No Eye Can See by Jane Kirkpatrick
“Jessie!” Ruth said, springing into the wagon. “That's enough.”
The girl cowered, perhaps surprised by Ruth's entrance, but just as quick she'd sat up, her arms crossed over her chest. “They make stinky things for me, and you let them. What kind of an auntie are you, letting an old blind woman take care of me?”
Ruth felt the blood rush to her face and her hands clench. It was one thing to be rude to her, but she couldn't tolerate it directed toward someone else. Ruth had wanted to slap the child's face, would have if Suzanne hadn't been there, she knew she would have.
A night of terror flashed before her, the night she'd been too rough with her son.
“I've got to go,” she told Suzanne, racing from the wagon. She swung her leg over Koda's back and reined the horse around and let the wagons pass, trembling with the knowledge that the girl could so incite her. Farther behind, she dismounted, and felt the bile from her stomach move up. Fear and humiliation spilled out onto the ground. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, then laid her head against Koda's neck, still spitting out the vile taste.
Had Jessie been like that when Betha and Jed were alive? Ruth didn't remember.
“The girl could come in our wagon,” Sister Esther said, the woman's quiet approach startling Ruth. “I was privy to what occurred back there.”
Ruth shook her head. “No. She's just horrid enough she'd aggravate the bees. Then where would you be?” Esther nodded agreement. “Besides, Elizabeth says it's important that she learn to bend a little, not expect so much from everyone. She'll get along with other people better if she can do that.”
“And be kinder to herself as well,” Esther said. “We're almost always harder on ourselves than we are on other people, so just imagine what she must think of herself.”
Ruth frowned. “You dont think her rudeness is from… I dont know how to describe it. Arrogance seems too big a word to describe a little person, but it comes to mind. Just like her father always was?” Ruth added.
“Not the word I'd choose, no,” Esther said. “Frightened, perhaps. Lonely. Overwhelmed with the amount of influence she has. Imagine getting an important adult to do whatever you want. That's terrifying for a child. She may just think you can't take care of her so she has to do it herself.”
Ruth stared at her. Scared? Lonely? The thoughts had never occurred to her. “That isn't the way I see it,” Ruth said. “Bratty, that's what she is.”
“You might be spending too much time living in valleys, Ruthie, and missing out on the mountaintops that living with children can bring.”
“Whooee, look at that!” Jason shouted. He punched his younger brother in the shoulder, and the boys, who had walked out ahead, came running back, the thick and thin of them silhouetted against the blue sky. “There's a huge meadow and hundreds of deer over there.”
“And a cabin,” Ned said.
“John Hill's Ranch,” Seth said. “Deer Flat, they call it too. And beyond is the Sacramento Valley. We're almost home, boys. Almost home.”
Now they found the signs of civilization, of lumber mills where men came and ogled them, whistled and shouted to Seth about his “harem” as they crossed rushing streams. Hats were thrown into the air as the wagons rolled on by, and despite herself, Mazy smiled. “We're something of an oddity,” she told her mother.
“They look the sort to celebrate most anything,” Elizabeth said as she waved back. Something that looked like a cabin bore a sign that read “Shingletown.” Three miles farther, they encountered “Charleys Ranch” and were offered peach brandy.
“Made it myself,” Charley told them. “Heading back to North Carolina to bring out a couple of hundred more starts. This country has the best growing for peaches you ever seen! Ain't that good brandy, sir?” he said to Seth, the only one to imbibe.
“Good for medicinal purposes,” Seth said, and he winked at Mazy.
“My mother was a great reader, enjoyed the classics,” Seth told Suzanne. He had offered her his elbow, suggested a walk. It was the last evening before they'd reach the river ferry. “She liked language rolling off her tongue. She often said it was the true gift of slavery that she had help for the daily things, freeing her to do her quilting and raise her children as she wished. ‘Course, other mothers paid the price.”
“You left that life, to come west?”
“She always made sure the house slaves had their children about. They were my playmates.” They walked in silence for a time. “But she sent them from the room when I'd push at her to read. S'pose that's when I knew that institution was wrong, no matter how my life grew rich from it. No matter how much my parents depended on the sweat of someone else's back. The work of holding hostages—and I saw it as work my family did—well, it tied them up too, kept them looking and watching their holdings instead of living their lives free. I wanted out from that. Thought I'd see what life looked like where people chose to be together, had equal chances.”
“I'm not sure we do,” Suzanne said. “Any of us.” She reached to adjust the frame Sason bobbed in on her back. “At least California's a free state.”
“Voted in April to keep free slaves out, send runaways back,” he said, a tone of sadness in his voice.
“That's dreadful,” Suzanne said. She stumbled, and Seth was quick to grab her elbow. She liked the touch of it, realized how rarely—except for the children—she felt another's warmth. “Don't people see we're all slaves needing to be set free? It's the challenges that differ.”
She imagined Seth nodding in agreement when he added, “Those living in free States find ways to be held hostage too. You're right. Worse, they don't even know it.”
“What will you do after you deliver us to Shasta? Or what did Charley call it?”
“Whoa Navigation,” Seth said. “I'm a white-collared man, through and through. Like my risks. Keeps the blood flowing.”
“So you'll head back out and try to lead another group in before winter?”
“Good chance of it. Like to see you women settled first, though. And I play a mean hand of poker, among other games of chance. You have some idea of who'll be helping you?”
“What makes you think I need help?”
“No offense, ma'am. Just that, with you not seeing and all, I—”
“I didn't think you were in on the conspiracy.”
“Ma'am?”
“You call me ‘ma'am’ when you're caught in something,” she said. “Yes, the conspiracy. To help ‘poor Suzanne’ who, by the way, does not need help from any of you.”
She turned back then, feeling her way with her arm swept before her as though she held a magic wand. She heard Seth's “wait,” but she moved forward, calling out to Pig instead. The dog barked and bounded toward her. “Good boy,” she said, feeling the high brace still on his back. “Come, let's find Clayton and take care of him ourselves.
Another day and they passed Pain and Smiths ranch, rolled by a Dr. Bakers place on Bear Creek, and on to Fort Reading at Cow Creek, a hive of activity as men framed log and lumber buildings on rock foundations. “Nothing more than a mosquito-infested, marshy lowland meant to settle warring Indians, all who live too far from here to be a bother,” Seth said. “Nobles said they just began building it last May. We wont stay. Malaria,” he said under his breath. Then more loudly, for more of the women to hear, he said, “They give the men double rations, if that tells you anything.”
“It doesn't,” Lura said.
“Just means no one wants to be sent here, so they bribe them with twice the food.”
“If they have a doctor, we might have him look at Jessies leg,” Ruth said.
“I wouldn't risk the malaria,” Seth told her.
Suzanne heard Ruths horse stomp against flies, the bit and rings jingling as he twisted his head. “All right. Well take your advice. She seems to be doing well. I just wouldn't want it to cause a limp for her, later. Especially if we discover we should have acted differently”
“Your call,?
“Let's head on,” Ruth said. “Maybe Shasta will have a doctor to take a look.”
Four miles distant, they arrived at the Sacramento River. Suzanne smelled the water and mud and grasses before she even heard the shouts of men and others.
“There's a ferry,” she said.
“How'd you know?” Seth asked, riding beside her. “I can barely see it.
“It just sounds like back at Kanesville and a few places since. The noises and smells give it away, the water lapping on the shoreline. The thunk of a wagon on waterlogged timbers.” She listened again. They were surely crossing into something new.
A short distance farther, the women halted. Ruth watched the bustle of pack strings and ferries. Stagecoaches disgorged people and gobbled up others. The sun glistened on the river then hid itself behind a dark cloud. The wind picked up. “Rain in the air,” Seth said.
They drove the oxen closer to the river, and then the three wagons pulled abreast of each other. Ruth scanned the activity at the waters edge, strangely anxious, but not sure why. The wagon wheels crunched to a stop. A river-washed breeze crossed her face, threatened to lift her hat. She shoved it down with her hand. Pressed at the whip she carried.
“This is where we can make our partings, then,” Seth said. “Some of you want to head to Sacramento, you can do that from here easy as not. We'll cross on the Emigrant Ferry at the mouth of Cow Creek. Then there's a route south. Pick up a stage at Red Bluff, or take your wagon on in to Sacramento. If you've a wagon to take. Or catch the steamer if you want. We're just a day from Shasta. Those of you heading on in, tomorrow or the next one's the day.”
There, it was said. Ruth's heart began pounding, and she looked over at Suzanne. The woman gripped Pig's leather harness so hard her knuckles were white. The dog growled low, as though aware of his master's discomfort.
“But I thought we were staying. All of us,” Sarah said.
“We need a meeting,” Jason said. “Like we used to. With a vote, isn't that so, Auntie Ruth?”
“We've been putting this decision off,” Ruth said. She dismounted, patted the horse's rump. Mazy's cows mooed, and Ruth wondered if Suzanne could feel the vibration of the loose animals lumbering slowly across the ground, moving closer to the river to suck up the water dirtied by the slap of ferry and activity. “Guess we all knew that staying together wasn't all that realistic,” Ruth said.
“I don't know if we have agreement about that,” Mazy said.
Suzanne felt a clutching in her throat. She'd planned to ask Mazy what she thought she might do in Shasta, how Mazy planned to make a living there. She hadn't talked with Ned yet about his music either, or conferred with Ruth about allowing the boy to pursue it. Her hands felt damp, and she clutched her throat, circling her neck with her fingers— like she used to. Were they all going back to doing what they used to do? And what from the past was worth taking with them, and what just burdened them down?
Clayton took the moment to pull on his mothers skirt. “Go, Mommy.” He pulled at his diaper as Suzanne bent to touch it beneath his little gown.
“Oh, can you wait, honey?”
“I'll take him,” Mariah said. “I dont want to listen to this anyway.” Suzanne nodded.
“We've got to decide. Time's come,” Ruth said. “You've all been putting it off.”
“And you haven't, I suppose,” Adora snapped. “I haven't heard you say when you were heading up to Oregon for those horses of yours, or have you forgotten?”
“Hardly,” Ruth said. “I've a few responsibilities on my hands right—”
“We should begin this momentous decision as we have before, seeking guidance and grace,” Esther said. She must have followed her interruption with a bowed head because Suzanne heard a shushing that sounded as though it came from Ruth and had Ned and Jason's name in it.
Esther spoke her prayer, and at the “amen” a strange man's voice interrupted, “Well, lookee at all these ladies. Yessiree, you're quite the lucky one, Mister—”
“Forrester,” Seth said.
“Greasy, recently of Shasta City. Heard you say something about heading that way. Good town,” he said. Suzanne smelled garlic on the mans breath, though he stood a distance from her, judging by his voice.
“You been invited to this party?” Ruth said.
“Oh, an uppity woman,” the man said, and laughed. “We California men are used to your types. Whatcha use that whip for? Snare yourself a man?” He laughed again.
Seth said, “These women are asking for some privacy, Mister, ah—”
“Greasy. Just call me Greasy, like I said. Some say my britches have more bear grease than thread holding ‘em together.” He laughed again, a high-pitched cackle that grated on Suzanne's ears. His voice was louder, as if he'd moved closer to her. “Ah, fine,” he said. “I'll let ya be. Just being friendly in a new territory.”
“I thought this was a state,” Jason said.
“So it is, lad, so it is. And welcome to it.” He whispered then, “Yesterday, I was a poor little hungry miner. Today, my pockets are full of ore. You're in California, all right. Where anything goes, overnight if you're lucky, long as you got the riches.”
“Not anything,” Sister Esther said. “Rudeness is still rudeness, no matter where you're standing. If you please?”
The man laughed his cackle again, but the scent of garlic left and Greasy with it as he shouted out, “Good-bye, ladies, see you at Goodwin and Yorks. Best place in town for ladies.”
Seth cleared his throat.
“You don't agree, Seth?” Mazy asked.
“Not exactly a parlor.” He cleared his throat again, and Suzanne thought, He's uncomfortable.
“Truth be known, you haven't decided yet, have you, Ruthie,” Adora continued, “about going or staying? Sister Esther?”
Sister Esther took in a deep breath. “You all know we must go south. Mei-Ling to her new husband with her bees, Naomi to her husband-to-be, and me, to discover how to make up the losses. So yes, we will go. If we can arrange for a wagon without leaving one of you without shelter.”
“Suzanne, you haven't told anyone what your plans are,” Elizabeth said then. “Heading to Sacramento or staying on with us?”
“I haven't been…sure,” she said, aware that an old habit of hesitation had just raised its head.
“And we need to settle on the brass tacks,” Lura said. “Divide up the spoils. And the wagons. How will we divide three into what, eleven, twelve of us? I plan to buy chocolate, that's what I'm hungry for.”
“The tacks are worth about sixteen dollars an ounce. Should be enough to buttress up your winter months,” Seth said.
“Weren't we going to have a celebration?” Sarah asked.
“Yes. A fete, if I remember,” Seth said. “For you women making it and for all those brass tacks.”
Elizabeth said, “We don't celebrate enough everyday things. Gotta celebrate something…momentous.”
“Like seeing a town with lovely springs coming out the side of the hill like a wedding veil, as Mr. Forrester so beautifully described to me over the evening fire,” Tipton added.
“Described it to all of us,” Jason said.
“And all those bookstores,” Mazy said. “He talked of those as well. You have to see them, Sister Esther.”
“The town and our making it together has been our destination for so long I believe we would fail ourselves if we did not celebrate the seeing of it,” Sister Esther said. “We could wait a day or so, if you girls agree.”
“Bees be happy wait a day, fly out. See town where friends soon live.”
Seth scratched at the side of his bare chin, then pulled at his blond mustache. “How many of those bookstores did I say there were?”
“Four,” Esther and Mazy said together.
“Hmm. Well then. I have a truth and a lie to tell,” Seth said. He cleared his throat. “I hope I understand the rules in that little game you ladies played across the prairie
“I lied about the bookstores.
Not their presence, just their number.
My optimism shades my judgment,
sometimes leads my mind to wander.”
“Divide by two and subtract one from whatever you tell us?” Mazy said. Suzanne listened for irritation but heard only a tease in the woman's voice.
“Might be,” Seth said.
“You lied about the bookstores?” Tipton said. “There aren't any?”
“There's one,” Seth said. “Or was. Maybe by now there's more. I multiplied by hope. And four.”
Mazy groaned. “What else have you told us that is optimism over truth?”
“Nothing. We're fifteen miles out. This is a good place to cross. Whoa Navigation is the fastest growing town in the north. Queen City is another of its names. Come spring, you'll have a garden fit for royalty,” Seth said.
“Here,” Mazy said. She dropped a handful of soil into Suzanne's palm, the grains damp and smelling of musk. Suzanne squeezed the clump in her palm. It held together. “What do you think?” Mazy asked.
Suzanne sniffed the rich loam, inhaled its lush promise. Then she let her tongue touch the wet grains.
“My ma said we wasn't ever to eat dirt,” Ned said. His words held a scold.
“She ain't eating it,” Jason corrected. “Just learning it.”
“So what's it taste like?” Mazy asked.
Suzanne felt herself smile. “Like ‘the footstool of God,’“ she said.
“That's a tender picture,” Elizabeth said. “From Isaiah, ain't it?”
Suzanne nodded agreement. “It's what Isaac Watts called earth, too, in that lovely songbook of his, Hymns and Spiritual Songs. You'd like them, Ned,” she added.
“I'm going to try that too,” Mazy said. Suzanne imagined Mazy touching her tongue to the earth, the scent of soil and new beginnings mingling as one.
“What's it taste like to you?” Suzanne asked.