Alexander
* * *
I rose the next morning filled with dread. I’d slept terribly, plagued by nightmares about Samuel. He’d come to me in a dream, chastising me for my ignorance. You only see what you want, he’d said to me.
The Samuel of my dreams was right, as was Miss Cooper. I hadn’t considered the children in the shadows. White men had forced Native Americans out of the area decades before I came, their fate sealed by the discovery of gold, then silver in these mountains. I liked to pretend none of the atrocities had happened and that God had made this land just for white settlers, but it was simply untrue. Long after the gold rush was over, many immigrants from China had come to seek their fortune and found nothing but sand. Too poor to go home, they’d ended up trapped in a country that didn’t want them. Over the years, I’d convinced myself that the tragedies of the Native American and Chinese people were before my time and had nothing to do with me. Although that might have been true, I couldn’t hide behind that excuse when faced with the current reality. A Chinese family had been forced out of our society because of their ethnicity. Rachel Cole’s children were not safe in town. This was not the community I’d dreamed of.
Miss Cooper was right. How could those forced into the shadows survive, let alone thrive? What were they supposed to do if they weren’t welcome?
I was a young man when I first came to America. So young, in fact, that I hadn’t yet considered the consequences of my choices. I wanted only to have adventures. The idea of doing what was expected of me seemed like a death sentence. I’d read of the western frontier and the men and women who had braved rough terrain and wild animals to better their circumstances. This idea was so very American to me and stirred my blood. I gave up the inheritance and the title, leaving it all to my younger brother who was so much better suited for it all. I was free and that’s all I wanted. Now, all these years later, I understood what a romantic fantasy the wild west had been. In those tales of conquering heroes, there was no mention of the American government’s manipulation of white settlers or the atrocities done to tribal nations. The government had promised rich, fertile soil in Indian Territory to anyone willing to bet on a homestead. They’d lured them out west with outright lies for the sole purpose of expansion and destroyed Native American life.
All this said, I had no regrets. I’d made the life for myself that I’d dream of as a boy. All on my own terms and in my own ways.
Jasper and I set out after breakfast with a basket of food put together by Lizzie. Visibility was good, and temperatures had risen into the twenties. When we were out of town proper, I let Oliver and Twist run. Their muscles rippled as they galloped through freshly fallen snow. The fierce wind chilled my cheeks.
Emerson Pass was built in the valley between the sister mountains. A river ran along the base of the southern mountain. During the late sixties, gold had been found in its banks. Word spread, as it does, and hordes of men flocked to the area. At one time there had been five hundred residents. After it became clear in the late eighties that whatever gold or silver was here had already been mined, the town’s population shrank to less than fifty. Then a fire burned every structure to the ground. When I got here, there were only a handful of people left, one of whom was Samuel. He’d been friendly but made it clear he wanted nothing to do with my plans. “Build your town,” he’d said. “And leave me be.”
What he’d been doing for the shadow people was not in the narrative of the story I’d believed about Samuel. I’d seen him as an isolationist. He meant no harm, expecting nothing from others, and expected the same in return. The only exception had been his plea to me.
We came upon the old building where business was conducted back in the mining days. Clearly, it hadn’t been built with much thought to the future, as it was nothing more than a shanty with one sloped roof. Twenty yards from the structure, swift river water tumbled over rocks.
The hint of human inhabitants was limited to a trail of smoke out of the tin stovepipe that stuck out of the roof like a groundhog popping up from its hole.
We tied the horses to a tree and ambled up to the shack. I rapped my knuckles on the door. There were no windows, but I detected the murmurings of people inside. Finally, the door opened a crack. A boy with black eyes peered at me.
“Hello.” He was around the twins’ age, wearing a tattered plaid shirt that seemed sized for an adult, as it came to his knees. His shoes were made of faded black cloth.
“Is your mother here?” I asked.
He shook his head, watching me as a wary animal would a predator. “No, my grandmother. She doesn’t speak English.”
“I’m Alexander Barnes,” I said. “And this is Jasper.”
The boy nodded and opened the door a few more inches to get a look at Jasper.
“What’s your name?” I asked.
“I am Li Wu.”
“If I talked to your grandmother, would you translate for me?” I asked.
Li’s gaze darted from me to Jasper and back again. I imagined a thousand questions ran through his mind. Who were we? What did we want?
“We mean no harm,” I said. “I just want to talk to her and tell her about the new school that opened in town.”
“School?”
“Yes. Would you like to go to school?”
Li shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“Will you ask your grandmother to come to the door?” I asked.
After another moment of indecision, he nodded his head in agreement. “Wait here.” He closed the door. A few minutes later, he returned with an elderly woman. She was not much bigger than her grandson. Wrinkles lined her hazel skin.
“I’ve come from town. My name is Alexander Barnes, and this is Jasper.”