momentous has ever gone wrong in your life. You’d better hope nothing ever does because I’m not sure you could handle a crisis.”
He regarded her with amusement. “So you think I need some momentously awful ‘something’ to happen in my life? Something that’ll bring me down a peg or two?”
“You’re a proud man, Garth. Too proud. Mark my words, you’re riding for a fall.”
“You’ve made your point. Now can we move on?”
She threw up her hands. “All right, we shall say no more on the subject. Ah, Garth…” Her face fell. She looked genuinely distressed. “You’re thirty-three. Way past the time you should have a wife. I could be a grandmother many times over by now, like most of my friends. Instead, for reasons I cannot fathom, you refuse to marry.”
This wasn’t the first time they’d gone through this scene. “When will you stop match-making? How many times have I told you I’m happy as I am—single, and hope to remain so. I’m not against marriage, but as I’ve told you before, I’m not the kind of man who falls in love—never have, never will.”
“Men have needs, and don’t deny it. You’d be better off with a wife than whomever it is you frolic with.”
Frolic? Garth suppressed his laughter. Lillian would laugh. When he got back to San Francisco, he must remember to tell her.
He arose from his chair and offered an arm to his mother. “Come, let’s greet our guests, shall we?” He couldn’t resist adding, “And let’s hope that momentously awful ‘something’ you warned me about won’t happen on the way to the drawing room.”
His mother gave him a disdainful sniff. “You think that’s funny? Laugh and scoff if you want, but you’d better hope that charmed life of yours doesn’t come to an end.” She patted his arm and smiled benignly. “I wouldn’t count on it, though.”
Chapter 3
Charles is dead. The dreadful truth hadn’t yet sunk in. Letty had to keep reminding herself. The package that contained his things sat undisturbed on the parlor floor for hours. Finally, she’d forced herself to carry it upstairs to his room. So far, she hadn’t cried, but tears pressed against her eyes as she sat on his bed and looked around at heart-twisting reminders: his bureau with the silver plated comb and brush set laid out just so; his James Audubon Bird of America prints hanging on the wall; his battered desk with its inkwell and plumed pen, sitting and waiting as if he were about to sit down and write another essay about marine invertebrates or minerals and gemstones. The room was the same as when he left. Other than an occasional dusting, they hadn’t touched a thing.
The tears pressed hard, but Millicent and William would be home soon, and she mustn’t give way now. She’d do something practical, like open the package and go through his things. Get the dismal task over and done with before Mother had to deal with it. She got a pair of scissors from Charles’s desk and cut the light rope that bound the package. With a resigned sigh, she opened it.
A small stack of his clothes lay on top, most she hadn’t seen, but the sight of the dark wool jacket he’d worn for years brought a lump to her throat. Everything could use a wash. Not like her fastidious brother to tolerate dirty clothes, but perhaps laundresses were scarce in the heights of the Sierra Nevada Mountains. Under his clothes lay a few small items he might have kept in his pockets: a few coins, comb, silver watch, small penknife. Next, she found his set of watercolors and brushes, then his leather-bound diary. Her anguish grew at the sight of it.
Oh, Charles.
She sank to the bed and turned to page one, dated February 15th, 1851, the day he left Boston to sail around Cape Horn. Skimming through, she found some pages crammed with his meticulous handwriting, others nearly blank. That fit with what he’d told them in his letters, that sailing around Cape Horn involved a few days of high seas and excitement but many days when the ship was caught in the doldrums and hardly moved. Eager to see his last entries, she flipped to the end. But what was this? The last few pages were missing. Only jagged edges remained from where the paper had been torn from the binding. How disappointing. She would very much have wanted to read his last thoughts. Probably the bandits had ripped out the pages. How cruel and unnecessary.
A few sketches of birds lay at the bottom of the package. Charles was a great admirer of James Audubon and liked to sketch his own birds, no matter how busy he was. She laid out the sketches on the bed, along with all the contents of the package.
So this was all that remained of her brother. She wanted to fling herself on the bed and cry, but Mother needed her, and Millicent and William must be told the terrible news. Best to keep busy. She picked up the dark wool jacket. She’d have it cleaned, maybe give it to some poor soul who couldn’t afford a coat. She reached to check the pockets. In the first one she checked, her fingers curved around several folded sheets of paper. What was this? She pulled them from the pocket, unfolded and smoothed them out on the bed. One look and her heart slammed into her chest. Before her lay the legal claim to Golden Hill, a map of some sort and a letter from Charles.
Dear Family,
All is going well here. Nearby claims are just about worked out. Although I continue to find gold, my claim at Golden Hill will also soon be played out. I’m not worried, though. Far from it! My big news is that by sheer luck I have come across a fantastically rich vein of gold not far from my current claim. I’ve named it The Montezuma. These are dangerous times, what with all manner of scoundrels wanting to rob me and my fellow miners of everything we own. For my own safety, I must keep my discovery a secret. If all goes as planned, I shall begin mining operations as soon as I’ve arranged for the necessary protection. As an extra precaution, I’m enclosing my claim to Golden Hill and a map showing the location of The Montezuma. This site is rich beyond belief. In the unlikely event something should happen to me, guard it carefully.
I trust my deposits have reached the bank in a timely fashion. My good friend, Garth Morgan, has been most helpful in that regard and allows me to store my gold in his safe, prior to shipping. I’m about to head down the mountain and leave a considerable deposit at his hotel. He’s leaving for Boston tomorrow with his own gold shipment, and has kindly offered to take mine, too.
Keep the letters coming. I miss you all, and can only wish for your continued health and happiness. How I look forward to my return to Boston and my beloved family.
Your loving son & brother, Charles
Oh dear God. Pressing a hand to her mouth, Letty sank to the bed and unfolded the well-creased map. It appeared to be of his campsite with an arrow pointing to some sort of trail. A curvy line marked “Coyote Creek” ran through it. Farther on, he’d sketched the tiny figure of a blue bird, and farther on an “X.” Like “X” marks the spot? Hard to tell. From a distance of three thousand miles, she couldn’t begin to picture a mining claim high in the Sierra Nevada Mountains.
Dusk was falling, but she hardly noticed. In the darkening gloom, she clutched the pages. Killed him and hid his body. What with Mathew Hasting’s words drumming through her head, she could hardly think. And what was Charles’s letter all about? My good friend Garth Morgan... Fantastically rich vein of gold…
In the midst of the deep grief that possessed her, she couldn’t make sense of any of it and could only recognize, in the foggiest of ways, that from this day forward her life would never be the same.
On an ordinary evening, light chatter and laughter filled the Tinsley’s dining room. Tonight,
