I was more than a little confused. I just didn’t know what we ought to do.
Later in the day, all spruced up and fresh, we left the house and walked over to the Parrish Mine and Freight Company. On the way, I kept craning my head this way and that, looking for somebody that might be Uncle Nick, or some sign of Mr. Drum’s bay mare. But neither was anywhere in sight.
The Mine and Freight Company was a hodgepodge of activities. Our eyes were wide open with curiosity when we walked in. Mrs. Parrish gave us a friendly greeting, and then took us on a little tour and told us about the company. They still operated a gold mine in the foothills several miles from town, and did some assaying of what the mines brought in. They even ran a bank, she told us, until Miracle got a real bank a year ago. Mostly the company was a freight outfit. They ran wagons—and pack mules, when necessary—between San Francisco and the Sierras.
“My husband,” she said, her voice proud, “believed that the money to be made in the gold rush was not in the mines at all, but rather in supplies.”
He was most likely right too, cause Mrs. Parrish lived better than any prospector I had yet seen.
The office itself was an orderly room with several file cabinets, and a big, thick oak counter across the front. Behind it sat two nice, oak desks, and next to them cabinets full of cubbyholes which had papers and files sticking out of them. One of the desks had Mrs. Parrish’s name on it. At the other one sat a man she introduced as Mr. Ashton, her clerk.
Mr. Ashton looked like a city fellow. He didn’t fit my image of Miracle Springs. He was dressed better than any man I’d seen in town, but he was balding and scrawny. He was nervous, too, and seemed to try hard to ignore us. When Mrs. Parrish presented us to him, his lips twitched up into what I guess was supposed to be a smile, then he went right back to work.
Behind the office was the huge livery stable where the company’s stock and wagons were cared for between deliveries. Marcus Weber, a burly, free Negro, presided here as blacksmith, Mrs. Parrish said. He was more friendly than the clerk, and even helped Tad and Becky climb up on a couple of mules. His teeth were pure white, and he put them to good use when he smiled.
Our horses, Snowball and Jinx, looked very contented munching on hay and swishing flies away with their tails. I thanked Mr. Weber for taking such good care of them.
“Miz Parrish, she dun tol’ me t’ treat ’em like they was my own,” said Mr. Weber, grinning.
“Not that he doesn’t treat everyone’s animals that way,” Mrs. Parrish added with a laugh.
I thanked her, and tried to offer her money, but she wouldn’t hear of it. I couldn’t help wondering where all of this was going to lead. The youngsters were real taken with the office and the livery, but I couldn’t keep from thinking, What is to become of us? What should we do? And where will we live if we stay here and do what Zack suggested, trying to make it on our own? I wasn’t so sure I liked the idea of trying to be a ma to four children when I was barely more than a girl myself.
Mrs. Parrish must have been thinking of this, too, because as soon as we’d seen all around her place, she sent Mr. Ashton home for his lunch, and told us kids to sit down in some spare chairs around her desk.
“Children, I have been giving your situation much thought and prayer,” she said, folding her hands together in a very ladylike way on the top of her desk and giving us a sweet look. “The younger children will not be able to understand all that is happening, but you, Corrie and Zachary, are old enough. And I think it is important for you to clearly grasp all the aspects of the situation facing you so that you will see why I must do what I have decided to do.”
She stopped and cleared her throat daintily. “Do you have any questions?”
We all shook our heads.
“It is not my intent to speak ill of anyone,” she went on, “but I think you should know, if you have not already guessed, just what kind of man your uncle is.”
She stopped again and looked intently at Zack’s face, then mine, for a long spell. Then, seeming satisfied, went on.
“This land here in the West is very wild and uncivilized. In many places, law is non-existent. Men have had to make their own law and have often resorted to methods that, in the East, would be found unthinkable. Survival has become the most important pursuit—along with getting rich—and the weak do not survive. At least that is how many of these westerners feel. I do not hold that opinion entirely myself, although I do see how it can come to be such in a frontier like this. Surely the weak do perish in the West, but survival should never take precedence over morality.”
She paused again, took a deep breath, looked us over and probably saw the dumfounded looks on our faces, which told her we didn’t understand what she was talking about. But she plunged ahead anyway, and what she said next, I think we understood well enough.
“Now, your uncle came here when the land was raw and wild. You can hardly imagine the difference five years can make. The population has multiplied many, many times over, just since 1847. And that first year or two after the first strike was a wild and reckless time. Some say it’s not much better now, but at least it’s begun to settle down some. I have never known your uncle well, and I’ll not presume to make excuses for him. But the fact is, your uncle has lived a rather wild life here in the West. I am afraid this is not the first instance of his crossing paths with the sheriff, and as often as not I believe the trouble starts around a poker table. He is not, I believe, a lawless sort. I have heard that he and Mr. Drum have even helped the law out in some cases. But his is not a settled life, perhaps not even a safe one. Do you understand what I am saying?”
By now I had the gist of what she was trying to tell us.
“Mr. Drum doesn’t seem like an outlaw,” I said.
“And neither is your uncle,” replied Mrs. Parrish. “Actually, Mr. Drum has seemed to be a steadying influence on Mr. Matthews. They’ve worked a claim together since before my husband and I were here, and some say they have done pretty well by it. Mr. Drum’s always kept mostly to himself, only now and then pulling your uncle out of a scrape. Your uncle’s a talkative sort of man, but no one knows much about his partner. In any case, with your uncle now gone and in fresh trouble, I’m just not so sure how advisable it is—”
“Are you meaning,” I asked, even before she’d finished the sentence, “that it wouldn’t be good for us to live with Uncle Nick? Or that maybe it’s just as well he left town?”
I stopped, looking over at Mrs. Parrish to see if I could tell what she was thinking.
“Because, if you are,” I continued, “—well I don’t mean to disagree, Ma’am, especially since you probably know what you’re talking about. But he’s still our uncle, and—”
I took a deep breath. It was hard to speak out like that. Ma always taught us kids to be quiet around adults. But this was such a confusing situation, and I hardly knew whether I was supposed to think like a child or a grown-up. I was sure Mrs. Parrish had every right to box my ears, but I kept going.
“—And, well . . . after what you just said, maybe he even needs us a little, just like we do him.”
She didn’t box my ears. In fact, Mrs. Parrish just sat there and smiled at me. “You’re a very perceptive girl, Corrie,” she finally said. “You have put into words exactly what I have been thinking and praying about. I think perhaps this is God’s further confirmation of my decision. I realize you hardly know me, and perhaps in normal circumstances it would not be my place to make decisions about—”
“Mrs. Parrish,” I interrupted, feeling uncomfortable doing it, but knowing I had to speak, “my brothers and sisters and I are just kids. And we’re real confused about what to do.”
“You’re hardly a child anymore, Corrie,” she said, smiling sweetly at me. “Why, you’re practically a lady.”
“Thank you, Ma’am,” I replied, feeling my cheeks getting hot. “But I’m still confused. I don’t know much about God, but it seems maybe bringing you across our path
might just be something like He’d do. Anyway, we’re right obliged for the interest you’re taking in us, because you and Captain Dixon are the only adults we got left, at least maybe the only ones left with half-sensible heads. And now that the Captain is gone . . . well, we’d be right glad to hear whatever you want to say to us.”
“Thank you for your confidence, Corrie. I hope I shall prove worthy of it.”
She spread her hands out on her desk and looked down at them, and I even thought I saw a bit of flush creep up in her cheeks. But she went on in a brisk businesslike manner. “Now,” she said, “here are my thoughts. I believe you should be with your uncle if at all possible. Not only because he is family, but because perhaps you can be good for him. As you said, Corrie, maybe you do need each other. Of course this is ultimately a decision the five of you have to make together, and certainly much depends on whether he is located and what is the outcome of this present fracas.”
“Mr. Drum said he didn’t do anything wrong,” I put in optimistically.
Mrs. Parrish smiled. “Another thing you must understand about the West is that no one ever thinks he’s done anything wrong, as long as he had a reason. And partners always stick up for each other. But time will tell, and we’ll hope your uncle is cleared.”
“What should we do now?” I asked.
“My counsel is that you do not try to go back where you came from immediately, but stay here in Miracle Springs and try to make a life for yourselves—at least through the winter. I will help you adjust, as I know others will also. And we’ll pray really hard that your uncle will either be found or will return soon, and that this whole thing will get cleared up. Though you do have to realize that your Uncle Nick is not . . . well, let’s just say he’s not accustomed to family life. Even if this trouble with the sheriff blows over, the adjustment will no doubt be very difficult for him.”
“What if he never shows up at all?” asked Zack, still sulking.
“Hmmm . . . yes, that is a problem.” She folded her hands together and tapped her finger against her pursed lips. “But we must just hope that will work out somehow. And we certainly need to pray about it.”
“Ma’am,” I said shyly, “I believe in prayer, and Ma put a lot of stock in it. But I don’t think I’ve quite got the hang of it, because it doesn’t seem to work too well for me lately.”
“Let’s pray right now,” she said.
“Here?” I always thought the most important praying had to be done in church. I didn’t know what to make of the notion of praying right in some business office. What if someone came in and saw us?
“Here and now. Let’s all join hands.”
I didn’t say anything more, and we all obeyed her.
“All right,” Mrs. Parrish continued. “I’ll do the talking, if you’d like. You can listen and learn. It only takes a bit of practice, and some faith too.”
So she bowed her head, right there in that Mine and Freight Company office, and we did the same, and she prayed. Her words were simple, not much like the preacher’s in Bridgeville, which were flowery and hard to follow. Mostly she prayed for Uncle Nick, that God would be with him right now no matter where he was, and work to soften his heart. I found myself wondering if God’d be with him even if he was in the Gold Nugget Saloon, but I didn’t say it. She also prayed for us, using our names as if God knew and cared about each one of us.
It was an interesting prayer to listen to, and I thought it was the nicest I’d ever heard. I felt good after she was done, thinking that the minute we lifted our heads Uncle Nick would walk right through that door and take us home.
But he didn’t.
Chapter 8
Picnic in the Wilderness
The next day Mrs. Parrish took us on a picnic. It was a day I wasn’t likely to forget.
I awoke early in the morning. The rain, which had been coming on and off, had stopped. The first thing I noticed, however, was that Emily was not in bed beside me.
I glanced around, and she was gone from the room. Thinking she’d gotten up and wandered to some other part of the house, I got out of bed as quietly as I could, dressed, and went to look for her. But she was nowhere in the house at all.
Finally, I went outside. I found her standing still, looking at the closed stable door.
“Emily,” I said, walking to her, “is something the matter? You’re up so early.”
She turned and looked at me with a smile. “Oh, I’m just going to feed Snowball,” she said.
“I’ll go with you,” I said. “It might still be a little dark inside the stable.”
“No, thank you, Corrie,” said Emily a little shyly. “But I’d rather go alone.”
Still thinking she might be afraid in the stable by herself in the semi-dark, I started to object. But then I stopped. I could understand how she might want to be alone with her horse, even in a dark, strange stable. Snowball was the special friend Emily talked to when she was sad. We each had our own ways of trying to cope with missing Ma, and I knew Snowball helped Emily. So finally I reasoned that I just better leave the two of them alone for a spell.
I smiled, then helped her open the big stable door. Then I walked back toward the house. But at the last minute, I stopped and turned back to watch Emily disappear inside.
I couldn’t help myself. Instead of going into the house, I softly crept toward the stable, then stopped and peeked through a crack in the door. I could see Emily with her horse.
In her hand Emily held the apple Mrs. Parrish had given her the night before at supper. She had saved it for her friend. She held it up to Snowball, whose big, white fleshy lips opened and took it from her, eating it in a single, quick bite.
“You know,” I could hear Emily saying softly, “you look just like a big white snowball that came down from heaven one day in a cold snowstorm. I don’t think Ma could have given you a more perfectly fittin’ name, ’cause it’s just like you.”
She paused for a moment, then added, “I miss Ma, Snowball.”
Her voice was sad, and thinking of Ma made her start to cry. But with only Snowball to see, she didn’t seem to care about a few tears falling to the ground.
Snowball put her white chin on Emily’s shoulder, as if she could sense the tender girl’s feelings. Emily patted the wet nose lovingly.
“But you understand how I feel, don’t you, Snowball?”
Snowball seemed to sway gently, as if she were saying, “Yes, I understand.” I moved quickly away from the crack in the door. Suddenly it didn’t seem right to intrude upon this special time between Emily and Snowball. Besides, if I watched any longer, I would start crying myself!
The sun came out gloriously a little while later. The sky was clear and blue, reminding me of an Indian summer back home.
At breakfast, Mrs. Parrish said the day was so fine she thought we ought to go on a picnic. She got no argument from us!
She had to go to her office for a while but I volunteered to fix lunch. By eleven o’clock, after the sun had a good chance to warm up everything, we all climbed into her wagon, a buckboard drawn by two of the finest-looking mules I’d ever seen.
“Could we take Snowball?” asked Emily as she got in. “She could pull your wagon real fine.”
Mrs. Parrish laughed.
“I’m not so sure your Snowball would get along with either of my mules.”
“We could take both Snowball and Jinx,” persisted Emily.
“We’ll do that next time, I promise,” smiled Mrs. Parrish. “I wouldn’t want to try out a new team I wasn’t used to, and that wasn’t used to me, especially with five children in the buckboard with me. Accidents do happen, you know.”
Emily’s disappointment was visible all over her face. “You really love your Snowball, don’t you, dear?” said Mrs. Parrish.
“She eats apples right out of my hand, Ma’am,” answered Emily, brightening.
“That’s lovely. Maybe you could show me when we get back. There are some nice apples in the p
antry.”
Satisfied, Emily’s spirits rose. Mrs. Parrish snapped the reins crisply and clicked her tongue in her cheek, and we were off.
We took a different road than the one into Miracle from Sacramento City. The terrain got more rugged and hilly, but Mrs. Parrish handled the team well. I could see that her mules were a better choice than our horses would have been.
We drove for about an hour. The country was so beautiful it made me tingle inside. We’d seen many grand sights in the last few months, but there was something about this land of California that made all the rest pale in my memory. Everything seemed bigger and richer and more alive. I could just imagine what it must be like in spring and summer.
Finally, Mrs. Parrish pulled the rig off the trail we’d been following. There was nothing that could rightly be called a road up there. In another minute we stopped, and we all bounded excitedly from the wagon, scattering in different directions trying to find the perfect place to settle. There was a small grove of old oak trees, a sparkling stream, and a clearing of soft grass where the afternoon warmth of the sun made me forget it had just rained the day before. We lugged a blanket or two and Mrs. Parrish’s big basket over to the clearing. I helped Mrs. Parrish spread out the biggest blanket, though Becky kept bouncing all over it so we had to keep rearranging it.
“Becky,” said Mrs. Parrish, smiling at her antics, “why don’t you take this bucket and fetch us some water from the stream?”
Becky grabbed the bucket and flew down the little rise to the water. The rest of us then spread out the lunch.
We wanted to explore right away, especially the two boys and Becky. But we were hungry, too, so Mrs. Parrish suggested we eat a little first and then go exploring around the area, and then maybe finish our lunch afterward. So as soon as Becky got back with the bucket, which was only about half full, we sat down on the blanket. Mrs. Parrish said a blessing and then took to serving us out of the basket.
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