by Avi
Seeing me shivering with cold and weariness, he said, “You, Miss Tory and Jacob, need to go home. Thad — is that your name? — best go with them. Sam, be so good to show them the way. But — hear me? You come right on back.”
“Yes, sir.”
So it was that once again Sam led me — plus Jacob and Thad — through and out of Happy Valley. When we reached its edge, I found myself suddenly reluctant to part from him. I gave him a hug — as did Jacob — which he returned. He and Thad shook hands as if grown men. I had to smile. They were still boys to me.
“Can’t you hug each other?” I cried. Grinning sheepishly, they did.
“Let’s meet soon,” I said.
That being affirmed, and knowing we were not truly parting, allowed us to go our ways.
Thad, Jacob, and I worked through the city up to our tent, keeping a watch about us as we went. Exhausted, by the time we got home, our steps were slow. Even as we came up to the tent by morning’s light, Señor Rosales spied us coming and ran out to meet us. “¡Corderita! Jacob! Welcome home. Tell me what’s happened.”
We told him the tale as much as we could.
“You’ll need to find a place to hide,” he said. “That man with the broken nose — if he survived — he knows where you live, doesn’t he? And when was the last time you ate?”
When I told him, he said, “I’ll bring some food. Then, I’ll keep a lookout from my café.”
You may be sure I thanked him profusely.
Thad stood there awkwardly. “I better be going,” he said.
Jacob, all his dislike gone, gave him an embrace; then, as if embarrassed, ran into the tent.
“Thank you,” I said to Thad, and impulsively gave him another hug, which he returned awkwardly.
“We did some fine good,” he called as he headed up the hill.
By the time I got into the tent, Jacob was already on his bed, blanket up to his chin, happy to be home. Within moments, Señor Rosales brought us beefsteaks and coffee. Jacob and I devoured it all.
“Tory,” said Jacob when we were finally alone, “I didn’t know if I’d ever see you again.”
“The same,” I returned. Then I added, “I hope you heard what Sam’s father said: we’re going to have to be careful. Keep looking about.”
“Do we have to hide somewhere?”
“I can’t believe that man survived. He was terribly drunk. He’s the only one who knows where we live.”
For a moment, we just lay on our beds, appreciating the silent calm.
“Tory?”
“What?”
“Think Father and Mother will be coming soon?” This time he asked it reluctantly, as if afraid of the answer.
“It’s December,” I said. “They should be here soon. Father promised. Mother? I don’t know. Any day, hopefully.”
Within moments, I heard Jacob’s soft, breathy sleep.
For a while, I lay there, running through all that had happened. In doing so, I renewed my gratitude for what Thad and Sam had done. How could I ever return such favors, particularly to Sam? I also allowed myself to feel pride for what I’d accomplished. How much I had changed since Providence days.
That led to Jacob’s question coming into my head: Where are Father and Mother? What if they don’t come?
I quickly scolded myself. They will come.
But then — how could it be otherwise? — another question came: When they do come, what will they say — and do — about all that I have become?
MORNING CAME, AND JACOB SLEPT LATER THAN I. As I lay abed, waiting for him to wake, my hunger was such that I went across the way, where Señor Rosales was already at work, feeding a line of men.
“¡Corderita!” he called out when he saw me. “¿Cómo estás? Sleep well?”
“I’ll be fine,” I assured him.
He beckoned me close, then leaned forward and whispered, “You need to know, the whole morning the talk here is about the burning of the Yankee Sword. I said nothing. Nada. The rumor is one man died.”
“I’ll go to the mayor’s office. I should tell him what happened.”
“Do you wish me to go with you?”
“Gracias, but I think it best if I go alone — with Jacob.”
Then he offered me some beef. I wondered if he ever tired of cooking it.
Once Jacob got up and ate some food, the two of us went to Portsmouth Square, where the office of the alcalde — as the city’s mayor was called — was. Happily, the only one who was there was Mr. John Geary, the mayor himself. I had seen him about town, for he was hard to miss. A huge man, he was more than six feet tall, quite heavy, and always well dressed.
He seemed puzzled by my showing up — with Jacob — and asked, in a friendly fashion, what I wished.
“Please, sir, I need to tell you what happened to the Yankee Sword.”
“Can you?” he returned, clearly surprised, but immediately interested.
I told him our story, with me doing most of the talking, though Jacob added his tale of how he had been crimped.
Mr. Geary listened to us and spoke little, growing graver as we went on. When we were done, he said, “You’ve been brave.” He did not reveal what he would do, if anything, but he did say, “I think the two of you may consider yourselves safe.”
As I would later learn, there were no arrests. But before two days had passed, Thad discovered that Chief Fallon had resigned his position and gone to live far across the bay. Captain Littlefield vanished, presumably sailing away on another ship. As for Mr. Kassel, the Alta California reported that he had removed to Sacramento to build himself a new saloon.
Finally, a few days later, when about town, I saw the man with the broken nose. When I spied him, I was taken aback, having assumed that he had perished. That said, his hands were bandaged and he had bruises on his face. Captain Littlefield must have pulled him from the water.
As for me, dressed as I was at the moment, in my feminine attire, he did not recognize me. Then again, acting like a lady is the best disguise.
Even so, I was much alarmed and felt fear that he was back in the city. Might he not seek revenge upon me? Then I realized that he had a sea chest on his shoulder and was going downhill. Feeling the need to see where he was heading — so I could avoid the area — I followed him at a careful distance. To my great relief, he went down to the cove, and I watched as he climbed into a lighter and was carried out to a ship that I knew voyaged to the Sandwich Islands. I even saw him board the vessel, thus gaining the satisfaction and relief of knowing he was going far away. Indeed, I never saw him again.
So much for my enemies.
When Jacob and I left the alcalde’s office, my brother asked if we could go to the post office and see if there was any mail from Mother or Father. Once there, we stood in the long line for perhaps an hour, during which time I reminded Jacob that he must not be disappointed if no letter was there for us. But to our amazement, there was a letter, one addressed to Mr. Randolph Blaisdell. The moment it was handed out to us, I recognized Mother’s handwriting.
We had taken no more than two steps away from the building when I tore the letter open.
“What does she say?” cried Jacob, fairly well dancing about me.
I spoke even as I scanned the letter. “She wrote it months ago but says she is planning to leave Rhode Island in three weeks’ time. By clipper ship.”
“But when will she arrive?”
I tried to calculate. “If all goes well,” I said, trying to sound optimistic, “very soon.”
As we walked back to the tent, Jacob was excited. “Then Father will come,” he said. “I know he will. And we’ll all be together again.”
He babbled on about all the things he would tell them, resolving to stand watch every day at the cove beach for their arrival so he could lead them to our tent.
Was I glad? Of course. But I could not refrain from asking the question I had asked myself the night before: What will Mother say — and do — about all th
at I have become? So that I too kept thinking, I hope they come soon. But a tiny voice — to my shame and guilt — whispered, What will I do if they insist I return to what I was?
During the next few days, Jacob’s and my life resumed what it had been. I worked, helping Mr. Lyall with his carpentry on the house he was building. Jacob, as he had promised, spent his time at the cove beach watching for Mother and Father as ships came in. He made sure to come by often to where I was working, to assure me he was safe.
I saw Thad, who resumed his work at the Howard & Mellus store. In turn, he told me Sam had come around to tell him that he and his father were now playing at the El Dorado saloon.
“Is it good for them?”
“Don’t think it pays much.”
With much back and forth amongst us, we agreed to meet the following Sunday at noon on Goat Hill.
So it was that the three of us, Thad, Sam, and I, sat upon the summit of Goat Hill. (Jacob stayed with Señor Rosales.) I brought along one of the señor’s beefsteaks and my knife. Thad brought bread. Sam brought a jug of good water and his bugle.
It was a bright, clear day. As we ate, we gazed at Alcatraces Island while watching new ships arriving in the cove. I told them that my mother might well be on one of them.
“Maybe on the same ship as my mother and sister,” said Thad.
Sam told us about his mother and two sisters — about whom we had not heard before. “They’ll be waiting for us to come back. Been a year now.”
I admitted I wanted both my parents to arrive but was much worried as to what they would say about how I was living.
“What might they do?” asked Sam.
“Not sure,” I said. “Back in Providence, I wouldn’t have been even allowed to be here, with you.”
“Ayuh,” said Thad.
“Think your father will have a lot of gold?” asked Sam.
“Doubt it. What’s playing at the El Dorado like?”
“Bigger than the Mercury, but they don’t listen any better there.”
“Do you make more money?” Thad asked.
“Nope. But my father says, if we can keep saving some — a little at a time — we might have enough money to pay passage home in about a year.”
“How much do you need?”
“Five hundred.”
“If I make that at the tables,” Thad promised as he had before, “you can have it.”
“But you rarely win,” said Sam, laughing.
In truth, most of our talk was to go over all that had happened with us when we rescued Jacob — from when I met Sam at the Mercury to stepping ashore at Happy Valley. It was clear: we truly regretted that the adventure was over and wished we did not have to return to our lives as they were. In fact, we debated about sailing away on the ketch, disputing amongst ourselves with laughing arguments as to where we might best sail: New York, said Sam; over to the gold diggings, urged Thad; while I suggested the most exotic, China.
At some point, Sam picked up his key bugle and played “I Often Think of Writing Home.”
I will admit, I shed some tears. The boys did not tease. And why should they? Their eyes were also bright.
Late afternoon, we headed back down, then each of us to our ways, Sam to the El Dorado, Thad to his Howard & Mellus job, me to my tent. When I approached, I saw Jacob sitting outside. Soon as I appeared, he jumped up and ran toward me. He was grinning broadly.
“Guess who’s here?”
“Who?”
“Mother!”
It was indeed she, having landed that afternoon after a five months’ voyage by way of clipper ship. Jacob — to his vast delight — had seen her come ashore and with great excitement guided her to our tent.
Her astonishment (and incomprehension) as to what she saw of San Francisco was hardly different from our own when we had arrived. As for our residing in a tent, that seemed beyond her understanding. She seemed, in fact, quite dazed. We struggled to answer her endless questions, and it was a measure as to how much Jacob and I had changed that we could actually offer so many explanations suggesting it was all ordinary.
When we had first come to San Francisco, it was as if we had come to a foreign land. Now it was Mother who felt like a foreigner and had to be instructed in how we lived. It was as if we had become her parents.
But of course, Mother’s biggest question, Where is Father?, had no answer. “Why did he leave you alone? How could he ask you to live here? Has he sent no news? Has he found gold? What do you do for money? What do you eat? Tory, why are you dressed so outlandishly? Where are your ladylike clothes? But what kind of work do you do? Jacob, why aren’t you going to school?”
As far as I was concerned, these were all Providence questions. We gave San Francisco answers. And when we told Mother about all that had happened to Jacob and how he was rescued, she was nothing less than astonished.
I shall say this: it is a fine thing to have your mother look upon you with amazement and, yes, pride.
As the days passed, Mother struggled to cope, and I had to deal with one constant question: “Tory, must you do things this way?”
That said, she could not argue with the obvious: I was taking care of everything. And, let it be said, she was not Aunt Lavinia. She did not order or dictate. Still, she constantly urged with the refrain, “You will really need to change when Father returns with his gold.”
I tried to explain that when Father returned, he might — like so many others — not have much gold, but Mother simply could not believe in that possibility.
As for Señor Rosales, Mother, after some hesitation, became his friend. Anyone who had helped her children had to be a friend. Besides, Jacob and I now called him Tío Rosales, which is to say, Uncle Rosales. A vast improvement on our aunt. He had become our family.
Two weeks passed. During that time I continued to work, and when I could, sneaked away to visit with Thad and Sam. Each of us, in our way, was dissatisfied with what we were doing. Thad was bored with his job. Sam was all too aware how long it would be before he and his father could go back east. As for my mother and I, it was a tug-of-war. I could only hope that when Father returned, his gold searching would have changed him.
Then he did return.
IT WAS THE WEEK BEFORE CHRISTMAS. MOTHER, Jacob, and I were sitting in the tent, eating the dinner I had cooked. Utterly unexpected, Father simply pulled aside the front flap and there he was. Needless to say, we were as astonished as we were overjoyed, though he was filthy, sick, and exhausted. We truly dragged him inside, set him down, and peppered him with questions.
The tale he told was woeful; his search for gold had been painful, and most melancholy. Backbreaking labor. Cold. Wet. Difficulties with other miners. Overall, he had found no more than three hundred dollars’ worth of gold.
None of this mattered — at first. We made him eat, rest, and insisted that he not worry. Mother and I assured him that I, with my work, was bringing in enough funds to keep us going. Having little choice, we stayed where we were, in the tent. Father rested and gradually recovered his strength.
Our Christmas was us and Tío Rosales, which is to say our whole family.
Only after some time had passed did I tell Father what had happened to us, to Jacob. He shook his head and said, “I am sorry.”
To which I said, “You need not be. I was able to do everything.”
To my great satisfaction, he said, “You did.”
Afterward, Mother and I had many a private conversation, trying to decide what our family should do. We considered many things, from returning to Rhode Island to all of us going up-bay to the diggings and searching for gold. We could come to no satisfactory conclusion. In any case, I absolutely refused to go back east.
After a month had gone by, it was clear that Father, now mostly recovered, had absolutely no desire to return to the diggings. His gold fever had broken. He decided to seek employment in the city.
We managed to purchase (at exorbitant prices) new clothing for him and
made sure he was clean and shaved. The result: although he was thinner, he was much improved in health and appearance. It worked. To his and our great joy, he found employment with Mr. Thomas Wells, the city’s most important banker.
How quickly then our lives changed. A house — to be sure, smaller, less comfortable, than our Providence home — was found. Built by Mr. Lyall (and me!), Mother took it over and made it as comfortable as possible.
The Baptist school opened, and Jacob began to go to school and was much happier, indeed content.
I had never seen my family — Jacob, Father, and Mother — so happy. It was almost exactly what Father had wished for in Providence: “The only thing that will change is our geography.” And I knew Aunt Lavinia was a part of our past.
But what of me? I had changed: I had become completely independent. At least I thought so; my parents did not.
Jacob didn’t care what I did with my days, but my parents surely did. While they were content to reclaim their lives much as they had lived them before in Rhode Island, they wished me to do the same.
I would not.
My parents were not pleased that I kept on working, and that when I worked, I dressed in such fashion that allowed me to labor. Nor did they like it that after I had taken care of them and Jacob, I came and went as I pleased, or that Sam and Thad continued to be my friends.
The three of us met as often as we could. To be sure, we still talked about Jacob’s rescue, but over time, less and less. Rather, we talked about what we would like to do.
Sam, as ever, wanted to return to his home.
Thad began to say he wanted to try his hand in the gold fields.
I said I just wished to live without constant remarks about how I should act.
It was Thad who put all these ideas together and made the suggestion: “I think we should go to the diggings and get enough gold so Sam here and his father can get back to their home.”
“Think we could?” said Sam.
“Ayuh.”