No one saw a trace of Buck Krebbs after that. Pa, Uncle Nick, the sheriff and several other men stayed up all that night after the cave-in waiting for him to show up. But he never did. They figured he somehow got word of what happened and lit out over the hills. Uncle Nick did say a couple of months later that he heard a report of him down near Stockton.
Pa and Uncle Nick got to talking about him every once in a while. They never did find out if he tracked them west alone or if others of the gang were out here, too. And they never knew exactly how he and the banker Mr. Royce got hooked up. Most important, they never knew whether Buck Krebbs ever found out that they didn’t have the money. They couldn’t help worrying about it some, for our safety more than anything.
But at least I can say that no one out of Pa or Uncle Nick’s past bothered us for a long time. I can’t say we forgot all about it, but we did quit worrying about it. And by the time we finally ran into Buck Krebbs again, it was . . . but that’s part of another story.
Alkali Jones kept coming out most days to help Uncle Nick and Pa at the mine. I don’t think he cared a hoot about the money he’d make. He just liked working a claim with some gold in it for a change! They told the story of Mr. Royce’s fake geologists every other day, and then they laughed and laughed. Mr. Royce kept trying to buy up land in the area, but folks got wise pretty quick, both about Mr. Royce and about the mining potential of the land. The few purchases he was able to make later on were more fairly priced. And the fires completely stopped after Buck Krebbs’ disappearance.
Reverend Rutledge didn’t go back to Boston, as he had threatened he might. By the beginning of summer—that was in 1853, he had raised about half the money he needed for his church, and none of it came from the bank. On that point at least, he seemed willing to take Uncle Nick’s advice to heart. I gradually began to understand more of his sermons. I’m not sure if it was actually because of better understanding on my part, or rather because he stopped making them so complicated and high-sounding—probably a little of both. He still spoke in that preacher voice sometimes, but I think he sincerely tried to be more down-to-earth.
The church quit meeting in the Gold Nugget when the numbers dwindled down to ten or fifteen people, and started gathering in various people’s homes, usually at Mrs. Parrish’s. Reverend Rutledge and Mrs. Parrish were seen around town together quite a bit, and they both seemed excited about the church’s prospects for the future. Pa and Reverend Rutledge were on speaking terms again, but they didn’t seem to have a lot to say to each other.
Pa really became a family sort of man. He never drank anymore at all, and always stayed home or took the young ones with him when he went into town. As far as I know, he never played cards again. Uncle Nick was about the same as ever. He was bound to head for town occasionally for an evening, returning home with the smell of whiskey on his breath. But I think he was trying hard, too, to be as good an example to us as he could. Pa got the title on the property changed over to both of their names so Nick couldn’t gamble it away like he had once done himself.
I still had fifty dollars of Ma’s money. Pa didn’t need it, and told me to save it till something came up. The strike Tad discovered turned out to be pretty rich. We didn’t become millionaires, but with hard work it brought in twenty or thirty dollars a day. Pa was bound and determined to put the money to good use, “Not squander it like before,” he said. But he didn’t trust Royce’s bank, so he had Mrs. Parrish take it to a bank in Sacramento for him when she went in for supplies.
There were some mighty wonderful changes taking place. Zack grew two inches before summer and was helping at the mine just like the men. In fact, Pa started treating him so much like one of them that Zack quickly shed his sullenness and brightened up. He and pa were together more now, working and talking about what they could do with the mine and the sluices. Pa seemed to like having Zack at his side. And I believe he and Zack gradually became friends.
Emily didn’t stop glowing after the day in April when Pa went into town for some lumber. When he came back, there were four horses to his team instead of the usual two. While he was still a hundred yards from the cabin, he called out, “Emily! Come outside and see my new team!”
She went to the door and stood watching for a minute as he came up the road. Then suddenly she recognized the two lead horses.
“It’s Snowball . . . and Jinx!” she cried, running out to meet the wagon. Her friends were back, and at least Snowball seemed to remember her.
Pa never mentioned anything about how he’d gotten them back. But I found out from Patrick Shaw that Pa had to pay twice what the horses were worth to get them from the fellow who’d won them in the card game.
Seven-year-old Tad became Uncle Nick’s constant shadow, but Nick didn’t seem bothered by it. Several times a day I’d see him stoop down to Tad’s level and put an arm around his shoulder to explain something they were working on. Tad was also frequently seen perched on Uncle Nick’s shoulders, bouncing along on a walk somewhere.
Becky didn’t change so noticeably—she remained as ornery and full of energy as ever.
Once in a while, Uncle Nick would read a bedtime story to the children, with Tad or Becky sitting on his lap, and the others snuggled up under his brawny arms. What a sight that was! Of course, he only did that when he could talk Pa out of it. Most nights Pa would read, and all five of us gathered around. Even Zack and I wouldn’t miss such a moment with Pa.
Whenever I could, I went into town to visit Mrs. Parrish. She and I had more good talks about living the Christian life. Pa didn’t have much to say when I mentioned her, but I think he was interested in what I was learning about the Bible and spiritual things—more than he let on. I kept hoping that maybe someday he and I would be able to talk about such things together.
When my birthday rolled around, my mouth nearly dropped open when Pa walked in the cabin about mid-morning. He was clean-shaven and scrubbed like I’d never seen him before.
“What’re you starin’ at?” he asked with a grin.
“Pa!” I exclaimed. “I hardly recognized you! Why’d you shave off your beard?”
“Well, I’ll tell you,” he said. “Your sixteenth birthday seemed like a fittin’ occasion to say ‘off with the old!’”
“What do you mean?” I asked. “I kinda liked it.”
He thought a minute, then said seriously, “I’ll tell you, Corrie, the beard was always part of my mask, part of my hidin’ who I really was, just like the name and all the rest of it. Well, I don’t want to hide no more. I am who I am. My name’s Hollister, this here’s my home—” he gestured widely with his arms, taking in the claim, “—this is my land, this is my family . . . and this is my face! I’m through with hidin’. Oh, I ain’t gonna write to the law back in New York and tell them where to find me, but I sure ain’t goin’ to go skulkin’ around no more, either. We’re safe, and I think we can start fresh. This is just my way of showin’ it.”
He placed his strong hands on my shoulders and looked at me full in the face, and smiled. “So that’s my birthday gift to you, Corrie Belle Hollister—just me! With my proper name, and the face the good Lord gave me, and a hearty ‘Best wishes to you on your birthday!’”
I couldn’t help smiling. I put my arms around his waist and leaned my head against his chest. His arms closed gently across my back. It was a wonderful feeling. I don’t suppose anyone could understand that feeling better than a daughter who, after a lot of years of doubting, finally knows that her father really loves her.
“That’s the best birthday present a girl could ever have, Pa,” I said honestly. “I’ll never forget it.”
Well, I’ve said how all the others were growing and changing but when I try to reflect on how I changed, it’s hard to say. If you are changing yourself, you can’t always see it, ’cause its goin’ on right inside.
It was March when I had my memorable sixteenth birthday, and though Pa said I’d grown, I still felt like a kid, even though
I was more content than any time since Ma had died.
I remember how I stumbled at prayer when Ma was sick, and how little I understood how much God could have to do with people’s lives, and how much He was really interested in our lives. Now, thanks to Mrs. Parrish, I was beginning to see God as more than just some distant, unapproachable Being. I began to believe that He could really go through life with a person, like Mrs. Parrish said He did with her—helping her, giving her strength as she needed it, making her into a better person—the person He wanted her to be. I hoped someday He’d be that close to me, like He was her.
Oh, and about Mr. Singleton. I did finally have that talk with him. At first he thought I was joking. He looked at me strangely, as if he was thinking, But you’re just a young girl! What could you possibly know about writing an article?
But when I told him about my journal, he agreed to look at it. And once he’d read some of it, he realized how serious I was. His expression changed considerably, and soon he was saying things like, “Well, young lady—if you can submit a piece that is satisfactory to us, we will see what can be done with it.”
Just his calling me a young lady instead of a girl was a step in the right direction. And he’d consented to let me at least try to write something for the paper—and that was all I was asking!
I went home that day very excited, determined to do my best with this chance. I didn’t get an article written for his paper immediately. It took a lot of help from him, and some from Mrs. Parrish, before I—
But there I go again, starting to tell the next story before I’m done with this one! Buck Krebbs, my first article in the California Gazette, the building of the church, what happened to Alkali Jones and the trouble Uncle Nick got mixed up in down at Dutch Flat—all that will have to wait.
Now I reckon I’ve told the story like it was, the best I can remember it as it happened.
I often wonder what Ma would think of all this. I can’t help being sad that she couldn’t be here to share it all with me. Pa still doesn’t talk freely about religious things, but he does say he’s sure as anything Ma is up there in heaven looking down on all our goings on, and is pleased.
I think he’s right.
In Remembrance of My Ma
Ma, it breaks my heart to think that you’re not here
Though sometimes I feel you with me, and hear your voice so clear.
I know you’re happy that we have found the best
home we could have imagined when we headed west.
When you left us out there, it was fearsome. My heart felt black
Without you with us, all I could think was we oughta turn back.
But I knew what you’d say, the wisdom you’d impart.
You’d want us to be brave, have courage: Take heart!
So when we got over the mountains and were finally here,
I did my best to stand tall and hide my fear.
And whenever my heart sank and my hope started slowing,
I’d recall the words of yours that would keep me going:
You said God takes care of the children that are His own,
Even when they’re afraid and completely alone.
So I thank you, Ma, for preparing me,
And I thank you, God, for taking care of me.
And for bringing me safely, though fears in my heart swirled,
To this land where I discovered my Father’s world.
—by Corrie Belle Hollister
About the Authors
Michael Phillips is a bestselling author with more than seventy of his own titles. In addition, he has served as editor/redactor of nearly thirty more books. He is known as the man responsible for the reawakened interest in George MacDonald of the last thirty years. In addition to the MacDonald titles adapted/edited for today’s reader, his publishing efforts in bringing back full-length quality facsimile editions also spawned renewed interest in MacDonald’s original work. Michael and his wife, Judy, spend time each year in Scotland, but make their home near Sacramento, California. Visit Michael’s website at www.fatheroftheinklings.com.
Judith Pella is a bestselling, award-winning author whose writing career spans more than two decades. Her in-depth historical and geographical research combines with her skillful storytelling to provide readers with dramatic, thought-provoking novels. She and her husband make their home in Scapoose, Oregon.
Books by Michael Phillips
Fiction
THE RUSSIANS*
The Crown and the Crucible • A House Divided • Travail and Triumph
THE STONEWYCKE TRILOGY*
The Heather Hills of Stonewycke • Flight from Stonewycke • Lady of Stonewycke
THE STONEWYCKE LEGACY*
Stranger at Stonewycke • Shadows over Stonewycke • Treasure of Stonewycke
THE SECRETS OF HEATHERSLEIGH HALL
Wild Grows the Heather in Devon • Wayward Winds
Heathersleigh HomecomingA New Dawn Over Devon
SHENANDOAH SISTERS
Angels Watching Over MeA Day to Pick Your Own Cotton
The Color of Your Skin Ain’t the Color of Your Heart • Together Is All We Need
CAROLINA COUSINS
A Perilous Proposal • The Soldier’s Lady
Never Too Late • Miss Katie’s Rosewood
CALEDONIA
Legend of the Celtic StoneAn Ancient Strife
THE HIGHLAND COLLECTION*
Jamie MacLeod: Highland LassRobbie Taggart: Highland Sailor
THE JOURNALS OF CORRIE BELLE HOLLISTER
My Father’s World* • Daughter of Grace* • On the Trail of the Truth
A Place in the Sun • Sea to Shining Sea • Into the Long Dark Night
Land of the Brave and the Free • A Home for the Heart
Grayfox • A New BeginningThe Braxtons of Miracle Springs
THE SECRET OF THE ROSE
The Eleventh Hour • A Rose Remembered
Escape to Freedom • Dawn of Liberty
AMERICAN DREAMS
Dream of Freedom • Dream of Life • Dream of Love
The Sword, the Garden, and the King
Heaven and Beyond
Angel Harp
Murder By Quill
From Across the Ancient Waters
Angel Dreams**
SECRETS OF THE SHETLANDS
The Inheritance
Nonfiction
The Eyewitness New Testament (3 volumes)
The Commands
The Commands of the Apostles
George MacDonald: Scotland’s Beloved Storyteller
*with Judith Pella **with Chris Schneider
Books by Judith Pella
Texas Angel
Heaven’s Road
Beloved Stranger
Mark of the Cross
THE RUSSIANS
The Crown and the Crucible*
A House Divided*
Travail and Triumph*
Heirs of the Motherland
Dawning of Deliverance
White Nights, Red Morning
Passage Into Light
THE STONEWYCKE TRILOGY*
The Heather Hills of Stonewycke
Flight from Stonewycke
Lady of Stonewycke
THE STONEWYCKE LEGACY*
Stranger at Stonewycke
Shadows Over Stonewycke
Treasure of Stonewycke
DAUGHTERS OF FORTUNE
Written on the Wind
Somewhere a Song
Toward the Sunrise
Homeward My Heart
LONE STAR LEGACY
Frontier Lady
Stoner’s Crossing
Warrior’s Song
PATCHWORK CIRCLE
Bachelor’s Puzzle
Sister’s Choice
RIBBONS OF STEEL**
Distant Dreams
A Hope Beyond
A Promise for Tomorrow
RIBBONS WEST**
Westward the Dream
Separate
Roads
Ties That Bind
*with Michael Phillips **with Tracie Peterson
Resources: bethanyhouse.com/AnOpenBook
Website: www.bethanyhouse.com
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Twitter: @Bethany House
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