Chapter 33
A Conversation in Sacramento

Things started to happen pretty fast after we got back from Nevada. Pa’s decision to run for the California House of Representatives was like yanking up the boards to let the water from a stream into a sluice trough. Once the water started flowing, it rushed through fast! I know it didn’t take our minds off Zack and the danger he was in, but it kept us busy enough that we didn’t have to mope around and think about it.

We stopped in Sacramento long enough for Pa to meet with Mr. Dalton and tell him what he decided.

“I’m pleased to hear of your decision, Hollister,” Mr. Dalton said.

“I still don’t have much notion of what I’m supposed to do,” Pa said sheepishly. I knew he felt awkward around smooth politicians like Alexander Dalton.

“You just leave everything to me. All you have to do is try to spread the word around your area that folks need to vote for you. Since you’ve already run for mayor a time or two, it ought not to be too difficult.”

“We’ll make up some more handbills, Pa,” I suggested, “just like last time.”

“Good girl!” said Mr. Dalton, giving me a gentle slap on the back. “I like how she thinks, Hollister,” he added to Pa. “Political acumen must run in the family! Like I say, you just leave the rest of the territory north of Sacramento to me. I’ll be in touch with you and let you know everything you need to do.”

Pa nodded his head agreeably. “And as for you, young lady,” he went on, turning to me, “that was some article you wrote!”

“You read it?” I asked, half embarrassed, the other half astonished.

“Did I ever! So did the rest of the state. It appeared three days ago in the Alta, and another half dozen papers have already picked it up. I don’t suppose I should be surprised after that speech you gave here in town about freedom. Some of the people I’m in touch with are already starting to say you just might be one of the best weapons Abraham Lincoln has in this state. In fact, because of that speech of yours, the Rev. Thomas Starr King, who was in the audience that day, has decided to become even more actively involved than he had planned. He wants to work with you!”

“That’s my Corrie!” exclaimed Pa proudly. I tried to hide my embarrassment. I didn’t know Mr. Dalton that well, but ever since the first time we’d seen him in San Francisco I couldn’t escape the feeling that he sometimes exaggerated how he said things just to make me feel good, so that I’d be more inclined to do what he might want me to do later. I suppose politicians had to do that sometimes, but I hoped what he said about Mr. King was true. I liked Mr. Dalton well enough, but I didn’t like having to wonder what he really thought. It seemed to me a man’s words ought to be exactly what they were—no more and no less. In his case, I always had the feeling they were just a little bit more than he truly meant.

Nevertheless, I was just vain enough to enjoy his compliment anyway. I hoped there was some truth in his words, and that my article would do some good.

“In fact,” he was saying, “there are two more large rallies we’ve got scheduled—one right here in Sacramento and another in San Francisco. I hope you’ll be able to join us both times.”

I shrugged noncommittally and glanced at Pa, but the expression on his face didn’t give me any help.

“I realize it’s a great distance to come,” he added hurriedly. “But we’ll pay for all your expenses, of course, just like before. And you can know that you’re having a great impact for the good of our country and its future . . . for liberty, just as you said in your speech!”

“I’ll think about it,” I answered him.

“I’ve already talked to Cal about bringing you down for them.” He paused, and when he went on I wasn’t sure I liked the sly look in his eye or the tone of his voice. “He’s taking good care of you, I understand,” he said.

I nodded.

“Since you and he seemed to, ah . . . hit it off, as it were, I took the liberty of asking Leland—that’s Mr. Stanford—to allow me to borrow young Cal now and then to help out with the election, and to make sure my favorite young newspaper writer is kept just as happy as she can be.”

Again he smiled, with a look I didn’t altogether like. Now I was sure his words said more than he meant. I knew, after all the years he’d been involved in important things, that I wasn’t his favorite newspaper writer. But he’d said it just as plain as day. You couldn’t actually call something like that a lie, but it certainly wasn’t the whole truth. I didn’t think Mr. Dalton was intentionally trying to deceive me. He probably considered it a nice thing to say. But it still wasn’t the truth—the whole truth, anyway. I don’t suppose Alexander Dalton was the kind of man who had made truth the same kind of priority as I had. I hoped it wasn’t politics that had made him the way he was. I didn’t want Pa to get like that if he went to Sacramento—saying one thing but always having a slightly different meaning to it that he didn’t say.

“You like Cal, don’t you?” Mr. Dalton asked, seeing me hesitate.

“Yes,” I answered, blushing a little.

“Good, good! People like to see a nice young man and woman standing up for principles and involving themselves in the nation’s affairs. I’m very happy to hear that we’ll see you again up on the platform representing the Republican party!”

“I don’t think you heard my daughter, Mr. Dalton,” said Pa. “At least, I never heard her say for sure what she was going to do.”

“Did I misunderstand?” he said, looking at me bewildered.

“I said I would think about it,” I said. “And I will.”

“Fine! That’s all I can expect. I will have Cal get in touch with you about the details.”