by S. C. Wilson
Her anxiety grew as she finalized preparations. The last task was the one she dreaded most of all. Jessica studied the rippling image reflecting back at her in the stream. She separated a long, silky lock of her hair, winding it softly around a trembling finger. Closing her eyes for a moment, she fondly remembered Frieda brushing her hair when she was young. She didn’t give herself time to lose her nerve. Pulling the razor-sharp knife from its sheath, another gift from Frieda, she sliced off the beloved strand of hair. With steely resolve, she continued to cut as clumps of hair drifted lazily downstream, her heart aching as if it too was floating away, adrift, powerless in the current.
Staring at her reflection once again, she barely held back tears, as hair that once reached her hips now scarcely grazed her shoulders. She stood and brushed stray remnants from her arms. Good Lord, it’s only hair, she told herself.
When the morning finally arrived, she gave herself a pep talk. “I can do this,” she repeated as she readied, wrapping her chest with the strips of cloth and then getting into costume.
Concealing her femininity was a fairly easy task. She put on a long sleeve shirt, buttoned it up to the top, and then slipped into the buckskin pants. With the coat and Frieda’s old feathered hat, the illusion was complete. She secured supplies to her waist: knife, powder horn, shot pouch, a large bag of jerky, and canteen. Last, she poured the contents of an old tin into her hand, and placed the coins into a small leather pouch. It was Frieda’s life savings and she would be careful to spend it wisely. Jessica secured one gold nugget, Frieda’s allowance, in her breast binding for safekeeping. If she ran into trouble along the way it wouldn’t be easily found. Over one shoulder was a roll of thick beaver pelts and a deerskin, supported by a long, rawhide strap. Her leather pouch and rifle were flung over the other. Taking one final look around the place, she was as ready as she could be. She walked outside and closed the door behind her.
The sun was just rising on that mid-June day. The instructions Frieda had given her were fresh in her mind, each word still clear. They gave her a sense of peace: she would not be alone. Frieda would be with her.
She turned back for one last look at her home, letting the loving memories wash over her. She pushed them out of her head and stepped into the forest, saying goodbye to her old home, and to Jessica. Now, and for the foreseeable future, she was Jesse.
Jesse followed the stream until it spilled into the large mountain lake. She had been here many times over the years, but had never given much thought to the six sycamore trees lined up in a row to the east. She followed the directions and discovered the faint trail Frieda described between the third and fourth trees. The path was overgrown with weeds and shrubs; even small trees grew sporadically.
She moved slowly, examining trees as she went. It wasn’t long before she found one with the special notches carved into the bark. She ran her fingers over them and thought about Frieda and Nathaniel standing at this exact place all those years ago. A lump welled up in her throat and in that moment it was hard for her to swallow. The marks were old, barely visible. She used her knife, their knife, to redo the markings. There was some relief in finding them. Now, she knew exactly what she was looking for.
The beginning of the descent was fairly easy, not too rocky or difficult. Jesse found each marked tree along the way, taking a few extra minutes to deepen the cuts with her knife. Her bulky pack of supplies and pelts weighed her down. By midday, sun directly overhead, she felt as if she was baking, even though shaded by the ample canopy of the trees. She had to pause for a break.
Jesse was in top physical shape, but the added weight was taking its toll. By the time the sun started to set, she was exhausted. She dropped her provisions and collapsed to the ground. She snacked on some deer jerky and washed it down with water from the canteen. Darkness and sleep both came quickly. There, under the massive star-filled sky, the old deerskin embraced her like a warm hug.
The second morning started out rough. Her body was sore and her muscles ached even before she set out. The landscape was magnificent and pure; the clean air and the sounds of nature filled her senses. The scenery was a welcome distraction from the grueling task at hand.
The routine for the next few days was monotonous. She continued east, always descending, studying her surroundings along the way.
On the fifth morning, she heard the sounds of rushing water. She found herself standing on the west bank of the Devil’s Fork, water roaring fiercely before her. Boulders were scattered throughout the raging torrent, the crashing water exploding high into the air as it collided with the jagged rocks. The river was still flanked on each side by thick, dense woods, as she remembered. There were no signs of people anywhere.
Jesse dropped her belongings and removed her coat, enjoying the cool breeze. She sat on the ground to admire the beautiful yet daunting sight. Shaking her head in disbelief, she was shocked she had made it across the river alive when she was a young girl. It had been a miracle. Someone must have been looking down on her to help guide her across such wild, deadly waters.
“Keep going.” Jesse shuddered, certain she had heard Frieda’s voice on the wind.
She hefted her belongings and began to head south, keeping a watchful eye on the river flowing on her left. This part of the trip was more difficult than descending the mountain had been, as the roots of the ever-present trees became thick tangles underfoot. Perhaps the change in altitude or nearby water had provided better growing conditions. Whatever the reason, the woods were much thicker near the base of the mountain, the footing more treacherous.
Jesse stumbled upon a well-worn deer path, making navigation easier. It was obvious more than deer had been using the path. She had to be careful to avoid occasional piles of bear scat as well; the excrement the only sign of life she saw. The day proved to be as lonely and isolated as all the ones before.
Stopping abruptly, she was caught off guard by the spectacle before her. A tree loomed like a misshapen and out-of-place arm flexing its muscle. The trunk was oddly bent only a few feet up from the base, as if something had made it grow horizontally for a time and then released it to grow vertically. It looked like no other tree she had ever seen and her heart soared in excitement.
This has to be it.
Jesse searched across the water and found an identical, disfigured tree standing on the far riverbank. Walking closer to the edge of the embankment, she stared into the fast moving current, trying her best to see the granite crossing hidden beneath its surface. She knew it had to be there, the hidden underwater bridge between the two route marker trees. Frieda told her the granite slab path was invisible beneath the water, even if someone were looking right at it. Jesse would feel a whole lot better if she could at least catch a glimpse. No matter how long she stared, she saw nothing but rolling water. The longer she looked, the more anxious she became. She had to cross, or at least attempt it, even if she died trying.
But first, she would rest. She camped beside the mighty river, oblivious even to the howling of wolves off in the distance.
An owl’s screech woke her from her slumber. She stretched her arms and legs, shaking them to get the blood flowing again. Jesse double-checked everything was securely fastened to her. By the light of the full moon, she had no trouble making her way down the grassy embankment.
She held her rifle with both hands, chest level, for balance. The cold made her suck in a breath as she put a foot in the water. Her next step dropped her waist-deep into the torrent. Her muscles tensed.
Sliding her feet around, she bumped up against the knee-high granite ledge, and gauged the passage to be about six feet wide. She made sure her left leg was always as close to the ledge as possible. She had to lean a little to counteract the force of the water against her. Gripping her rifle firmly, she continued moving forward. Jesse focused on the bent tree ahead. Slowly and cautiously she shuffled, unaware the bottoms of her moccasins were becoming slick.
The passage was going well until her righ
t foot slid out from under her. She fell, dropping her rifle when her elbow hit the underwater ledge. She grabbed the submerged rock with one hand, her other flailing for a lifeline that didn’t exist. Jesse struggled against the current, trying to keep her grip and her head above water. It took all her strength to pull her body up against the ledge. Clinging with both hands, she gasped for breath and tried to stand.
Back on her feet, she steadied herself and grabbed the swinging rifle. Her neck stung where the leather thong had rubbed her skin raw, but without it her weapon would have been lost. Coughing, lungs and throat still on fire, she crept onward. She was more careful this time with every short step.
She collapsed, shaking and wet, when she made it. Pain throbbed in her arm. A tear rolled down her cheek as stared down the river. She thought of Frieda and how proud her old friend would be.
She sat, unnerved by the senseless oversight that had almost cost her her life. She knew the bottoms of her moccasins became slippery when they were wet, but she had been so focused on all the other details of the plan she had overlooked that critical fact. Future crossings would be made without them. Her bare feet would give her better traction.
Frieda must have known it could be deadly to cross in moccasins, but in her delirium she had forgotten to warn her. Jesse hoped there was nothing else Frieda had failed to mention. Drained of all energy now and shivering, Jesse wanted nothing more than to light a fire and get warm. She chose to forego one that night, fearing it would draw unwanted attention.
Jesse noticed the missing feather when she removed her hat. She pushed aside the twang of guilt, telling herself, No, Frieda would be proud that I made it this far. I could have lost much more. She wanted to get out of her wet clothes, but knew they wouldn’t be dry by morning without a fire. It was a nightmare getting into wet leather.
Jesse cut pine boughs for bedding. A layer of branches would protect her wet body from the heat-stealing forest floor. She curled up in a ball and arranged the rest on top of her. Knowing her rifle had been rendered useless and her pouch of gunpowder was ruined, she slept fitfully, knife in hand.
She cringed as she woke to the feeling of wet leather against her skin. Chilled and sore, she started walking, hopeful the activity and the sun would soon put a stop to her shivers. Jesse’s nervousness intensified with each step. Could she really pull off this charade? What happens if I get caught? What will they do to me? Do I really need to look like this?
A sick feeling returned to her already queasy stomach. There was curiosity mixed in with her fear. After having lived so long on the mountain, she was afraid to do what most people do every day. Although scared, she also wanted to experience life in the town. She smiled, recalling visits to Granite Falls as a youngster. Visiting Carlson’s store had always been exciting. She got to see other people besides her family, and it was where her mother would buy her a piece of candy.
After several more hours of walking, she saw buildings off in the distance. She was relieved at having made it without getting lost. There was no turning back now.
Jesse made it to Ely late in the afternoon. It was obvious the town was much more than a mere trading post now. She saw movement in every direction and all types of people going about their business. Beautifully dressed women walked along the road, their hems dragging the dirt behind them. Men of all dress milled about, their noises mixed in with children who ran in all directions. Their laughter combined with the other street noises overloaded Jesse’s senses. It had been years since she had heard any human sounds besides Frieda’s voice.
Word there was gold in California had brought people into the area years ago. Even though most were simply passing through, Ely thrived. The town was still growing; men pounded nails on the new buildings being constructed alongside the road.
Jesse stood frozen, taking in the sights, and trying to get a feel for the area. Galloping hooves shot past her and interrupted her observations. Her first lesson—don’t stand in the street or you were likely to get run over. She drew a few looks on her way through town, but no one gave more than a quick glance. She seemed to blend in.
Frieda was right.
Coming across a building with a sign offering rooms for a dollar, she thought a warm place to sleep for the night was well worth spending some money on. She entered into a room with a fireplace and a couple of empty chairs. A woman greeted her warmly the moment she stepped inside. She was pretty, with a slender figure and long, braided hair pinned up in a bun.
“Well young man, you look like you could use some rest. I take it you’ll be needin’ a room?” the woman asked.
Jesse nodded and followed to a room down the hall. There were three other doors, which she assumed were also bedrooms. Not trusting herself to say too much, Jesse said, “Thank you, ma’am.”
“Welcome, and the name’s Edith,” she said, her voice kind.
“Jesse McGinnis.” She nodded.
“Well, Jesse, if you’ll be needing anything just give a holler.”
“Just need to get some sleep.”
Jesse thanked her once more before closing the door. She fell back on the soft feather bed, instantly relishing in the comfort. It was a far cry from the old straw mattress up at the cabin. She stared at the knotty pine ceiling, grateful to have made it this far without having been found out.
I can’t believe she called me young man. Maybe I can pull this off, she thought. It calmed her fears. She soon drifted into a deep, refreshing, and comfortable sleep.
A firm knock on the door woke her a few hours later. “It’s Edith. You hungry?”
It was uncharacteristic of Edith to offer food to a customer. She had always made it clear to her guests, without being rude, the Tin Plate would be happy to accommodate them if they got hungry. There was something different about her newest lodger. Jesse’s despair and sadness were almost palpable. Edith had a pretty good intuition, and an even bigger heart. Maybe that’s why she broke her own rule and took pity on the worn traveler.
Jesse opened the door.
“I made a pot of stew and thought you might be hungry,” Edith said, standing in the doorway.
Hungrier than she realized, for a hot meal no less, Jesse was more than happy to accept the invitation. “Thank you ma’am. That’s kind of you to offer.” Her voice was still raspy from sleep.
“Well, follow me,” Edith called out over her shoulder, already heading to the kitchen. She was already dipping the ladle into the steaming pot when Jesse caught up. “Pull up a chair. I’ll take care of ya,” Edith said.
“Thank you,” Jesse said. She took in a deep breath. It smells so good.
Edith pulled up a chair and sat across from the newcomer. “That is quite the outfit you got on. Did you make it yourself?”
“No ma’am,” Jesse said, “it was a gift.”
The whole ensemble impressed Edith, being a seamstress herself. Edith spoke as Jesse ate. “My husband and I actually started the trading post here in town. After Isaac died, it got to be too much. I sold it to a fella who made me an offer too good to pass up. Turned our home into the only hotel in Ely. I know it’s not much. Four bedrooms and a couple fireplaces, but it will keep the rain off your head and it’s a nice place to get some rest.”
Noticing Jesse’s empty bowl, Edith stood to get more. “Where are my manners? I haven’t let you get a word in.”
Jesse didn’t mind at all. She had been alone for a while. It was nice to hear a kind voice again. “Thank you, ma’am, but no. I’ve had plenty.”
“You sure?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“You’re welcome. So, where ya from?” Edith asked as she sat back down.
Jesse was caught off guard by the question. Not once in all the months of preparation had she given any thought as to what she would say should someone ask that. Why would she? This was supposed to be a scouting trip only.
She had to think of something on the spot. A small wooden barrel of potatoes against the wall gave her an idea
. Jesse blurted out, “I’m from Barrel.” The lie rolled off her tongue too easily for her liking.
“Huh. Never heard of it.”
“Yeah…it’s really small.”
Edith didn’t think it odd. People from all over passed through the area. “I noticed you have some pelts with you. Are you taking them to the trading post?”
“Yes.”
“Well, when you go in there and drop your pelts on the counter, you tell Felix I said to treat you right. He’s an honest man, but he runs a business and sometimes he starts out with a low-ball offer.” Edith leaned over the table and whispered, “He’s kind of sweet on me. Been flirtin’ with me for years.”
Jesse thought it was funny Edith felt she had to whisper. It was only the two of them, and yet she acted like someone might over hear her.
“All right, I will and thank you for everything.” Not wanting to get caught up in any more lies, Jesse finished by saying, “I think I’m going to turn in for the night.” She stood, excused herself from the table and started back to her room.
Edith stuck her head out in the hallway and called out, “I’ll bring a fresh pitcher of water to your room in a few minutes so you can wash up.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
Edith always had a sixth sense when it came to people. If a person was good or bad, she could feel it in her gut. Even though Jesse didn’t have much to say, Edith felt Jesse had a kind and gentle soul. She watched thoughtfully as Jesse closed the bedroom door. There was something unusual about the new guest that intrigued her.
Chapter Twelve
Jesse did not sleep well. She woke in the predawn hours still tired, wanting nothing more than to crawl back under the soft quilt for a few more hours of sleep. It was pointless. She sat on the edge of the bed, weary, mind awhirl with her strange surroundings. After a few minutes of contemplation, she decided it was as good a time as any to check out the sleeping town.