by Zina Abbott
Hazel wondered about the baby and who Swen was. And, why was Charlotte waiting for him here at Mr. Leavitt’s inn? “Who’s Swen, Charlotte?”
“My husband. I can’t leave until we find the baby.”
“Why you figure he’ll come here lookin’ for you?”
“This is where he left me.”
“Charlotte, I ain’t got no notion about why you’re here instead of paradise. But I can tell you’re powerful discomfited and a mite worried about your baby.”
“I can’t leave until I know he has our baby and will take care of her.”
“I figure you’re needin’ a friend. I’m willin’ to be one, if you’ve a mind to have one.”
“I don’t have time for friends. I need to find my baby. Go away.”
“I got nowhere else to go tonight, Charlotte.” Hazel heard no response. “If I can do somethin’ to find your baby, I will. I’m just tryin’ to puzzle it all out in my head. What happened to Swen?”
“He said he would be back within a few weeks. I don’t know how long it has been, but he’s been gone much longer than two or three weeks. Oh, Swen, I miss you. Won’t you please come help me?”
Hazel could sense the spirit’s agitation. She decided to change the topic to something more pleasant. “What’d you name your baby, Charlotte?”
As soon as Hazel spoke, she felt some of the sadness lift to be replaced by warmth. “Susannah, after my mother. Swen wanted to name her Greta, the same as our first daughter who died. But, he was not here, so I chose her name. A child needs a name.” Charlotte once again withdrew her warmth and the sadness returned. “Oh, my sweet Greta. How I miss my firstborn. And now, my second child is missing, and I can’t find her. If you took her, you must bring her back.”
“I’m right sorry, Charlotte, but I clean don’t know nothin’ about no baby.”
Hazel’s heart ached for Charlotte. As Hazel pondered what she could say or do to help, a knock on the door startled her. She gasped and her heart began to pound. Had Mr. Sweeney found her?
“It’s Eliza Leavitt.”
Hazel turned and raced to twist the key in the lock and open the door. Only after she saw Mrs. Leavitt standing on the other side of the open door holding a tray with a bowl of soup and a slice of bread did it occur to her she had believed Charlotte without question and opened the door without checking to see who had come to her room.
“I’m mighty grateful for the vittles, Mrs. Leavitt,” Hazel whispered as she took the tray. “Mr. Sweeney, he ain’t come lookin’ for me, has he?”
“No, he’s still in the gentlemen’s lounge.”
Hazel stepped into the hallway and closed the door. She glanced over the rail to the entryway below, and, seeing it empty, set the tray on the floor by her door. Then, she stood back up and faced Eliza. “Mrs. Leavitt, you know you done got you a haint livin’ in this room?”
Eliza Leavitt sighed and nodded her head. “Ah, you have met our Charlotte. We have seen no sign of her for weeks, so we thought maybe she had finally left this earth.”
“It ain’t that I mind bein’ in there with her, Mrs. Leavitt. But, she keeps talkin’ about waitin’ for her husband, Swen. She’s discomfited about her baby that’s missin’. I ain’t sure she’s willin’ to have me in there.”
A look of wonder spread across Eliza’s face. “She spoke to you?”
“I ain’t really heard no words in my ears, but a part of me’s hearin’ her and I been talkin’ back.”
“Some of our guests have told us they have seen Charlotte. People around here call her the White Lady. But no one else has mentioned her talking to them.”
“She done talked to me. She’s right sorrowful, but I like her fine. If she’s willin’, I’m fixin’ to stay in the room with her. If not, reckon I’ll sneak down to your kitchen later on. But, what happened, Mrs. Leavitt—to her and Swen and their baby?”
Eliza Leavitt heaved a sigh of resignation. “I don’t why she waits for them. They will not be coming back here. Perhaps if I tell you her story, you will better understand Charlotte and why we watch out for her.”
BRIDGEPORT, CALIFORNIA – February 1882
Chapter 5
Charlotte, her body growing increasingly heavy with child, clung to the arm of her husband.
“Oh, Swen, I cannot bear to have you leave me behind. How I wish you could stay.”
Swen gently pried Charlotte’s fingers from his arm, and held them in his hand. He brought her knuckles to his lips and gently kissed them. His eyes mirrored the regret at parting he witnessed in hers.
“I know. I also wish I could stay. But I must get up to Lundy as soon as possible to be sure the job I was promised is still there. I don’t want them to hire someone else because they think I’m not coming.”
“But, the snow is so heavy. They say there are reports of heavy avalanches. It cannot possibly be safe for you to travel there until later after most of the snow has melted. Surely they don’t expect you up there this soon.”
“Commerce will not wait for the snow to melt. The mills are still working. Do not worry about me. I am a Swede, remember? I can ski as well as I can walk.”
“I just hope traveling all the way to California will be worth it. I know after what happened with my father you did not feel you could stay and continue to work for him. And I never thought he would do something so underhanded as to lie about you so none of the other timber companies would hire you.”
“Yes, well, that is business. We have moved on. These mountains have trees—lots of timber for cutting. That is good work for me. We will make a good home here.”
“Bridgeport seems like a nice enough town, Swen, but you want to take us to Lundy. Everyone says it is a gold mining town and will shrivel up and die once most of the gold is mined out of the mountains. How can we make a permanent home in a place like that?”
“Bodie still goes strong, and always needs milled lumber. They are even thinking of building a railroad to Bodie because the Standard and other mines in the region must look farther away to find their wood. The mill will have business even after the mines in Lundy close up. But, Charlotte, I cannot continue here as a mere wood chopper. I have more skill than that. I need to get in a position where I can make the most use of what I can do, or we never will have our own home.”
Charlotte rubbed the ache in the small of her back. The expression on her face revealed she was still not convinced.
Realizing his wife’s thoughts, Swen continued, “I tried to get on with Hunewell Mill, because his mills are much closer to Bridgeport. Even if I had to live up at the mill through the week, we could have our home here in Bridgeport. But, he has all the men he needs right now. I’ll look Lundy over to see if it a good place for us until I can get on with Hunewell.”
“But, the snow. I look at those mountains and fear all that snow is going to come crashing down on this valley. I can hardly imagine what it must be like up in a steep mountain canyon.”
Swen chuckled. “You worry too much, sweetheart. Perhaps it is the baby that has made you feel so protective, even of me. You must have faith in me, Charlotte. I am a Swede; I know snow.”
“I know, Swen,” Charlotte smiled, making an effort to respond good-naturedly. “But, you must remember it is your father who came from Sweden. You were born in Minnesota. Yes, we have mountains and snow. But the Sawtooths by Lake Superior are nothing like these mountains.”
“I will be fine, Charlotte. I’ll be gone only a matter of weeks, just long enough to talk to the mills and see about work as a sawyer. I’ll be back long before this child comes. What do you think it will be? A Rasmus after my father or another Greta?”
Charlotte had heard enough about Swedish patronymic naming practices to know that in Sweden her husband’s name should have been Swen Rasmusson after his father. Their children would have had the surname Swensson. But, when his father, Rasmus Johansson had arrived at Castle Gardens in New York, they had informed him in the United States, the na
me had to be the same for all family members, and could not change from generation to generation. Therefore, the Rasmus had been lost as a surname. Instead of being Swen Rasmusson, he kept the surname Johansson.
If the baby was a boy, Charlotte had no objection to naming him Rasmus, even though it was not her favorite name. But, if the baby was a girl, she did not want to give her second daughter the same name as that of their first daughter who had died as a toddler almost a year ago.
“We will talk about names when you return, Swen. We still have almost two months before this child is due.”
“I will return as soon as I can. Once I’m sure I have a good job up there, I will find us a house to live in. Think of it, Charlotte. Are you not anxious to have a home of our own—for you, me, and our little one?”
Charlotte rose and buried her face in Swen’s shoulder. “A house of our own sounds lovely, Swen. More than that, I want us to be together. But, with the baby coming, it is so hard to face being left here alone, not knowing how treacherous the way is up to Lundy. I pray the snow is not more than you can handle.”
Swen patted Charlotte’s hand, seeking to assure her. “That is why am traveling by stagecoach to Bodie. It will have runners if the snow is too deep for the wheels. From there, I will leave for Lundy. If the snow is too heavy still, I always have my skies.”
Both turned their heads at the commotion outside the front window of the room where Charlotte would stay until Swen returned. Although the packed snow muted the sounds of the wheels and the stamping of horses’ hooves, both knew it was time for Swen to leave for Bodie, the first leg of his journey to Lundy.
“I must board the stage now. You take care of yourself. I want nothing to happen to you or our child. And try not to worry. Remember, my next trip will be to take you to our new home.”
Swen dipped his head and captured Charlotte’s eyes with his until he coaxed a smile out of her.
“I will do my best, Swen. Go quickly, before I try to hold you with me and never to let you go. Remember, you take my heart with you.”
“And I leave mine behind with you.” Swen gave Charlotte one last kiss, then turned and ran down the stairs and outside to board the stagecoach. He barely made it inside before the driver snapped the leads and called to the horses to start them on their journey.
Charlotte parted the curtain and watched Swen lean out the window to blow a final kiss toward her. She waved in response, all the while hoping he was not able to see clearly enough through the glass to witness the tears streaming down her face.
LUNDY, CALIFORNIA – March 1882
CHAPTER 6
Swen felt swallowed up by the mountains of the Sierra Nevada surrounding the canyon in which Lundy had sprung into existence to house and cater to the needs of the miners and mill hands who worked on the nearby slopes and along Mill Creek. The surrounding mountains were steeper and higher than any he had seen in Minnesota, although he suspected they were more like some of the mountain ranges in Sweden. Above the piles of snow from recent avalanches, he could see the sheer, barren rocky cliffs swept clean of all vegetation and loose soil as over the years tumbling snow sliding down the mountains had claimed everything in its path.
Swen inhaled the crisp air tangy with the scent of pine. A sense of gratitude had settled over him when he arrived safely in this small community tucked away in what appeared to be a great wall of mountain separating it from the rest of the United States. It had been a difficult journey as the stagecoach driver, Charley Hector, had first been forced to change to runners instead of wheels, and then had several times asked his only passenger, Swen, to help dig them out of dips in the road. Several times, Swen had chosen to don his skies and travel on foot rather than add to the burden of the stage as it crept along. In spite of it all, he had arrived.
Swen asked around until he found the cheapest room he could rent on a short-term basis as well as the cheapest eateries in the town. Although, a part of him refused to admit Charlotte had been right. He quickly discovered the town residents were not of a mind to discuss available jobs for either the mines or the mills. Too much of the focus, and most of the conversation, surrounded dealing with the damage caused by recent avalanches.
Swen quickly learned the rumors he had heard in Bridgeport had been true. This winter barely turning into spring had been the worst year for avalanches in anyone’s memory. But, that was not the news that disturbed him the most.
While spending a great deal of time in the Dividend Saloon where he could also get his meals, he soon learned that the saw mill owned by Rodney Montrose was the largest operation in town. He had not been able to obtain a commitment for employment from the man regarding the job he had come seeking. The nearby saw mill built and operated by William Lundy to supply lumber to Bodie before Lundy ever came into existence was no longer milling lumber. The Pioneer Shingle Mill was a small, one-man operation. William Woodruff who had also started a shingle mill at the mouth of Mill Canyon was in the process of upgrading to a saw mill and moving his operation several miles south to Lee Vining. It would be several months before he would make a commitment regarding hiring saw mill workers.
Swen found, much to his dismay, that most of what the local Lundyites considered milling operations dealt with using water power for operating stamp presses to break down the rock containing gold ore. He had no interest in that form of milling; although, if forced in order to support his family, he would seek out the owner of the Lundy Reduction Works, and ask him for a job.
It was while sitting in the saloon debating whether to wait for a firm commitment on a job at the Lundy Reduction Works or to return to Charlotte that the cry went out there had been another bad avalanche. In February, heavy snow and water frozen in the rock on the cliffs to the north, the ones almost overhanging the center part of town, gave way. Several residents had been forced from their homes near Lundy in order to find shelter in town.
Not long after Swen arrived in early March, it had started to snow heavily, and had continued for five days until the town was buried under six feet of snow. The surrounding slopes boasted closer to eight feet of snow. On the 15th, a wall of snow slid down from the top of Mt. Scowden on the west toward the southern part of town, picking up snow and loose rock in its path. The Chicago Restaurant was crushed, and its inhabitants trapped. Other houses in the vicinity suffered the same fate.
The call went out for volunteers to help dig out those trapped in their homes. Realizing that if he wanted to be regarded as a valuable future citizen of Lundy, Swen needed to volunteer to help before he returned to Bridgeport. He had the skies. All he needed was a shovel, and he would join the rescue party.
Before he could leave, within an hour, another avalanche bearing boulders and torn tree trunks in its burden of snow crashed down the cliffs onto the north part of town.
It was while Swen worked on the southern slope that another avalanche crashed down, trapping him beneath several feet of snow. A heavy boulder smashed into his head. He felt himself rise up through a bright tunnel as white as the snow burying him. He marveled as he turned to look back on his body. Being able to see his body through several feet of snow struck him as a strange phenomenon. The rational part of him told him he needed to return and wake up so he could try to dig out an air space in order to breathe. Another part of him began to slide into a sensation of peace, ready to leave his body behind.
Why? Swen wondered. Why return? For an uncertain job? Surprised that concerns over worldly wealth no longer held his interest, his yearning turned toward the one thing on earth that still meant more than anything to him.
Charlotte.
Unsure how he managed it, Swen found his way back to the room at the Leavitt House where he had left Charlotte. He hovered above as he gazed upon his wife below him. She appeared to be sleeping, although he couldn’t make out the bed she rested upon.
“Do you miss me, Charlotte? I love you.”
Something seemed different about her. Her belly did not seem a
s rounded as when he had left her. Perhaps it was because she slept on her back with her knees bent and pointed toward the ceiling. He marveled to find her in that position since it had been months since she had been comfortable sleeping on her back. He did not recognize the woman in the room with her.
“Come.”
Surprised, and yet feeling no emotion, Swen separated his attention from Charlotte and directed it toward the man who had joined him. Swen had no idea how the man had entered the room, but then, he also had no idea how he had accomplished it, either.
The man beckoning him was a young man, perhaps not as old as Swen. Swen thought he recognized him, yet…it couldn’t be. The man’s countenance looked surprisingly like that of his uncle who had died in the Civil War when Swen was but a small child. Swen had seen this younger brother of his father wearing a Union soldier’s uniform in a tintype his father owned, which was why he still remembered the face.
As Swen recalled the story, his uncle had been caught up in the initial enthusiasm of the war and enlisted in the First Minnesota Volunteer Infantry. He had been among those who died in the regiment’s oft-honored and lauded suicide charge at Gettysburg.
Swen received no enlightenment—no denial or confirmation—from the being before him regarding whether or not he was indeed his uncle. Although his clothing looked like it could be the sack coat and pants of an enlisted Union Army man, there was no color to it, only a sense of varying levels of light.
“I have been sent to guide you. Come.”
Guide him? To where? Swen did not want to go anywhere. Once again, he turned his focus away from the being who beckoned him to gaze upon his wife. He fought off the peace descending on him, the subtle assurance that he no longer needed to worry about the cares of the world. Instead, he yearned for his heart’s desire.
“Charlotte!”
“You must leave her behind for now. You cannot return to your body and live. It is buried under several feet of snow, and will not be found until early summer.”