Homecoming Girls

by Val Wood

  He pursed his mouth and nodded. ‘Better’n I was five minutes ago. You?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, and wondered why she felt so breathless. ‘I’m well.’

  He put down the adze and she went towards the bench. ‘What are you making?’

  ‘A crib. It’s for a friend o’ mine who’s expecting a happy event.’

  ‘Good. You heard, then? Are you – keeping busy?’ She felt the need for small talk until she had accustomed herself to his nearness and they were back on their old easy footing.

  ‘Aye. I’ve been working on a new idea.’

  ‘Oh? What sort of idea?’

  ‘I’d like to set up a larger warehouse; a business where other craftsmen and toymakers could either work alongside us, or send their work to be displayed. Sort of like a large shop where ’public can come in and watch us work and buy our products. I’ve been thinking about it and planning while you’ve been away. No distractions, you see.’

  ‘Did I distract you?’ she asked, almost holding her breath.

  ‘You know that you did; just as Dan was distracted by Jewel, except that he now loves somebody else, whereas I . . .’

  She gazed at him. ‘What will you call this idea of yours?’

  ‘Toy Town Incorporated.’ He came slowly round the bench towards her.

  ‘TTI,’ she said softly. ‘The children will love it.’

  He took hold of her hands and gazed at her. ‘This has been ’longest time of my life.’

  ‘Has it?’ she whispered. ‘And yet you let me leave without saying anything?’

  He continued looking at her, his eyes sweeping her face. When he spoke his voice was warm and sure. ‘You had to go on this journey, Clara, in order to know yourself. It wasn’t only Jewel who was looking for answers. If I’d spoken earlier to say I loved you, you’d never have known if there was someone else that you might have loved more than me.’

  ‘But there isn’t and never was,’ she whispered.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  She thought of Jim Crowfoot and the impossibility of loving him and Thomas seemed to sense the hesitation. ‘Not someone you might have loved?’

  ‘More than you?’ Clara smiled. ‘No.’

  ‘Can I kiss you?’ he asked, fingering her cheek.

  ‘Do you need to ask?’

  ‘Aye, I do. I tek nothing for granted.’ But he bent forward before she could reply and gently kissed her lips. ‘I’ve wanted to do that for so long,’ he whispered into her ear as he drew her close.

  Clara closed her eyes. ‘And I’ve been waiting,’ she murmured. ‘Longer than I even knew.’

  He held her at arms’ length. ‘I’m not like our Dan, all hot air and exuberant passion. My love for you has been smouldering for years.’ He put his head back and laughed. ‘A red-hot fire beneath a volcano!’

  She laughed too and they rocked in each other’s arms. ‘And I have no means of putting out the fire!’

  ‘We’d best get wed then as fast as we can,’ he said, kissing her again. ‘Or else we might burn.’

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  Jewel sat in her room at the Dreumel Marius and reread Clara’s letter. It was the second she had received from her cousin since she had left for England and home. The first was to tell her about her engagement to Thomas and their wedding plans for the summer, and the new business that Thomas was planning. This one was to tell her of the safe arrival of Elizabeth’s son, born in January in the house in Albion Street.

  Jewel smiled and heaved a sigh. How lovely. She recalled her own happy childhood in the house and was pleased that once again there would be the sound of a child’s voice echoing round the rooms. Now she was about to write to give Clara the news from Dreumel’s Creek.

  I have delayed writing, she wrote, as the doctor told Mama that he thought the baby would be early, and she was. Three weeks ago, Mama was safely delivered of a daughter. Mama was quite weak, but the doctor says she is now making a good recovery and she is deliriously happy. The babe is to be named Clarissa after the aunt who brought Mama up when she was a child. She’s the most adorable baby ever, so tiny and sweet, and it’s going to break my heart to leave her. Oh, now I’m giving away what I am about to write!

  As I look out of my window I see Dan going by, driving a horse and waggon. The snow is still very thick here but he is clearing the site in Yeller where he and Caitlin are to build a house. Caitlin is still managing the hotel but come spring Mr Adams is coming from the New York Marius to take over from her. Then Dan and Caitlin have plans for their toyshop, which I’m sure will be very popular, and I understand they will also sell small items of furniture suitable for children. Dan’s hopes for a gold or pyrite strike came to nothing, unfortunately, although he seems quite unperturbed about it. I think he feels lucky with what he has.

  The winter has been exceptionally hard here and we were completely cut off for several weeks, but eventually the men from both towns were able to dig a track through, with just enough room for a horse and waggon to pass along.

  But as I speak of the winter snows, I come to the most important part of my letter, and yet I don’t quite know where to start. But perhaps at the beginning, which was in San Francisco about a month ago . . .

  Maria and Pinyin were together in the kitchen behind the restaurant. Maria was leaning on the pastry table, her knuckles clenched into fists and her mouth set in a pinched line. Pinyin had both hands on his slim hips, but one also held his wide chopping blade. Had it slipped it would have sliced through his foot.

  ‘What am I to do with him?’ Maria muttered. ‘That boy is driving me crazy.’

  ‘I’ve told you. Tell him to go!’ Pinyin gazed expressionlessly at Maria, yet his black eyes flashed. ‘He’s no good to anyone right now.’

  Maria straightened up and looked at him. ‘How will we manage?’

  ‘We’ll manage.’ Pinyin put down the blade and started to empty a basket of onions, carrots, garlic and tomatoes on to a chopping board.

  Maria gave a little smile and reflected on how often she had sought advice from Pinyin. She remembered the first time he had come to the bakery begging for a job. She had given him the chance against her husband’s wishes, for he was willing to work for next to nothing and she badly needed help. It wasn’t until some time later that she had realized he was watching over the baby next door. He’d taken the toddler Lorenzo to see the little girl and Edward had handed her to him. From behind the dividing wall in the yard she had seen Pinyin gently kiss the top of the baby’s head.

  At the time she had thought it an unusual thing for a young unmarried man to do, but now and again his sister Soong Daiyu had called to see him and Maria had noticed her too glancing across to the house next door; she put two and two together and realized that there was a slender link between them and the motherless child. But by then Pinyin had become inseparable from Lorenzo. He was the only one who could tame the tyrannical toddler, as he was then, moulding him to be the sweet-natured boy and gentle man that he was to become.

  ‘How?’ she asked him now as with deft fingers and swift movements he began chopping and slicing. Then she shrugged. ‘Not that we are so busy just now.’

  ‘Exactly so.’ Pinyin never paused for a moment and she marvelled at his dexterity. He had never, to her knowledge, cut himself. ‘I can cook and serve, you can cook and my sister can wash the dishes. If necessary my nephew Chen will help. He has worked in a restaurant.’

  Maria stared at him, her mouth parted. ‘But then it will be a Chinese restaurant!’

  ‘Italian and Chinese, yes.’ He didn’t lift his head but looked up at her from beneath his dark raised brows. ‘You may have a half-Chinese daughter one day. She might like Chinese food.’

  Maria sat down on the nearest stool. Lorenzo had not smiled since Jewel had left and even his friends had remarked on it, except Federico, who no longer came to visit. Christmas had been dismal and the two of them had eaten together after their customers had left with hardly a w
ord passing between them.

  ‘If it makes him happy,’ she said, ‘then that is what we must do. Otherwise he may never sing again.’

  And so Lorenzo was dispatched from San Francisco on the long journey towards the young woman whom he so desperately loved. Jewel had written to tell him of her journey to her home in the mountains and how much she was missing all her friends, Italian and Chinese, more than she could possibly say. He knew now what his mother had guessed, that Jewel’s mother was expecting a child and that this anticipated event had precipitated her early departure.

  She had written again to tell him of Clara’s engagement to someone she had known all her life, and he thought he had caught a sense of yearning within her words. Yet whenever he began a letter to her he was barely able to string a sentence together. In each one he wanted to tell her of his affection, yet dared not write the word love in case she should reject him, even though he felt she had given him some cause to hope by her sweetness towards him when she had been in his company. So instead he wrote of the weather, and about the restaurant, and of Soong Daiyu’s occasional visits, and oh, yes, he had added in one, hoping that she would read the hidden message between the lines, Madre has begun lighting a fire several times a week in your house; she says to keep it aired for when, or if, you should return, which I hope with all my heart that you will.

  Jewel had described the snow in the valley, and so before he began packing warm clothes for his hurried departure he wrote a hasty letter to her to say that he was travelling to New York and would like to call at Dreumel’s Creek to see her, as if it were a mere street away rather than another day’s journey.

  ‘Madre!’ he said, kissing his mother’s cheek as he left. ‘I might not return alone, do you realize that? Can you manage without me? It could be some time before my return.’

  ‘Go!’ She gave him a push towards the door. ‘Do whatever you must. Take care. Be happy again.’

  He smiled at that and climbed into the cab. Pinyin ran alongside, planning to help Lorenzo with his trunk at the station and make sure that he got on the train and didn’t have second thoughts about his mission.

  The first two days of the journey passed pleasantly. Lorenzo played cards with other passengers in his carriage, of which there were six, two of them being elderly ladies. He joined in the singing and was commended for his fine voice. They arranged a duty roster for cooking so that they didn’t all crowd into the tiny kitchen at the same time, and Lorenzo was very popular as his mother had sent him off with enough food to last a week, which he shared. Others had brought ready-cooked joints of beef and chicken, which were sliced and handed round. Some had brought jerked meat, which he found almost inedibly tough; others distributed tinned fruit and sweet cake.

  He watched from the windows as they followed the route through the high sierras, two additional engines enabling them to travel at reasonable speed through the long snow sheds, but when they came out of them, even with the additional engines they travelled so slowly through the high terrain that he and two of the men left the train and walked for an hour, savouring the exercise and the clean sharp air. Lorenzo marvelled at the beauty of the peaks and the white clouds which drifted above them and saw in the far distance herds of buffalo crossing the plain.

  As they neared Ogden, the sky darkened and it began to rain, which turned to sleet and then snow. Lorenzo peered out of the rattling window, feeling the draught blowing in, and saw that the high ridges were white with snow. He fished around in his travelling bag for a warm scarf to wrap round his neck, and went towards the kitchen to make a hot drink.

  One of the other men, Henry, was doing the same and the kettle was already steaming. ‘Here,’ he said. ‘I’ve just made coffee, enough for two.’

  Lorenzo thanked him and asked if he travelled this route often.

  ‘Sure. Do it three or four times a year, though I try not to come in winter. The snow gets pretty bad on the other side of Ogden. Hope you’ve got some sturdy boots!’

  ‘I haven’t,’ Lorenzo confessed. ‘I’ve never seen snow. I’ve lived all my life in San Francisco, seen fog and rain and felt earthquakes, but never seen snow.’

  Henry took a gulp of coffee. ‘Then you’ve sure got an experience coming. Be warned.’

  They shivered in the station house in Ogden, though there was hot food to eat. A train with another crew was due in two hours, but by now there was a blizzard blowing and Henry reckoned it would be late, which it was. Three hours later they were taking it in turns to sit or stand near the stove. The second-class passengers stayed on the first train, for they had no money to buy food and were therefore not invited by the railroad porters or conductors to share the fire.

  Another hour went by and the ladies in their party were becoming distressed by the cold. The men gave up their places by the fire and Lorenzo and another man went out to forage for more wood to burn and to persuade the railroad men to come out of their hut and bring more coal, which they did, although reluctantly.

  When the train finally arrived, they were told that the delay had been because of an overturned engine on the line, which had to be moved before any other transport could get through.

  ‘There are snow drifts six foot high,’ one of the drivers said. ‘Never seen such snow before! We’ll need all the manpower we can get.’ They organized a work train with another six railmen on board to accompany them back down the line; the passengers piled back in the carriages, the ladies deciding to take to their beds in an attempt to get warm.

  They all agreed that the next two days were a nightmare. The train stopped and started and the railroad men were kept constantly busy clearing the line of snow, which they shovelled to the side of the track. A blizzard was blowing and it seemed that as fast as they cleared the snow more came down. The railroad men from the work train grumbled at the extra labour, complaining that their wages didn’t cover situations like this. Lorenzo, Henry and another man from their carriage put on their coats and volunteered to help in order to keep moving, clearing the snow with shovels and pieces of wood.

  They moved on for another two hours before once again coming to a halt. By now it was dark and the railmen were exhausted and unwilling to continue; the volunteers came back on board, their clothing wet through, the ladies gave them hot soup to warm them and they all took to their beds. From the safety of their bunks they heard the howl of wolves.

  ‘This I do for you, Jewel,’ Lorenzo murmured as he huddled beneath his blanket. His ears were burning from the driving snow. ‘Never in my life have I been so cold.’

  The next morning the blizzard was still blowing and the line was blocked by snowdrifts. Other passengers volunteered to help clear it; it was at least a way of keeping warm. Henry said they were about an hour’s walk from the nearest town and he was willing to go for supplies if someone else would come too in case of difficulty.

  Lorenzo agreed to go with him but by now his leather boots were soaking wet; another passenger offered to lend him his waterproof galoshes if they would fit, which they did, and he and Henry set off in the face of a blinding gale-force wind. It took them nearly two hours to get to the town, but they bought enough bread for everyone in their carriage, as well as extra tea, coffee, biscuits and muffins. Both men were warm though tired when they returned to find the line had been cleared and they had another two or three miles of walking as the train had moved on without them.

  And so it continued for two more days and nights and it seemed as if the journey was never going to end, but the conductor came to tell them that they would move much faster once they reached the state of New York, which they should do in two days. This cheered everyone immensely until the following afternoon, when once more they were beset by blizzards and a blocked line. Lorenzo and Henry were dispatched to the nearest town to ask for extra men to help clear the snow, and a gang of twenty came back with them, armed with shovels and spades. Within two hours they were once more on their way.

  As they rolled into New York Gr
and Central everyone shook hands and it felt as if they were parting from dear friends. Lorenzo asked about accommodation and was directed to an establishment close by the station. He paid for a meal and a hot bath, fell into his bed and slept for twelve hours whilst the laundry service washed all the clothes he had been wearing and dried out his boots.

  When he felt human again, he enquired of the desk clerk at the railroad terminus regarding trains to Dreumel’s Creek. The clerk shook his head. ‘Never heard of it. Is it in the Appalachians? Up Ohio way?’

  ‘I guess so,’ Lorenzo agreed, but he’d never thought to look on a map. He only knew that Jewel had travelled by way of New York.

  ‘Hey, buddy,’ the clerk called to a colleague. ‘You ever heard of Dreumel’s Creek up Ohio way?’

  The other clerk came over. ‘Isn’t that somewhere near where they had a fire? Where a town got burnt down?’

  ‘Yes,’ Lorenzo said eagerly. ‘It is. The town’s called Yeller.’

  The second clerk pursed his lips and shook his head. ‘We ain’t got a line going that way.’

  ‘Why d’ya want to go there if it’s bin burnt down?’ the first clerk asked quizzically. ‘You planning on building there?’

  ‘No,’ Lorenzo said patiently. ‘I don’t want to go to Yeller. I want to go to Dreumel’s Creek.’

  ‘Best go by Woodsville then,’ the two men agreed. ‘Then by coach,’ said one. ‘But if it’s the place I think it is, you might not get through,’ said the other. ‘They get a good deal of snow up there.’

  Lorenzo sighed and said he’d buy a ticket anyway, but was told he’d have to wait until morning as the last train to Woodsville had already left and there wasn’t another that day. He went back to the hotel, booked for another night, ate another mediocre meal and went back to bed.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  Lorenzo did not think it possible to have another such gruelling experience of rail travel. But the journey to Woodsville almost equalled that of the Transcontinental in its arduousness. It took a whole day to Fort Duquesne, where they were due to change trains for the final trek to Woodsville, but again the line was blocked in several places by deep snow which had to be cleared before further progress could be made. The train they should have caught had already left without them and so passengers slept on board until the morning, huddled into their coats and blankets. When the next train arrived it was cold and draughty and there was no food, only tea and coffee, and Lorenzo had omitted to buy any supplies whilst in New York.