her mother in bed, reading her Bible by lamplight. “Do you mind if we talk a minute?”
Mother closed her book. “Of course not. Are you thinking of going to California?”
“Does that surprise you?”
“I know you, Letty. How could you not want to go? As a matter of fact…” Her chin trembled. She fought back tears. “It’s the not knowing that’s the worst. I’d go myself if I could.”
Letty settled in a chair beside the bed. “Mr. Hastings said Charles is dead. I believe him, only there’s a tiny, irrational part of me that thinks maybe he’s not. What if he’s lost his memory and is wandering around somewhere, not knowing who he is? I know this is crazy, but if I go to California, I could find him and bring him home and…” She couldn’t speak over the lump that had formed in her throat.
Mother took her hand. “It’s not crazy. I think the same, only….” She sadly shook her head. “You’re a woman. You can’t possibly go traipsing across the country all by yourself.”
“Why not? I wouldn’t be the first female to head for the Gold Rush.”
“Those women are few and far between. Not only that, the ones that make the journey aren’t in the same class as you.”
“You’re saying I’m too refined to go? Too sheltered and delicate?”
“Not at all.” Mother took a moment to put her thoughts together. “I suspect the reason you’ve never married is you don’t want some man ordering you around.”
Letty smiled. “Partly, I suppose. But that’s not all. Except for Aaron, I’ve never found a man to suit me.”
“That’s because you’re too picky. You didn’t like Ben Hancock because he laughed too loud. You rejected Timothy Hogue, a perfectly nice man if I do say so, because his stockings drooped.”
“And his shoes were scuffed.”
Mother sighed. “You rejected Jonathan Barlow because—”
“All right, granted, I’m way too picky. The fact remains I’m single, in good health, and there’s nothing preventing me from going except society’s silly rules about how women must be treated like children and hardly let out of the house.”
Mother sighed. “How can we afford it?”
“How can we not?” Letty bit her lip. “I’m not sure. I’ll talk to Mr. Winslow.”
“I would only agree to let you go if you take Molly with you.”
“I don’t need a maid. I’ll manage quite nicely by myself.”
Mother’s jaw set in a stubborn line. “You will take Molly with you, or you won’t go.”
Letty had long since learned when she could win an argument with her mother and when she could not. “All right then, but I’m not at all sure Molly would want to go.”
“We’ll see.” Satisfied, Mother gave her a relieved smile. “I’m so grateful you’d want to do this, but do you fully realize the sacrifice you’d be making? What about the choir? How could they get along without you?”
“Oh, dear, I hadn’t thought.” For several years she’d been the featured soloist at the First Presbyterian Church of Boston. She loved to sing and always enjoyed those Sunday mornings when she stood in front of the chorus and sang to a packed crowd of worshippers. No one ever applauded in church, of course, but when Mr. Cannon, the choir director, raved about her “superb vibrato” and “the purity of her pitch,” that was praise enough. She liked bringing a bit of enjoyment to people’s lives and could see by the many pleased expressions in the audience that she did. “I would hate to leave and dread telling Mr. Cannon.”
“He would be devastated. He knows you’d be impossible to replace.” Mother frowned thoughtfully. “You have a nice life here, not only with the choir but with your work at the museum, and all your friends. From what I’ve heard, the minute you leave Boston, you’ll face hardships you never dreamed of. There’s no easy way to get to California. After you get there, judging from Charles’s letters and what others say, life in those mining towns is coarse and uncivilized. You’re so neat and meticulous, I don’t know how you’d manage.”
Letty didn’t either, but she wouldn’t think about it, just go and make the best of it. Yes, she would go, despite the good life she led here. Her heart swelled with excitement. Up to now, California had seemed a million miles away. Any thoughts she had that she might actually go there seemed as real as a trip to the moon. Not anymore. “I’ll talk to Mr. Winslow tomorrow.”
“What?” declared Addison Winslow. “You want to go to California?”
Letty had never seen the dignified banker lose his impassive demeanor, but this morning his mouth had dropped open and he was looking across the desk at her in utter amazement.
She’d just finished relating the news about her brother and now gave the banker a firm nod. “Charles has disappeared. Likely he’s dead, but we don’t know that for sure. I plan to find out.”
“But—but—” Appearing totally perplexed, the banker drew in a deep breath. “You surprise me, Miss Tinsley. The California goldfields are no place for a delicate, well-brought-up lady like yourself. How you could even entertain the notion of traveling to such a place is—”
“I am not delicate, Mr. Winslow, and ‘well-brought-up’ has nothing to do with it. Can I have your assistance? I’m much in need of your valuable advice in arranging the finances.” She smiled and held out her hand palm up, a pleading gesture she’d long ago found men couldn’t resist. “Please? You have so much experience helping your many clients get to California that I’d hate to go to anyone else.”
“Well…certainly.” He relaxed and sat back in his chair.
“What’s the best way to get there?”
“There’s no good way to travel to California. I can only give you a choice of bad ways.”
She knew that already. “Please do go on.”
“You can travel the country in a covered wagon. Across the plains, up over the Rockies. After that, there’s a desert to cross. Then you must cross the Sierra Nevada Mountains before winter or you might get stuck in the snow. Doubtless you’ve heard about the Donner party? And there are others—”
“Please don’t.” She couldn’t bear to hear such horror stories. “What’s the second way?”
“You could take the Cape Horn route around the tip of South America and up the Pacific Coast. By the time you get there, you’ve covered fifteen thousand miles, five times the overland distance. Aside from the actual passage around the Horn—it’s always storm-tossed, I understand—it’s fairly safe, but then your ship’s likely to get caught in the doldrums, where there’s no wind and you spend endless days wallowing in the tropical heat. Takes at least five months, maybe more.”
“And the third?”
“The Isthmus of Panama. From Boston, you go by ship to Chagres, Panama. You cross the Isthmus to the Pacific, then take another
