aboard avoided looking at them at all, Mattie spent hours studying their fascinating gestures and language and physiques. Several sketches of the squat, nut-brown, raven-eyed guides were scattered throughout drawings of spectacular birds and ramshackle huts and stocky palms dripping with rain.
Even the civilized jungle of San Francisco enchanted her with its chaotic tangle of abandoned ships and more chaotic array of humanity—men from China and Africa and Mexico, some vying for a spot on the next transportation to the gold country, some finding their fortunes second-hand, hawking laundry service, gold pans, or room and board to the prospectors.
But for Mattie, a different treasure awaited, a treasure she’d already begun to sample. She could start a new life here. In California, where gambling men lost fortunes and paupers grew rich, where women wore pantaloons and cursed and drank whiskey, she could start over. And this time, she’d find out just who Mathilda Hardwicke was.
Not Hardwicke, she corrected. Harrison. It still rattled her to think about the rash decision she’d made in choosing a husband, sight unseen, for better or worse. But it was too late to do anything about it now.
"I told you we should have skedaddled while the gittin’ was good," Zeke muttered, spitting out a thin stream of chewing tobacco that almost didn’t clear his beard. "Everyone else had the good sense to go work their claims today."
"Damn it, Zeke!" Swede said, whacking his hat on his meaty thigh.
Zeke narrowed one warning eye at him.
"Beggin’ your pardon, ma’am," Swede apologized again, and then turned back to Zeke. " Someone had to stay behind and tell her."
"Tell me what?" Mattie asked politely, though her patience with the two men was beginning to wear thin.
Despite her good spirits, she’d come a long way, and she looked forward to settling in, especially after the harrowing ride up the ridge. It was a wonder there was any blood left in her knuckles, since her nasty-tempered mule had delighted in braying loudly at the most unfortunate moments. More than once, she was sure the beast planned to buck her off the narrow trail and send her tumbling down the treacherous gorge.
But she’d arrived, safe and sound. She’d made it to California, to the land of gold, despite all odds. She’d escaped the cholera, which had claimed a number of sea-faring Argonauts like herself. She’d managed to subsist well enough on the spare rations on the voyage, though by the looseness of her dress, she was probably closer to the size of her lissome cousins than she’d ever been. She’d survived the conniving of a murderous mule. And though the voyage had cost far more than she’d expected, she’d had enough coin left over to launder her dirty clothing in Sacramento before her arrival, so she could greet her husband-to-be looking like a proper lady.
But where was he? True, she was surrounded by about all her senses could take in at the moment, what with the lovely clearing, redolent of pine, and its darling creek running past all those quaint little storehouses. But she was eager to see Paradise Bar proper, and she was anxious to meet her husband-to-be, to see his farm or wherever it was he’d had the altercation with the bucket.
"Maybe we should just show her, Swede," Zeke said.
"Shit...shoot, you old fool." Swede tugged his hat back down over his ears and kicked awkwardly at the dirt. "You can’t just..."
They cut their quibbling short when they heard someone coming through the trees. Mattie squinted in the direction of the noise, against the orange light of the setting sun. She could make out the silhouettes of a pack of men, pickaxes slung across their shoulders, hats slanted atop their heads. They kicked up little clouds of rust-colored dust as they came, their noisy arrival punctuated by barks of laughter and the clank of gold pans.
Mattie straightened and nervously chewed at her bottom lip. He must be with them, she
Even the civilized jungle of San Francisco enchanted her with its chaotic tangle of abandoned ships and more chaotic array of humanity—men from China and Africa and Mexico, some vying for a spot on the next transportation to the gold country, some finding their fortunes second-hand, hawking laundry service, gold pans, or room and board to the prospectors.
But for Mattie, a different treasure awaited, a treasure she’d already begun to sample. She could start a new life here. In California, where gambling men lost fortunes and paupers grew rich, where women wore pantaloons and cursed and drank whiskey, she could start over. And this time, she’d find out just who Mathilda Hardwicke was.
Not Hardwicke, she corrected. Harrison. It still rattled her to think about the rash decision she’d made in choosing a husband, sight unseen, for better or worse. But it was too late to do anything about it now.
"I told you we should have skedaddled while the gittin’ was good," Zeke muttered, spitting out a thin stream of chewing tobacco that almost didn’t clear his beard. "Everyone else had the good sense to go work their claims today."
"Damn it, Zeke!" Swede said, whacking his hat on his meaty thigh.
Zeke narrowed one warning eye at him.
"Beggin’ your pardon, ma’am," Swede apologized again, and then turned back to Zeke. " Someone had to stay behind and tell her."
"Tell me what?" Mattie asked politely, though her patience with the two men was beginning to wear thin.
Despite her good spirits, she’d come a long way, and she looked forward to settling in, especially after the harrowing ride up the ridge. It was a wonder there was any blood left in her knuckles, since her nasty-tempered mule had delighted in braying loudly at the most unfortunate moments. More than once, she was sure the beast planned to buck her off the narrow trail and send her tumbling down the treacherous gorge.
But she’d arrived, safe and sound. She’d made it to California, to the land of gold, despite all odds. She’d escaped the cholera, which had claimed a number of sea-faring Argonauts like herself. She’d managed to subsist well enough on the spare rations on the voyage, though by the looseness of her dress, she was probably closer to the size of her lissome cousins than she’d ever been. She’d survived the conniving of a murderous mule. And though the voyage had cost far more than she’d expected, she’d had enough coin left over to launder her dirty clothing in Sacramento before her arrival, so she could greet her husband-to-be looking like a proper lady.
But where was he? True, she was surrounded by about all her senses could take in at the moment, what with the lovely clearing, redolent of pine, and its darling creek running past all those quaint little storehouses. But she was eager to see Paradise Bar proper, and she was anxious to meet her husband-to-be, to see his farm or wherever it was he’d had the altercation with the bucket.
"Maybe we should just show her, Swede," Zeke said.
"Shit...shoot, you old fool." Swede tugged his hat back down over his ears and kicked awkwardly at the dirt. "You can’t just..."
They cut their quibbling short when they heard someone coming through the trees. Mattie squinted in the direction of the noise, against the orange light of the setting sun. She could make out the silhouettes of a pack of men, pickaxes slung across their shoulders, hats slanted atop their heads. They kicked up little clouds of rust-colored dust as they came, their noisy arrival punctuated by barks of laughter and the clank of gold pans.
Mattie straightened and nervously chewed at her bottom lip. He must be with them, she
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