further than that.â
âI guess,â he agreed shortly.
She pulled him onto her, and waited for what might happen. Contact was made, and a minimal penetration. She rocked against him, watching his face. Pain, panic, concentration accompanied the rhythm she established. âYes!â he shouted after a minute or so, and she felt a stickiness.
Silence followed, until he had rolled off her with gritted teeth. âPainful,â he gasped.
She rubbed his shoulder and said nothing.
âThank you,â he managed finally. âNow I know.â
âPerhapsâ¦â She wasnât sure what she intended to say. His plight affected her much more deeply than she might have wished.
âI can perhaps sire children,â he said, as if to himself. âIf I can persuade anyone to be my wife.â
âPerhaps the pain would fade, with increased use,â she managed.
He tapped her lightly on her thigh. âEager for more business, are you?â he teased.
She was amazed at the pleasantry. Something, it seemed, had gone right for him. âThe box on the shelf is for your payment,â she said, disliking herself. There was no avoiding the essential nature of their encounter and she had quickly learned to maintain a hold on it. There was little place for friendship or even a reflective aftermath.
The man was plainly rebuffed. He pulled on his clothes and found the money. âMy name is Charlie,â he told her, with a little salute. âI trust you will not object to a subsequent transaction? Some good has been done here tonight, for which I thank you.â
âIâm glad,â she said. The softening she continued to feel towards him was disconcerting. It was a topic she and Carola discussed regularly: the dangerous quicksands of affection. Liking a client was almost as uncomfortable as disliking him. Any emotion was to be avoided as far as possible. Keep it businesslike, they adjured each other at regular intervals.
Charlie left without saying anything more, and Fanny slept poorly that night.
By October it was apparent that winter was fast approaching, and with the last of that yearâs wagon trains arrived a month or more past, there was a gradual increase in the size of the town. The new migrants took a while to choose their future pathways â whether to set up home on their square mile out on the hillsides, or to establish a business in one of the new streets. Along with the families were always plenty of single men, alert for employment opportunities, lonely for female company and hiding the ever-present fear that they had made a serious mistake.
Fanny was never sure, afterwards, where and when she first heard the rumours of gold being found to the south. The word itself seemed to float in the air, almost from the first days of their boudoir, uttered with scepticism or downright derision. It rapidly became a metaphor for unrealistic hopes and fairytale ambitions. Precise facts were entirely absent, but somehow it became known that something was going on, more than five hundred miles away in California.
By the end of October, the rumours had become steadily more concrete. Yes, really, everyone was saying â there was gold in great quantities being found in a river somewhere not far from San Francisco. Men were leaving their work in droves, purchasing picks and buckets and mules and swarming south like ants. But others â primarily the homesteaders - still dismissed the stories as having little to do with them. They had made their choices and were prospering well enough on their government-issued acres with their healthy contented families and burgeoning apple trees. California had already been considered and rejected before ever they set out on the Trail. To overturn a decision often hard-won would feel capricious and even ill-omened.
It was halfway into November 1848 before the girls met a man who had seen it for himself.
Jim was his name. He rode a
âI guess,â he agreed shortly.
She pulled him onto her, and waited for what might happen. Contact was made, and a minimal penetration. She rocked against him, watching his face. Pain, panic, concentration accompanied the rhythm she established. âYes!â he shouted after a minute or so, and she felt a stickiness.
Silence followed, until he had rolled off her with gritted teeth. âPainful,â he gasped.
She rubbed his shoulder and said nothing.
âThank you,â he managed finally. âNow I know.â
âPerhapsâ¦â She wasnât sure what she intended to say. His plight affected her much more deeply than she might have wished.
âI can perhaps sire children,â he said, as if to himself. âIf I can persuade anyone to be my wife.â
âPerhaps the pain would fade, with increased use,â she managed.
He tapped her lightly on her thigh. âEager for more business, are you?â he teased.
She was amazed at the pleasantry. Something, it seemed, had gone right for him. âThe box on the shelf is for your payment,â she said, disliking herself. There was no avoiding the essential nature of their encounter and she had quickly learned to maintain a hold on it. There was little place for friendship or even a reflective aftermath.
The man was plainly rebuffed. He pulled on his clothes and found the money. âMy name is Charlie,â he told her, with a little salute. âI trust you will not object to a subsequent transaction? Some good has been done here tonight, for which I thank you.â
âIâm glad,â she said. The softening she continued to feel towards him was disconcerting. It was a topic she and Carola discussed regularly: the dangerous quicksands of affection. Liking a client was almost as uncomfortable as disliking him. Any emotion was to be avoided as far as possible. Keep it businesslike, they adjured each other at regular intervals.
Charlie left without saying anything more, and Fanny slept poorly that night.
By October it was apparent that winter was fast approaching, and with the last of that yearâs wagon trains arrived a month or more past, there was a gradual increase in the size of the town. The new migrants took a while to choose their future pathways â whether to set up home on their square mile out on the hillsides, or to establish a business in one of the new streets. Along with the families were always plenty of single men, alert for employment opportunities, lonely for female company and hiding the ever-present fear that they had made a serious mistake.
Fanny was never sure, afterwards, where and when she first heard the rumours of gold being found to the south. The word itself seemed to float in the air, almost from the first days of their boudoir, uttered with scepticism or downright derision. It rapidly became a metaphor for unrealistic hopes and fairytale ambitions. Precise facts were entirely absent, but somehow it became known that something was going on, more than five hundred miles away in California.
By the end of October, the rumours had become steadily more concrete. Yes, really, everyone was saying â there was gold in great quantities being found in a river somewhere not far from San Francisco. Men were leaving their work in droves, purchasing picks and buckets and mules and swarming south like ants. But others â primarily the homesteaders - still dismissed the stories as having little to do with them. They had made their choices and were prospering well enough on their government-issued acres with their healthy contented families and burgeoning apple trees. California had already been considered and rejected before ever they set out on the Trail. To overturn a decision often hard-won would feel capricious and even ill-omened.
It was halfway into November 1848 before the girls met a man who had seen it for himself.
Jim was his name. He rode a
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