California Woman (Daughters of the Whirlwind Book 1) (48 page)

     r for Barnett
preoccupied Esther as she drove to the St. Charles Hotel the following evening
to attend the Judah presentation. For the sake of convenience she had arranged
to meet Barnett in the dining room after the meeting. In a second-floor suite,
she listened absently while Judah made his fiery pitch to Huntington, Hopkins,
Stanford, and a small group of men Stanford windily introduced before they all
sat down. One of them was an enormous, ill-tempered man named Charles Crocker,
a dry-goods wholesaler she had been competing with through the past ten years.
With him was one of his two half-brothers, William "Bull" Carter.

Esther had seen no reason to wear a veil
untiBull Carter turned and whispered to her:"Haven't I met you somewhere
before?"Esther pictured him toppling over after she'd struck him with the
pistol the day they whipped Murietta in Placerville. "I don't believe so,
Mr. Carter." She smiled and quickly turned away, hoping his eyes were weak
as well as piggishly small.

Carter smiled at her several times as
Judah slowly reinforced  the cautious support of the men he had won over, but
she knew from the transparent expression on Carter’s face that he was
interested in far more than determining where he had seen her. To avoid him,
she went downstairs to join  Barnett before Huntington, Hopkins, Stanford, and
Crocker had themselves voted officers of the company and formally concluded the
meeting. Barnett was waiting for her at a table in the far corner of the
buzzing, smoke-filled dining room. The waiter had scarcely taken their order
when Esther voiced her apprehensions about Mosby.

"Just political barbs." Barnett
laughed, waving the matter off.

"But you don't know what a vicious,
evil man he is. He's capable of murder."

"Now what brings you to say
something like that? Fiery, aggressive, yes. But vicious? Evil?"

She was searching for a way to answer him
when Barnett's eyes moved up over her head, and she heard the hoarse voice of a
man standing directly behind her.

"Senator Barnett, I take personal
offense at your remarks about my friend, Judge Mosby, in yesterday's
paper."

Her skin prickling, Esther turned and
gasped in surprise. He was thinner, but there was no mistaking the man. It was
Isaac Claussen.

"I'm sorry you feel that way,"
Barnett said calmly, not moving.

"Sorry's not enough, senator. Or
should I call you
almost ex-senator
?"

"You have the right to any words you
choose, so long as they are spoken with the knowledge that you are in the
presence of a lady."

Frightened, Esther nonetheless felt the
urge to leap up and slap Claussen across the face. He glanced down and, not
recognizing her, shrugged.

"I said sorry wasn't enough,"
Claussen repeated.

"What did you have in mind,
sir?" Barnett countered. "Perhaps I could arrange for a free meal in
the kitchen—if you are as hungry and impoverished as you look."

The waiter punctuated Barnett's remark by
delivering the salad. Several men at nearby tables cackled. Claussen stared
them down. He turned back to Barnett. "Now you gone and insulted me,
too!" he bellowed. "How does you gentlefolks say it? If you will do
me the honor, senator, I'd like to settle this up the river aways. Tomorra
mornin' at dawn."

The room was suddenly silent.

"You must have practiced that little
speech for some time to recite it so well," Barnett drawled sarcastically.
Delighted, the men at the surrounding tables laughed again. "But to no
good purpose, I'm afraid. I do not accept challenges from gentlemen who are—if
you will forgive me—beneath my station in life." Barnett turned from
Claussen and commenced on his salad.

The onlookers howled.

"You… you can't get away with that
kinda crap with me!" Claussen barked, his blotchy face turning red.

"Your only alternative is to pull
that pistol you are hiding beneath your jacket and murder me—right here, in
front of all these witnesses. I suggest you think seriously before doing
anything so patently guaranteed to send you to the gallows. Beyond that, this
discussion is closed."

Esther suppressed a snicker as Claussen
stammered, and the men nearby laughed so hard they had to hold their sides. The
big, red-bearded man swung his head left and right like a confused bull, turned
on his heel finally, and left.

"A year in Washington has done
wonders for your delivery, not to mention your sense of humor, Warren. But that
man is almost as dangerous as Mosby, believe  me."

Barnett reached out with his free hand
and rested it on Esther's arm. "You fret too much, dear girl. All of it is
just talk. No one's going to do a damn thing but that. Talk. As soon as the
convention and the election are over, we'll all be smiling at one another
again. Now, I don't want to discuss it any further. Just stop worrying your
lovely head about it."

"But…"

"No 'buts.' Let's not spoil our
dinner. I haven't seen you in over a year. Tell me what you've been up to. Why
are you living in Sacramento?"

She tried several times during dinner to
bring the matter up again, but Barnett refused to talk of anything but their
activities over the past eighteen months. He had just asked her for more
details about the meeting with Judah, when Mosby entered the dining room. A
combination of rage and fear froze Esther as Mosby walked slowly over to the
table, looked at her, searched his mind, and then not think
ing
back as far as ten or more years,
shrugged and turned to Barnett. There were more pressing matters on his mind.
Again the room was as silent as an empty church.

"Good evening, judge," Barnett
said.

"Understand you'll only accept a
challenge from an equal."

"You are correct."

"And I suppose you'll find a way of
thinking I'm not either."

"Not what?" Barnett smiled,
annoyed and slightly apprehensive but enjoying it as well.

"Your equal, you horse's ass!"

"Obviously we could not be equal if
I am a horse's ass, as you put it, since you are wearing a different kind of
tail at the moment. I might add that it does little to conceal your true
nature."

Esther shuddered as the patrons nearby
broke into appreciative if hesitant laughter.

"What's it going to take then?
This?
"
Mosby moved quickly, slapping Barnett hard across the face with his gloves.

"I will be the only one who obtains
satisfaction from that stupid action," Barnett said, dabbing his napkin at
a small nick where a button had sliced across his cheek. "In court, where
these things are rightly dealt with." Barnett got up. "If you will
excuse me,
judge
, I am having dinner. After which I plan to report your
barbaric conduct to the police. You prove how unequal you are by thinking for a
moment that I would be drawn into your crude little game."

Mosby shoved Barnett back into the chair.
"You spineless son of a—"

Screaming, Esther threw herself at Mosby.
"Leave him
alone
, you
filthy beast
!"

Half turning, hardly taking notice of the
blow she landed on his shoulder, Mosby grabbed Esther by one arm and threw her
sprawling into a cluster of people and plates at the next table. The onlookers
gasped, but no one moved. Mosby turned back to Barnett. "Your lady friend
is actin' like a whore, Barnett."

"You were born of one, you worthless
scum!" Barnett shot out of his chair and seized Mosby by the throat.
Livid, beyond his senses, he lifted Mosby off the ground and was shaking him like
a dog worrying a cat when Claussen and two other men rushed in, grabbed him
from behind, and pried his hands loose.

Mosby staggered for a moment, choking, as
Claussen hit Barnett in the stomach, doubling him over. Recovering quickly,
Mosby barked, "Turn him loose!"

"You've gone too far this
time," Barnett coughed out, trying to regain his wind.

"You can have your satisfaction
anytime you want it," Mosby hissed. "We
gentlemen
shouldn't
brawl in public this way."

Still stunned, Esther swayed and screamed,
"Warren! … Don't listen to him!"

"Tomorrow morning will be fine, you
whoreson!"

"Tomorrow morning it is then. A mile
north of the city, on this side of the river. Pistols?"

"It will be a pleasure."

Regaining her wits, Esther started to get
up. "
For God's sake
, Warren!"

"If you're agreeable, I'll provide
the weapons. You can have first choice between the pair."

"That will be fine. When I'm through
with you, Mosby, your foul-smelling friend here can have
his
turn."

Mosby smiled, then swept out of the room
with Claussen and his cohorts. Esther got up and walked unsteadily toward
Barnett. Crying, she put her arms around him. "It's
insane
, Warren.
For God's sake, can't you see that? The man is a crack shot."

Barnett smiled coldly. "He may be.
But at twenty paces, that won't come into play."

"Warren—!"

"And I'll have the hand of God
steadying me." There was a frightening look of certainty in his eyes as he
fished a bill out of his pocket, paid the waiter, and took Esther by the arm.
"Come, I'll take you home," he said, guiding her toward the door.

She
attempted a dozen times to persuade him to reconsider. Nothing she said got
through to him. When he finally stood in her doorway and noted he had much
paperwork to attend to—just in case God saw fit to call him—the look of
righteous invincibility on his face was gone. In its place was the blank stare
of a man considering the possibility that he was living his last hours on
earth.

He was not dead when she was called tohis
hotel room the following afternoon. He had asked to see her. She winced at the
blood-soaked bandages the doctors had wrapped around his chest after removing
the bullet.

"Now, don't you spend a minute
thinking you had anything to do with this," Barnett rasped. "It would
have come to a showdown sooner or later. I just couldn't let him do what he did
without answering it like a man." He waved a nurse and several political
cronies out of the room. When they were gone, he motioned Esther closer and
kissed her on the cheek. "I have always loved you as my own sister."

"I know," she sobbed. "And
I you, as a brother."

"I want to share a secret with you.
Nothing, no election I have ever won, no amount of money I have ever made, has
given me the satisfaction of finding the courage not to run this morning. All the
glib talk, the windy bravado, the sarcastic bluster has concealed a coward
until today. I want you to know how happy that makes me. Particularly since I
have paid for it with only a superficial wound."

"But the nurse said it is gravely
serious."

"Doctors and nurses. What do they
know? I am more alive at this moment than I have ever been in my life. And I
will recover. Count on it, little sister. Now let me rest awhile. As soon as
I'm better, up and about, we will have that dinner Mosby so rudely interrupted."

She
hoped fervently that he was right, but word of his death was sent to her that
evening just after she read the newspaper accounts of the duel. She didn't want
to believe it. Almost obsessed, she kept reading the articles over and over,
hoping she would find that it was not Warren Barnett's name she saw there.
Finally she read the report in the
Democratic Standard
one last time,
accepting the reality and noticing for the first time the peculiar way Barnett
had been left defenseless almost immediately.

…
as the seconds stepped hack and Mr. Ryder gave the word, the principals raised
their pistols, which they had held pointed to the ground. On the rise, Mr.
Barnett's weapon went off, the ball striking the ground a few feet short of his
opponent…

She
scanned the rest, her mind already at work on how to find out how such a thing
could happen to a man who had fired guns skillfully at recreational targets. A
gun expert will know, she thought, still reading.

…
lowered himself… reclining position… then fell full length… Surgeons present….
passed through… cavity of the chest… mattress litter…. conveyed to the city…
sat up… concealed the great pain… the weight of a thousand pounds upon him…
internal hemorrhage…

She glanced back up the page.
"On
the rise… ball striking the ground…"
Before she could even think of
where to find a gunsmith, she knew instinctively what the man would tell her.

Aboard
the
Pacific Union Express

May
7, 1869

9:30
a.m.

Esther glanced through the window beside
her as the train slowed in its ascent through the Sierra foothills. It had long
since left behind the spot on the river where Mosby had fatally wounded Warren
Barnett. More than enough to justify revenge at that point, she reminded
herself, let alone now. She moved her gloved fingertips over the pebbled
leather of the journal cover, recalling the furor that arose when it was
discovered that Mosby's pistols had been tampered with… that he had practiced
with them on two successive nights before the duel… his resignation… her
fruitless search for him after his sudden disappearance. He had resurfaced
almost a year later in Nevada, carrying with him an appointment as governor
from Jefferson Davis if he succeeded in aligning the territory with the
Confederacy. Then there had been the election of Lincoln… the interminable
winter of 1860-61, waiting to cross the Sierras, to find and face Mosby once
and for all, no matter what the consequences were… the ridiculous attentions
Bull Carter paid to her… Alex…

Shaking
her head at the irony of the unexpected events that delayed her departure for
Virginia City that subsequent spring, she opened the journal again.

San
Francisco

April 18, 1861

No matter
what I have revealed about my continued feelings for you, Alex, you must
believe me when I tell you that my heart is shattered with the news that your
lovely wife, Judith, is gone. I rejoiced, despite my longings for you, when she
recovered from her miscarriage nearly two years ago. And I prayed for her
well-being during the untroubled period of her latest pregnancy. And now this.
Oh, how I wish I could comfort you personally, soothe you in your grief. You
have done nothing to deserve this. Whatever the telegraph message I send to you
as Mrs. "E. Cable," when I return to Sacramento, know, if you ever
read this, that my true feelings could never be expressed…

Esther lingered in San Francisco for a
month after the death of Judith Todd. Repeatedly she found excuses not to make
the journey back to Sacramento. She arranged a series of meetings with Ralston,
to ask him redundant questions about the Comstock, the railroad, her other
investments, until he almost lost his temper. Reopening her house, she
surprised the Kelseys with a dinner invitation, then surprised them again by
immediately accepting a reciprocal meal three days later. News of the firing on
Fort Sumter and the start of the Civil War reached San Francisco. Several days
later she attended a pro-Union rally with Ralston, and through him offered
financial support in the effort to thwart secession maneuvers by Southerners
throughout the state. When she spotted Alex standing at the far side of the
noisy crowd just across from the Road Depot Saloon, she finally admitted to
herself why she had remained in San Francisco.

And then Bull Carter showed up at her
door.

He was
holding
a nosegay of flowers. It was almost
hidden in a hand the size of a small rib-roast. Respectfully, he held his hat
in the other.

"Why, Mr. Carter, what a
surprise."

"I hope not too much of a one,"
Carter stammered. "I mean callin' on you… uh… this unexpected… way."
His hair was slicked back with what appeared to be half a pound of chicken fat.
He rushed on. "I was in San Francisco on business for my brother…
half-brother…"

"Mr. Crocker."

"Yes… and… I… ah… thought I'd bring
you these flowers." He handed them to her, his tiny eyes blinking
repeatedly.

"That's quite all right, Mr. Carter.
And thank you."

"I know I bothered you… in
Sacramento. That is—"

"You weren't a bother, Mr. Carter. I
was simply too busy with things at the school."

"Well, it was stupid of me, what
with you bein' in mourning for your friend Senator Barnett. I didn't show no
tack." He glanced in through the door for a second, stared at her oddly.
She guessed he was trying to remember again where he had seen her before.

Esther reached for her hat on the mirror
rack just beside the entrance. "I wish I could invite you in, but I'm
expected in town in just a few minutes."

"Quite all right, quite all
right," Carter said, following and trying to keep up with her as she headed
for the carriage stable. "I just wanted to… pay my respects."

She lost Carter easily once she reached
the outskirts of the city, then doubled back to her house fifteen minutes
later. The following day she wrote a note to Ralston, requesting a meeting.

"What do you know about William
Carter?" she asked Ralston, after setting out chairs on the porch when he
arrived after dinner. On the pretext that the mayflies had been noisome in the
unseasonal warmth that evening, she was wearing a gardening hat with light
mosquito netting draped down over the front brim. For a moment she thought he
recognized her features, but then she realized it was simply male appreciation.
Casually she moved the lamp on the table beside them so that it shed less light
on her face.

"Carter? He's a climber. Wants into
the Big Four so bad he can taste it. But he doesn't have any money. Best he'll
manage is a handout from Crocker. A good job, probably. But, knowing Crocker,
it will be about as secure as an ice cube in Panama. Why do you ask?"

"Oh, just a woman's curiosity. I
spoke briefly with Mr. Carter yesterday. I ran into him unexpectedly—in
town."

"He's here in San Francisco?"
Ralston frowned. "I'd watch out for him, Esther. He didn't pay a call on
you, did he?"

"Why… no. Whatever would he do that
for?"

"I
said
he wanted in bad. To
be more specific, he's sidled up to more than one wealthy widow, looking for a
bankbook. Wants to pry his way into a silent partnership with Crocker and the
rest of them."

Esther's mind began ticking. "Oh,
Billy, are you sure of that? Or is it just rumor?" She thought of the
marvelous act Carter had put on the day before. At least in part. No doubt some
of it was authentic awkwardness with a woman as well as embarrassment about
what he was doing. "He seems such a nice man."

"He's about as nice as his
half-brother. And that's like calling a grizzly bear a Quaker!"

Esther laughed. "Well, I'll
certainly be on the lookout. Not that he would ever be interested in me."
She thought of Carter's enormous size and physical strength, and the
power-potential attached to being even tangentially involved with the railroad
suddenly struck her.

"Why not?" Ralston smiled.
"You're not only wealthy, you're a beautiful woman. I can see that, even
through your veils."

"Oh, Billy, you don't need to
flatter me. There are many women in San Francisco far more attractive than I
am."

"But most of them don't have
money."

"No, they don't," Esther mused.
The thought of beating Carter at his own game, turning it to her own advantage,
intrigued her.

"And the ones who do often don't
realize that under California law, anything a wife owns becomes her husband's
property once they're married, unless she declares it beforehand."

"Well, that's only right,"
Esther said, concealing a righteous indignation. "Isn't it? Aren't we the
weaker sex? Don't we need the guidance of a big, smart, strong man?" She
suddenly
knew
she would use Carter's physical strength someday against
Mosby. She quickly parsed the premonition with reason and probability. More likely,
it would be the strength of the railroad she would employ. Or at least the
privileges that being the wife of a silent partner might afford her.

"You don't seem to need a
big,
strong man,
" Ralston said, smiling. "You really don't believe
that at all."

"Oh, but I do—at least occasionally.
It would be a comfort."

She thought she saw a fleeting expression
of pleasure cross Ralston's face; but then it was gone, and she couldn't be
sure. The notion was quickly lost in considerations of Alex, what she had really
asked Ralston to meet her about, and the discomfiting thought of being Bull
Carter's wife.

"I never figured you had any
interest in marriage," Ralston said, interrupting her thoughts.

"I never said I did."

"Well, if you ever do, be wary of
Carter."

"What a pity. He's such a fine
figure of a man."

"I think he'd look good on a serving
platter—with an apple in his mouth." Ralston looked at his watch, suddenly
a little nervous again.

"I'm not keeping you, am I? I did
want to ask you if there's been any news from Judah."

"No, I have plenty of time. And yes,
there has been some word. It will take some time, perhaps another year, to get
an act passed, but Judah's convinced Congress that the road is a military
necessity to the Union."

 "That's marvelous news,"
Esther said, thinking about Carter as well as Alex again.

"Yes. It means the financial support
that's needed. I have to go up to Sacramento before they draw up the
papers."

"Papers?"

"Incorporation papers. The Central
Pacific Railroad Company will be formed sometime before summer." He looked
at his watch again, then glanced left to where the carriage road came over the
crest of the hill. For a moment he seemed preoccupied, but then his face lit up
with enthusiasm. "Esther, you won't believe what they're going to ask
for—Huntington and the rest of them. Thousands of dollars per mile. An even
higher rate for the mountains. They plan to set up their own construction
company, so even if the damn thing never gets over the Sierras, they stand to
make an enormous profit. Right now we're in a position to buy a small piece of
it, since you helped put Judah and the rest of them together. But I want to get
us more. It won't be a huge share, Huntington's too smart and too greedy for
that. But I think we can increase our position."

 "Whatever you think, Billy. You're
the financial wizard." She was about to begin a series of circuitous
questions she hoped might lead to an "accidental" meeting with Alex,
when Ralston looked at his watch again.

"I am keeping you." She would
wait for a more propitious time.

"No, it's just—I told someone I was
going to be… I… ah… said he could meet me here. I hope you'll forgive me."

"Nothing to forgive. Who is
coming?"

The clinking sound of a buckboard harness
drew her attention as Ralston said, "Alex Todd. Poor devil. He's thinking
about taking a leave of absence, doing some legal work for… for the railroad
people. He's… he thinks he needs a change. It's probably just temporary
confusion. I want to talk him out of it."

Although she had been thinking for weeks
about a way to be briefly with Alex again, the sight of him pulling up in front
of her house, just ten yards away, made her knees weak. She could not just sit
here. She couldn't just leave them, either. She had to get into the house somehow,
put on a hat with a heavy veil. It was an impossible situation.

As Alex stepped down from the buckboard,
she quickly turned to Ralston. "I feel a chill. Will you excuse me for a
moment? I must get a wrap. Tell Mr. Todd I'll be right back. I'm sure… you two
men will have things to discuss for a few minutes."

Upstairs she gripped the edge of her
dresser, staring into the mirror without seeing, trying to get hold of herself,
searching for a way to avoid going back down to the porch. Her mind wasn't working.
The muffled sound of their voices increased the feeling of helplessness. Then
she heard what sounded like the tones of a mild disagreement. Seconds later,
reins snapped, and she heard one of the buckboards roll out of her driveway and
down the hill. Certain Alex had interpreted her hasty retreat as an objection
to his coming, sure he was gone, she went back downstairs still wearing the
garden hat. But it was Alex who was standing at the screened front door. She
froze, waited for the expression of shock to transform his face.

"I stayed to apologize, Mrs. Cable.
I'm mortified, but that won't stop me from being honest. I'm afraid Billy was
making an awkward stab at matchmaking."

Esther was certain she would faint.
Disoriented, she forgot to disguise her voice. "What a lovely
compliment," she heard herself say, immediately conscious that only
circumstance had caused her to whisper.

"I think it was stupid," Alex
said, not looking at her. "He knows I have no interest in anything like
that. Knows I've told all my friends to stop doing this sort of thing. Some of
the women they've thrown at me… I'm sorry. I don't mean you. I just never would
have come if I knew what he was up to. If you'll excuse me, I'll be
going."

She watched him turn and start down the
steps. She knew her voice had deepened slightly over the last dozen years. That
might make it possible. How much could he possibly see through the screen and
the mosquito netting? She realized the porch lamp would not reach this far,
became aware that the one behind her in the hallway would lessen rather than
improve his view of her. Pulled forcefully by her desire to see him again, she
regained her courage. If she had succeeded once, she could do it again.