by Fools Gold
“My word, you gave me a fright,” the man said, grinning pleasantly. “I thought I’d been away from the real world so long that I’d started hallucinating. I certainly didn’t expect to see a woman here.”
He got to his feet and Libby saw that he was very tall and thin, older than most of the men she had seen around and far too distinguished looking to be a storekeeper.
“I’ve been in town a week,” Libby said. “I came to find my husband, but I hadn’t realized how hard it would be. Nobody wants to tell me anything and it’s so hard to get around and it costs so much . . .” Her eyes went to a crude price list tacked to his wall: Shovels $15 each. Pants $12.
“It’s insane,” Libby said. “How in good conscience can you charge men so much?”
“I know it’s insane,” he agreed, “but that’s the way it is up here. Gold is king. As long as the gold keeps on coming they don’t care what anything costs. I aim to make a tidy fortune in keeping them supplied with what they need.” He reached out a hand to Libby. “Mark Hopkins at your service, ma’am.”
“How do you do, Mr Hopkins, I’m Libby Grenville. I came from Boston to join my husband. You must see lots of men in your store. You haven’t seen him, have you? His name’s Hugh and he’s an Englishman—tall, slim, and lots of dark curly hair?”
Mark Hopkins shook his head. “By the time I see them, they all look the same, all hidden under straggly beards and black hats,” he said. “I could have served a gorilla here and not known it.”
“If you ever do hear of him, you’ll let me know, won’t you?” Libby asked.
“I’ll try. Where are you staying?”
“I’m at the hotel, but I’ve got to move out. I can’t afford their prices any longer.”
Mr. Hopkins smiled. “I’m sure you’d have more than enough offers of bed and board, but I don’t think they’d be what you had in mind.”
Libby found him immediately likable and pleasant and realized what a strain it had been to be constantly on guard with every person she had encountered for four whole months. She suddenly felt the burden of the overwhelming responsibility she had shouldered since setting off from Boston five months ago. Before that she had not known what responsibility was. Her parents ran their household. Choosing a governess for the girls had been her only major decision, except for deciding that she wanted to marry Hugh. She hadn’t liked the governess after she hired her and Hugh had probably been a mistake too.
“You don’t need an assistant here, do you?” she asked hopefully.
He looked at her with understanding. “Not yet I don’t. I came up here with one cartload of supplies. When I sell them I aim to go back to San Francisco and stock up with two cartloads, then four, until I make my fortune. I’ll need assistants later, but now I have to save every penny for the next step.” He gave Libby an embarrassed smile. “I’d really like to help,” he said, “but up here, if you don’t take your chances when you’ve got them, you lose out forever.”
“I understand that,” Libby said. She started to walk away, then hesitated, not really sure where she was going. What would she do when the money finally ran out? She had never felt more completely alone and empty.
“I tell you what,” Mark Hopkins’s voice called after her. “I could let you have some canvas at cost, enough to make yourself a tent. That would keep you dry, at least. Do you have household stuff with you?”
“It all went over a cliff with a wagon up in the Sierra,” Libby said. “We were lucky not to go with it.”
“I’ve got a nice big dutch oven I’ll let you have,” he said, “and a couple of blankets. You can pay me what I paid for them.”
“But I can’t accept favors from you.”
“I’m a good businessman, not a monster,” he said, already picking up a bolt of canvas and then adding blankets and the cook pot to it. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll just add a little onto the price the miners pay to cover it.”
“There’re lots of other things I need,” Libby said, “but I’d feel better if I paid the real price for them. I’ll need a knife and an ax and plates and cutlery and food “
“I can’t help with the food,” Mark said. “I’m strictly a nonperishable man. You’ll have to go to Herr Otto at the trading post for that, and pay what he asks, I’m afraid. He’s got the monopoly on food around here because he knows a Chilean sea captain and he gets whatever is shipped from Chile.”
Mark took down a large, lethal-looking knife and handed it to her.
“It’s a little large, maybe,” Libby said hesitantly. “I only want it for cutting food.”
Mark looked at her steadily. “You might need to defend yourself,” he said.
Libby had not considered that aspect. Would she really be able to defend herself against wild animals or bandits or whatever else roamed these hills? If only Gabe would come back, she found herself thinking. He’d know what I should do. But it was unlikely Gabe would bother to come back to a town where they hanged people so readily, especially after rumors of cheating at cards.
With a heavy heart Libby carried her goods back to the hotel. On the walk, her mind racing like a fly, trapped against a closed windowpane, she came to the decision not to put up her tent in the town, where there were always drunken men. She had to find somewhere that was safe for herself and the girls. The trouble was that she wasn’t sure where was safe.
At the hotel she handed over most of her money to pay the bill. It came to one hundred and twenty-five dollars. Then she divided all the items she had bought from Mark Hopkins into three bundles, a large one for herself and smaller ones for the girls.
“You’ll have to be big girls and help Mama,” she said.
“We’re big girls, aren’t we, Eden?” Bliss said, taking her bundle and trying to throw it over her shoulder as she had seen men do.
Libby laughed and ruffled her hair. “Come on, let’s get going,” she said.
They set out away from town, up a small wooded valley, far above the nearest miners’ camp.
“Where are we going, Mama?” Bliss asked. “Are we going to Papa now? When are we going to find him?”
“Soon,” Libby answered with a tired sigh. “But as for now, we’re going to make ourselves a nice little home.”
CHAPTER 17
WHEN THEY CAME to a clearing, surrounded by live oaks and tall pine trees, Libby dropped her heavy bundle to the ground.
“I suppose this is as good as anywhere,” she said. “At least it’s private here and sheltered. Now let’s see if we can make a tent.”
“Are we going to be Indians, Mama?” Bliss asked excitedly.
Libby smiled at her. How wonderful to be four years old, she thought. How wonderful not to worry all the time. She managed to cut a couple of straight branches and make a crude tent. Then she took the girls back into town and spent the last of her money on supplies at a trading post behind the hotel. She didn’t even bother to ask this man for work; he was a fat German with an unfriendly face and a cigar hanging from his mouth, reminding her of Sheldon Rival. She wondered for a moment about the latter. She had expected Rival to arrive in town any day and was glad that she would not be there to face him. Looking at the prices posted on the wall, she cautiously bought only what was absolutely necessary: some rice, flour and sugar, beans and bacon. As the man unwillingly dug flour from a barrel for her, she noticed something moving in it.
“What’s that?” she asked, stepping back in horror.
“Weevils,” Herr Otto said, as if it was too unimportant to mention.
“I don’t want moldy flour!” Libby exclaimed.
“It’s all moldy by the time it gets here,” he said. “The miners like the weevils. They say it saves them the trouble of going out and shooting meat.”
“It’s disgusting,” Libby said.
Herr Otto stood with the scoop poised in his hand. “Do you want it or not?” he asked.
“I suppose I’ve no choice,” Libby said with a sigh.
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�That’s right,” he agreed with an unpleasant grin.
When she asked for potatoes, Herr Otto bent under the counter and handed her one, as if he were bringing up a large gold nugget. “That will be a dollar,” he said.
“A dollar? For one potato?” Libby shrieked. “That’s absurd. Look at it—it’s so old it’s sprouting.”
Herr Otto shrugged his massive shoulders. “These are the only potatoes between here and San Francisco,” he said, “and they get like that by the time they’ve come around the Horn on a ship. Do you want it or not?”
“What other vegetables do you have?” Libby asked.
“I got some onions,” the storekeeper said, “but they’re also a dollar each. I can’t keep vegetables in the store. The moment I get them, everyone buys them.”
“Forget it,” Libby said. “I’ll make do without.” As she walked back to the tent, she almost wanted to laugh at the absurdity of the situation.
The children thought living in a tent was a big adventure. They loved playing in the outdoors and were excited by every bird and squirrel they saw. Libby was frightened to let them roam at first, aware of rattlesnakes and bears and wolves, but as the peaceful surroundings soothed her and the sun shone from a perfect blue arc of sky, she gave in and let them run and climb to their heart’s content. They had their first narrow escape that evening when Bliss came running up to her mother excitedly. “Come see, Mama. I’ve found a dear little kitty.” Mystified, Libby followed her daughter and found a large skunk waddling through the trees. She tried to imagine what would have happened if Bliss had decided to pick it up.
The nights were cold and Libby was glad she had accepted the pelts to sleep on. She would lie awake, staring up at the stars in the clearest of clear skies and worry about what was going to happen to them.
“I’ll have to give up,” she said each night. “I’ll have to admit that I’ll never find Hugh and that he has either learned to survive or given up and gone home or died by now.” She realized how ironic it would be if he arrived back in Boston only to find she had gone to California. “How stupid I was,” she muttered over and over. “How little I knew in those days.” But it was no good blaming herself or thinking what might have been. She was stuck in the gold country and she had to decide what to do before winter came and she could no longer live in a tent. The big question, of course, was whether she could ever go home. Would her father take her back, if she managed to get that far? That was another thing to worry about, if she ever raised the money for the fare, which at the moment seemed impossible.
If she had not been so terrified about the future, the clearing would have been a delightful spot. It would have been an ideal picnic site, sheltered by giant trees, with the sweet smell of pine, manzanita, and bay and a thick carpet of pine needles, if only one could have packed up the picnic and gone home to a real house and a real bed at the end of the day. Libby could not afford a lantern, so the day ended at sunset and the nights were unbearably long. She kept a candle for emergencies only and prayed there would be none of those.
The next morning she served the girls flapjacks and tea for breakfast. She knew she had better do something soon. They would soon get sick on such a poor diet. She fought with her repugnance and now reconsidered an idea she had pushed firmly to the back of her mind until now. She wasn’t selling her body for anyone or anything, so all she could do to get money was wash the miners’ clothes. That was something they certainly needed.
She thought of the sweat-stained, mud-stained garments and shuddered at the thought of touching them, but it was something they might be glad to pay for, so it had to be done. She set out for the nearest mining settlement and went up to the men as they worked.
“Morning, ma’am,” they called politely. “Any news of your husband yet?”
“Not yet,” Libby said. “I wanted to tell you that I’ve set up house nearby while I wait for him and I’m taking in washing. Do you have anything you need washed?”
“Yeah, and I’m wearing it,” one old-timer said.
The men laughed loudly. “He ain’t changed his long Johns since he got here, I reckon,” another commented and they laughed again.
“If you decide to purchase a change of clothing and would like this one washed, you can find me off the trail to Coloma,” Libby said frostily.
She met with the same reaction at the next diggings she came to. One man muttered that he’d never have a dime to send home if he had to pay for something he didn’t really need.
Libby continued down the river but got no takers. She was about to go home, discouraged, when Eden and Bliss, who had been playing farther down the bank, came running up in excitement. “Mama! Come see. We’ve found gold. Lots of it. We’ll be rich, Mama. You won’t have to do any horrid washing.”
Trying to hold back her excitement, Libby ran after them. It will be someone else’s claim, she told herself. We won’t be able to keep it.
One or two of the men threw down their shovels and ran after them to see the discovery.
“Look there, see,” Eden called, pointing down to the sandy bottom of the stream, where golden flecks gleamed in the sunlight.
“Oh,” Libby said, speechless. There did not seem to be anyone working this little cove and no tools signified an active claim. She bent down and reached into the water, scooping up a handful of sand. The golden flakes rose and swirled as she disturbed the water.
“That’s not gold you’ve got there,” one of the men muttered, peering over her shoulder. “That’s fool’s gold.”
“Fool’s gold?”
“It’s pyrite, another mineral altogether. We call it fool’s gold. It’s worthless.”
“You can always tell if it floats like that,” the other man said, more kindly. “Gold’s heavy, see. It sinks.”
“I see,” Libby said, stepping back from the bank. She gathered up her skirts. “Thank you for your trouble, gentlemen Come children, we must be heading home.”
She noticed they were looking after her as she walked.
On Sunday morning she was awakened by polite coughs outside the tent. “Mama, there’s strange men out there,” Eden whispered.
Libby looked around for the knife.
“What is it?” she called.
“Washing, ma’am,” came a gruff voice. “We all change our clothes on Sunday. We’ll pick it up tonight.”
Libby looked out of the tent at a large pile of dirty clothes.
The men nodded politely to her.
“We even got Old Buck out of his long Johns,” one of them said, grinning. “He’s sitting under a tree naked as a jay bird until you get them washed. Let’s hope they don’t fall to pieces.”
“I’ll have them ready for you,” Libby said.
As soon as they had gone, she carried the clothes down to the creek below, lit a fire, and set a pan of water on to boil. The clothes were filthy beyond recognition and had to be boiled and scrubbed until they showed any trace of their original color. She worked without stopping until at the end of the day she had raw, red hands, an aching back, and a pile of clean clothing drying in the sun. That night she was twenty dollars richer. She went into town and bought eggs and canned butter, plus some cloth to make the girls some clothes.
The same thing was repeated the next Sunday. She did not dare canvass for more work because she knew she could not get it done in a day. Each time the men passed her, they would enquire politely whether she had found her husband yet. She heard that rumors were flying up and down the creek about her: that her husband was really a British prince run away from ascending the throne; that she had murdered her husband and was hiding out in California; or that she was a widow and was waiting for a man to strike it really rich before she got her claws into him. Libby realized how dangerous for her these rumors could be. If they didn’t think she was respectably married and searching for her husband, she would become easy picking with no protection.
So she went to extra lengths to talk about Hugh and descri
be him to everyone she met. She realized that Hugh was her talisman and shield. As a married woman whose husband was at the diggings, she was safe from all unwanted attentions. Men respected another man’s wife as they did his claim. The moment they thought she had no husband, she was no longer safe. In all her dealings with them she made sure she maintained a frosty distance. She behaved to the miners as her father did to his coachmen at home, polite but distant and unapproachably above them. If they ever happened to make a crude joke in her presence, or use a swear word, her look made them mumble an apology. She knew that there were some men at the diggings who could have become her friends; not all were humble farmers and laborers, but she didn’t dare let down her guard. The miners started calling her Lady Muck, behind her back at least, and she did little to discourage this.
One day a man for whom she had done washing came up to the tent, panting hard from the climb up from the creek. “I heard of an Englishman over at Kelsey,” he gasped. “Sounded just like your old man—dark, curly hair, English as they come.”
“That’s him!” she exclaimed. “How far is it to Kelsey?”
“Couple of miles over the hill that way,” the man said.
“Thank you very much,” Libby said excitedly. “I’m very grateful to you for your trouble.”
She called to the children and told them that they were finally going to Papa. It was a rugged path over the hill and as she dropped down to the diggings at Kelsey, her heart was beating so loudly she was sure all the men would hear her coming and look up. Old doubts surfaced as she came down the final slope. What if he wasn’t pleased to see her, if he’d planned to run away?
“I hear you have an Englishman working on this stretch of river,” she called to the first men. “I’m his wife. I’ve been looking for him.”
“Honest Injun?” one man said, nudging his neighbor. He yelled down the line of men. “Hey Charlie. Get up here. Got someone to see you.”
Then he winked at his neighbor again. “I reckon Charlie’s in for the shock of his life.”