by Daniel Knapp
"No need, no need. I recommended they wait until you have a chance to recover. You should get some rest. I can pass it along."
"Four hundred aught seven, Orchard Street. Cordelia Plaggett. With two t's."
The doctor fished out a notepad and pencil and wrote it down. "Orchard Street. Coincidence. I have a patient at three hundred aught six. Are you sure you'll be all right? I have a carriage nearby. It would be no trouble to take you."
"No. I'll be fine. Someone is waiting for me at a restaurant. She'll be half out of her wits with worry by now."
"If you have any difficulty, please send for me." He gave her his card and tipped his hat.
Quickly, she put distance and people between them. Her throat hurt. The pistol was bruising the lower portion of her spine. Small price to pay for the chance I had…. She felt chagrined and disappointed, grateful, thankful, all at the same time. I am still alive… If I can get to Solana and get home before they learn of my ruse… No one but the doctor had seen her unveiled face, and she had never seen him before. With luck she would never see him again. No one had seen anything but the clothes she wore—and hundreds of women wore similar outfits every Sunday of the year.
She kept walking, not looking back. I will stay at home… perhaps even travel, leave San Francisco until enough time has passed so no one, not even the doctor, could identify me with certainty… If I can just reach Solana…
Anger over her failure began blossoming again. She squelched it. First things first… Get away… Get to Solana and get away… So there can be another time, another opportunity… if I am patient enough… lucky enough…
Solana was waiting in the buggy in front of Delmonico's. She seemed to look knowingly at Esther, had almost the beginning of a smile on her mouth. But the Indian woman said nothing, simply turned, clucked, and snapped the reins. As they began the ride out of town, Esther took off her hat, reached back, and threw the forest-green shawl over her head, shoulders, and chest, then covered her black skirts with the beige carriage blanket. Sitting back and letting out a deep breath, she watched the people they passed. No one took particular notice of her. It was already cool enough for a woman in a carriage to want cover, warmth. She sighed with relief. Wrapped in the shawl and blanket, she no doubt looked like a different person. There was nothing to connect her with the black-clad "Baptist lady" at number 41 Sacramento Street.
Later, in her bedroom with the door closed, the pistol put away, after her pulse had slowed and her hands had stopped shaking, she felt only the hollow, bone-deep loss of Murietta. She still could not believe that he was gone, that she would never see him again. She wanted to talk to someone about him. Not Solana, who had long since retreated into a shell of virtual silence. Not Barnett, who knew nothing of Murietta's return. But who? She thought of Alex. Dear, sweet Alex. She had not addressed herself to him in the pages of her journal for some time. It had been necessary to stop. But now she needed him. He was the one. He was the only one she could "tell," the only one who could really understand how she felt, know why she needed so to write to him again.
She went to her desk, yearning for the blessed relief she knew she would feel when she picked up the pen, began forming the letters, the words. She sat down and opened the journal. She noted the date and place. Then her mind went blank. She did not know where to begin. A minute passed. Then, as she sat there detached, watching her hand, it began to move. Almost independent of her, it wrote the first line:
"Solana and I buried 'Jack Marin' today."
And then the rest of the words flowed as freely as her tears.
Sixty-two
Esther and Solana were sailing through the Golden Gate aboard the clipper Flying Cloud by the time a messenger surprised William Kelsey with her letter. In it, she explained that she wished to be away from San Francisco for the duration of the vigilante madness, that she felt a need for a temporary change of scenery, and she apologized for not saying good-bye. She also requested that he have Billy Ralston look after her affairs. Half of the profits accruing to her from Blue Star and her wholesale business were to be placed in her security vault at the Miner's Exchange Bank. A separate letter of authorization and a key were enclosed. The remaining half, Ralston was to invest for her as he saw fit. She added that he was to receive 20 percent of any income he made for her, nothing if he did not.
At first she planned only to spend a few months in New York and New England, then return to California. But after a surreptitious carriage drive one painfully nostalgic fall afternoon past her Vermont home and the old school where her younger sister now taught, she decided a trip to Europe would do wonders for Solana as well as herself.
They spent an enthralled month in London, then moved on. Establishing an apartment in Paris as a base, they traveled the Continent for almost a year. She wrote to and heard from Sutter, Kelsey, and Barnett several times, learned in one letter that Warren had been a target of the vigilantes. He had come out of it unscathed politically and, more important, unharmed. Kelsey's life was still as placid as Sutter's was troubled. The petitions for title Sutter had sent to the U.S. Government were getting no further than they had with the State of California.
The extended tour broadened and restored her. But by the end of eighteen months she began to feel homesick. She was sure even Dr. Sims could no longer be certain she was the woman who had visited Mosby's cell. Twenty-two months after the vigilantes disbanded, she returned to San Francisco by way of London, New York, and a second, eighty-day clipper voyage around the Horn.
The first thing she did after reopening her house and unpacking was to check on Mosby's whereabouts. U.S. government, state, and military officials had put pressure on Coleman. Mosby had been charged only with assault, let off with a fine. He was back on the bench in Sacramento. She would go there, observe his movements, and find out where he lived. Perhaps then she could begin planning again. But that could wait for the moment. He wasn't going anywhere, and there were other things she wanted to do first.
Initially she had enough on her hands simply adjusting to all that had happened while she was gone. Discomfitingly, the city had crept to within two miles of her hilltop. There were thousands more people, among them a growing number of Chinese who had worked off their contracts with the large hydraulic-and shaft-mining combines and set up small businesses.
Going over her accounts, she discovered that Ralston had done far better with her money than she'd ever dreamed he would. She had spent almost all of the profits she'd made during the year and a half following the panic. But more had accumulated while she was away. Ralston had quadrupled that base with investments in commodity firms, real estate, a foundry, and a railroad that someone named Theodore Judah had built from Sacramento up into the gold fields. She recalled the extensive railroads of the Eastern seaboard, two of which she'd traveled on to Boston, and briefly considered the importance such transportation might play in California if Judah's system could be expanded. She would have to look into that. Setting the matter aside, she went back to the accounts. Ralston had provided funds for three separate coffee merchants: the Hills brothers, James Folger, and Max Joseph Brandenstein, whose coffee sacks, Ralston informed her, bore his initials. All were thriving. The last item on the list was a relatively small investment in a silver mine in Nevada called the Ophir.
Impressed, she read the letter Ralston enclosed. He had continued to represent her interests after leaving Blue Star to become a bank manager. She thought of the advantage money had meant in coming face to face with Mosby in the bordello. It seemed prudent to have Ralston expand his activities for her. She had just decided to find a way to meet him without danger of being recognized when she glanced at the front page of the San Francisco Journal sitting on her desk. Alex Todd was campaigning for a judgeship. He was better qualified than his opponent, the article said, but the man he was running against was favored because he had unlimited financial support from the city's Southern faction. And, as if that were not enough, the piece added,
Todd's own efforts were curtailed because his wife was gravely ill.
Esther gazed out through her bedroom window at the city. She suddenly had an unquenchable urge to see Alex again; to just look at him. She thought of how she could meet with Ralston, then of Alex's political predicament. Slowly, a means of fulfilling both wishes began to materialize. A dangerous means, to be sure, but, surprisingly, the danger—along with the possibility of succeeding—excited her more than any of Europe's endless wonders.
The following day she scoured the financial district and found a vacant office with western exposure in a four-story brick building. It was September, and by midafternoon the sun streamed through the windows of the small room, casting everything before them in silhouette.
Satisfied, she bought handsome office furniture: a couch, a leather desk-set, and a calendar. She had louvered shutters installed on the windows, nailing all of them shut except those directly behind the desk. Of the three lamps she acquired, one was a floor model. She placed it behind her leather desk-chair. The smaller fixtures on the desk itself and the end table next to the couch, she left empty of oil. If she had to turn on a lamp, the only one operable would be behind her. Even in the unlikely event that someone could see through the heavy veil she planned to wear, it would be impossible to make out her face.
"You won't understand why I'm asking this," she said to Solana, "but if for any reason I faint while they're here, you're to make them leave immediately. Just tell them I'll see them another time."
The sun had just dropped below the upper frame of the office windows. The louvered shutters slanted down, and the brilliant light spilling through them blacked out every vertical, eastward-facing surface in the room.
"You do not feel well?" Solana asked as Esther sat the Indian woman in the desk chair for the third time. Solanas features were barely discernible even without covering.
"It's nothing," Esther said, satisfied.
"I will not have to speak?"
"Not unless I'm taken ill."
Solana grumbled, then sat back down on the couch. She wondered why Esther was going to so much trouble to remain unseen. They would hear her, recognize her voice… She decided the matter did not concern her. She was beyond wondering about the inexplicable things Esther occasionally did. If it was part of the large work the sun had given her, then so be it. Esther would tell her if she cared to, or if she needed help. Still, Solana was aware of how nervous Esther seemed, then puzzled when she flinched visibly at the knock on the door. She listened and watched, fascinated, as Esther began speaking in a loud whisper, dragging the words across the back of her tongue so she gargled slightly and sounded like someone else.
"Forgive me for not getting up and shaking hands," she said, after they had been introduced to Solana and seated. "I have a touch of the ague."
"Pleasure to meet you again, ma'am," Ralston said. "I'm excited about the business ventures you outlined in your letter, and Assemblyman Todd here is sure grateful for the support you've offered."
She had not looked at Alex when they came in. She still did not trust herself. She had to become accustomed to the pounding of her heart and the tremor in her limbs. When he spoke, she gripped the arms of her chair until her knuckles turned white under her gloves.
"I certainly am grateful," he said diffidently. "And I want to say it's a privilege finally to meet you after all those years associated in business. I hope you were satisfied with my handling of things at the South Fork."
"More than pleased," she whispered, shifting her eyes toward him slowly. When she finally looked straight at him, she was certain her voice would crack. He looked marvelous, even if his suit was a bad fit and slightly rumpled. Alex would do justice to burlap. She glanced at Ralston's meticulously selected, carefully pressed clothing. By comparison, he looked like a dandy.
Thirteen years since the day Alex had left her at Bent's Fort; eleven since their near encounter here in San Francisco. And yet he still looked young, had not lost that endearing touch of awkward shyness. She felt as though a tiny bird was trapped beneath her chest, beating its fragile wings against her rib cage in an effort to free itself. His face was even more handsome than she remembered. His pale, slightly sad blue eyes made her want to fold him in her arms.
She looked at Ralston out of desperation, anything to take her eyes off Alex. He was still fit. Ralston was also trim, but she guessed he had to work long and hard with barbells to stay that way. Alex would probably retain his athletic build through his fifties with half the effort. They age better than we do, she thought, the strangely detached observation floating in a sea of emotion.
She looked back at Alex. "Much more than pleased," she heard herself say. She had to shift her gaze back to Ralston again to keep from breaking, giving in to the impulse to rip her hat and veil off, plead with Alex to leave his wife and take her back. She had not turned her head, and she knew Alex thought she was still looking at him. "You had a great deal to do with our success, right from the start." She did not dare take her eyes off Ralston's solid-gold stickpin. 'That's why I want to help you now. I feel I owe you that."
"No need to feel obliged, Mrs. Cable."
His voice made her ache inside. "But I do, and nothing you say will change that."
Ralston shifted impatiently, trying to avoid the sunlight shining in his eyes.
"Please forgive the glare. I have to have it behind me. My eyes are very sensitive to light."
"No trouble, Mrs. Cable," Ralston said. "I just can't see you."
Esther took in a breath, trying to work up moisture in her mouth so her speech would remain glottal. "I'm sorry about the veil, Mr. Ralston. As you may know, I am of a retiring nature. It is most unusual for me to meet with anyone this way—" Out of the corner of her eye she caught sight of Alex moving his chair slightly closer, and nearly panicked. "And as you can plainly hear… the ague… is sufficient to affect my voice. I wouldn't want to pass it on to either of you gentlemen."
She glanced at Alex and felt a little calmer. Satisfied that she could carry it off, she asked Alex's forbearance and went over the expanded activities she wanted Ralston to undertake. He was delighted. Finally she knew she could put off speaking to Alex for only a question or two more. She gathered her courage as she asked Ralston, "You don't mind working for—" She corrected herself, sensitive to the notion most men had of a woman's place"—representing a woman?"
"Not at all," Ralston smiled. "I don't really care who or what a person is when they're giving me what might be the opportunity of a lifetime. I think a man who does has got to be a jackass, if you'll pardon me."
"I'm glad you feel that way."
"You might be surprised at the number of ladies who—ah—quietly, secretly have their hand in things."
Esther smiled at the double irony. "Would it be any help to you personally if I transferred my savings to your bank? To an account rather than a safe deposit?"
Ralston beamed. "Very helpful, Mrs. Cable. It would also be more convenient all around."
She steeled herself. "Mr. Todd… Thank you for your patience. What I had in mind was something like this. I'd like to contribute nine hundred dollars to your campaign." Three times what he left with me at Bent's Fort. Nearly ten times the interest a bank would have paid. I hope he will one day consider that fair. "Use it as you see fit," she went on. "I'll also ask William Kelsey to lend a hand. Perhaps he can enlist some business acquaintances. If you need more than that, I'll be happy to advance it." She wanted to give him all of it, anything he needed. But that would raise questions in his mind. She was certain of it. "Anything above the nine hundred I will expect you to pay back. Whenever you are able, of course, without interest."
She wondered if he could sense that her eyes were sweeping back and forth beneath the veil, resting on his face for only seconds at a time.
Alex shook his head in disbelief. "I don't know what to say, Mrs. Cable. I can't thank you enough." He looked down at the floor. "You know, I was never cut
out to be either a borrower or a politician."
"Thank God for that," Ralston said, echoing Esther's thoughts.
Alex laughed self-deprecatingly. The sound sent a current of memories down Esther's spine. "I suppose I could go back into business. But I… I have a hunch I'd be suited—I think I could do a good job as a judge."
"I'm sure you will," Esther said, trying to hold on. "I wouldn't be doing it unless I knew what a decent, conscientious man you are." She wondered if she sounded too familiar, if she had gone too far. It frightened her. She looked at her watch. "Now… both of you will have to excuse me. I'm expecting my doctor any minute." She smiled to herself. She might need a doctor. She turned to Ralston. "You'll be sure…" Her voice was beginning to fail her. She cleared her throat. "The railroad business. You'll be sure to look into it?"
"Yes, ma'am. As quickly as I can," Ralston said as he and Alex got up and turned toward the door. "As well as that rumor I mentioned about the Ophir mine. I think we ought to buy more of it."
"Thank you again, Mrs. Cable," Alex said softly, looking back.
The sound of his voice and the imminence of his departure sent a pang through her. As relieved as she was that they were going, she wanted to prolong his presence, if only for a few seconds.
"Your wife, Mr. Todd. Is she any better?"
"Thank you for asking. I'm afraid not."
She searched for something else to say, going headlong over the limit she usually placed on personal questions. "Is it… the nature of your wife's illness… is it serious?"
"It could be. She's having early complications."
"Early… complications?"
"She's with child, Mrs. Cable."
Esther bit her lip. "Well… I do hope she's feeling better."
When they were gone, she sat silently for a moment, stunned, unable to do anything but stare at the door. She felt herself beginning to come apart. She asked Solana to wait for her in the lobby, and after the Indian woman had left, she rested her head on her arms and wept. The hollowness in her chest and the knots in her stomach were ample evidence of the truth. Now she had to find a way to deal with it. If there had ever been any doubt, any rationalized belief that her feelings had diminished, it was gone now. She still loved him, wanted him as much as she ever had. Enough to disregard willfully the pain this meeting might have held for him as well as her. And there was nothing she could do about it, other than find something to occupy her mind totally, shut him out as she had in the past.