Like a River Glorious
Page 81
“I like that plan,” Jefferson says.
Tom shakes his head. “Lee, you must take this seriously. I wouldn’t be surprised if your uncle’s patron, the one to whom he owed thousands of dollars, will insist you make good on your uncle’s debt. If you don’t go to him, he could come to us. The law regarding property is still unsettled here, and he could find a way to take everything we’ve built. Everything.”
I look around at their anxious faces. “I won’t let that happen.”
Becky Joyner reaches over and squeezes my hand gratefully.
James Henry Hardwick, I say to myself. I frown at the invitation. It’s not from Hardwick officially, but it might as well be.
“It feels like a trap,” Jefferson says, echoing my thoughts.
“Whatever you decide, be wary,” Jasper says, and there’s a murmured chorus of agreement.
And that gets me thinking.
Maybe I’m the one they should be wary of. Maybe I’m the one who will spring a trap. And maybe being surrounded by friends is making me brash, but an idea has come knocking, and I know I have to try. All I need is money. Lots of money. Money is no trouble for a witchy girl, right? But even a witchy girl needs time, and I have none.
I lift my head from the letter and look at everyone in the group, meeting them eye to eye, and I make up my mind.
I say, “I’m going to need your help.”
We spend all of the next day feverishly preparing. Everyone wants to come with me, except Becky, who doesn’t want to leave her children or her thriving business, and Hampton, who has no time for “dancing and frippery.” It turns out, he’s going to go broke buying his wife’s freedom and paying for her passage on a steamship. Her name is Adelaide, and Tom thinks he can arrange to get her here by next year. Hampton wants to have his stake built back up by then.
Becky gives me a gown she brought west for a special occasion. “I’m glad I saved it from the fire, but it’s no good to me now,” she says, holding it up against me to eyeball the fit. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, made of sheened yellow silk, with a tiny pointed waist and a full swishing skirt. It will practically shimmer by lantern light, almost golden.
“You might need it someday,” I insist. “We still have to make that trip to San Francisco, remember? To get your home out of impound.”
She smiles. “I am home.”
The way she looks at me, her eyes shining but a little bit shy, her smile questioning, it’s like she needs me to take this dress from her. I wonder if it’s a bit of an apology, for everything that happened along the trail. “In that case, I thank you, Becky.”
“Maybe I’ll go to the ball next year, when Olive and Andy are a bit older and I don’t have a baby who wants to nurse every waking moment.”
“I’d love that,” I say, giving her arm a squeeze.
Her face grows serious. “Let’s just hope this gown helps you do your business.”
Together we take in the dress a smidge at the waist, and take up the hem an inch. We work in silence, each of us too aware of all that is at stake.
Jefferson, Jasper, and the Major are in charge of taking up a collection. They visit every single person with a nearby claim to tell them the plan and ask for a donation. The town seems to have acquired a few folks not interested in gold at all, like a dentist and the new blacksmith. Almost everyone cheerfully donates, but I can’t imagine it will be nearly enough.
But we don’t have any other choice. It will have to do.
I will have to do.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
In the afternoon, as the sun is arching down toward the big valley, Jefferson and I steal away to our claims. We make sure no one is around to see, then we sit down together beside the creek. “You don’t need to do this, Lee,” Jefferson says, and he has a smile on his face, like he knows something I don’t.
“I do,” I insist. “I need the money. Badly. And I have to know whether or not I can control it. I can’t let anyone else get hurt.”
“If you say so.”
I close my eyes and call to the gold. I’m careful this time, selective. I don’t rumble the gold in the ground under my legs or in the cliffs to our left. Instead, I reach for surface gold—powder and specks and a few tiny nuggets.
“It’s working,” Jefferson says, his voice full of wonder. “You’re covered in gold again.”
I open my eyes. Gold coats my arms, my skirt, everything. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?” I ask, peering into his face. Last time, I’m sure I injured people as the gold flew through the air, impacting or maybe even piercing skin.
“Not even a little. But look.” He points to the grassy creek bank. It’s no longer a smooth, round hill, but rather a series of smaller hillocks, as though the mud tried to ripple toward me. “You’ll get better with practice,” he says.
Together we scrape the gold from my skin and shake it from my hair. We lose a bit in the process, but it’s no matter. We’ll just mark the spot and pan it out later. I suppose we could retrieve it with mercury, but truth be told, after what happened to the Indians, I may never use mercury again.
“How much do you think we got?” Jefferson asks.
I heft the bag of gold dust in my hand, reaching with my witchy sense to get a feel for its purity and weight. “About three hundred dollars’ worth,” I guess.
Jefferson whistles. “In just one day!”
“I might have to witch up some more along the way,” I say glumly.
He laughs.
“What?” I say, frowning.
“You don’t need it.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Our collection. The good people of Glory donated everything you need. And more.”
I gape at him.
“Becky herself gave five hundred dollars. Said she’ll earn it back in a week. Turns out, people are coming from far and wide to visit the Worst Tavern.”
I can hardly breathe. “That’s so much money,” I choke out.
“Old Tug and the Buckeyes put together about six hundred between them. The college men each gave a hundred. The Major gave a bunch, even Hampton. And then all these strangers, people who wandered into town after we left, well, they gave us a heap of money and gold, too. Lee, we raised more than four thousand dollars. At least I think so. I’m not as good at estimating gold value as you are.”
Tom shakes his head. “Lee, you must take this seriously. I wouldn’t be surprised if your uncle’s patron, the one to whom he owed thousands of dollars, will insist you make good on your uncle’s debt. If you don’t go to him, he could come to us. The law regarding property is still unsettled here, and he could find a way to take everything we’ve built. Everything.”
I look around at their anxious faces. “I won’t let that happen.”
Becky Joyner reaches over and squeezes my hand gratefully.
James Henry Hardwick, I say to myself. I frown at the invitation. It’s not from Hardwick officially, but it might as well be.
“It feels like a trap,” Jefferson says, echoing my thoughts.
“Whatever you decide, be wary,” Jasper says, and there’s a murmured chorus of agreement.
And that gets me thinking.
Maybe I’m the one they should be wary of. Maybe I’m the one who will spring a trap. And maybe being surrounded by friends is making me brash, but an idea has come knocking, and I know I have to try. All I need is money. Lots of money. Money is no trouble for a witchy girl, right? But even a witchy girl needs time, and I have none.
I lift my head from the letter and look at everyone in the group, meeting them eye to eye, and I make up my mind.
I say, “I’m going to need your help.”
We spend all of the next day feverishly preparing. Everyone wants to come with me, except Becky, who doesn’t want to leave her children or her thriving business, and Hampton, who has no time for “dancing and frippery.” It turns out, he’s going to go broke buying his wife’s freedom and paying for her passage on a steamship. Her name is Adelaide, and Tom thinks he can arrange to get her here by next year. Hampton wants to have his stake built back up by then.
Becky gives me a gown she brought west for a special occasion. “I’m glad I saved it from the fire, but it’s no good to me now,” she says, holding it up against me to eyeball the fit. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, made of sheened yellow silk, with a tiny pointed waist and a full swishing skirt. It will practically shimmer by lantern light, almost golden.
“You might need it someday,” I insist. “We still have to make that trip to San Francisco, remember? To get your home out of impound.”
She smiles. “I am home.”
The way she looks at me, her eyes shining but a little bit shy, her smile questioning, it’s like she needs me to take this dress from her. I wonder if it’s a bit of an apology, for everything that happened along the trail. “In that case, I thank you, Becky.”
“Maybe I’ll go to the ball next year, when Olive and Andy are a bit older and I don’t have a baby who wants to nurse every waking moment.”
“I’d love that,” I say, giving her arm a squeeze.
Her face grows serious. “Let’s just hope this gown helps you do your business.”
Together we take in the dress a smidge at the waist, and take up the hem an inch. We work in silence, each of us too aware of all that is at stake.
Jefferson, Jasper, and the Major are in charge of taking up a collection. They visit every single person with a nearby claim to tell them the plan and ask for a donation. The town seems to have acquired a few folks not interested in gold at all, like a dentist and the new blacksmith. Almost everyone cheerfully donates, but I can’t imagine it will be nearly enough.
But we don’t have any other choice. It will have to do.
I will have to do.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
In the afternoon, as the sun is arching down toward the big valley, Jefferson and I steal away to our claims. We make sure no one is around to see, then we sit down together beside the creek. “You don’t need to do this, Lee,” Jefferson says, and he has a smile on his face, like he knows something I don’t.
“I do,” I insist. “I need the money. Badly. And I have to know whether or not I can control it. I can’t let anyone else get hurt.”
“If you say so.”
I close my eyes and call to the gold. I’m careful this time, selective. I don’t rumble the gold in the ground under my legs or in the cliffs to our left. Instead, I reach for surface gold—powder and specks and a few tiny nuggets.
“It’s working,” Jefferson says, his voice full of wonder. “You’re covered in gold again.”
I open my eyes. Gold coats my arms, my skirt, everything. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?” I ask, peering into his face. Last time, I’m sure I injured people as the gold flew through the air, impacting or maybe even piercing skin.
“Not even a little. But look.” He points to the grassy creek bank. It’s no longer a smooth, round hill, but rather a series of smaller hillocks, as though the mud tried to ripple toward me. “You’ll get better with practice,” he says.
Together we scrape the gold from my skin and shake it from my hair. We lose a bit in the process, but it’s no matter. We’ll just mark the spot and pan it out later. I suppose we could retrieve it with mercury, but truth be told, after what happened to the Indians, I may never use mercury again.
“How much do you think we got?” Jefferson asks.
I heft the bag of gold dust in my hand, reaching with my witchy sense to get a feel for its purity and weight. “About three hundred dollars’ worth,” I guess.
Jefferson whistles. “In just one day!”
“I might have to witch up some more along the way,” I say glumly.
He laughs.
“What?” I say, frowning.
“You don’t need it.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Our collection. The good people of Glory donated everything you need. And more.”
I gape at him.
“Becky herself gave five hundred dollars. Said she’ll earn it back in a week. Turns out, people are coming from far and wide to visit the Worst Tavern.”
I can hardly breathe. “That’s so much money,” I choke out.
“Old Tug and the Buckeyes put together about six hundred between them. The college men each gave a hundred. The Major gave a bunch, even Hampton. And then all these strangers, people who wandered into town after we left, well, they gave us a heap of money and gold, too. Lee, we raised more than four thousand dollars. At least I think so. I’m not as good at estimating gold value as you are.”
