No Eye Can See by Jane Kirkpatrick
“Thought you were wanting a little distance from him,” Ruth said.
“He needs to make some changes before anything could really go on between us. I was just curious, is all. Mother says there's no sense trying to change a man. I've just got to accept him as he is. She thinks I'm looking for perfection. But my everyday life looks pretty boring to a man like Seth. Looking after orphans, milking cows, and planning gardens are tame things to do. I dont see him finding satisfaction in those kinds of things. I'm glad he looks in on Suzanne.”
Ruth turned, wondering if Mazy was really that generous—or that unaware of her own longings. Ruth guessed Mazy really meant it. “She's being so independent,” Ruth said.
Mazy laughed. “That's funny coming from you.”
“All of us like to walk our own way,” Ruth said. “I've gotten into trouble being strong-willed, even back in the States, but I wonder if the others were independent before. Tipton didn't seem the type, but she's come around.” They walked in silence for a time. “Maybe Seth got an inkling of my plan, and he's staying away from all of us but Suzanne.” Ruth laughed uncomfortably.
“Your plan?”
“To have Jason and Ned spend more time with him. And to get Sarah and Jessie into good homes. With good people. Competition for your orphans, Mazy.” She laughed again but without humor. Koda and Jumper made their way running and bucking toward them. “I thought Jason could be a Seth helper. And that maybe Sarah could stay with Suzanne. Does your mother need help at the bakery? Ned would be good.”
“Why deprive yourself of their company and of being that important person in their lives?”
A gust of wind came up, and Ruth turned her head against it, her long braid catching at her neck. “Wish those kids would tell me what they did with my hat,” she said.
“That black felt one you like?”
“I don't really like it. It just fits good and it keeps the sun and rain out. And it isn't confining like bonnet strings. When I asked the children about it, Jessie just sassed, ‘Your favorite? We'd never touch that.’ The little scamp. I told her I was glad to see her learning about respect for other people's things, but none of them claimed to have touched it. I don't believe them one whit.”
The horses munched on grain, and Ruth led them back toward the corrals, skirting the edge of the meadow. Mazy's cows grazed in the brush of standing grass, the last skiffs of snow piling in dips of land while the Wilson mules dotted the landscape in the distance.
“The oat hay here is abundant,” Mazy said. “I've heard no one planted wheat. They were all looking for gold. We were fortunate.
“Horses had good pasture. I couldn't have picked a better place to winter, if I'd tried.”
“You made a good choice,” Mazy said.
“The house is small, though. You'll understand tonight when we bed down. And the privy needed lots of work. Cobwebs everywhere, and the stench. We threw some ashes down before Jessie would even go close. That child…I thought about talking Lura into another occupation, see if she'd be willing to take the children on if I provided the house. There'll be a school before long. They could all attend if they lived in town.”
“If they lived in town, not you? It's hardly an hour's ride from here, and the walk in before school would do them good.”
Ruth sighed. “Truth is, the boys hate doing anything for me, Mazy. I've given up trying to get them to clean the stalls. I just do it myself while they lounge around and play checkers, argue with each other, and the girls. I can't get them to work on the fence or fix the split rails. Wasn't bad during the winter, but with spring coming on, we have big jobs to do. And they misplace things, lose things. Why, I gave Ned a brand-new harmonica for Christmas, and do you think he took care of it? He couldn't even find it after we had our Christmas dinner with you all. It'll be a misery to get them to help with the garden, keep it up. I'd do better just by myself.”
“I could do the garden. I'd like that. And I'd like to leave a section for wheat. We need the grain, and in all my wanderings looking for places to name as home, I've seen hardly any tilled fields.”
Ruth nodded agreement, then continued. “Mariah can't get the boys to do much either, though she leads them in some studies. And she, at least, does what I ask her to do. She's a good little cook.” They walked in silence, letting the horses follow, heads heavy, behind them. Ruth heard the swish of their legs pushing through the new grass. “And then I'm still hoping to hear from Matt about my horses. So I can head north. If he and Joe Pepin found a good place, I'll join them. If not, I can bring the stock back. Either way, the kids'll need someone else to keep them.”
“You're not worried about that husband of yours anymore? What was his name?”
“Zane. Oh, he's out there somewhere. Sometimes I think I can feel him watching me, but I know that's just me, hanging on to how I used to feel. I'm as safe here as anywhere. That time on the trail helped me understand that. I cant be looking over my shoulder all the time, letting what happened before rule my thinking now. Isn't that what you said? Besides, why would he look for me in a California mining town?” They walked quietly, then Ruth said, “I wish I hadn't left that sign back on the trail, though. I was feeling my oats that day. Guess I thought that being surrounded by all of you would keep me safe from even the likes of him. That little spurt of bluff may cost me.”
“We still surround you. You told him you went north, didn't you?”
“He may not believe me.”
“I'll bet he's found a new life. Moved on, like you have, and should, with the children. You could be turning a little sliver of trouble from those kids into blood poisoning. Why not just say you're going to raise this family and stop wavering?”
“Look who's advising against wavering. You, without even your own home yet.”
Mazy winced. “Its not easy setting down roots.”
“Tell me.”
“I don't think God wants us carrying around old miseries like that.”
“Now you're talking to yourself,” Ruth said.
“I'd let myself experience the joys of being a parent—if I had the chance,” Mazy said.
“Hey. I didn't mean to hit a tender spot there,” Ruth said, reaching to touch Mazy's arm. “Your losing that new life…”
“I would have had a baby by now,” Mazy whispered. She cleared her throat, lifted her apron to dab at her eyes. “So now I have the orphans to worry over. And everyone else's problems.” She forced a smile. “Maybe you ought to tell the children the truth, Ruth. Maybe that would bring your family together.”
“And have the boys and Sarah know they're orphans but their little cousin isn't? Besides, Jessie wouldn't believe it anyway. She might really be unreasonable if she knew she was my daughter. Or that she had a brother I failed to protect.”
“You did the best you could, I'm sure of it. And you sent her away for a good reason.”
“You're hopelessly good,” Ruth said. “But I'm not. And sometimes, when I'm honest to my core, I wonder if I wasn't the one who did the real damage. I can still see my boy's little face all pinched in terror, screaming, looking up at me like I was the face of death, his own mother! I almost threw him into that bed, Mazy, to get him out of my hands. Because I wasn't sure I wouldn't…do him harm. And I've been so frustrated with Jessie I've almost struck her.” She shook her head, let loose her grip on the bucket. “Jessie might just see through me into what I am.”
They walked in silence for a while and put the horses into the barn. “Won't be long and there'll be another bunch of pack trains coming that way,” Ruth finally said. “Is Seth still going to take you south, to meet with that solicitor?”
“Someone will. When I'm ready. Right now I want to get the calves born, start milking and selling it. There's a great market for milk. A dollar a glass, in most places. I can support myself and start doing what Jeremy thought we would. Sow some wheat. Farm. Make a living. Hopefully have some left to help those orphans and those…unmentionable women.??
In the manger, Ruth dug a hole in the loose hay. Mazy poured the rest of the grain from a bucket into it, for the horses to eat later. As was her habit, Ruth swished the grain around a bit, pushing it deeper. When she did, she felt something cool.
She thought maybe it was a forgotten egg, now frozen. She pawed around, pulled it out. “Well, look at this, she said, and swallowed. “Its Neds harmonica. Inside my felt hat.”
Zane made his trips into the surrounding gulches each month, meeting up with Greasy as they'd planned. A tedious but necessary task. Greasy said Zane “rode his trap line” as though Zane gathered up beaver pelts instead of gold, as though Greasy spent time with rodents instead of prodding vagrant boys to dig at distant claims.
Each little claim had a wormlike man Greasy had picked to make the vagrants build diversion ditches or assemble troughs known as Long Toms for splashing water through to filter out the gold.
Zane might have found the landscape beautiful, once in his life. Fast-moving streams spilled out of brushy ravines with wind-felled trees and wildflowers, now in spring, standing as quiet sentries. Now he saw it as mere resource, a richness ripe for exploiting. He wondered if the Indians mourned the loss of their fishing streams, or plotted how to regain their hunting grounds overrun by miners, trees chopped down for fuel, game shot or scattered. They probably didn't even notice.
He unloaded rice and flour from his pack animals at each stop, picked up ore, and left. Zane didn't like paying for food for boys just lying around in shacks, keeping warm all winter. It allowed them too much time to cook up schemes to leave come spring. But there was no other way.
“They worked good until the heavy snows,” Greasy reminded him. “If we feed ‘em through the snow months, they'll be ready to go first sign of a thaw. Easier than finding new ones I got to break in again. These are like little scared rabbits when I take their leg chains off. They don't even try to run. You just keep bringing in stuff for panning, sluicing, hydraulicking, dredging, and these here rodents'll work their backs off soon as they're able,” Greasy assured him. “Spring comes, yessiree, we'll make up for lost time then.”
Zane grunted and nodded toward a black, scruffy-looking dog. “No sense to feed that ratlike thing.” The dog growled and snapped at Zane when he walked toward it, dark eyes staring out through tight curls. Zane kicked at it and missed.
“He's just a little old dog. Came around a month or so ago. Entertainment for us. He don't eat much.”
With quickness, Zane picked the animal up, saw a wound, and felt the grease someone must have put there for healing. “Don't go wasting good lard on such as this,” he said, dropping it and wiping his hands on one of the boys’ thin shirts. “Get rid of the mutt,” he said. “He's got a collar on. Someone might come looking.”
The off weeks, when he came back to Shasta, Zane watched and planned. Suzanne and Ruth had things in common. Both did things in their own way. But Ruth had eventually broken, let herself be resculpted by Zane. How long had that taken? A year? Nearly two, before she realized his thinking for her was best, before her high spirit had been split the way that whip of hers had once split fat oak leaves. But then she'd turned on him, drawn strength from somewhere else, and sat before him on that witness stand in accusation. The brother must have goaded her. And Suzanne said he was gone, had died on the trail. What he deserved, Zane decided. What Ruth deserved too.
Suzanne, the softer and more beautiful of the two, offered special intrigue. Despite his objection, she'd invited the Chinese boy inside. Zane had removed an item or two from her home when he visited Suzanne and the boy wasn't there. A pair of earrings she was attached to, then a necklace with a chain of interlocking silver squares. “Why don't you wear the necklace with the amethyst?” he asked her then, holding it in his hand as he spoke. “Shall I look for it for you?” And when she nodded, he would paw and make noises as if he were searching, then cluck his tongue. “I'm so sorry, Suzanne. I cant seem to locate it. I fear it's that boy again, taking advantage of you. Probably sold it for extra money.” He'd slipped the gold chain and jewel into his vest pocket, thinking to have a watch fob made of it.
Then the girl came. The child was Ruth's niece, had to be. Older than in the photograph at Ruth's, but not old enough to remember him. He intimidated her with his looks, and she stayed off in the corner when he came. But she watched him. And it meant someone was almost always at the house now. Even when Suzanne put the ill-tempered dog outside. What he wanted was for Suzanne to see that she needed him. He wanted for her to finally succumb, rely only on him.
He wished he could see Ruth come to visit her. Suzanne spoke of all the women as though they were…sisters. And looking through his telescoping glass, he'd seen one or two come by. An older woman and a tall one with auburn hair. He smiled to himself, imagining Suzanne and Ruth in the same room—women on their way to knowing who truly controlled their lives. Wouldn't that be lovely? To have both of them in the same place at once? He stopped midway in pulling on his cream-colored vest: Perhaps he could do something to bring Ruth to Suzanne, and he would join them. Hold them there. He imagined the fear in Ruth's eyes, the confusion on Suzanne's face. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, a new plan forming.
Elizabeth liked her life. The smells of baking, rising early to send the scent of yeast and flour drifting across the town. The previous baker had quit when the rains came and had headed back to Piety Hill or Mule Town or some other strange little gulch defined by a stream, so she had latched onto the employment and the little room that came with it, not much larger than the wagon. But it had a window covered with white lace, a chamber pot, a cot wide enough for two, and a little table and two chairs. And it had a view—of the rock wall behind the bakery that sported green and tiny white flowers. Elizabeth caught water from the spring for washing and put the leftover in the bucket that housed the thriving maple tree she'd set in the corner. The plant wasn't very tall, but it had buds on it. That was a sure sign of spring.
Mazy would soon be spending days and nights at Ruth's, what with the calving. That would make life better. Not that she didn't like having her daughter share her bed, but she liked to spread out, and this little hamper of a room didn't allow much ofthat. Mazy'd be needing to milk twice a day. Elizabeth hadn't tasted milk since…way back on the trail. For the new year, Seth brought back a round of butter he said came by ship all the way from Vancouver. It had been iced and tasted sweet as summer. But it was soon gone. Her mouth watered, thinking of fresh dairy—though she hadn't missed the work of churning.
“You ought to build yourself a little place next to Ruth's. That way you'll have your privacy but be close to your cows,” Elizabeth suggested to Mazy.
The girl leaned over the seedlings she'd planted inside a box fashioned out of wood crates. They lined the perimeter of the tiny room, making the air smell of good earth. “Maybe I will,” she told her mother.
Elizabeth handed her daughter a cup of chrysanthemum tea she'd picked up in a Hong Kong store. Chinatown was a great place for shopping. She especially liked the candies. “You afraid settling in will say Jeremy was right about us leaving Wisconsin?”
“Maybe I'm not ready to say my life is better because we left, not with him dying. And not telling me his whole truth.”
“Seems a waste to keep yourself from sitting on God's footstool. You said the ground around here tasted like home. Are you punishing Jeremy, or yourself?” The girl sipped and sat, lost inside herself. “Maybe you should hurry and talk to that lawyer fellow. Maybe that should be your goal come spring. Clear the air for good so you can begin again.”
“Maybe.”
That girl was more maybe than not. She could put off deciding longer than anyone she knew. Why, Elizabeth had found this room and a purpose in less than a week. Mazy was still looking for the perfect place. Oh, she was a busy woman, her daughter. She'd been working on the town fathers and the church elders to consider ways to help those orphans. She hadn't yet brought up
So in nearly six months of their being in the Whoa Navigation city Mazy had navigated greatly around the area, but all she seemed to say was “whoa!” To Seth, too.
Seth was a good man. But Mazy had to find that out for herself— and a home first, Elizabeth guessed. ‘Course, avoiding that journey south with Sister Esther and her girls had decided two things for Mazy: no alone time with Seth and no unsettling news about Mazy's former husband's life. Maybe her daughter did know that she made decisions by choosing not to.
Elizabeth dressed herself by candlelight that March morning. She splashed cold water on her face, dabbed it dry with a linen, tied her shoes on, and thought to herself that it would be nice if someone cobbled a shoe that fit each foot separate, wasn't interchangeable. She'd soaked the callus on her right foot and scraped it with a knife, but it always came back. Soon as she could get a lemon, she planned to soak some of her fish-bone buttons in it. The lemon would melt the buttons to a salve she'd heard would work to rid the callus of its hold. She'd given the last lemons for Sarah's little Angel Pie they gave to Ruth for Christmas.
Breakfast came after she heated up the bakery ovens, well before daylight. Then she kneaded and rolled dough, patted it, watched it rise. She moved the big pans of pretzels and biscuits so they had just the right heat, just the right amount to brown. She could hardly wait until they had milk again. And fresh butter. How that would change the flavor of her Strudels.
She did love the joy that flour could give, first in the making, then the eating, watching others smile and be filled. Mr. Kossuth paid dearly for the flour, too, what with so few fields planted last year. Mining distracted even farmers.
Once a day, Elizabeth walked to the post office even though she never expected to read a single letter addressed to her. She liked to hear the names called out, of people waiting for news from somewhere else. That was another nice thing: Her whole family was right here. It was enriching just to howdy people, lend a listening ear. Pack trains arrived two, three, even four times a day now with the snows melting in the mountains and runoff pouring down the streets, turning them to mud. Stages rumbled in, got stuck, got pushed free, and rolled on south again. There was talk of a new stage road north into Oregon Territory. This town was growing. And the roar and rumble of tenpin games and gambling houses going day and night never bothered her. She found the noises soothing as a waterfall, lulling her to sleep.