4. Independance
Chapter four
Independance
Clem left Mokelumne in April, it took three months to get to Boston, another month there, and now she was looking at four more by wagon train.
It would be December before she made it back to California.
The claim she and Barney shared would be her first stop, but her second would be Lady Jane’s to see the girls.
At half-past two, she heard the distinctive sound of the train slowing down. It stopped often to refill the water and coal needed to keep the steam engine running, and pick up new passengers. The whistle blew, alerting those in the next town of their arrival.
“Independence,” called the porter, “Independence, Missouri.” He passed along the corridor outside her room.
“How long, Edgar?” called Clem, standing at the door of her compartment.
The dark-brown man wearing the white coat stopped.
“We’re thirty minutes out, Mr. Dennison,” he said, using his professional voice.
“This is the last leg to Independence.” In a more personal tone, he added, “Only a few more minutes, Clem, and we’ll get you to the jumpin’ off spot for the west. But that also means you’ve run out of chances to try and win your money back.
” Edgar tilted his head, adjusted the bill of his hat, and continued down the corridor.
“Once I get my luggage sent to the hotel, I’ll settle up what I owe.” Clem spoke low so only the porter could hear. “Back of the saloon car?”
A tip of the hat was his response. “Independence. Independence, Missouri.”
It was mid-afternoon before Kizzy stepped down from the train onto the platform in Independence.
She carried her suitcase down the street leading from the railway station through the heart of town.
The businesses lining either side of the street made it look like a bigger Rocheport, but something about the place made her nervous and uneasy.
Nothing looked out of place, yet the feeling persisted, growing worse with every step.
I didn’t sleep much. Before I do anything rash, I need to think things through.
A shiver of anxiety raced through her. As Kizzy looked around, more than one man averted his eyes. She shifted her bag to the other hand, her heart speeding up. Was she in danger?
Looking up, a whitewashed three-story building beckoned to her with a sign in the window reading:
Kizzy walked faster as more than one man stopped what they were doing to watch her pass by. Although the price seemed steep, the hotel was convenient and answered both of her immediate needs: meals and a room with a lock. She hurried through the large front door.
“How long are you staying, Miss Walker?” asked the nosy clerk, registering her for the night.
“I’ll pay for two nights in advance. After that, I’ll let you know.” Independence didn’t feel friendly, she doubted she’d stay long.
She asked for, and took, both keys to the room with her. It bothered her that she didn’t feel safe. Kizzy had walked around Rocheport all the time and never felt nervous, so why was Independence different?
Because I’m different. Being the minister’s daughter gave her basic respectability. People were polite; no matter how they might gossip behind her back, to her face they were civil.
But the men in Independence eyed her in a whole new way, and for the first time she didn’t feel sure she could handle them. The men here didn’t know her, or who her parents were. They didn’t care.
Clem arranged for her trunk and suitcase to be delivered to the hotel, waited until Edgar was free of his porter duties, then settled the debt between them.
She’d started strong at the beginning of the week, but last night hadn’t been her night at poker.
They shook hands, wished each other well, and parted with Edgar stashing a crisp Ben Franklin under his cap.
Swinging down to the platform, Clem enjoyed stretching her legs on the walk to the Bates Hotel where her things had already been delivered. She pulled open the large door with its sign on the window and entered the cool atmosphere of the hotel registration area.
“Twenty minutes ago, and alone, you say?” A man leaned on the counter, chatting with the clerk. “How pretty again?”
“Prettier than any woman I’ve ever seen, although you couldn’t tell by her clothes. Those are plain enough for a church mouse.”
Clem knew which woman they were speaking about.
She overheard the parting with her mother, and helped the distraught young woman with her bag, giving her a hand up once the train was moving.
She was an extraordinary beauty, and the sentimentality and genuine emotion of the scene pulled at her author’s heart, enough so she interfered when stepping into the corridor outside her compartment to see her hurrying away from a man with clear intent in his eye.
It took only one punch to convince him to leave the girl alone.
“She is most remarkable,” she offered with a grin.
The clerk, interrupted in his conversation, turned to her. “Yes, sir? Checking in?”
“I wired a reservation three weeks ago. Clem Dennison, for five days.”
The clerk’s face rearranged into a welcoming smile.
“Of course, Mr. Dennison, we’ve been expecting you, sir.
” He nodded in deference. “Your attorney wired the payment.” He pulled a piece of paper and a room key from a drawer behind the counter.
“Here’s your receipt, and your room is at the end of the hall to your right.
Your trunk is already there.” He whipped the registration book around on its swivel base. “If you’ll sign-in, please.”
Clem picked up the pen and wrote name, date, and time on the next open line, noting the one above, Keziah Walker. No Miss or Mrs. in her signature. Only her name.
“You saw the girl, Mr., uh,” the man leaning on the counter peered over her shoulder at the book, “Dennison?”
When she looked over at him, the glint of a badge caught her eye.
She readjusted her attitude. “I saw the prettiest woman I’ve ever seen, despite her drab attire,” she leaned just as close to the lawman as he’d leaned into her, examining his badge, “Sheriff Boorman.” She stood up straight and also leaned on the desk, leaving the clerk and registration book between them. “Why do you ask?”
“No reason, in particular,” said the sheriff, looking Clem over. “A woman registering alone, pretty as you both say she is…” He left the suggestion open.
“And we don’t allow no whores to work out of our hotel,” agreed the clerk, nodding his head as if he knew without a doubt that’s who she was and planned to do.
An odd defensiveness settled over Clem.
“Oh, then we’re thinking of different women,” she said, with a dismissive shake of her head.
“The woman I saw was a lady, born and bred. Perhaps she’s dressed in sensible traveling clothing, I wouldn’t know.
” She grinned at the Sheriff, brushing the fine material of the business suit she wore.
“I’m not married myself, but my mother always complains about the dust.”
The clerk bobbed his head. “Uh huh, my mom too. You must be right, sir.” He looked at the sheriff and shrugged.
“Did she pay?” asked the much less interested lawman.
“Today and tomorrow. She said she’d decide by then if she’s staying or not.” He nodded at Clem. “That’s what got me suspicious.”
“It did?” asked Clem, standing up in preparation to climb the stairs. “Seems quite reasonable to me, especially if, through some misfortune, she must travel alone. Poor thing.” She threw the sheriff a knowing glance, hoisted her suitcase with ease, and took the stairs two at a time.
“Next time send for me when there’s an actual crime, and don’t waste my time.” Sheriff Boorman’s voice followed Clem up the stairs as she entered her room. She locked the door, pocketed the key, and draped her hat over the handle.
After locking the door and placing both keys in her pocket, Kizzy paced the floor. Confused, she tried reasoning things out.
She knew she hadn’t provoked the men’s reactions.
Mama and the church ladies had always enforced modesty and body shame; Kizzy didn’t wear revealing dresses, and kept herself neat and clean.
She hadn’t been ‘safe’ in the presence of Rocheport men so much as it was the community’s respect for her parents that sheltered her.
Now that she’d left home, she didn’t have that. She needed to either create her own respectability, or…
Or what? Recreating herself as a proper woman living on her own wasn’t something she wanted to spend years doing. Kizzy had an itch to find gold, and it needed scratching. She threw herself into the room’s only chair.
I know what I want to do. She’d head for California to get some of the yellow stuff for herself. She couldn’t be the only woman doing it. There must be other women out west. But they’ll be few and far between the prospectors.
Her mind drifted to the stories of nuggets lying around waiting to be picked up. Anyone can do that, even women. Kizzy believed women could do anything a man could do if they put their minds to it.
So I’ll put my mind to it.
But then she thought about the prostitutes mentioned in the stories, women servicing prospectors. Did they go to California looking for gold and end up as whores? Could it happen to her? What if she couldn’t make it as a woman prospector? What if it was too hard?
Her head was spinning with too many thoughts. Doubts raced through her, worries wound her stomach into knots. She unfastened her braid, finger-combing it loose to lie around her shoulders. It eased her headache, but the heavy weight of it felt hot and oppressive.
I should just cut it off. Things would be much easier if I were a man.