“Well, I guess you deserve that much. Tomorrow, rain or shine.”
* * *
It was one of those storms where the rain came down in washtubs, but the stage was scheduled to go. The coach was chock-full of passengers, baggage, and mail pouches that had to get through. Charlotte was soaked clear through by the time the baggage was secured. James rode shotgun next to her.
The wind wouldn’t let up, and the rain came flying in every which direction. James seemed nervous.
“Charley, I can’t even see the road!” he yelled.
“Then it’s a good thing I’m drivin’, ’cause I can smell it, and I can hear it!” yelled Charlotte.
James sat back as the coach headed into the storm. The mud was so thick it reached the hubs, but Charlotte still found the road.
When they reached the river, it had swelled almost to the bridge supports. Charlotte stopped the stage on the north bank.
“Stay inside,” she told the passengers. “I’ll be checkin’ the bridge.”
Charlotte took off her gloves and carefully walked across the swaying timbers to see if the bridge was worthy. She stomped a few times and listened to the moans of the wood. She felt the swollen planks and pulled on the guard ropes until she was satisfied.
She walked back to the stage and told the passengers to get out.
“Ain’t no reason to risk your lives,” said Charlotte. “James, I’m going to walk you and these fine people over to the other side to wait for me there.”
But a portly gentleman refused to budge.
“I’ll take my chances inside the coach,” he said.
“Not on my coach,” said Charlotte.
“I’m familiar with adventure, young man,” he argued.
“The bridge can’t take any extra weight, and I’m not about to lose my first passenger to that river. Now, step out or I’ll help you step out.”
Still grumbling, the man reluctantly climbed down.
In the blinding rain, Charlotte escorted the group, a few at a time, across the bridge. When they were safely settled on the other side, she walked back for the stage.
She got back in the box. Thunder growled nearby. She knew what was coming next. She held tight to the ribbons and waited for the lightning. It hit within a mile but she kept the horses reined. Trusting her instincts, she inched the horses and the stage across the bridge. The timbers groaned as the iron-capped wheels clacked across the wooden planks. Ahead, the passengers huddled together and watched anxiously from the other side. The river raced a few feet beneath the wheels.
The bridge rocked and the horses reared and whinnied. The coach was smack in the middle of the bridge.
Charlotte kept her sights on the far bank.
She heard the splintering and cracking of weathered wood that meant the bridge was coming apart.
Tree limbs swayed in the wind and the sounds of the storm brought back a memory from somewhere deep in Charlotte’s mind. A jumble of frantic images and words. Being held in someone’s lap. And voices. “Stop! Hold on!” Her parents’ voices. And a face. Yes, her mother’s face close to hers. “Keep them straight! Keep them straight!” That’s what she had to do.
She stood up in the box. “Keep them straight on the bridge, Charlotte.” Dashing the water from her good eye and gathering the reins in a firm grip, she cracked her whip and yelled, “Away!”
She was thrown back into the box. The horses jibbed, side to side, but she held tight to the ribbons. They flew across like scared jackrabbits. The back wheels barely turned on solid ground when the bridge collapsed and dropped into the churning river.
“Whoa, my beauties! Whoa!” yelled Charlotte.
The passengers hurried back to the stage, clamoring about the excitement, while Charlotte settled the team.
“We could’ve all fallen in,” one woman gasped.
“My heart’s a-pounding,” a man exclaimed as others joined him.
“We would’ve drowned.”
“He saved my life!” said the gentleman who had almost refused to leave the coach.
And by the way they were talking and James was nodding his head, Charlotte knew there wouldn’t be a question about her driving a stage again.
THE PASSENGERS’ TONGUES WERE wagging long after the coach arrived at its destination. News of how the one-eyed stage driver saved the lives of those people spread like warm honey. For years after that, Charlotte caused all sorts of commotion every time she drove into town. Folks started tossing three-dollar gold pieces in the road to see if she could hit them with the wheels of the stagecoach. Seems that, if a one-eyed driver could run over your coin, you’d have good luck.
Grown men would stand on the side of the road and wait for the stage to come through. Children running behind the stage collected the coins and delivered them, like offerings to a hero. And folks just gathered around to hear what One-eyed Charley had to say, though as usual, that wasn’t much.
“Here, Charley, you hit this one,” one little girl said, giggling.
“My pockets are already jangling,” Charlotte said.
“Papa says you’re not scared of nothing,” said another.
“That’s not true. I’m as scared as you are,” said Charlotte. “I just do what I have to do.”
“What ya gonna buy with all that money?” asked a small boy.
Charlotte said, “I’m going to buy somethin’ I’ve wanted since I was knee-high.”
“A new horse?” said the boy.
“Nope,” said Charlotte.
“A new gun?”
“Nah, I got one already and don’t use it ’cept to scare off bandits,” said Charlotte. “It’s somethin’ much better than both of them things.”
* * *
Charlotte was driving a new route from San Juan Bautista to Santa Cruz. She had moved from Sacramento and was sleeping in a barn loft again, but this time at a way station, where the stage drivers changed horses. Frank and James had promised her that it was a beautiful run. They were right. It was the kind of country that Charlotte loved. Toward the East, mountains, and in the West, rolling hills that sometimes met the ocean. It was greener than Sacramento, and Charlotte even liked the fog that made the mornings last longer. But the way station was another story.
Stage drivers changed horses every twelve miles and most of the way stations were pitiful, including this one. It was a dirty, run-down stable for fifteen or so horses. If the passengers had to spend the night, they slept in a hut on a dirt floor. The food was mostly rancid bacon, mustard greens, corn doggers, and sandy coffee. Now that she had the money, Charlotte couldn’t wait to move. Couldn’t wait to buy her own place.
One afternoon, while riding a horse toward Watsonville to mail a letter to Hayward, she saw a FOR SALE sign in a pasture. She turned her horse down the road and at the end, there was a cabin with a few corrals. A sturdy, gray-haired woman came out of a rustic chicken coop with a basket of eggs on her arm. As she walked, she held herself tall.
“You here about the property?”
“Yes, ma’am,” said Charlotte.
“The owners don’t live here anymore. I’m Margaret. I got the small house farther down the main road. I feed the chickens and collect the eggs.”
“You know anything about the land?” asked Charlotte.
“Well, best I know it’s twenty-five acres. There’s an apple orchard that needs tendin’ real bad. Forty layin’ hens. Front pasture runs all the way to the main road to town.”
Charlotte looked out toward the main road. That acreage would make a perfect way station. She knew that if she could get Ebeneezer out here, he’d do a finer job than anyone managing it.
Charlotte turned her attention back to the woman. “Any other neighbors?”
“I’m the closest,” said Margaret. “But it don’t look like for long. I was widowed last year and my husband still owed money on the mortgage. I been tryin’ to keep up the payments. I sell the eggs in town to get by, but the bank’s threatenin’ to fore
close.
“Where’re you movin’?” asked Charlotte.
“Well, now that’s a quand’ry,” she said, looking out over the land. “Lived here most of my days but don’t have family. Don’t want to leave, but I can’t pay, and the bank … well, they need their money.” For an instant, her face clouded over and her warm brown eyes reflected sadness.
“If you’re looking for another bit of land, I guess the bank would sell you mine in a hurry,” said Margaret. “Well, I’ll be on my way. Good luck, young man,” and she turned and walked down the road.
Charlotte surveyed the property. She had known the moment she came down the lane that it was the land she’d been looking for. She’d saved a substantial amount of money. She could afford it. As she rode to the bank to inquire though, instead of thinking about the twenty-five acres and the home she could finally own, she couldn’t get her mind off Margaret and the home she stood to lose.
* * *
A few days later, Charlotte offered six hundred dollars in gold coin for the property. The bank president handed Charlotte a pen. She signed the papers.
“You just bought a fair portion of what is called Rancho Corralitos,” said the president.
“Thank you,” said Charlotte. “Tell me about that land to the west, the small parcel where the widow lives.”
“The wife can’t pay so we’re foreclosing. She hasn’t got a cent. Hate to do it, but women usually can’t pay and after all, business is business.”
Charlotte nodded.
The bank president grabbed Charlotte’s hand and pumped it up and down. “Congratulations. It’s been a pleasure, Mr. Parkhurst.”
It all happened so fast that afterward, as Charlotte stood on the bank steps, smiling, she wondered if it had been a dream.
She couldn’t resist riding back out to see the place again. It was late afternoon as she turned down the road. Her road. The sky clouded and the early evening mist settled in the air. When she reached the hillock, she stopped and looked out over her land.
The west wind blew a breeze off the Pacific. The pasture grass swayed in one continuous, rolling wave. Pinkish dots showed on the orchard trees as the apples ripened. Charlotte’s heart filled at the sight of it. I did it, she thought. I did it. She saw herself picking the apples and raising horses, and she pictured Hayward right alongside her, training the horses to be ridden, just like they had imagined all those years ago at the orphanage. But as proud as she was that she had done what she set out to do, there was a part of her that felt like something was missing. After all, this had been Hay’s dream, too.
That night she would write to Ebeneezer and tell him if he had any sense, he should come. She needed him to start the way station. Besides, she missed him. Then she would write to Hayward and tell him the news. But it had been so many months since she’d heard from him. Had something happened to him? Was his heart settled in a new place and he didn’t want to tell her?
Mail being what it was, it could take a month for a letter to travel east and a month to get an answer. But Charlotte went to the post office every few days anyway. When she heard from Ebeneezer, Charlotte grinned ear to ear and let out a loud whoop. He was coming for a visit in the spring and if he liked it, he’d stay. She couldn’t wait to see him again. Maybe by then she’d have some horses.
Charlotte moved into her house. And since business was business, she had gone back to that bank president and purchased Margaret’s small parcel of land to the west. Then, she and Margaret had struck an agreement: Margaret tended the chickens and eggs and did some cooking, and that was enough rent for Charlotte.
Another four months passed. The chickens were well cared for and there were plenty of fresh eggs to sell. Margaret made applesauce, apple butter, and preserves. Charlotte hoped Ebeneezer liked apples, because he’d be eating them every which way.
* * *
Charlotte rode home one evening, tired and dusty. She was familiar with every shadow of her property but, in the waning light, she could tell that something was wrong. She stared hard in the dim light with her good eye to figure out what it was. In the front pasture there was something different. Something wooden. A box? Who would have left a wood box in her front pasture?
After she first moved in, she had found a burlap sack tossed down her road. It was a litter of kittens that someone had abandoned. She took them in and nursed them all, and now they ran all over her orchard. Had someone tried to leave another poor animal on her property? This time in a wooden box?
As she rode closer, she realized that it wasn’t a wooden box at all, but a sign. Someone had pounded a wooden sign in her front pasture and had painted some words on the front. Puzzled, she walked her horse through the tall pasture grass so she could get a good look.
Her heart leaped at the sight. She turned the horse and galloped toward the cabin.
Painted on the sign were the words PRIVATE PROPERTY.
* * *
Sitting on her front porch, playing with an armful of kittens, was a lanky, broad-shouldered, red-haired man with the biggest ears Charlotte had ever seen.
“Hayward!”
She tied her horse and bounded up the porch. She hugged him long and hard.
“Hay, you’re taller than me and twice as strong. I don’t think I can stand it!” said Charlotte.
“It’s about time I could be better than you at something,” he said, laughing.
They studied each other. Hay had never seen Charlotte’s eye patch before and she was suddenly embarrassed.
“I’m … I’m plumb blind in that eye,” she said.
“You don’t look much different,” said Hay. “But you would scare William to death.”
They both laughed. Memories of the orphanage flooded over Charlotte. When Hay reached for a runaway kitten, Charlotte noticed the thin leather tied around his wrist.
“You still got the leather bracelet?” she said and held out her arm next to his to compare. Both leather bands were soft and rolled from years of wear.
“Remember that day, Charlotte?”
“As well as you,” she said. They hugged again. So many years had passed between them. They were older, but everything about him seemed familiar.
“I … I missed you, Charlotte.”
“Me, too, Hay.”
Charlotte had been so hungry to see him that all she could do was stare. She started to reach up and ruffle his hair, but when she hesitated, an awkward silence came over them.
He finally said, “Well, I made it to California.”
And when she remembered her manners, she said, “Sit down and tell me what you’ve been doing.”
“Well, after my folks moved to Missouri, I rode for Pony Express, but that didn’t last long. About a year and a half. The transcontinental telegraph and the railroad took its place right quick. After that, I needed work so I moved cattle for a while and I been stock tendering some.” He grinned. “Been saving my money for California.”
Charlotte smiled. It was the same old Hay, chattering away, as eager as ever to tell her everything. She relaxed. Nothing had changed.
“Now my folks want to move west so when I got the chance to ride out with a wagon train, I knew I had to come, to learn the roads. And to see you. That’s where I’ve been all these months. On the wagon train. I saved every one of your letters. I can’t believe it’s you, Charlotte.”
“I know it’s hard to believe, but I’m the same old Charlotte. Fightin’ and scrappin’ my way.”
“You still driving?” he asked.
“Some. I aim to make my property the way station. Change the teams when they come through. I’ll take care of the horses and buy a few of my own with the money I bring in. Ebeneezer’s coming for a visit, and I’m going to do my best to get him to stay. For all my traveling around, I didn’t ever think I’d want to stay put, but for some reason, I’m as contented as my new mare.”
“You got a new mare? Will she foal in the spring?” he asked.
“Yep,” s
he said.
He nodded his head and grinned. “I guess we’re as far away from the orphanage as we’ll ever get.”
“What do you hear about the orphanage?”
“Well, I saw some of the boys now and then. Last I heard, Millshark’s still there but Mrs. Boyle’s gone. I heard William got adopted the year after me by an elderly couple who needed someone to work their farm. I guess the man loved his animals and William beat his prize mare so they sent him back. First boy in years that got unadopted. Don’t that figure. You heard about Vern? That he passed on?”
“No,” said Charlotte quietly. “I didn’t know, but for some reason, I suspected. He was getting on in years when we were there. I won’t ever be forgetting him for what all he done for me.”
Charlotte got teary-eyed and didn’t even try to hide it. She pulled out her kerchief and wiped her eyes.
Hayward looked around the cabin. “You done good, Charlotte. You done real good.”
HAYWARD STAYED FOR A MONTH OF Sundays, and Charlotte couldn’t bear thinking about him leaving again.
The morning he left she said, “Hay, you can stock tender for me as long as you like.”
“Charlotte, I’m beginning to think you like having me around,” he teased. “I never thought I’d see the day. But first, I got work to finish in Missouri. Then I got to help my folks move out here.”
He hesitated, then said, “Charlotte, come with me.”
Charlotte looked out the window as if she hadn’t heard him.
“It’ll take me over a year, Charlotte. You could get someone to watch the place. And then Ebeneezer could take over till we got back. Won’t you come?”
She turned and looked at him. “I can’t, Hay. I don’t want to leave. I worked my whole life for this. I belong here. I want to build up my horse stock, and I got apples to pick, and things I got to do. Besides, there’s something I been thinking on for some time that I feel real strongly about.”
She knew she could tell Hay anything but she wasn’t sure how he’d react to this. “I registered to vote in Santa Cruz County. The election’s in a few weeks, and I don’t want to miss it.”
Riding Freedom Page 6