Jubilee Trail

by Gwen Bristow

  “Thank you—for coming back, John. Where’s Florinda?”

  “Don’t try to talk,” said John. “I’ll turn you over, then I’ll get Florinda.”

  He put his arms under her and lifted her, and turned her on her side to ease her cramped muscles. When he had drawn the blankets over her shoulders again he went into the next room, and a moment later Florinda came in. She was smothering a yawn.

  “Were you—asleep?” asked Garnet. “I’m—sorry.” It was hard to talk.

  “Oh, I feel fine,” said Florinda. She pulled the woolen robe around her, and pushing her hair back she fixed it in place with a pair of combs. “Now I’ll get the bed straight.”

  She drew the covers down and rubbed Garnet all over with a cool damp cloth. She was deft and brisk, but very gentle. Garnet wished she could say how grateful she was.

  After a while she went to sleep again. She woke up, and again she went to sleep. This happened several times. When she woke up Florinda or John was always there, but they did not bother her at all. The Mexican women had kept trying to give her spoonfuls of broth, which she could not keep down. John and Florinda did not make her swallow anything, but gradually her mouth began to feel less parched, and the cracks in her lips began to heal.

  It was three o’clock in the morning. John was in the outer room, finishing a meal of beef and cold tortillas. They never brought any food into the bedroom lest the odor make Garnet sick again. He pushed back the plate and went in to tell Florinda he would take care of Garnet now.

  In the lamplight Florinda’s face was lined and tired, but as he came in she beckoned to him excitedly.

  “John!” she whispered, and he bent over to hear her. “John, it’s happening!”

  “What’s happening? Is she better?”

  “Yes. Look.”

  She drained the spoon and passed it over Garnet’s lips. As she did so, Garnet unconsciously moved her lips and passed her tongue over them to get the dampness.

  “She’s done that two or three times,” Florinda said softly. “Now we can go on. We’ve got to be careful. Oh John, it’s got to work! It’s got to work.”

  She put out her left hand and he closed his own over it. They both held tight. The five minutes dragged. At last Florinda brought up the spoon again. This time she did not quite drain it. Tensely, holding her breath, she let a drop of water stay on Garnet’s lower lip. Still asleep, Garnet put out her tongue and tasted it. John felt a shiver of suspense. His eyes met Florinda’s.

  “This is where it hurts,” said Florinda. “You want to hurry. You can’t hurry.”

  John knelt down and put his arm around her waist. Florinda rested her elbow on his shoulder. They watched, silently. Every five minutes, Florinda put another drop of water on Garnet’s lips.

  After a while John saw that her hand was trembling with fatigue. He took the spoon from her.

  She yielded reluctantly. “Just a drop at a time,” she whispered. “A tiny drop, Johnny.”

  She went into the other room and fell asleep. When she woke up John brought her beef and tortillas hot from the kitchen. Florinda had kept her bargain with Charles; she had not left the two rooms. John brought her water for washing, and she set the slop-jars outside the door so the servant girls could carry them away.

  While Florinda was eating her breakfast John went to sit by Garnet. She opened her eyes.

  Florinda had told him what to do when Garnet awoke, so now John leaned over the bed. “Garnet, you’re a lot better. Do you understand me?”

  She nodded, and looked at him questioningly.

  “Now we want you to try something,” said John. “You’re very thirsty, aren’t you?”

  She nodded again.

  “Florinda is going to give you a few drops of water. Just a tiny bit. Swallow it and keep very quiet.”

  With a frightened look, Garnet shook her head. “John, I can’t!”

  “Try, won’t you?” he asked gently.

  Garnet made an effort to smile at him. “All right. I’ll try.”

  “Good.” He heard the door open. “Here’s Florinda now.”

  He put his arm under the pillow and raised her head. Florinda smiled down at Garnet, and put the spoon to her lips. Garnet swallowed. John laid her down again.

  “Don’t move, Garnet,” said Florinda. “Take deep breaths. Very deep breaths.”

  Garnet obeyed, closing her eyes. Florinda held the watch in her hand.

  This time she waited fifteen minutes.

  “Now we’ll try again, Garnet.”

  Garnet swallowed another teaspoonful of water. Again Florinda waited fifteen minutes. The water did not come back. Florinda said,

  “Get yourself a nap, Johnny. I’m going to need you later.”

  When he woke up, that afternoon, Florinda told him triumphantly that Garnet had not gagged once. If she could take water she could take milk.

  “Milk?” John repeated. He began to laugh. “In California?”

  “Oh dear,” said Florinda, “I forgot.” She began to laugh too. There were thousands of cattle on the hills, but cattle in California meant beef and leather and tallow candles; few of the Californios ever used milk. “But can’t you get some milk, John?” Florinda asked anxiously.

  “Yes, I’ll get it,” said John. “It’ll take a little time, that’s all.”

  He went out. Acting on his orders, several of Charles’ cow-hands mounted and set out to rope some of the wild cows on the hills. They dragged in six cows before they found one that had any milk. With no notion of what was going to be done to her, the cow kicked and bellowed in panic, while her calf leaped after her, fighting too. Amid a great howling and racket the men rolled the cow over and tied her legs together, two and two, then a man held her up at each end while a third man forced milk out of her udder. The cow bawled. The serving-people quit work and ran over to watch.

  The men’s efforts produced about a pint of milk. They untied the cow, and with yelps of relief she and her calf bounded back to the hills.

  Florinda filled a cup with half milk and half water, and gave Garnet a spoonful every fifteen minutes. Garnet kept it down.

  The next day she took the milk without any water to thin it, and in the afternoon Florinda said to John,

  “She can try some meat broth now. You’ll have to fix it, since I’m not allowed in the kitchen.”

  John obeyed her, and fed the broth to Garnet with a spoon. Garnet smiled at him as she finished it.

  “John, I can’t say much yet. But you’ve been very good to me.”

  He smiled back. “I’ve done nothing but take orders.”

  “Getting dark, Johnny,” said Florinda. “Time for you to go to bed.”

  “What about yourself?” he asked, for Florinda had been getting very little sleep lately.

  She went to the door of the room where they rested by turns, and beckoned to him. With the door shut so Garnet would not hear, she said,

  “Let me sit up with her a while, John. Yes, I’m dreadfully tired. But I’ve got to see how her stomach takes the meat broth.”

  “You’ll wake me as soon as it’s safe to leave her?”

  “Yes, and you can sit up the rest of the night.”

  He agreed, and lay down on the blankets. Florinda went back to the bedroom. She sat by the bed, now and then giving Garnet a sip of water. After a while Garnet fell asleep.

  When she awoke it was deep night. There was a lamp on the table, but it was burning low, and they had made a screen of two empty jugs with a shawl hung over them to keep the light out of her eyes. Florinda sat by the table, but she had fallen asleep, her head on her arm.

  Garnet wondered how long Florinda and John had been here. She was still very weak, but she was not nauseated any more, and she was not having those hideous dreams. She wondered if she was really going to get well, and how she was going to take care of herself if she did.

  She moved restlessly. Florinda raised her head, blinking vaguely at the light and pushing back
her tumbled hair. Then, remembering where she was, she sprang up and came to the bed.

  “I’m here, Garnet.”

  “I’m all right,” Garnet said. “I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

  “I didn’t mean to go to sleep, either. How do you feel?”

  “Very well.”

  “No bumbles in the middle?”

  Garnet shook her head.

  “Fine. Here, take some milk. Drink it all, you need it.”

  As she gave back the cup, Garnet saw how weary Florinda looked. She held out her hand, and Florinda knelt by her.

  Florinda dropped her head on the pillow. She was so sleepy that her eyes were closing again. “You don’t look as if you’ve had any rest at all,” said Garnet. “How long have you been here?”

  “Four or five days, I’m not sure. I’ve lost track. But it doesn’t matter.” Florinda rubbed her eyes. “You’re going to be all right, and you’ll have your baby.” She roused herself with an effort. “And I’ll tell you something else,” she added.

  “Yes? What?”

  “I can’t get you back home,” said Florinda, “but I can get you out of this house if you want to leave it. Would you like to come to Los Angeles with me?”

  Garnet started. “You mean,” she gasped incredulously, “you’d let me live with you? I don’t have to stay here with Charles?”

  “You’re damn right you don’t have to stay here. Do you want to come with me?”

  “Do I want to! Oh, Florinda!”

  “Then that’s settled?” Florinda asked.

  “Florinda, I can’t tell you how I’ve wanted to get out of here. Oh, you are so good.”

  “Why no I’m not. It’ll be fun having you there.”

  Garnet sighed happily. Then a doubt struck her, and she demurred, “But Florinda.”

  Florinda raised her head from the pillow. “What now, Garnet?”

  “The baby.”

  “What about the baby? We’ll take care of it.”

  “In a saloon?”

  “Well, holy Christmas, you don’t have to feed it whiskey. You’ll have milk of your own. I’ll show you how to take care of the baby.”

  “I’m glad you know how. I don’t. In fact,” Garnet confessed, tired of trying to be brave, “I’m scared about the whole thing.”

  “Of course you are, dear. But you’ve got no reason to be. I mean it, Garnet. It’s not scary, it’s wonderful. How long has it been now?”

  “About four months.”

  “Pretty soon you’ll feel the baby move. Just a tiny bit, like something quirking its finger. Then all of a sudden, the baby won’t be an idea any more, it will be a person, and it’s so surprising, and you’ll love it. It will keep on moving, just those funny little quivers at first, but after a while you can feel it kicking, great big healthy kicks—”

  “Doesn’t it hurt?”

  “Not a bit. It’s thrilling. Oh Garnet, really it is, I’m not just talking to cheer you up. And then finally you see it—”

  “That hurts dreadfully, doesn’t it?”

  “Why yes, but it won’t hurt you too much because you’re as tough as a pony. Once you’ve got the baby it doesn’t seem to make any difference whether it hurt or not. The baby is so little, you can hardly believe anything alive could be so little, but it’s got hands and feet and a face, such a queer screwed-up little face. Then they put it up to your bosom, and that’s not like anything else on earth. I can’t tell you, nobody can, but you’ll find out. It’s all so beautiful, and it’s so right—”

  “Florinda!”

  Garnet had tried to raise herself on her elbow, but she was not strong enough. She lay staring incredulously at Florinda’s blue eyes and the shadows of fatigue under them, deepened by the faint light.

  “Have you had a baby?” asked Garnet.

  Florinda nodded.

  “But you never said a word about it. Not till this minute.”

  “No. But I did have a baby. That’s why I can help you take care of yours. I know what to do.”

  “But your baby!” said Garnet. She was so astonished that she had almost forgotten her own.

  “A little girl. Do you want a little girl or a little boy?”

  “I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. What happened to your little girl, Florinda?”

  “She died. Your baby’s not going to die. You’re not going to find out what that’s like, not if I have to crawl around the world on my knees.” Florinda spoke with determination, but she was so drowsy that she let her head drop back on the pillow as though she could not hold it up any longer.

  “Go to bed,” Garnet began, but before she could say any more John came in, tousled from sleep, demanding,

  “Why didn’t you wake me up, Florinda?”

  Florinda roused herself and stood up. “I meant to. But I went to sleep myself.”

  “How’s Garnet?”

  “Fine.” Florinda picked up the water-jug. “Get some fresh water, will you, Johnny? And make some more broth like that, first thing in the morning.”

  John took the jug from her. “I’ll be right back with this. You go on to sleep now, and sleep till you wake up.”

  Florinda nodded. But she waited by the bed until John had gone out, then she said to Garnet in a half-embarrassed undertone, “Say, Garnet, don’t let out to John about all that babbling I did a minute ago. Or to anybody.”

  “You mean about your little girl?”

  “Yes. I don’t know what started me off. I guess I was so sleepy I didn’t have right good sense.”

  “All right. I won’t say anything about it.”

  “Thanks.” Florinda bent and kissed Garnet’s forehead quickly, and went out.

  THIRTY

  THREE DAYS LATER THE Handsome Brute came riding up to the rancho. As usual, he rode in a great splendor of satin and fine leather, followed by retainers and a string of horses laden with packs. Charles went out to meet him. Charles despised the Brute as a stupid savage, but the Brute was a landowner, and neither his opinion nor his grief at Oliver’s death could make Charles willing to omit the forms of courtesy customary among the landowners of California.

  The Brute brought Garnet and Florinda silk shawls, Garnet’s printed with red flowers and Florinda’s with blue. Florinda put on her shawl at once, turning before the mirror to try various effects of draping. The Brute came over to the bedside. He patted Garnet’s hair with his great hand.

  “I am sorry about Oliver,” he said gently.

  “Thank you, Brute.”

  “But you are going to have a baby,” said the Brute. “That is good.”

  Garnet smiled at him. In New York, a man who made such a remark to a lady would have been thought unpardonably ill-bred. But the Brute did not know this.

  “You are not happy now,” he went on, “because you are not strong and you feel helpless, and it is not happy to feel helpless. But you have strength inside. You will be happy.”

  She hoped he was right. Just now she did not feel strong or happy either.

  Later that day, with a great effort, she managed to write a letter to her parents, telling them she could not come home. John said he would take the letter to Los Angeles and give it to Texas, who would give it to one of the Missouri traders in Santa Fe. Garnet sat up against a pile of pillows, and John brought her a tray that she could hold on her knees for a desk. He set the ink on a chair by her bed.

  It was a very hard letter to write. She was so weak that the pen wobbled in her hand, and she had to move it very slowly lest the lines shake and tell them, in spite of her, that she had been ill. She wrote that Oliver had died suddenly, but she did not tell them how; and she wrote that she was going to have a baby. The effort of pushing the pen was so great that it made her hands and forehead damp. Drying her hands on the sheet, she wrote, “My health, as always, is excellent. Oliver’s brother is kindness itself, and I have a very pleasant home. Do not be concerned about me. With all my love, Garnet.” The pen dropped out of her hand and ro
lled on the floor, and she fell back on the pillow, panting with fatigue. Tears crept out of her eyes and ran into the drops of sweat on her face. It seemed to her that this letter cut the last tie between herself and her home; she thought shipwrecked people must feel like this when they stood on the shore of some far lost island and watched their ship go down.

  “Please read it, John,” she murmured. “Is it fit to send?”

  John took out his handkerchief and wiped the tears and the drops of sweat off her face. He picked up the letter.

  “Why yes,” he said quietly. “It’s a very fine pack of lies. I’d better start for Los Angeles tomorrow—the train will be leaving any day now.” He put the letter into his pocket and went to the door. “You have a great deal of courage, Garnet,” he said over his shoulder.

  When John went to Los Angeles, the Brute stayed to help Florinda take care of Garnet. “Charles will not make Florinda leave while I am here,” the Brute said. “I could break Charles in two with my hands.” He said it with such charming simplicity that Garnet could not help laughing.

  The Brute was an excellent nurse. With his great strength he had great tenderness. He sat by Garnet’s bed for hours at a time, talking to her. He did not speak of Oliver again. But he told her funny stories about the traders, and about the Yankee seamen who came up to Los Angeles in the hide-carts. Or he talked to her gently, letting her know he understood her loneliness in this strange country, since he had once been lonely here himself. Sometimes she laughed with him, sometimes she shed quiet tears, and he always seemed to know how she felt.

  The Brute’s English had improved since last fall. When she praised him for this, he said it was important for him to learn good English, because he thought there would be a lot more Yankees here pretty soon. To get Garnet’s mind off her own troubles he told her what was going on.

  He said the people of California did not like their present government. Their laws were made for them by a bunch of grandees down in Mexico City, and these gentlemen were being very stupid about California. “Like what John has told me about the British king George the Third,” he said. “You have heard of him?”