Ten Thousand Charms

by Allison Pittman

“Careful that he doesn’t take off in the middle of the night and leave you with both of those kids. A man on his own has got no use for a baby girl.”

  “He wouldn’t do that.”

  “Oh no? Men do it all the time. Where is your baby’s father? For that matter, where is your own?”

  Gloria remembered searching the faces of the countless men who frequented her mother’s room, studying their features, trying to find a small bit of herself in them.

  “This is different,” Gloria said. “Danny’s father is out there somewhere with no idea he has a child. My mother didn’t know who my father was.”

  “You think because he has made a few visits and held that baby, MacGregan is going to take her off to a farm?”

  “He doesn’t just hold her. It’s like he—” Gloria searched for a word, “like he worships her.”

  “Well, he can worship her all he wants, but he cannot feed her and she will not be any help on the farm. Is he coming to see her tonight?”

  “I suppose. He comes most evenings.”

  “Well, then,” Sadie said, clipping the last of the sheets on the line, “you must tell him what you know.”

  8

  You’re early,” Gloria said as she opened her door to the heavy persistent knock. “Danny and Kate are still sleeping.”

  John William normally arrived just at dusk, freshly washed after a day spent in the mine. Often Gloria caught the scent of a harsh soap as he breezed past, barely acknowledging her in a rush to take his daughter up into his arms.

  But now it was just late afternoon. The girls hadn’t even called her over for supper yet, and the babies were still down for their afternoon nap. She realized that this was a part of her life John William had no concept of. He took no part in the day-to-day routine of caring for two infants. As far as he knew, Kate spent her days nestled in her makeshift cradle waiting for the hour or so she would spend in her father’s arms.

  “They’ll probably sleep for another hour or more,” Gloria continued, “and then it’ll be time for Kate to nurse and then, of course, Danny, so if you’d like to—”

  “I need to talk to you,” John William said.

  “All right.” Gloria was glad for the interruption of her nervous chatter. She motioned to his accustomed chair in the corner of her cabin.

  The earlier conversation with Sadie played over in her mind, and Gloria braced herself to be strong. She perched on the edge of her bed, faced him, and assumed an expression of what she hoped came across as curiosity.

  “I’m leavin’,” John William said. “I can’t stay here anymore.”

  Gloria considered her options for reply—anger, sadness, indignation—but she was shocked at John William’s next statement.

  “And I need you to come with me.”

  “What?”

  “I know it seems sudden, but it’s not, really. This place is dyin’. There’s no fortune to be made here.”

  “It’s just a dry spell,” Gloria said, not quite sure if she was trying to reassure him or simply buy time. “It happens all the time. The next mother lode might come tomorrow.”

  “No it won’t.” He stood and took the few steps necessary to cross over to the window. He pulled aside Gloria’s curtain and spoke as if to the camp as a whole. “There’s no water to sluice the veins. We’ve just about tapped it out. They’ve just about decided to close down production.”

  “When?”

  “Probably not till end of summer. But I can’t wait that long.”

  Gloria looked around her little room. Her four walls. In it was the only bed she’d never had to share. Hanging from the window were the only curtains she’d ever owned. This was a home, her first.

  John William’s voice continued to linger at the margins of her thoughts.

  “If I wait until they officially shut down production,” he said, “they can claim my property. That means my goods, as well as any of the gold I have.”

  “How much do you have?” Gloria asked.

  “Enough to start over,” John William said, turning to look at her for the first time. “To build a new life.”

  “And just where would this new life be?”

  “Oregon.”

  “Oregon? Since when is there gold in Oregon?”

  “There isn’t,” John William said. “There’s land. I don’t think I was ever meant to do this,” he gestured vaguely at the gritty world outside of Gloria’s cabin. “After I—well, married Katherine—our plan was to farm. We just got wind of the silver here and my—Katherine wanted us to make a go of it.”

  “So why not try to make a go of it again? Try South Pass, it’s not ten miles from here, and I know it’s still going strong. Or maybe Virginia City. I’ve been there. It’s still spitting silver faster than a man can spend it.”

  As she spoke, Gloria’s voice was rising. There was a tiny rustle from the basket atop her bed, and the tiniest squawk came from little Kate’s mouth. John William scooped up his daughter and held her, cradled in the crook of his arm. He bent his head to hers, whispered a greeting, and looked at Gloria again.

  “I don’t want her livin’ where the land spits silver,” he said. “There’s nothin’ good for her here. I don’t want her to be wild, to grow up around—”

  “People like me?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “You were about to.”

  “No, I wasn’t.”

  Kate was fully awake now, her blue eyes taking in the full vision of her father’s face. A contented gurgle escaped her mouth, and another escaped her other end. The tension in the room was immediately broken, and both Gloria and John William laughed.

  “I think she needs a change,” Gloria said, reaching to take the baby.

  “I think you’re right. Should I leave?”

  “Leave?” Gloria said. “Listen, MacGregan, if you’re planning to take this little one off to the Oregon Territory, you’re going to have to learn to change a diaper. Open that top drawer and fetch out a clean one.”

  John William pulled a clean square of linen from the top drawer of the bureau in the corner.

  “You’re forgetting somethin’,” he said, handing Gloria the clean diaper and watching, fascinated, as she deftly removed the soiled one. “I asked you to come with me. I need you to take care of Kate.”

  Gloria was thankful to have the task at hand to command her attention. She couldn’t decide if she felt gratitude or fear. She’d never been needed before, not for any noble cause, anyway. How many evenings had she sat around various parlors with her fellow prostitutes, talking about the moment when some man would come along and offer to take them away from that life? Rescue by marriage had never been Gloria’s longing, but from the dreamy expressions of younger girls and the hardened expressions of the older women, she knew that any life with any one man was preferable to life with hundreds of them. Now, here she stood, on the threshold of an opportunity to take her away from the shame she’d created, and she was gripped with crippling indecision. This was no leap she was willing to take without being certain of just how and where she would land.

  “What about Danny?” she asked. Kate was freshly diapered, and Gloria handed her back over to John William.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, how does he figure into the picture?”

  “Danny’s your son,” John William said softly. “He figures in with you, of course.”

  “What about his father?”

  “His father?”

  “Yes. Or didn’t you think he had one?”

  “I guess I never—”

  “No, of course you didn’t. I know I’m a whore, but I do have some sense of …” her voice trailed in search of a word. “I mean, it wouldn’t be right to just take off in the night with another man’s child, would it?”

  “Do you know, then, wh—um, where his father is?”

  “You meant to ask if I know who his father is. And the answer is yes to that one. Where he is is another story.”
>
  “Is he here, do you think? Is that why you came here?”

  “Here seemed just as good a place to look as any,” Gloria said. “I came where I had friends.”

  “No family?”

  “Not until Danny.” Gloria turned her attention to the baby boy, still asleep despite the rise and fall of the voices in the room. “And while I appreciate your offer, I just don’t think I’m ready to go off and become some farmer’s wife.”

  There was a beat of silence in the room, then John William said, “I’m not askin’ you to be my wife.”

  The life Gloria led to this point offered few opportunities for her to feel embarrassment. Shame, sometimes, but true embarrassment was a reaction she wasn’t sure she was capable of. Until now.

  “Oh,” was all she could reply.

  “Don’t get me wrong,” John William said. Kate was beginning to fuss, and he jostled her a bit to comfort her. “I just—”

  “You just what? Figure I have no life so I can just pull up what I got and haul off with you? You think I got no better future than to play wet nurse to your brat until she takes herself off and you can drop me off in some God-forsaken ditch in the middle of the wilderness?”

  Gloria’s voice swelled with anger even as her breasts swelled with milk for the now crying Kate. She was infuriated at her body’s betrayal, wishing she could refuse John William the help he needed. With a sound of impatience, she took the fussy girl away from this man who, all of a sudden, seemed too clumsy and inept to hold a child much less comfort one. Gloria made a soft shushing noise as she placed the knuckle of her first finger into the baby’s mouth. Little Kate’s powerful gums gripped her finger, and Gloria knew this child would not be appeased for long.

  This cozy picture of maternal comfort seemed out of place with the glare of pure hatred she leveled at John William, who met her gaze head on. The previous air of bumbling apology was gone. When he spoke now, it was with a voice of authority and resolve.

  “Look, I meant no harm in askin’ you to come with me. I didn’t figure I had a choice but to ask you, and it ain’t no kind of life living without choice. And as much as I need you, I didn’t want you to feel locked into anythin’ you didn’t want. I need you now,” he said, reaching across to stroke his daughter’s face, “but I won’t need you forever.”

  Gloria took a few deep breaths, composing herself and allowing her heart to resume its normal, steady beat.

  “How much do you have?” she asked.

  John William looked confused.

  “You said you had enough to start over,” Gloria said, her voice low and calm. “Just how much is that?”

  “In ounces or dollars?”

  “Dollars. Ounces don’t mean anything north of California.”

  John William raised his eyes as if in calculation before replying, “About nine hundred.”

  “That’s it?” Gloria said. “You weren’t meant for this, were you?”

  “I’ve done some tradin’. A wagon, a team, some supplies.”

  “Here’s our deal,” Gloria said. “I’ll come with you, me and Danny that is, and I’ll do my part.” Gloria felt as if she truly had the upper hand for the first time in her life.

  “And?”

  “And when I’m no longer needed,” she felt a twinge of triumph when John William winced, “I’ll be on my way.”

  “Sounds fair.”

  “With five hundred dollars—”

  “Hey, now—”

  “For my services.”

  “I’m not interested in your services.”

  “Maybe not,” Gloria said, “but men pay me for the use of my body, and you’re using my body. You’ll pay for it. Oh, and one more thing.”

  “I can’t imagine.”

  “When I leave, I leave Danny with you.”

  “You can’t mean that.” John William’s eyes darted over to the tiny boy nestled in slumber. “You can’t think of abandonin’ your son.”

  “Think of it this way,” Gloria said. “I save Kate’s life, you save Danny’s. I don’t plan to live any kind of life that a child should be a part of.”

  “What about his father? Is it right for you to leave another man’s child with a stranger?”

  Gloria looked at John William with the expression that practically guaranteed any man’s compliance. “I guess I owe you the truth. I don’t really know who Danny’s father is.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be,” Gloria said. “It’s nothing to do with you. It’s just like my own mama used to say: ‘Darlin’, I could marry myself to the king of France about as easy as I could name your daddy.’ ”

  Gloria had never spoken these words aloud, and was shocked that they held none of the humor they always seemed to when her mother spoke them to her. Maybe it was the whiskey slur that had lent them warmth all those years ago.

  “So you see,” she continued, “I got no reason to stay. And nowhere to go. I got no choice, either. When do we leave?”

  “How soon can you be packed?” John William awkwardly brushed the hair from his face. It was the same gesture he’d done that first night he brought Kate, and Gloria noted that it was a telltale sign of nervous resolve.

  “How soon do you need me?” she asked.

  “The next payout is Friday. I’d like to leave the next mornin’.”

  Three days.

  Gloria took a quick mental inventory. Three dresses; two babies. Everything else—the furniture, the bedding—all of it belonged to Jewell. Just as her mother had done, Gloria would fill the little green suitcase with all her possessions, hers and the children’s, and migrate to the next place.

  “How early?”

  “First light.”

  “We’ll be ready. Now go, I need to feed this little one before she chews through to the bone.”

  John William smiled and said, “Thank you, Gloria.” He looked up and said, “Thank you, God.”

  Then he bent to kiss his daughter before leaving. As he did so, long strands of his brown hair brushed Gloria’s chemise. She looked down and realized she’d never, in all her years, felt this close to any man.

  It terrified her.

  John William opened the cabin door to the spring afternoon, but before leaving he turned to say one last thing.

  “By the way, France doesn’t have a king.”

  Gloria stared, puzzled.

  “You said you couldn’t marry the king of France any more than you could name Danny’s father. Well, from what I’ve heard, France doesn’t have a king right now, so I guess you’re no worse off than any other woman. See you at dawn on Saturday.”

  9

  In her life, Gloria had never said good-bye to anyone, but there would be no sneaking away from Silver Peak. Sadie was at Gloria’s door the minute John William left, peppering Gloria with questions about their plans.

  “What makes you think we have plans?” Gloria asked. Sharing her life was a new experience, and not one she was completely comfortable with.

  “Oh, everybody knows you have plans,” Sadie said. “A man doesn’t sell off his tools and buy a team unless he is planning something.”

  “That doesn’t mean—” Sadie shot Gloria such a look that she sighed in resignation. “We’re leaving on Saturday.”

  “I knew it!” Sadie poked Gloria’s shoulder. “I knew he would take you with him.”

  “It’s not forever,” Gloria said.

  “Nothing is. But it’s for now, and that’s enough. Let’s go tell the girls.”

  Then came the flutter of activity. Gloria found herself in the center of such bustling and care, she didn’t know whether to be grateful, humble, or annoyed. A dozen petticoats were sacrificed to make diapers and dresses for the babies. Jewell’s kitchen was combed through, and any spare dish or utensil was packed in a straw-lined crate. Sadie took the quilt from her own bed, cut it in half, and created a soft, downy lining for the babies’ makeshift cradles. Mae took stock of Gloria’s wardrobe and decided that
none of it would do. After giving Gloria a sly wink and a pat on the shoulder, she secluded herself in her room.

  The night before Gloria was to leave, the women gathered in her cabin, sitting where they could find space and nibbling some of Biddy’s delicious apple spice cookies.

  “I made an extra batch for you to take,” Biddy said shyly. “I hope Mr. MacGregan thinks they’re good.”

  “Of course he will,” Gloria said through a mouthful of cookie. “It’ll be nice to have a treat when we’re out in the wilderness.”

  “Wilderness?” Sadie said, laughing. “Where do you think you are now?”

  Gloria and the others joined in her laughter. True, Silver Peak was nothing like the larger cities where Gloria had lived, but she’d heard about the vast miles of loneliness on the trail to Oregon, and she wasn’t sure if she was up to the hardships of such travel.

  “Well, you certainly can’t wear that out in the wilderness,” Mae said, gesturing broadly toward Gloria’s dress. Although Gloria had worn some of Mae’s much larger skirts during the final months before Danny was born, her slim figure had returned and she was again wearing her own dresses.

  “What’s wrong with this?” Gloria asked. She had never worn flashy clothes, but she did insist on rich, quality fabrics. Now she wore a two-piece dress, peacock green with black velvet trim.

  “It’s just a bit …”

  “Fancy?” Biddy’s tiny voice filled the awkward silence.

  “That’s the word,” Mae said. “Fancy. You’ll need clothes that are just a bit more …”

  “Ugly?” Sadie chimed in.

  “Serviceable,” Mae said, tossing Sadie a disdainful look. “Simple clothes. Looser, easy to clean.” As she spoke, Mae was delving into the satchel she’d brought with her to the cabin. Out of it came heaps of fabric that, with a flourished snap, were seen to be blouses and skirts.

  “Mr. Brady brought such lovely bolts in the last supply,” Mae’s musical voice continued. “I’ve been working on these since you told us you were leaving.”

  The cabin was filled with excitement as Gloria tried on the new clothes. They were a perfect fit, the blouses lightweight and long sleeved, each one dressed with a row of pretty wooden buttons. There were three in all, and two skirts of a solid, sturdy fabric to go with them. Mae fussed over every seam, and the women giggled with each new outfit, declaring that Gloria looked like quite the “farmer’s wife” despite her protests that she was nothing of the sort. When their giggling escalated, Gloria hushed them, lest the sleeping babies wake.