He had wanted to go with Pa, but a woman with an apron over her dress stopped him. She had said her name was Mrs. Wimmer and insisted he come with her, so he had. She’d led him to a cabin behind the town and fed him eggs, biscuits and milk. He had toyed with the food while she talked to him. She was nice—he knew she was trying to help—but he hadn’t heard a thing she said.
In the middle of the afternoon she had him come with her. He hadn’t understood where they were going as he followed in a daze. They walked behind the town along a trail that led to a clearing in the woods. A handful of men stood before an open hole with long pine box resting on logs atop it. His eyes misted over. They were going to bury Jess.
The woman gently pushed him on, whispering in his ear that he was grown now and needed to be strong. He dried his tears. A man began to speak, but he couldn’t listen. He couldn’t shake the feeling that this had happened because Jess and Hank chased the cow some in town. Ma said bad things happened to people who drank, but this just didn’t seem fair.
He stared at the pine box and thought back to when they had buried Ma. She had a real nice looking coffin, sanded smooth and covered with lots of flowers. It even had her name carved in the top. All Jess had was a box that didn’t look much different from the ones on the back of freight wagons that rolled up the road by the farm sometimes.
Then there was Pa, poor Pa. Across the grave two men held him up by his elbows, like he couldn’t stand by himself. Spit drooled from his mouth and ran into his beard. Pa looked toward the pine box like he couldn’t see it, his eyes glassy and red. Tom had never seen him look worse.
He looked nothing like the man who had stood with them when they had said their last goodbyes to Ma. That man had been strong, even in his grief, and reminded all three of his sons that they should buck up and carry on because that was what Ma would want them to do.
The woman nudged him again. The speaker prayed for Jess. It was almost over. He hung his head but kept his eyes on Pa. A sprinkling of amens came from the people who were here. Then the men by Pa moved to the pine box to lower Jess into the hole. Tom’s eyes clouded over again. It was real. Jess was gone. He wasn’t coming back.
Without the support of the men, Pa fell to his knees. He wailed like he had at the millrace dam, and then he started crying, blubbering nonsense words, whimpering. This wasn’t the Pa he knew. “Pa!” he screamed.
The woman grabbed him around his shoulders. “You come with me, young man. A boy your age don’t need to see this.”
“I’ve got to get to my pa. He needs me.” He tried to run to Pa.
She wrapped her fist around his collar and pushed him off down the trail that led back to her cabin. “Your pa don’t need nobody right now. He needs to be left alone. Get on with you now.”
“I got to help my pa. Let me go!” He struggled as she pushed, but her iron hand kept him on the trail.
“There ain’t no help for that man right now. Only the good Lord can do him any good.”
“He’s all I got left. I need him.”
She stopped suddenly and yanked him around to face her. “Now you listen to me, Son, and you listen good. That man ain’t going to do you no good. It’s a hard life out here, but you’re on your own now. The sooner you face up to it the better you’ll do. I’ll do what I can for you, but you got a rough row to hoe.”
“What’s wrong with my pa?”
Mrs. Wimmer’s concerned face blurred behind his tears. The idea that Pa wouldn’t be here for him was something he had never considered.
“The devil’s got him. It’s a fact.”
“The devil? You mean Pa’s chasing the cow again?”
“Your pa’s drinking, Son, like nothing I ever seen. I’m truly sorry.”
“But he promised Ma—”
“He ain’t the first man to go back on a promise. I reckon he won’t be the last.”
“Oh, Pa.” He gave up his struggle and let her lead him to the cabin. His world had changed much too fast. This wasn’t what Pa promised when they had left for the goldfields. It was something he never dreamed could happen. He had never felt so alone. He was scared.
What she had said on the trail had been a cold slap in the face, but now he was awake. This time he paid attention to Mrs. Wimmer as he ate. She painted a gloomy picture of what life could be like for a young boy in an isolated gold town that grew like a mushroom.
He would need money, money for food that got more expensive every day. To get that money, he would have to work and compete with hungry, full-grown men for the few jobs available.
He would need a place to sleep. The summer would be hot and dry and he could easily camp in the open, but winter would bring rain and cold, and the odds were that he wouldn’t survive without some sort of shelter.
In between her advice about his new troubles, she railed about Pa. To her, drinking was the work of the devil, and a man who drank as much as Pa had today was hopelessly in the grip of evil. Ma had always been against Pa’s drinking. When she got sick she made him promise to quit, and he did. Things improved on the farm for a while after that. Maybe Mrs. Wimmer was right, but he was still his pa. Tom had to do what he could even if Mrs. Wimmer thought it was hopeless.
Come sundown she offered to let him stay the night, but he refused. He rode Sadie into the woods behind the cabin until he found a place to camp. He spent the last light of this ever-too-long-day setting up a fire pit and a place to sleep. Maybe this would be his new home for a while, he didn’t know. But Mrs. Wimmer was sure he was on his own.
By first light he was up. He managed a small smile when he pulled both food and coffee from the bag of cooking gear he carried. Being the family cook had its advantages. He wouldn’t starve for a while at least.
After a morning meal he got on Sadie and headed to town. He didn’t know what would happen today, but he had to find Pa. In spite of Mrs. Wimmer’s warnings that Pa was lost, he had to do all he could. Now Jess was gone, and it sure looked like Hank was too. Pa was all the family he had left. He choked back a tear as he got on Sadie.
The street was crowded with men, some working on one of the new buildings, others milling about the general store, and a lot more hanging outside a place called the Golden Nugget. Pa’s gelding was tied to a rail near the door. The horse looked like he had been here, saddled, all night. It just wasn’t like Pa. He always insisted that the animals be fed, watered, and taken care of first.
He pushed his way through the men. Outside the door a guy stepped in front of him and grabbed him by the shoulder. He wasn’t much older than Hank and looked ruddy like he could have come from a farm just like Tom had, but he smelled like he had been chasing the cow.
“Well, looky here. There sure must be a lot of gold around. We got little boys mining enough to be able to drink inside this fancy saloon. You going to buy me and my partners a drink, boy?” Two guys about the same age were with him. Tom figured they’d been drinking too.
He knocked the hand from his shoulder. “Leave me alone! I got to find my Pa.”
“Why, he ain’t no miner. He’s just a little boy looking for his daddy.” The man’s friends roared with drunken laughter.
“Maybe your daddy’ll buy us a drink, boy.”
“Where’s your daddy mining, boy? Under the bar?”
“Look at that yeller hair. With no women around, this boy’s about the cutest thing in town.” The first man grabbed Tom’s hair and pulled.
“Let me go!” He kicked the man’s shin. The man shrieked and let go his hair. Tom flailed him with his fists.
Someone grabbed his shoulders and yanked him back.
“That’s enough, Son. You won,” they whispered in his ear.
Tom looked up at the man who had grabbed his hair. The guy’s eyes were wide, his fist ready to strike, but he was firmly in the grasp of the most strangely dressed feller Tom had ever seen. With a tall, slightly crumpled top hat on his head, a frilly shirt under a frayed, sky blue coat, the funny-clothed man ha
d the hair puller under control.
“Are you having fun with this fine, young gentleman, boy?” Funny Clothes spoke to the hair puller in the slow, smooth drawl that folks from the southern states used.
The hair puller jerked. Funny Clothes must have jabbed him in the back. “Y-y-yes, sir.”
“And you’ve just arrived to find your fortune in the mines, have you not?”
“Y-y-yes, sir.”
“Well then, I am sure that you and your friends are in a hurry to find a good spot before they are gone. Am I correct?”
Again hair puller jerked. “Oh, yes, sir. We’ll be on our way.”
“Oh, must you hurry off? You’ve all been such wonderful company. But please, you will certainly take the time to offer this young gentleman your apologies.”
“Oh, yes, sir. Ah, we’re . . . ah . . . we’re sorry, kid. Ooooh!” Hair puller jumped even higher.
“A gentleman is referred to as ‘sir,’ boy.”
“Yes, sir. Ah . . . we’re sorry . . . ah . . . sir. Ooooh!”
“It’s been my pleasure, boys.” Funny clothes gave the hair puller a push out into the street. His two friends backed away and followed him as he hurried off toward the saw mill.
Tom watched them until he felt sure they wouldn’t be back, then he turned to the door. Funny clothes was still there, a long, straight mustache over a triangular goatee framing a bright grin. Tom smiled at him. “Thanks, mister.”
“T. Tyler Memphis, at your service, sir.” The man took off his hat and bowed, ushering Tom into the room.
He stepped in cautiously. Inside it looked a lot like the place where they had met Shamus Flanagan in San Francisco, only not as fancy and a lot less crowded. “I’m pleased to meet you, Mr. Memphis. I’m Tom Marsh. Say, how’d you get that feller to squirm like you did?”
“It was simple, my friend.” Memphis opened his left hand to reveal a tiny pistol.
“Wow, I never seen a gun that small.”
“Useless at any distance, but up close and personal, it’s terribly effective.”
“Yeah, it sure put a bee in that guy’s bonnet.”
“Yes, so it did. And what brings you to this fine palace of peccadilloes today, my young friend?”
He gave Memphis a puzzled look. He had no idea what kind of palace the man was talking about. It didn’t matter. “I’m looking for my pa. I ain’t seen him since we were at my brother’s burying yesterday.” Tom mumbled a bit on the part about Jess.
Memphis’s face darkened. “Oh, I heard what happened. I am sorry. I think that’s your pa over against the wall.” Tom looked where Memphis showed him. Pa slumped over a table, his back to the door, a bottle in front of him. “Son.” Memphis shook his head slowly. “I’ve seen something like this before. A man lost his family in a fire and blamed himself. Afterwards his mind just snapped. He was a lot like your Pa is now. I know you want to help, but I doubt there’s anything you can do.”
“Yeah, that’s what Mrs. Wimmer says.” He let out a sigh and turned toward Pa’s table.
“Tom, you need anything, anything at all, you come back and see me.” Memphis spoke softly, and it sounded like he really meant it.
“Yeah, thanks, Mr. Memphis.”
A lump grew in his throat as he neared Pa. Pa’s head rolled loose around his shoulders. His right hand was wrapped around an empty glass while his left twitched and jerked. His eyes were red, watery, and unseeing. Pa looked right at him but didn’t seem to know he was there.
“Pa, are you all right?”
Pa’s head jerked. He looked around. “Mary! Mary is that you? I’m coming, Darling! I’m coming!”
He yelled loud like she was across a big gully, the gully between this world and the next. The lump in Tom’s throat grew bigger.
“Pa, it’s me, Tom. I’m right here.”
“Jess! Where are you Jess? Tell your Ma I’m coming, Jess!”
Oh, poor Pa!
A man in a checkered vest appeared, grabbed the bottle from Pa’s table, and filled the glass Pa held.
“No! Don’t give him that. He needs coffee!”
The man shook his head. “It’s the only thing that can keep him quiet. I’m sorry, Son.” He pushed the glass to Pa’s mouth. “Here, old man. Drink this.”
Pa drank it all, dribbling some down his chin. Then his head fell to the table and Pa began to babble to himself, talking crazy.
Tom backed away a step, his eyes wide. “Don’t call him an old man! His name is Marsh, Thomas Marsh. He’s my pa and he’s about the best pa anybody could have!”
As he ran from the room, the tears began to roll. He couldn’t stay and watch Pa like he was. If only Ma was here. She would know what to do. He untied Sadie and the gelding and rode off to his new home, a lonely camp in the woods.
16 Luck is a Lady
Maggie held up the nugget high over her head so the men could see it. “Look at the size of this one!” A bright grin spread across her face.
Joshua glanced up from the ravine. “That’s huge! It’s the biggest one yet, isn’t it?” He pulled off the blue forage cap and wiped his forehead.
She tossed the lump of gold onto a pile. “It might be. I’ve found a lot of good-sized ones already. They seem to get bigger as we work our way up the ravine.”
He leaned on his shovel. “We’re finding more gold each day. Maybe we’re getting close to a big lode just up the hill somewhere.” His face reflected her smile
Eban tossed a shovel full of ore onto the oilcloth. “There’s a bunch in the bedrock I’m hitting too. If we can just keep going like we are, we’ll be set for life in a month or two. That is if you two quit jawing and start working.”
Joshua feigned a scowl. “Eban, you’re a hard taskmaster!”
Maggie laughed gleefully at Joshua’s droll comment. She had laughed a lot in the last few days. Unbounded joy flashed through her heart each time she broke apart a hunk of clay and her fingers closed around a cold, smooth nugget worth more than a man could earn in a month back in Illinois. And each precious lump of ore smothered another revolting memory from Sutter’s Creek. They called it gold fever, and she had it bad.
She returned to her task of sorting gold from the pile of clay on the oilcloth. In the corner of her eye she caught a glimpse of movement from the valley below. A rider was coming up the creek.
Her stomach tightened. It happened each time a new miner rode past the ravine where they worked. The news that there was gold in this isolated valley had begun to leak out. More men arrived each day, and each time the dread rose strong inside her.
“Someone’s coming,” she yelled much louder than needed. It wasn’t Jack or Bill, she was sure.
Joshua was quickly at her side. He was always here for her, ready to save her from the evil that pursued her. The spyglass was out. He focused on the rider. “It’s that deputy sheriff, Jim Price. I wonder what he wants.”
“I don’t know.” Jim Price wouldn’t be here unless he had news. Would that news be good or bad? “I’ll start some coffee.” She walked to the fire.
The deputy stopped his horse at the creek for water. He checked the cinch and gear as the animal drank, then led the horse up the ravine to where they mined. She watched his face closely for any expression, any hint to what he had to say. The deputy’s face was a blank. Eban would call it a poker face.
“Afternoon, Jim.” She could hear the anxiety in Joshua’s voice. The coming news meant a great deal to him too.
“Afternoon, gentlemen, and you too, ma’am.” Jim touched his hat as he greeted her, but he didn’t smile.
The knot in her stomach tightened. “Coffee will be ready in a few minutes, Jim Will you have some?”
“That would be real nice. I thank you.”
Eban had climbed out of the pit and joined Joshua. “What brings you out here?”
Jim shuffled his feet, kicking at the ground nervously like he had bad news. “There’s been a lot of changes here in this valley in just the last
week. A lot more miners are here already.”
Joshua put his hands on his hips. “I guess that’s to be expected.” He was impatient, but Maggie knew he would wait for the deputy to say what it was he had really come for. The coffee was almost ready. She rummaged around for cups.
Jim still shuffled uncomfortably. “News came from the head of the Mormons, a guy named Brigham Young. He says that the flock, except those out here, settled down around the Great Salt Lake. They’re planning on building a town there. He’s calling for all them what got some money to come and join up with him.”
Eban scratched his jaw. “Ain’t the Great Salt Lake in the middle of the desert?”
Jim still seemed to be stalling. “I guess it is. Maybe after all the trouble they’ve had back east, they figure the desert’s a good place. I don’t know. They got a problem getting back across the mountains. The trail across the Sierra at the Donner Pass is too steep for wagons going east. The talk is they plan to cut a new trail south of that big lake up there. They plan on staging the wagons at Diamond Springs. It’ll mean a pretty good wagon road from there right past Daylor’s Ranch and on to Sacramento City. It’ll probably bring more people into this valley.”
The coffee boiled. Maggie grabbed the pot from the fire and filled the cups.
Eban spit. He must feel that Deputy Price was stalling too. “All this news about the Mormons is interesting, but I’m betting it ain’t why you rode up here.”
“Yeah, you’re right. You know about the miner that was killed. His partner ain’t showed up. Reckon he’s dead too. The next morning another body washed up in the same place. It was the son of some farmer who just got to Coloma the day before.”
Maggie’s hands flew to her face. “Oh, Lord!” The coffee pot dropped to the ground and rolled down the hillside, spilling its contents.
“Maggie! Are you all right?” Joshua turned to her but she put out her hand to stop him and sat on the ground.
Hangtown Creek: A Tale of the California Gold Rush (A Tom Marsh Adventure Book 1) Page 18