“Could I—” I began, then hesitated.
“Somethin’ the matter?”
“No, sir. But if it ain’t too disturbin’, I wanted to talk to you.”
He finished with the fire, wiped his hands off on his shirt, and pulled over one of the new chairs.
“You ain’t disturbin’ me,” he said finally. “Come and set yerself down.”
I did that, and he sat on the stool just opposite me.
“What’s on your mind, girl?” he asked. He sounded like he really wanted to know.
I took a deep breath.
“I done something today that I knew was wrong, and I’m real sorry. But I don’t think I’m altogether sorry, ’cause maybe it was something I needed to know—”
“Hold on, child!” he said. “I ain’t quite following you. Slow down a mite and tell me what happened.”
“Well, sir, I heard you and Mr. Jones talkin’ before supper about money. I know it wasn’t right of me to listen, but—”
“Don’t you think nothing of it.”
“Well, to tell you the truth, I never gave it a single thought before then, but we’ll be costin’ you plenty to take care of.”
“I’m sorry you heard that,” he replied earnestly. “but it’s nothin’ for you to worry about.”
“But we barged in on you uninvited.”
“Don’t pay that no mind, Cornelia,” he said, a hint of his old brusqueness coming back into his voice. “What’s done is done.”
“But I want to give you some money. It’s only fair we pay our own way.”
“Ridiculous!” he said with a wave of his hand. “I’m your pa, and it’s my duty to take care of you. Besides, you got less than I do.”
“That ain’t true,” I answered as respectfully as I could. “You see, Ma had some money. She left that to me. And it seems only right that—”
“Don’t tell me what’s right! Besides, I ain’t about to take no money from the kids I ran out on nine years ago.”
It was the first mention he’d made of his leaving us. I don’t think he meant to say it either, because just hearing himself say it seemed to sober him, and he sat staring into the fire for a long time. Neither of us said a word. We just listened to the fire.
Finally, I ventured to say something more. “In a way, maybe it’s really your money after all,” I said, “or else Uncle Nick’s.”
He cocked a bushy eyebrow toward me. “How’d you figure that?” he asked.
“The money came from Grandpa Belle’s estate,” I answered. “That’s how we had money to come here. Ma herself said it was real odd Grandpa never left nothin’ to Uncle Nick, and she said that as soon as we got to California she was going to give him his due. I forgot all about it until now, but there’s near two hundred dollars put away. And if it ain’t yours as Ma’s husband, then what about Uncle Nick? I’d feel real pleased if you could find a way to put it to use, for us to pay our way.”
The mention of the sum seemed to sober him further, but only for a moment. Then he replied firmly. “And it’ll stay put away, too. Nick’d gamble away that money in one night and then it’d be gone. And I ain’t none so sure I want it in my hands neither.”
“You could pay off your bill at the store,” I suggested.
He looked at me, half amused, I think, and half perturbed. “Cornelia,” he finally said, “you ain’t struck me as an impertinent child ’til now. Don’t you know better than to argue with grown-ups? Now, I want you to listen to me good. Your grandpa willed that money to your ma. So it was hers. And unless she left something in writin’, it’s now yours, not Nick’s. That’s the law. He wanted your ma to have it, not Nick, and with good reason, too. And it’s God’s truth your ma wouldn’t have wanted me to have my hands on it! Maybe with just as good a reason.”
“But why would Grandpa—or Ma, for that matter—not want their son or brother to have his share?”
“There’s plenty neither of them knew about Nick,” he answered. “And about as much your Ma thought she knew about me, but didn’t.”
He fell silent for several moments, gazing steadily into the fire. I began to think the conversation was over, when he looked back at me and spoke again.
“You know, I was here in California in ’48. Most of the men that were here then are wealthy men today, ’cept them that was still doing nothing but fightin’ the Mexicans, or doing what I was doing. I heard someone say once that you had to be either a fool or an idiot not to make a killin’ back then. Well, Sutter and Jim Marshall are fools, and I suppose that’s why they ain’t made a dime off the gold rush. I don’t know which I am—probably a fool, too, for getting mixed up in the kind of deals I did, ’cause I don’t have nothin’ to show for it neither.”
He stopped and took a deep breath. I hardly dared make a sound. It was so strange for him to talk like that. As if he’d forgotten I was there. He gave the log in the fire a kick with his boot and then started talking again.
“I remember one week back in ’49 when I had ten thousand dollars in dust and nuggets in my saddlebags. It lasted me one trip to San Francisco.”
He paused and sighed. “You ever hear the saying, ‘Throwin’ good money after bad,’ Corrie?”
I nodded, but now that I think about it, I’m not so sure I had heard it before. I just nodded without knowing why.
“Well, your Grandpa Belle knew what he was about. He knew me and Nick well enough to know what was the right thing to do with his money. So I don’t want to hear no more about it. You keep that money. Put it someplace safe—one day you’ll be needin’ it. Now get you to bed. It’s late.”
I stood right up and walked back to our new room. At the door, I paused and took another look at Pa. He was staring right at me with the most peculiar look on his face. But when he saw me looking, he quickly jerked his head away and stared back into the fire.
I crawled into bed still thinking about that look—a sad, faraway expression, as if he was feeling some ache in his heart that had nothing to do with me or our talk.
Seeing his eyes for that brief moment, I felt as if I was eavesdropping again, seeing a little part of Pa that he had wanted to remain a secret.
Chapter 14
The Indians
Before winter set in for good, my brothers and sisters and I wanted to get to know our new home and all its surroundings as best we could. Pa was always admonishing us about getting lost or running into a den of foxes or a mother bear or a bee’s nest. But he didn’t keep us from wandering out and doing some exploring, so we took advantage of it.
“This ain’t no New York farmland,” he said, every time we were about to go for a walk up the hill, through the woods or along the creek.
That, it certainly wasn’t. In fact, just a few short years ago, no one but Indians had roamed this part of the country—except for a few Mexicans that may have wandered this far north. My mind was full of the possibility that there were still a whole lot of paths and sections of forest that had never been explored. There could even be new gold to discover somewhere! It gave me goosebumps to think that perhaps I might be the first person to lay eyes on a meadow or a particular formation of boulders, or to climb to the top of some hill and be the first to look out on the valley beyond. It was such a new and exciting land, with so much to learn, so many possibilities for adventure, I didn’t want to miss a thing. Yet the growing chill in the air told me that time was running out, and that soon I’d be forced indoors.
On one of those crisp, chilly fall days we went hiking along the creek just east of Pa and Uncle Nick’s claim. The creek had been one of our unspoken boundaries. We had more or less grown accustomed to our particular side of it, and knew how to find our way up and down its length and back to the cabin. But on this day, I found myself looking across to the woods and fields on the eastern bank, thinking how lovely it all looked and wondering what lay out beyond. I had no doubt that there, just past the rise which cut off my view, I would discover true virgin territory. And rig
ht then I determined that if I were still here next spring, I would make it my project to strike out and explore over there, maybe even spend a night alone under the stars. I would be sixteen by then, and surely capable of spreading my wings, as Ma would say, farther afield.
But on this day, especially since I had the young’uns with me, I had to content myself with the western side. The others had run off to survey up and down the creek. I had been standing there for quite a while, gazing into the distance, alone on the little bank with only the sound of the water gurgling along in its stream bed at my feet. I was thinking about one of Alkali Jones’ tales about the strike that had given the creek and the town its name.
“I was standin’ right aside him, hee, hee!” he cackled, “right when he fished out that big nugget!”
According to Mr. Jones, nothing in the whole of California had managed to happen without his help.
“Big as a man’s fist, I tell ya!” His eyes shone, just telling the story. “Pure gold, it was! Biggest nugget I ever seen! ‘It’s a miracle.’ I yelled, an’ all the others came runnin’. A downright miracle it was, too, an’ afore long all the folks for miles around began callin’ the stream Miracle Springs, an’ the town grew up right on top of it.”
So there I stood on the bank of Miracle Creek, just a couple of miles downstream from the spring where Mr. Jones and his friend had supposedly found that first big nugget, and maybe four or five miles upstream from the town. I didn’t see any gold sparkling in the water that day, though I had no doubt there were still fortunes to be had from this stream, and I hoped maybe someday I might have a share in one. I bent down and took a scoop of the clear, cold, sweet water in my hands, still thinking about gold, and noticing nothing but the water rippling along beneath me.
But when I glanced up, not a stone’s throw away stood two Indian braves. My heart nearly stopped! In my surprise I almost toppled head first into the water.
Somehow I managed to keep control of myself, and held back a strong urge to jump up and flee. Yet the sight was so fascinating I didn’t really want to run away, either. I was overcome by such a feeling of wonder at actually seeing two Indians so close, face to face, looking like . . . well, just like two ordinary people. Not savages, like the ones that attacked our wagon train in Wyoming, nor like the ones we’d seen back East in books, all made up with paint and fake headdresses, but like other people . . . only Indians.
Ma always said my curiosity was going to get me killed like the cat some day. I only hoped today wasn’t going to be that day!
I suppose the two Indians were father and son. The younger one was about my age. He was tall and brown, like the older man, and both were dressed only in buckskin loincloths reaching almost to their knees. Their long, black hair shone—glistening in the sunlight, but was otherwise plain. I think coming upon a white girl out in the middle of the woods, kneeling all by herself at the edge of the stream, had surprised them as much as they had surprised me.
I especially noticed shock in the boy’s face, but the man’s was as solemn and unmoved as a rock. They had bows and quivers of arrows strapped to their backs, but I didn’t notice that at first. Even if I had, I don’t think it would have worried me. Though I was taken aback by their sudden appearance, for some strange reason, after the first instant I wasn’t afraid. They looked kind of wild, but not mean. The boy was staring straight at me with a look—curiosity, interest, possibly a hint of unspoken friendship, but certainly no menace. Maybe he’d never seen a white girl his own age up so close either.
All those thoughts went speeding through my brain in only a few seconds; then I could feel my legs going numb beneath me. So I slowly rose to my feet, smiling so they wouldn’t get the wrong idea. The man’s face did not even flicker in response, but the boy’s started to soften into what I hoped might be a smile too.
“Good morning,” I said, not even knowing if they would understand me. But before they could respond, all at once there was a rustling in the brush behind me, followed by the laughs and calls of my four brothers and sisters.
As they broke into the clearing where I stood, the two Indians leaped back, then turned and ran away like two frightened deer. If they’d only waited another second to see that the cause of all the noise was nothing but four little kids!
I was perturbed at the rude interruption, and gave Zack and Emily a long scowl, though later I realized they couldn’t have had any idea what they had done.
My anger with them dissolved as we walked home, but I was still quiet, and the disappointment lingered with me. I wondered if the two Indians might have talked to me if given the chance, and what they might have said. All I could think about was finding another chance to go back to that same place in hopes of finding them again—this time alone!
We took a different way back, and I got a little confused about where we were. We strayed past the southern boundary of the claim, and there we had our second interesting encounter of the day.
There were three men on horseback riding toward us.
They were coarsely-dressed white men, maybe miners, but definitely not farmers or city fellows. They looked rough and wore guns at their sides.
The appearance of these men didn’t startle me like the Indians did. In one way they were friendlier, smiling as they paused before us and tipped their hats. But I was immediately afraid. Their eyes didn’t smile with their lips, and their voices seemed filled with mockery. I clutched Tad to me.
“How do, young folks,” said one of the men.
“Hello,” I replied, giving a tight smile.
“Ain’t too common to find kids in these parts.” He looked us over with just a slight squint. “You must be Nick Matthews’ kin that ol’ Drum’s taken in?”
I nodded, wondering how he knew. Though I suppose in an isolated place like this, when five kids show up on a man’s doorstep, word gets around.
“Well, you kids better skedaddle on home. We seen signs of Indians a way’s back an’ it ain’t safe to be out.”
“We can take care of ourselves,” said Zack.
I could have kicked him for his insolent tone. The last thing I wanted was to rile these men.
But the man who had been speaking just laughed and turned to wink at his companions. I didn’t altogether like the look of that wink either. As he turned, I noticed an ugly scar on his cheek, making him look all the nastier.
“Thank you, sir,” I said, then nudged my brothers and sisters on. The instant the men were out of sight we took off as fast as we could go.
We found Pa up to his knees in the creek, shoveling gravel from the trenches into the sluice box at his mine. We were all red-faced and sweaty from running so hard, and even his untrained eye could tell we’d seen something to throw a scare into us.
“What’s wrong?” he said in the gruff tone I was learning was his way of covering up a real concern. “You run into a bear or something?”
“Corrie seen Indians!” burst out Becky excitedly.
“And then we seen three mean-looking men on horses!” put in Emily.
“What’s this?” he said, setting down his shovel and looking at me.
I told him about the Indians. “They looked friendly,” I said, as I finished.
“It was plumb foolish of you not to run,” he said. “There might have been more of them.”
“I didn’t want to upset them,” I said lamely.
“You’re just lucky they didn’t try nothin’.”
“I’m sure they wouldn’t have harmed me.”
Pa rubbed his hand through his beard thoughtfully. “I don’t know, you may be right. California Indians are generally the most friendly of the lot. Why, back in the old days they worked right beside us in the mines, even though most of the miners cheated them bad. But that’s changed in the last couple of years—most white men just couldn’t abide having Indians as friends, much less equals. They drove the Indians away and made them downright hostile. It’s best to steer clear of them now.”
“I wanted to talk to them so bad.”
“Well, you get a fool notion like that out of your head pronto! If we leave them alone, they’ll leave us alone. Now, what about those other fellas you was talking about?”
“Aw, they just wanted to warn us about the Indians,” said Zack.
“They looked mean,” Becky added.
Again Pa looked at me. “They do anything?”
“No, sir,” I answered. I couldn’t help feeling a little proud that he seemed to respect my judgement, though it was probably just because I was the oldest. “But they were pretty stern-looking and carried guns.”
“Everyone in these parts carries a gun. They give their names?”
“No, sir, but one of them seemed to know we belonged to you.”
“One of them had a big wide scar on his face,” piped up Becky.
“On his cheek?”
“Yes, sir,” I said.
Pa frowned and rubbed his beard again.
“Well, you stay clear of them, too, you hear?” he added with a finality that indicated the discussion was over. Then he hoisted up the shovel and went on with his work.
It wasn’t too many days before I’d nearly forgotten about the scar-faced man and his companions. But I could not get the two Indians out of my mind.
I felt sorry for them after what Pa had said about the gold miners’ treatment of them, and I wanted a chance to prove that all whites weren’t like that. I thought the Indian boy and I might even be friends, and it would be especially nice for Zack to have another boy near his own age.
Of all of us, I think everything that had happened was hardest on Zack. I had my writing in my journal to occupy me, Becky and Emily had each other for companions, and Tad was young enough to adjust without too many problems. But Zack really had nothing much to keep him busy. For some reason I didn’t understand, Pa wouldn’t let him help at the mine.
But having an Indian brave for a friend probably wouldn’t have solved the problem anyway.
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