He stopped pacing, crossed his arms and said, “What about Indians? You thought about that? And carryin’ all that bullion? Why, a robber’ll look at you and think you’re a plum, ripe for pickin’.”
Charlotte didn’t answer him. She knew she was going. And so did he.
Ebeneezer sat down. He looked defeated.
“You’re my best driver. I know I never said anything, but well, you remind me of somebody. And it’s just done my heart real good to see you outdo all them other drivers. All them other boys.”
His voice drifted off.
“I had a child once. A girl. She died from the fever, same as my wife. But that little girl … she could ride like the wind. I ain’t never seen anything like it … ’cept you.”
He was quiet. Charlotte walked over and took his hand.
“I guess I put more stock in having you around than I should,” he said. “I just hate to lose you to … to California.”
Charlotte didn’t want to lose Ebeneezer, either. He had been good to her. He had let her make her own way. He had protected her. Like a daughter.
“I just bet when I get my place you could come out and start a livery,” said Charlotte. “You heard them boys talkin’. Sounds pretty exciting, don’t it?”
His eyes perked up a little at the prospect.
“And I’ll need you out there,” she said. “I aim to get a bit of land. Why, I can’t run a big place by myself.”
“I guess I could think about it,” said Ebeneezer. “Down the line. Guess I’m not too old to travel. Maybe someday.”
They looked at each other. He half-smiled.
“Well, get going and pack your things. I told you a long time ago that workin’ for me would be temporary. Don’t you get harmed out there. And you need anything, you holler.”
By now, Charlotte understood his blustery ways.
“Thank you,” she said.
“What’s your name anyway?” he grumbled.
She smiled and bent over and whispered it in his ear.
* * *
Charlotte stood on the top deck of the Wilson G. Hunt, a palace of a steamboat, while it chugged up the Sacramento River. She had been traveling for four weeks and a day and was anxious to reach Sacramento. She felt like she did that day on the stagecoach when she’d run away from the orphanage. Like she was on the verge of something exciting. Something new. Like she was closer to realizing her dream.
The delta sprawled in front of her. It was a damp, green blanket met by gentle hills. Rivulets of water shimmered through the delta. Over the hills, there was land that stretched out forever. Speckled with a few trees and brush, it was just like Frank and James had said. Plenty of wide-open space, just waiting for her. As soon as she had enough money, she was going to buy her own property. Her own place. Then she would write Ebeneezer and Hayward and ask them to come, too.
When the boat docked in Sacramento, the port was a mass of confusion. Stagecoaches crowded in the street next to the docks, waiting for passengers. Armed marshals guarded strongboxes filled with gold dust waiting for the outbound boat to San Francisco. Porters cursed and swore and tossed parcels on the docks while dock handlers loaded the baggage onto the coaches. James said he’d meet the boat, but Charlotte didn’t know how she’d ever find him.
Charlotte shoved her way through the crowd. Horses whinnied and pranced impatiently. Passengers disembarked around her and crowded into the street like an army of ants at a picnic.
Charlotte had never seen such confusion in her life. She was jostled one way and another. She kept looking for James. There were so many people.
“Charley! Charley! Over here!”
Relieved, she spotted James trolling an extra horse.
“James! I don’t know who I’m gladder to see, you or that horse.”
“Climb on, Charley! Let’s ride out of this mess.”
Charlotte hadn’t been on a horse in some weeks and it felt good to be riding again, and especially to be above the crowd. She moved the stallion slowly through the hustle of the docks and followed James toward the outskirts of town.
But as quickly as they got away from the docks, they rode into another street crowded with laughing, jeering men.
A woman stood on the steps of a saloon, passing out handbills to anyone who would take them.
“Wyoming Territory is already talking about giving women the right to vote,” she called out. “If Wyoming can recognize a woman’s rightful voice, then California should, too!”
“Then let the women move to Wyoming!” yelled one man, and the crowd cheered.
“With the men out in the mines, many women are running the farms and should be able to make decisions that affect their properties and families. Women have already organized in the East, have already held a Women’s Rights Convention,” she yelled back.
“Stick with cookin’ and babies!” yelled another man, and the group let out a whoop of laughter. Most dropped the handbills on the ground and went inside. The others shook their heads and walked away. The womenfolk hurried about their business and many did not stop or look up, but Charlotte noticed a few picking up the handbills and tucking them into their pockets.
Charlotte got off the horse and headed toward the saloon steps.
“Charley, what’re you up to?” hollered James.
She approached the woman.
“I’d like one of them handbills,” said Charlotte.
The woman looked at Charlotte and handed over one of the papers.
“Are you prepared to laugh also?” she asked.
“No, ma’am,” said Charlotte. “I would be interested to know who you would vote for in the upcoming political race.”
The woman studied Charlotte’s face for mockery.
Charlotte said again, “If you could vote, who would you vote for?”
While Charlotte listened, the woman explained her views on the candidates. She also told her about the convention in Seneca Falls, New York, and the women and men who gathered there in the name of women’s rights.
When she had finished, the woman said, “You know, there are men who support our movement, too, young man.”
“I agree with them men,” said Charlotte, as she reached out and shook the woman’s hand. Then Charlotte tipped her hat and said, “You are much braver than me.”
She got back on the horse and left the surprised woman standing on the saloon steps.
As she rode along, she read the handbill. She was familiar with politics. Stage drivers heard all the news from the passengers, and Charlotte had opinions of her own. She meant it when she told the woman that she was brave. It took courage to stand up in front of all those laughing men. Charlotte wished she could have done something more for the lady.
“You sympathizin’ with her?” asked James.
“It’s interesting, that’s all,” said Charlotte.
“You’re gonna find a lot of interesting things here. Things you ain’t never seen in the East. But right now, let’s get you settled.”
* * *
A few miles out of Sacramento, James and Frank had converted a ramshackle building into a coach barn and stables. Outside, an impressive sign said CALIFORNIA STAGE COMPANY. Inside, Concord stagecoaches, the finest from the East, were lined up, waiting for the drivers’ next runs. There was a bunkhouse for the hands, but since there wasn’t a loft, Charlotte found a storeroom off the tack room that suited her fine.
“Everything’s a bit makeshift, Charley,” said James. “We aim to get things fixed up, but we got so much business we just ain’t had the time. Everybody’s in a hurry to get in and out of gold country. And time is money.”
“How many drivers you got? And where are the horses?” asked Charlotte.
“We’re startin’ with ten stage whips at this stable, and already that ain’t enough. But we’re only takin’ good drivers. And the horses, well, that’s another thing we’re makin’ do with. I already bought a number of blooded stock horses from Australia and paid a sm
all fortune for a particular strong stallion. I’m gonna make this a reputable line with quality service. But the horses haven’t arrived yet. We rounded up some mustangs. They’ll need to be shoed first thing in the mornin’. You ready to meet some western horses?”
“Tame or otherwise?” asked Charlotte.
James laughed. “Welcome to California, Charley! Here, everything’s wild!”
TWO STOCK TENDERS HELD A NERVOUS horse by ropes tied to the bridle’s cheek straps. Ebeneezer had been right. Many of the horses were feral and had never been broken, and that made them even harder to shod. Charlotte got into position and pulled up the back hoof. The horse reared.
The last thing Charlotte remembered was the hoof coming toward her face.
And the pain.
She woke up in the doctor’s office and tried to sit up but reeled from the headache. Her stomach churned. She retched.
Charlotte reached up and felt her left eye. It was swollen shut and scraped and bloody. She tried to open it, but the lid would only lift part way.
“What happened?” Charlotte asked. She nervously checked to see that she was fully dressed.
“It’s best to lie still,” said the doctor. “You were kicked in the face by a wild horse. Mr. Birch brought you in and waited for some time. I assured him I’d take good care of you, but that I needed to keep you here overnight. I’m afraid you might lose the sight in that eye. What’s a girl trying to shoe a horse for?”
“What?” Charlotte said.
“You’re dressed like a young man and those hands are calloused like a ranch hand. But I’m a doctor and I know a girl when I see one.”
He stared at Charlotte.
“I-I need my job,” said Charlotte. “And I couldn’t work if anybody knew … if Mr. Birch knew …”
“You don’t need to give me a long drawn-out explanation. You’re not the first woman pretending to be a man that I’ve ever treated. I’m not going to tell anyone, including Mr. Birch. Now don’t move a minute. I’m going to put on this ointment.”
Charlotte flinched as the doctor dabbed on a foul-smelling medicine.
“I’ve got one lady out past town whose husband’s been gone to the gold mines for two years and nobody thinks he’s gone. She’s been pretending to be him all this time. Saved her from many a problem. Had another patient some years ago whose husband was killed by bandits. She dressed in his clothes for several years to protect herself and her children in the wilderness. Held off a few raids and everyone thought it was him. When her sons got old enough, she changed back and told everyone the true story. Don’t you worry about me.”
“What about my eye?” asked Charlotte.
“When the swelling and bruising goes down, we’ll know more, but it’ll be cockeyed, at least. And like I said, it might be blind.”
“How soon till I can drive again?” asked Charlotte.
“You won’t be driving any time soon,” said the doctor. “And I don’t know anyone who would hire a driver with only one good eye.”
Charlotte felt sick again. She didn’t know if it was from the pain or from her bad luck. She hadn’t even driven a single stage run in California and now she couldn’t see out of one eye. How would she work? How would she get enough money to buy property? She wished Ebeneezer was here. Or Hayward. But they were three thousand miles away.
She lay back down on the doctor’s table and the room swirled around her. She retched again.
* * *
The next day, Charlotte waited on the bench in front of the doctor’s office for James to come and get her. She couldn’t see a thing out of her left eye. She looked at the black eye patch she held in her hand, but the doctor said it couldn’t be worn until her eye healed. People walking by were alarmed when they saw her. Some stared and then turned away, except for the children, who just plain stared. Others stopped and asked questions like it was their business. Charlotte slumped over and kept her head down.
She had spent years trying to blend in and not be noticed and now everyone walking by examined her face. She was self-conscious and embarrassed. One little child started crying when he saw her. She felt like a monster.
Finally, James pulled up in a wagon.
“Charley, you look like you wrestled a bull and the bull won,” he said. “C’mon now, let’s get you back to the stable.”
Riding back, Charlotte had only one thing on her mind. “James, how soon till I can drive?”
“Frank and I already discussed it. You can’t drive with only one good eye. We can’t take a chance. Not with business so good and our names at stake. But you can stock tender for us for as long as you like. That’s the best we can do.”
After Charlotte got back to the stables, she shut the door of the small storeroom and lay down on the bunk. Silent tears stung the cuts and scrapes on her hurt eye and blurred the other. How am I going to get where I’m going if I can’t see? she thought. The crying made her bad eye swell even more. But just like that day at the orphanage when Hayward left, once she started, she couldn’t stop until every tear was given away.
With the eye patch, Charlotte looked a little like a pirate and folks around the livery started calling her One-eyed Charley. She didn’t mind because people accepted the eye patch much easier than they did a crooked, deformed eye. What she did mind was not being able to drive. As much as she tried to be grateful for her job, her heart wasn’t in it. She ached to get out and ride the countryside. She had learned to love the freedom of driving as much as she loved her animals. The feeling of being in charge. Of folks trusting that she knew the way. And of knowing her team. When she drove, her horses seemed almost to know what would be expected of them without a word being spoken. Sometimes, it seemed like magic.
After a month, Charlotte was itching to sit in the box seat. And since stock tenders didn’t make nearly as much as stage drivers, she missed the money, too.
One moonlit night, Charlotte walked around the back of the stables and caught her reflection in a barrel of water. She looked hard at herself. She lifted the eye patch. Her left eye was crooked and twisted. Her face had weathered. Her hair was straight and too long. Like most ranch hands, she had it pulled back and tied in a tail. It was a knotted mess from being under a hat. She smoothed her cheeks with her hands, hardly recognizing herself.
She remembered another night long ago when she had looked at herself in a pool of water. What had she wanted back then? She had wanted to be out of the kitchen and riding horses. She had wanted to find Hayward again someday and to have a ranch of her own. She’d been stubborn enough to think that somehow she could do it all. Now her dreams were slipping away, and it frightened her clear to the bone. Riding coaches was the reason she’d come to California. And it was the way she was going to make it here.
She took out her kerchief and dipped the corner in the water and wiped her face. What had Vern told her? That she had to do what her heart tells her.
“The only way to get my ranch is to keep riding and driving horses,” she whispered to herself. “And that’s what I aim to do.”
The next afternoon, while Frank and James went into town for their daily bank run, she took a six-horse team out on her own. She had to see if she could still drive.
The straight parts weren’t bad. The horses knew the road. Charlotte held the reins and gave the tugs. But veering to the left was a problem because she couldn’t see much to the left. She ran the coach off the road and up an embankment. It was a struggle to get the horses out of the soft dirt and back on the road.
“Now I’ll know what not to do next time,” she said to the horses.
The next day, she overturned the coach completely but was able to jump free. What was she doing wrong? She knew how to drive a team. She didn’t need training with the horses or the ribbons. She knew those things by heart. It was her eye she didn’t know. She needed to train her one good eye. She needed to learn how to use it all over again.
She started taking a smaller team out every day. Fi
rst a two-horse team. Then a four. Finally, with six-in-the-hand. Charlotte had been proving herself her whole life and she wasn’t about to stop now. She didn’t even care if Frank and James caught on to what she was doing. They might as well see me trying, she thought.
She learned the different sounds the horses’ hooves made on different types of roads. If the road was hard, the hooves made a hollow, clopping sound. If the road was soft, the hooves made a dull, thudding sound. She relied on her one good eye to take over for the other. She trusted her senses. And the sixth sense she had for handling horses.
Charlotte drove back and forth over her route and memorized every rock and tree. She set a goal for herself. If she made ten clean, round-trip runs, she’d know she was as good as the next driver. After that, she’d just have Frank and James to convince.
After the tenth clean run, Charlotte went to James. “I want to drive the stage run over the river.”
“Now, Charley, we’ve been over all that. Me and Frank think …”
“You ride with me, and if you don’t think I’m fit, then I won’t bother you again,” said Charlotte.
“What will the passengers say about your eye patch?” said James.
“Just tell them it’s to frighten off bandits. They won’t know any different.”
“I don’t know …”
Charlotte defended herself. “You know my reputation. I traveled all this way. Riding coaches is the whole reason I came to California. And I came because you asked me to come. You know I been practicin’. Go by my past drivin’. That’s all I’m askin’, and I wouldn’t be askin’ if I didn’t know I could drive.”
Reluctantly, James said, “The first sign that you can’t handle the situation, I take the reins.”
“I’ll tell you if I need help. Don’t go steppin’ in unless I ask.”
“Fair enough,” said James.
“Tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow, if the weather holds.”
“I ain’t going to be a fair-weather driver,” said Charlotte. “I want to drive, same as usual, like all the other drivers.”
Riding Freedom Page 5