Janet Quin-Harkin (44 page)

“The constant water supply,” Libby answered for herself before Fairbanks could speak.

The judge shifted the papers around. “You presumably did not have expert help in choosing this situation—no legal help, for example?”

“I didn’t think I needed it,” Libby said. “I bought the land from the man who held title to it.”

“I’m only thinking,” the judge said slowly, “that if you had conducted a thorough investigation into the pros and cons of your present situation, you might have discovered that your neighbor, Mr. Rival, was already in possession of the land directly above you and had already filed a claim with the mining commission of this state to begin hydraulic mining there.”

Libby looked at him suspiciously. “He hadn’t already built a dam when I moved in there,” she said.

“But he had expressed his intention of doing so to several witnesses from whom these gentlemen have affidavits,” the judge said. “Furthermore, I have before me a map of the gold mining area of our state. Your particular river, Mrs. Grenville, does not show upon it.”

“That doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist,” Libby said, not able to hold back her anger any longer.

“Of course not,” the judge said, “but it does make my task a little easier, as it has not been officially recognized as a water source. I sympathize with you, Mrs. Grenville. You have obviously put a lot of work into this little project, but I feel you should have done your homework a Little more thoroughly before starting on it. I have no alternative than to rule in favor of Mr. Rival. The dam is allowed to stand.”

The hammer came down on the bench. Fairbanks put his hand on Libby’s arm to steer her away. “Thank you very much, but I can do without your help,” she said coldly. “A lot of help you were in there.”

“I did what I could,” Mr. Fairbanks said, “but I’m afraid we were up against insurmountable odds.”

“Meaning what?”

“The laws governing the mining processes in this state are only being written,” Fairbanks said. “And there are those in the mining commission who are not above putting signatures to documents for a fee.”

“You’re saying those documents were false?”

“I’m saying that there are those in this state who can be bought,” he said. “I didn’t like to tell you that we were fighting a losing battle before we went into court, but when I saw who we had as judge, I knew we were wasting our time. Sheldon Rival is already a powerful man and his hydraulic mining is making him richer by the minute. Only a fool would make an enemy of him at the moment.”

“Then I must be a fool,” Libby said, “Because I’m not going to give up. I’ll go to the legislature and have them change the laws. I’ll go to the Supreme Court if I have to. I’m not going to let Sheldon Rival win this time.”

Mr. Fairbanks touched her arm lightly. “My dear, there is a whole big state waiting to be developed—more land than anyone dreamed of, waiting to be cultivated. Why give yourself such heartaches when they are not necessary? You could find somewhere even better to start afresh. Many of these Mexican land grants will be going begging. Help yourself to one—it would cost you nothing.”

“Yes it would,” Libby said. “It would cost me my pride.”

B
ACK AT THE
hotel, Libby loaded her bag into the wagon and drove straight to the hospital. It was hard going through the mud but eventually she tied up the horse and mule at the rail outside. The hospital looked even more desolate by daylight—a dark brick building around which black smoke still curled. She went in the front door and was greeted by a strange woman who told her very firmly that no visitors were allowed. It was only then that she realized she didn’t know the orderly’s name. She tried to describe him but the woman was in no mood to listen.

“Out!” she said, pointing at the front door. Then she stood with hands on hips while Libby went out again.

As she stood looking at the building, wondering how she could get access to Gabe, a heavy wagon rolled up and men came running down the steps to carry in three groaning figures, wrapped in blankets. They went to lift a fourth body, then yelled out breezily, “Don’t bother about this one. He’s already a stiff.” They turned to the carter. “Take him round back to the morgue.”

Libby fought off her revulsion and seized her chance to slip in behind the stretcher bearers. The unfriendly woman was involved with admitting the patients, writing names in the book. One of the sick men started thrashing in his fever and threatened to fall off his stretcher. As the orderlies sprang to control him Libby fled down the corridor toward the smallpox ward. Inside all was quiet, except for some faint groans. Two beds next to Gabe’s were empty but he lay there not moving, his eyes sunken, face alarmingly red and half obscured by bandages. An ugly boil poked out of the bandage at his chin. Libby swallowed with fear. She tiptoed over to him and stared at him for a long time until she saw that he was still breathing. Then she wasn’t sure what to do next. Gabe was too heavy for her to drag out and she would certainly be stopped. She slipped out again and went around the building until she came to a door at the back which presumably led to the morgue. As she stood, undecided, two young men came out of it, carrying an empty stretcher between them, masks tied around their mouths making them look like bandits.

Libby ran up and grabbed one by the arm. “I need your help badly,” she whispered. “My husband’s in there and they won’t let me take him home. He got sick when he came into town, you see, and I’ve just found him. Couldn’t you bring him out to me? We live on a farm away from everybody. We wouldn’t be doing any harm and I could nurse him back to health. If he’s left here, he’ll die.”

“What do you want us to do?” one of the young men asked kindly.

“If you could just carry him out, pretend you were taking him to the morgue, I’ll have my buckboard waiting,” she said, “and I’ll make it worth your while.” She fumbled in her purse and brought out a handful of silver dollars. She watched the young men glance at each other.

“All right, ma’am,” one of them said. “Which one is he?”

Libby hurried to her wagon and brought it round to the back of the hospital. A few minutes later the two young men appeared, carrying a white-shrouded figure between them. The white shrouded figure, however, was not acting the part of a body very well.

From under the sheet the figure was protesting loudly, “Will you put me down this instant? I’m not dead yet, I tell you.”

“Quiet, your wife’s come to take you away,” one of the orderlies hissed.

“I don’t have a wife. You’re going to bury me,” Gabe raved.

“He’s delirious, poor thing, put him in here,” Libby said quickly, motioning to the back of the wagon. The orderlies lifted him on top of the sacks.

“No, don’t bury me. I’m still alive,” Gabe moaned.

Libby slipped a handful of silver dollars to the men who nodded and slipped away. “Stop talking and lie back, Gabe,” Libby whispered. “Nobody’s going to bury you.”

“Libby?” Gabe murmured as she pulled the sheet back from his face. “Are you dead too?”

“You’re going to be fine,” she said, trying to smile confidently as she looked down at his distorted features. “I’m taking you home with me. I’m going to get you well again.”

Gabe closed his eyes and smiled. “That’s good,” he said, and passed into unconsciousness.

Libby drove away as fast as she could, terrified that she would be stopped and Gabe taken back. It was only when the smoke from the city hung low on the horizon behind her that she allowed the horse and mule to slow to a walk. Gabe still lay in the back among the sacks, being tossed back and forth like a doll as the wagon lurched over ruts and bumps. Libby stopped and tried to make him more comfortable. As she touched him she could feel his body burning with fever. He moaned but didn’t open his eyes.

Libby pressed on as fast as she dared. Spray flew up as she whipped the team across the flooded pastures. The horse’s side was flecked with foam but she didn’t dare stop. She kept looking back at Gabe’s scarlet face and sunken eyes and was terrified that he’d die before she could get him home. It was only as the gravel driveway and cactus fence appeared that she remembered she had lost her fight in court and maybe she would have to leave this place. A great lump rose in her throat and she wondered if fate could be so cruel that she could lose her home and Gabe all in one day.

Ah Fong came running out to greet her.

“Don’t come any closer,” she yelled. “I’ve got Mr. Foster sick with smallpox in the wagon.”

“You brought smallpox back here?” Ah Fong asked, his face showing his alarm.

“I’m not bringing him in the house,” she said. “Let’s put him in the farthest cottage. We’ll have the men sleep in the shed or with you until he’s well again.”

Ah Fong didn’t say any more. He started yelling instructions in Chinese and soon his crew was hurrying to remove belongings and set up the little one-room shack as a sickroom.

“I’m going to need your help getting him out of the wagon,” Libby said to Ah Fong. “He’s too heavy for me to lift alone.”

“That’s all right, missee. I do it,” Ah Fong said, his eyes still afraid as he bent to touch Gabe. Gabe moaned as he was moved, but he didn’t regain consciousness. They helped Gabe to the bed.

“What he needs is good Chinese chicken soup,” Ah Fong said.

“Good idea, Ah Fong,” Libby agreed. “Why don’t you go kill a chicken.”

Libby sat beside Gabe all night while he burned with fever and raged in delirium. “Don’t let them bury me, I’m not dead yet,” he kept on moaning, every time she tried to touch him. She changed the dressings over his boils, sponged his face, and held his head to feed him sips of water. When she tried to feed him Ah Fong’s chicken broth, he couldn’t keep it down. As the night progressed, Libby fought to stay awake. She had had almost no sleep for the past two days and nodded off every time she sat down. She was frightened that Gabe would die while she was asleep, so she stood by the window and made herself walk up and down whenever her eyelids drooped.

Toward dawn Gabe woke and started moaning again. “They’re digging, aren’t they?” he asked with frightened eyes. “I can hear them digging outside.” He grabbed Libby’s arm frantically. “You won’t let them bury me before I’m properly dead, will you?” he asked.

“You’re not going to die, Gabe,” she said soothingly, reaching for the cold towel to sponge his face. “Just lie back and rest. I’m going to take good care of you and you’re going to get well.”

His eyes seemed to focus on her for the first time. “Libby?” he asked. “Is it really you?”

“Really me,” she said gently.

“I thought I heard your voice,” he murmured. “Don’t leave me, will you?”

“I won’t leave you, Gabe,” she said softly. “I’m right here beside you.”

A smile spread over his face. “Libby,” he muttered. His eyelids fluttered closed. His face became peaceful. Libby sprang up, afraid that he had just died. She put her ear to his chest. She felt the gentle rise and fall and realized that he had fallen into a real sleep.

With first light Ah Fong brought her food and hot water. “I watch for you,” he said. “You go take bath.”

Libby shook her head. “I don’t want to come near the children until I know I haven’t caught this,” she said. “If you bring me some pillows, I’ll sleep on the chair in here.”

“Stubborn woman,” Ah Fong said, but he didn’t contradict her. “More rain today,” he said, staring up at the sky. “Soon your pond get full and then you can thumb nose at Mr. Devil Rival.”

“I wish I could,” she said sadly. “That pond would be fine as an emergency water source, but it can’t supply the farm for a whole dry summer.”

“Then dig more ponds.”

“How many ponds do you think it would take to water a farm the size I wanted it?” she asked angrily. “If I can’t make him take down that dam, I’m going to have to move. I can never expand if we have to water plants from a pond.”

Ah Fong nodded with understanding. He grinned and looked up at the sky. “Good rain right now,” he said. “Winter crops grow just fine. We make lots of money from winter crops then you buy fine house in San Francisco.”

“I don’t think I’d be content to live in a fine house in San Francisco all year. I need something to keep me occupied.”

“You need man to keep you out of trouble,” he said, peering into the room to where Gabe was sleeping. “He going to get well again?”

“I don’t know yet, it’s too early to say,” Libby said. “Besides, he might have other plans.”

“Wah!” Ah Fong said expressively and went back to the main house. Libby washed with the hot water and then cleaned up Gabe as well as she could. His shirt was black with sweat and stuck to his skin in many places, so that she didn’t dare disturb it yet. He didn’t wake as she ministered to him, but she thought his breathing seemed easier than the night before.

A long morning passed. The rain, which had begun as light drops, now drummed hard on the shake roof. Libby sat in the chair and stared out gloomily at the gray, drenched landscape. The willow trees, a few golden leaves still clinging to their delicate weeping branches, were only blurred images through the mist.

God, I love this place, Libby muttered to herself. Must everything I love be taken from me?

Around midday there was a loud rumble of thunder up in the hills. Libby looked up in surprise, as it seemed to her that the worst of the rain had already passed over and the sky was lightening. Almost immediately, a second deep rumble echoed back from the canyon walls above. Libby opened her cabin door and went out, breathing in the fresh air, sweet with new growth which follows rain. She was looking for the direction of the storm when she saw Ah Fong, rushing down the slope toward her like a madman, his mouth open.

“Look, missee, Look!” he was yelling. He grabbed her arm, gasping for breath as he motioned up the valley. Libby looked in the direction he was pointing. Through the wisps of cloud a dark line had been drawn across the upper valley. It was growing as it moved downward. It took Libby a moment to realize that it was a wall of water.

“You take the baby!” Libby screamed. “Get everyone away from the river!”