The Lost Girl

by Liz Harris

  ‘Goodbye,’ she called over her shoulder as she left the store.

  The moment she was in the street, she started to run as fast as she could down Main Street to Second Street, and along Second Street, past the row of miners’ houses, and out across the open ground to the place by the river where she and Joe used to sit.

  But no matter how fast she ran, she couldn’t outrun the expression in Su Lin’s eyes as once again her offer of friendship had been thrown back in her face. It was there at her side, keeping pace with her every step.

  Dear Charity, she read, sitting on the edge of the gully.

  It’s lucky for me that you’re a smart girl who knows her letters as it means I can write to you. The further I got from home, the bigger the lump in my throat whenever I thought of you all. And then it hit me that with you being able to read so well, I could write to you from wherever I was and keep in touch with you all while I’m gone.

  If you pass on my news to Ma, Pa and Sam, then none of you will need to wonder what I’m doing because you’ll know. And I’ll feel close to you all, even though I’m far away.

  So, Charity, I’m guessing you finally did what I’ve long been asking you to do – gone into the mercantile and spoken to the girl there. If you hadn’t, you wouldn’t be reading this. Maybe it was her brother you spoke to, but I hope it was Su Lin.

  In the rush of setting out for Cheyenne, I forgot to tell you that Mr Culpepper told me that Su Lin’s folks are going back to China for a visit. I reckon I’ve been gone from Carter long enough now for you to have started to understand what real loneliness feels like, and you’ll be able to imagine how Su Lin will feel when her folks have left. If for no other reason than kindness, I hope you’ll give yourself a chance to get to know her. That would make me mighty pleased.

  I’m wondering if you’d like to know a bit about the outfit I’m with. In case you do, I thought I’d tell you. We’ve around three thousand head of cattle, and four mules for the chuck wagon. The chuck wagon carries our flour, bacon, beans, medical supplies and just about everything else. We’ve also got a well-stocked remuda. That’s the name for the spare horses. When our horse is tired, we change to another.

  The actual drive begins tomorrow – yup, that’s excitement you can feel rising up from the paper. We’ll be aiming for about twenty miles each day for the first couple of days. That’s going some, but you’ve got to get cows far from their home as fast as you can. They’ve got a homing instinct, and you don’t want them trying to get back to their ranch. After a couple of days, they’ll have got into the rhythm of the drive and should handle well, so we’ll be dropping to fifteen miles a day. We have to go slowly and give them time to graze well else they’ll be worn out and skinny by the time we get to Montana and they won’t fetch much of a price.

  I hope you’re impressed by what I’ve already learnt, and we haven’t even left the delivery point south of Cheyenne yet.

  One last thing before I sign off. I heard tell it’s possible to get letters while you’re on the trail. I’d very much like to hear from you, Charity, and to learn how they are at home. You don’t have to write if you’re busy, though. I know Ma keeps adding to your chores and you’ve got schoolwork to do, and the bakery. It’s just if you do have a moment, I’d sure appreciate a letter from time to time.

  In case you want to write, if we’re heading towards a town where we’ll be stocking up on supplies and I’ll be able to pick up any mail, I’ll let you know in advance.

  Our first stop will be Casper, but we’ll have left Casper before you’ve got this letter and had time to reply, so the first place to write to would be Buffalo. It’ll take eight or nine days to get to Buffalo from Casper because of the cows. If you just write to me care of Monty Taylor’s drive, it’ll find me. If you want to, that is.

  Your friend,

  Joe

  Clutching the letter to her chest in excitement, Charity jumped up and ran as fast as she could back to the house.

  ‘I got a letter from Joe,’ she screamed as she bolted through the doorway. She came to a halt in the middle of the room, panting hard. She stared at Martha with joy in her eyes.

  Clutching a serving spoon to her chest, Martha took a step towards her, a sense of wonder spreading over her face.

  ‘I’ll read it to you,’ Charity said. ‘And then I’m gonna write to him.’

  Chapter Eleven

  Charity came into the front room from the corridor and saw Martha standing in the open doorway, leaning against one of the wooden supports. She was staring in the direction of the river.

  ‘What’re you doin’?’ she asked curiously.

  Martha didn’t move, but continued to stand there, silent.

  Clutching the piece of paper she was carrying, Charity crossed to the doorway and squeezed between Martha and the doorpost. ‘What’re you lookin’ at?’ she asked, following the line of Martha’s gaze. ‘It’s gettin’ dark. And it’s cold.’

  ‘Everythin’ and nothin’,’ Martha replied, her eyes fixed on some distant point, seemingly searching for something hidden in the darkness that was falling fast as smoky grey clouds wrapped themselves tightly around the moon.

  Charity stared ahead for a moment or two, puzzled, then she inched back and glanced to her right. The bathtub was on the floor in front of the sink. It was full of dirty water, with a layer of black grime and coal splinters floating on the surface. She stared at the tub, her eyes widening in surprise. Joe’s ma always got rid of the dirty water as soon as Sam and Joe’s pa had washed themselves after their day in the mine, so why was it still there?

  Her brow creased in bewilderment.

  Moving closer to Martha’s side again, she glanced up at her. ‘What d’you mean, everythin’ and nothin’? I don’t understand.’

  Martha looked down at her. ‘I was thinkin’ about Joe. He’s only been gone for about three weeks, but it feels much longer. I’m glad he’s gonna be writin’ to us, and tellin’ how he’s gettin’ on.’ She glanced at the letter in Charity’s hand. ‘That’s for Joe, I guess.’

  Charity beamed at her. ‘I’m gonna send it tomorrow. I’ll go to the mercantile when I leave the bakery.’ Martha nodded. ‘But what’s the everythin’ and nothin’ you’re lookin’ at? I wanna look at it, too.’

  ‘The past,’ Martha said with a dry laugh, and she turned back to the night.

  The clouds slowly unravelled and drifted away from the pale moon, and the rock-hard ground took on a cold, silvery sheen in the light of the unscarfed moon. ‘I was thinkin’ about what it used to be like when we lived on the ranch. You would’ve liked it there,’ she said, and she smiled at Charity.

  Charity smiled happily back up at her.

  ‘There were green hills and cows everywhere you looked,’ Martha went on, turning back to the darkness, her voice taking on a dreamy tone. ‘And at certain times of the year, there were wild flowers all around you. There wasn’t a slagheap to be seen, not anywhere. And no black smoke driftin’ endlessly over the town, coverin’ everythin’ with dirt. When you stepped out on to the veranda that ran round the ranch house, you breathed clean air, and all you could hear was birds singin’, cattle lowin’, and the sounds of horses bein’ ridden and ranch hands goin’ about their daily chores. Never the endless beat of a mine pump and the dull thud of metal bangin’ on rock.’

  ‘Did you look after the cows when you lived on the ranch?’

  Martha laughed. ‘Not me; that was a man’s job. The men worked real hard. But so did the women, only in a different way. Not only did we take care of our family, we also looked after all of the ranch hands. They had to be fed, too. And we made and mended all the clothin’, cooked the food, raised the children, looked after anyone who was sick.’

  ‘But you mend the clothes now, and when that piece of rock fell from the mine roof and hit Sam on the head, you looked after him till he was better.’

  ‘You’re right; I do a lot of that now, too. But the ranch was a much nicer place to
do it in. And we women had ranchin’ skills, too. We knew how to fire a gun, use a brandin’ iron, and herd cattle or sheep to pasture. It was a good life. And Joe thought that, too, even though he was only knee high to a grasshopper when we left. Not Sam, though. That was never gonna be the life for Sam.’

  ‘Why did you leave?’

  ‘I met Hiram, didn’t I? He was passin’ through the nearby town, lookin’ for work. Oh, you should’ve seen him, Charity, before life had been knocked out of him! He was a real good-lookin’ man with a ready laugh, and he had a carin’ way about him which made a woman melt. Everyone liked him. All the unwed girls set their caps at him, but it was me he turned to. Believe it or not, folk used to think me pretty.’ She reached up and tucked her hair more firmly under her day bonnet.

  Charity smiled up at her. ‘You’re pretty now.’

  Martha put her hand to her cheek and gave a short laugh. ‘I think not. But it was different then, and we were wed. He needed a job so he came to live and work on the family ranch. But he was a restless dreamer, and he was like a fish out of water there. He just didn’t take to tendin’ animals, growin’ crops and ridin’ the range all day.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘I don’t really know. Maybe there wasn’t enough excitement in it, always bein’ with the same few people every day, and doin’ the same thing year after year. Whatever it was, the life slowly drained out of him. The day he heard that gold had been found in the river and hills around here, he came to life again, and I wasn’t the least bit surprised when he said he was gonna go prospectin’. He told the boys and me we could go with him or stay behind. I packed our bags that night and so did they, and we went with him.’

  ‘But if you liked the ranch, why didn’t you stay there?’

  ‘One day you’ll fall for someone, and then you’ll understand,’ Martha told her with a wry smile. ‘And remember, I’d no idea I’d end up in a godforsaken place like this. If I had known … and if Hiram had known where it’d end … well, I reckon things might’ve been very different.’ She shifted her weight to the other foot. ‘Anyway, like most of those chasin’ the yellow stuff, he didn’t find it, and finally I made him see that he had to go down the mines to feed his family. And the way it’s turned out, he’s doin’ the same thing this year as he did last year. Just what he was tryin’ to escape from when he left the ranch.’

  ‘Sam likes it here.’

  ‘But Hiram’s not Sam, for all they’re alike in many a way. And anyway, I’m not sure how true that is of Sam these days. Sam likes livin’ in a town, that’s for sure, but bein’ a miner’s not turnin’ out the way he thought it’d be. Things in the mine have changed for the worse since he started, and it’s gotten to be a real hard life now. Sam doesn’t smile that much these days. As for Hiram, he hates each day. Many a man would’ve left their family by now and struck out on their own, but not Hiram. He’s a better man than many; I’ll say that for him.’

  ‘Why don’t you go back to the ranch then?’

  ‘Too much time’s passed. My brothers and their families have been runnin’ it for years, and we lost contact long ago. If we just turned up, we’d need rooms they probably don’t have, and we’d be extra mouths to feed that hadn’t earned the food put into them. It’s too late to go back. And anyway, Sam likes Carter, and whatever Hiram thinks of minin’, at least he’s on the edge of a town, and I reckon that’s still where he’d rather be than on a ranch.’

  ‘You could ask him, maybe.’

  ‘No point. I know the answer. We could’ve found a good patch of land near water years ago, staked a claim and become homesteaders. You can stake a hundred and sixty acres under the law. I once suggested that, but Sam and Hiram wouldn’t hear of it. Joe wanted to, though.’ She paused. ‘I don’t know why I’m tellin’ you all this – you’re only ten. Maybe it’s that I’m feelin’ a mite bit lonely. Folk around here aren’t as friendly as they used to be; in fact, some have gotten downright rude. Or maybe it’s ’cos you’re not family that I can say to you what I couldn’t say to the family.’

  Joe’s parting words leapt into Martha’s head, reverberating loud and clear in the still of the night, just as if he were standing next to her.

  ‘Remember your promise,’ he had said as he was leaving. ‘This family’s all that Charity’s got. The whites won’t accept her as one of them ’cos she looks Chinese, and the Chinese won’t accept her ’cos she’s been brought up American. I’m trustin’ you to do your best for her while I’m gone. Make sure she knows she belongs.’

  Her conscience pricked her sharply.

  ‘I know you’re not family, Charity,’ she added quietly, ‘but you come pretty close.’

  And she fell silent. A cloak of darkness slowly fell upon the earth again as coal-grey clouds once more curled themselves around the face of the moon.

  Standing quietly at Martha’s side, Charity stared ahead with her. ‘I still don’t know what we’re lookin’ at,’ she said after several minutes.

  ‘I don’t know about you, Charity gal, but I’m lookin’ ahead at year after year of this, and I feel like I’m bein’ buried alive.’

  Chapter Twelve

  Tightly holding her letter to Joe, Charity stared at the entrance in front of her, at the scrolls on either side, at the Chinese wind chimes above the door. She fingered the coins Martha had given her, then took a deep breath and went in. The chimes rung loudly in her wake.

  Two Chinamen were coming towards her on their way out of the store, each of them clad in a coarse cotton knee-length jacket, baggy trousers and a peaked straw hat. Each man carried a rolled-up length of material under his arm. She stopped just inside the entrance and stood back to give them room to go out.

  They glanced curiously at her as they passed, their eyes travelling swiftly from her face to her dress. Unsmiling, they gave her a slight nod. She nodded back. The long black pigtails hanging behind them almost reached to the waist, she noticed, as they went through the doorway. She heard one of them say something to the other and their laughter followed them on to the street.

  Looking back along the shop, she saw that Su Lin was at the far end of the left-hand counter, rolling up a bale of material, and hadn’t yet seen her. Charity walked towards her, making her booted feet sound loud on the floor to let Su Lin know she was there.

  Su Lin looked up, and her face broke out into a smile of pleasure. Leaving the material where it was, she skirted the end of the counter and hurried up to Charity, the palms of her hands pressed together. Reaching her, she gave her a small bow.

  ‘I hear chimes. Think chimes say men leave,’ she said with a laugh. ‘I not see you. I very pleased you visit unworthy self today. I likee see you.’ She beamed at Charity.

  ‘I’ve not come to see you,’ Charity said stiffly. ‘I’ve come to send a letter to Joe; that’s all.’

  She saw Su Lin’s face fall, and she felt a stab of guilt.

  She opened her mouth to say something friendlier, something that wasn’t being unkind to Su Lin in the way that the children in her school were unkind to her. It wasn’t Su Lin’s fault she was Chinese.

  ‘I’m not—’ she started. The curtain that covered the doorway at the far end of the shop rustled with sudden movement. Her heart skipped a beat. She stopped mid-sentence and stared past Su Lin to the doorway.

  Chen Fai was standing there, holding the curtain to one side, his dark eyes fixed on her. She instantly dropped her gaze to the floor in front of him, and to his feet. His flat black shoes were embroidered with a jumble of colour over the place where his toes must be.

  He stood in silence, unmoving.

  Gathering courage, Charity raised her eyes from his feet to his black trousers, and up to his yellow tunic made of shiny material, and to his head. He wasn’t wearing the peaked straw hat that most of the Carter Chinamen wore, she saw in surprise; he was wearing a small black cap that fitted on the top of his head.

  She looked back at his face. He had a nice face, she t
hought. And then their eyes met. Open hostility shone from the depths of his dark, dark eyes, and she felt a sudden panic.

  He released his hold on the curtain and let it fall back into place as he came forward and stood half in front of Su Lin.

  ‘Su Lin,’ he said. And not taking his eyes from Charity’s face, he spoke to Su Lin in their language.

  Stepping to the side to have a better view of Su Lin, Charity saw her turn without a word when Chen Fai had finished speaking and go across to the curtained doorway, her eyes on the shop floor. She moved the curtain aside and disappeared into the back of the store. Then once again, the curtain closed off the back room.

  In the few moments that the curtain had been drawn back, an aroma, strange to Charity, had drifted into the store. She sniffed.

  ‘What’s that smell?’ she asked without thinking.

  Surprise registered on Chen Fai’s face. ‘Roast duck and ginger,’ he said tersely.

  She nodded her thanks.

  He stared at her, frowning. Feeling the heaviness of his gaze on her face, she stood very still.

  ‘I tell Su Lin to help honourable father’s second wife with the cooking,’ he said at last, his voice cold. ‘I say to her I serve you.’

  Charity bit her lip.

  ‘What you want?’ he asked shortly. ‘I tell Joe Walker I not wish you to be friends with Su Lin. You collect letter yesterday, Su Lin tell me. So why you come here today?’

  Charity glanced at the grilled area, then at Chen Fai. She held her letter out to him.

  ‘I’ve written a letter to Joe. For when he’s in Buffalo. I wanna post it.’

  He took the letter from her, and looked at it. ‘Cost for stamp is forty-nine cents.’

  She took the coins from her pocket, counted them out and handed them to him.

  ‘Now you leave,’ he said. Holding the letter in one of his hands, he slid each hand into the opposite sleeve of his tunic. ‘You not come again unless you must send letter. You not talk to Su Lin, and she not talk to you. I forbid it.’