“Do your best.”
The rope, of course, didn’t go all the way down to Joe, so he had to scramble back up to reach it, then drag it down for more lumber. It took them all morning to drag up maybe fifty boards, and some of those were splintered and probably not worth the effort.
“Pull me up!” Joe shouted when he was so tired and in so much pain that he could no longer stand.
The little Mexican mule was probably almost as weary as Joe when he was dragged onto the road and lay gasping in pain and covered with dust.
“I don’t think this is worth it,” Ellen said, looking at the small number of boards she had stacked on the edge of the road.
“I’ll do better tomorrow,” he promised. “But I think I’ve about done all that I can do today.”
“Maybe we could hire help.”
“Who in Genoa would help?” he asked.
“No one,” she confessed.
“Then we’ll do it ourselves and I’ll pay you for your time, Mrs. Johnson.”
“All right,” she said quietly. “We’ll have to go up a little higher to find a place to turn this wagon around. Then we’ll load the lumber.”
“Sounds good,” he gasped, biting back the pain radiating from his hip and crushed foot.
“No, it doesn’t sound good, and I’m not a bit sure that the lumber is worth the pain and effort. But you know what?”
“What, ma’am?”
“I’m going to hold my head up high when we drive back through Genoa so that those folks don’t know how tough it was this morning. And that we aren’t going to quit until every last stick of lumber is retrieved.”
Joe had to grin despite his pain. “You’ve got a lot of grit and spunk, Mrs. Johnson. I like that in a woman.”
“I like it in a man,” she said. “And after what we’ve been through, Joe, I think it’s high time that you just started calling me Ellen. To heck with what anybody thinks.”
“Does that mean I can move out of your shed into your bed?” he asked, barely able to keep from laughing.
“You try it, Joe Moss, and I’ll put a whole lot more hurt on you than you’re feeling now!”
Joe looked at her face, which was covered with dust-streaked sweat. By gawd, he thought, I’d better get that lumber up and sold and then move on to Virginia City before I start thinking ungentlemanly thoughts about this spunky woman.
For the next three weeks they kept to the same hard routine. Get up way before dawn and do the milking and the chores, then hitch the wagon up and saddle the Mexican mule and tie him to the back of the wagon. Then it was on through town with the same disapproving faces and expressions coming from the Mormon townspeople. Ignoring their icy disapproval, Joe then drove up the grade, and then climbed down the side of the mountain tied to a rope.
Joe fought the pain, and he went farther and farther down the mountainside each day, until he had all the lumber that he could reach by tying together every rope that they could lay hands upon. He supposed, if he spent a day and went to Carson City, that he could have bought more rope and gone deeper into the steep canyon, but the lumber down there had fallen and tumbled so far that it was mostly worthless.
“That’s it, Ellen,” he announced one day when they’d loaded the last that could be recaptured. “Some of it probably ain’t worth no more than firewood, but a lot can be cut and trimmed and will bring a good price up on the Comstock.”
“I’m sure that’s true,” she said as they turned the wagon around and then loaded it for the trip back through town to her farm. “So when do you think you’ll be leaving?”
“Soon,” he told her. “No sense in putting you out anymore. I’d like to fix a few of your fences and split more wood and get . . . .”
“No,” she said too abruptly. “I’ll do those things. Joe, I’ve put some thought to it and I think it would be best if you left tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?”
Somehow, Joe hadn’t really been thinking of rushing off. He and Ellen had become close, and his lessons had taken on some flavor now that he’d progressed to the point where he could read more than a few simple words. Why, he’d even taken to reading some of Ellen’s old newspapers, and he’d picked up considerable information about a world he’d never known and would likely never see.
“You’ve got a son or daughter you’ve never seen up there in Virginia City,” she quietly explained. “And you need to get up there and make your peace with Fiona McCarthy.”
“I doubt that’s her last name anymore,” Joe said, feeling troubled. “Seeing as she has already married and been widowed once.”
“Well, that may or may not be the case,” Ellen said, her lower lip quivering slightly. “But you’ve pinned your heart on having her and you need to go and find out if that’s going to happen.”
“I’ll miss you,” he blurted out, picking up the lines and slapping the team too hard.
“Shut up and don’t say anything more,” she told him with a shine in her eyes. “Just . . . shut up and drive.”
Joe swallowed a lump in his throat and headed on down the grade with his final load of salvaged lumber. He should have been mighty happy to be leaving. It would only take him two days to be at Fiona’s side . . . but he found that he was feeling sad and low.
Sometimes, he thought, a man didn’t know what the hell to think when it came to the confusing mysteries of the heart.
8
ELLEN JOHNSON WAS a strong woman both physically and mentally, but she hadn’t been prepared for losing Joe Moss. It had, of course, been far harder to lose her husband because they’d been married for sixteen years. And although they’d sure tried hard enough and often enough, the Lord had not seen fit to bless them with children, so they’d only grown closer with each passing year. And despite or more likely because of being childless, they’d worked even harder to take a piece of bare land and transform it into a fine and profitable farm. In fact, they had thrown themselves into such a fit of working from dawn to dusk that they’d often been reproached by the Mormon elders for neglecting their church duties.
In response, Ellen and her husband had always countered that they were laboring for the Lord and that their profits only increased their tithing to their Church. And when it came to tithing, the Mormon elders had not seen fit to criticize or encourage the industrious Johnsons to work less and pray more.
But now with her husband gone, and then with Joe coming into her life so completely dependent on her nursing and loving care, Ellen found that there was a vast, empty place in her heart that made it ache from morning to night.
“Joe wasn’t the man that my husband was in many ways,” she whispered as she fed her pigs and chickens, “but there were things about him that I cannot forget. He was illiterate and probably had killed men and had many women . . . but still, there is a simple goodness and courage in Joe Moss that I cannot deny. And despite his rough language and ways, Joe has a strength that more than matches my own . . . an attribute that my husband did not share.”
There were days when Ellen Johnson felt so sad and lonely that she could hardly force herself through the day, and then she felt guilty for not working harder. Often, she pushed herself to her absolute physical limits so that she would not have the time or energy to think about Joe and how he had gone away to find the love of his life . . . Fiona.
“I hope he finds her and it goes well for him up on the Comstock Lode,” Ellen often told herself, trying to believe those words. “And that he has a fine son or daughter that will soften him and make him wiser. And I’m glad that I had the time to share with him and give him some book learning. Joe Moss, though he might not fully realize the fact, left my farm a far better and more knowledgeable man than when he had arrived half-dead.”
Ellen told herself these things a thousand times a day to buoy her troubled spirits, but even so, she missed Joe all the time and the pain in her heart would not go away.
She was weeding the garden one morning and working up a good sw
eat when Elder Eli Purvis arrived in his buggy dressed in his Sunday clothes. Ellen was so busy attacking the weeds with her hoe that she did not even hear or see Purvis arrive until he had driven into her yard, scattering her flock of chickens.
“Good morning, Mrs. Johnson!” he called, smiling grandly and removing his hat to reveal his baldness. “You are working too hard again today.”
Ellen leaned on her hoe and surveyed the devastated weeds that she’d just chopped, trying to think of a suitable response. Finally, she was able to muster a half smile and reply, “Yes, there is much to do while the weather holds.”
“Too much for a woman of your age.”
Ellen felt her hackles rise. She was, after all, considerably younger than Mr. Purvis and . . . she would bet . . . far fitter. “I’m not that old, sir. And I am plenty capable of hard work. I’ve done it all of my life.”
Purvis could see that he had misspoken and angered the woman, so he placed his hat back on his head and forced an even wider smile. “Of course you’re not old! In fact, you are a remarkable specimen of womanhood. Strong, smart, and industrious.”
Ellen did not know how to take a compliment from such a man and she had her suspicions as to his motives. “And how are your wives, Mr. Purvis?” she asked. “I have not seen them in quite some time even though we are all neighbors.”
“They are well and happy in my home, thank you.”
My home? she thought. Of course. With these Mormons the home and the property all belonged to the man. If a woman wronged that man, she could be excommunicated from the Church and the society and would receive absolutely nothing for her years of labor and devotion.
“I’m glad to hear that, Mr. Purvis.”
“Yes,” he said, momentarily seeming to be at a loss for words. “Uh, well, I was wondering if you would like to go for a nice little drive over to Carson City today. I know that you have not been out for a good while and thought that you might need to do some shopping.”
“How thoughtful of you,” she said. “But I have enough supplies until the end of the month. And I really do need to finish weeding this garden. I’ve already let the weeds go too long.”
“All work and no play,” the man said, trying to hold onto his fading smile. “Really, Ellen, I insist that you take a day off and accompany me to Carson City. You look rather tired and a change of scenery would be good for your mind and body.”
Ellen did not want to go for a long wagon ride with Mr. Purvis for she knew that he would almost immediately badger her about them getting married and joining their farms. On the other hand, she had found herself looking to the north thinking of Joe Moss and of other people living in different ways. And she had not been to Carson City in months. Perhaps she could manage to squelch Eli’s talk of marriage and anger him into silence, then enjoy the change of scenery.
“Well,” she said, “maybe you are right, Mr. Purvis. I could use some coffee, beans, and calico.”
“Excellent!” he said, beaming. “I will water these horses and wait for you by the barn.”
“I’ll only be a few minutes,” she promised.
“That mangy fellow that you took in for a while left rather suddenly, didn’t he?”
“That’s true,” Ellen said, turning away so that he could not see the pain in her eyes.
“Good riddance, I’d say,” Purvis continued. “He was a freeloader and none of us can understand why you helped him retrieve that lumber.”
“He paid me very well,” Ellen said, because it was true and she knew that money was something that this man would actually understand.
It took Purvis a moment to recover before he said, “Money isn’t everything. And considering the shame that you brought upon—”
Ellen didn’t let him finish and her eyes flashed with anger. “Shame, Mr. Purvis! What shame!”
Purvis reeled back as if he had been slapped. “Well, I mean . . . I mean it wasn’t really . . . proper.”
“Damn being proper!” Ellen stormed. “I’m a Christian woman and I did a Christian act in helping heal that man. And I don’t care what you or anyone else says, I am proud of my actions.”
“Why . . . why, of course you are, Ellen. But that man was not our kind and he was a heathen. Everyone could see that.”
Ellen could feel blood pounding in her head. “Mr. Purvis, I think that you had better just leave. You have greatly angered and insulted me as well as the Lord.”
“Now just a minute, woman!” he thundered. “Take care how you speak to me.”
“You’re on my land and I’ll speak to you as I please!” Ellen was trying hard not to start crying out of frustration and deep anger.
Purvis bowed his head for a moment, fists clenched at his side. Finally, and with great effort, he raised his head and looked at Ellen. “Forgive me,” he croaked. “You are right about it being a Christian act of kindness. And although I don’t understand why you allowed the man to stay so long or why you helped him collect that lumber . . . what is past is past. And you do look exhausted. Please, come with me to Carson City. I will treat you to a meal in a restaurant and we will speak no more of Joe Moss.”
“Is that a sworn promise, Mr. Purvis?” she demanded.
“Yes, a sworn promise.”
Ellen took a very deep breath, and it occurred to her that if she sent this man away, it would be looked upon by him and those he told of his invitation as a small, but important victory. In Genoa, it would signal the first crack in her armor. A sign of weakness.
“All right then,” she said, “I will get ready and we will go. But if you do not keep your promise not to mention Joe Moss again, then I will never again be in your presence.”
He took her at her word and her threat made him stand up straight and square his still-broad shoulders. “When Eli Purvis gives his word on a thing, it is as good as gold.”
“Good,” she said, savagely swinging the hoe at one last large weed and sending it flying through the air.
9
ELLEN JOHNSON KNEW that Carson City, nestled in Eagle Valley and backdropped by the Sierras, was the new territorial capital of Nevada. But much to her surprise, Eli Purvis turned out to be somewhat of a local history buff and knew even more about the town.
“It was originally settled in 1851, not long after we arrived to found Mormon Station, now Genoa,” he said on their way to the capital. “Carson City was named after Fremont’s scout, Kit Carson, though I think that they could have found a far more admirable character. Some of our people think we should buy up land in Carson City while it’s still relatively cheap. But I don’t. The land there, as you know, is dry and mostly covered by sagebrush. The Carson River is too far to irrigate the land profitably.”
“I never got the impression that Carson City could be a farming community,” Ellen replied. “Being the new territorial capital and now that the Comstock Lode is booming nearby, its future must surely be commerce and government. And isn’t the new legislature meeting at the Warm Springs Hotel just east of town near the Carson River?”
“That’s true,” Purvis grudgingly admitted. “The town fathers are also building a railroad called the Virginia and Truckee up to the Comstock, and I understand that the government is constructing a United States Mint. You see, with the War Between the States raging back in the East, the Union and President Lincoln are pushing very hard to bring western territories like Nevada into the fold. But there is lawlessness and corruption in commerce and government, and already Carson City is becoming a wicked and sinful place.”
“I never thought it sinful or wicked,” Ellen countered. “I think it’s a rather nice town. But I have heard that Virginia City is quite wild.”
Eli Purvis glanced sideways at her. “ ‘Wild’ is an understatement, Ellen. Satan rules the roost up there on Sun Mountain. The entire Comstock Lode is one big den of sinfulness. And that is why it was no surprise to learn that it was the destination of Joe Moss.”
“Have you ever been up to the Comstock
Lode?” she asked, deciding to let the insult pass because she was in his wagon and it would be a long walk back to her farm.
“No, of course not! Why would I subject myself to that kind of sinful place?”
Ellen shrugged. “Just wondering.”
They were quiet for a few minutes, then Purvis said, “As I said earlier, there is a strong push to give Nevada statehood and I think that Carson City will be its new state capital.”
“Statehood,” she said, smiling. “That would be very important and change everything in this part of the country, wouldn’t it?”
“For some,” he said vaguely. “But it wouldn’t affect our town.”
“Are you so sure?”
“Of course!” Purvis looked upset and blustered. “As you know, we protect and serve only our own.”
Ellen could not have failed to detect the emphasis this man placed on his last three words, or the very obvious reference to her unpleasant situation.
Before she could think of a reply, he added, “And you are one of our own, are you not, Ellen?”
Momentarily at a loss for words and filled with foreboding, she remained silent with her hands clenched in her lap.
“Dear Mrs. Johnson,” he said, sensing a moment of vulnerability, “why are you making things so hard for yourself? If we were wed . . . and our farms combined . . . we would become the biggest and most successful farm in Genoa. And our houses . . . .”
“My house!” she cried.
“Yes, your house,” he said soothingly, “would remain your house. Perhaps you would enjoy the company of my Rebecca and her two daughters and . . .”
“No,” she blurted out. “And I do like and respect all of your wives, Mr. Purvis, but I will not live with them.”
“That would be perfectly acceptable, I think. However, your property and my property would be joined. And there is one more very important consideration.”
The Mother Lode Page 6