’ to chop down the apple tree?”
“Yes.”
“That’s real different from goin’ out with an axe intendin’ to kill someone. She was aimin’ for the tree, not your Pa. And she fell into the stakes, you said, ’cause he pushed her. Well, that’s jest pushin’ away, it don’t mean he meant to kill her.”
Robert was silent, playing through the scene in his head. “Maybe you’re right,” he said at last. “Actually, I am like my father, a little.” If he was my father, he said to himself, then understood that he could choose to make him so, as there was no one to tell him otherwise. “He was a tree man,” he added, because he could.
“Then your father must have been a good man—”cause you’re a good man, Robert Goodenough. Better than your name. Don’t you forget that. You can choose to be different from your past. You have chosen, haven’t you?”
“I guess so.”
“Now you got another choice: do you want the babies and me to come with you or not?”
She waited for him to answer and he knew the pause was too long, even though at the end of it was a “Yes,” and even though he meant it.
“All right, then. When does the ship sail?” If Molly was disappointed by his hesitation, she didn’t show it. It was a moment, however, that he knew would always remain between them.
Robert cleared his throat. “Now. We have to go right now.”
“Dody! We got some packin’ to do!”
The next half hour was a blur of panic, of throwing things into trunks and running up and down the stairs to load a wagon commandeered by Mrs. Bienenstock. Robert stopped thinking and simply did whatever Molly and Mrs. B. ordered. Jimmy and Sarah cried all the way through the commotion, and Robert marveled at how easily Molly ignored them when she had to.
Robert himself had little to pack. He took a few clothes, the Goodenough quilt, notebooks full of tree notes, and the handkerchief of Golden Pippin seeds, selling Mrs. B. his shotgun, saddle, and a few cook pans. She also bought the gray, very cheaply. Robert was surprised to find he regretted selling his horse, but he didn’t know when he’d be back. He had no idea what was going to happen to him. To them. He would have to get better at thinking in the plural.
Though there was no time, Molly insisted he go to the stables where he kept the gray and say goodbye. When Robert protested, she just looked at him. “It’s your horse.” And so he went and stood with the gray for a few minutes while it chewed on oats and ignored him. When he moved to go, though, the gray stretched out and nipped Robert on the arm. “Fair enough,” he said. “Guess I deserved that.”
Back at the boardinghouse he told his landlady the gray’s name was Pippin. “No, it’s not,” Mrs. B. replied as she wrestled a trunk down the stairs. “He’s mine now, till I sell him on, so I get to name him. His name’s West.”
As they pulled up to Pacific Wharf, the Star of the West was already under steam, and the deck lined with passengers taking their last look at San Francisco and the people they were leaving behind. William Lobb was among them, leaning on the rail and arguing with the captain. “There he is!” he shouted when he spotted the wagon with its mountain of possessions. “Goodenough, where the hell have you been? They’re threatening to fine us for holding up the ship!” He hobbled down the gangplank to them. Only when Molly descended from the wagon with the basket full of crying babies did he seem to notice Robert was not alone.
“You there!” Mrs. Bienenstock shouted up at the captain. “If you’re so goddamned worried about getting away, tell your men to bring this stuff on board. Standing there like a jackass won’t help. Jesus H. Christ, do I have to do everything myself?” She continued to swear joyfully as she shepherded Molly on board.
William Lobb stared after them. “Are you mad, Goodenough? Fifty-three trees, two babies and a woman to look after for three months on board a ship?”
“Maybe so. Anyway, I’ll get those trees to Wales, and plant ’em for the gentleman. I’ll let you know how it goes.”
William Lobb nodded. “You do that, lad.” Then he smiled, his teeth bright against his dark beard. It was a sight so unusual, especially since Lobb’s illness, that it made Robert smile too. They shook hands. “Have yourself a Pitmaston Pineapple or two while you’re there,” he added. “You know Pitmaston is only sixty miles from where the redwood grove will be.”
“Really?”
“The world is not so big after all. Now, don’t forget to set aside water for the trees, make sure there’s enough for the whole voyage. Don’t let the captain fob you off with rainwater they’ve captured—there’s too much sea spray in it, it’ll kill the trees.”
Even as Robert was hauling the rest of their things onto the Star of the West, Lobb was shouting instructions after him: “Don’t take the seedlings all out on deck at the same time: split ’em into two groups and take ’em up on alternate days. When you cross Panama, make sure the trees get their own wagon—don’t let them tuck the pails in with other goods, I’ve seen that before and the boxes shift and crush the seedlings. If that happens, though, don’t throw away the tree—there’s still a chance it can recover at the other end. And when you reach Cardiff, send a message ahead so the gentleman knows you’re coming with the redwoods. Look after those trees,” he finished, as Robert paused and looked down at his employer. “They deserve better than to perish at sea. Site them well, plant them carefully. Make them stars in their new land.”
Mrs. Bienenstock had gotten Molly and the babies settled into a cabin, and gave Robert a brusque clap on the shoulder before she left. “God help you all,” she muttered. “What a lot of trouble!” But she was whistling as she strode down the gangplank, and she waited with William Lobb to wave to them as the ship steamed away from the quay.
“Goodbye, goodbye!” Molly cried, though she couldn’t wave back with her arms full of babies. “Think of us on the other side of the world!”
Molly finally got to see the ocean. It did not take long for the Star of the West to clear Seal Rocks and head out into the Pacific. As they stood on deck watching the waves churn beneath them, Molly thrust both babies into Robert’s arms, held her own out wide and whooped, making the passengers near them smil
e. “All this water!” she cried, laughing. “You never told me it was this big! How long do we get to be on it?”
“Two to three months, with a week on land crossing Panama. From there we head up to New York, then change ships for Cardiff. Mr. Lobb said we’ll get tired of it.”
“Bah, I don’t listen to that Englishman. I hope the whole country ain’t like him.” Molly leaned against the railing and gazed out over the water unfurling before them.
The ship began its long turn from the afternoon sun towards the south so that eventually they would be following the California coast. Robert felt himself lurch inside, as if he was breaking off and taking a path where a compass would be no help.
He could not linger on this feeling, though, for Sarah was squirming and nuzzling at his arm, trying to find something to suck. He had never known a man or a woman or a horse as demanding as these babies were. “Can you feed Sarah?” he asked, glad to have someone with him to ask.
Molly took their daughter and got her latched on to a breast while keeping her eyes on the ocean. “Look!” she cried. A mile or so west of them a plume of water was sprayed high into the air, followed a moment later by the dark back of a whale arcing through the water. It was impossible not to be infected by her enthusiasm. Robert found his eyes glued to the ocean, watching for signs of the whale’s progress—the plumes of water, the humping back and the curved tail flashing and then sliding back down into the water. He shouted when he saw the tail, which made Molly laugh and grab him in a kiss, the babies sandwiched in between.
Later when Jimmy and Sarah were asleep in their cradle and Robert had checked on the trees, he and Molly leaned against the railing and watched the sun set. There were no clouds and little haze to soften it as it dropped down its burning path. It at least was certain of where it was going.
“What are you worryin’ about now, Robert Goodenough?” Molly was studying his profile as he looked out at the fiery water.
Robert shrugged. “I haven’t gone east ever in my life. I don’t know what I’m going to do back there.”
Molly’s skin was orange in the evening light. “I’ll tell you what you’re gonna do. You’re gonna plant fifty trees—”
“Fifty-three,” Robert corrected. “There are fifty redwoods, three sequoias.”
“You’re gonna plant fifty-three trees in England—”
“Wales.”
“—Wales, and make sure they grow so there’s a redwood grove as good as any you got here. Then you’re gonna take me to London and see the sights. Then you’re gonna find me one of them Golden Pippins you’ve talked about so much—”
“Pitmaston Pineapple.”
“—A Pitmaston Pineapple, and I’m gonna taste it for myself.”
Robert was beginning to warm to Molly’s list. He felt in his pocket for the Golden Pippin seeds Martha had brought him. They were still there. Seeds could keep for a long time. All they needed was the right place to take root. He would know it when he saw it.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
The seed for this book came from the chapter on apples in Michael Pollan’s Botany of Desire: A Plant’s-Eye View of the World (2001), which gives an alternative reading of the folk hero Johnny Appleseed and the difference between eaters and spitters. Also influential was Conrad Richter’s remarkable trilogy of novels on settler life in Ohio: The Trees (1940), The Fields (1946) and The Town (1950).
I consulted a lot of other books. Here are the most useful (by subject).
Johnny Appleseed (who was referred to at the time by his name John Chapman, or as John Appleseed): Johnny Appleseed: Man and Myth by Robert Price (1954); Johnny Appleseed: The Man, the Myth, the American Story by Howard Means (2011); Johnny Appleseed and the American Orchard by William Kerrigan (2012).
Apples and apple trees: The New American Orchardist by William Kenrick (1841); The Fruits and Fruit Trees of America by A. J. Downing (1845); The New Book of Apples by Joan Morgan and Alison Richards (2002); The Story of the Apple by Barrie E. Juniper and David J. Mabberley (2006); Apples of Uncommon Character by Rowan Jacobsen (2014).
The Black Swamp: The Great Black Swamp: Historical Tales of 19th-Century Northwest Ohio by Jim Mollenkopf, vols. 1–3 (1999–2008).
Redwoods and sequoias: The Mammoth Tree Grove, Calaveras County, California, and Its Avenues by Edward Vischer (1862); The Wild Trees by Richard Preston (2007); Calaveras Big Trees by Carol A. Kramer (2010); The Enduring Giants: The Epic Story of Giant Sequoia and the Big Trees of Calaveras by Joseph H. Engbeck Jr. (2013).
William Lobb: Hortus Veitchii by James H. Veitch (1906); A Reunion of Trees by Stephen A. Spongberg (1990); The Plant Hunters: 200 Years of Adventure and Discovery Around the World by Toby Musgrave, Chris Gardner and Will Musgrave (1998); Seeds of Fortune: A Gardening Dynasty by Sue Shephard (2003); Blue Orchid and Big Tree: Plant Hunters William and Thomas Lobb and the Victorian Mania for the Exotic by Sue Shephard and Toby Musgrave (2014).
California Gold Rush: Three Years in California by Rev. Walter Colton, edited by Marguerite Eyer Wilbur (1949); Off at Sunrise: The Overland Journal of Charles Glass Gray, edited by Thomas D. Clark (1976); The World Rushed In: The California Gold Rush Experience by J. S. Holliday (2002).
It’s good to read about trees, but even better to go out and actually see some. Calaveras Grove is open to visitors all year round, though the glorious South Grove (Robert’s “secret” trees) is inaccessible between November and April. You can stand on the Great Stump, and see Chip Of the Old Block (for some reason it’s “Of” not “Off’). The bowling alley and saloon and hotel are long gone. There are also giant sequoias further south at Yosemite, Sequoia and Kings Canyon national parks. There are redwoods up and down the California coast, protected in many national and state parks. In the United Kingdom, there are a surprising number of sequoias and redwoods still growing in parks and in the gardens of stately homes—the continuing fruits of William Lobb’s collecting. And a redwood grove on the Welsh borders does indeed exist: the Charles Ackers Redwood Grove was planted in 1857 by John Naylor of Leighton Hall—though I have taken a novelist’s liberties with the details of that commission and planting.
If you are curious about who is “real” in this book: John Chapman (aka Johnny Appleseed) and William Lobb did exist, and brought apple trees to Ohio and Indiana, and North and South American plants and trees to Britain. Billie Lapham did co-own Calaveras Grove; after Nancy Lapham’s death from TB in 1858, Billie moved to Lake Tahoe and successfully developed tourism there.
Dody Bienenstock exists even today! Her daughter bought her the privilege of having a character named after her, at an auction to raise funds for Freedom from Torture, a UK charity that provides treatment and rehabilitation for survivors of torture. Dody, we need more landladies like you.
Most of the places are real, as indicated on the map at the front of this book. The sharp-eyed among you will note, however, that one dot on that map is imaginary: Rancho Salazar in Texas. That is what novels do: mix up the real and the imagined until the boundaries are blurred.
I would like to thank: Tony Kirkham at Kew Gardens, London. Sue Shephard and Toby Musgrave for help with William Lobb. Jill Attenborough and Stephen Taylor for taking me around Lathcoats Farm near Chelmsford, Essex, allowing me to pick apples and answering endless questions about apple trees. Matthew Thomas and Nick Dunn at Frank P. Matthews Trees for Life in Worcestershire for generously providing me with my first taste of a Pitmaston Pineapple. Rebecca Trenner for explaining horses and their personalities to me. My stellar team of editors and agents, Andrea Schulz, Katie Espiner, Cassie Browne, Jonny Geller and Deborah Schneider. Biggest and best thanks to Jonathan Drori for getting me actively interested in trees in the first place.
About the Author
TRACY CHEVALIER is the author of eight novels, including The Last Runaway, Remarkable Creatures and Girl with a Pearl Earring, an international bestseller that has sold over five million copies and won the Barnes and Noble Discover Award. Born in Washi
ngton DC, in 1984 she moved to London, where she lives with her husband and son.
www.tchevalier.com
@Tracy_Chevalier
/tracychevalierwriter
ALSO BY TRACY CHEVALIER
The Virgin Blue
Girl with a Pearl Earring
Falling Angels
The Lady and the Unicorn
Burning Bright
Remarkable Creatures
The Last Runaway
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At the Edge of the Orchard Page 24