Free Ten Thousand Charms by Allison Pittman

the sheets on the line, “you must tell him what you know”

ou're early,” Gloria said as she opened her door to the heavy persistent knock. “Danny and Kate are still sleeping.”
    John William normally arrived just at dusk, freshly washed after a day spent in the mine. Often Gloria caught the scent of a harsh soap as he breezed past, barely acknowledging her in a rush to take his daughter up into his arms.
    But now it was just late afternoon. The girls hadn't even called her over for supper yet, and the babies were still down for their afternoon nap. She realized that this was a part of her life John William had no concept of. He took no part in the day-today routine of caring for two infants. As far as he knew, Kate spent her days nestled in her makeshift cradle waiting for the hour or so she would spend in her father's arms.
    “They'll probably sleep for another hour or more,” Gloria continued, “and then it'll be time for Kate to nurse and then, of course, Danny, so if you'd like to—”
    “1 need to talk to you,” John William said.
    “All right.” Gloria was glad for the interruption of her nervous chatter. She motioned to his accustomed chair in the corner of her cabin.
    The earlier conversation with Sadie played over in her mind, and Gloria braced herself to be strong. She perched on the edge of her bed, faced him, and assumed an expression of what she hoped came across as curiosity.
    “I'm leavin',” John William said. “I can't stay here anymore.”
    Gloria considered her options for reply—anger, sadness, indignation—but she was shocked at John Williams next statement.
    “And I need you to come with me.”
    “What?”
    “I know it seems sudden, but it's not, really This place is dyin'. There's no fortune to be made here.”
    “It's just a dry spell,” Gloria said, not quite sure if she was trying to reassure him or simply buy time. “It happens all the time. The next mother lode might come tomorrow.”
    “No it won't.” He stood and took the few steps necessary to cross over to the window. He pulled aside Gloria's curtain and spoke as if to the camp as a whole. “There's no water to sluice the veins. We've just about tapped it out. They've just about decided to close down production.”
    “When?”
    “Probably not till end of summer. But I can't wait that long.”
    Gloria looked around her little room. Her four walls. In it was the only bed she'd never had to share. Hanging from the window were the only curtains she'd ever owned. This was a home, her first.
    John William's voice continued to linger at the margins of her thoughts.
    “If I wait until they officially shut down production,” he said, “they can claim my property. That means my goods, as well as any of the gold I have.”
    “How much do you have?” Gloria asked.
    “Enough to start over,” John William said, turning to look at her for the first time. “To build a new life.”
    “And just where would this new life be?”
    “Oregon.”
    “Oregon? Since when is there gold in Oregon?”
    “There isn't,” John William said. “There's land. I don't think I was ever meant to do this,” he gestured vaguely at the gritty world outside of Gloria's cabin. “After I—well, married Katherine—our plan was to farm. We just got wind of the silver here and my— Katherine wanted us to make a go of it.”
    “So why not try to make a go of it again? Try South Pass, it's not ten miles from here, and 1 know it's still going strong. Or maybe Virginia City. I've been there. It's still spitting silver faster than a man can spend it.”
    As she spoke, Gloria's voice was rising. There was a tiny rustle from the basket atop her bed, and the tiniest squawk came from little Kate's mouth. John William scooped up his daughter and held her, cradled in the crook of his arm. He bent his head to hers, whispered a greeting, and looked at Gloria again.
    “I don't want her livin’ where the land spits silver,” he said. “There's