“And never participate again,” Suzanne said.
“Or even show up. I'd wager Bryce would want you happy. The second time for love doesn't mean you'll make it perfect, I don't think. Only that you get another chance to be filled up, maybe make it better.” Being filled up. Tipton supposed it was what she'd been seeking her whole life, expecting to always be satisfied. But even vineyards required dormant times. They didn't always have fruit to be plucked. Growing took time. What mattered was being grateful for the fruit when it arrived and not complaining that it wasn't always there for the picking. “I'm going back to Nehemiah,” Tipton said. “If he'll have me.”
“He won't be getting back the girl who left,” Suzanne said.
“Well, ponder that,” Tipton laughed.
21
Ruth pitched manure from the lean-to, sweat dripping from her forehead. She lifted the felt hat, wiped her brow with the back of her hand, standing for a moment, her fingers gripped on the fork handle. So far, it had been a fair birthing season. Twelve standing foals. It was just enough to make the payment. Or she could have her divorce. If she asked him, she knew Matthew would tell her to take the divorce, that he still had his mares, his black jack, his option for free Oregon land. But she would forfeit everything. Zane would take half; Mr. Smith would take what was left. “We could start fresh together,” Matthew would say, not understanding that she couldn't—wouldn't—ever marry him with nothing but obligation brought to that union.
No, there was only one way out. She just wasn't sure how to make it happen.
She made herself think of something else.
The climate had proved to be as good as Matthew had claimed. Generally dry, not too hot, not too cold, rain when it was needed. She watched the clouds skip across the timbered ridge. Rain somewhere, she thought. She'd been refreshed by the feel of the seasons, with colors changing as they did back in Ohio and the sweet smells of spring drifting in the air. So far, there'd been none of the seeping, sweeping, sweating heat of back East. Of course, it was just early May. A perfect place, except for the occasional ice storm. But they knew how to weather them now.
Carmine pranced around his pen. One of the first mares to foal must have been in heat again, by the look of the jack. Ruth laid the fork up, signaled to Jason. “Bring up the bay mare,” she said when he joined her at the barn. “We'll tease her and see if she's ready. Lead her over to the breeding ditch.”
She expected good offspring. She'd already heard back from the adjutant at Fort Lane. It was just a stone toss away, and the army was seeking good mules. So her plan was already starting to work. The idea of breaking them to work cattle had come to her too. Matthew had snorted at that, but she had a good feeling that these animals might just be able to anticipate a cow's move and still be a size that didn't intimidate the way some horses did. She'd work on Matthew about that, help him see the possibilities. Even if she wasn't around to make it happen.
Freighters always had need of mules. And farmers. A whole new market grew from the tilling of soil in southeastern Oregon and northern California, using broke mules for running the mowers on the big ranches farther east. Harness-broke mules would bring a premium price to pull hay rakes and plows. They could even double as riding stock, which a good ox couldn't do. She'd had a good idea. It would be a good legacy to leave the children.
Matthew's fifteen head had all survived the winter, and it should have been a time of triumph. Yet heaviness weighed on her chest. Something Matthew said the night of the first foaling had almost deterred her. “Let me sort it out,” he'd said while they waited together. She'd complained about not knowing anymore what mattered. It was as though she'd been falling her whole life into one of those holes in the road she told Burke of, and here was someone willing to help her avoid them or pull her out of them, no matter how difficult or how often. Letting him help her decide seemed the most natural thing in the world to do. Almost.
But now…well, he had his whole life ahead of him. He'd made her feel as though her age didn't matter. More, that no one else in the world mattered. She'd savor that, knowing someone saw her as central to his life in a way that nurtured instead of tearing apart. And if things had been different, she would have given herself to him now, truly believing she wouldn't be giving herself up.
Zane changed all that. Once again.
Think of other things, she told herself, tossing more manure. Jessie adored Matthew. She knew that. He'd taught her complicated hand shadows—animals, including a pig, a bird—and could even make hand shadows of emotions, like grumpy and fright. Her favorites were the stories of Mike and Mike's pig. He had even shown her a picture of Shakespeare once and could make a shadow that Ruth swore looked just like it.
When Matthew was around, Jessie didn't get that glazed look in her eye as much either. It was as though his presence made her feel…safe. Made all of them feel wrapped in a quilt of protection.
Ned and Jason, well, they'd accepted him as one of their own, twirling ropes in their spare moments with him and working with green-broke yearlings teaching them to lead. The children could stay on with the Schmidtkes, she was pretty sure of that. That might be the largest hurdle, deciding just how that mix of kin would cook together. Like one of Lura's stews, Ruth decided. Where the venison and potatoes and carrots and onions and all the rest could still be identified as unique but were brought together to make something better than what they'd been alone. Maybe not better, but different. She just wouldn't be around to make it happen.
She turned back to her work, then heard a dog bark. Matthew had been pushing for them to get one. The children and he were ganging up on her about it. Had he gone ahead without her? she wondered. She looked up. Lura had stepped out onto the porch, clanged on the triangle announcing lunch.
Ruth shaded her eyes with her hand. Squinted. It looked like Pig. If it was Pig, that would be Suzanne! And Seth? She recognized Burke Manes, too. She'd been expecting Seth and Naomi. There the Celestial rode too. But had Seth also brought Suzanne? No. The woman waved to her then.
Mazy.
The closer they got to Ruth's, the more nervous Mazy got. She wasn't sure how to step into this wilderness relationship. She'd rehearsed what she'd say, how she'd say it. She wanted to give Ruth time to accept that she was here. She'd let Pig bring them together. Dogs did that, she found, made a subject for people to talk about when anything else was too risky, too dear. But when Mazy saw her standing there, her hands on her hips in that way that she had, her hat tipped to shadow her eyes, Mazy's heart swelled. Ruth was so dear to her. How could she not know that? Please, God. Please, God. Please, she'd said beneath her breath. Let me do and say the right things, the things that will restore us, turn us around. She kicked Ink and trotted ahead of the men and Naomi, pulled the mule to a dusty stop. Like a child headed for recess, she ran toward Ruth.
Ruth's eyes got large, and that almost stopped Mazy midstep. But it didn't. Maybe big eyes meant joy; maybe they meant hello; maybe just surprise. There was more than one way to see a thing. She'd not assume, but just hope that the horse of intent she rode in on would reach its destination.
She smiled, opened her arms. Ruth opened hers, too, and the two friends embraced.
“You are so precious to me,” Mazy whispered into Ruth's ear. “Please, please forgive me.” She was crying now, not able to help herself. The scent of hay and earth rose up. Mazy brushed a greenish flake from Ruth's brim. “I'm so sorry. So very, very sorry. I don't want anything to stand between us, not one thing, ever again.”
Ruth said nothing, but held her, and Mazy could feel the warmth of her friend's hands on her back, the lean strength of Ruth's shoulders beneath her own. Mazy stepped away and wiped at her eyes with her fingers and looked down at her hands. For just a fleeting moment, she saw her mother's hands there. The same chapped knuckles, the same tapered nails. We are all such extensions of our mothers. She looked up. Ruth was thumbing her eyes too.
Ruth said, “I know it wasn't your f
ault. And yet when you wrote, I couldn't seem to find the words to tell you…anything. I should have written.”
“It doesn't matter. It doesn't,” Mazy said. “We're here now. Together. I was afraid you might ask me to leave.”
“I'd never solve a problem that way.”
Mazy laughed. “No, you'd just leave instead.”
“Is that what you thought? That I'd left you?”
“You never wrote back. Didn't that mean you'd left me…at least in your heart?”
“I didn't know what to say,” Ruth said. “Or how to say it.”
Pig barked at her side now. “Hush,” Mazy said to the dog, then to Ruth, “I haven't had much success in keeping friends.” She scratched at Pig's neck. “Or making good ones like you are either. Single children seem to have that flaw. Or indulged children. We're not used to the give and take between equals, just pushing and pulling against grownups and always feeling like we've lost. But I don't want to lose you, not ever. You couldn't mean more to me if you were my own flesh and blood. You're the sister I never had, Ruth. The sister I'll claim if you don't mind being a part of our crazy kin.”
“You've rehearsed,” Ruth said, but she smiled.
“I'm rattling. I know. I'm just so pleased to see you, to have you welcome me after what Marvel did.”
Ruth's eyes narrowed, then opened, a gesture as fleeting as a lamb's tail flickering.
“That's in the past,” Ruth said. “Let's let it stay there.”
She took Mazy s hand and walked back toward the men standing with Naomi and her child. Ruth greeted them, taking little Chou-Jou in her arms. By then, Matthew and Mariah arrived after taking long, matching strides across the meadow. The boys followed, accepting compliments from Seth with their heads down and the toes of their boots twisting in the dirt.
Lura stood at the porch and shouted, “You coming in to eat, or do I throw dinner to the dog?”
“I can see you folks have things to catch up on,” Burke said. “Ma'am.” He touched his gloved fingers to his hat while he looked at Ruth, then Mazy. “Course if I keep you talking, Lura might just throw dinner Pigs way, and I could wrestle him for it.” He scratched at the dog s neck.
“My manners have gone to town,” Ruth said, lifting her hands to her hat. “Stay, Burke. Stay for dinner. Stay for supper.”
“Believe it or not,” Mazy said. “I finally wheedled Mothers Strudel recipe from her, and Seth and I picked up the ingredients in town. I'll fix it for supper, Ruth, if you'd like? If you don't mind waiting, Mr. Manes.”
Burke grinned. “I like a woman with gastronomical intentions. And I'm always willing to wait for good things.”
“Me, too,” she said. “Some call it being stubborn; I call it being faithful.” She noticed Seth smiling at her, felt her face flush with the warmth from his eyes.
The rain. Blasted rain. The creeks weren't swelled enough as it was. No, there had to be more rain. Zane had arrived on board a freighter, suffered the indignities of traveling with an illiterate laborer whose only virtue was hands strong enough to hold the horses and wagon on the treacherous trail. Zane had gotten over the Siskiyous, refreshed himself at a simple cabin owned by Major Barron and his bride. He hadn't told the man what he thought of the matrimonial state. Let him discover the betrayals on his own. He'd continued enduring the rough ride of the wagon until Jacksonville, the sores on his back reminders of all Ruth had caused him.
The journey had tired him, and he'd rested, forcing himself to wait to accomplish his task. He rented a beat-up old buggy at the Jacksonville Livery, reserved it and a horse for the morning, then spent the night at the rooming house next to the Robinson Hotel. The miners caroused all evening at the Robinson, and Zane positioned himself with the “businessmen” at the boardinghouse nearby. He could no longer disappear into the crowds as he had in Shasta City, a man with a peg leg. So he comported himself as the distinguished gentleman he was, the powerful person he'd become. After all, he'd soon be a very wealthy individual.
Making things happen as he wished was like consuming whiskey: The more he drank, the thirstier he became.
So he had slept well this past night, taken a good breakfast. He'd arrived first to the table and was already eating when the others appeared. He nodded. No need to rise. That was as he'd planned. He'd waited until the others left, then rose with his special cane and The Stub and made his way out the door.
The sky drizzled on him. The canvas of the buggy he'd hired was as thin as old flannel. He could almost see the gray up through it. It was all they had, and he was advised he should be “happy for it.”
The horse at least hadn't shied away when he saw The Stub or his cane. He'd pulled himself into the carriage, trying not to seethe at having to leave the purple shay behind. At least the rain would give him reason to cover his legs to make his entrance as dramatic as he'd planned.
He knew where he headed. Jacob Orange, an attorney in town, had taken breakfast with him, and Zane had led him into a discussion of land and settlers. He'd had to listen to a litany of emigrants and showed no emotion whatsoever when the man had talked of the horsewoman southeast of Jacksonville. Judging by his description, he'd ridden right by Ruths place on that stupid freighter.
The buggy wheel thumped through a hole in the road where someone had dug up a large rock but not bothered to fill it back in. The jar of it caused The Stub to jam against his thigh. How he hated this, the pain, the demand for adapting. He suffered both pitiful stares and frustration in achieving his goal. All because of Ruth.
As it happened, he didn't need to stop for directions. He came upon the horses grazing and just knew. He licked his lips, straightened himself, checked his pocket watch. Just after four. Plenty of time. Plenty of time to savor the impact of his visit.
The boys had put Carmine up; led Ewald to the pit. The mare had squealed and twisted her tail but shown no other signs of being ready, so they'd let her loose and took Ewald back to his pen. Mazy had stayed at the cabin, reading with Jessie. The window, frame and all, leaned against the wall, letting a breeze cool Lura's cookstove down.
Ruth and Matthew, Seth and Burke walked back from the garden area, talking to Naomi who held her baby at lier shoulder, patting the child's back.
“I fear Naomi's right,” Mazy said, stepping into the conversation as they came inside. “Expulsion of the Chinese isn't far away. The mining tax is supposed to be on all ore that's mined in California, but it's only enforced against them.”
“Esther's people have been making escapes. Sometimes they send folks back to Asia when they're well, give them a small stake to help their families back in China. But we can move more through the north,” Seth said. “If we can find more places for them. In orchards. As domestics. Cooks.”
“Jacksonville isn't the most welcoming of towns, at times,” Burke said. “Indians can tell you that.”
“That African family, the Matthises, over on Butte Creek, have been accepted,” Ruth said.
“One family that keeps to itself. Let's not kid ourselves. This won't be easy blending them in here.”
“What we need,” Mazy said, “is a way for them to get out and then disperse, like grass seed to the wind. Get them safe first. Then maybe we can help them land in places where the soil might be a little more inviting. Places like Portland or Seattle.”
“I saw a few Celestials in The Dalles,” Matthew said. “That place is growing.”
“Poverty Flat will be an early stopover,” Mazy said, aware of her planning voice. “But it being in California…well, a stopover may be all I can do. Maybe Nehemiah would work with us. We could get people to him on the coast, and he could put them on northbound ships.”
“How are you financing all this?” Burke asked.
Seth cleared his throat. “I won quite big one night in Sacramento. Lost something, too, but sometimes losing is just the beginning of winning.”
“Spoken like a true gambler,” Mazy said. Seth winked at her.
“An
yway, I won enough that I miss the thrill of trying. That and my life's moved on to wanting more than just momentary pleasure. Suzanne and I are prepared to finance as much as we can. Maybe even form a theater company so we have a reason to be doing things in the night without others asking questions. Costumes and travel and people coming and going have been a good cover for Esther. But we'd rather not put other folks' diggings at risk either, like we are, using the Sacramento Theater.”
“Everyone need own place,” Naomi said.
“Right,” Burke said. “Might not be a place tied to the land, though, but where your family is safe to live and love. Land matters, but not more than people.”
Mazy looked at Burke as though seeing him for the first time. Had he been eavesdropping on her life? These were the very sentiments she'd struggled with since her husband said he'd sold their Wisconsin farm.
Ruth stood to offer Jessie a cup of water. The girl drank heartily, and Ruth smiled. “Hey, I think you're getting stronger.”
They finished supper, and Ruth began the cleanup. “You go ahead out there,” she said. “Matthew can show you the spring up the ridge.” The boys jabbered about the silver storm, and Ruth watched out the open door as they all zigzagged up through the lush grass to Spring Ridge. Naomi and Lura trailed close behind.
“Too bad you're not feeling stronger, Jessie,” Ruth said. “We could join them. You've never even seen that spring up there yet.” She checked the black pot; the water wasn't boiling yet. “There's a rain slicker on the peg we could put on you if you want to try to stand and go on up.”
“It's safer in here,” she said.
“Safer,” Ruth repeated. “There's nothing to be frightened of, Jessie. I just can't figure where that comes from.” The girl had been surrounded by love and devotion, and it had simply not been enough. Ruth could see that. What Ruth could give would never be enough. Maybe what she planned to sacrifice would.
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