Bella's Vineyard

Bella’s Vineyard

Chapter One

America the
mid-1880s

Isabella
Tennyson began to think their travels would never end. A long sea journey,
several stagecoaches, the Trans-Continental Railway, and more stagecoaches had
left her body in a permanent state of motion, not to mention the times they had
to get out and help push the coach up a hill or over rocky ground. Even on the
nights they stopped in hotels, and she was able to put her head on a pillow
after a long day’s travel, she fancied she heard the horses’ hooves and it
seemed the bed underneath her rolled as much as the coach.

“It won’t be
long now, Bella,” said Andrew. They were on the final leg of their journey.

Outside the
coach window, the vast country spread before them. Bella had come from a small
town in the middle of England, and it had never taken more than a day to travel
to the coast by train. This new world just kept on going. It must end soon, she
thought. True it was beautiful, and the sheer scale had taken her breath away
to begin with. But after all the travel, through wind and rain, then heat and
dust, she prayed for the land to come to an end somewhere.

An Englishman on
the railway who had lived in America for some years, had told them, “Men can go
mad in this country, with all this space to play with. It does something to
their mind. The land you’re going to is lawless. That’s what comes of being so
far from civilisation. If you don’t mind me saying so, sir,” the man turned to
Andrew. “It’s a bad idea to take this young lady out to California. Take her
back to New York.”

Andrew had given
Bella the guilty look he wore almost as a mask since they left England.

“We will
endure,” he said. Bella had nodded. Instead of enduring, she could be at home,
rather than being thousands of miles from all that she had known for twenty-two
years.

She looked,
without really seeing, out of the coach window. There was no end in sight. She
suppressed a silent scream. Yes, she might well go mad here, with no external
checks but she feared more for her brother’s sanity.

The men sitting
opposite them in the coach did not help her state of mind. They wore the large
brimmed hats that were common to the country, with thick double-breasted coats,
and stovepipe chaps. Their hats were lined with sweat and the coats stained
with gravy and all manner of foodstuffs.  Every now and then they drank from a
shared bottle of sour-smelling alcohol, an aroma like nothing Bella had ever
known. To make matters worse they chewed tobacco and then spat it out the
window – not always into the wind – whilst on the wall behind them, the coach
regulations forbade such behaviour. Bella wished Andrew would say something,
but understood why he did not. The large guns at the men’s hips were enough to
silence anyone.

In the far
corner of the coach a man dressed in a long black coat leaned back, with his
hat pulled down over his face. His long, muscular legs were barely able to
stretch the length of the coach, whilst a tanned hand rested on the open
window. She had no idea if he were awake or asleep. Sometimes and with no real
reason to believe it, she sensed he was listening.  His stillness unnerved her.
It did not seem natural compared to her disturbed equilibrium. He had been that
way since Bella and Andrew boarded the coach. The two men chewing tobacco had
at least raised their hats to her. It seemed that their manners extended no
further.

“What do you
think he’ll be like?” one of the men said. He was the smaller of the two, with
bright red hair and the beginnings of a pot belly. Bella guessed he was about
twenty-five years old.

“Don’t matter,”
said the other man. He was heavily set, and could have been anywhere between
the ages of forty and fifty. When he took his hat off to Bella, he revealed
that the hair that had stuck out of the bottom was all that he had.  “He ain’t
gonna live much longer than the last Marshal.”

“I hear he’s a
college boy. Got degrees and everything.”

“I hear his
great-grandpappy was a Cherokee. Ain’t no amount of college gonna wash that
dirt off a man’s skin,” said the big man, punctuating the comment by spitting
on the floor.

“Excuse me.” The
words came from Bella’s mouth as a croak. She coughed a little, partly to clear
her throat and partly to stem the tide of nausea. “Excuse me, Sir, but the sign
says that you’re supposed to spit into the wind outside the coach, and I would
be very grateful if you did.”

Andrew put his
hand on her arm, as if to halt her breathless tide of words.

“Well, well,”
said the big man. “What do you think of that, Tom?” He turned to his friend.
“The sign says we’re supposed to spit into the wind.”

“I don’t know
about that, Bill, but then I ain’t never learned to read.” Tom spat onto the
floor of the coach. Both men put their hands to their guns. “I don’t much like
being told what to do by some stuck up little English girl.”

“Please, don’t
take offence,” said Andrew. “My sister is tired. We’ve been travelling for many
weeks now.”

“Your sister
eh?” said Bill. “That’s what they all say.” The younger man cackled, and made
an offensive remark about the nature of Bella and Andrew’s relationship.

Bella longed for
her brother to say something, but he just sat back in silence.

“We are brother
and sister,” she said, “and I resent the implication that we’re not. Now
please, if you don’t abide by the rules, I’ll be forced to speak to the
driver.”

At that, Bill
and Tom burst out laughing. “He’ll be dead two minutes later,” said Bill, his
hand still fingering the trigger of his gun.

“And you’ll be
dead two minutes after that.” A rifle appeared out of the long black coat, and
the man in the corner sat up and straightened his hat. He was in his
mid-thirties with a pair of blue eyes, rimmed with dark lashes. The affect
against his tanned skin was startling. His cheekbones were finely carved,
almost Slavic, and his mouth sensuous.  He turned to look at Bill. “Now you
just do as the young lady asks, and abide by the rules.” Despite having the
slow drawl characteristic of American inhabitants, and a tone that brought to
mind a low growl, his voice was more cultured than Bill and Tom’s.

Bill went for
his gun, but in the confines of the coach, the man in black was quicker. In an instant,
he pushed the rifle against Bill’s chest. Tom reached for his gun, and then
thought better of it.

“Now you and I
know something that the young lady and her brother don’t know,” the man in
black said, putting extra emphasis on the word brother. “If you kill the driver
of the mail coach, it is a federal offence,” he said, “liable to get your name
on posters all over the country, and a rope on a tree outside some small town.
And you two look strictly small time to me.”

“Maybe we could
just kill you,” said Tom, his voice wavering. “You ain’t nobody special.”

“Yeah, who the
hell are you?” said Bill. “I wanna know before I kill you.” With the rifle
still pressed against his chest, there did not seem to be much chance of that.

“Me?” The man in
black smiled, showing even white teeth. He opened his coat slightly, revealing
the glint of a silver badge. “I’m just a college boy.”

“Forgive me for
not introducing myself sooner,” said the man in black. Tom and Bill had been
deposited on the roadside and told to find another way home. The coach
continued its journey with just three passengers. “We had word there may be
some trouble on this coach and I was asked to come along incognito. My name is
Vance Eagleson. I’m a federal marshal.”

“I’m very
pleased to meet you, sir,” said Andrew, holding out his hand. “I’m Andrew
Tennyson and this is my sister, Miss Bella Tennyson.”

Bella inclined
her head and smiled shyly. Though not big in the sense of the uncouth Bill,
Vance Eagleson seemed to dominate the carriage.

“What brings you
folks all the way from England?” asked Vance.

“Our aunt died
last year and we’ve come out to claim her land,” said Andrew. “It’s in Milton.
In … “he paused, and looked to Bella for confirmation.

“The Sierra
Nevada,” said Bella.

“Milton’s where
I’m headed too,” said Vance, nodding. “They’ve had some problems keeping their
Marshals lately, so I’ve been appointed by the government to the role.”

“Is it true
they’ve been murdered?” asked Bella, wide-eyed.

“Yes, ma’am. I
don’t know how much you know about where you’re going, but civilisation has
been slow arriving in the west.”

“I have been
warned it isn’t a safe place for my sister,” said Andrew.

“You were told
right, Mister Tennyson. Milton is still a dirt town at the moment. They haven’t
even got the railroad yet. As far as I know, it’s got a couple of stores, a
saloon and a …” Vance paused. “Well, some things aren’t fit for a young lady’s
ears.”

“But there are
vineyards there, aren’t there?” said Bella.

“Yes, ma’am.
Outside of the town limits, I believe. I hear they make some fine wines. The
workers used to be Chinese, which brought its own problems.”

“You don’t like
the Chinese?” said Bella.

“I like them
fine, ma’am. I knew a lot of Chinese folk back in Chicago. Unfortunately, as
you heard old Bill there say, anyone whose skin isn’t whiter than white is not
particularly welcome around these parts. There’s been a lot of animosity
towards Chinese vineyard workers in the Sierra Nevada, because now white
settlers are moving there, they want the work for themselves.”

“Is it true your
grandfather was a Cherokee?” asked Andrew, his eyes shining with excitement.
During the journey he had regaled Bella with stories of Indian ambushes, whilst
assuring her such things seldom happened anymore.

“My great grandfather,
yes. I hope that don’t make you sorry to be sharing this coach with me.”

“No, not at
all,” said Bella. She wanted to tell him that he was a man she felt they could
trust, and that nothing else mattered, only shyness prevented her. “We’re very
grateful for your intervention with those men.”

“A word of
warning, ma’am. It’s not always a good idea to challenge folks around here. Men
get killed for a lot less.”

Bella looked at
her brother, and once again wondered what sort of land he had brought her to.

A few hours
later the coach finally arrived in Milton as the sun began to set. Vance
Eagleson told them to wait whilst he found out if they could get a lift to
their aunt’s place. They waited by their trunks until he returned.

The town was
much as he had told them. The wide road was a muddy track, and within minutes,
the hem of Bella’s travelling skirt was caked in dirt, despite the fact she had
barely walked on it. There was a hardware store, which also appeared to sell a
myriad of other items, and a telegraph office on one side of the street. Across
from them was the saloon, and next door to that an establishment called
Aunt
Kitty’s
.

The only other
buildings in the town were a blacksmiths, the Marshal’s office, attached to the
jail, a makeshift wooden church, some two hundred yards out of town and next to
that, a small building that appeared to be the schoolhouse. If there were any
homes in the vicinity, they could not see them from where they were.

Piano music
emanated from the saloon, along with the sound of men talking, but the streets
were empty.

“I’m sorry,
Bella,” said Andrew again, as they waited for the Marshal to return.

“Stop it!” she
snapped.