Chapter 57: New Business and New Birth

 

March 27, 1850. Fourth transport run began today. After a dry February, March has been dismal. Ten inches of rain in Sacramento. The mules have had a hard time hauling the wagon through the muck.

 

Not until the end of March did the rains finally let up, allowing miners to crowd into town for supplies. It was all Mac could do to keep provisions on the shelves. He shifted some of his attention from the gold transport to the store.

Huntington earned his keep with the customers, but Consuela grew uncomfortable standing behind the counter for any length of time. Mac convinced her not to come into the store any longer, and she stayed upstairs, telling Mac she would sew for her baby.

Prospectors entered Mac’s store full of tales of treachery and deceit between miners and Indians. “Oughta be a law against foreigners and savages takin’ our land,” a man from Kentucky told Mac.

“And what’s your right to the land?” Mac asked.

“I’m a God-fearin’ Christian just tryin’ to make my fortune,” the man responded. “Not like the heathens and Mexicans.”

If Mac turned away all the miners who expressed similar opinions, he’d lose half his customers. So he simply asked, “What can I sell you today?”

On the afternoon of March 28, Joel came into the store to deposit his gold. “Our vein’s running out,” he told Mac as he plunked a skinny leather bag on the counter. “Weigh my dust, and you can see.”

Mac shook the bag’s contents onto his scale.

Joel scratched his head. “Might look for another claim higher in the Sierras. Think I’d like to drive one of your transports, do some scouting while I’m out.”

“You can go next Tuesday,” Mac said. Joel could handle a wagon and team and was a good shot with a rifle. “But there won’t be much time for scouting. You need to keep the wagon on its route.”

“Got a guard?”

Mac nodded. “I’ll have someone to ride with you. Both driver and guard have to watch for trouble and be able to shoot straight.”

“What’s the pay?”

Mac calculated the weight of Joel’s gold flakes, then grinned. “About what you made in this bag.”

“And that’s two weeks’ work.” Joel shook his head while he initialed the account Mac handed him. “So I can make the same money driving a wagon for you on a five-day route?”

“Seems right,” Mac said. “How are the Tanners?”

“Fine,” Joel said. “Hatty has herself a regular business. Men she feeds every day. Does their laundry, too. Hired an Indian girl to help. She could take on twice the customers, if I let her hire another girl.”

“Why won’t you?”

“Got too many strangers hanging about the camp as it is. More men crowding into the valley, though there’s less color. Your teamsters oughta be able to tell you that.”

“We haven’t hauled as much gold as the wagon can hold. I’d like to add another weekly run, but there’s no point until I fill the wagon I have.” Mac leaned forward on the counter. “What’s Tanner doing?”

“Fixes tools. Hires out to dig in the trenches. He’s making as much in wages as I dig out of the ground these days.” Then Joel squinted at Mac. “That Smith fellow’s been seen again, nosing around some of our neighbors’ claims.”

“Smith? I thought he’d left the territory.”

“Seems not. You tell your men to watch out. He’s too lazy to dig, but not to steal.”

The next day Mac was surprised to see Smith saunter into the store. Mac wondered whether the man had followed Joel into town.

“Hear you need a guard for your gold,” Smith said.

He didn’t need Smith, Mac immediately thought. “Got enough men already,” he said mildly. He didn’t want trouble with Smith, but he would never hire the man. Joel’s warning hadn’t been necessary—Mac had seen enough of the scoundrel himself.

“Who’d you hire?”

Mac shrugged. “No concern of yours.”

“Better make sure you got men who can shoot,” Smith said. “Lots of thievin’ bastards in these parts now. A wagon full of gold is a damn temptation.”

“You wouldn’t be tempted to steal it yourself, would you, Smith?”

“If I ain’t hired to protect it, it’s fair game.” Smith grinned and walked out.

Before dawn on Saturday, Huntington burst into Mac’s room above the Golden Nugget. “It’s comin’,” he shouted.

“What?” Mac’s head was foggy after too much whiskey the night before.

“Consuela’s brat,” Huntington said. “What do we do now?”

Mac sat on the side of his bed and reached for a shirt. “I’ll ask one of the girls here to stay with her,” Mac said. “What time did her pains start?”

“Pains?” Huntington looked dazed. “She didn’t tell me nothin’ but to fetch you.”

“All right,” Mac said. “I’ll be there shortly.”

When he arrived at the store, bringing a hefty saloon girl named Ethel with him, he found Consuela pacing in her room upstairs. “Shouldn’t you be in bed?” he asked.

“If she wants to walk, she should walk,” Ethel said. “That’s what the cows on my pa’s farm did. Now, honey, you go on downstairs and leave her to me.” Ethel shooed Mac out of the room and down to his store.

Around noon Mac started hearing moans from Consuela’s room. As her cries grew louder, customers glanced nervously at the ceiling. “Woman in labor,” Mac told them. He, too, was anxious. Jenny had almost died during William’s birth. He hadn’t wanted to leave her to Doc and Mrs. Tuller’s care. He’d forced his way into the room to sit with Jenny.

But he felt no need to be with Consuela. And he had the store to mind.

When Consuela’s wails grew more frequent, Mac closed the store early. He went upstairs to check on her, but Ethel wouldn’t let him in. “No man should see this,” she said. “Or us workin’ gals wouldn’t git no more customers.”

Mac let her push him away. He took Huntington next door to the Golden Nugget for supper. “They don’t want us around,” he told the older man.

“And I don’t want the racket,” Huntington said. “You got any cigars with you? Good smoke would help pass the time.”

“In the store,” Mac said. “When the baby comes, I’ll get you one. But it isn’t good for your cough.”

“I’ll put up with a wheezy night for a good cigar.” Huntington grinned. “Ain’t got no other pleasures I can still indulge in.”

They lingered in the saloon, until Ethel came for them late in the evening. “It’s a girl,” she said. “She’s namin’ her Maria.”

Huntington snorted. “Virgin’s name for a whore’s daughter. Don’t that take the cake?”

“It isn’t the child’s fault,” Mac said.

They went back to the store, and Ethel brought the baby down. “Consuela don’t want you visitin’ yet,” she said, handing the baby to Mac.

Maria was a pretty little thing, he had to admit. Big solemn eyes and lots of dark hair. A rosebud mouth. Tiny fists. Looked better than William had at birth.

“Well, look at that,” Huntington said with awe in his voice. “She grabbed my finger. Let me hold her.” And the old man wouldn’t give Maria back until she started crying. Then he quickly handed her off to Ethel. “I ain’t no good with young’uns,” he said.

 

March 30, 1850. Consuela was delivered of her child—a girl, Maria.

The next morning Ethel let Mac see Consuela. “How are you?” he asked.

“Sore.” She smiled, looking down at the baby in her arms. “But it was worth the pain to get my niña.”

“She’s as pretty as her mother,” Mac said.

“No such talk from you,” Consuela said. “You have not flirted with me before. And I’m still fat. I won’t be able to work for weeks.”

“You don’t have to go back to the store until you’re ready.”

Consuela frowned. “I meant the saloon.”

“The saloon?” Mac said in surprise. “Why would you go back there?”

“I cannot take your charity forever,” Consuela said. “I had to when I was expecting. But no more. I will care for my niña.”

Mac shook his head. “You should stay here with the baby. Work for me.”

Consuela raised an eyebrow and set her chin stubbornly.