California Woman (Daughters of the Whirlwind Book 1) (6 page)

Truckee
Lake

The
Sierras

December 15, 1846

Camped at this bitter, freezing place since early November.
Tomorrow some of us will make a fourth attempt to cross the pass and go on to
Captain Sutter's fort beyond what they call Bear Valley. It will not be without
the help of The Almighty if we make it, weakened as we are. But I know that if
we do not go with Mr. Stanton and the two Indians from the fort we will surely
not survive the winter. The snow is up to the rooves of the three cabins here
and the same, I am told, some five miles east where the Donners have camped in
bough-covered tents. There are sixty-odd men, women, and children here by the
lake. Twenty or so with the Donners. There is scarcely any food of substance
left. The dried beef and flour Stanton brought are almost all used up. Most of
Sutter's mules and many of the surviving horses, oxen, and beeves wandered off
and died in the high, covering drifts. Those bony few that did not stray are
now eaten up. The bear William Eddy risked his life to shoot is gone also and
no other game has come near enough to be seen. Even the fish below the ice on
the lake ignore the bait on the hooks.

We are reduced to killing the last of the dogs and boiling bones
and hides. Last night Mrs. Murphy's grandchildren idly tore off pieces of the
Buffalo throw they lay on before the fire, speared them with small sticks and
ate them after they were crisped. I do not know what will happen here if the
men, all but the strongest—nay, even they—sink any further from lack of proper
food and the unbelievable cold. It is difficult for them to carry firewood now.
If the snow and the storms that sometimes last longer than a week continue,
they will not even be able to move about enough to chop and carry what little
there is.

John Alexander and I have been staying with the Eddys and Mrs.
Murphy's family—all twelve of them! Nothing can describe the odors and the
filth here and in the other two cabins, one of which we found built by an
earlier traveler. Vermin crawl upon us in the night. It will only grow worse as
more weeks pass. I mean to criticize no one here. Eighteen unbathed men, women,
and children, some of them sick from time to time, trying to survive amid the
smoke from the fires and the things boiling in the kettles, cannot much turn
their thoughts to impossible housecleaning chores.

The baby is still feeding at my breast, as is one-year-old
Margaret at Eleanor Eddy's. They are both still tolerably healthy if all too
thin. I do not like the fact that they cry less and less. It is a sign of
growing weakness, I am sure. John Alexander has a cold again, and I fear
leaving with him tomorrow almost as much as staying.

It is difficult not to be bitter. Looking back, it seems as if
even one day would have put us across the mountains to the fort and safety. Any
one of those days wasted at Fort Bridger, waiting for James Reed to reach and
return with Hastings when we were in Weber Canyon, or the weeks lost in the
mountains and following Hastings's insane roundabout trail. Even one of the
five days spent resting at Stanton's urging after he courageously rejoined us
at the Truckee Meadow below here. God knows even less than a half day would
have put us across before that first attempt on November second. We were but
three miles or so from the crest of the pass, according to Stanton. But the
rest would not go on, staying instead around the campfire. We found ourselves
covered with snow and the pass blocked by ten-foot drifts when we awoke in the
morning.

I do not understand some of these people. I know how tired and
frozen they were from wading and pushing waist high in snow. But Stanton and
Eddy were just as tired, just as reduced in strength by that time as anyone,
and they were ready to continue. As were a few others, myself included. It
struck me then almost as if the rest were stubbornly, blasphemously daring God
to bring his wrath down upon them.

That is foolish, but it is clear to me now that human nature
either gets far worse or far better than average under exceeding trying
conditions. There have been sacrifice, sharing, cooperation, even heroic
efforts by some. But there have also been base greed in the form of forced
payments for food, miserly hoarding, and probably worse. I find it difficult to
believe that the Germans, Spitzer and Rhinehardt, did not kill Mr. Wolfinger
for his money when they remained with him to bury his possessions after the
loss of oxen at the sink of the Marys. Dear Lord, I could not even six months ago
have uttered such about another human being. And God only knows what sort of
person I will be even if John Alexander and I survive this next test.

Test it will surely be, but fearful of it as I am, I feel we
leave none too soon. Despair has given way to sluggish resignation here. Eliza
Williams's brother, Bayliss, died today. The accidental death back on the
Truckee of Mrs. Murphy's son-in-law hangs heavy on the poor woman... not to
mention her daughter. Harriet Spitzer is failing fast, I hear. No, I do not
want to be here when the last of the victuals runs out and hunger begins to
madden them all. I have seen them close to that state from thirst on the 
desert. And I fear if it comes upon them full, nothing, not even killing one
another for a scrap of hide or bone, seems beyond possibility.

Eighteen of us will leave in the morning. Stanton, who says it
is but thirty or so miles and that we should cover it in six days, will lead
us. His two Indians. William Eddy and old Mr. Graves, the Vermonter who cunningly
thought to fashion snowshoes for us out of the hickory oxbows and woven strips
of rawhide. Of Mrs. Murphy's clan, Mr. and Mrs. Foster and their two sons will
be going. So will Mr. Graves's two daughters and son-in-law, Jay Fosdick. The
German man, Mr. Burger. Antonio the herder, (Oh, how he must pine for the
warmth of his native Mexico!) Mrs. Pike and Mrs. McCutchen, whose husband took
sick in California and could not return with Stanton. And young Patrick Dolan
the bachelor.

At first they would not hear of my taking John Alexander. Dear
William Eddy, who has been as loyal to me as he has to the Reeds, persuaded
them in my favor!

The fire grows low now. Only large embers glow as the children
quietly whimper in their fitful sleep. Dear God protect us and let it not snow
again until we are down out of the mountains. I must now pack the small
carryall I will take with me. Dearest husband, I will take this diary with me
also so that, whatever happens, you will know that I tried to bring you your
son and the money you trusted me with. I pray that I succeed, and know that my
love and longing for you give me the strength and courage to go on.

Sacramento

May
7, 1869

5
a.m.

A shaft of sunlight awoke Esther Cable
Carter with a start. She had slept only three hours, but she was instantly wide
awake. It seemed only seconds since she had read the last diary entry and
halted, staring at the blank page that preceded the section enclosed by black
ribbon. She sat up and saw that the journal had fallen off the bed. Putting on
the velvet robe that hung over a bedside chair, she picked the book up, closed
it, and fingered the ribbon for a moment before tucking the journal away in the
smaller of two bags she had taken with her for the journey to Promontory. When
she snapped the clasp on the bag shut, her son Todd stirred under his blankets
on the blankets on the cot, turned, but did not awaken.

Esther picked up a thick white towel
embroidered in blue with the words "Sierra Hotel" from the
marble-topped oak lowboy near the door. She went back to her bag for the small,
red-and-gold leather case containing an exquisite mother-of-pearl-backed brush
and comb and put it in one pocket of the robe. Alex Todd had given it to her in
St. Louis as a wedding present two dozen years earlier. The towel over her arm,
she stooped and picked up the chamber pot from under the bed. Crossing the
room, she opened the door a crack and checked the hallway. No one stirred this
early on the upper floors. She folded the towel over her left arm and put her
bare left hand out of sight in the pocket of her robe. Barefoot, she padded
quietly to the door of Solana's room. As she raised her hand to knock, the
Indian woman, already dressed and waiting, opened it. Seeing the towel and the
porcelain chamber pot,
Solana
nodded
and turned without a word to go to watch over young Todd.

After spilling and rinsing down the
contents of the chamber pot in one of the two bathing rooms down the hall,
Esther drew a quarter tub of warm water, lathered, and rinsed off quickly.
Stepping out of the draining tub, she began toweling off in front of a mirror.
It surprised her that she could not see the faint scar on her nose from four
feet away, even though the sun now streamed through the gauze-curtained window.
She brushed out her hair, then coiled, folded, and tucked it on the back of her
head with a finger-sized tortoiseshell comb.

She looked at her face again and could
not understand why two decades had scarcely touched it. It pleased her that
there were few lines, not even the beginning of a wrinkle in the milky white
skin around her eyes and full mouth. Glancing lower, she noted that the pale
stretch-marks slanting along the sides of her abdomen were more noticeable,
faint as they were, than the faded splotch that encircled the tip of her nose.

She smiled. Then she became aware of the
rest of her figure. She looked away from the mirror and put on her robe. At
five feet seven and a half inches, she towered over most women, and their
petiteness made her feel awkward and clumsy. She did not care for the
conformation of her body. The outlines were right, generally speaking, but
there was not enough flesh on her hips and limbs to suit her. Conversely, she
thought her breasts were disproportionately big, and she was puzzled again that
the rose-brown nipples still pointed forward rather than down after nursing
three children.

Back in her room, she found her son
awake, dressed, and staring out the window at the wisps of steam rising slowly
from between the giant wheels of the engine at the station.

"Good morning, mother." The boy
blew her a perfunctory kiss and looked back at the train. 'You haven't changed
your mind, have you? I can still ride with Mister Sam in
Jupiter
?"

"No, dear, I haven't changed my
mind." She walked up behind him, leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.
In a way, she thought, William Carter's death had mercifully spared him the
confirmation of his worst suspicions. Todd looked more like Alex every year.

"All the way to Reno?" the boy
said, rapt.

"If you sit exactly where Mister Sam
puts you and do not remove the leather belt from around your waist."

"I promise! I promise not to!"

"If you do, he'll stop the train and
send you back."

He was as headstrong as most
seven-year-old boys, but he was in awe of the engineer. Esther knew that, and
the threat of being banished from the engine would keep him where she wanted
him until they had crossed the Sierras.

She turned to
Solana
and took the older woman's leathery,
pale-bronze hands in hers. "Will you take him to breakfast for me? I don't
want to talk to anyone this morning."

"Whatever you wish. Will you not
eat?"

"Please have someone bring me a tray
of tea, bread, and jam. I don't want you to carry it."

"The bags?"

"I'll take them with me when I'm
dressed."

Solana
nodded.
"I will see that he is safely in the iron horse when it is time. Then I
will wait at the riverfront for the giant raft... launch."

Esther smiled and put her arms around the
Indian woman. "God keep you. I'll see you when I return."

Solana
embraced Esther and took the boy's hand.
"Come. You must eat as much as Mister Sam does this morning."

After Esther ate, she took off the robe
and applied more than the usual amount of lilac water and scented powder on her
body. She put on a chemise, but no other undergarments below her waist before
slipping into a fresh black dress, hat, and gloves. At precisely 7:00
a.m
. she went down the outside stairs
on the flank of the building to the wooden walkway. Through a window beneath
the stairs she heard the clatter of dishes and the shouts of the German cook
over the muted pidgin-English replies of a Chinese pantryman. Breakfast was
being served to a full dining room. It was as she had planned it. She wished to
see none of the men or women who would be on the train.

At the bottom of the stairs she stopped
as she heard a team of horses round the corner of the building. A landau drawn
by two extraordinary chestnut mares passed and continued on down the street.
After the dust raised by the carriage had settled, she walked quickly, bags in
hand, across the street and along the diagonal path to the station. Halfway
there, she veered off toward the rear of the train. The trainman waiting at the
steps of the private car saw her and began running in her direction. He was a
portly man who saw to all Charles Crocker's needs whenever the railroad boss
traveled in the special car. The morning was already warm, and he was sweating
when he reached Esther.

"Let me carry those, Mizz
Carter." He tipped his short-billed cap and swooped up the luggage in
almost one movement. He was breathing hard. "I should have... waited for
you... outside the... hotel."

"Thank you kindly, but there was no
need."

"You're quite early, ma'am. The
train won't be leaving for two more hours."

"Yes,
I
know. I wanted to avoid the crowd."

He nodded his head. Poor woman, she was
still grieving for that son of a bitch Carter. "I understand, ma'am. I'll
look in on you from time to time to see if there's anything you need."

They were inside the private car now, and
the trainman placed the bags behind the curtain at the middle of the car.

"There is a bellpull to call
you?"

"Yes, ma'am." He pointed to the
braided cord that hung through loops above the windows on one side of the car.
"I'll hook it up to the next section right away. If I'm not there, one of
the other men will let me know."

Esther handed him a silver dollar.

"Oh, no, ma'am. I couldn't."

She pressed it back into his hand.
"I want you to have it."

He looked down at his shoes.

"Would you be kind enough to tell
the conductors that I do not wish to be disturbed for any reason. I'm certain I
won't be needing anything, at least not until Reno. I didn't sleep well last
night, and I want to rest."

"Certainly, ma'am. I understand.
Shall I pull the shades down?"

"Yes, please do."

"I'll be sure no one comes through
the door of the next car. I'll lock it. Some of the passengers will be, ah,
celebrating a bit, and..."

"That's very thoughtful of you.
We'll be stopping at Dutch Flat?"

"Yes, ma'am. For just a few
minutes."

"Then would you do one other thing
for me? My son Todd will be riding in
Jupiter
, with Mister Sam. Would
you just look in on him to see that he's behaving himself?"

"Why, certainly, ma'am. He's a fine
boy, young Master Carter."

"I'm sure there'll be no need. But
if for any reason he should have to
he
brought
back, please take him to his... godfather, Judge Todd. Tell Judge Todd I'll
fetch him at Reno."

When the trainman was gone, Esther took
the leatherbound journal out of her valise and sat in a chair opposite the one
she had occupied the night before. She raised the shade just enough to provide
reading light. She opened the book again to the black-ribboned entries and
stared at the double-knotted bow midway down the first, blank page.
Now? she
wondered. Yes, now. I will read them now—and again after I have read it all.
Twice. If I falter, if I lose my nerve between here and Donner Lake, the words
on these pages will serve to see me through the last minutes of all this,
whatever the result.

Slowly, trembling, she untied the knots
and the bow, turned the page, took a deep breath, and began reading again.