Chapter 17
Yuba River, California
“Where you headed?” the miner asked as we passed him on the trail, traveling north along the middle stretch of the Yuba River.
We’d found our way to Nicolaus’s settlement the morning after we’d been lost and got directions from there.
“Ain’t no other women north o’ here. Sure you want to be going this way, ma’am? ”
Sam and I were on our mules for the third day in a row.
The farther we traveled up the Sierra Nevada Mountains, the more rugged the terrain and the less we saw of humanity.
The miner had come out of nowhere. His dirty, worn clothing hung off his thin body, and his sunburnt face looked as if he hadn’t shaved for a year.
“Winter’ll be setting in these mountains before you know it. Wouldn’t want you to be stuck here.”
“We’re just passing through,” Sam said, his voice low, unwelcoming. “Thanks for the advice.”
“Heading to some diggings?” The man’s eyes took on a sparkle. “I find the ones who don’t answer my questions have something to hide.”
We were going to a place that would one day be called Downieville, and if we didn’t get there before William Downie, who would be heading that way by October 6th, we would be hard-pressed to make enough gold for this trip to be worth it.
We’d already covered at least fifty miles and had another ten to go.
“Got nothing to hide,” Sam said as his mule lifted his head impatiently. “What about you? Where you headed?”
“I’m going home.” He spat on the ground. “Came out from Ohio in the spring and should have never left home. The trip overland almost killed me, and what was left of me was almost destroyed in the diggings. I made less than ten dollars a day when I was promised hundreds. Not worth it.”
“Where did you dig?” I finally spoke up.
“Mostly on the south fork of the Feather River.”
My eyebrows lifted in surprise. The south fork was at least fifty miles west over the mountains. “What are you doing here?”
“The Feather River is overrun by miners, but the Yuba is still mostly untouched. Came this way because I heard rumors of enough gold to fill a tin cup in a day. Stopped here and there along the way. There are so many tributaries and rivers, a man could go insane following them.” He shook his head.
“Nope. I’m going home, unless you know something I don’t. ” He eyed us closely.
“Sorry,” Sam said. “We’re just passing through.”
The miner squinted and then waved his hand. “Bah. I’m going home. Better luck to you.”
He continued south, following the river.
Sam nudged his mule to continue north. When we had gone a ways, he asked, “How much farther?”
“From my research in 1929, we have about ten miles to the fork where the Downie River—which isn’t named yet—will meet the Yuba. It’s there that William Downie and his men will find gold. Just north of there is where I’d like to set up camp.”
The terrain was getting rockier, steeper, and more difficult to pass, taking us longer to travel. Pine trees grew thick and tall, reaching toward the bright blue sky. Our pack mules were working hard, and we stopped several times to rest them.
As we traveled, we rarely spoke. The quiet gave me time to think. It was so different from my life in 1929. I had space here to breathe, to contemplate what I wanted without being distracted by family and responsibilities and Spencer Hayes.
The sun was setting when we finally reached the fork in the Yuba River where Downieville, California, would one day exist. I hadn’t bothered with a sidesaddle, since there were few in California and it was safer riding astride.
Every muscle in my body ached, and I had never longed for a hot bath and a feather bed so much in my life.
But the view was stunning. The river this late in the season ran peacefully as it pushed past boulders and hugged the edges of the banks.
“I could build a house here and die a happy man,” Sam said as we looked at the scene before us. “God must have had fun making California.”
I smiled. “It’s nice to be out here, away from everyone.”
“The crush of people in London and New York and San Francisco makes me forget places like this exist.”
“It won’t be long before William Downie will arrive, and then this will become another booming gold town.”
“It’s a shame.”
I inhaled the fresh air, loving the solitude of this place.
“I’ve never really thought about living away from a large city before.
In both of my paths, it’s all I’ve ever known, except for Concord, and we only lived there a couple of years.
Before that, we were in Boston.” I had loved the peace and quiet of Concord.
Sam tore his gaze off the landscape and studied me. “Do you really think you could thrive in the mountains, far away from a big city?”
“It would take some getting used to, I’m sure.” I took another deep breath. “But it would be nice, especially in a place like this.”
“Let’s set up camp,” he said as he dismounted and walked over to me. He placed his hands on either side of my waist to lift me down.
When I put my hands on his shoulders to steady myself, his muscles stiffened. He lowered me to my feet, but his hands didn’t drop away from my waist—and I didn’t pull away from him, either.
“For this night, at least,” he said, “it can be ours alone.”
Every nerve in my body thrummed with awareness. It had been this way for the past three days, this palpable tension, strung between us like a cord ready to snap. Sam didn’t have to say anything to make me aware of his attraction—his eyes, and his behavior, said it all.
Butterflies filled my stomach as he continued to hold me, and I wondered not for the first time if the tension would snap. Would he try to kiss me—and would I let him?
As those thoughts filled my head, something shifted in his eyes. It was almost as if a candle was extinguished. One moment desire was burning bright, and the next, it was gone.
He let go of my waist and took a step back, clearing his throat. “Tomorrow we’ll head up river a bit and see what we can find. When we get camp set up, I’ll show you how to make hasty pudding for supper.”
Without another word, he began to unload his pack.
I stood for a moment, confused and uncertain. I wanted to ask what was going through his mind, but I was too afraid. Now wasn’t the time to discuss whatever was passing between us. We were alone on the Yuba River, without anyone around for miles.
Once we had our fire going, Sam filled a kettle with water and put it over the flames.
He took a small sack of cornmeal and a bag of salt out of his saddlebag.
“Hasty pudding is easy. Once the water is boiling, we’ll add about a teaspoon of salt and a cup of cornmeal, slowly, stirring it constantly.
We’ll let it boil for twenty or thirty minutes until it’s thick. ”
He put a lid on the kettle, and with little else to do until the water boiled, I sat on my bedroll, enjoying the opportunity to just watch him.
All around, nature seemed unhurried and unbothered by our arrival.
The river, the birds, and the squirrels scampered through the pine-tree forest. The sun was now behind the horizon, and beautiful colors streaked the sky. I lifted my face to savor it all.
“The jury was going to let me go.”
“What?” I lowered my gaze and found him watching the kettle.
“The jury—when they tried me for Alfred’s murder. They determined it was done in self-defense. They were going to let me go, but my father knew the judge, and he told him to send me to Australia.”
It was an appalling thought, causing me to sit up straight. “Why would he do that?”
“Because I never fit the mold. I hated anything and everything to do with banking. Alfred was his pride and joy. He had followed in Father’s footsteps and was working at Barclay’s with him.
I even think Father was behind the plan to trap Bess into a marriage.
Her father was a prominent member of Parliament, and I’m certain Father saw Bess as a better match for Alfred and his ambitions. ”
I pulled my knees up and hugged them as I listened.
“When it looked like the jury was going to acquit me, Father spoke to the judge and told him he wanted me gone. He blamed me for Alfred’s death and wanted me to suffer. I wouldn’t be surprised if he paid the judge to do it.”
“How do you know he spoke to him?”
Sam lifted his brown-eyed gaze. “Father told me.” Sadness, anger, and bitterness permeated his words.
“I was found guilty, but under the circumstances, the judge didn’t want to sentence me to death.
Instead, he sent me to the penal colony and instructed that I would bear the brand on my thumb instead of my cheek.
He must have lived with the guilt, because two years later, after I had been in Australia, suffering unimaginable abuse, I was given a ticket of leave and a letter from the judge, telling me that my father had died. ”
“Did you return to London?”
“There was nothing for me there. Bess and Johnnie were in New York, so I came to America. And then we heard about the opportunity in San Francisco. The farther we could get from London, the better.” He scoffed. “Turns out, my past followed me here.”
“How?”
“English Jim and all the others.”
“Would you have come had you known?”
“No. But once we were here and I realized how much money we could make, it didn’t pay to leave. I still believe it’s the best place for opportunity right now. Much better than New York.”
I put my chin on my knees as I said, “I can see now why you don’t like banks.”
A sad smile turned up one side of his mouth. “Or chasing wealth.”
“Sorry that I dragged you out here.”
“You have an unselfish motive. From the moment I met you, I could see the fire and determination in your eyes, and I admire you for doing what you must to make a better life for your father and Hazel.”
His compliment embarrassed me for some reason, so I changed the subject. “What about your mother? Is she still alive?”