West Of Here Part 6

minerva's feet JANUARY 1890 1890.

Such was the brevity of Eva's labor, so determined was she to deliver the child and be done with it, that by the time Jacob returned with the midwife, both parties panting heavily from having traversed the hogback and crossed the colony at a frantic pace, Eva had already birthed the baby and severed the cord. She propped herself against the larder, in the darkest, coolest corner of the kitchen, clutching the wailing infant lightly to her chest.

The infant girl was ostensibly healthy and in good color, and she possessed a formidable set of lungs. Peering down at the crinkled face, Eva rested two fingers on the distended belly of the thing, which was warm to the touch. She was humbled and repulsed by the weakness of it. Its groping, helpless little hands, bunching themselves into fists, moved her to wish it was back inside of her, where it was merely an obstacle. Now, the complexities were manifold; now, the thing was no more a part of her.

The appearance of the child inspired a striking turnabout in Jacob's behavior. He relinquished all proprietary airs toward his sister. With motherhood, she had earned his respect at last.

"You've done good, Eva. My G.o.d, she's exquisite. What will you call her?"

"Certainly not Ethan," she said.

By the end of the second feeding, it was apparent that something was wrong with Eva. She was on fire. She'd grown faint and blotchy. Her pelvis was in a vice. Once again, Jacob was pressed frantically into action.

When Haw was summoned by the postmaster's son from his tiny root cellar in New Dungeness, he was at work by candlelight, grinding tortoisesh.e.l.l into a fine powder with a pestle. The young man told the Chinaman, whom he insisted on calling Huey, that a girl child had been born at the colony that morning and that complications had set in with the mother. Doc Newnham was unavailable. Haw collected a dozen herbs and several jars in his leather bag, tucked his braided queue beneath a wide-brimmed hat, wrapped his coat about his lean frame, and mounted the waiting carriage.

The trek west up the peninsula was a plodding and muddy affair. On two occasions the wheels became mired, and Haw was forced to dismount the carriage and leverage the rear wheels out of their ruts as the young man drove the horses forward. In both instances, Haw emerged mud-spattered, much to the young man's amus.e.m.e.nt. But for occasional speculation concerning the state of the road before them, both men were mostly silent throughout the journey.

They arrived at the foot of the hogback shortly before dusk. A smattering of loosely knit colonists met Haw's arrival in town. As the carriage rattled through their midst, Haw could hear the whispers of pig-tailed devil and c.h.i.n.k upon their lips, could feel their eyes burning holes in him, and tried his best to appear solemn throughout the procession, though a familiar panic was at work in him.

Jacob greeted Haw at the stoop. "You'd think they'd never seen a Chinaman," he observed.

Haw liberated his queue from beneath his hat and stepped into the little house. "Or maybe too many," he said.

The midwife was cradling the infant before the hearth. The child fidgeted in her arms, whining and chortling at every turn. Eva lay propped up in bed, weak-eyed and feverish in the lamplight. In spite of her condition, she greeted Haw coolly, and would not look him in the eyes. Jacob had been nearly an hour in persuading her to see the Chinaman, whose filthy, ragged appearance did little to inspire confidence in either of them. His very presence seemed to alert Eva's suspicions. As he readied himself, spreading a cloth upon the chest of drawers and scrupulously laying out his herbs on it, she scrutinized his every move for peculiarities.

"Pot," he said, at length. "Fresh water. Also, gla.s.s. Teacup."

Jacob set out for the pot and water.

Eva noted that the Chinaman touched nothing nor performed any action with his right hand. Every task was executed with the left hand. He would sooner employ the use of his chin than the use of his right hand. His every move was deliberate, decisive, careful, and yet she distrusted him. The moment he drew close enough that she could smell him, she was surprised to discover that his smell was quite like that of a forest. She was further surprised by the lightness of his touch when, finally, he employed the use of his right hand, which he'd reserved for the express purpose of checking her pulse. First, he checked it at the wrist, then at the neck, keeping count silently with his lips. Eva shuddered inwardly as he set his right hand flat on the bare skin of her abdomen.

Jacob returned from his charge. Haw took the pot of hot water and the gla.s.s from him and set them both upon the chest of drawers. He poured out a small gla.s.s of liquid and brought it to Eva's bedside and instructed her to drink it, which she did hesitantly. He took the empty gla.s.s from her and set it back on the chest, then began sprinkling herbs into the pot of water: leaves and stems and roots, dong guai dong guai and and shu-di-huang shu-di-huang and dried rhubarb. He instructed Jacob to boil it on the stove and inquired about the whereabouts of the doctor. Jacob told him that Newnham had been summoned west of Joyce, where a logging mishap had occurred along the Hoko River. and dried rhubarb. He instructed Jacob to boil it on the stove and inquired about the whereabouts of the doctor. Jacob told him that Newnham had been summoned west of Joyce, where a logging mishap had occurred along the Hoko River.

As Eva sipped the hot elixir, her eyelids grew heavy. She was gla.s.sy-eyed and perspiring profusely. Finally, she slipped off into semi-consciousness. For the next two hours, she faded in and out of this state, plagued by feverish visions, ink blots and ghostly tracers in the lamplight. At one point it was snowing in the room, but the snow was black and sizzling hot on her skin, and the voice of her brother seemed to be coming from the mouth of the Chinaman. And the Chinaman looked in turns like the devil and the face of the moon. Mercurial thoughts flitted in and out of her head, impressions she could no more apprehend than she could stand upon her own strength and walk out the door. She sensed dimly that the world had lost all order, that she had no dominion over the events shaping her consciousness.

ETHAN LEFT THE head of the canyon shortly after dawn, his spirit electric. He could not move nor even think fast enough to keep pace with the future as he strode down the mountain. He took no change of clothes on his journey, only his pipe, a bit of fish, and a crust of bread. The trail was fraught with calamity from the outset: washed out and riddled with downed timber. A quarter mile downriver from the head of the canyon, he turned his ankle on the rutty path, forcing him to slow his pace. head of the canyon shortly after dawn, his spirit electric. He could not move nor even think fast enough to keep pace with the future as he strode down the mountain. He took no change of clothes on his journey, only his pipe, a bit of fish, and a crust of bread. The trail was fraught with calamity from the outset: washed out and riddled with downed timber. A quarter mile downriver from the head of the canyon, he turned his ankle on the rutty path, forcing him to slow his pace.

By the time he rejoined the trail on the far side of the swamp, he had walked off the pain of his ankle, but he rolled it once more, not half an hour later, while fording the river. His feet were pulled from beneath him, and he reared backward in the current, jamming his crooked thumb upon the rocks. He watched helplessly as the river took his bread and fish. When he reached the far bank, he was forced to build a fire and dry his clothing by the heat of it. A light rain needled his naked back as he huddled against the chill for several hours.

When at last Ethan stormed into the little white house an hour before dusk, he did so with a considerable hitch in his gait and his right arm pressed firmly against his stomach, as though held in place by an invisible sling. Upon confronting Jacob in the foyer, it was apparent at once to Ethan that something was wrong. Wrong enough to negate any unfinished business between the two men.

Ethan bore little resemblance to the man Jacob had confronted in Seattle. The elements had beaten all airs of the dandy out of him. His face had not seen a razor in weeks. His cheeks were sallow, and filth gathered in the creases of his forehead. His hair was wild, his clothing was rough, soiled in patches, and the air all about him stunk like a dead campfire. But Jacob recognized for the first time some singularity of intent in that silver-eyed gaze.

"Where is she?" said Ethan. "Am I too late?"

Jacob rested a hand upon Ethan's shoulder, and Ethan did not shrink from it. "She's not well. We're hoping her fever will break. But ..."

"What about the baby? Is the baby okay?"

"The baby is fine. She's sleeping in the parlor."

"She?"

"Yes. Your daughter. She has no name of yet."

Ethan squeezed past Jacob to the sitting room, now further crowded by a white ba.s.sinet. He peered down into the blanketed nest, not quite knowing all that he was looking at, nor what course of action to follow. When Jacob entered the room, Ethan looked to him for instruction.

"Should I let her sleep?"

"She's your daughter. Perhaps an introduction is in order."

Ethan lifted the baby from the ba.s.sinet with his good arm, cradling her head in the crook of his injured hand; the child did not awaken. Instantly, Ethan's disappointment fled. He was overcome by her delicacy and diminutive grace; her tiny fingers clutching at his shirtfront, her dark downy hair and its smell of newness, the impossibly delicate veins ribbing her pink eyelids. He could not resist running his crooked thumb over her wrinkled forehead. She was everything the wilderness was not: delicate, vulnerable, small. And she was everything worth taming it for. It was no longer enough to prove something to the world, to distinguish himself for the sake of distinction, to conquer in the name of Ethan Thornburgh. Taming the Elwha was no longer a dream in itself but a means to an end, and that end was to bring civilization to the feet of his daughter, to ensure that she grew up in a world with electricity and a thousand other modern conveniences, so that she should never be forced to sweat and toil in the mud, never have to expose herself to the crushing forces of the wilderness, even to profit by it.

"Minerva," said Ethan. The word had just come to his lips. "Her name is Minerva, by G.o.d."

ETHAN AND JACOB sat vigil with Haw throughout the night, as the lamp burned low. Eva's condition did not improve. All the color drained out of her. Her bouts with consciousness were infrequent. Her speech was a riddle. Haw alone held out hope. He checked her pulse obsessively, daubed the sweat from her forehead, and at one point administered a poultice of crushed herbs and tea on her forehead, neck, and wrists. sat vigil with Haw throughout the night, as the lamp burned low. Eva's condition did not improve. All the color drained out of her. Her bouts with consciousness were infrequent. Her speech was a riddle. Haw alone held out hope. He checked her pulse obsessively, daubed the sweat from her forehead, and at one point administered a poultice of crushed herbs and tea on her forehead, neck, and wrists.

When hunger awoke Minerva during the night, Ethan went to her, and gripped her softly with calloused hands and hoisted her from out of the crib, breathing deeply of her hair. He held her close and rocked her gently; he rea.s.sured her in low tones, all to no avail. He was powerless to soothe the child. Her cries were horrific, pinched and phlegmy, earnest beyond all proportion. It was agony to hear them. Finally, he put the child to her mother's breast, and held her there, where she fed, unbeknownst to Eva.

What if this child should have no mother? The thought was black and inescapable. That Ethan's lover lay dying on the bed was of subordinate concern. Surely, no G.o.d would take this child's mother. But as the night wore on, he began to reason that G.o.d had forsaken him and, worse, had forsaken his child. And so Ethan invested his faith by degrees in the one agency that might possibly exercise any influence over Eva's fate. He watched intently each methodical step of the way, as the Chinaman attended her. He looked for signals in Haw's concentrated manner, but he did not ask questions or try to impose reason upon the Chinaman's methods. Whether it was rational science or devil's magic, it was Eva's only hope. And so he watched sleepily as Haw's movements played shadows on the wall, listened to the soft patter of Haw's feet across the wooden floor, breathed the fragrance of a dozen herbs, until at last, Ethan fell asleep in his straight-backed chair.

Eva's condition worsened as the night unfolded. Her pulse was wild with feverish rhythms, she twitched on occasion and issued plaintive moans, until suddenly, shortly after dawn, her fever broke in an instant. Only Haw was awake when she regained her senses, and only Haw watched a healthy color suffuse her face as outside the day broke cold and clear.

the river JANUARY 1890 1890.

The general consensus among the Mather expedition held that with each homestead the men pa.s.sed on their way through the teardrop-shaped valley and into the next gap, they had for certain pa.s.sed the outermost settlement. Time and again they were disappointed by a small clearing or a crude snow-covered structure. Not until they reached the foot of the second, larger gorge did they truly leave the last vestiges of white settlement behind.

The snow kept on through the day and into the next, and the sound of their own plodding snowshoes was m.u.f.fled, as were the echoes of their voices. There was five feet of acc.u.mulation in places, and for this reason Mather cut his blazes low on the trunks of trees, so that come spring the blazes would be at eye level.

The party dug in a half mile beyond the head of the big canyon and chose a low sandy bench just below camp as the site for boat construction. From the felling of the timber to the caulking of her hull, the boat took them the better part of four days. The dogs got into the bacon the first night, making off with all but precious little of it, so that breakfast each morning thereafter consisted of gilletes and coffee. The weather was not cooperative. Each morning the timbers were heavy with ice, and it was necessary to thaw them for several hours over the fire. They smoked the green wood until it was light as cork. They curved the timbers at stem and stern by heaving them with a lever arrangement. They caulked the hull with oak.u.m and pitch until she was watertight and dubbed her Lucy. Lucy. She was thirty-by-five at the beam, two feet deep, and decked forward and aft for bowman and steerman. She was thirty-by-five at the beam, two feet deep, and decked forward and aft for bowman and steerman.

After the finishing touches were applied to Lucy, Lucy, the men lowered the stores down the rutty bluff and packed them tight into the hold. Reese then persuaded Daisy and Dolly aboard with the b.u.t.t end of his rifle before pa.s.sing the reins to a waiting Cunningham. They dragged the boat into the riffle and held her fast by the towlines. They stood upon the bank amid a light snow, where Cunningham halfheartedly attempted to solicit heavenly intervention on behalf of the expedition, leaving Reese to roll his eyes. Finally, with considerable effort, they pushed off into the current. the men lowered the stores down the rutty bluff and packed them tight into the hold. Reese then persuaded Daisy and Dolly aboard with the b.u.t.t end of his rifle before pa.s.sing the reins to a waiting Cunningham. They dragged the boat into the riffle and held her fast by the towlines. They stood upon the bank amid a light snow, where Cunningham halfheartedly attempted to solicit heavenly intervention on behalf of the expedition, leaving Reese to roll his eyes. Finally, with considerable effort, they pushed off into the current.

The boat took fairly well to the water, though she rode low beneath the weight of the stores, her nose cutting into the water beneath the rapids. Mather manned the bow pole, with Haywood at the steering oar, while Reese and Runnells struggled for footing along opposing banks with the tow line, accompanied by the dogs, who alternately bounded ahead and sniffed along the bank. The boat dragged against the swift current. Progress was extremely hard won, as the river proved itself to be a more formidable challenge than anyone expected. Surely, this was not the same river that ran flat and shoal at its mouth, the same river that promised smooth pa.s.sage to the divide. This was a rock-strewn beast boiling with rapids, a heaving, roiling, serpentine devil. Where the river did not run wide, it ran braided in chutes and timber-choked shallows. Footholds were hard to come by on either bank. Reese and Runnells spent the better part of their time waist deep in the numbing current, the wind and snow in their face.

Time and again, the boat hung up on rocks and snags, and several times the force of the current overwhelmed them, and they were pushed back into the rocks they had worked so hard to clear, colliding with such violence on one occasion that Daisy reared up in the boat, and Runnells lost the towline momentarily. Mather was nearly thrown from the deck into the rapids. And Mather's heart thrilled on that occasion, for he found no triumph in surrender, nor even in the spoils of victory, but only in the perilous clutches of the battle itself. That's the answer he should have given Eva, that's the spirit that drove him. Only in adventure were the senses fully engaged, the life force fully harnessed, the intellect fully immersed. Only then could one feel the magnetic forces of chaos pulling them toward the true nature of all things. And only when these forces dragged you by the collar to the very precipice of terrible understanding, and forced you to look down into the abyss, only then did the fighting begin in earnest, only then were you truly alive.

When they crashed against the rocks, Mather laughed like a madman, even as he regained his balance, and when a quick glimpse at Cunningham revealed that the latter had lost all color, a warmth suffused the lap of Mather's pants, and he did not fight it, but joyfully let it spread down his legs.

"Ha! What were you expecting, Cunningham, Lovers Lane?"

A quarter mile upstream from the collision, two giant firs, six and seven feet in diameter, lay fully across the river. The men were forced to drag the boat to a rocky bar and tether the mules. They regrouped over a loaf of wet sourdough, a small fire, and a pan of warm water. It took the remainder of the day to cut through the downed trees with hatchets and whipsaws. And though the ch.o.r.e greatly depleted their store of dogfish oil and elbow grease, it did not deplete their optimism.

Spirits were high around the campfire. Prune pie and whiskey fueled their celebration. Cunningham alone seemed rattled by the day's events. He chewed at the stem of his pipe and stirred the fire restlessly. Reese was uncharacteristically giddy, at one point patting Dolly upon the muzzle with something resembling affection. Despite having spent the first half of the day chest deep in the chill rapids, clutching a frozen towline that tore his hands to tender shreds, Runnells felt a warmth in his bones. Even the mild Haywood, who preferred polite deference from the forces of nature to the grueling business of conquest, could not help but revisit the day's adventures with relish.

At the end of the night, as Mather lay in the tent, wrapped in his sh.e.l.l of woolen blankets, staring into a blackness that may well have been the back of his eyelids, he afforded himself an image of Eva, and what it might have been like to feel her body pressed against his own in the darkness. He soon fell asleep.

DAWN SNUCK INTO the tent, as though with the slightest stirring, she might withdraw back into the night. The morning was cruel - dark, bl.u.s.tery, but not quite ominous. Yesterday's triumph still cast the palest of light on the new day. The tents were sagging with ice when the men awoke, and Mather discovered crystals in his thick beard; leaning up on his elbows, he shook them off like a bear might have, with three big sweeps of the head and a pawing motion. Outside the tents, the snow came down the valley in windblown sheets, stinging his face and hands. The coals were completely dead. The pemmican was tough. But the coffee sharpened his senses and awoke his spirit. the tent, as though with the slightest stirring, she might withdraw back into the night. The morning was cruel - dark, bl.u.s.tery, but not quite ominous. Yesterday's triumph still cast the palest of light on the new day. The tents were sagging with ice when the men awoke, and Mather discovered crystals in his thick beard; leaning up on his elbows, he shook them off like a bear might have, with three big sweeps of the head and a pawing motion. Outside the tents, the snow came down the valley in windblown sheets, stinging his face and hands. The coals were completely dead. The pemmican was tough. But the coffee sharpened his senses and awoke his spirit.

They found the boat's hull mired in ice, and even before they could begin the day's journey, they were forced to hoist her up on blocks and put the fire to her. When she was dry, they recaulked her hull for good measure. It was early afternoon before they packed the boat back up, dragged her to the edge of the bank, and guided her into the water. Beyond the two firs, the river ran deep and narrow for a stretch, and the boat dragged against the current like never before. Footing was impossible along the steep banks, and Cunningham was useless with the towline. Reese battled hard, knee deep in water, scrambling for footholds between the slick rocks. His grasp was all but frozen to the towline.

Emerging from a high-banked gulch they hit a tough stretch of flat white rapids which offered no possibility of circ.u.mnavigation. Mather rode them straight up the gut for a hundred glorious feet, grunting, and roaring, and laughing and cursing, before it became impossible to gain headway, and Mather and his men submitted to defeat. They eased her back down river to the nearest possible landing, a narrow stone promontory along the left bank.

Forced to portage the cargo, they guided the empty boat to the head of the rapids, and pulled her over a knee-high fall of jagged rocks, an effort requiring as much guile and tact as brute strength. The ch.o.r.e left every man exhausted. They ate gillettes and did not linger by the fire.

That night, the snow relented, along with the biting wind, and even the current was in good humor throughout the next morning, during which they covered the better part of a quarter mile. Mather felt confident that the worst was over, that the river would lead them through the remainder of the foothills to the divide, where they would face a bold new set of challenges in the high country.

The river ran flat for a quarter-mile stretch, offering relatively little resistance. By midday, they'd wended their way through the next gap to the base of yet another dark fold of steep wooded hills, the tops of which were shrouded in mist. The closer they drew to the interior, the more rugged and dramatic the lay of the land revealed itself to be. The hills grew more imposing with each successive layer, from the rolling foothills below the first canyon, to the hulking ogres that followed. The hills they now confronted were heavily b.u.t.tressed, great shouldered beasts that sprouted out of the earth as though they were still growing, still pushing their way up, opening chasms and shaking off boulders, shedding their igneous skin as they reared upward toward heaven. And still the party was nowhere near the outer perimeter of the larger ranges, still they had hardly ventured twelve miles from the mouth of the Elwha. How far was paradise? Where amid this chaos of mountain terrain was the golden valley?

A short ways into the dark cleft, they hit a foul stretch of rapids, where the river emerged from a chute of basalt and promptly met with the confluence of another churning stream. The Elwha was a frothing cauldron, the roar of it deafening. Cunningham lost the rope repeatedly, but Reese was able to hold her each time, until sweeping around the port side, Reese lost his footing and was caught in the current, relinquishing the line as he was pulled under by the rapids. The world flashed on and off as the river took possession of him.

The instant Reese lost the line, the mules reared, and the boat was forced back by the current with such sudden violence that she spun forty-five degrees, and Haywood lost the steering oar, and the boat crashed upon the rocks. Haywood and Cunningham and Dolly were all thrown free of the boat and swallowed up by the river in a terrible instant. But Mather hung on, even as the boat broke free of the rocks with a groan, even as it spun out of control. She was taking on water through the hull, over the sides, everywhere he turned. The remaining mule was now on her feet and pitching violently backward. The world had come undone. Mather's head was spinning with a delectable violence. He was one with the chaos, immersed in the savage truth of all things, when the stern was wrenched out from under his feet, and he was struck as though by a bolt of lightning, and time, as he knew it, ceased to exist.

rebuked JANUARY 1890 1890.

Something was strangling the life out of Mather, some cold hand had gripped his torso like a vice, and pulled him beneath the rapids again and again, swept him along against his will, and Mather would have surrendered gladly to its pull, if only he could have drawn a single breath. Instead, he fought desperately for air, blacking out in spotty flashes. Above the dull roar of rapids he heard the dogs barking on the bank and heard the panicked baying of Daisy, still captive on the unmanned boat as it careened out of control. A blurry figure lighted upon the far bank, splashing into the shallows, shouting between cupped hands. Suddenly, something grabbed hold of Mather by the waist and dragged him under the riffle, grappled desperately with him, entangling him in its clutches. When he fought his way to the surface and managed at last to fill his lungs with one desperate gasp, he found himself face to face with a deathly pale Cunningham, who was still clinging for dear life to Mather. A wide gash had opened across Cunningham's forehead. Not until Mather glimpsed the naked fear in Cunningham's eyes did he feel the tingle of his own sharpened senses, the electric chill of fear down his spine. And it was fear that gave Mather the strength to shoulder Cunningham, fear that drove him in hard-fought increments toward the bank, even as the rapids shot them farther downstream, until Mather at last managed to get his feet underneath him and stop their terrible progress, wading to sh.o.r.e with the dead weight of Cunningham still clinging to him. Upon terra firma, Cunningham stood and walked upon his own strength.

The dogs came first. Sitka lit out from the underbrush and nearly bowled Mather over when she reached him, licking his face and pawing at his shoulders as she balanced on two legs. The other dog came down the bank, wet and panting, but nonetheless enthusiastic. Runnells appeared a few moments later, alone, limping along the far bank. He was hatless and his pants were split down one leg. He threw his arms up and shrugged, then nodded and lowered his head and kept walking until he was directly across from Mather and Cunningham, where he crouched on the bank and put his head in his hands.

For a half hour they walked the banks calling for Reese and Haywood until little hope remained in the frayed edges of their voices. They sat and waited, Runnells on the far bank, and the other two men opposite, until Cunningham swore he heard the braying of a mule from up the hill. Mather listened intently. Soon there was a great ruckus in the understory behind him, the clatter of snapping limbs and a sharp exclamation laced with superlatives. Haywood emerged from the brush leading Dolly. And behind the mule came a disconsolate Reese dragging his heels.

They found Daisy a quarter mile downstream pinned between two rocks, grinning hideously with her shattered jaw rent in opposite directions. Her legs were twisted into impossible configurations. But in her final miraculous act of stubbornness, she was still breathing weakly. Mather could not bear to look at her. The brutality of her disfigurement, that a life could be ripped apart so violently and thrown aside like a thing, seemed a violation of all that was natural. That the thing should continue to breathe and suffer in such a maligned condition was sickening. The dogs would not let Daisy lie, and Mather shooed them away angrily. Without a rifle to end the mule's misery, he was forced to stave her head in with a hefty stone. Her skull caved like a melon, and Mather would not soon forget the sensation of it.

The boat somehow defied the rapids long enough to clear the narrow pa.s.sage the men had cut through the firs. She crashed on the rocks not five hundred feet upriver from the sandy bench of her conception. Her hull was battered well beyond repair and the hold was ruptured. The stores had been scattered. The collective force of the expedition had been scattered, as though the wilderness had swallowed them up and spit them back out in pieces.

The men regrouped above the sandy plateau, where they'd established a camp a week earlier. In the clearing, they spread out all that remained of the stores. The losses were heavy but sustainable; most of the flour was lost, and nearly all of the meat, though it had been little to begin with. The sugar and coffee were total losses. The camera was lost, along with some of the survey gear. However, three of the five rifles had survived with no apparent damage. A single grip of tobacco had survived, albeit waterlogged, along with a precious little whiskey.

Reese built an enormous fire fed by the brittle skeletons of alders. The fire roared like a furnace, burned hot and smokeless, and the points of its flames lapped at overhanging limbs twelve feet off the ground. The entire camp bathed in its glow. The men gathered around the fire, as close as they could bear to stand, and felt the hot wind of it on their faces. Nothing was said. The whiskey was uncorked and imbibed sparingly twice around the circle. Now and again, someone tossed a dry fir bough into the inferno, and the tiny needles sparked and flitted like gunpowder as the fire consumed them in bursts of white light. And when the flames died down, the men sat on rocks and licked their wounds and contemplated the rumbling in their bellies. Haywood scribbled madly in his journal, which had survived miraculously unscathed, wrapped in oilcloth in what remained of the hold. Runnells mended his pants with a needle and thread, his swollen ankle propped upon a round of cedar. Reese cleaned the rifles, one by one. Cunningham, the gash on his forehead dressed with the aid of Haywood, huddled nearest the flames. He could not seem to get warm, his teeth clattered frightfully.

Mather leaned back against his rock, hypnotized by the fire. He felt at once dull and lucid as he watched the ring of orange coals pulse around the perimeter of the flames. All the adventure had been drained out of him, his manic appet.i.te for the wild and undiscovered had waned, at least temporarily, and his mind set to other more familiar wanderings. His preoccupation with Eva Lambert had become, weeks into their journey, a source of profound irritation to Mather. He was shamed by it, yet in his quiet moments he gravitated toward the thought of Eva like a moth to flame. The only act that might have relieved the shame and discomfort of Mather's yearnings was unthinkable, that is, to have confessed to Haywood or, worse, to Reese, that the mere thought of a women's swollen belly should cause his heat to rise.

mummery JANUARY 1890 1890.

When Adam sent the boy away from his room, Thomas walked out backward, still clutching the shaving mirror in front of him at arm's length, navigating his way through the threshold and down the stairs by way of its reflection. After a moment, Adam could see the boy through the dirty window, walking backward down the middle of Front Street, entranced by the reflected world as it came to him over his shoulder.

Adam clasped his leather case and s.n.a.t.c.hed it off the foot of the bed, then made his way down the groaning stairs. In the lobby, he came upon Reverend Sheldon, who was talking emphatically in hoa.r.s.e tones at the desk clerk on the subject of the latter's moral fiber. The clerk listened impatiently, as one who knows a punch line, now and again scanning the lobby as though looking for an escape. Adam tried to soft-shoe past, but the reverend caught his eye and, without pausing in his harangue, signaled Adam to stay put by suspending a chubby index finger in the air.

"Fort.i.tude," Reverend Sheldon declared. "I'm talking about real guts, real moxie. That's what you lack, son, moral fort.i.tude, what the whole of this frontier lacks - and make no mistake, it is is a frontier, gentleman, statehood or no statehood. And the evil oppressor that clouds these brackish backwaters, gentleman, is the devil himself, and the moral turpitude he inspires from all quarters. Look around you. Why he's got you virtually surrounded, from that G.o.dless colony there, to those savages on the beach, to that abomination directly across the way. Remember, it's the weak that run for the hills. The strong stand their ground and fight in the name of Alm -" Here, the reverend gave way to a fit of violent coughing, during which he employed the suspension of his other index finger to indicate that his thought was not yet complete. The cough rattled in his barrel chest, doubled him over with its force, and his balding head turned bright red. He recovered at last, short of breath, sniffling, his eyes awater. "In the name of Almighty G.o.d," he rejoined with considerable effort. Even as the clerk was grumbling a defiant a frontier, gentleman, statehood or no statehood. And the evil oppressor that clouds these brackish backwaters, gentleman, is the devil himself, and the moral turpitude he inspires from all quarters. Look around you. Why he's got you virtually surrounded, from that G.o.dless colony there, to those savages on the beach, to that abomination directly across the way. Remember, it's the weak that run for the hills. The strong stand their ground and fight in the name of Alm -" Here, the reverend gave way to a fit of violent coughing, during which he employed the suspension of his other index finger to indicate that his thought was not yet complete. The cough rattled in his barrel chest, doubled him over with its force, and his balding head turned bright red. He recovered at last, short of breath, sniffling, his eyes awater. "In the name of Almighty G.o.d," he rejoined with considerable effort. Even as the clerk was grumbling a defiant Amen Amen beneath his breath, the reverend turned his attention to Adam. beneath his breath, the reverend turned his attention to Adam.

"I'm told you're off to pay the natives in Jamestown a visit, Adam. It shall be my pleasure to join you as far as New Dungeness."

Lacking both the patience and temperament required to find the reverend amusing, or in any way refreshing, the journey by carriage was interminable for Adam. Not only was the going slow over the muddy, rutted road, but the reverend, needing no encouragement from Adam whatsoever, spoke to no end on all matters right and moral, returning more often than not to the subject of the natives, a sore subject indeed, as he'd enjoyed so little success converting them.

"Powder and lead, that's how they Christianized them in Vancouver's day. And why not? What has all this Great Father Great Father nonsense profited us? I once met your beloved Chet-Ze-Moka. He was drunk in a wigwam with his genitals hanging out. One of his wives had a black eye. These are not wayward lambs, Adam. They're savages down to their very souls. Born in sin. Salvation is beyond them. They're every bit as bad as the Chinese. I've witnessed their ceremonies, their potlatches, and what have you, and they're evil incarnate. Slaughtered dogs and idolatry. Face paint. Mummery." This the reverend punctuated with a rasping cough, which gained momentum and soon racked his entire person. His eyes began to bulge and take on the desperate aspect of a drowning man, and his cheeks soon glistened with tears. Still, the moment he could apprehend his first breath, he persisted in his sermon. "They ate the dog, Adam, ate it raw. They blackened their faces. They crawled around wearing lizard heads, like men possessed." nonsense profited us? I once met your beloved Chet-Ze-Moka. He was drunk in a wigwam with his genitals hanging out. One of his wives had a black eye. These are not wayward lambs, Adam. They're savages down to their very souls. Born in sin. Salvation is beyond them. They're every bit as bad as the Chinese. I've witnessed their ceremonies, their potlatches, and what have you, and they're evil incarnate. Slaughtered dogs and idolatry. Face paint. Mummery." This the reverend punctuated with a rasping cough, which gained momentum and soon racked his entire person. His eyes began to bulge and take on the desperate aspect of a drowning man, and his cheeks soon glistened with tears. Still, the moment he could apprehend his first breath, he persisted in his sermon. "They ate the dog, Adam, ate it raw. They blackened their faces. They crawled around wearing lizard heads, like men possessed."

Nearly half of the road was washed out by a slide two miles east of town, and the carriage could scarcely pa.s.s without succ.u.mbing to the steep hillside. The snowfall was steady and wet, slush by the time it hit the ground. The wheels churned up brown muck and threw a fine spray of grit in their wake. However, the traveling beyond the washout was relatively smooth. Adam might have let the road lull him to sleep, were it not for the reverend.

"Shakerism is not the answer. Shaking bells instead of rattles, defiling the name of Jesus Christ. Quivering like jellyfish. That's no route to salvation. They're still the warring, slave trading, superst.i.tious heathens they were a hundred years ago. Three hundred years ago!"

Here, in the ruddy-faced reverend, with his high-minded moral vision and irrational fear of the natives, was Adam's father revisited. And hadn't Adam himself held these tenets of superiority to be true until he met Hoko? As a young man, hadn't he felt that his father had been justified in reducing the chieftancy of Chet-Ze-Moka? Hadn't Chet-Ze-Moka exhibited a dearth in the qualities of leadership? And didn't this lack of leadership, along with the chief's penchant for drunkenness, point to some weakness of character?

Adam remembered the funeral, remembered his father slandering the chief under his breath, even as the eulogy was being delivered. And young Adam's only objection to these slanders was that his father's voice might draw attention. It wasn't until later, until Hoko, that Adam understood the qualities of leadership, understood that these qualities were not universal, that chieftancy to the Klallam, from its very conception, did not adhere to the same perimeters as the Great White Father, did not impose its will with a heavy hand where matters of free will were concerned, did not always issue edicts or make decisions or speak on behalf of the speechless.

The reverend was still talking when they came upon a lone figure walking east along the road.

Adam called for the driver to stop, but the reverend, upon inspecting the traveler, instructed the driver to proceed.

HAVING SUCCESSFULLY COMPLETED his herbal ministrations upon Eva, Haw was not afforded the benefit of a carriage ride back to his root cellar in New Dungeness. Instead, he set out on foot through the soggy snow, his herb bag slung crosswise across his shoulder, his queue tucked beneath his wide-brimmed hat, as he slogged through the muck. He had trekked roughly four miles east when he heard the rattling approach of the carriage at his back. The carriage slowed nearly to a stop, then started again with a lurch. Then stopped once more. his herbal ministrations upon Eva, Haw was not afforded the benefit of a carriage ride back to his root cellar in New Dungeness. Instead, he set out on foot through the soggy snow, his herb bag slung crosswise across his shoulder, his queue tucked beneath his wide-brimmed hat, as he slogged through the muck. He had trekked roughly four miles east when he heard the rattling approach of the carriage at his back. The carriage slowed nearly to a stop, then started again with a lurch. Then stopped once more.

Haw sat with his hands piled in his lap across from the two whites and did not venture to speak. The lean and rugged man wore a stubbled growth of beard and had an irritable gaze that forever sought freedom from the cramped quarters of the carriage. He wore his hat low on his forehead. He seemed to be holding in a sigh, as he peered out between the half-drawn curtains at the pa.s.sing landscape. The portly one with the sweaty forehead was talkative to the point of distraction. This, Haw soon gathered, must be the source of the other man's irritability. The fat one had a deep, productive cough, which frequently doubled him over and seemed the only thing capable of slowing down his opinions. In those rare moments of silence afforded by the fat man, Haw listened to the squishing progress of the horses.

Throughout his ramblings, not once did the fat man condescend to address or even look at Haw.

"... all this talk about nation building and industry, and they've left G.o.d right out of the equation. Now, that's what I call arrogance."

Adam reckoned the miles to Jamestown to be about six by the time they pa.s.sed the elk herd moving through Messing's homestead.

"... how does one build a nation under G.o.d, when all the work is being perpetrated by the mongrel races? ... how can one possibly expect to fly the flag of heaven over this G.o.dforsaken outpost, when there's a coolie under every rock ..."

The Chinaman looked impa.s.sive. Adam wondered at his English. He wondered also at the contents of Haw's bag.

"... the missionary approach is obsolete. At some point it becomes necessary to divide and conquer the spiritually bereft. At some point you can't indulge them, at some point you've got to rain fire and brimstone down on the Sodomites of this world, Adam."

When the reverend surrendered to his most violent fit of coughing yet, when his face turned red as the rising sun, and his eyes looked fit to burst out of his head, Haw was moved to action. He pushed the doubled fat man upright and placed the palm of his right hand lightly upon the reverend's windpipe, and the coughing decelerated almost immediately. With his free hand, Haw rummaged in the leather bag around his neck, producing a small brown bottle, which he opened dexterously with one hand and placed beneath the reverend's nose, instructing him to breathe. A pleasant odor pervaded the carriage. The reverend soon gathered his breath, but before he could resume talking, Haw presented him with another bottle, this one a little larger, and instructed the reverend to partake of it. When the reverend declined, Haw encouraged him further.

"Sip sip. No whiskey, no whiskey. Medicine."

The reverend conformed to Haw's wishes, in spite of his own, and sipped from the bottle. Haw resumed his own seat, leaving the bottle to the reverend, who grimaced as he wiped his mouth and tried to pa.s.s the bottle back to the Chinaman.

"Sip sip," said Haw.

The fat man complied, a little less than tentatively on this occasion, and soon resumed his monologue. "To begin with, we've got to level the Indian cla.s.ses, roll up our sleeves and stamp out this potlatch business once and for all ... burn this Babylon to the ground ... obliterate this cesspool of iniquity ..."

But as the Reverend progressed his tongue grew heavier, and his opinions lost their razor sharpness, and Haw smiled inwardly. The difference in the reverend was not lost on Adam, who seemed finally to have released the sigh he'd been holding in for so long.

Within a half mile, the reverend was awash in a dull silence, and his eyes were gla.s.sy, and he slumped so that his head and shoulder were pressed against the vibrating side of the carriage, and the smallest of smiles took shape upon his lips. And neither Adam or Haw could belie their own smiling eyes when their gazes crossed.