by Adell Harvey
Mary groaned, a teasing, but serious, tone in her voice. “If you don’t start coming to church with me, these may be the only gold streets you’ll walk on. You’ll never get past them Pearly Gates if you don’t spend any more time in church here than you did back home, that’s for sure.”
Lined with large and apparently well-kept homes, the neighborhood was in sharp contrast to the squalor and tent cities they had passed on the outskirts of town. They crossed a narrow stream on a timbered bridge, stopping in front of a large wooden cabin. “This is it,” Henry announced. “Our new diggins’.”
“Land o’goshen!” Mary exclaimed. “It’s a whole farm!” Several cabins, a chicken house, and a large barn graced the property. “And there’s even geraniums by the door!”
Ingrid drew in her breath. It was truly a lovely place, much more than she had expected. Alighting from the wagon, she hugged Mary. “I’m that happy for you,” she said. “This is a perfect place to raise little Hank.”
“And Little Ammie,” Mary added. “There’s plenty of room here for all of us. You kin sleep in the wagon tonight, and tomorrow we’ll see about gettin’ one of those cabins fixed up for you. Henry’s folks have their own claim down the road apiece, so they’ll be settlin’ in there, I reckon.”
“But, but, I can’t… I can’t take advantage of your friendship like that,” Ingrid protested. “I’ll look for something in town tomorrow.”
Mary put her hands on her hips. “And just why can’t ya? Having you around will be a big help. You kin start yer sewing business and make me some dresses or aprons oncet in awhile.”
A few days of scrubbing and whitewashing transformed Ingrid’s cabin into a charming home. With money from her buffalo hides, she bought a wooden table and chairs, a cook-stove, an oil lamp, and chamber pot, plus blue-and-yellow calico for curtains and a tablecloth. She covered the floor with an oil cloth and planted slips of geranium from Mary’s plants in a bottle. A tiny featherbed for Ammie and a larger one for herself completed the room.
She hugged Ammie to her breast. “Your mama’s locket said ‘May God be with you always.’ I think it’s coming true, Sweetie, I think he’s been with us all along.”
Thanks to a small advertisement in the Telegraph, Ingrid soon had all the dressmaking duties she could handle. Ladies from the town brought cashmere, merino, and silk for her to make into lovely gowns. She made a two-breasted purple calico apron for Mary and a black silk spencer with green fringe for Mrs. Wallace. For herself, she made a red merino dress with a flounced skirt, lining the sleeves with Florence silk.
“You do beautiful work,” Mary declared, fondly fingering one of the gowns Ingrid was working on.
“I’ve never had such lovely materials to work with,” Ingrid confessed. “The bolts these ladies bring to me are a joy to sew, except sometimes I’m almost afraid to cut into such pretty cloth.”
“You needn’t be. I ain’t never seen anybody can make such pretty things.”
The days sped happily by, with the men busy at their flumes. Mary, Ingrid, and Mrs. Wallace were kept busy cooking, cleaning, sewing, and minding the children, but still found time almost daily to get together for a chat and to catch up.
One thing impressed the newcomers more than anything else – the cordiality and acceptance of the miners who lived there. It seemed as though the entire area, from Grass Valley to Nevada City, was just one big happy family. Neighbor helped neighbor, and no one was a stranger.
Henry and his father soon joined the Sons of Temperance, the local lodge, and the Union Band, all activities that kept them away from home more and more, much to the chagrin of Mary and Mrs. Wallace. “If they ain’t working down on their flumes, they’re tootin’ those infernal horns,” Mary often complained to Ingrid. “Maybe it’s just as well you ain’t got yerself a man!”
She grinned at her friend. “Of course, it ain’t ‘cause some of ‘em haven’t tried. You’ve had more chances to get hitched than any woman I know, with the fellas hanging around you like bees to honey.” She shook her head in wonderment. “How you manage to keep ‘em all at bay but still interested baffles me.”
Ingrid blushed. “I’m not trying to keep them interested,” she insisted. “I like my life just the way it is.”
“Did you have a beau back in Copenhagen that you’re waiting for?”
“No beau.” Ingrid felt a slight twinge of conscience. No beau, but a pseudo husband who had deceived her into coming to America. Did that count? She certainly wasn’t waiting for him, however, or anyone remotely like him. These were things she couldn’t bring herself to confide to anyone – what would they think of her if they knew the truth? Would they turn on her as Anne Marie had said, calling her a strumpet or even worse? No, some things were just better left untold.
“We’d better get back to our sewing if we want these gowns done in time for the Fairy Stars performance tomorrow,” she said, attempting to change the conversation. She loved the children’s dancing troupe performances at the theater, the minstrel shows, and the occasional famous actors and lecturers that appeared in Grass Valley and Nevada City. Such occasions were the highlight of the town’s social life, reminding many Easterners of the culture they had enjoyed in Boston and New York.
Henry burst into the cabin, his arms full of packages. “We’ve been invited to play for tomorrow’s show,” he announced, “and have I got a surprise for you ladies! Lola Montez is back in town, fresh from an appearance in Salt Lake City. And she’s going to perform after the Fairy Stars!”
“Lola Montez?” Mary pounced on this incredulous news with zeal. A dancer of great renown, Lola had lived in Grass Valley until just a couple of years ago, when she returned to San Francisco and the theater. Her fame and escapades were so widely published, it would have been impossible to live in the area, or its surroundings, without knowing much of the gossip that had surrounded the town’s most notorious citizen.
“They say she’s the mistress of Ludwig I, the King of Bavaria,” Mary confided to Ingrid. “She calls herself the Countess of Landsfeld and hangs around with the likes of Victor Hugo and Franz Liszt. Imagine getting to see her in person!”
“Not only do you get to see her, my good wife,” Henry teased, “but we’ve been formally invited to a private reception in her honor, due to my ‘infernal horn tooting’ as you call it.”
Mary could barely contain her excitement. “Meet her in person! I declare, Henry, this is the most exciting thing that’s ever happened to me!”
“You get to come, too,” he said, directing his attention to Ingrid. “Mother’s laid up with the ailment again, so Pa told me to invite you in her place.”
Realizing he was speaking to her, Ingrid looked up from the foulard silk skirt she was sewing. She had heard very little of the conversation after the words “Salt Lake City.” As usual, mention of the abode of the Mormons filled her with fear and dread. If an actress could travel so easily from Salt Lake City to Grass Valley, why not an angry husband and father in search of a deserter?
“You don’t look very happy about it,” Mary remarked, breaking the silence. “Don’t you realize what an opportunity this is?”
Ingrid frowned. “I was just wondering who would look after Ammie and Little Hank,” she fibbed, hoping her feeble excuse would convince them.
“No problem,” Henry replied. “Mrs. Woods has already said she’d come over and care for the young’uns.”
He began to open his packages. “Since we’re goin’ out with royalty, we’re gonna look royal,” he declared. He held up a broadcloth dress coat, a silk vest with crimson flowers, a white silk shirt with silver fringe, a black silk cravat, and calfskin boots. Ain’t I gonna be a dandy?”
He pranced around the room with the finery held in front of him. “Got all this for $49, and they even threw in some white merino socks and undershirt, plus a white silk handkerchief and these kid gloves!”
He tossed Mary a bag of gold dust. “This is for you and Ingrid to buy
yerselves fancy silk bonnets to match your dresses. Nothin’s too good for the ladies of the Wallace Mines!”
Mary beamed with pleasure. “Well, now, who’d have thought we’d be such high society people?” She turned to Ingrid. “We’d best ride into town and get those bonnets before all the best ones are bought up. Every lady in town will be buying a new bonnet for this occasion!”
Mary’s intuition proved all too true. The millinery shop was packed, but half the fun of shopping was listening to the gossip about Lola Montez’ exploits. “They say she scandalized Europe dressed in men’s clothing and smoking cigars.”
“Did you hear about the time she cowhided Editor Shipley of the Telegraph?”
“And the parties she used to have! Champagne flowed free as water. ”
Ingrid and Mary finally selected their bonnets. Mary found a green satin one to match her black silk spencer with the green fringe; Ingrid settled for a lovely black silk embroidered with red silk braid. “Ain’t we gonna be the belles of the ball?” Mary whispered, a playful note in her voice.
But Ingrid was not listening to Mary. Her ears had picked up on the words, “I heard that prophet over in Salt Lake City tried to marry Lola. Can you imagine?” Straining to eavesdrop on the rest of the conversation, she caught snatches of disdain from the shoppers. “He must think he’s God himself, if he imagines somebody like Lola would even consider joining his harem. Ain’t no woman with any smarts would hook up with the likes of that outfit!”
“Let’s go home,” Ingrid urged. “We’ve still got to finish our dresses before tomorrow night.”
Henry, his father, Mary, and Ingrid indeed looked like royalty the night of the performance. “Ain’t we the fine ones, all gussied up?” Henry boasted.
Festivity filled the air surrounding the theater. To Ingrid, it seemed all the inhabitants of the entire valley had gotten “gussied up” for the occasion. She barely recognized some of her neighbors in their finery, so different from their usual attire of calico aprons or dirty mining clothes.
The Fairy Stars, a children’s dance troupe, enchanted the audience, but it was clear that everyone was impatient to see the famous Lola Montez. Finally, she appeared on stage, flamboyant in a shockingly low-cut, beruffled dancing costume.
The miners went wild with applause as she broke into her infamous Spider Dance, in which she whirled, stamped, wriggled, and writhed outrageously to elude fake tarantulas in her petticoats. The spiders, fashioned of cork, whalebone, and rubber, seemed to jump at her from inside her costume, while she shook them out in a risque dance.
Ingrid was shocked at such naughtiness, feeling guilty just by being in attendance. Sensing her friend’s discomfort, Mary leaned over and whispered, “Just relax and enjoy it. Lola can titillate the men and amuse us women at the same time. It’s all in fun.”
Ingrid wasn’t so sure that such behavior should be considered “fun,” but in deference to her hosts, she decided not to let her displeasure show. She applauded with everyone else, determined to enjoy the evening.
Later at the reception in the hotel, she listened eagerly as Lola kept her audience enthralled with tales from Salt Lake City. “That crazy Brigham Young actually asked me to marry him!” she mocked. “And him with twenty-seven wives already!”
Spurred on by their interest, she continued in a mocking voice. “But if he’s right, and he can really make me a Queen of Heaven, well, I’m all taken care of. That man declared he was going to the Endowment House and get me sealed to him for all eternity whether I liked it or not!” She paused for effect. “By now, I’m no doubt the twenty-eighth wife of the great prophet. Ain’t that a hoot?”
In a more serious vein, she explained her hasty departure from the land of the Mormons. “They said they were expecting a war with the United States any day, because President Buchanan threatened to send a new governor to take old Brigham’s place. Brigham told everybody in town to take all their things and head south, then stuff their houses with straw, ready to be burned when the troops arrived. He wasn’t going to leave anything behind for the infidels!” Her voice rang with laughter and mockery. “Imagine people crazy enough to burn their own houses down, just because a so-called prophet tells them to!”
Ingrid’s heart ached. Some of those “crazy” people were her friends, people who had suffered great hardships to come from Denmark to the Promised Land. And now what did they get for their troubles? And war with the United States? Hanabi had said Major Crawford was in Salt Lake. Would he be involved in the war?
Lola waxed eloquent about the mysterious Land of Deseret, aware her listeners were enchanted by the strange stories they had heard about the Mormons. “It’s a dangerous place,” she said, pulling all her acting abilities into play. “Brigham Young has these men called ‘Destroying Angels,’ blackguards set apart by the church to conduct permanent disappearances of obnoxious citizens.”
Shocked silence and a corporate intake of breath spurred the dancer on. “Brigham lives in something called the Lion House, with a bunch of his wives.” Lowering her voice to a stage whisper, she confided naughtily, “They say he puts an X on the door after he’s spent the night with one of them, so he’ll know who he’s been with.”
The women squirmed uncomfortably, but the men howled with laughter. “Sounds like a good life to me!” one of the miners bellowed, slapping his hands against his thighs.
“But it’s not all a man’s world out there, dearie.” She paused for effect, batting her heavily made-up lashes at the outspoken miner. “The wives who are tired of his advances simply mark their own X, letting the old fool think he’s already shared their bed.”
She took a sip from an elegant champagne glass. “And you wouldn’t be drinking anything so fine in the grand land of Deseret. The only booze available is valley tan, a kind of whiskey. They tell me it’s made only in Utah, from fire and brimstone!”
Her appreciative audience laughed merrily, hanging on to her every word. “There is plenty of hellfire and brimstone to be had there,” she warned. “Ah, yes, it’s a land of enchantment, but also a land of goblins and awful mysteries. I was very glad to get away from there, I assure you.”
The conversation soon turned to more fascinating subjects, such as Lola’s life in Bavaria and the high courts of Europe. But Ingrid had already ceased listening. Her thoughts and prayers were centered on a certain soldier in Salt Lake City.
Winter, for the most part, was sunny and pleasant, a fact that amused Mary. “What a contrast to Wisconsin’s freezing this time of year!” she exclaimed. Ingrid was thankful for the continued warm weather, which allowed Ammie and Little Hank to play outdoors, giving her more freedom to sew without little hands getting in the way.
Honeysuckle still bloomed near the cabin door, and the yard looked like a cloth of gold, abundant with its Persian Queen foliage. On rainy days, Ingrid set her geranium outside to catch a little of the rain water. It was, indeed, a strange country.
Her first visits to church seemed strange as well. She visited each church in turn, depending upon which one had a minister available to preach on any given Sunday. She listened intently to the sermons, determined not to be deceived again. Every sermon had to measure up to what Ma’s Bible said, and anything that sounded different was quickly checked out.
Ingrid greatly enjoyed the services and friendship at the brick church. It reminded her of the services in Copenhagen before the Mormons had come, not too formal, but very worshipful. Mr. McCullom came up from Sacramento to preach in the mornings, and in the afternoons, both Ingrid and Mary helped teach Sunday School. His sermons about peace and love soothed her spirit. “God loves you!” he often quoted. “He loves the whole world! In fact, he loved the world so much, he gave his only Son to die on Calvary’s cross.”
What a contrast to the thundering threats of the Mormon leaders, the vicious God who demanded so much, she thought. How had she ever been so deceived? Each night she read at least three chapters in Ma’s Bible, determined to
learn everything she could about this loving God. Never again would she be deceived by false teachings!
Bad memories of her life with the Mormons were the only thing that marred Ingrid’s happiness. She quickly fell in love with her new home, enchanted by the wondrous trees and flowers that bloomed in abundance year round. Almost anywhere she walked from her small cottage in Boston Ravine was full of interesting things, whether it was up a side road to the school, or past the diggings into the heart of town, where the busy hub of Main and Mill Streets and the huge frame home of the Crabtrees stood.
But her favorite walk was to head out through the woods, which changed so much with every season, they seemed to be a different place altogether. Ingrid loved them most in autumn when everything was golden, when the ground was covered with lovely amber leaves and thick carpets of pine needles. Often, she took Ammie into the woods, telling her the stories of her homeland, the tales of Hans Christian Andersen.
“They call them fairy tales,” she explained to the toddler, “where everybody lives happily ever after.”
While she knew that in real life, a prince wasn’t likely to come along to take her into the “land of happily ever after,” she vowed never to let Ammie know how lonely she was sometimes, how often she stood outside the cabin listening to the night noises and watching the moonlight stream through the canyon, longing for her “prince.”
Life here in Gold Flat was good; she and Ammie were doing fine. She would do a good job of raising the little girl and someday even take her to meet her grandparents in Copenhagen. Anything was possible if she put her mind to it. Suddenly, inexplicably, the words from the nearly forgotten locket blazed across her mind, “May God be with you always.”
She breathed a prayer heavenward. “Thank you, God, for being with Ammie and me. We would never have made it this far without you, and I know now that you love me and will always take care of me. I don’t need a fairy-tale prince when I have you.”
With the honesty so characteristic of her nature, she added, “But, dear God, you know how much I would like to feel someone’s strong arms around me, a real human touch now and then.”