"Missus Murphy.” His eyes wandered again. “Funny, her meat was actually sweet to the taste."
My hand lashed.
Keseberg staggered back and rubbed his cheek. “I underestimate your strength, young one. But it's a bit hypocritical, don't you think?"
"What's that supposed to mean?” My voice cracked with rage.
His smile deepened. “Virginia. Half the party died in the Sierra Nevadas. The Donners are still up there—their scattered bones, anyway."
"Shut your mouth!"
"Weren't the Donners your friends? Didn't you all come from Illinois in the same wagon train?"
I could only give a strangled hiss.
"And what did you feel when you placed their flesh on the fire and ate it? You hate me because you can't bear your own guilt."
I glanced around. The dirt street and boardwalks were still empty. “Turn your other cheek, Keseberg. My Christian attitude just ran out."
Keseberg laughed. “Why are you acting so righteous? Who are you trying to impress?” He glanced at the fort's muster hall where the Catholic ladies were meeting. “Were you going to that Catholic sitzung? You still think you saw God in the mountains? How arrogant! The rest of us met the devil and you met God. Well, don't waste your time—the Catholics don't take cannibals."
"I never did. I never did!” Fury was making me light-headed so I turned and stalked down the boardwalk. It was too late to make a dignified entrance to the meeting, and I was too angry to make good company.
Keseberg called after me. “The end of the world is at hand! California will eat her whole!"
* * * *
I spotted a work-hand as I rode up to the church. He was set to chopping away at the brush creeping up on the north wall. The poor man was overmatched, with nothing but a tomahawk he must have bought before coming over the mountains. He hacked away as if he could hold back nature. Two miles from the fort, nature was still in charge.
I gave a start when he turned. It was Father O'Rourke, sweat soaking through the chest and armpits of his white shirt.
He smiled. “Thought I heard a horse. I was hoping it was Charles Murphy coming to help me with this overgrowth. How are you, Virginia?"
He had a sing-song accent just like Papa's—straight from Ireland.
I dismounted and tied Jeebers to the picket fence that bordered the church grounds. “I'm fine, Father. And I'll be glad to help."
He looked me up and down. “Not in that nice dress you're not."
He took off his work gloves and sat on the church stoop. I joined him.
"Did you bring a letter from your father?"
I shook my head. “Papa's being stubborn."
"He's Irish Protestant, isn't he?"
"Yes."
There was a strange sadness in the Father's eyes. “I'll still need his permission to continue with your conversion. Otherwise, you'll have to wait until you're older."
"I'll work on him,” I said, brushing road dust off my dress. “I thought you were a work-hand when I first rode up."
He glanced at the overgrowth. “Lost my trunk on the voyage to New York. It had all of my frocks in it. The Church was in such a hurry to get more priests into California, I didn't have time to get new ones. The one I use now is borrowed from Father Rodriguez."
"Maybe Missus Mora could make you a new one."
He shook his head. “I left my measurements with a priest in New York. He'll send some new ones along soon enough.” He looked at me. “Speaking of Missus Mora, she said you didn't come to the Catholic ladies meeting yesterday. If you want to show God your commitment, you'll have to try harder than that."
"I had a run-in with Louis Keseberg. I should've ignored him, but I let him bait me. He said I was a cannibal, same as him.” I looked into the Father's eyes. “I slapped him, and I'm truly repentant."
I had the impression he was holding back a laugh. “There'll be plenty of confessions in your future. No one is without sin. We'll worry about penance after you become a Catholic."
"Do you think I'm a cannibal, Father?"
"No, lass. If you say you're not, then I believe you."
"Do you believe in the devil? A real flesh-and-bone monster who wants to destroy God's creation?"
He gave me a long look. “You have to ask? I'm a priest."
"That's good. Because I do too. He did horrible things up in the mountains. I saw it. And I think he's here among us in California."
"You're talking about this gold find, aren't you?"
I nodded.
He looked over my shoulder toward the mountains. “On that we agree, lass. I've seen sensible men leave their jobs and families and go traipsing off with nothing more than a mule and a pick. All in search of a golden idol."
"But I've seen God too. I've seen Him beat the devil."
He smiled. “This part of the story I've heard from Patrick Breen."
"And none better to tell it,” I said. “Every night while we were stuck in the mountains, Mama and I would go to Mister Breen's cabin—mind you, we'd run out of food weeks earlier and were down to eating tree bark and tallow. He'd pull out his Bible and find a verse that gave us enough strength to face another day. Then he'd end the night with a prayer, but not any ‘thank you kindly, Lord’ everyday prayer. He'd belt out a thank you so full of happiness it would scare the wolves away from the cattle bones. And he'd wail about the sinfulness of mankind as to make you wish you could crawl under a rock. By the time he'd finish, we were so full of Spirit the skin hanging off our bones and the barren state of our bellies were no longer a burden."
"And that's when you made your vow? That's when you decided to become a Catholic?"
"Yes. Mister Breen was Catholic, and I thought if being a Catholic made you that strong, so strong you could stand up to starvation while others had taken to eating the dead, then that was the religion for me."
"I have great respect for Mister Breen,” Father O'Rourke said. “An Irishman cut from the old cloth like my own pap. He'd be so proud of you now."
"It does my heart good that you say so, Father. But the true nature of my visit is this Eucharist business."
He raised an eyebrow.
"I'm told it's the consumption of the flesh of Christ."
Understanding seemed to take hold in his face. “Put your heart at rest, lass. It's not cannibalism."
"But it is the eating of His flesh, isn't it? No symbolism in the Catholic faith. ‘Take, eat. This is my body,’ He said."
His smile now looked practiced. “It's consumption of His spiritual flesh, not His physical flesh. It is a gift He left us to experience His divine nature on Earth. Don't fret."
"But I do fret, Father, I made another vow to God in the mountains—that I would never eat human flesh. I don't make such vows lightly."
"Nor should you, lass. But it's not cannibalism."
"Did God's son come to us in the flesh?"
He nodded, no longer smiling.
"When you bless the bread, is it just bread or is it Christ?"
"It is Christ. But Virginia, to become a Catholic, at some point you must partake in the Eucharist."
I looked away. “My vows are at odds."
Father O'Rourke put his work gloves back on and stood. “Then you must choose."
* * * *
I liked Saturdays. The school at Sutter's Fort was closed on the weekend, and on sunny days Papa would let me take Jeebers to the Sacramento River and I'd fish the day away. Funny—Captain Sutter tried to name it Sutter's River when he was building the fort so many years ago. Mrs. Mora told me the Spanish would have none of that. They told the Captain their ancestors had named it nearly a hundred years earlier, and that was that.
But today was no day for fishing. I got out of bed, put on a dress, and went to look for Mama. I found her hoeing in the garden.
"About time you woke up. Get a hoe and start at the far side of that row of beans."
I picked up a hoe, but I started on the closer end of the row.
&n
bsp; If she noticed, she didn't say anything. Her face was well shaded by a straw bonnet, and she kept her eyes on her work, pounding away at weeds and dirt clods. The hem of her blue dress was tinged brown with dust.
"Mama?"
"Hm?"
"You remember back in the mountains, right at Christmas time?"
She didn't look up. “You know I don't like talking about the mountains."
"I know, but this is important. Do you remember? It was right after Betsy Donner died. I thought you'd be too sad to even remember Christmas, but the next day, you put on your best smile and cooked us a Christmas meal."
"I don't remember.” Her voice was strange, hollow. She kept hoeing.
"How could you not remember? We hadn't eaten proper food in weeks, and we were living off tallow that made us sick half the time. And this Christmas meal comes out of nowhere like a gift from heaven."
She worked faster and began to move away.
I threw down my hoe and marched in front of her.
She stopped and looked at me. Her eyes were wide and her face frozen.
"That Christmas stew, Mama. The onions were mostly rotten and the broth was made from boiled leather, but where did that meat come from?"
"Tripe from the oxen.” Her words were a tremble, just above a whisper.
"It wasn't tripe!” I grabbed her hoe and yanked it out of her hands and threw it aside.
She stepped back and tried to hide a grimace and welling tears with her hands.
"There was blood-meat in that stew, Mama. Where'd it come from?"
"Oh honey. You've got to understand. We were going to die. I had to."
I couldn't stop my own tears. “What did you do, Mama?” I grabbed her shoulders. “What did you do to me?"
"It was Billy. I'm so sorry ... sorry.” She took a long suck of air and sobbed.
I let her go. “Billy?"
She dropped her hands and nodded, still crying. “I remembered where he'd died in the fall. I didn't have to dig through much snow since the wolves had done most of the work for me. They'd made off with most of the meat, but there was a clump of flesh left that was good for eating.” She looked me in the eyes. “It was Christmas, Virginia. I had to make it special."
"Billy?” I started to laugh.
Mama looked at me, sniffling. When my laughing didn't stop, she planted her fists on her hips. “Have you gone crazy, girl? I just told you the most God-awful secret I kept buried in my heart and all you can do is laugh."
I recovered enough to fetch Mama's hoe and hand it back to her. “I just found out I ate my own pony.” I picked up my hoe. “I feel like the weight of the world's been lifted off my shoulders."
Mama wiped her nose, gave me a cross look, and went back to work. “I suppose this has something to do with this Catholic nonsense you've taken up. Did that priest tell you to go and scare the dickens out of your mother?"
"It does have something to do with this Catholic business, and no, Father O'Rourke wouldn't ask anyone to do such a horrible thing. It's just...."
"What?"
"Nothing. I mean, I'm sorry for scaring you, and you did the right thing putting poor old Billy in the stew. I loved him, but there was no sense in us starving while the wolves were getting fat."
We worked away in silence for a little while.
"Your papa and I had a little talk this morning before he set off for the mill."
I stopped hoeing. “And?"
"Well, we both agreed that you're becoming a young lady now, and that you're not likely to let go of this Catholic vow of yours."
I held my breath.
"You're old enough to make this decision on your own. He wrote a letter for the priest and put it on the table."
I dropped my hoe and charged for the house. I heard Mama call after me. “You can't finish your hoeing first?"
I didn't answer. I found the letter and ran to the stable for Jeebers. Mama was still in the garden gawking at me as I rode by. “I'll be back in an hour, I promise.” I dug my heels into Jeebers and shouted. “Thank you, Mama! And tell Papa I love him!"
* * * *
"Virginia Reed! Stop riding that horse like a man!"
"I'm sorry, Sister Beatrice.” I really wasn't sorry. Not even Catholic yet and I was piling up sins like an undertaker piling up gold teeth.
I dismounted and pushed my dress down to cover my legs. I'd forgotten about putting on riding trousers under my dress when I started out. Had there been soldiers about when I rode into the fort, I would've dismounted at the gate and led Jeebers in by the rein. Marriage proposals were one thing; I could brush those off by the bushel. But I didn't know what I'd do if a soldier tried to encourage some sort of base behavior from me. Maybe I'd run away. Maybe I'd slap him like I did Louis Keseberg.
As it was, the soldiers were still neglecting their duties and out digging for gold. All I had to endure was a cross Sister Beatrice.
I held tight to Jeebers even though he was in no mood for wandering. I'd given him quite a ride from home. “I'm trying to find Father O'Rourke. No one answered at his cabin so I came to the fort hoping he was here.” I knew he sometimes held meetings with the Sisters at their dormitory on the fort grounds, and I didn't want to ride the extra miles to the church if I could help it.
The Sister's eyes blazed. “I should speak to your mother about your poor habits. Half the men around here haven't seen an unmarried woman for over a year. If they catch a glimpse of you with your dress hiked up over your knees...."
"Please, Sister Beatrice. I have to find the Father. My papa is letting me join the church."
The Sister worked her jaw in silence and gave me a cold stare. “Well, everyone is looking for the Father. He's at church, so you've got two miles to practice ladylike riding."
"Thank you.” I led Jeebers toward the fort's gate. I was in too much of a hurry for ladylike riding, so I'd have to mount up out of the Sister's sight.
Something tickled my interest. I turned. “Sister?"
"Yes?"
"What did you mean when you said everyone was looking for the Father?"
"I mean that Louis Keseberg was looking for him all morning. Louis said he needed to be baptized a Catholic right away. Said he was dying or some such nonsense, and wanted to leave this world as a Christian.” The Sister rolled her eyes. “He looked perfectly healthy to me."
"Louis Keseberg?"
She nodded. “That's why Father O'Rourke is at the church. He and Louis went out there for a baptism."
I patted Jeeber's neck to help calm my nerves. “Are they alone?"
"Yes.” She paused and shook her head. “I mean no. Sister Rosa should be there this time of day. It's her turn to clean the church."
I didn't care if Sister Beatrice saw my bare legs. I ignored her yells as I kicked Jeebers into a gallop.
* * * *
I saw rising smoke as I neared the church, and I was afraid I'd find nothing but charred timbers. When I arrived, the church was safe and sound. The smoke was coming from behind the building.
I tied off Jeebers, picked up a stout branch good for hitting, and ran around back.
There was Louis Keseberg, sitting on a log, as pleased as a cat with a mouse. He whistled a tune as he roasted a piece of meat at the end of a stick over a fire, which he must have built from the remnants of the church's construction. Two daggers were propped on a log next to him, both forged of black steel that glinted razor sharp. Their hilts looked of ivory, carved in the shape of some tormented soul in the last throes of life. They gave me a chill.
A groan caused me to turn toward the back wall of the church. There was Father O'Rourke, tied and laying on the ground. Blood leaked from his forehead, and there were red splatters on his white vestments. His eyes slowly drifted in my direction. “Run, Virginia. Get to the fort.” His voice was weak and raspy.
Keseberg quit his whistling and turned to look at me. “Ah, Virginia. Fate decreed you would come, although I'm often a Doubting Thomas. Come ha
ve lunch with me.” He withdrew the meat from the fire and poked at it with his finger.
My heart raced and I gripped my branch with both hands. “Keseberg, what have you done?” My voice sounded strange—high and shrill.
"It's not so much what I've done, but what you're going to do. You wanted to join God's army since the mountains—indeed, you were meant to join, but Mister Breen got in the way. He may have put this Catholic obsession in your head, but fate won't be denied."
I took a step forward and raised the branch. He was a good twenty feet away and could reach those knives before I got a lick at him. “God's army? You've been hand-in-hand with the devil all this time, haven't you?"
Keseberg extended the meat back into the flames. “God ... the devil. Really competing gods. Don't you find it ironic that they both require cannibalism of their soldiers? Maybe it's more than ironic. In any case, my god was quite upset that you denied him in the mountains. It seems there's something very special in you, though for the life of me, I can't see it."
He examined the meat again and turned to me. “It's time for you to join, Virginia."
My breath caught as I got a good look at the meat. I had seen its like before. I looked at Father O'Rourke, but other than a nasty gash on the forehead, he seemed fine.
"Run, lass,” he said. “Stop thinking about it."
Keseberg laughed. “She won't run.” Quick as a snake, he snatched up one of the knives and pointed it toward the Father, who lay about ten feet away. “She knows what I'll do to you if she does."
I forced myself to breathe. I had left all my tears in the mountains, but I had hate to burn. I imagined it showed in my eyes. “Where's Sister Rosa?"
Keseberg kept the knife poised at Father O'Rourke. “Where does one make a sacrifice? On the altar, my dear."
I ran to the church's back door.
"Don't look, Virginia,” Father O'Rourke said. “It's horrible."
I opened the door and entered. It was horrible. For all the sharpness of those knives, Keseberg had been savage with the Sister's innards. I had once seen a sheep carcass after coyotes had finished with it. Very similar. Keseberg had even used part of the Sister's offal as a garland around the crucifix.
Father O'Rourke probably expected wailing when I came back outside, but I was sure Keseberg knew better. He now stood over the Father with the knife ready to strike. “Throw the branch on the fire, Virginia."
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