Chinaman was still standing by the gig as he emerged. ‘Send me your location as soon as you can,’ he said in that curiously correct, almost unaccented English he spoke. ‘I will get in to see you as soon as I can. There will be supplies to be fetched from the city, be sure. But if you or the child need me, or if there is any trouble, you send here for me.’ As she hesitated, his voice grew harsh. ‘Swear it,’ he insisted.
‘Oh, Chen Kai! Better for you to forget all about us. I have only ever brought you trouble.’
‘Swear it!’ he commanded sternly.
She muttered something too low for Cornish to make out, but it seemed to satisfy her companion.
He stepped forward to shake the minister’s hand and dropped the leather bag alongside her shabby bundle on the boards of the gig. A flick of the whip and they were off, along the winding, dusty track that led down into the bottom of the valley.
The Chinaman watched until they disappeared from sight through the stand of trees. Then, face expressionless, he turned back and picked up his pack.
‘Kerhouan will show you where you sleep,’ said the rancher. ‘It’ll be a shakedown in the barn at first. Then you can start clearing up in the house. There’s a deal of hard work needed to get this farm back on its feet again. If you’re planning on staying, best show what you’re worth.’
Chapter Two
The minister’s gig bumped its way down the dusty track, rocking from side to side over the uneven surface. Alicia held the child clasped firmly to her side; she was desperately tired and anxious, terrified at the thought of coping without Kai for the first time in four years, but she knew she must hide her fears.
The first few miles were covered in silence. No doubt the minister was misreading the situation as so many before him had done, and feeling morally outraged at having to take such a woman into his gig.
Strange how much more indignant the Anglo-Americans were at the idea of one of their own women as mistress to what they regarded as the lesser races: French ‘keskeydees’, Spanish-American ‘greasers’ or, worst of all, the ‘Chinees’. And yet she had known ministers in the larger mining camps and small townships who had accorded the mistress of a leading Anglo citizen all the dignity of a wife, however infamous she or her man might be. To Alicia, however, the nationality was the least aspect: to be a kept woman was the deepest degradation she could imagine.
When the track levelled out on the valley floor, she eased her arm from Tamsin’s side and opened the bag the Colonel had handed her; the sight of the food made her mouth water! On top of the food was a small purse. She untied it and could hardly restrain a cry of surprise at the stream of dollars that poured out into her hand.
‘But this is far more than the fare to Sacramento!’ she exclaimed.
The Colonel has always been a generous man,’ replied the minister drily. ‘Perhaps he hopes you’ll have the sense to get back east again. California’s no fit home for a woman with a small child, protected only by a Chinee. What fools you immigrants are! Like lemmings. Some fool shouts “Gold!” and you all run …’
Odd to hear herself described as an immigrant. And yet, if one wanted to be pedantic, they were all immigrants except the native Indians, and few enough of them had survived the great influx of the white man. But she regarded herself as a Californian, bred if not born, for she had grown up here with the first settlers, the Spanish-Americans; certainly she had more right to call herself Californian than most.
And how shocked her New England mother would have been, she thought inconsequentially, to hear her strictly brought-up daughter call herself Californian!
It was almost fourteen years since they had first set foot on Californian soil in ‘42 after an appalling voyage round the Horn — the Connecticut lady all fear and foreboding, the eleven-year-old child all
‘Oh, Chen Kai! Better for you to forget all about us. I have only ever brought you trouble.’
‘Swear it!’ he commanded sternly.
She muttered something too low for Cornish to make out, but it seemed to satisfy her companion.
He stepped forward to shake the minister’s hand and dropped the leather bag alongside her shabby bundle on the boards of the gig. A flick of the whip and they were off, along the winding, dusty track that led down into the bottom of the valley.
The Chinaman watched until they disappeared from sight through the stand of trees. Then, face expressionless, he turned back and picked up his pack.
‘Kerhouan will show you where you sleep,’ said the rancher. ‘It’ll be a shakedown in the barn at first. Then you can start clearing up in the house. There’s a deal of hard work needed to get this farm back on its feet again. If you’re planning on staying, best show what you’re worth.’
Chapter Two
The minister’s gig bumped its way down the dusty track, rocking from side to side over the uneven surface. Alicia held the child clasped firmly to her side; she was desperately tired and anxious, terrified at the thought of coping without Kai for the first time in four years, but she knew she must hide her fears.
The first few miles were covered in silence. No doubt the minister was misreading the situation as so many before him had done, and feeling morally outraged at having to take such a woman into his gig.
Strange how much more indignant the Anglo-Americans were at the idea of one of their own women as mistress to what they regarded as the lesser races: French ‘keskeydees’, Spanish-American ‘greasers’ or, worst of all, the ‘Chinees’. And yet she had known ministers in the larger mining camps and small townships who had accorded the mistress of a leading Anglo citizen all the dignity of a wife, however infamous she or her man might be. To Alicia, however, the nationality was the least aspect: to be a kept woman was the deepest degradation she could imagine.
When the track levelled out on the valley floor, she eased her arm from Tamsin’s side and opened the bag the Colonel had handed her; the sight of the food made her mouth water! On top of the food was a small purse. She untied it and could hardly restrain a cry of surprise at the stream of dollars that poured out into her hand.
‘But this is far more than the fare to Sacramento!’ she exclaimed.
The Colonel has always been a generous man,’ replied the minister drily. ‘Perhaps he hopes you’ll have the sense to get back east again. California’s no fit home for a woman with a small child, protected only by a Chinee. What fools you immigrants are! Like lemmings. Some fool shouts “Gold!” and you all run …’
Odd to hear herself described as an immigrant. And yet, if one wanted to be pedantic, they were all immigrants except the native Indians, and few enough of them had survived the great influx of the white man. But she regarded herself as a Californian, bred if not born, for she had grown up here with the first settlers, the Spanish-Americans; certainly she had more right to call herself Californian than most.
And how shocked her New England mother would have been, she thought inconsequentially, to hear her strictly brought-up daughter call herself Californian!
It was almost fourteen years since they had first set foot on Californian soil in ‘42 after an appalling voyage round the Horn — the Connecticut lady all fear and foreboding, the eleven-year-old child all
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