Colter's Path (9781101604830) (7 page)

Jedd eyed the door and pictured himself bolting through it, leaving this group and their venture behind. But he didn't. He'd agreed to let Plumb hire him. Even if the whole enterprise was looking increasingly off-putting and unpromising, he wouldn't just walk away.

He settled in his seat and did his best to exhibit a face of unworried dispassion as the three partners in the California Enterprise Company bickered and snarled at one another, and Crozier Bellingham listened and scribbled feverishly with his pencil.

Jedd looked again at one of the paintings on the wall, a depiction of a deep and shadowed mountain range stretching to a far horizon, and wished he were part of it, lost in that great solitude of hills and forests, far away from jabbering voices and the scratch of pencil on paper.

B
y the time the meeting was through, Jedd knew little more than he had known before about his new employers and what was ahead for him as their hired pilot. Mostly he saw that the men were prone to disharmony and possessed of conflicting personalities. Wilberforce was the natural dominant leader, and used his impressive height and voice to intimidate both subordinates and peers. And though his brother, Witherspoon, was, officially, his equal in the company, it was obvious that a subordinate was what he actually was. Clearly the short, rotund fellow with his smooth, florid face and shifting eyes was under the thumb of his brother. Equally clear was that both brothers were accustomed to that arrangement and at some level comfortable with it.

What was less clear was how Ottwell Plumb fit into the scheme of things. Not to mention the retired U.S. Army general, Gordon Lloyd, who was not even present for this meeting despite his title of “commander” of the venture. Plumb had told Jedd earlier that Lloyd would be a mostly “symbolic” leader, and now that he knew the dominating style of Wilberforce Sadler, Jedd suspected Lloyd would not be a leader at all, in any meaningful sense. Wilberforce would be the man to whom Jedd
would report, and who would call the shots along the way.

Jedd had ambivalent feelings about that, Wilberforce being less easy to like than his milder brother, but at least Wilberforce seemed to have an instinct for recognizing and appreciating good advice. He quizzed Jedd extensively about details of how and when they should start the journey, what problems they would likely encounter, how long they could anticipate being on the trail, and what they would find when they reached their destination. Jedd gave the best answers he could, though privately he pondered that his recommendations would be more authoritative if the trail they were planning to follow was not new to him.

It was no surprise, though, that the company planned to travel the Santa Fe Trail. That path, a more southern route than the California-Oregon Trail, was already becoming established as the most likely choice for overland travelers from this region of the country. Even if Jedd had not traversed that particular way himself, he was the only experienced trailsman and as such would be of great value to the emigrants.

The Sadlers apparently thought so as well, because as the gathering broke up, the brothers presented Jedd a modest but very welcome advance against his future earnings. He left with the thought that perhaps the odd siblings were not such bad sorts after all.

Jedd was still well ahead of the time he would be expected on Addington Street. He issued an invitation to Crozier Bellingham to join him in a nearby tavern, and the young man readily accepted. Jedd was provided with an opportunity to gain the perspective of another person on the exploit both of them had become part of.

“There is much difference of opinion in this town regarding the Sadlers,” Bellingham said after a few minutes of drinking began to mellow him. “No one disputes their success in business, but there are many who find them difficult to abide.”

“I can see how such could be the case,” Jedd said.

“Indeed. Indeed.” The youthful Bellingham, Jedd
noted, spoke with the tone and mannerisms of an older man. “Wilberforce offends many by his condescension and forcefulness. Witherspoon is seen as soft and weak and timid, though on occasion he will rise to counter his brother.” Bellingham looked around them, pulled in closer, and spoke at a confidential level. “And the fact that he has never married, nor even been seen in public in the company of a woman, has led to…talk. You understand what I am trying to say.”

“Or trying not to say, maybe.”

“Exactly. Precisely.”

“Is it true, you think?”

“I don't think so. I've seen him come in the newspaper office too many times and make a point of speaking flirtatiously with Mrs. Spangler.”

“Who is she?”

“A woman who helps with the printing. Very good at it. Learned it from her husband, who operated the press until he died two years ago.”

“Witherspoon has his sights on this widow, then?”

“He is at least interested in her. But he's a very shy man. He has to have the pretext of business reasons before he'll talk to her. So he's forever coming in asking to read over the Sadler advertisements, and he always finds something to change in them, just so he can go over it with her. Takes him forever to do it, too. And sometimes they never get around to talking about what needs changing.”

Jedd chuckled. “I'm glad he's got something in his life to make him happy. I get the feeling his brother doesn't contribute much toward that end.”

“They get on well enough most of the time. As long as Witherspoon remembers his place.”

“I guess we'll all be learning our own places, and Wilberforce's, when we hit the trail.” Jedd took a long swallow. “And just what is
your
place, Crozier? You working for the newspaper or for the Sadlers?”

“Both. And also for myself. I'll be sending back reports of progress to the newspaper so folks back home can keep up. But the paper is paying the Sadlers, not me,
for what I send, and they pass on part of it to me. Too small a part, in my point of view. And on top of that, the fact that my pay comes directly through them makes me their employee, and puts me, and what I write, under their control.”

“Doesn't sound like a particularly comfortable situation,” Jedd said.

“It's not,” said Bellingham. He leaned forward slightly and spoke more softly after shifting his eyes side to side to make sure there were no obvious eavesdroppers about. “What they don't know is, it's not my
only
situation.”

“You lose me now.” Jedd pondered for a few moments, then ventured, “Are you planning to look for some gold of your own once you're in the diggings?”

Bellingham leaned even closer, shaking his head. “My gold comes through pen, not pan. I'm going to write more than happy little stories for the newspaper, stories that the Sadlers control.” He paused and then his volume became even lower. “On my own, I'm writing a book. The definitive account of the whole gold-in-California phenomenon. The good of it, the successes of it, and also the other side. The failures and disappointments. This nation has the right to know the truth.”

Jedd said, “I think I follow you now. The popular notion is that you can walk along the bank of a creek and pick up gold nuggets like a child finding pretty pebbles. A lot of people are casting off everything they've had, and everything they've done, to go become gold gatherers.”

“Yes. And the newspapers feed the fire. California this, California that. The future is all in California, gleaming in the streams and hiding in the gravel of the creek banks. Nothing else can compare, and no one can achieve the same kind of wealth by any other means. So they would have us all believe.”

“And I take it you don't?”

Bellingham leaned back in his chair, scratching at his chin. “Shall we just say that a good newspaperman comes equipped with a healthy dose of skepticism?”

“Upon what do you base this skepticism?”

“On the mere fact that Americans have been settling in California for years now, and to my knowledge most have not become fabulously wealthy by sending their children down to the creek behind the barn to fetch back bucketfuls of gold. And this, it seems, is what many gold-struck easterners of the present moment seem to think they will do once they reach the far coast.”

“There are those who carry their expectations to the extreme, I'll grant you,” Jedd said. “But keep in mind that the earlier travelers to California have gone in search of land and a new life for themselves, not specifically for gold. Maybe once there are enough there to search every stream and river and gully, we'll find the dreams are all going to come true.”

Bellingham gave a smirking little smile. “If you keep talking that way, the Sadlers are going to love you indeed, Jedd Colter,” he said.

“Well, I'll hope they do. I like to stay in good favor with those I work for.”

“It is my intention to work ultimately for
myself
, even when I'm officially working for them,” Bellingham said. “I'll write the Sadler's promotional little newspaper reports for them and help them spread the story of how they are serving as the agents of good fortune for every man who pays them to do so. Folks back home will read my stories and worship the Sadlers from afar, as they intend. Meanwhile, I'll write my own book, the true and full account, and see it published. And if all goes as I suspect it will, the Sadlers and all the other promotion-before-truth California pushers will have to sing out of the other sides of their mouths. The truth will be out and the American public will no longer be fooled.”

“That may be a hard book to sell, Crozier.”

“How so?”

“Because people would rather coddle their dreams than see them shattered.”

“I'm not in the dream business. I'm in the truth business.”

“As long as it serves your purposes, it seems.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning you just finished saying you're going to go ahead and do your newspaper reports in the way the Sadlers want them done. And we both know that will mean promotionalism. In short, you're willing to use the resources and opportunities provided to you by the Sadlers to gain what you need to take the wind out of their sails farther along. That's why you were so feverish in taking notes down in our little meeting today, right? You wanted to make sure you didn't miss anything that you could use later on to make the Sadlers look dishonest, or silly, or bad, or harsh.”

“You misspeak, Jedd Colter,” Bellingham said. “I do not dislike the Sadlers. Wilberforce, yes. Witherspoon I'm actually rather fond of.”

“But you are willing to discredit him nevertheless.”

“I want to write a book that will establish my credentials in the field I wish to pursue. In order to do that I must make my own journey to California. The Sadlers and their odd little friend Plumb are providing me with that opportunity in exchange for something they need: reports back to the people from whom they hope to find future California emigrants. I am helping them and they are helping me. There is nothing wrong or untoward about it.”

“But you seem eager to have your book destroy the popular conception of California opportunity.”

Bellingham shook his head. “My goal is not to assassinate popular conceptions as an end in itself. What I seek is simply to present the facts, whatever they may be, regardless of whether they resonate with popular notions. I do admit to strong doubts that California gold will prove to be a way to instant wealth for most who seek it.”

“Good enough, then.” Jedd took another sip. “Me, all I want to do is get another group of travelers safe to California, collect my pay, and then do it again as long as the work is in demand.” He was thinking, but did not say, that success in prospecting on the part of the Sadlers might make it unnecessary for him to pilot another emigrant
band again. Assuming the deal Plumb had made with him held up.

“Here's to us both and our own California dreams, then,” Bellingham said. Glasses clinked softly, and they drank.

S
tanding at the doorway of the McSwain house on Addington Street, Jedd had a strong impulse to bolt. Simply being where he was made him manifestly uncomfortable. When last he'd stood at this same door, Emma had been with him. She was gone now, of course, married to another….

Or was she? Jedd still did not know exactly what awaited him here, or why he had been invited. Might everything have changed? Might she be inside this house, awaiting him, a woman newly unattached?

A distinguished, well-dressed servant opened the door and greeted Jedd formally, all but sweeping him inside and instantly taking charge. Jedd cast glances all around, refamiliarizing himself with the house where once he had spent many happy hours in times past. He searched every corner, every shadow, every random reflection he could find around the room, but was disappointed. He did not find Emma.

“Mr. McSwain is ready to receive you now, sir.”

Jedd was led into the sprawling dining room.

“Jedd,” said Zebulon McSwain.

“Good evening to you, Mr. McSwain,” Jedd said to the slender, expensively dressed man already seated at
the head of the long table. McSwain looked younger than his years, little changed physically from the last time Jedd had seen him, though his previously dark brown hair was sprinkled with more gray.

His face was different though, somehow. Not physically different, but presenting a demeanor that didn't fit Jedd's recollections of the man. He struck Jedd as worried, burdened. Though McSwain was smiling, the smile seemed artificial. He stared at Jedd as though he had something to say but couldn't quite find the words.

Within minutes Jedd was seated at the far end of the table from his host, wondering what was the point of such distance between them, assuming conversation was intended. Just the way things were done among the uppity, it seemed.