Трейси Шевалье - At the Edge of the Orchard

But he could not travel with Molly and Jimmy and the wagon full of her belongings that way; it would take too long. As they boarded the steamboat, Molly grinned. “Ain’t this grand?” she cried. “I seen these steamers docked in Sacramento and always dreamed one day I’d take one. Now that day’s come!”

He left her on deck by the large paddle and went with the gray to his temporary stall. This time Robert could not stay with his horse for long-he had others to look after. He stood for a moment with his arm around the gray’s neck, feeling the rocking movement of the boat under his feet that he knew the horse hated. “Sorry about this,” he whispered. As he left, the gray turned to look at him, then pissed a long, hot stream all over the deck.

Molly was at the stern, feeding Jimmy and watching the buildings of Stockton pass by. When she waved at people on the bank they always waved back. Robert was amazed that she was able to nurse the baby while standing. “This is the way to travel,” she said, still grinning. “I could glide along all week like this.”

“Molly, I’m gonna need to collect some redwoods,” Robert said, thinking ahead to what he would need to do to fulfill William Lobb’s letter. “When we get to San Francisco I’ll have to take off again once you’re settled.”

Molly’s smile faded, her expression becoming one part annoyance, one part pity. “Can’t you jest enjoy this? How long have we got on board?”

“About ten hours to San Francisco.”

“Tell you what: for ten hours, let’s not think about trees. Here, you take Jimmy.” Molly detached the drowsing baby from her nipple and handed him over. “I’m gonna go and have some fun!”

Something was shifting between them: Molly had lost her desperation and was becoming impatient. Though she had been forced to leave Murphys because of Robert, somehow it no longer felt like she was chasing after him; instead she was sweeping ahead and making him decide if he would follow.

Robert sat down on a bench in the sun with Jimmy in his lap and let the scenery pass before him much as it had when he’d made the first trip with William Lobb. There were Indians strung along the bank on their horses, and even the same boys-or their younger brothers now-racing the steamboat. After these past weeks of rapid change, the familiarity of the trip was a comfort, as was the baby’s solid weight. He felt he should be thinking about something, worrying at a problem and finding a solution, but it was so peaceful sitting there in the sun that after a while he closed his eyes and, as Molly had suggested, allowed himself simply to be. Soon he was sleeping as soundly as his nephew.

It seemed Mrs. Bienenstock had seen everything before, for she showed no surprise when Robert arrived with a pregnant woman and baby just weeks after a different pregnant woman had come looking for him. California was like that. People had gone west leaving behind all sorts of trouble; what they found in California was the space and freedom to create new trouble. Though Mrs. B. had never had women or children board with her, she stood aside and let Molly and Jimmy cross her doorway without comment, except to say, “Soak the diapers out back-they can add to the smells out there rather than inside.”

Robert began to say something, to explain, but she cut him off. “You’ll need a bigger room. Take the one on the second floor at the back: two dollars a week more. You go on up,” she said to Molly. “I’ll bring up bedding-or you got your own you prefer?”

“We’re fine, thanks.” Molly and Mrs. Bienenstock eyed each other, then nodded at the same time, coming to a wordless understanding that left Robert to one side.

He watched Molly climb the stairs, then turned back to his landlady. “Is Mr. Lobb around?”

Mrs. B. frowned. “He’s down at the docks when he should be in bed. Couldn’t even walk down there-had to get a wagon to take him ’cause his legs are so bad. He’s been fretting about you, wondering when you’d be bringing back the redwoods. Fifty, is it? Where are they?” She glanced at the wagon loaded with all they’d brought from Murphys, Jimmy’s cradle turned upside down and anchoring the mountain of pillows and sheets and blankets and mattress that Molly always carted around with her. Sandwiched in somewhere with the others was the nine-patch Goodenough quilt.

“I haven’t collected them yet-I’ve been busy with-other things.”

“So you have.” Mrs. Bienenstock seemed amused.

William Lobb appeared an hour later, after Robert had unloaded their possessions and was in the yard, spreading out cones to dry. “Goodenough!” he cried, hobbling out. “Where are those damned redwoods I asked you for? I’ve just seen Beardsley nosing around down at the docks. He’s bound to be sending redwoods to Wales too. We have to get a move on!”

Before Robert could answer, Molly popped her head out of the window to their room. “Honey, bring up some towels if Mrs. B.”s got any to spare? Well, halloo there!” she called to William Lobb. “You must be the famous William Lobb. You ain’t gonna work Robert to death, are you? He’s got others need him now.”

Lobb stared up at her, with her curly black hair sticking out and the shelf of her breasts resting on the windowsill. Then Jimmy began to cry. “Ah, there he goes. Don’t forget the towels!” Molly pulled her head back inside.

William Lobb turned back to Robert. Unlike Mrs. Bienenstock, he did not keep quiet. “Who the hell is that? That’s not your sister. I met her. Quiet little thing, light hair. Didn’t have much-” Lobb gestured at his chest. “Where is she?”

The stark stillness on Robert’s face made Lobb stop. “Oh, lad, I am sorry.”

Robert reached for a sequoia cone that had been partially chewed by a chickaree and tossed it aside.

“Who is that?” Lobb nodded at the upstairs window. This time he asked more gently.

Robert continued to paw through the sack of cones so that he would not have to look up. “Molly. I knew her back in Texas. She’s been up at French Creek a few years. I may have mentioned her before.”

“And the baby?”

“My nephew.”

William Lobb nodded. They were silent for a few minutes, Robert with his cones, Lobb inspecting the sequoia seedlings. Their needles were yellowing and they were inferior to what Robert normally brought back, but the Englishman did not comment. When he judged enough time had passed, he said, “There’s a ship leaves for Panama in three days. If you can collect fifty redwoods and bring them back by then, we can get them off to Wales quickly. No time to dry those cones.” He nodded at the cones spread at Robert’s feet. “We’ll just have to pack them green.”

“Why are you in such a hurry?”

“The gentleman’s not hired any collector in particular, just said the first to get a grove worth of seedlings to him gets the commission. Of course Beardsley will be looking to get it. Maybe Bridges, and it wouldn’t surprise me if the Murray brothers tried their hand too. The man’s planning a pinetum as well, so there’ll be plenty more work if he’s happy. He’ll want every kind of conifer we can send him-probably as seedlings or saplings. So we need those redwoods now to demonstrate our collecting ability. I thought you’d have brought them back with you rather than a woman and baby.”

“What does Veitch say?”

“This isn’t a commission through Veitch. It’s separate. We’ll get the whole payment.”

“Aren’t you collecting for Veitch anymore?”

Lobb frowned. “I’ve had enough of Veitch. I’m ill, and I’m tired. I’m done with him. This will be my way of thumbing my nose at him, and still get paid better.”