by Liz Harris
‘Wait!’ she suddenly shouted.
They stopped walking and looked back at her.
She picked up her skirts and ran as fast as she could across the ground towards them, the heels of her boots kicking up dirt behind her.
‘What time shall I come to your house?’ she said when she reached them, panting heavily and covered in dust. ‘You forgot to say.’
Chapter Seventeen
One month later
October, 1878
Still holding the letter he’d collected from the nearby town earlier that day, Joe stood up, walked across to the door of the bunkhouse on the Montana ranch where he was going to be working for the winter months, repairing and maintaining the ranch buildings and equipment, tugged open the wooden door and stepped out into the yard.
The raw night air filled his lungs and he inhaled deeply.
He paused for a moment, listening to the rustling of leaves, the creaking of boughs bending noisily beneath the wind, the plaintive yelps of hungry coyotes, and looking around him at the mountains that marked the boundary of the ranch. They stood like dark sentinels in the night, illuminated from moment to moment by the cold white touch of the restless moon, which then moved on, leaving them again in shadow, ever-watchful over the land that lay beneath their silent gaze.
A gust of pine-scented wind whistled past him and stung his ears. He pulled up his collar, thrust his hands deep into the pockets of his thick coat and strolled forward into the gathering darkness, gazing up from time to time at the endless night sky – a sky that had never ceased to fill him with awe from the very first moment he’d stood alone on the vast Wyoming prairie and felt the infinity above.
He hugged his jacket more tightly around him. The snow would come early this year, they’d been saying in town, and from the bite in the wind he was sure they were right. And he kind of hoped they were. Snow on a Montana ranch, with its sweep of fields and pastures flanked by forested slopes and mountain peaks, was going to be very different from the snow that collected at the sides of the streets in a mining town: snow that lay in heaps of yellowing slush that slowly turned black from the fragments of slate and coal-dust embedded within it.
Drifts of clean snow on a Montana ranch would be the perfect end to his first six months away from home. And what a time it had been! He had learnt so much, seen so much – it had worked out better than in his wildest dreams, and the future promised to be just as good.
Monty Taylor had turned out to be the ideal boss for a man to have on his first drive, and he’d leapt at the chance of joining Monty’s outfit again the following spring. This time, they’d be starting out in Texas, and driving the cattle all the way across Indian Territory to Dodge City. Once again, it was going to be a long drive – so long that it wouldn’t end till a little before fall – and it was going to be a much harder drive. But there were a lot of things about droving he didn’t yet know, that he may well need to know in the future, and as Ethan Grey was going to be his trail partner again, he’d got a good chance of learning those things.
As soon as the snows had melted, he and Ethan would head for Texas to be in at the very start of the drive.
By the time he’d reached Cheyenne last May, most of the pre-drive work had been done. But not so with the next drive, and he was greatly looking forward to riding the range with the other drovers, helping them to round up the scattered cattle, select the best of the bunch, and rope, brand and castrate most of the male cattle. Then they’d have to dehorn them and check for any infections. All that was going to be new to him, but by the time he’d worked through every stage, he’d have a real good idea of how to do what had to be done if he ever decided to go into cattle ranching.
In the meantime, he was having a good winter in Montana, and that was thanks to Ethan.
Having done other fall round-ups ending in Montana, Ethan knew the ranch and had arranged to work there again. As soon as they’d reached Montana, and their herd, in good form being full of grass and water, had been inspected by the agents, found satisfactory, and the count agreed and delivery effected, Ethan had headed straight for the ranch, taking Joe with him.
Ethan had known that the owners would need to hire a couple of extra hands for the work to be done before spring, and he’d suggested Joe for the job. Rating Ethan highly, they’d taken Joe on.
Being on a ranch once more was another reminder to Joe of how much he’d liked the life on a ranch as a young boy, and he was becoming increasingly determined to have that life again one day. But the land he was going to walk tall on, and the air he would breathe, would be his; he wouldn’t be working it for anyone but himself. Of that he was decided. He’d enjoy a few more years as a cowboy, learning as much as he could and earning money while he did so, but one day he’d strike out on his own.
For that to happen, though, he’d need a stake. And that was another reason to stay droving for a few more years.
He had a lot to thank Ethan for. Had he been forced to find work over the winter in one of the nearby cattle towns, like many of the other drovers, he would have had to spend some of the money he’d earned on food, clothing and livery, and he might also have spent some of it on gambling and women.
But out in the mountains as he was, unable to get into town once the snows had come, he’d have something left over at the end of winter from what he’d earned on the drive, and that was despite having sent money back home whenever he’d gotten his wages, and he’d also still have a large part of what he’d have earned on the ranch. Some of that he’d send back to his ma before they headed for Texas, but the rest he’d keep for the ranch he was going to own one day.
But all that belonged to the future, he thought, his fingers tightening around the letter in his pocket. What was happening in Carter in the present was what he ought to be thinking about.
Turning, he walked back to the bunkhouse, closed the door behind him, hung his jacket on the hook by the door, took the letter from his pocket, and went across to his narrow bunk and sat down. Leaning forward, his elbows on his knees, he stared again at the letter. He suddenly felt a long way from Charity, from his family and from everyone in Carter. And come spring, when he was down south in Texas, he’d be even further away.
Uncertainty rose as he scanned again the words written on the page. Anxiety, too, and a trace of fear. They came not from the things that Charity had said, but from the things she hadn’t.
He knew her well enough to know what a wrench it must have been to have had to let go of her determination to see herself, and be seen by the world, as an American first and foremost. How it must have hurt. She’d made light of it in her letter, but that didn’t fool him – he could feel her anguish between every line.
Deep down, he’d always known the day would come when she’d have to accept that she’d always be Chinese in the eyes of the world, and it was paining him to feel that he might have let her down by allowing her to cling too long to a desire for something he knew she could never have. And it wasn’t just that he’d allowed her to live in hope – he’d actually encouraged it.
He should have prepared her for the reality she’d have to face, and he was angry with himself that he hadn’t.
Her bright, cheerful face sprang to his mind, her eyes shining with a little girl’s enthusiasm for everything, and he smiled sadly to himself. Not even the cruel taunts of the other kids in her school, the meanness of Miss O’Brien, the open hostility of the Carter whites, had stopped her from desperately wanting to be seen as one of them. No wonder he hadn’t been brave enough to be the person to inflict the blow that would wipe the joy from her face.
But that was weakness on his part; he should have been stronger than that.
He’d been kidding himself that in encouraging a friendship with Su Lin, which would end the loneliness she’d be bound to feel after he’d gone, he’d done enough. Of course he hadn’t.
And if he was truly honest, he’d been thinking about himself and how awful he’d feel if he k
new she was totally without friends. He hadn’t given a moment’s thought to the effect her friendship with Su Lin would have on the way she’d be seen by both the whites and the Chinese in Carter. If he hadn’t been so wrapped up in his own plans, he might have given real thought as to what would be best for Charity’s future.
It had taken Chen Fai to do what he, Joe, ought to have done.
Young though Charity was, Chen Fai was right to have made her face the reality of her birth in the way that he had, and to see that being brought up by Americans didn’t automatically make her American. At most, having an American home gave her a degree of protection from white hostility, but she would always be classed as Chinese in the places that had power over her life.
Chen Fai had seen that, and he’d forced her to think with both her heart and her head and come to a decision. Life was never going to be easy for her, but just maybe Chen Fai had helped her to make it that little bit easier. From the moment she’d made her choice, she’d known her identity.
Joe stood up, went across to the window and glanced through it. His features were sent back to him by the blackness outside. He leaned closer to the pane and peered into the night, his breath misting the glass.
Ethan and the other hired hands were out there in the distant town that was hidden beyond the hills, too far away for the glow of the lamps of the town to soften with amber the black of night. They’d be making the most of one of the last chances to get into town before snow rendered the trails impassable, and they wouldn’t be back till after sunup. He’d ridden into town with them, intending to have some fun and stay the night, found Charity’s letter, read it, and immediately climbed on to his horse and headed back for the ranch.
The night wind rattled the window, and he turned back into the semi-darkness of the room.
Yes, Chen Fai had got the right idea, he thought, going across to his bed. But it was a mite bit strong for him to bring up the subject of husbands with Charity when she was still only a child. He was right, of course, that Charity one day would have to marry a Chinese man, but she was still much too young to be thinking about husbands.
He knew from Seth Culpepper that Chinese girls became affianced at a younger age, and he also knew from Charity that the Chen family was making the final arrangements in China for the wife who’d been found for Chen Fai – a girl of Charity’s age. But Charity wasn’t Chinese in the way the Chens were, and she never would be. And that wasn’t the way things were done in America.
Chen Fai should keep his mind on his own future wife, and leave the worrying about Charity’s future to him.
Chapter Eighteen
Five and a half months later
Early April, 1879
The first rays of the sun had started to scatter the early morning mists as Charity reached the General Mercantile Store. She hurried straight through to the rear of the shop, pushed aside the curtain and went into the back room.
At the sight of Chen Fai standing by the centre table, holding a large structure made of red silk and kindling sticks, she stopped short. She glanced at Su Lin, who was standing next to him. Then her focus went to the object in Chen Fai’s hands. Her face broke out into a smile and she went up to him.
‘It’s a kite, isn’t it?’ she said, lightly fingering the red silk which had been pulled taut over the wooden frame. ‘What’s it for?’
‘Kite is part of very important festival for Chinese people,’ Chen Fai said, his face solemn. ‘Today is Cing-ming Zit, Chinese name for Festival of Pure Brightness. This is day we sweep graves of our ancestors. It may be most important of all festivals. This is why we ask you to come to us this morning. Today you come see how we celebrate our ancestors and show respect for them.’
She took a step back. ‘But I haven’t got any ancestors.’
‘You Chinese girl, Charity,’ Su Lin said. ‘Must learn what Chinese do. One day you sweep graves of ancestors of husband.’ She beamed at Charity. ‘Dai lou has willow branch for you. We sweep graves with willow branch and this send away evil spirits that hide near graves. We like you come to cemetery and sweep graves with us and put gifts for ancestors. You come?’
Charity shrugged. ‘I guess so. That must be why all the Chinatown shops are still closed – everyone’s gonna be sweepin’.’ She paused, and frowned. ‘But most Chinamen haven’t got people buried in Carter, have they? Their ancestors are in China, so there can’t be many graves here to sweep.’
Chen Fai nodded. ‘Grave markers stand for grave of ancestor. Family in China sweep grave with ancestor in. Here in Carter we sweep in front of grave marker. All Chinamen go to cemetery today, and then have meal as family. We eat cold food at meal. We not cook on Festival of Pure Brightness. You come back here and eat with us.’
‘You will come with us, yes?’ Su Lin repeated, her voice pleading.
‘Okay.’
‘Give willow branch over there to Charity,’ Chen Fai told Su Lin. ‘We each have willow branch, Charity. First we sweep graves of Chen family; then we sweep grave of your family. Su Lin say you have Chinese mother in cemetery. Today we celebrate Chen ancestors, and we celebrate ancestor of Charity,’ he added, and he smiled.
Charity’s heart jumped. She stared at him, the blood draining from her cheeks.
‘My ma is there,’ she whispered, clutching the branch to her chest. ‘But you said she hadn’t got a reputation.’
‘I think I wrong,’ he said quietly. ‘I not know what happened to your ma, Charity, but I know many bad things happen to women who come in boats from China to Gold Mountain. It is not fault of women; it is fault of bad men. I know this. I think your ma is very nice woman as you very good girl. You are her reputation, and she deserve to have honour and respect from us. Is good day today – is day of happiness that we help the dead by driving out wicked spirits, and is day of sadness they not with us any longer.’
Tears filled her eyes and rolled down her cheeks.
‘So, we go to cemetery now?’ he asked gently.
She nodded, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.
‘Come then. You bring basket, Su Lin; Charity bring willow branches, and I carry kite.’
Using his shoulders, he pushed away the curtain separating the back room from the shop, stood aside to let Charity and Su Lin pass in front of him through the doorway, and then followed them through the empty shop and out into Main Street. Joining the straggle of Chinese men who were making their way along the street, laden with kites, food and willow branches, they headed towards the piece of wasteland on the outskirts of Carter Town where the Chinese had set up a graveyard next to the town cemetery after being forbidden to bury their dead with the whites.
When they reached the cemetery, they went first to the patches of ground where small wooden markers indicated the members of the Chen family. Chen Fai and Su Lin took their branches from Charity, and began to sweep in front of the graves. Charity stood for a few minutes, watching how they did it, then she went to Su Lin’s side and started sweeping next to her.
When all of the graves had been swept, she stood back as Su Lin and Chen Fai carefully set bean-curd cakes, rice dumplings and an orange on each grave, then lit incense sticks and wax candles and placed them around each grave marker.
When the last grave had been honoured, Chen Fai straightened up. ‘We go now to your mother’s grave, Charity,’ he said. ‘We sweep there and leave her gifts of food. We then fly kite in honour of all of our ancestors. You show us her grave.’
Her eyes filling again, she turned and led them to the patch of stony ground at the far edge of the cemetery where her mother lay.
‘Charity!’
Sam’s voice reached her from outside the general mercantile.
Still holding aside the curtain as she went to follow Su Lin and Chen Fai into the room at the back of the store, she stopped.
‘Charity!’ she heard him shout again, a note of panic in his voice. ‘I saw you go in there just now. Pa’s hurt. You gotta come.’
She exclaimed sharply, dropped the willow branches, spun round and sped back through the shop and out on to the boardwalk.
Sam was standing in front of the store, covered in coal dust.
‘Ma wants you,’ he said, drawing his breath in jagged gasps. ‘There’s bin an accident in the mine. Pa’s hurt real bad. You gotta come.’ He turned and ran towards Second Street.
Picking up her skirts, Charity raced after him, her heart beating fast, desperately wishing Joe was there.
‘Sit down, Charity,’ Martha said, her voice tired. ‘You’ve not stopped since you got back. And I think I’ll do the same. Hiram’s in bed. His leg’s splinted and bandaged, and he’s got the remains of a bottle of whisky on the table next to him. There’s nothin’ more we can do for him right now.’ She sat down at the table opposite Sam. Charity went and sat next to her. ‘You can tell us now what happened, Sam,’ Martha said. ‘Your pa’s always so careful.’
‘It happened when he was lettin’ a loaded car out of the room we’d been workin’ in. We’d gotten a good room for once, so we’d been diggin’ extra hard to get out as much coal as we could in the time we had. We’d only gotten the room ’cos the Chinee weren’t workin’ today. The white teams never get the good rooms now. We reckon the Chinee pay the foreman for them,’ he added bitterly.
‘Get on with the tellin’, Sam,’ Martha said impatiently.
‘Well, it was near the end of the shift. Pa was real tired after workin’ so hard all day, and I guess he must’ve bin careless about the rope. I feel real bad about that, Ma,’ Sam said, despair in his voice. ‘I told him to stand back; I said I’d deal with the loaded car instead of him, but he said no, it was his turn. He never lets me take his turn.’ He put his hand to his head in anguish. ‘I should’ve tried harder.’ His voice broke.
‘Don’t blame yourself, Sam. Your pa’s a stubborn man,’ Martha said. ‘When he’s set on somethin’, he’s gonna do it and there’s no stoppin’ him. So how’d he catch his leg, then?’