my supper with anything but a horse.” He glanced mischievously over at Hull and Sarah. “You folks join us?”
Megan continued adding items to the table as they occurred to her. “Ma? Hull?” Condiments and biscuits continued piling up around the Preacher, who had yet to begin eating.
“Why, of course.” As the shock wore off, Sarah struggled to conceal her nervousness. It had been such a long time since she’d had dinner with, well, with anyone besides a miner, and she was desperately afraid of saying the wrong thing.
But then, she told herself as she felt herself flush, she’d done that already, hadn’t she?
“How do you do? And thank you for your help on Hull’s behalf today. I should’ve thanked you before this. It’s inexcusable. I’m Sarah Wheeler. My daughter, Megan.”
“Pleased to make your acquaintance, ladies.”
If Sarah was embarrassed, Hull was both embarrassed and confused.
“Guess I kind of got carried away, there. With what I was thinkin’, and all. The way you handled those men in town, I never would’ve thought you’d be a—”
Megan interrupted him, smiling at their guest. “Will you say Grace?” She sat down next to him and bowed her head, pressing her fingers together. The Preacher looked inquiringly at Sarah and Hull, who settled into the remaining chairs and lowered their eyes respectfully.
“Father, we thank Thee for these good friends, and for the bounty of the rich earth which Thee hast bestowed on us. We thank Thee for Thy many blessings; for the bountiful game and the fruits of the soil, for the good water and the long summer. For what we are about to receive, may we be truly thankful.” He concluded the prayer without noticing the way Megan was looking at him. Her eyes were shining as he reached for his spoon.
“A-men,” she said firmly.
Maybe her mother was embarrassed, and maybe Hull was disappointed, but not Megan. She knew a miracle when she met one.
IV
A cannon that spat water instead of fire was not a sign, as one might think, that the world had been turned topsy-turvy. For one thing, its blast was just as destructive as any weapon in the army’s arsenal, and considerably more consistent.
Mounted atop its wooden platform, the water cannon (also known as a monitor) utilized the diverted flow of the devastated canyon’s stream to literally shake the earth loose from its banks. Above the monitor’s reach all was serene and unchanged where the creek flowed rough and undisturbed over a rocky bottom. Spruces and pines lined the shore, interspersed with smaller growth like ironwood and live oak.
Below the platform, where the monitor had been doing its work for weeks, the canyon might as well have been on the eastern side of the moon instead of the golden gate. Where the powerful stream of water had ripped the canyon’s flanks to shreds nothing remained but bare rock. Every living thing, every shrub and flower, down to the last ounce of topsoil, had been torn loose and flushed downstream.
The operators of the monitor were not interested in living things. They wanted to see only the gold-bearing gravel that lined the creek. Two dozen sweating, muscular workers, many stripped to the waist, labored endlessly to shovel the dislodged stone into the upper end of a forty-foot-long iron sluice. Not all the water was taken from the creek to power the monitor. Some was used to wash the gravel down the long iron ramp, where it was kicked and tumbled over metal grids of diminishing size.
Inspecting the sluice’s bounty was a rakishly handsome young man of twenty-five. He paid no attention to the spray-drenched laborers, treating them with only slightly less disdain than he reserved for immigrants, slaves, and household vermin. He could do this to men better and stronger than himself because of an accident of nature. It was his fortune to have been born to the name Lahood.
Something drew his attention away from the gold-gleaning riffles that lined the bottom of
Megan continued adding items to the table as they occurred to her. “Ma? Hull?” Condiments and biscuits continued piling up around the Preacher, who had yet to begin eating.
“Why, of course.” As the shock wore off, Sarah struggled to conceal her nervousness. It had been such a long time since she’d had dinner with, well, with anyone besides a miner, and she was desperately afraid of saying the wrong thing.
But then, she told herself as she felt herself flush, she’d done that already, hadn’t she?
“How do you do? And thank you for your help on Hull’s behalf today. I should’ve thanked you before this. It’s inexcusable. I’m Sarah Wheeler. My daughter, Megan.”
“Pleased to make your acquaintance, ladies.”
If Sarah was embarrassed, Hull was both embarrassed and confused.
“Guess I kind of got carried away, there. With what I was thinkin’, and all. The way you handled those men in town, I never would’ve thought you’d be a—”
Megan interrupted him, smiling at their guest. “Will you say Grace?” She sat down next to him and bowed her head, pressing her fingers together. The Preacher looked inquiringly at Sarah and Hull, who settled into the remaining chairs and lowered their eyes respectfully.
“Father, we thank Thee for these good friends, and for the bounty of the rich earth which Thee hast bestowed on us. We thank Thee for Thy many blessings; for the bountiful game and the fruits of the soil, for the good water and the long summer. For what we are about to receive, may we be truly thankful.” He concluded the prayer without noticing the way Megan was looking at him. Her eyes were shining as he reached for his spoon.
“A-men,” she said firmly.
Maybe her mother was embarrassed, and maybe Hull was disappointed, but not Megan. She knew a miracle when she met one.
IV
A cannon that spat water instead of fire was not a sign, as one might think, that the world had been turned topsy-turvy. For one thing, its blast was just as destructive as any weapon in the army’s arsenal, and considerably more consistent.
Mounted atop its wooden platform, the water cannon (also known as a monitor) utilized the diverted flow of the devastated canyon’s stream to literally shake the earth loose from its banks. Above the monitor’s reach all was serene and unchanged where the creek flowed rough and undisturbed over a rocky bottom. Spruces and pines lined the shore, interspersed with smaller growth like ironwood and live oak.
Below the platform, where the monitor had been doing its work for weeks, the canyon might as well have been on the eastern side of the moon instead of the golden gate. Where the powerful stream of water had ripped the canyon’s flanks to shreds nothing remained but bare rock. Every living thing, every shrub and flower, down to the last ounce of topsoil, had been torn loose and flushed downstream.
The operators of the monitor were not interested in living things. They wanted to see only the gold-bearing gravel that lined the creek. Two dozen sweating, muscular workers, many stripped to the waist, labored endlessly to shovel the dislodged stone into the upper end of a forty-foot-long iron sluice. Not all the water was taken from the creek to power the monitor. Some was used to wash the gravel down the long iron ramp, where it was kicked and tumbled over metal grids of diminishing size.
Inspecting the sluice’s bounty was a rakishly handsome young man of twenty-five. He paid no attention to the spray-drenched laborers, treating them with only slightly less disdain than he reserved for immigrants, slaves, and household vermin. He could do this to men better and stronger than himself because of an accident of nature. It was his fortune to have been born to the name Lahood.
Something drew his attention away from the gold-gleaning riffles that lined the bottom of
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