Janet Quin-Harkin
Page 37
Gabe laughed. “You’re the best tonic a man ever had, Mrs. Grenville.” His face became serious. “I don’t like that name, you know. I never have,” he said. “Do you think we could possibly change it to Foster? A much nicer name—strong, reliable, American!”
“If you’re asking me to marry you, Gabe Foster,” she said, “I expect a better proposal than that.”
“Very well.” Gabe got up stiffly and dropped to his knees. “I’ve never done this before,” he said. “You’ll have to excuse me if I use the wrong words.”
“There are no wrong words,” Libby said, slipping her hands into his.
“In which case, would you do me the honor, Libby Grenville, of becoming my wife?”
Libby tried to answer but the words choked in her throat. All she could do was nod solemnly, her eyes bright with tears.
“So what do you think?” Gabe asked as she helped him to his feet again. “This deserves a celebration. Am I well enough to come out of my prison and meet my favorite princesses again?”
“I think you are,” she said. “They have been dying to get in to see you all week. Ah Fong has had to act as sheepdog and keep herding them back to the house. I’ll have him put a chair for you outside, so that you don’t have to walk too far to begin with.”
Soon Gabe was installed in a wicker arm chair, wrapped in blankets. “This is the first look I’ve had of your house,” he said. “It’s very impressive. I was expecting another shack like the one I’ve been in. I’d no idea I was marrying a rich property owner, now everyone will think I’m marrying you for your money and they’ll—” He broke off in mid sentence as the girls came running from the main house, squealing with delight.
“Mama wouldn’t let us near you earlier,” Bliss yelled. “Eden wanted to make stilts so we could peek in the window.”
“Are you well again now?” Eden asked. “You’re not still catching?”
“No, I’m not still catching.” Gabe laughed. “And you have both grown so much that I wouldn’t have recognized you. You’ve both turned into beautiful young ladies.”
A loud cry echoed from the house.
“That’s Noel. He wants to come outside too,” Eden said. “Can I bring him?”
Libby nodded. Gabe looked up at her. “Noel?” he asked.
Eden appeared again with the squirming toddler. “He’s just learned to walk,” Bliss explained, “and now he hates to be carried anywhere.”
“You’ll get muddy feet, Noel,” Eden told him.
“That’s all right. Put him down,” Libby said, laughing at the red-faced child.
“Oh, all right, walk to Mama,” Eden said, dumping him at the bottom of the porch steps. Noel stood up cautiously and then began to stagger toward Libby, a look of triumph on his face. He came within a few feet, then stopped short when he saw Gabe, his mouth open, his large dark eyes wide with surprise.
“He doesn’t see many strangers,” Libby said, sweeping him up into her arms.
“Don’t you like our brother?” Bliss asked. “He’s a very nice baby.”
Gabe was looking hard at Libby.
“He’s not a baby anymore. He’s going to be one year old,” Eden corrected.
Libby felt her face flushing. Gabe’s eyes lit up with amusement.
“Here,” he said, “I think you’d better give Master Noel to me. The sooner we get to know each other, the better.”
CHAPTER 40
THE HOUSE WAS silent. Libby slipped on her robe and walked across to the window. The sun had not yet risen and the sky showed just a hint of red behind the dark rise of foothills. Between the house and the hills golden grass stretched unbroken, unfenced, as far as the eye could see. A giant landscape, Libby thought. A land of giants, no room for little people, like Hugh. Poor Hugh—this was definitely not the place for him. What had Mark Hopkins said? California ate people like Hugh for breakfast and spat out the bones. How lucky I’m so indigestible, she thought with a smile.
She looked back across the room, at the large oak bed where Gabe’s dark head lay on the white lace pillow, still asleep. Am I doing the right thing, trying to tie you down? she wondered, looking at him with tenderness. I must make sure that the life we lead is right for both of us and not too narrow for you.
Gabe stirred. “Up so early?” he asked. “What time is it?”
“Close your eyes again, It’s unlucky for the bride-groom to see the bride on their wedding morning,” Libby said.
Gabe chuckled. “If you expect me to go around with my eyes closed until the judge arrives at two o’clock, you can think again,” he said. “Besides, we’ll have guests arriving all morning. I can hardly greet them with closed eyes, can I?”
Libby came and sat beside him on the bed. “I hope we’re doing the right thing,” she said.
“Getting married, you mean?” he asked. “Getting cold feet at the last moment?”
She reached across and took his hand. “You know I’m not,” she said. “I’d follow you to the end of the world and back. I meant having a big wedding party when everyone knows you’ve been living here three months already.”
“It wasn’t my fault the judge took so long to come on his circuit,” Gabe said. “Besides, they only have to take one look at Noel to put two and two together. He has my eyes and my hairline.” He laughed and grabbed her and pulled her to him, across the bed. “This is California, Libby. It doesn’t matter what anyone thinks. You’re going to be a very rich and powerful lady—therefore everyone wants to be your friend. They’ve all accepted, haven’t they? They would have turned you down if they were offended.”
“You’re right,” she said, snuggling up against him. “Now I’ve got you, nothing matters anymore.”
He slipped his arm around her shoulders, holding her close to him. “We’ll have a good life, Libby,” he said. “I’ve certainly made my pile, as they say out here. We can travel, go to Europe if we want to, build the house you want. All things are possible.”
Libby closed her eyes, forcing back the tears that threatened to well up. Their peace was shattered as feet pattered down the hall and the girls burst in excitedly.
“Mama, guess what? There’s a wagon outside with ice in it. It’s all cold. The iceman gave me a piece.”
“That’s for the champagne,” Libby said, sliding off the bed. “I’d no idea he’d be here so early. I’d better show him where to put it.”
“Me see, Mama,” Noel yelled, appearing in the doorway and lifting his arms to Libby.
“He’s right, Libby,” Gabe said, hastily pulling on a robe as he got out of bed. “Ice is a job for us men. Come on, son, we’ll take care of it, won’t we? These women can get on with their fancy hors d’oeuvres.” He swept Noel up and deposited him on his shoulders. They ran off, Noel shrieking delightedly, down the hall.
“That’s a dirty trick, Gabe Foster,” Libby called after him. “If he weren’t on your shoulders you know I’d have thrown something at you.”
“Nonsense, from now on you’ve got to love, honor, and obey,” Gabe yelled as he let the screen door slam behind him.
By midday a large crowd had assembled. The weather cooperated by being mild and sunny for January and Libby had had her Chinese workers, turned into waiters for the occasion, spread tables outside. Ah Fong, looking very distinguished in a new suit, had slipped easily into his role as maitre d’.
“Where did all these people come from?” Gabe muttered to Libby. “Did we invite this many?”
“I was surprised too,” Libby whispered back. “I didn’t realize we had that many friends. I suppose I must do business with more people than I thought.”
Conchita bustled among the guests handing around plates until Libby grabbed her arm. “You’re a guest too,” she said. “Sit and enjoy yourself.”
Conchita laughed nervously. “I happy when I do something,” she said. “I not know how talk these peoples.”
Don Miguel stepped up close to Libby. “When you have a moment, later, th
ere is something I have to discuss with you,” he said.
The judge arrived promptly at two. The ceremony was brief, the toasts were drunk, and then they sat down to eat in earnest. With Don Miguel’s help they had rigged up a spit on which a whole young steer was roasting. There was hot spicy chili and potato salads from Libby’s latest crop. Don Miguel sat beside Libby at one end of the long trestle table.
“What did you want to talk to me about?” she asked as the meal slowed to a conclusion.
“I am sorry to spoil a happy occasion with sad news,” he said, “but today we are saying goodbye.”
“You’re leaving?” Libby asked in astonishment.
Don Miguel nodded sadly. “We are going back to Mexico, back to the village of my wife’s parents.”
“What happened?” Libby asked. “Is it the proof of ownership? Couldn’t the lawyer help you?”
Don Miguel shrugged. “He tried,” he said. “He was good man but . . .”
“He was a fool,” Libby said. “We should have hired you a crooked lawyer, not a good man. I’ll try and find one for you.”
“Is too late,” Don Miguel said. “This is now the land of the Yankee. We don’t belong here anymore. They say my piece of paper no good. I must go to Mexico City and get documents to say this piece of paper is true land grant. This could take years and much money. If any Yankee want my land he just come and be squatter on it and it’s his. This is no way to live. My wife is afraid. She wants to grow old and die at home.”
“I’m very sorry, Don Miguel,” Libby said. “You’ve been a very good friend to me. I’ll miss you and your family very much. I am ashamed that it is my country’s laws which have treated you so badly.”
“It is always the way throughout history,” Don Miguel said. “The powerful swallows up the weak. America is now powerful. Mexico is weak. My wife will be happy to go home and speak her own language with her own people.”
“But what will happen to everything you’ve built here?” Libby asked.
“Ah, about this I wish to speak to you,” Don Miguel said. “I wish to know if you want to buy my house and my land. I would rather it went to you than be taken by crooked Yankees.”
“I’ll have to talk to my husband, of course,” Libby said, glancing down the table at Gabe, “but I think that we would be fools not to take your offer.”
She didn’t have a chance to mention anything to Gabe until early evening, when some guests took their leave and others were strolling down on the riverbank.
“If you want the house, buy it,” he said, putting his arm around her shoulder. “I’m not going to interfere with any of your business decisions after you’ve shown such aptitude for making money. And anything that gets me out of making millions of adobe bricks myself sounds like a great idea.”
Libby looked up at him and smiled. “As if you’ve ever done a day’s labor in your life,” she said.
“Ah, but I’m a reformed man now,” Gabe said seriously. “I’ve given up all of my wanton ways. From now on I’m going to be a farmer and live by honest labor and the sweat of my brow. . . .”
“That will be the day, Gabe Foster,” Libby said, turning to wrap her arms around his neck. “If I’d wanted to marry a boring, honest farmer, I’d have done so long ago. Just because you’re not going to frequent any more gambling dens doesn’t mean you can’t put your considerable talents to good use.”
“Meaning what?” he asked, his eyes teasing hers.
“You know very well what I mean. You’ve already got property in San Francisco. I’ve got those lots which we should start to build on. I can see you as a future property baron.”
Gabe nodded. “Yes, I think that would suit me rather well. I think we should also make Don Miguel an offer for his cattle herd. I might enjoy playing cowboy too.”
“I can see you doing that,” Libby said, laughing. “At least it would keep you occupied when we’re up here at the farm. You’d soon get bored pulling weeds.”
“As if I could ever get bored with you,” Gabe said, pulling her close to him and brushing his lips against her hair. “You might be a lot of things, Libby Grenville Foster, but you will never be boring.”
Libby laughed, then straightened up as she saw a lone figure picking his way along the path. “There’s Mr. Hopkins come to find us,” she said. “We should ask his advice about those lots in San Francisco.”
“A beautiful country,” Mark said as he walked up to join them. “All that expanse waiting to be settled.”
“And all those settlers waiting to buy their supplies from your store,” Gabe added.
Mark nodded in agreement. “The store is just the beginning. I’ve got so many plans.”
“More stores?” Gabe asked.
“Communications,” Mark said. “They will be the key. What happens in winter here? The roads become impassable and all commerce slows to a halt. The time is rapidly coming when California will need a railroad. And not just within the state, but to link it with the outside world.”
“You think that’s possible—a railroad across the mountains?” Libby asked, remembering their trip.
“Eventually,” Mark Hopkins said. “It will be hard, but I have spoken to engineers and I think it will be possible. Just think how it would change the face of California. . . .”
“More settlers coming in,” Libby said.
“And a way to send your produce back to the States,” Mark added. “They could be eating your melons and peaches in New York.”
“In the meantime,” Libby said, “what about those lots you purchased for me. Have they appreciated at all?”
“Appreciated?” Mark Hopkins said. “They’ve gone up at least threefold.”
“Then I should sell?”
“Absolutely not. Buy more, if you have the money to spare and in five years time they’ll be worth ten times what you paid for them. And then,” he said, stroking his beard meditatively, “then you can put the money in my new railroad and that alone will make you a millionaire.”
“Then they’ll all say I only married her for her money,” Gabe said, squeezing Libby’s hand.
“This is California,” Libby said, laughing. “Who cares what they say?”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
JANET QUIN-HARKIN is a best-selling author of over fifty young adult books and one adult novel. Historical accuracy is paramount, so a great deal of her time is spent researching her writing. She earned a degree in Modern Languages from the University of London and currently lives with her husband and four children in northern California, close to the gold country.
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COPYRIGHT
This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogues are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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FOOL’S GOLD. Copyright © 1991 by Janet Quin-Harkin. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
EPub Edition May 2013 ISBN 9780062048332
First printing: June 1991
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