Janet Quin-Harkin

by Fools Gold

  She hurried back to her hotel and met the landlady still at the front desk.

  “Any news on your poor relative?” she asked.

  “He’s still alive but you were right. It’s a terrible place. I’ve got to get him out of there as soon as possible,” Libby said. “Where do you think I can find a room to rent where I can have him well looked after?”

  The landlady shook her head firmly. “You’ll not find anybody in this town willing to bring the smallpox into their houses,” she said. “They come and take them away the moment the fever strikes whether the family wants it or no. I’ve seen some pitiful scenes myself these past days, mothers clinging on to the arms of their children as the poor wee one is carried out, and wives begging to go with their husbands. You’d best leave well enough alone, my dear. They say it’s a terrible end.”

  That night Libby hardly slept, pacing the room impatiently, unable to wait for all the things she had to do next day. She was firm in her resolution that Gabe was not staying in that hospital a moment longer. If she couldn’t find a place in Sacramento to take him, then she’d take him home with her and look after him herself. She wrote a note to Mark Hopkins, leaving him money and asking him to arrange her vegetable transactions for her as she was taking his advice and getting out of town again. She had almost forgotten the main reason for her journey. At nine o’clock she had to appear in court. Until that moment her number-one priority in life had been to beat Sheldon Rival and win back her water rights. Now it no longer seemed so overwhelmingly important. If Gabe died, then any victory over Sheldon Rival would be hollow indeed.

  The fact that Gabe did not want to see her was her one consolation. It proved he was not about to die at any moment. If he had been, he would have made his peace with her, held her hand, and bid her tenderly farewell. Not wanting to see her showed that his pride and stubborness were still working fully. Libby smiled to herself. How typically Gabe! How very much she had missed him!

  At dawn she washed and dressed in clean clothes, ate a little toast, then walked over to the courthouse where she was to meet Jonah Fairbanks, her attorney. Mr. Fairbanks looked like the sort of man Mark Hopkins would recommend: tall, slim, somberly dressed with a neat little beard. He bowed when Libby introduced herself to him.

  “This could not, unfortunately, have fallen at a worse time,” he said. “You have heard of all the terrible sickness in this city? I was loath to leave San Francisco.”

  “How long do you think it will take?” Libby asked, her thoughts still on rescuing Gabe. “It’s all fairly simple, isn’t it? It can’t take a judge more than an hour or so?”

  Mr. Fairbanks stroked his beard meditatively, the way Mark Hopkins did. “It depends, somewhat, on the evidence produced by the defense,” he said. “If they have a lot of evidence which has to be examined and sifted through. . . .”

  “What evidence could they have?” Libby asked angrily. She had not counted on Sheldon Rival being able to present his side fully in court.

  The lawyer looked amused by her outburst. “This being the justice system of the United States of America, both sides are guaranteed equal access to the law,” he said. “I am sure that the opposing party will not want to tear down his dam without a fight.”

  “But any judge would see that it’s wrong, surely?” Libby asked. “You can’t just take a whole valley’s water away.”

  “That is what we hope to prove,” Mr. Fairbanks said.

  “But we have to prove it,” Libby exclaimed, “and prove it quickly. That’s why I hired you.”

  “Pray don’t distress yourself, Mrs. Grenville,” the lawyer said. “I’ll do my very best for you and you can help your own case most by remaining calm throughout.”

  “How can I remain calm?” Libby snapped. “I’m not sitting back and letting Sheldon Rival tell a pack of lies.”

  “Then maybe it would be better if you stayed out of the courtroom and let me present your case,” Fairbanks said softly. “A hysterical woman would not influence the judge favorably.”

  “I am not a hysterical woman,” Libby said, her eyes flashing dangerously.

  “Of course not,” Mr. Fairbanks soothed, “but you are very emotionally involved with this case—understandably so, of course. I beg you to keep your temper before the judge.”

  “Anything as long as you get this over quickly,” she said with a sigh.

  “I see you also desire to get away as quickly as possible,” he said. “And I don’t blame you one bit.”

  Libby realized he thought she was frightened for her own safety if she stayed in the city but didn’t bother to correct him. Across the square a clock struck nine and Fairbanks ushered Libby through a large oak door into the courtroom. She expected to see Sheldon Rival himself sitting across the room from her, but instead there were only two dark men, both with beaked noses, their heads together as they talked, giving the impression of two vultures. Libby disliked both on sight. The judge, however, looked like a kindly old man, his round pink face surrounded by a fluff of white whiskers, and she smiled at him encouragingly as she took her seat.

  The case was read and Mr. Fairbanks stood to present Libby’s argument. Then one of the dark men was asked to reply. He did so in a southern drawl and with many gestures which Libby was sure would annoy the judge as much as it annoyed her. He spoke of the lack of definitive California laws on the subject of water rights, the only clear one being that upstream property had prior rights to it. He pointed out that streams were being diverted and channelled all over the mining area and that many streams no longer flowed through their original beds.

  “But this one doesn’t flow at all any longer,” Libby blurted out, unable to sit quiet. “And prior rights must mean that someone else gets subsequent rights to it.”

  Her outburst only got her a caution from the judge and a frown from Fairbanks. The southern attorney was invited to proceed and placed several documents in front of the judge to show registration of mining claims. “It has been the precedent in California that water may be used as needed to expedite the process of mining,” he said. “My client’s process needs a large volume of water available at all times.”

  “So do my vegetables,” Libby said. This time the judge wagged a finger at her. “One more outburst, Mrs. Grenville, and I shall have to ask you to leave.”

  Libby glared at the southern lawyer and jammed her lips together. The judge looked through the papers he had been given. The clock on the wall ticked monotonously and Libby felt as if she would explode with impatience. At last the judge looked up. “At what date do you say that you took up residence on your present property, Mrs. Grenville?” he asked.

  “October 1850, your honor,” Mr. Fairbanks answered quickly for her. “My client has been in residence just over a year and during that time has established a large, successful market garden business, dependent on a constant water supply.”

  “I see,” the judge said. He glanced down at the papers again.

  “What made you choose this particular site, Mrs. Grenville?”

  “The constant water supply,” Libby answered for herself before Fairbanks could speak.

  The judge shifted the papers around. “You presumably did not have expert help in choosing this situation—no legal help, for example?”

  “I didn’t think I needed it,” Libby said. “I bought the land from the man who held title to it.”

  “I’m only thinking,” the judge said slowly, “that if you had conducted a thorough investigation into the pros and cons of your present situation, you might have discovered that your neighbor, Mr. Rival, was already in possession of the land directly above you and had already filed a claim with the mining commission of this state to begin hydraulic mining there.”

  Libby looked at him suspiciously. “He hadn’t already built a dam when I moved in there,” she said.

  “But he had expressed his intention of doing so to several witnesses from whom these gentlemen have affidavits,” the judge said. “Furt
hermore, I have before me a map of the gold mining area of our state. Your particular river, Mrs. Grenville, does not show upon it.”

  “That doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist,” Libby said, not able to hold back her anger any longer.

  “Of course not,” the judge said, “but it does make my task a little easier, as it has not been officially recognized as a water source. I sympathize with you, Mrs. Grenville. You have obviously put a lot of work into this little project, but I feel you should have done your homework a Little more thoroughly before starting on it. I have no alternative than to rule in favor of Mr. Rival. The dam is allowed to stand.”

  The hammer came down on the bench. Fairbanks put his hand on Libby’s arm to steer her away. “Thank you very much, but I can do without your help,” she said coldly. “A lot of help you were in there.”

  “I did what I could,” Mr. Fairbanks said, “but I’m afraid we were up against insurmountable odds.”

  “Meaning what?”

  “The laws governing the mining processes in this state are only being written,” Fairbanks said. “And there are those in the mining commission who are not above putting signatures to documents for a fee.”

  “You’re saying those documents were false?”

  “I’m saying that there are those in this state who can be bought,” he said. “I didn’t like to tell you that we were fighting a losing battle before we went into court, but when I saw who we had as judge, I knew we were wasting our time. Sheldon Rival is already a powerful man and his hydraulic mining is making him richer by the minute. Only a fool would make an enemy of him at the moment.”

  “Then I must be a fool,” Libby said, “Because I’m not going to give up. I’ll go to the legislature and have them change the laws. I’ll go to the Supreme Court if I have to. I’m not going to let Sheldon Rival win this time.”

  Mr. Fairbanks touched her arm lightly. “My dear, there is a whole big state waiting to be developed—more land than anyone dreamed of, waiting to be cultivated. Why give yourself such heartaches when they are not necessary? You could find somewhere even better to start afresh. Many of these Mexican land grants will be going begging. Help yourself to one—it would cost you nothing.”

  “Yes it would,” Libby said. “It would cost me my pride.”

  CHAPTER 38

  BACK AT THE hotel, Libby loaded her bag into the wagon and drove straight to the hospital. It was hard going through the mud but eventually she tied up the horse and mule at the rail outside. The hospital looked even more desolate by daylight—a dark brick building around which black smoke still curled. She went in the front door and was greeted by a strange woman who told her very firmly that no visitors were allowed. It was only then that she realized she didn’t know the orderly’s name. She tried to describe him but the woman was in no mood to listen.

  “Out!” she said, pointing at the front door. Then she stood with hands on hips while Libby went out again.

  As she stood looking at the building, wondering how she could get access to Gabe, a heavy wagon rolled up and men came running down the steps to carry in three groaning figures, wrapped in blankets. They went to lift a fourth body, then yelled out breezily, “Don’t bother about this one. He’s already a stiff.” They turned to the carter. “Take him round back to the morgue.”

  Libby fought off her revulsion and seized her chance to slip in behind the stretcher bearers. The unfriendly woman was involved with admitting the patients, writing names in the book. One of the sick men started thrashing in his fever and threatened to fall off his stretcher. As the orderlies sprang to control him Libby fled down the corridor toward the smallpox ward. Inside all was quiet, except for some faint groans. Two beds next to Gabe’s were empty but he lay there not moving, his eyes sunken, face alarmingly red and half obscured by bandages. An ugly boil poked out of the bandage at his chin. Libby swallowed with fear. She tiptoed over to him and stared at him for a long time until she saw that he was still breathing. Then she wasn’t sure what to do next. Gabe was too heavy for her to drag out and she would certainly be stopped. She slipped out again and went around the building until she came to a door at the back which presumably led to the morgue. As she stood, undecided, two young men came out of it, carrying an empty stretcher between them, masks tied around their mouths making them look like bandits.

  Libby ran up and grabbed one by the arm. “I need your help badly,” she whispered. “My husband’s in there and they won’t let me take him home. He got sick when he came into town, you see, and I’ve just found him. Couldn’t you bring him out to me? We live on a farm away from everybody. We wouldn’t be doing any harm and I could nurse him back to health. If he’s left here, he’ll die.”

  “What do you want us to do?” one of the young men asked kindly.

  “If you could just carry him out, pretend you were taking him to the morgue, I’ll have my buckboard waiting,” she said, “and I’ll make it worth your while.” She fumbled in her purse and brought out a handful of silver dollars. She watched the young men glance at each other.

  “All right, ma’am,” one of them said. “Which one is he?”

  Libby hurried to her wagon and brought it round to the back of the hospital. A few minutes later the two young men appeared, carrying a white-shrouded figure between them. The white shrouded figure, however, was not acting the part of a body very well.

  From under the sheet the figure was protesting loudly, “Will you put me down this instant? I’m not dead yet, I tell you.”

  “Quiet, your wife’s come to take you away,” one of the orderlies hissed.

  “I don’t have a wife. You’re going to bury me,” Gabe raved.

  “He’s delirious, poor thing, put him in here,” Libby said quickly, motioning to the back of the wagon. The orderlies lifted him on top of the sacks.

  “No, don’t bury me. I’m still alive,” Gabe moaned.

  Libby slipped a handful of silver dollars to the men who nodded and slipped away. “Stop talking and lie back, Gabe,” Libby whispered. “Nobody’s going to bury you.”

  “Libby?” Gabe murmured as she pulled the sheet back from his face. “Are you dead too?”

  “You’re going to be fine,” she said, trying to smile confidently as she looked down at his distorted features. “I’m taking you home with me. I’m going to get you well again.”

  Gabe closed his eyes and smiled. “That’s good,” he said, and passed into unconsciousness.

  Libby drove away as fast as she could, terrified that she would be stopped and Gabe taken back. It was only when the smoke from the city hung low on the horizon behind her that she allowed the horse and mule to slow to a walk. Gabe still lay in the back among the sacks, being tossed back and forth like a doll as the wagon lurched over ruts and bumps. Libby stopped and tried to make him more comfortable. As she touched him she could feel his body burning with fever. He moaned but didn’t open his eyes.

  Libby pressed on as fast as she dared. Spray flew up as she whipped the team across the flooded pastures. The horse’s side was flecked with foam but she didn’t dare stop. She kept looking back at Gabe’s scarlet face and sunken eyes and was terrified that he’d die before she could get him home. It was only as the gravel driveway and cactus fence appeared that she remembered she had lost her fight in court and maybe she would have to leave this place. A great lump rose in her throat and she wondered if fate could be so cruel that she could lose her home and Gabe all in one day.

  Ah Fong came running out to greet her.

  “Don’t come any closer,” she yelled. “I’ve got Mr. Foster sick with smallpox in the wagon.”

  “You brought smallpox back here?” Ah Fong asked, his face showing his alarm.

  “I’m not bringing him in the house,” she said. “Let’s put him in the farthest cottage. We’ll have the men sleep in the shed or with you until he’s well again.”

  Ah Fong didn’t say any more. He started yelling instructions in Chinese and soon his crew was hurr
ying to remove belongings and set up the little one-room shack as a sickroom.

  “I’m going to need your help getting him out of the wagon,” Libby said to Ah Fong. “He’s too heavy for me to lift alone.”

  “That’s all right, missee. I do it,” Ah Fong said, his eyes still afraid as he bent to touch Gabe. Gabe moaned as he was moved, but he didn’t regain consciousness. They helped Gabe to the bed.

  “What he needs is good Chinese chicken soup,” Ah Fong said.

  “Good idea, Ah Fong,” Libby agreed. “Why don’t you go kill a chicken.”

  Libby sat beside Gabe all night while he burned with fever and raged in delirium. “Don’t let them bury me, I’m not dead yet,” he kept on moaning, every time she tried to touch him. She changed the dressings over his boils, sponged his face, and held his head to feed him sips of water. When she tried to feed him Ah Fong’s chicken broth, he couldn’t keep it down. As the night progressed, Libby fought to stay awake. She had had almost no sleep for the past two days and nodded off every time she sat down. She was frightened that Gabe would die while she was asleep, so she stood by the window and made herself walk up and down whenever her eyelids drooped.

  Toward dawn Gabe woke and started moaning again. “They’re digging, aren’t they?” he asked with frightened eyes. “I can hear them digging outside.” He grabbed Libby’s arm frantically. “You won’t let them bury me before I’m properly dead, will you?” he asked.

  “You’re not going to die, Gabe,” she said soothingly, reaching for the cold towel to sponge his face. “Just lie back and rest. I’m going to take good care of you and you’re going to get well.”

  His eyes seemed to focus on her for the first time. “Libby?” he asked. “Is it really you?”

  “Really me,” she said gently.

  “I thought I heard your voice,” he murmured. “Don’t leave me, will you?”

  “I won’t leave you, Gabe,” she said softly. “I’m right here beside you.”