Homecoming Girls (30 page)

Her face was awash with tears but she didn’t brush them away. ‘But do you know what, Thomas? Even though this gentleman said that he loved me and would look after me . . .’

Her voice was choked and Thomas bit his lip but didn’t move to touch her or say anything, for he felt that she would break in two if he did.

‘Even then,’ she continued, ‘even though I could’ve had so much, I refused to go. I refused because I loved Daniel – your da – and I couldn’t bear to leave him.’

She looked up at Thomas, standing so still. ‘It was Edward Newmarch who was my lover. Jewel’s father.’

Thomas was silent for a moment, then he glanced at his father sitting with his head in his hands. ‘I see,’ he said. ‘And so – am I right, Da, in thinking that every time you see Jewel . . .’ he frowned as if puzzling it out, ‘when you see her, you think of him?’

Daniel nodded and blew his nose hard. ‘Aye.’

‘But – he went on to have a different life, just as you and Ma did, and surely you were both young at ’time and fighting to survive?’

Ruby gave a hiccuping laugh. How simple it sounded.

Thomas shrugged. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘I reckon that Edward Newmarch saved Ma’s life by being there, and if all he got in return was her virtue and not her love, then I’d say that he was the loser.’

Daniel looked at his son and blinked as if he had suddenly come out of darkness into the light.

Thomas gazed at them both in turn. ‘Well,’ he said again, ‘if that was what all ’fuss was about, then think on this, Da. Edward Newmarch was, as I understand it, ’brother of Martin Newmarch, Aunt Grace’s husband and Clara and Elizabeth’s father.’

‘I’ve nowt against Martin—’ Daniel began.

‘It’s just as well, Da,’ Thomas said tersely. ‘And even if you had it wouldn’t mek any difference. Because when Clara comes home, I intend to ask for her hand in marriage; and if she’ll have me there’ll be a Newmarch in ’family after all. So you can put that in your pipe and smoke it.’

Georgiana borrowed a mount from the hotel stables, a steady ancient mare which would do little more than plod and trot if urged. A stable lad helped her on; she hadn’t ridden for a long time, and she accustomed herself to the mare’s gait as they ambled down Dreumel’s main street.

There was a slight breeze and the water of the creek gushed and surged as it raced down the valley. Mmm, she breathed. That’s good. I’m feeling so much better after these few days in the mountain air. Her spirits were lifting and the lethargy which she had felt for some weeks was slipping away.

Wilhelm had gone to Yeller this morning. Although he had spent time with her since her arrival, sitting outside the Marius, talking of plans or escorting her on gentle walks through the town, she knew he was itching to get back to his project, that of rebuilding Yeller. He’d taken Dan with him that morning as the young man had expressed an interest in helping if he could, and so she was alone, to do with the day whatever she wished, but with Wilhelm’s warning not to overtask herself ringing incessantly in her ears.

‘I won’t,’ she’d told him. ‘I’ll be very sensible and take it easy with a good book.’ She hadn’t told him that she intended riding out towards the mountains.

She patted the mare’s neck as she approached the bridge. ‘I used to ride out here on Hetty, you know,’ she murmured, and
the mare snickered and pricked her ears. ‘She knew the way all right, we’d done it so many times.’

The horse increased her stride and trotted over the bridge. ‘So you know the way too,’ Georgiana murmured. ‘I suppose new people are curious and come and look at Dreumel from the other side of the water.’

After they’d crossed she reined in and looked back. The town looked much as it had always done, as if it had grown into the valley. True, there were more buildings, stores and houses than there had been when she was last here, but the town hadn’t lost its sleepy character, in spite of the activity which she knew went on within it.

She took in a deep breath of satisfaction. It was so very good to be back. She wheeled the mare’s head round to face the mountain and the track running up it to the plateau where Dan had seen the black bear. She gazed up. There was nothing there this morning, just the pine trees gently swaying and white clouds scudding across the blue sky.

Georgiana lifted her chin, and with her lips parted slightly and her nostrils flaring, she sniffed. With her tongue pressed to the roof of her mouth, she sniffed again. It was what Lake had taught her to do. ‘It takes practice,’ he had said. ‘A lifetime of practice.’ He was a master of it, despite having only had a short lifetime.

‘You can smell the weather,’ he had told her. ‘You can smell the snow even if it’s across the mountains. You can smell bear and wolf, and you can smell danger when it’s coming for you.’

She dug her heels into the mare’s flanks and urged her up the track. Had Lake been able to smell the danger that was coming towards him, she wondered? Did he know it and yet face it head on?

She had first met him at an Iroquois settlement on the long journey between New York and Dreumel’s Creek in the days before the railroad crossed the country. Lake was a hunter and trapper, a half-breed; his mother was an Iroquois Indian, a descendant of Handsome Lake, who had brought together
Indians and white men to live in peace; his father had been a French trapper. It was Lake who was entrusted with seeing her and Kitty safely though the mountains to visit Wilhelm Dreumel, and it was during that journey that they had each recognized a kindred spirit and eventually learned to love one another.

But he was a man of the mountains who lived beneath the stars and earned his living trapping beaver, both for their pelts and for the meat. A city life wouldn’t suit him, walls wouldn’t contain him, and neither could she live the life that he did, brought up as she had been amongst gentlefolk, and with the earnest desire to be independent, which was why she had gone to America in the beginning. And then, whilst she was away in San Francisco, rendezvousing with the dying Edward and rescuing his daughter Jewel, Lake was killed by his sworn enemy, his half-brother.

It was Wilhelm who was waiting to tell her. Wilhelm, who comforted her and eventually told her that he loved her, that he had always loved her.

They eased their way up the track, the mare sure-footed as if she knew the route. It was another lifetime. And would I change it if I could? No, she thought. I wouldn’t. Not one single part of it. I loved Lake then as he loved me, but we could not have lived together. I couldn’t have lived a life in the wilderness and I would have been a constant worry to him. He would always have been watching over me, keeping me from danger, from wolf or bear or enemy. I would have ruined his life.

She reached the plateau and dismounted, tying the reins loosely to a branch. How well I remember it, she thought, looking down at the valley. I recall so well the first time Kitty and I came here.

‘It’s a secret valley,’ she had proclaimed to Lake and he’d agreed. Unknown, then, except to Indians and the chosen few who had come here because of Lake. Wilhelm was the first, the visit his reward for saving Lake’s life the first time his murderous half-brother attacked him. Wilhelm brought Ted
Allen, then old Isaac; Pike, who was killed blasting through to Yeller and whose name was given to the road; the young Jason; Ellis, a man of few words; and others who could see the potential of the valley, not just for the gold they were sure was there, which cost them life and sweat and tears before they found it.

It’s still so beautiful, she thought, her gaze traversing the lush meadow, the green uplands, the gushing creek and the rocky mountain range; and the town itself, looking as if it had always been there.

She leaned her back against a pine tree as she contemplated. Why would anyone ever want to move from here? Not Wilhelm, and – would I? I should be torn, there is no doubt, but would I be beset by old memories? She closed her eyes and breathed in steadily the smell of pine needles, the fresh cold air and something else, something musty like sweat or something animal.

She kept very still. Imaginings, she told herself. The horse would be disturbed if there was a bear or wolf; and yet she recalled two occasions when there had been both, once when Lake had been distracted by her presence and a lone wolf had come upon them. Lake had killed it, the animal’s blood spattering them both. The other time she had been with Kitty and a female black bear had strayed into their territory. She had kept her nerve then and it had gone away.

Opening her eyes, she gazed around without moving. The mare had her head down, nosing amongst pine needles. Georgiana turned her head slowly; a shadow, a rustle amongst the trees, a faint aroma of old leather. She swallowed.
I am at one with the elements of nature
, Lake had told her; and the very last thing he had said to her was that she should look for him on her return and he would be there.

But I don’t believe in ghosts, she thought, and it was such a long time ago; besides, I love Wilhelm. But I loved Lake too, there’s no denying that. She felt a warmth stealing over her. A tender sweet happiness to have known such a man. She took a breath and turned to catch the reins and it was then that
she saw the bear. He was large and standing on a ledge above her, half hidden by the trees. Gently she clapped her hands so as not to frighten him. They were timid creatures and only attacked if disturbed. The horse whinnied and pawed the ground and instantly the bear turned and disappeared into the forest.

She felt quite calm, gathered up the reins and led the horse towards the track, where she stood on a fallen log and mounted. Enough, she thought. I will not ride out alone in the mountains again. I’m no longer young and foolhardy. I’m a mature woman who should know better. Carefully, the mare eased down the route as if carrying a fragile load, and then halted as Georgiana brought her to a standstill to look back. The bear was on the plateau where she had just been, looking down at her. He lifted one foot; Georgiana gazed, her lips parted, and then raised her hand in farewell. I was in his special place, she thought. That is his lookout.

She rode down towards the bridge and it was there that she was struck by a sudden thought. I
am
a mature woman, but I’m not old by any means. This malaise that has been bothering me since before I left England, the seasickness I experienced, is not a mid-life malady after all. She felt curiously elated. I do believe that I’m expecting a child.

Dan had been lent a pony to ride into Yeller beside Wilhelm. He’d mounted easily and was relieved that he had, for Caitlin had watched them move off and he didn’t want to make a fool of himself in front of her. She would have laughed, he was sure of that.

As they rode Wilhelm told him something of Yeller and the fire and how they wanted to rebuild it. As he spoke, Dan picked up on the enthusiasm in his voice. This is a man of vision, he thought. There’s no wonder that a town was named after him. Without him there would have been no Dreumel and no Yeller either.

‘I’d like to help,’ Dan said. The words popped out, surprising even him. What an opportunity, he thought. To be in at the beginning. To put my mark on some aspect of the new town. ‘I’m a qualified joiner,’ he said. ‘Served my apprenticeship.’

Wilhelm turned to him. ‘Well, if you’re as good as your father then you’ll be welcome,’ he said. ‘We’d need a commitment, as far as you could give it, that is, and there might not be much money to begin with. Most folks have lost everything and need to start again. They might not be able to pay right away.’

Dan nodded. ‘I’d only need to earn my bed and board,’ he said. ‘I can manage otherwise.’ He gave silent thanks to his father, who had given him enough money to get by on. He could live on that.

They rode into what was left of Yeller and Dan was aghast at the devastation and yet also amazed to see buildings going up, windows and doors being fitted. There was the sound of hammering and sawing and the shouts and whistling of men as they worked, and a general air of purpose. Dan felt a buoyancy, a sense of enthusiasm and eagerness to be part of the scene.

‘Hi there, Bill,’ somebody called out.

Wilhelm turned in his saddle and, touching his hat, greeted a man on the road. ‘Jason! How you doing?’

Bill, Dan thought? I’d never have thought of Wilhelm Dreumel as Bill.

‘I’m doin’ jest fine,’ the man said, and came over towards them, raising his hand for Wilhelm to shake. ‘Got my house jest about finished. On the outside, that is.’ He laughed. ‘Rose’s got some fancy ideas for indoors.’

‘Dan, this is Jason,’ Wilhelm introduced him. ‘Jason was here right at the start of Dreumel’s Creek. Before we had any kind of town.’

‘No more’n a shanty town.’Jason reached up to shake Dan’s hand too. ‘A few tents and wooden shacks.’

He must have been young, Dan thought. He can only be late thirties now.

‘You jest arrived? Is it you that’s come over from England with Miz Gianna?’

‘Erm, yes,’ Dan said. ‘That’s right.’

‘You got a trade?’Jason bit on his lip. ‘We sure need tradespeople.’

‘Yes,’ Dan said again. ‘I’m a wood worker. Time served.’

‘Uh huh! Well, if you’re staying there’ll be plenty of work.’ Jason touched his hat. ‘Be seeing you.’

Wilhelm smiled as Jason left them. ‘He’s a good sort is Jason. Made his mark here. He was only young when he arrived, maybe eighteen or nineteen. He stayed on even when there seemed to be no hope of finding gold. He teamed up with Pike – Pike who was killed when we blasted through.’ He nodded thoughtfully as if he was thinking about the past.
‘It was Jason who called this Yeller Valley, after we found gold.’