Thurston House (3 page)

The papers on my desk don't know that. He smiled tiredly. There was no way he could go to bed and sleep. He would have been haunted by the vision of Barnaby Harte and his father grieving for him. I won't work too long. She knew that too. It was Saturday. He went to Calistoga on Saturdays, to see Mary Ellen Browne. But Hannah could see that today he wasn't much in the mood.

He poured himself a cup of coffee from the pot on the stove and looked at his old friend. There were a thousand thoughts running through his head after the night before. I told him he should get married again, and have more children. Was I wrong?

Hannah shook her head. You should have done the same for yourself eighteen years ago.

I just thought of that. He looked out the window at the hills. He never let her put up curtains anywhere because he loved the view of the valley so much, and there was no one within miles to look in.

It's not too late. Her voice was old and sad. She was sorry for him. He was a lonely man, whether he knew it or not, and she hoped that John Harte would not choose the same fate now. It seemed wrong to her. She had never had children herself, but for her it had been destiny, not choice. You're still young enough to marry, Jeremiah.

He laughed at the words. I'm too old for that now. And he frowned as he thought and met her eyes again, they were both thinking the same thing I never really could imagine being married to Mary Ellen, and there's no one else. Hasn't been for years. Hannah already knew that he only went to Mary Ellen, but after the night he'd just been through, he needed to talk to her and she understood that too. She was his friend.

Why didn't you ever want to marry her? She had always wondered that, although she thought she knew. And she wasn't far wrong.

She isn't that kind of girl, Hannah. And I don't mean that meanly. She didn't really want to marry me at first, though lately I think she would. She wanted to be free, he smiled, she's an independent little cuss, and she wanted to take care of her own kids. I think she was afraid people would say she married me for what I had, or that she tried to take advantage of me. He sighed. Instead they called her a whore. But the funny thing is mat I don't think she minded that as much. She always said that as long as she knew the truth, that she was a decent woman, and there was only me, then she didn't give a damn what people said. I asked her to marry me once Hannah looked stunned at his words, and he grinned and she turned me down. It was when those damn women in Calistoga gave her such a bad time. I always thought her mother started that fuss to force my hand, and maybe she did, but Mary Ellen told me to go to hell back then. She said she wouldn't be forced into marriage by a bunch of old bags. And I think she was still more than half in love with her drunk of a husband in those days. He had left her more than two years before, but she always hoped he'd come back. I could tell by the way she talked. And then he smiled again. I'm glad he didn't. She's been good for me.

And he'd been good for her too. He had furnished her house, and helped her with things she needed for the kids, when she'd accept the gifts. They had been together now for close to seven years, and her husband had been dead now for more than two. They were used to the arrangement they had. He rode to Calistoga every Saturday night and stayed with her there. The children stayed at her mother's house when he was there, and they were less clandestine about their affair now than they had once been. There was no reason to hide it anymore, everyone in town knew that she was Jeremiah Thurston's girl' . Thurston's Whore they had called her at one point, but no one dared to say that anymore. Jeremiah had personally taken care of it with one or two. But he also knew that Mary Ellen was just that kind of girl. She was the kind of girl that women would always dislike and be jealous of, she had flashy redheaded good looks, long legs and full breasts. She wore her dresses too low and was too willing to give a passing cowboy a glimpse of leg as she stepped off the curb and lifted her skirts well above her ankles. It was that which had drawn Jeremiah to her at first, and she had proven to be as lovely as he had hoped when he had dispensed with the rest of her clothes. She was so lovely in fact that he had swiftly come back for more, and then he had discovered how kindhearted she was, how decent, how anxious to please. She loved her children more than anything in the world, and there was almost nothing she wouldn't do for them. She had been deserted by her husband two years before, and she had worked as a waitress, a dancer, a chambermaid at the hotel attached to the spa, and even after her alliance with Jeremiah she had continued to hold down the same jobs. She insisted that she wanted nothing from him. And several times, Jeremiah had attempted to dismiss her from his mind, but there was something so tender and warm about the girl. She filled an empty spot in his heart, and he was constantly drawn to her bed for more. In the early days he had ridden up to Calistoga several times during the week, but it was too complicated with her children in the house, and they had made their weekend arrangements at the end of the first year. It was difficult to believe that six years had passed since then. Even more so when once in a while he caught a glimpse of her children. Mary Ellen herself was thirty-two now, and she was still a handsome girl, but he still couldn't imagine marrying her. She had been too worldly when they'd met, too brazen, too used, and yet he loved her honesty and her openness, and her courage. She had never backed off because of what people said about her involvement with Jeremiah, although he knew that at times it had been difficult for her.

Would you marry her now? He didn't shrink from Hannah's question, but even now, after seven years, he couldn't imagine marrying Mary Ellen.

I don't know. He sighed as he looked at the old woman. I really am too old to be thinking of that sort of thing, don't you think? It was a rhetorical question, but Hannah was quick to answer.

No, I don't. And I think you should give it some thought before it is too late, Jeremiah Thurston. But she herself didn't think that Mary Ellen was the answer, much as she liked the girl. She had known her all her life, and had always thought her forward and at times downright foolish. She had been among the first to call her a fool for her open affair with Jeremiah. She was a good-hearted girl and it was impossible not to like her. But nonetheless she was thirty-two years old, and he needed a young wife who would give him children. Mary Ellen already had three of her own and had almost died when giving birth to the last one. She'd have been crazy to try it again and she knew it. I'd like to see a child in this house before I die, Jeremiah.

He smiled sadly, thinking of the two Harte children who had just died. So would I, my friend, but I don't think either of us will ever see that. It was the first time he had ever said that to her, or to anyone.

Don't be so stubborn. You've got time. If you looked, you'd find the right girl. Her words brought Jennie back to mind, and he shook his head, as much to push her from his mind as in answer to Hannah's words.

I'm too old for a young girl. I'm almost forty-four years old.

Well, you sound like you're ninety. She snorted in disgust, and he laughed as he ran a hand over the beard stubble on his face.

I feel damn close to that some days, look like it too. It's a wonder Mary Ellen doesn't lock the door when she sees me coming.

She should have done that years ago, Jeremiah, but you know how I feel about that. He did, but Hannah was never afraid to repeat her opinions. You were both foolish to start that, and you've both paid a damn high price for it.

It was the first time she had voiced it quite that way and Jeremiah looked surprised. Both of us?

She damn near got run out of town on a rail, and you've given up the chance to marry someone who'd give you children. You might as well marry her if you're going to do that, Jeremiah.

He smiled benignly at Hannah. I'll tell her you said so. Hannah harrumphed and picked up her shawl from the back of a kitchen chair as Jeremiah watched her. He was going to shave and bathe before going to the mine, and he needed another cup of strong black coffee. It had been a long, long night with John Harte until his relatives arrived to console him. By the way, John was grateful for the food you sent, Hannah. I made him eat it this morning.

Did he sleep at all? Jeremiah shook his head. How could he? And I know you didn't either.

I'll be all right. I'll sleep tonight.

She grinned wickedly at him and turned to look at him from the doorway. That don't say much for Mary Ellen, does it? He laughed and the old woman closed the door behind her.

THERE was an eerie silence about the mines on Saturday, which pleased him. All was stillness, there were no voices, no shrill whistles, no blasting of the furnaces. There were two watchmen drinking coffee in the March morning, as Jeremiah dismounted and tied up Big Joe in his usual place and strode into his office. The papers he had come in to look at were waiting for him, contracts for the quicksilver they produced, and plans for four more cabins to house the men who worked for him. Already the Thurston mines had the appearance of a small town, with seven houses for the men, and cabins beyond for those who had brought their families to live with diem. It was a hard life for them, but Jeremiah was sympathetic to their need to be together. It was a decision he had made a long time ago, and the men were grateful to him. Now he sat looking at plans for still more accommodations for them. The complex seemed to be growing by leaps and bounds, as was the production of the amines. He was pleased by the contracts he had before him, in particular the one from Orville Beauchamp in Atlanta for nine hundred flasks of quicksilver, which amounted to some fifty thousand dollars. Beauchamp would in turn be supplying most of the South. He was a clever businessman, Jeremiah could tell from the contract. He represented a group of seven men, and apparently was their spokesman. The deal was important enough that in another week, Jeremiah would be traveling to Atlanta to meet the consortium and cement the deal with them.

At noon, Jeremiah looked at his pocket watch, stood up, and stretched. He still had work to do, but it had been such a rough night that he was suddenly exhausted, and hungry to see Mary Ellen. He needed her warmth and her comfort. Again and again he had thought of John Harte and the family he had lost. The sympathy Jeremiah felt weighed on him like a boulder, and as the morning wore on, the thoughts of Mary Ellen pressed in on him. It was just after twelve when he left the mines and walked outside to where he had left Big Joe tethered.

Morning, Mr. Thurston. One of the guards waved to him, and farther up the hillside, Jeremiah could see a group of children playing in the distance, behind the family cabins he had built for the miners. It made him think of the influenza epidemic at the Harte mines, and he prayed it wouldn't touch them.

Good morning, Tom. There were some five hundred men who worked for him in three mines now, but he still knew many of them by name. He spent most of his time at the first mine, the Thurston Mine, but toured the others regularly, and knew that they were in the hands of extremely competent foremen. And at the slightest suggestion of a problem, Jeremiah was on the spot himself, sometimes for days, if there was an accident or the mines flooded, as they did every winter.

Looks like spring is here.

It sure does. Jeremiah smiled. It had rained for two solid months, and the flooding in the mines had been ghastly. They had lost eleven men at one mine, seven at the other, three here. It had been a rough winter, but there was no sign of it now, as the sun shone brightly down on them, and Jeremiah could feel it warming his back as he rode old Joe along the Silverado Trail to Calistoga. Jeremiah urged him on, and the big horse picked up his feet and flew the last five miles, as Jeremiah rode with the wind in his beard and his hair, as he thought of Mary Ellen.

As he rode down the main street of Calistoga, there were clusters of ladies strolling together, protected by lace parasols. It was easy to spot those who had come from San Francisco to visit the hot springs: their fashionable dresses were in sharp contrast to the simpler costumes of the locals, their bustles were pronounced, the plumage on their bonnets was lavish, the textures of their silks noticeable in sleepy little Calistoga. It always made Jeremiah smile to see them, and they were quick to notice him as he rode past them, astride his white stallion, with his own dark hair in sharp contrast. When he was in a particularly playful mood, he would doff his hat, and bow politely from his mount, his eyes always dancing with mischief. There was one particularly pretty woman in the cluster today, a woman with reddish hair and a forest green silk dress, the color of the trees on the mountains, but her coloring only served to remind him of why he had come to Calistoga, and he spurred his horse on a little more quickly, and it was only moments later that he reached Mary Ellen's small, tidy house on Third Street in the less fashionable part of town.

Here the smell of sulphur from the spa was strongest, but she had grown used to it long since, as had Jeremiah. It was not the spa, or the sulphur, or even his mines he thought of as he tied Big Joe up behind the house, and ran quickly up the back steps. He knew that she would be waiting, and he opened the door without ceremony with a faint pounding of his heart. Whatever he felt of didn't feel for this woman, one thing was certain, when she was near him, she still had the same magical power over him she had had when they first met. There was a kind of breathlessness he felt, a surge of lust he had felt for few women before or after her. Yet when he was away from her, he was so easily able to do without her. It was for that reason that he never had any serious inclination to change his status. But when he was near her ' when he sensed her in the next room, as he did now, all of his senses were suddenly racing with desire for her.