Читать книгу Gold Rush Bride - Shirley Kennedy - Страница 10

Charles is dead. The dreadful truth hadn’t yet sunk in. Letty had to keep reminding herself. The package that contained his things sat undisturbed on the parlor floor for hours. Finally, she’d forced herself to carry it upstairs to his room. So far, she hadn’t cried, but tears pressed against her eyes as she sat on his bed and looked around at heart-twisting reminders: his bureau with the silver plated comb and brush set laid out just so; his James Audubon Bird of America prints hanging on the wall; his battered desk with its inkwell and plumed pen, sitting and waiting as if he were about to sit down and write another essay about marine invertebrates or minerals and gemstones. The room was the same as when he left. Other than an occasional dusting, they hadn’t touched a thing.

The tears pressed hard, but Millicent and William would be home soon, and she mustn’t give way now. She’d do something practical, like open the package and go through his things. Get the dismal task over and done with before Mother had to deal with it. She got a pair of scissors from Charles’s desk and cut the light rope that bound the package. With a resigned sigh, she opened it.

A small stack of his clothes lay on top, most she hadn’t seen, but the sight of the dark wool jacket he’d worn for years brought a lump to her throat. Everything could use a wash. Not like her fastidious brother to tolerate dirty clothes, but perhaps laundresses were scarce in the heights of the Sierra Nevada Mountains. Under his clothes lay a few small items he might have kept in his pockets: a few coins, comb, silver watch, small penknife. Next, she found his set of watercolors and brushes, then his leather-bound diary. Her anguish grew at the sight of it.

Oh, Charles.

She sank to the bed and turned to page one, dated February 15^th, 1851, the day he left Boston to sail around Cape Horn. Skimming through, she found some pages crammed with his meticulous handwriting, others nearly blank. That fit with what he’d told them in his letters, that sailing around Cape Horn involved a few days of high seas and excitement but many days when the ship was caught in the doldrums and hardly moved. Eager to see his last entries, she flipped to the end. But what was this? The last few pages were missing. Only jagged edges remained from where the paper had been torn from the binding. How disappointing. She would very much have wanted to read his last thoughts. Probably the bandits had ripped out the pages. How cruel and unnecessary.

A few sketches of birds lay at the bottom of the package. Charles was a great admirer of James Audubon and liked to sketch his own birds, no matter how busy he was. She laid out the sketches on the bed, along with all the contents of the package.

So this was all that remained of her brother. She wanted to fling herself on the bed and cry, but Mother needed her, and Millicent and William must be told the terrible news. Best to keep busy. She picked up the dark wool jacket. She’d have it cleaned, maybe give it to some poor soul who couldn’t afford a coat. She reached to check the pockets. In the first one she checked, her fingers curved around several folded sheets of paper. What was this? She pulled them from the pocket, unfolded and smoothed them out on the bed. One look and her heart slammed into her chest. Before her lay the legal claim to Golden Hill, a map of some sort and a letter from Charles.

Dear Family,

All is going well here. Nearby claims are just about worked out. Although I continue to find gold, my claim at Golden Hill will also soon be played out. I’m not worried, though. Far from it! My big news is that by sheer luck I have come across a fantastically rich vein of gold not far from my current claim. I’ve named it The Montezuma. These are dangerous times, what with all manner of scoundrels wanting to rob me and my fellow miners of everything we own. For my own safety, I must keep my discovery a secret. If all goes as planned, I shall begin mining operations as soon as I’ve arranged for the necessary protection. As an extra precaution, I’m enclosing my claim to Golden Hill and a map showing the location of The Montezuma. This site is rich beyond belief. In the unlikely event something should happen to me, guard it carefully.

I trust my deposits have reached the bank in a timely fashion. My good friend, Garth Morgan, has been most helpful in that regard and allows me to store my gold in his safe, prior to shipping. I’m about to head down the mountain and leave a considerable deposit at his hotel. He’s leaving for Boston tomorrow with his own gold shipment, and has kindly offered to take mine, too.

Keep the letters coming. I miss you all, and can only wish for your continued health and happiness. How I look forward to my return to Boston and my beloved family.

Your loving son & brother, Charles

Oh dear God. Pressing a hand to her mouth, Letty sank to the bed and unfolded the well-creased map. It appeared to be of his campsite with an arrow pointing to some sort of trail. A curvy line marked “Coyote Creek” ran through it. Farther on, he’d sketched the tiny figure of a blue bird, and farther on an “X.” Like “X” marks the spot? Hard to tell. From a distance of three thousand miles, she couldn’t begin to picture a mining claim high in the Sierra Nevada Mountains.

Dusk was falling, but she hardly noticed. In the darkening gloom, she clutched the pages. Killed him and hid his body. What with Mathew Hasting’s words drumming through her head, she could hardly think. And what was Charles’s letter all about? My good friend Garth Morgan... Fantastically rich vein of gold…

In the midst of the deep grief that possessed her, she couldn’t make sense of any of it and could only recognize, in the foggiest of ways, that from this day forward her life would never be the same.

On an ordinary evening, light chatter and laughter filled the Tinsley’s dining room. Tonight, Elfreda, the cook, prepared dinner as usual, but she shouldn’t have bothered. The family sat at the dinner table immersed in gloom, merely picking at their food. Letty had shown them Charles’s letter, as well as the map and claim, but so far no one had commented upon his finding a fantastically rich vein of gold. No one had gotten beyond the shock of hearing their beloved Charles was probably dead.

“I just can’t believe he’s gone,” Millicent finally said. Usually Letty’s younger sister provided high-spirited chatter throughout the meal. Tonight, eyes red from crying, she’d hardly spoken.

Letty’s heart went out to her little brother, who sat in disconsolate silence, not even pretending to eat. When given the awful news, he’d bravely fought back his tears. After Charles left, he’d done his best to be the man of the family, and that meant he wasn’t going to cry. But inside, his ten-year-old heart must be broken. William idolized his older brother, wanted to be like him in every way.

At last, Mother, her face pale and strained, laid her fork down and pushed her plate away. “I can’t eat.” Tears filled her eyes. “I feel so helpless. Why aren’t we doing something?”

Letty could only nod in agreement. “What can we do when it all happened so far away?”

“How can we know he’s dead?” Millicent cried. “Who is this Garth Morgan? If he’s such a good friend, why didn’t he come here himself today? Why did he send an employee to give us the news?”

William nodded vigorously. “Where’s the gold Charles wrote that he sent? Didn’t his letter say Garth Morgan was going to bring it?”

Letty bit her lip. “What can I tell you? I’m as shocked by all this as you are. I don’t know the answer to any of your questions.”

Mother spoke up. “Letty, you saw the letter. Charles had just found that new vein of gold. He sounded happy and confident. Now, out of the blue, someone comes to our house and tells us he’s dead? Something’s wrong. I don’t believe him.”

“I don’t believe him either,” William declared with indignation. “Maybe Garth Morgan is a crook. Maybe he kept the gold for himself.”

Letty heaved a frustrated sigh. “We mustn’t jump to conclusions. Perhaps there’s a logical explanation.”

Mother drew herself up. “I shall pay a visit to this Garth Morgan. Surely he can tell us more about Charles’s disappearance. I’ll ask him to explain why he didn’t give us the gold Charles sent.”

“You can’t do that,” Letty said in dismay.

“And why not?”

“Because…” So many reasons.

No sweeter woman on earth existed than Mother. She saw only the good in people, never the bad, and the family had always gone out of their way to shelter her from life’s harsh realities. The well-ordered world of Margaret Tinsley consisted of warm family gatherings, tea with her genteel friends, church on Sunday, Bible study on Wednesday, and collecting food baskets for the poor. Boston’s grittier side—the murder, mayhem, and corruption side—was simply never discussed in her presence. Letty looked her mother in the eye. “I’m the one who will go see Garth Morgan, not you.”

“Are you sure?”

Letty heard the relief in her mother’s voice. “I’m positive. If Garth Morgan was such a good friend of Charles, he should be delighted to see me.”

“What if he’s not delighted?” Millicent asked. “You know how snobbish those Brahmins on the hill are. They think their piles of money make them better than the rest of us. Won’t you be nervous going all by yourself? Do you want me to come along?”

Letty lifted her chin. “That won’t be necessary. I can handle the likes of Mr. Garth Morgan. I don’t care where he lives or how much money he has.” She sounded bolder than she felt. After all, she, too, had led a life almost as sheltered as her mother’s. The thought of intruding into the home of one of Boston’s wealthiest, most prestigious families, filled her with uneasiness. She had to do it, though. For Charles’s sake, for the family’s sake, she had every right to face Garth Morgan and demand the truth.

Next morning, except for Molly and Elfreda, Letty was the first one up. She had plenty of time to get ready for her visit to the Morgans, since, after a family discussion last night, they had determined Letty shouldn’t pay her visit to the Morgan residence until the afternoon. “During proper visiting hours,” Letty insisted.

Millicent had asked, “Must you always do what’s proper?” She often scoffed at her sister’s penchant for doing everything according to the rules.

As usual, Letty insisted upon adhering to the correct visiting hours. Like her mother, she’d always been a creature of habit who found comfort in following society’s strict guidelines regarding proper etiquette.

In the dining room, Letty caught sight of the table and frowned with disapproval. Yet again, Elfreda hadn’t set the table correctly. How many times had she instructed their cook that the knife blade should be placed toward the plate?

She was turning the knives inward when Millicent walked in, saw what her sister was doing, and commented, “I see Elfreda has messed up again.”

Letty threw her an acknowledging smile but continued rearranging the knives. “I know you think I’m picky, but there’s a right way and a wrong way.”

“Far be it from me to interfere.” Millicent slid into her place at the table and sighed. “At least Elfreda’s a good cook. That helps, considering we can never get rid of her.”

Letty recalled the day, eight years ago, when her father brought Elfreda home and announced she was here to stay. A fervent abolitionist until the day he died, he was an active participant in the Underground Railroad, helping slaves escape their southern masters into the free state of Massachusetts. “This is Elfreda,” he’d said. “She’ll be staying with us as long as she wants.”

The woman he brought home was of indeterminate age, maybe her forties. She had a sturdy build, scowling face, and skin as black as black could be. She never changed her clothing style, always a long cotton, high-neck gown covered by an apron and her hair covered by a bright colored turban. The family had welcomed her with open arms. Although she worked hard and did as she was told, she stayed aloof, never smiled, and to this day kept to herself.

“Why isn’t she more friendly?” Letty once asked her father. “Must she always have that frown on her face?”

“Perhaps you’d frown, too, if you’d been stolen from your village and forced into slavery,” he’d replied. “Imagine not having your freedom, forced to do your master’s bidding, and if you ran away you could be brought back in chains.”

Letty never forgot her father’s words. She was always nice to Elfreda, despite her sullen attitude.

“So what will you wear for you visit?” Millicent asked.

Letty finished rearranging the knives and sat at the table. “The blue silk, I think, the one with the puffy sleeves, and my burgundy satin bonnet with the big bow.”

“Have you figured out what you’re going to say?”

Millicent’s question caused a heaviness in Letty’s heart. She’d hardly slept last night for mulling over how best to approach the formidable Garth Morgan. “I shall be polite but firm. If he’s evasive, I shall produce Charles’s letter and demand he explain what happened to the gold shipment.”

“Will you show him the map?”

“Certainly not. It’s none of his business.”

“What if he refuses to answer? Gets mad and tells you to leave?”

Letty had considered that very possibility. “Then I shall leave, of course, but I won’t give up.”

“Really? What else can you do?”

“I can handle the likes of Mr. Garth Morgan. He won’t get the best of me, I assure you.”