Shirley Kennedy

Gold Rush Bride


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many clients get to California that I’d hate to go to anyone else.”

      “Well…certainly.” He relaxed and sat back in his chair.

      “What’s the best way to get there?”

      “There’s no good way to travel to California. I can only give you a choice of bad ways.”

      She knew that already. “Please do go on.”

      “You can travel the country in a covered wagon. Across the plains, up over the Rockies. After that, there’s a desert to cross. Then you must cross the Sierra Nevada Mountains before winter or you might get stuck in the snow. Doubtless you’ve heard about the Donner party? And there are others—”

      “Please don’t.” She couldn’t bear to hear such horror stories. “What’s the second way?”

      “You could take the Cape Horn route around the tip of South America and up the Pacific Coast. By the time you get there, you’ve covered fifteen thousand miles, five times the overland distance. Aside from the actual passage around the Horn—it’s always storm-tossed, I understand—it’s fairly safe, but then your ship’s likely to get caught in the doldrums, where there’s no wind and you spend endless days wallowing in the tropical heat. Takes at least five months, maybe more.”

      “And the third?”

      “The Isthmus of Panama. From Boston, you go by ship to Chagres, Panama. You cross the Isthmus to the Pacific, then take another ship north to San Francisco.”

      “Which way is the fastest?”

      “The Isthmus of Panama by far, but—”

      “That’s how I’ll go.”

      “Wait. Let me finish.” The banker leaned toward her, a glint of alarm in his eyes. “The Isthmus is the fastest but most dangerous. After you land at Chagres, you’ve got sixty miles of swamps and steaming hot jungles before you reach the Pacific. You travel the first thirty miles by canoe on the Chagres River, a trip, they tell me, that’s fraught with peril. I recently talked to a client who just returned. He referred to the entire Isthmus as a loathsome spot, a never-ending bed of slime, full of decaying vegetation, alive with crawling reptiles of all sorts. That’s not to mention diseases such as yellow fever, cholera and typhoid. According to him, there’s an excellent chance you wouldn’t leave the Isthmus alive.” The banker raised an eyebrow. “Well, Miss Tinsley? Do you still want to go via the Isthmus?”

      Lord no. Mr. Winslow had painted a horrifying picture. Sixty miles wasn’t so far, though. How hard could it be? She must get to California fast as possible and could surely endure a few slight discomforts for that short a distance. “It’ll be the Isthmus. Could you help me arrange my transportation?”

      The banker rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. “You’re sure?”

      “I…I…” Was she making a horrible mistake? She couldn’t even begin to picture where she was heading, just into the dark and dangerous unknown. Not only the Isthmus was frightening, but beyond that, how could she, raised in the safety and comfort of a loving home, fend for herself in a rough and lawless mining town? And yet… If she didn’t try to find her brother, she’d never forgive herself. So she had no choice, really, and should make the best of it, even though she wasn’t at all sure she’d survive. “I’m very sure, Mr. Winslow.”

      The banker shook his head and made a clucking sound. “It’s almost unthinkable that you should travel to California without a male escort.”

      “I’ve made up my mind. I shall manage.”

      “At least you’ll have a maid?”

      “Of course.” She hadn’t asked Molly yet, but she’d worry about that later.

      “Very well.” Winslow nodded agreeably. He’d done his duty, lost the argument and was moving on. “You’ll need to speak to a travel agent. I recommend Mr. Abner Massey. He can tell you more about traveling to California and make the arrangements.”

      Letty sat in the office of Mr. Abner Massey. A short man with a bald head and long sideburns, he seemed delighted to help her. “There’s a brand new ship leaving for Chagres, Panama, next week. I’d be happy to arrange for your passage. It’s expensive, I’m afraid. Five hundred dollars for first class, but I understand second-class cabins are nice. I could get you—”

      “What’s the cheapest fare?”

      “The cheapest? That would be steerage. Two hundred, I believe, but you would not want—”

      “I don’t care to spend a penny more than I have to.” Judging from the expression on the travel agent’s face, a mixture of disapproval and horror, she’d better explain further. “My family’s financial situation isn’t the best, so I want to spend as little as possible. Is steerage all that bad?”

      He hesitated but only for a moment. “Not at all. Your room will be only semi-private, but on such a short journey, quite tolerable.”

      “How long is the journey from here to Panama?

      “If all goes well, twelve days.”

      “Is that all? I can endure anything for such a short length of time. I want passage for two, my maid and me.”

      Mr. Massey beamed. “Of course. I shall reserve a semi-private room for you in steerage, which should be quite comfortable. There’s a ship leaving next Friday. Is that too soon?”

      “It couldn’t be soon enough. What kind of ship will we sail on?”

      “You’re in luck, Miss Tinsley. You’ll be traveling on a brand new steamship with double paddlewheels which should get you there in record time. It’s called the Mirabello.”

      When Letty arrived home, the first thing she did was call Molly into the parlor and ask if she’d like to accompany her to California. “We’ll go partly by land, partly by ship. I know this is awfully short notice, but I must have a maid with me, and I want you to come.”

      As she listened, the young, rosy-cheeked maid’s ordinarily pleasant expression changed to one of dismay. “Go to California?” She started shaking her head. “When me and my folks came over from Ireland, those weeks I spent on the boat were the worst in my life. Steerage is a horrible place.” Tears started rolling down her cheeks. “Please, mum, don’t make me go. I value my job, but I’d rather die than set foot on a ship again.”

      The poor girl. Letty gently touched her shoulder. “I had no idea. Of course, you don’t have to go if you don’t want to.”

      Tears still rolled down Molly’s cheeks. “You won’t sack me if I don’t?”

      “Of course not.” Letty gave her a confident smile. “I’ll find someone else, so you can just get back to work and don’t worry.” Where she’d find someone else she had no idea, but she’d be a heartless monster if she forced Molly to go.

      “I’ll go.”

      Letty turned to see Elfreda standing in the doorway, the usual dour expression on her face. “What did you say?”

      “I said I’d go with you to California.” Her voice was flat, totally devoid of enthusiasm.

      Oh, no. The sullen cook was the last person in the world Letty would want to come with her. “I’m surprised you’d want to come. Aren’t you happy here?”

      Elfreda gazed at her with hard, unfriendly eyes. “Does it matter whether I’m happy or not?”

      “Well, of course it does. Only…” Damn, she always felt uncomfortable around Elfreda, and now she was stammering. She must think of something to discourage this unpleasant woman. “You don’t seem too enthusiastic, and I wouldn’t want you to feel you must make a sacrifice for my benefit.”

      “Oh, it wouldn’t be for you, Miss Letty.” Her expression