“Where are you off to?”
“Mr. Beck is expecting me.” It was true. Though it was Saturday, he worked a six-day week and expected her to also. She shrugged. It would change soon. When the time was right, when things came right, she would need him no longer. Soon …
Berkley Beck rose from his desk as she entered. Carina approached with the easy confidence she had developed since Mr. Beck no longer courted her affections. It was business between them, and she knew how to conduct business.
His expression was purposely indifferent as he pulled a heavy black ledger to the center of his desk. “I’m going to be out most of the day, Miss DiGratia. This stack needs to be entered into the ledger.” He rested his hand on the papers beside the book. “You’re welcome to work here at my desk.”
She nodded, then with sudden boldness asked, “Mr. Beck, where are the city records kept?”
He tipped his head. “What sort of records?”
“Births and deaths. Claims …” She spread her hands innocently.
He shrugged. “The courthouse keeps that sort of thing. It’s public domain. If you’re concerned about your house, I can assure you—”
She raised her hand. “I know you will handle that for me, Mr. Beck. I’m simply curious. Would … the records from Placerville be there as well?”
“Placerville? Miss DiGratia, you intrigue me. What possible interest could you have in old Placerville?”
She dropped her gaze to the wood of his desk. “If someone were born in Placerville, would those records be …”
“As far as I know, the records are intact. Everything was moved here when Placer closed down.” Berkley Beck walked around the desk and leaned on it sideways. He studied her a moment, his blue eyes cool. “Two heads are better than one, as they say. Perhaps I can help.”
“Quillan Shepard.” Carina bit the words.
The blue eyes turned glacial. So the bad feelings went both ways. Mr. Beck ran a slow finger over his chin. “What’s your interest in him?”
“He relieved me of my belongings on the road.” It sounded petulant even to her.
As he nodded cognition, did she imagine also satisfaction?
“What are you looking for exactly?”
“I don’t know.” And she didn’t. As Mae said, she should leave it alone. But would she?
He spread his hands regretfully. “Had I known it was Quillan Shepard who robbed you of your belongings, I might have handled things differently from the start.”
“How differently?”
“I’m afraid it doesn’t matter now. Too much water under the bridge, as they say. Still, it never hurts to be armed. Find out what you can and we’ll see what we can do about it.”
Carina nodded. Was it not exactly what she’d thought herself? Even hoped?
“In fact, the ledger can wait.”
Though his smile was unchanged, his eyes took on a feral gleam that caught her short. But then the look was gone. She had imagined it, and his smile was as guileless as before.
“I insist. You’ve worked miracles in here.” He gave his arm a grandiose swing, then caught her hand and brought it to his lips, warm and soft, a gallant gesture. “You must know how grateful I am.”
He was close enough for her to smell his hair pomade, feel his breath on her fingers. It was beyond the boundary she had set, but Carina did not rebuke him. Mr. Beck could no more stop his courtesy than Mr. Shepard his lack thereof. Perhaps they could help each other after all.
Thinking about it as she walked to the courthouse, she became more convinced than ever. Mr. Beck had standing. He could prove a powerful ally in a place like Crystal. If she found anything worthwhile, she would tell him.
When Carina arrived at the two-story frame courthouse, the caretaker unlocked the door. The two judges and the others in the building didn’t work Saturdays as did Mr. Beck. And that was just as well. It pricked her conscience to pry. But she meant only to learn what others knew. It was public domain, Mr. Beck said, free for the knowing.
She was shown into the room off the courtroom, then the caretaker left her alone. She looked up the records for Placerville that had indeed been moved when the old camp died. The official records started in 1851, but there were no listed births. As Mae had said, Placerville had been little more than a gulch camp with a handful of men, discouraged forty-niners, and those who had never made it as far as California.
She turned the page and ran her finger down the columns, skimming to the S’s. No Shepards listed under births. She checked again, then went on to the next year and the next. After the sixth year, she leaned back, her brow furrowed. Perhaps Mae was wrong.
She flipped back to 1852 and went through the births from the beginning, when a name jumped out at her. Quillan. No surname attached. It was as he’d said. Comé strano. How strange. His parents were listed as Wolf and Rose, again with no family names. What did it mean?
Carina turned to the section for deaths. Running her finger over the page, she found Shepards. Four of them, all children. There must have been an epidemic, for the number of deaths rose dramatically, all within a two-month period. She puzzled that only a moment, then closed the book and replaced it.
Next, she took out the directory of land claims. This was a tedious search, as they were organized by filing date, not name. But in the summer of 1851, there was a claim filed in Wolf’s name and called the Rose Legacy. Carina studied the land claim map, took out a handkerchief, and scribbled the rough location.
It was in Upper Placer, farther up the gulch than Lower Placerville and farther still from Crystal City. She tucked the handkerchief into her pocket and replaced the book. How many times had she been told to mind her own business? What good would it do to see where Quillan Shepard was born? What concern was it of hers?
She recalled the fervor in Mr. Beck’s eyes. Was there something to know that might help them both? Knowledge was power. She had lost too much by not knowing, not wanting to know. Innocente. She would not make that mistake again.
From the courthouse, Carina made her way down the impossibly crowded street to the livery, hoping by now Dom was healed and acclimated. And indeed, he greeted her with bright eyes and an eager snuffle. She pressed her hands to the sides of his bony head and stroked his ears.
“Are ye takin’ me companion, then?” Alan Tavish stepped out from behind the carriage he was polishing.
Carina smelled the linseed oil on his hands. “Is he well?”
“Well as ever. He only needed rest.”
“Then we’re going sightseeing.” Carina spoke to the mule’s muzzle.
It wasn’t truly a lie. She hadn’t been out of Crystal once since she’d come, except to retrieve her belongings, and that could hardly be considered a pleasure ride.
“A bonny day for it. Not a cloud.”
Carina thought of Mae’s wish for rain as Alan Tavish slid the bridle between Dom’s teeth. He had given her loan of both it and the saddle for a flat rate thrown in with the mule’s keep.
“Where did ye plan to ride?”
She could say she had no plan, really, but that would be blatantly false. She knew exactly where she meant to go. “I thought I’d see old Placerville.”
“Nothing but ghost houses and abandoned mines there, lassie.”
And one mine in particular. She was tempted to ask him what he knew of the Rose Legacy but didn’t. He was too gentle a soul and would likely scold the same as Mae. Besides, she was losing her resolve, and one more person telling her to mind her own business might be enough. She shrugged. “It might be interesting.”
“See ye don’t fall down a shaft.” He waved a gnarled finger. “There’s ghosts enough without adding yerself to their number.”
“I don’t plan to go into the workings.” That much she promised herself.
“Aye. But the whole ground up there’s been gophered, except maybe the center of town.”
Carina stroked Dom’s muzzle. “I’ll be careful.” And she would
. She had no intention of doing anything foolish or dangerous. It was curiosity that sent her up, but curiosity did not always kill the cat, or there would be no cats left in the world. She didn’t remind herself that there wasn’t a single one in Crystal.
She led the mule out into the bright June sunshine. The mountain freshness enlivened both her and Dom, and she felt again the healthful energy in the air. Mr. Beck had not suggested she take her search this far, but she guessed he would not object. What was between Mr. Beck and Quillan Shepard was not her affair, but as he said, two brains were better than one.
With the location of Wolf’s Rose Legacy mine in her pocket, Carina started up the gulch. Once outside Crystal’s scar, the beauty enfolded her. The light had the illusion of motion—never stagnant, but alive with possibility. The breeze tickled the aspens and the chartreuse leaves trembled and danced so that the grove seemed insubstantial, like a mirage that might vanish when she approached.
Carina almost imagined she was riding simply to enjoy the view. But in just short of an hour, she came among the abandoned buildings of Lower Placer. The empty windows stared at her, vacant reminders of lamp glow that had burned a welcome in years back. Strings of fabric reached out in the breeze, beckoning her gaze. What wife had hung those curtains to make the rough cabin a home for her man?
The old hotel was two stories, with brick chimneys and a balcony across the front, not unlike Mae’s, though larger. The upstairs door still held twin arched windows, amazingly unbroken, though the wood around them was cracked and splintering. How quickly the mountain was reclaiming the town.
A quarter century ago it was built, fifteen and it was burgeoning, ten and that life had dwindled. Now it was gone, though the memories clung to the graying remains. Had one of these houses been Mae’s? Why hadn’t she asked?
Dom’s hoof crushed a fragment of a teacup in the road. Someone had drunk from that china. Someone’s lips had touched its rim. Where was that person now? She had an overwhelming sense of time as she gazed at the ancient stones of the mountain that had seen the different peoples come and pass away. The mountain would outlast them all.
A small gray rabbit darted under the sagging porch of a building from which a sign swung on one hinge, creaking. Mater’s Saloon and Entertainment. Wasn’t there a Mater’s Saloon in Crystal? Some things didn’t change. They just moved down the mountain.
She came to the first crossroads and stopped, then pulled the handkerchief from her pocket and shook it out. She studied the layout she had scribbled from the map, then gazed around her. This had to be the turn. She pulled Dom’s head around and urged him up and away from the cracked and sagging buildings. She crossed the creek where it was wide and shallow.
On the other side, the trees thickened as she went, some obviously original growth, unmolested by the miners. Probably they were too small at the time to be of use, but now they had grown into tall thin giants. She found the lichened boulder that marked the edge of the Gold Creek Mine and the spring behind it pouring from the mountainside to join Cooper’s Creek, which ran down the gulch alongside Crystal City. How far did it flow, growing bigger and stronger, joining and parting with other waters? Yet here was its start, or at least a portion of it, straight from the mountain, gushing out with amazing force.
She looked past it to the broken and rusted workings of the mine that burrowed into the mountain. According to the records, the ore from this hole had been exceptionally rich, grossing $250,000 its first year. The mine had changed hands three times but was one of the first to play out, bankrupting the last owners.
Carina turned south and cut up the new gulch at a rough diagonal until the ground leveled out before jutting up a sharp rocky face. Turning in the saddle, she eyed the town below. She could see the single intersection like a cross in the center, down and to her right, but the slope was gradual enough at this point not to dizzy her head.
That couldn’t be said for the next climb. Maybe she’d gone far enough. Why should she ride all the way to the top? Hadn’t Mamma warned her time and again that curiosity led to trouble?
What good would it do to pry into the past of this Quillan Shepard? And what could she possibly learn from an old mine that might have been his papa’s? It would be no different from what she saw here, no more revealing than all the gray skeletal buildings she’d passed already.
She looked up and sighed, then thought of Mamma’s rocker splintering on the slope, heard the bare explanation with no apology or remorse. Her jaw tightened. She would know what manner of man did such a thing without regret. Had he spawned from the same greed with which his father robbed the mountain? Wolf. He was a predator, and he’d sired a predator son. She started to climb.
So he helped retrieve her books. An opportunity to gloat. So he shot the snake. It was his own neck at risk as well. He did bring her the gun … for profit. She must learn to see behind the obvious. How foolish she had been. Innocente. But you did not put your fingers to the stove twice. Flavio had taught her that. This time, she would be prepared.
Carina skirted the stony face around the turn and along the shallow shelf until she saw the hole in the mountainside just to the left of the rock wall. Unlike many of the shafts drilled downward by hand or animal-driven whims used also to draw out the soft ore, this one appeared to have been picked by hand into the mountainside. Raw strength and stubbornness had opened this mine.
It must have held surface ore for someone to quarry it so. She couldn’t tell how far the tunnel penetrated. A small circle of ground was cleared around the opening with a rough path leading away. The Rose Legacy. No sign to that effect, but it must be. The timbers that shored the tunnel appeared sound, and she approached the hole. Stopping at the outer framework, she stared a long while.
It was dark and cool and dry inside. Animal droppings showed occasional use, but there was no evidence of regular occupancy. It was silent and deserted. What had she thought to see? What could a hole in the mountain tell her? Nothing.
She had seen no records of ore from the Rose Legacy. That meant nothing of itself. The smaller producers were not necessarily kept track of, and she had hardly read all the accounts. Had this hole yielded gold, brought fortune to Wolf and Rose? Had it been guarded or squandered? Who were they, and why did they not use their names?
She turned. A short distance away, among the trees, a stone foundation rose like teeth from the ground. Carina dismounted and led Dom over. The stones were roughly laid, stacked with no mortar. She dropped Dom’s reins and paced it off. Eight feet by eight. She bent closer, noticing the inside of the foundation was blackened. Fire?
Had the cabin burned? Had fire swept the mountain? There was no sign of fire in the landscape she had passed. None in the town, nor the Gold Creek Mine below, nor even the timbers in the Rose Legacy. This fire must have been only here. Carina sat on the foundation wall and stared straight ahead. Then with a deep breath, she looked down.
Her stomach coiled and her head swayed. She was leaning, falling … No! She gripped the rocks on either side. It was Divina’s doing, this plaguing fear of heights. Divina then, Divina now. Oh! Was there no end to her malice? Carina clamped her hands over her ears, hearing again her sister’s laughter at being caught with Flavio, Carina’s Flavio, as everyone had known since they were children. She balled her hands and thumped them on her knees.
No more. She would not wallow in self-pity. She forced her gaze down again, made her mind face what was there. The buildings below looked like a toy town she had once seen at a traveling fair. One slip and she would tumble down, shrinking as she went until she joined the ghosts that stared from the dots of windows. The vertigo was too much, yet if she could conquer it, would she not show Divina? Show her what? Divina was a thousand miles away, in Sonoma … with Flavio.
Carina pressed her palm on the rough stone edge. The pain kept her conscious as she looked away and down. Had not another woman looked down from here day after day? Had she not borne a son inside these walls? Mayb
e held him in her arms and looked out from the door? Maybe seen the town lying out below her and not been afraid?
Who was she, the woman who had lived in this high place of stones laid in a square to mark her presence. And where was she now? Carina looked around her. What was left to show that a woman had lived, loved, and birthed her son in this place? Rose. Rose who? Why were there no surnames? Rose and Wolf. Had they died here?
Carina crossed herself suddenly and stood. She had been wrong to come. Whatever secrets this burned-out square held, the mountain would keep as its own. Gathering Dom’s reins, she swung herself to his back. She kept her eyes on his neck and mane as he stepped gingerly down the rough path. He was surefooted, but the way was steep.
Carina moved her body to his stride. He had been hers since her fourteenth birthday, a young mule then, strong and sure. A gift from Ti’Giusseppe. And she loved him more because of that. She glanced down the slope, then quickly closed her eyes and let Dom carry her. Another day she would face the fear. Another day she would beat it.
For now she had only to get away, to leave her speculation and leave this high place. She was not meant to soar, but to keep her feet on the low places, planted on the level ground. Bene. She knew now from what humble beginnings Quillan Shepard came.
So he acted the big man. She knew better. Secrets of birth were seldom redeeming. His must be shameful indeed to have so much mystery. She raised her chin, feeling smugly satisfied, then paused. She sounded like Divina, always disparaging, looking for the bad, the weakness in someone. Where was her indole mite, the sweet temper Papa had praised, calling her dolce angelo, his sweet angel?
She frowned. Sweet angels were betrayed. Sweet angels were laughed at. Oofa! She must open her eyes, see people as they are. She must not trust what they seemed to be, what they wanted her to see. She had trusted before, trusted those closest to her, and now? Look at her now.
The Rose Legacy Page 10