What Once We Loved

by Jane Kirkpatrick

  He hated it, how unbalanced everything was with a leg gone, wood where a limb should have been. He couldn't just choose a good-looking horse, couldn't just walk in and buy something, unnoticed. Ruth. All Ruth's fault.

  He turned the shay around and headed back. It was growing dark, and before he reached Yreka he had to stop to light the side lanterns. It was an awkward affair to stand on one leg, use the peg for balance while he stood to light the flame. He disgusted even himself.

  He left the shay at the livery, made his way across the dust-and-dung-covered streets, careful to place his brass-ended cane away from the piles. Inside, at the Yreka Hotel, he ignored the looks of gawkers slouched at the bar. They were nothing but gnats hovering at street manure. If they only knew what he had accomplished. If they only knew what he was about to do. He pounded the oak table with his cane, brushed off peanut shells with one sweep. “Bring me ale,” he said. “Your best.”

  She would not get away with it. He would hire a freighter. Ride in a wagon up and over the mountains to his Ruth. Then rent a shay in Jacksonville. It might not be a purple carriage, but she would know royalty approached just the same.

  “Use the cane Seth Forrester gave you,” Esther directed Suzanne as they stepped out of the buggy. A night owl hooted, and Suzanne felt the cooler night breezes off the river.

  “I usually do use it,” Suzanne said.

  “Yes, well, this theater is very dark, even in the daylight. And here we are at 3:00 A.M.”

  Suzanne laughed low. “Did you hear what you just said? About it being dark inside?”

  “Oh.”

  Suzanne could imagine her blushing. “Its fine, Esther. It is. Perhaps I could lead you around, at least after the first time through. This will work perfectly,” Suzanne said. “I just know it will.”

  “That remains to be seen.”

  Suzanne heard a heavy wooden door creak open. She stepped up. She could smell the linseed oil from the bar Esther said stood at the right, and noticed that the carpeted floor sloped slightly. She sniffed. A musty scent, of dampness from the river, she supposed, or perhaps mildew on the heavy curtains that would mark a distant stage. A cobweb drifted across her face.

  “What time is she meeting us here?” Suzanne asked.

  “Four o'clock, if all goes well. She's bringing in a child, she said. All battered and such. Soon as she arrives, we'll take her with us. But in the future, she may have to leave one or two here through the night. Then I'll bring them home after I come to clean.”

  “Material. We must get more clothing material. I wish I had that sewing machine Bryce insisted I bring.”

  “You might not have made it. Or ol' Cicero our ox might not have, if you had insisted it remain with you,” Esther reminded her.

  “I suppose. Are you lighting candles?” Suzanne asked.

  “First thing I did.”

  Suzanne loved the smells here, of makeup paint, the heavy curtains, even the popcorn and peanuts ground into the thin carpet.

  “Do you want to go downstairs?” Esther asked. “The costumes are there.”

  “I'll go on down.”

  “All right then. But if you hear something, come back up. We'll need to leave as soon as they arrive.”

  Suzanne tap-tapped her cane on the steps. She touched the wall at the turn in the stairwell and could smell the thick whitewash. The cool air of a large room greeted her, and she caught the scent of sweat clinging to costumes. Her eyes itched with the recognition of cloth newly dyed. She was aware of something else, too. She couldn't place it. She thought she heard something. She moved forward, tapping her cane and fluttering her fingers at her throat. Apprehension tickled her neck. Her boys were home safe. She hadnt risked them. She could feel a splendid sense of swirling, knowing here was something new.

  20

  Ruth rode over to Burke Maness farm, the packet from her lawyer in hand. It wasn't something she could share with Matthew. She wished Mazy were here to talk over this turn of events with, but she wasn't. And something in the eyes of Burke Manes told Ruth he might listen without judging.

  Chickens pecked in the yard. Beyond, she saw Burke behind a single mule, a plow strap over his shoulder. He was readying a garden though there were still pumpkin vines covering the plot.

  “I start on my circuit, and my land tending just gets neglected,” he said. He sounded sheepish but not regretful. He invited her inside where she showed him the letter, reviewing in her own mind her options even while he read.

  She could have her divorce all right, her solicitor told her. But Zane was suing for half of everything she had. Half. Half her horses. Half the ranch. And if she refused, he intended to sue her anyway, for half of what she had even if they stayed married! And he could keep on taking what she treasured, what she valued, and using it up as though it were whipped cream that could be replenished each time the cow gave milk.

  “I'd heard of a case in California,” Burke said, running his wide hands through his hair. “Where a wife sued her husband while they stayed married, to keep her half of their earnings from an eatery they ran. Seems he had a leaning to whiskey and she wanted a different kind of liquid asset to hang on to. She got it too.”

  “Everything is mortgaged,” she said. “He…could take half, and the children and I would be left with nothing.”

  “Have you talked it over with Matthew?” Burke said.

  She bristled. “Its really none of his affair.”

  And if Matthew knew, he'd kill Zane Randolph. She would never be free of the bad choice she'd made all those years before, marrying Zane. She could see that now. She'd been a fool to think otherwise, to think that she could have happiness without losing herself. To divorce him meant giving up the land. To stay married meant giving up the rest of her life.

  Her solution she would share with no one. She could barely admit it to herself.

  “A tough one,” Burke Manes said then, handing her the letter back. He'd fixed a cup of coffee, which sat cooling before her. “Seems that, inside the challenges, that's the place where we learn those lessons we otherwise never would. It's when we find out how strong we really are. Who we really are,” he said. “Think of what you learned during that ice storm.”

  “Too much ice break things,” she said. “We lost more than one good mare to the stress of it. And Jessie. She hasn't gotten any better. So what I learned is that there will always be bad things happening to me. People around me will always have bad things happen to them. And it's foolish to think I deserve different.”

  “Unlike trees, we always have a way to buttress the load. We don't have to break the way those branches did.”

  “Relying on others,” she snorted. “Who fail us too, in time. Or become broken themselves.” She thought again of her brother and his wife, what they'd sacrificed for her.

  “Here's how I see it,” Burke said. “Life is like a trail headed to some sunny place. It's got holes to go around and rocks to step over, and sometimes how we deal with them teaches us more about what we're made of than anything else. The road's got nice scenery, too, most times, and we don't have to walk it alone.”

  “I dont think God wants me on that road. I just keep falling into those holes and stumbling over the rocks.”

  “Its just a part of what's there. When we get to the end of the road, then we'll get to understand.”

  “I want to understand now,” Ruth said. “I want to know why we have to hurt so much now. I want answers. Why does a new black hole form itself just beyond one I crawl out of, ready to snare me as soon as I'm standing upright? What kind of a road is that?”

  “A rocky one,” Burke told her. “No one denying that.”

  “I can't do it anymore; I just can't,” she said.

  “Too many people would grieve your giving up,” he said tenderly. “And who would be there for your Jessie, and Sarah and the boys?”

  She wept then, hating that she couldn't seem to stop.

  “Grief is the price we pay for lovin
g,” Burke said, his voice as soothing as a spring rain.

  “It's too high a price. I can't barter or bargain. I have to do without. I don't want to take any more people onto the rocky road with me,” she whispered. “It's not fair to them.”

  “Making the choice for them isn't fair either.” He handed her his neckerchief. It smelled of sweat and earth. She blew her nose. “None of us can make it alone. It doesn't mean we're weak. Even the Lord had help, Ruth. Let the folks who care about you pull you out of the holes, point out the next ones, help you walk around, then celebrate your success.”

  “I want to go back to before all this started.”

  “It's what we all want to do when we're hit with something in the wilderness that we don't want to face. We don't get to go back, Ruth.”

  “No,” she said. “We get pressure. To change.”

  The trip north to Jacksonville took them less than three weeks. Once she'd decided to go, Mazy did as her mother suggested: She enjoyed the journey, let it nurture her soul. The country was lovely. Red buds of oaks dotted hillsides, interspersed with the smoky green of digger pines. Pig sniffed and scouted and trotted back beneath oaks and red-barked madrones. He scrambled up over rocks and drank the cold water where boulders broke up rippling streams. Popcorn flowers with their yellow centers bloomed in the wet areas. Tiny yarrow clustered in thick patches. Colorful plants that looked like balsamroot, but for the leaves on their stems, bobbed in the breeze. “Mules ears,” Seth told her they were called. Pig frolicked through them all, the buttercups and Indian paintbrushes, chasing rabbits, barking at things that Mazy couldn't see.

  “I'm glad you asked me along,” she told Seth. “I like the idea of doing something good for Naomi, getting her out of a place she's not safe.”

  Seth nodded. “Just hope Ruth is willing to put her up for a time, ‘til we can get her settled into Chinatown up there. Naomi's willing to work. She always liked the animals, she tells me. Helped Ruth back in Laramie looking after the stock.”

  “That's right, she did. And she was quite a cook, too, I remember. Lots of herbs and spices. Adora loved it. Lura, too. In fact, Lura always talked about cooking in an eatery someday. Maybe she and Naomi could partner up. They could—”

  “Owning one is more like it, from what I remember about our Lura,” Seth said. “Giving orders is more her way than negotiating together.”

  “You're right about that,” Mazy laughed. “But then negotiating is important in any relationship. I hope we can use Poverty Flat to help Esther out,” Mazy said.

  “It's still in California,” Seth said. “Esther seems to think Oregon's better. They need to be out of this state, if what I hear is true.”

  Mazy agreed. “Before they create a ‘Chinese Protection Act' like they did for the Indians. And we can all see how the federal protection is keeping tribal people safe—genocidal neglect, I call it. Pretend they want to take care of the Indians, then let them die of disease and starvation.” She pursed her lips in disgust. “Making widows and orphans nearly every day. I hear the tribes in Oregon are resisting being removed to reservations.”

  “Think the uprisings there are finally slowing down; they're more willing to talk.”

  “That's good. A sign that they still have hope.”

  “The resisting or the talking?” Seth asked.

  “Both.”

  “Naomi's lagging behind some,” Seth said. He reined up. “Don't think she's used to riding. Why don't you take the baby basket for a while? Give her a break.”

  They chose to ride rather than go by stage, stopping at hostelries for the night. At least their horses were well cared for there. More often than not, when people saw Naomi, they turned them away, told them they could grain the animals if they wished before moving on. They even saw a sign at one cabin beside the road: “Dogs and Indians stay out.”

  “I don't suppose they'd make an exception for Naomi or Pig then,” Mazy fumed.

  Outrage bubbled to the surface more than once, until Naomi touched Mazy's hand at a livery near Yreka and said, “It does no good for Chou-Jou to hear badness.”

  “I'm only defending you,” Mazy said.

  “You ride horse of good intent,” Naomi said. “It does not arrive at destination.”

  Mazy knew her face burned red, but the woman was right. Her indignation didn't always get what she wanted, and it left Chou-Jou trembling, something none of them wanted. Who would have thought that such a little person could sense someone else's anger? Mazy vowed to keep her upset under her hat.

  At Cottonwood Creek, in the foothills of the Siskiyou Mountains, they stopped to water their horses and met up with one of two Cole brothers, formerly of New York. Mazy played the “do you know?” game, asking about the Schmidtkes who had come from Putnam County, too.

  “Cant say as I know them,” Rufus Cole said. “Lots of folks changed their names, you know. Cant always say unless you meet them face up. Me and my brother only came out in ‘52.”

  “Why, that's when we came across,” Mazy said.

  “They farmers?”

  Mazy nodded yes.“Had lots of Durhams. You might remember Lura Schmidtke. She's a little wiry woman who sharpened knives for a time, I guess. And she always wanted to open up a restaurant.”

  Rufus Cole smiled. “Thought of doing that myself. Right here.” He gazed out over the low valley, prelude to the rapid rise of the Siskiyou Mountains. “Someday the stage'll come this far and farther. Go on into Jacksonville and up to Portland. They'll be needing swing and stage stations. Last year we had a local company bringing sporadic wagons in and over to Jacksonville from Yreka, but only when it's dry and only when the snow's out. You'll see. That trail's pretty rugged up and over, even for horse travel. Times like this, with the creek rising, wagon freighters make themselves scarce. Only pack animals make it. Big mules like you're riding there, ma'am.” He nodded his chin to Mazy s mule, Ink. “We'll need the big boys to get into the act before we get a jehu to handle a Concord over these mountains.” He looked to the road Mazy and Seth and Naomi would be taking.

  “I know just the man who could drive it too,” Seth said. “Used to drive for Baxter and Monroe.”

  Mazy said, “I think he's given up the rush of the road. For the sake of his family.”

  Mr. Cole tipped his hat at Naomi. “Might want to come into the house for a bit and let that little one have a taste of shade.”

  “Wish all our stops were like that one,” Mazy said as they moved north after their respite.

  Leaving Rufus Cole's shanty required a creek crossing of some challenge. Naomi's eyes grew large as she tried to kick her mount forward toward the rushing freshet. “Wait,” Seth told her. “I'll go across, find the footing, then come back and lead you. You want to wait too, Mazy?”

  “I'll follow you,” she said. “I've got Chou-Jou with me.”

  Mazy watched Seth's big black gelding he'd picked up in Sacramento. The horse switched its tail once or twice, lowered its big head, snorted, then began his clop-clopping across the rocks and surging stream.

  “He doesn't like it much,” Seth shouted back over his shoulder. “But its got a rock bottom. No quicksand. We'll be all right.” Mazy followed. Ink didn't balk at all as they splashed quickly beside Seth.

  “Why don't you lead Ink back and put Naomi on her,” Mazy suggested. “Then go back and lead her horse.”

  “Good idea,” Seth said as Mazy dismounted. As she waited for them, she looked around. She stood beneath a granary tree where woodpeckers congregated to store acorns for the winter. Upstream, broken tree roots and branches collected at rocks. Leaves and twigs from a season washed their way through the rushing water. There'd be more of these crossings, she suspected. If they were to truly transport Celestials safely out of California, they'd need sturdy, steady mounts, maybe find routes where people repaired bridges. And accomplices, people sympathetic to their cause.

  Their cause. How quickly she'd taken it on. A wrong needing to be righted, tha
t was what called her, that was what would fill her longing. Whether she found someone to share her life with as a partner or not. It was a good boundary. God knew her lot.

  With Naomi safely across, they started up the twisting road, Pig's tail wagging in the distance. Yellow, jagged rocks with springs squeezing and dribbling black against them formed the inside ridge. Deep canyons pitched off to treetops below. Sometimes the ravines opened to the west, sometimes to the east. They could hear the roar of larger creeks rushing beneath them. More than once, huge sections of the road disappeared, the snowmelt pushing dirt and rocks and changing ridges in its wake.

  “I hadn't thought about water being so strong,” Mazy said. “It gouges and carves like a sculptors knife.”

  “‘The noblest of the elements,’” Seth said. “Pindar, I'm quoting now.”

  “You read Greek classics? Will wonders never cease?”

  “My mother did,” he said. “Water'U heal you, and it can kill you. Too little and you die, too much and you drown. But it's what we need for growing.”

  “Just the right balance of it,” Mazy said. “So much of living is just the right balance.”

  Tipton had heard someone moving about upstairs the very first night she stayed, the night of Charles's assault. Stuffed into the bottom of the heavy oak wardrobe, she'd been crying, holding herself in sobs of self-pity. She was covered with crinolines and slippers and boots so that if anyone thought to look there, they would not see her cowering. She prayed, but they were words of questioning, filled with fear.

  Then noise had startled her. She had crept up the stairs, surprised to see candles lit and someone, a woman, bent, picking things up off the floor. A broom leaned against the wall. A bucket of water sat inside the door. The cleaning person. Tipton backed out slowly and returned to her hiding place. She'd had to be extremely quiet. The night could be so exposing.

  Then tonight she'd heard slippers on the stairs, whispering and shuffling sounds. Her heart pounded as she scrunched, hiding. Whispers. Silence. She creaked open the door, peeked out beneath her refuge of costumes. Bathed by a single candlelight, she stared into almond-shaped eyes.