California Woman (Daughters of the Whirlwind Book 1)

by Daniel Knapp

  "Then…?"

  "It simply pains me deeply to be here, partaking in this great endeavor when I…" He paused.

  "Tell me, please."

  "When I am… in such reduced circumstances. That is all I can say, will say, to you."

  "Do you mean you wish you were still…?" She didn't want to elaborate. "Before Brannan and the rest of them…?"

  "Yes," he said, gazing off. "That is it, essentially. I am no longer the man I was." He took a deep breath and gave Esther another squeeze. "You look so beautiful, my child. I must go back in now. They will be taking a vote on whether California will be a slave or free state. And everyone against slavery must be heard. We will spend some time together again?"

  "Of course. I'll be here a short while longer before returning to San Francisco."

  "We will have dinner together. I will send you a note at the Frémonts', yes?"

  "Please," she said. "I do so want to talk with you more."

  When Sutter went through the doorway after embracing her again, Esther turned and saw Jessie Benton Frémont riding toward the Calle Principal in an open carriage with the wife of Andres Pico, the Californio delegate from San Jose. Jessie smiled coolly and nodded at Esther before the carriage continued on.

  Barnett came bounding out of the building. "We've done it!" he shouted, as elated as a schoolboy. "California will be a state of free men!" Before Esther had a chance to respond, Barnett added, "Forgive me. I must hurry to post the news to San Francisco. I spoke to Larkin this morning, and it is all arranged. Your land purchase. As soon as I have a moment, I'll have the builders begin work. You did say Spanish rancho style?"

  "Yes…"

  "Then that's that," he said, turning. He glanced back as he hurried off down the street. "I'm sorry I've so little time. I'll make amends in San Francisco when all this is over."

  She watched him disappear around a corner and then resumed her long walk toward the high bluff that overlooked the Pacific. There, away from the noise and bustle of the town, the convention crowds, the drummers and tradesmen hawking everything from pencils to hosiery, she turned her attention back to Sutter. He knew I was staying at the Frémonts', she thought, yet he made no effort to contact me. Something was wrong. There was more to what was troubling him than he revealed.

  No word, no invitation came from Sutter. But three days later her suspicions were confirmed when she walked out onto the Frémont patio. Jessie was putting last-minute touches on a dozen table settings.

  "You're not angry with me for my unforgivable rudeness?" Jessie said, not stopping. "I have meant to spend some time with you, but…"

  "You've been overwhelmed. I know how busy you are. And I understand. Of course I'm not angry. You've been more than kind to have me as your guest."

  "This business will be the death of me," Jessie said, waving a hand histrionically over all the elaborate tables, as though she didn't actually relish it. She sighed and collapsed into a chair.

  Esther sat down beside her. "There is someone I would like to ask you about. An acquaintance of mine…"

  "Mr. Sutter?" Jessie asked, raising her eyebrows. "My dear, he seemed, if you will forgive me, far more than an acquaintance."

  Esther fought off the urge to impale her verbally. "Captain Sutter? Oh, no. I wasn't speaking of him. He is a dear friend. Like a… like an uncle to me. He has been very helpful."

  "Well, that's a relief to hear. This is a land of, shall we say, peculiar relationships. One never knows what to expect of anyone. Of course, I try to keep a broad mind about such things."

  For a moment, Esther felt a surge of jealousy as well as annoyance. Her heart-shaped face is so perfect, she thought. And her figure… so exquisite. The daughter of a U.S. Senator. The wife of… for a fleeting moment, Esther wondered what it would be like to have a normal life. A home. A husband.

  "Poor man," Jessie went on. "It's a pity he will not allow his friends to extricate him from his troubles."

  "I haven't spoken to him for some time, except for the other day, briefly. What troubles?"

  "As you probably know, he's already had his share," Jessie went on. "And now this Peter Corbett thing. Totally unjust. Just the same, one would think Sutter might have learned his lesson. No one denies he was cheated, or that stripping him—and others—of title to lands granted by the Mexicans is unjust, or that the squatters already overrunning what remains of his property are in the wrong; but it still makes no sense for a man who has lost so much through profligacy to continue being a spendthrift."

  "How do you know that is true?" Esther asked, finding it increasingly difficult to contain her pique.

  "How does anyone know? My Lord, the man entertains friends and hordes of strangers alike in a manner that would tax a millionaire. Nonetheless, this Corbett business is shameful."

  "Corbett?"

  "A Sacramento land-trader who will have nothing less than the governorship. It would be a disgrace to the new state, I tell you. Imagine such a man in the executive office!"

  "What has he against Sutter?"

  "Sutter is a strident voice against him at the convention. Corbett knew he would be, and tried to prevent him from coming here as a delegate. First he disgraced Sutter publicly during the delegates' election. By having a man Sutter still owes several thousand dollars press for repayment. Sutter didn't have the means, as Corbett knew from the outset, and the next step was to initiate a legal action to dispossess Sutter from his farm. It's a valuable piece of property, I'm told. Corbett and Brannan have coveted it for some time."

  Shocked, Esther couldn't believe the extent of John Sutter's pride. "He's lost the Hock Farm?"

  "Not yet. The convention has delayed the case. But Corbett hasn't missed an opportunity to make the matter public here. He's succeeded in humiliating Sutter completely. And you can be sure he'll have the property when all this convention business is over."

  "How much did you say Sutter owes?" Esther asked, exasperated. Why had he let things go so far without asking her for help!

  "Four thousand dollars is the figure I've heard."

  "Perhaps one of his friends will pay the debt for him."

  "Perhaps," Jessie said, getting up. "And now I must…"

  "I was going to ask you a question before we were sidetracked by this sad business about Sutter," Esther said quickly. "It will only take a minute."

  "Just a moment, then. I must get back to the kitchen."

  "I… had the pleasure of meeting a gentleman once… while I was journeying west. A man who was a member of one of your husband's remarkable expeditions."

  Jessie smiled proudly. "Yes, which man, dear? I must hurry."

  "A man named Luther Mosby. Whatever became of him?"

  "I don't have the faintest idea. But perhaps John does. He's kept track of most of those ruffians." She paused for a moment, staring at Esther. "Perhaps I speak out of turn, but I would be wary of Mosby. Beneath his silky, Southern manner there lurks a male beast. Oh, my goodness, I've spoken out of turn. Is he a friend?"

  "No, I met him only briefly."

  "Then why do you ask of him?"

  "It seems he was at the Alamo, or near it…"

  "Far enough away to avoid the fate of braver men," Jessie cut in acidly. "From what I hear, he has tried to mask that act of cowardice with brutality and violence ever since."

  "I believe a relative of mine was either at the Alamo itself or with Colonel Fannin's troops, where Mr. Mosby repaired just before the siege. I thought perhaps Mosby might have some word of him. My… cousin didn't return home at the close of the Mexican War."

  "Why didn't you ask Mosby when you met? Where did you say it was?"

  Apprehensive, Esther hesitated a moment. "It must have been at Bent's Fort, in '46," she finally said. "I meant to ask him, but he and Colonel Frémont were gone the following morning when I sought him out."

  "Well, as I said, I don't know." Jessie was obviously restive. "But John might. Why don't you ask him this evening? You are g
oing to be with us for dinner and the dance that will follow? We've hardly seen you at table."

  "For dinner… I'm not too taken with dancing, with large crowds." She paused for a second. "Your husband… is so busy. I'm sure he'll not have time—"

  "I'll speak to him. Surely he can spare a moment to help someone seeking information about a patriotic relative."

  "Thank you. You've been most kind, and I must let you get on with your preparations for this evening."

  "Think nothing of it." Jessie started to turn away, then hesitated. "Would you mind if I asked you a personal question?"

  "Why, no."

  "It is none of my business. But I simply cannot control my curiosity at times."

  "Please," Esther said, steeling herself, sure Jessie was going to ask something that might possibly lead her to reveal her intentions about Mosby.

  "It's just that… I… I simply cannot understand why you wear a hat and a veil so often. Almost… without fail. I can see that you have a lovely face from its outlines, and I cannot for the life of me…"

  "I have a scar," Esther said, relieved, drawing in a deep breath, controlling her feelings. "Suffered in an accident coming west." She lifted her gloved left hand. "And two fingers missing on this hand. That is why I wear gloves around strangers, as well."

  Jessie winced, sucked in an embarrassed breath, and brought the back of her hand to her mouth. "Oh, dear. I'm so sorry. I should never have asked."

  "It's quite all right. I suppose avoiding crowds of people and preferring to dine alone does seem odd."

  Jessie gently put her hand on Esther's forearm. "You poor dear. And so young. Well, don't you worry, I'll see to it John and you have a moment alone in the study before dinner. You can be sure of it."

  The early arrivals were mingling and talking in the patio when Jessie ushered Esther into a book-lined room off a long hallway toward the front of the house. Frémont, preoccupied with a map of California, turned when they came in, and his wife explained Esther's quest for information.

  "You are in luck, young lady," Frémont said, gazing at Esther with the most soulful eyes she had ever seen. "I have had no call to keep in touch with Mosby myself, since he chose, characteristically, to desert my forces when we were in the… pitch of battle… here in early '47. But I did receive a letter from Kit Carson just a week ago. Kit mentioned he heard Mosby is now a U.S. Marshal… in south-central Texas, I believe. Some vague business about studying the law in his spare time. I wouldnot have been informed, I would guess, but that Carson thought it amusing. The idea of Mosby a lawyer, I mean—or, God forbid, a judge."

  "I don't know the man well." Esther's heart began to beat faster. "The humor of it escapes me."

  "Let us say," Frémont said, weighing his words, "that Luther Mosby has yet to show the integrity, the loyalty, one would expect of a man of the bar."

  "I would like to write him, regarding my… my cousin." Esther held her breath.

  "His exact whereabouts I cannot give you. Kit did not mention precisely where he was. But I would imagine you could obtain it easily enough by writing the proper agency in Washington."

  And that, Esther thought, crestfallen, numb with disappointment as Frémont droned on about how to go about writing the letter, might reveal to him that I am alive.

  Frémont came around from behind his desk and put his arm around her. "Have patience, dear woman," he said consolingly. "And faith. God usually helps someone with as much familial love as you obviously have in your heart."

  Forty-three

  Mariposa Ranch

  December 28, 1849

  Moved into this half-finished ranch house in November. (Barnett, bless his soul, has seen to everything, including the building.) I wish you could see it, Alex. When it is finished, it will be a home you would be proud of. I know you would love the silence of this wild and beautiful country. As I look out my window, it glistens even in this damnable rain that has hardly let up since the beginning of the month, it snows higher in the mountains, but here the roads have turned into rivers of mud.

  No chance to write in this journal until now… Busy arranging for furniture to be shipped here, and a thousand other little items that one is swamped with when establishing a new residence. The builders are proceeding apace, but what a racket they make! Some of the furniture has arrived. Thank goodness Murietta saw fit to bring the hide bed after I informed him of my whereabouts. A marvelously subtle hint, if those were his thoughts. But you have nothing to be concerned about, Alex. My intentions will not change in the matter, and although Murietta was more at ease with me during his visit, he knows where I stand and takes great pains not to crowd me.

  Have thought many times about that night in San Francisco when I believed I saw Mosby. A small voice within me would like to banish such vengeful tendencies, but I tell you, a larger voice shouts it down. I know I will not be at peace until I have dealt with him. It took me several weeks to get over the deep disappointment, no, despondence I felt when Frémont informed me of Mosby's return to Texas. For a time, I despaired also that there was no way on earth that anyone, let alone a woman, could bring a U.S. Marshal down on his home ground. But while that is true, I began thinking about the extraordinary turns my life has taken since we last held one another. One simply never knows. And for the time being I am simply going to wait to see what happens. It is possible that Mosby may one day return to California. If he does not, I will simply continue to build my financial strength against the day when I can seek him out, wherever he is.

  So much for him. Happy as a purring cat with the old Mexican woman, Marianita, and her husband, Emilio, whom I have hired to help me. The Frémonts' place is some ten miles southeast of here. They have invited me to dinner, but thus far, I have declined. Much as I find the woman small and abrasive, I am happy for Jessie about John Charles's election, along with the Southerner William Gwin, as U.S. Senator. Considering that California is yet to be recognized, it would seem more practical being elected State Senator, as was Warren Barnett's good fortune following the convention in Monterey.

  Received a note from Barnett concerning the Sutter business. All has worked out well for the poor man. After returning to the Kelseys', I arranged to have a draft of four thousand dollars transferred to the Bank of Monterey and delivered, anonymously, to Sutter. I would like to have seen the look on his dear face when he opened the envelope. And on Peter Corbett's, when he learned that Sutter had paid the debt. I suppose Sutter could find out who sent the money if he had a mind to and was persistent. I hope he will not.

  I do not know just what Frémont will do as a senator in Washington until California is admitted to the Union. But whatever that spellbindingly ascetic-looking gentleman accomplishes, it will not be without wifely support. I must confess to you, Alex, that I found myself exceedingly jealous of the woman. Of the way she looks. Of that enviable mind. It is always ticking, strategizing, arranging, and manipulating the strings for future puppeteering. How well I could use such mental capability in an effort to ensnare Mr. Mosby. Jealous, too, of the life she has, the home, the husband, all the things I do not. But most of all, now, her beauty. I would admit such a thing only to you. Is it not silly of me?

  The prattle of a jealous girl of twenty with a horrible nose! I will try the face-colors and rouge I bought in San Francisco from the little peddler lady outside the Bella Union. Perhaps a delicate application will conceal the whiteness, with equally subtle blending of cheek color, without making me look like a strumpet. Little need of it here, however. But it will be interesting to try in the event I travel abroad of these parts.

  Which, of course, I will be doing early in the coming year. I do not like the continuing reports of depredation and viciousness directed against the Indians. I must speak of such matters to Miwokan. The thought of placing little Moses in a mission school grows more practical, and now, a matter of safety, one would guess, with each passing month. I will think on it and perhaps make a decision before journeying to Sacra
mento City in January. I pray for your health, dear husband, and do miss you so.

  Forty-four

  In early January, Esther rode up to the South Fork by buckboard, old Emilio at the reins and one of her saddle horses trailing the rig. It rained off and on during most of the trip, and more than once the old man had to lay logs and branches where the road had turned into a quagmire. Noting how exhausted he was, she sent Emilio back to Mariposa after a night's rest at the cabin, then spent most of the following morning going over accounts with Murietta. Shortly after lunch they unharnessed the buckboard team, saddled up, and headed for Miwokan's village.

  All the way up from the ranch she had been excited over the prospect of attending her first play at the new Eagle Theater. Barnett's last letter mentioned he would be in Sacramento City during the first week of 1850. In a postscript he had added that, should she happen to be there for any reason as well, he would take her to see Mrs. Henry Ray, of The Royal Theater of New Zealand, in The Bandit Chief. The timing was perfect, but her eagerness was diluted by a mixture of concerns as she made the long, wet journey northward. Violence against the Indians had increased everywhere in northern California, and her fears for Moses—and everyone else at Miwokan's camp—had been the source of several nightmares.

  Now, as she and Murietta worked their way eastward along the muddy bank of the South Fork and it began to drizzle again, he put her at ease: There had been no signs of trouble. The village was far enough out of the way to be overlooked. He saw no reason why things would not continue as peacefully in the future, at least in this area. Still, more of Miwokan's tribesmen had left after the work had been halted in December.

  "He has held half of them together," Murietta said, "in the face of constant temptation to disband and go their separate ways."

  "Into a white world he is certain will destroy them."

  "That is what he believes, and I believe it will happen, also, to those who try to live as we do."