“Hate me?”
“Yes,” Ellen said. “Hate you. So be prepared for that.”
Joe expelled a deep breath. “I never thought about that hate thing.”
“Well, it’s probably not going to be the case so don’t worry about it. All I’m trying to say is that you need to be prepared for some disappointment. Life just never turns out exactly the way we want . . . or expect.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Joe said as the dark clouds settled in his mind. “But right now, all I can do is to get well again and then collect that lumber on the mountainside.”
“That’s right, Joe.”
She was about to say more, but suddenly a blocky man appeared in the doorway. Ellen Johnson turned and, in the half-light, Joe could see what he was sure was pure fear pass across her face.
Joe’s eyes jumped to the big, bearded man blocking the doorway, and he knew without asking that this was Ellen’s overbearing and determined suitor, Elder Eli Purvis.
“Ellen, am I interrupting something personal?” the man challenged.
Ellen stood up straight and lifted her chin. “Of course not, Mr. Purvis. We were just discussing . . . the weather.”
“Ah, I see. Well, the weather is fine as anyone can see, but how is your friend who collects bloody scalps?”
She took a deep breath and replied, “Mr. Moss is mending.”
“Slowly,” Purvis said. “Too slowly.”
Ellen’s cheeks reddened and she snapped, “Mr. Moss has a broken hip and a crushed foot in addition to some very serious cuts and bruises. And he is not a young man, Mr. Purvis.”
“No, I can see that.”
Purvis was in his mid-fifties. Big and strong with chin whiskers and thin gray strands of hair stretched across an otherwise bald head. His brows were black and bushy, and he wore heavy boots and baggy pants with a heavy canvas coat smeared with dirt and manure. His hat was black and flat-brimmed, and Joe’s overall impression was that he was above all else a self-important and humorless man.
Joe pushed himself up in his bed and glared at the intruder. Purvis had staked out the fact that they were not going to be on friendly terms. He’d made that more than plain from his sharp words and expression of disgust and disapproval. Joe saw no reason to try to be cordial with this man who was causing Ellen Johnson so much fear and worry.
“You’d be Mrs. Johnson’s neighbor,” Joe said. “I’d be Joe Moss.”
Purvis didn’t bother to move any closer, much less shake hands. “So how did you happen to run your team off the side of that cliff, Joe? Were you drunk or just not paying attention?”
Joe’s jaw clenched, and it was all that he could do to remain civil out of respect to Mrs. Johnson. “I was run off the road by a freighter comin’ up the grade.”
“Oh, really? Well, that’s a first. I took four strong men down there and dragged you and what stock survived out of that canyon. Took us a full day away from our farms and own chores.”
“I’m grateful to you for that,” Joe said grudgingly.
“And in repayment,” Purvis said, “we are willing to take that broken and splintered lumber.”
“I’m planning on bringing that lumber back up to the road and taking it on to sell in Carson City or on the Comstock Lode.”
Purvis didn’t like that even a little bit. His jaw clenched and he said, “Then how will you repay our community for the loss of our time?”
Joe reckoned he should have seen that one coming. Charity toward strangers might exist in Mrs. Johnson, but it sure didn’t in the rest of these people toward an outsider. “Will twenty dollars do?”
He could see that Purvis was surprised by the sum. Men worked in the nearby Comstock deep mines earning three dollars for a ten-hour day, and farm labor often brought only a dollar a day, while Joe had just offered four dollars each to the five men.
“It will do,” Purvis said. “Providing it is payment in gold and not federal dollars.”
“It will be.”
There was a long silence, and then Purvis asked, “Are you a man of God?”
“I reckon God made us all,” Joe said. “And that includes Indians.”
The man’s eyes widened. “Heathens are not Christians and they’ll go to hell.”
“Judge not lest ye be judged, Eli Purvis,” Ellen said, coming between them. “And now, I have my own chores to do if we’re finished talking.”
Purvis was being dismissed, and he didn’t like that from how his eyes tightened at the corners. He gave Joe one last withering look of disdain, and then turned and walked away.
“I can see why you’d not want to marry that man,” Joe said. “How many wives does he already have?”
“Three.”
“I feel damned sorry for ’em,” Joe told her. “You’d be better off stayin’ single than marrying a man like that.”
“I know, but I might not have a choice in the matter for much longer.”
Joe blinked. “Why not? You and your husband owned this farm.”
“That’s true,” she replied, “but without help and if no one will buy my eggs, milk, or vegetables, I’ll have no income and they’ll force me under.”
Joe didn’t doubt that she was telling the truth. “Well,” he said, “I’ll help you starting tomorrow. I’m about ready to get out of this shed and move about. My hip feels half-mended and my foot is a trial, but I can use a crutch and still get from here to there. Say, you wouldn’t have a little whiskey to ease the pain of it would you, Mrs. Johnson?”
She almost smiled. “Joe, you know that I wouldn’t.”
“Yeah,” he said, trying to hide his disappointment. “But it never hurts to ask, ma’am.”
When Mrs. Johnson was gone, Joe dressed and eased himself out of the bed. His broken hip hurt so bad he nearly passed out, and he could only put a little weight on his foot, which was still swollen and purple.
But he’d had his fill of lying in bed as an invalid. He would get to work and do whatever he could to help this woman, and he’d not once complain or whine about it, either. Because as long as Joe Moss was around, Eli Purvis might as well suck rope rather than think he could bully or force Ellen Johnson into becoming his fourth wife.
6
IN HIS FIRST few weeks upright, Joe had to rest more than he worked. But he did his best to help Mrs. Johnson, and he could split firewood pretty well standing or seated on a log. Within days of his decision to get up and get to work, Joe had made a crutch from an aspen and Ellen padded the crosspiece that went under his arm with a piece of lamb’s wool. She did that despite Joe’s protests that he didn’t need things to be sissified.
The Johnson farm was 160 acres of good, flat land, and it was cross-fenced and irrigated from a gushing stream that came down from a canyon and ran right through Genoa. The stream was used by every family and the amount of water was fairly allocated. Mrs. Johnson, for example, was allowed all the water that she could use for eight hours every fifth day. When it was her turn to use water, Joe and Ellen would go out into the fields and open and close wooden gates flooding the farm’s ditches and pastures.
“Mighty good water and grass,” Joe said one fine afternoon as they watched the mountain water pour across one of the pastures. “This is a fine piece of land, Mrs. Johnson. You ought to grow corn and more hay like your neighbor Purvis.”
“He’s got a lot of help given his wives and all those children,” she said. “It’s all that I can do to raise a big garden, feed the livestock, pigs, geese, and chickens.”
“I suppose that you could sell this place for a good amount of money.”
“No, I could not,” she countered. “Only a Mormon would buy here. Anyone else would be frozen out and their water would be stopped. And no Mormon will buy from me because it is understood that I am to be Eli Purvis’s wife.”
Joe’s mouth turned down at the corners. “God didn’t give this land to the Mormons or anyone to hold forever. The Paiutes had it first, and long after Purvis and the rest o
f us are dust, this land will be used by others. We can’t really own land, ma’am; we can only just take care of it while passin’ through life.”
Ellen’s sunbonnet was pink as were her cheeks this day, and several strands of her long hair had slipped loose so that she cut a fine and pretty picture in her fields. Now, she smiled and then laughed. “Why, Joe Moss, I declare that you are a bit of a philosopher!”
“Is that bad?”
“Not at all. It shows me a part of you that I didn’t know existed. Are you reading those words that I asked you to learn in the evenings after we take supper?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He felt sorta proud about it. “I can spell dog, man, woman and run, jump, and bone all fine, thank you kindly. And I’ve been practicing writing my name until it looks less and less like chicken scratches.”
“Good!”
Ellen leaned on her hoe, and they both watched the clear mountain water flow across the grassy pasture. She turned her face up toward the Sierras, which seemed so close and tall that they looked ready to fall right over the top of them. “I do love this land, Joe Moss. I was raised on a farm outside of Baltimore. The earth was rich and giving, but it was an entirely flat land with not a mountain or even a hill in sight. I would sometimes try and try to see the earth curve from our porch, but I never did. I sometimes thought the earth was flat rather than round, although I had been taught better. But here with the Sierra Nevada so big and close and tall . . . here you almost think you’re halfway to heaven.”
Joe slipped his crutch out from under his arm and rested his whiskery chin upon it as he followed her gaze upward toward the peaks. “Have you ever been up to the lake, ma’am?”
“I have,” she said with a soft smile. “When my husband first brought me here, we went up to the lake and spent two glorious summer days. We fished and swam . . . oh, my goodness, is that water clear and cold! But I have never felt so clean and fresh. I would like to go up there and visit it again someday, but . . .”
“But what?”
“I have the livestock to tend and they depend on me. I couldn’t just leave them.”
“No,” he said, “I reckon not. And I suppose your neighbors wouldn’t be willing to feed ’em.”
Her eyes fell from the mountaintops and she stared at the grass with a sad shake of her head.
Joe hobbled over to a gate and diverted the water into the next pasture. “What is the date, ma’am? I have sorta lost track.”
“It’s August. I think it is the tenth of the month. Why do you ask?”
“I need to go up there and start collecting my lumber,” he answered. “When will the first snows fall in this country?”
“They usually wait until October . . . maybe a little earlier or later.”
“Then I’ve got to get up there soon,” he told her. “And do you know what I’m going to do with the first load I bring down?”
“I have no idea.”
“I’m going to build you a fine two-seater.”
“Joe Moss!” She acted embarrassed.
“Not so we could sit side by side and hum ‘Dixie,’ ” he said with a bold wink. “Just so you’d have a nicer one than Eli and all his wives and children. And I’ll make sure it has no cracks or drafts. It’ll be a thing of rare beauty in these parts. People will come from all around to admire your new two-seater.”
Ellen burst out laughing, and gave Joe a gentle push that almost sent him sprawling to the grass. “Joe, you are almost hopeless!”
“Almost is all right,” he said with a chuckle.
And then they went to work moving water and Joe could hear Ellen humming “Dixie” in the soft summer breeze.
“I would like to hitch up your wagon to the Palouse and my gray horse and then go up the grade and bring back some lumber,” Joe said a few days later.
Ellen just stared at him. “I don’t think you are up to that, Joe. The mountainside is very steep and . . .”
“Well,” he said, a little irritably, “I’ve got to see it for myself and give’r a try. I just can’t wait any longer to start collecting that lumber.”
“Very well,” she said, “but I’m going with you.”
“That’s not . . . .”
“It is necessary,” she told him. “To have any chance at all, one person will have to be up on the road while the other goes down on a rope.”
Actually, that’s the only way that Joe had figured it could be done. “I’ll go down,” he said, “and when I tie some lumber up, you can get the team to drag it up the side. When we got a light load up on the road, I’ll come up and we’ll bring it down here slow and easy.”
“Are you sure that you don’t want to wait a little longer?” she asked.
“No, ma’am. I have to start now. If it don’t work, then it don’t work. But I have to try.”
“All right,” she said, “then we’ll rise before the sun and do chores, then leave. It’s only a couple of miles up the grade and we can be there just after daybreak.”
“Good,” Joe said. “And I’ll pay you for your help.”
“You already paid Mr. Purvis and the others twenty dollars. I think you should hang onto your money.”
“I never liked to hang onto money for long,” he admitted. “I feel that it is made to be spent, and I can’t think of a better way to spend it than to give some to you for your kindness.”
She was pleased. He could tell that she was very pleased. “I could very much use some cash.”
“Then it’s settled. I paid those Mormons each four dollars a day and I’ll pay you the same, if that’s agreeable.”
“It is more than fair. Thank you.”
Joe had to look away because, dammit, he was the one that owed Ellen Johnson more than he could ever repay.
“So we’ll get to bed early,” he said quietly. “Because tomorrow will be hard.”
“Yes, but I still expect you to do your studies before you sleep.”
“But, ma’am!”
“Study, Joe. You promised me that you’d learn five new words every day.”
“I overreached,” he told her.
“No, you didn’t. And tomorrow we can have a spelling lesson on the way up the mountainside.”
“Now that’s a right fine idea!” he said, not quite managing to hide his sarcasm as he hobbled off to the shed.
7
TO REACH THE grade, they had no choice but to drive Ellen Johnson’s rattling buckboard through Genoa, and even though the sun still wasn’t fully off the horizon, there were a few early risers who saw their passing. Ellen and Joe both called out a greeting, which wasn’t returned.
“I didn’t stop to think how much grief this is going to cause you,” Joe said with deep regret. “I’ll be leaving before the month is out, but you’ll have to stay and live with these stiff-backed people. From the feelin’ I’m gettin’, that won’t be easy.”
Ellen sat beside him on the buckboard seat, her face wrapped in a shawl because of the early morning chill. “Don’t fret about that, Joe. I was an outcast when you arrived and I’ll be one long after you’ve left. It’s your lumber up on the mountainside, and what we need to do is to worry about getting it up to the road and onto this wagon. The rest will take care of itself.”
“I expect that’s true,” Joe said as they passed through the little settlement and then started up the steep grade.
Joe’s Palouse and gray horse were teamed with a pair that Ellen owned, and even though the wagon was empty, it was a hard climb and they had to stop and let the animals blow every half mile. But at last they reached the place where Joe had been forced over the side. Joe set their brake and climbed down to gaze at the steep mountainside.
“Ain’t much left of that wagon, that’s for sure,” Joe said, shaking his head. “I can’t believe any of my livestock survived.”
“You almost didn’t,” she reminded him.
Joe studied the wreck and the lumber strewn up and down the slope. There was clear evidence that some
of the lumber, which had spilled closest to the road, had already been scavenged by passersby. It was only the lumber that was scattered several hundred feet or more down the slope that remained.
“Have you thought about how you’re going to do this?” Ellen asked. “Because it looks utterly impossible.”
“We’ve got rope,” Joe told her. “I’ll go down and tie up some boards; then you ask that mule we’ve tied behind our wagon to drag ’em up. When we get a full wagonload, the mule will pull me up and we’ll call it a day.”
“Are you sure that you’re up to this?” she asked, making clear her skepticism. “I mean, your hip isn’t fully mended and your foot is still swollen and purple.”
“I’ll do it,” Joe vowed. “Let’s quit jawin’ about it and set to work.”
Without another word, Joe got the ropes out of the wagon and tied them together and then around his waist. “Wrap your end around the wheel a couple of times and just play out the slack as I work my way down,” he ordered. “It’ll go fine.”
Joe went over the edge and started down. The slope was steep and rocky and the footing was awful. So bad that he kept falling, and he was glad that Mrs. Johnson couldn’t see the struggle he was having. But foot by tenuous foot,
Joe was making his way down and using every shrub and little tree that he could grab to keep from falling more than necessary.
At last Joe came to a pile of lumber that was stacked about like if you’d tossed a pitchfork of straw into a loose pile. There were boards aiming in all directions, and he found it hard to untangle them and then get them pointed up and down the slope. When he had a half dozen eight-to-ten-footers lined up, he shouted, “Pull ’em on up!”
It worked just fine for the first part up the slope, but then the lumber got snagged on a big bush, so Joe had to fight his way back up the slope and get the tangle straightened out. He was gasping and in pain, but determined to get a load this day.
“Okay! All clear! Pull ’em on up to the top now!”
This time the lumber slid over the lip of the road above, and in no time at all Ellen Johnson was standing on the edge looking down. “I’m going to throw the rope back, but I don’t know if it’ll go all the way down to you!”
The Mother Lode Page 5