“No, I’m not. San Diego is too quiet for me.” And too stagnant, and too dirty. He thought of San Francisco and smiled. Crime, corruption, greed, every negative human behavior imaginable, but dammit, you knew you were alive in that city. A city filled with young men like himself, who wanted to create their own future. Wild, boisterous, invigorating, that was San Francisco. He’d traveled on Edward Bolsom’s ship down the coast with half a thought to buying into his friend’s shipping line. But it wasn’t for him. He knew what he wanted.
“You been up north in the goldfields?”
“Yes.”
“Any luck?”
“Enough,” Brent said. “Be seeing you.” He tipped his hat to the old man and strode back across the street to the Colorado House.
“Who was that man, Byrony?”
Byrony turned her head from the road to look at her mother. “I ran into him, literally, and spilled the flour all over me. He is very nice, but he’s leaving San Diego tomorrow.”
Alice DeWitt twisted her hands together, a habit of long standing. “I’m glad your father wasn’t in town.”
“Why? You think he would have gone after the man and demanded money from him for dishonoring me?” Byrony’s voice shook with bitterness and impotent rage.
“Now, dear,” Alice said, her voice pleading, “you mustn’t be like that. The five hundred dollars was a big help to your father.”
“Don Joaquín should have told him to go to hell. Poor Gabriel. God, I wish I were a man.” She gave a snort of laughter. “But then I might be like Charlie. You did see him, didn’t you? He was with Tommy Larkin and Jimmy Talvo. Worthless scum, all of them. Of course, your husband would be so delighted that Charlie was half-drunk and shooting off his gun.”
Alice flinched. Two months after her return to San Diego, Byrony had referred to him only as Alice’s husband. “Did much of the flour get spilled?”
“Not more than a dime’s worth. Don’t worry, Mother. I’ll take the blame if he notices.” How can I get away from him? What can I do to escape?
“I saw the stranger talking to Jeb Donnally.”
Byrony gave a mirthless laugh. “So did I. He now believes me the biggest whore in California, if Jeb talked about me at all. Filthy old man.”
“Byrony, you mustn’t talk like that.”
“Why not? What difference does it make? At least it’ll save me from his marriage plans. I’ll bet he didn’t count on Jeb bugling all his lies to the world.”
But it did make a difference, Alice thought. If Byrony talked like that in front of her father, he would hurt her. She had to get Byrony away; she’d realized that when she couldn’t stop her daughter from trying to protect her. But two months before, Madison had found her little stash of money that she’d been hoarding for Byrony. He’d not said a word to her, merely taken the money and gone into San Diego with Charlie. When he’d returned many hours later, he’d still not blasted her with his anger, simply looked at her and said quite calmly, “I know why you did it. But I’ll decide what’s to be done with the girl, not you. Thank God she doesn’t have your looks. I always thought your mother was a looker. The girl has to be worth something.”
“She’s your daughter, your own flesh and blood.” Alice had said, goaded. She had been beautiful, once, many years before.
He raised his hand, then lowered it. “Yes, she is. She’s also a hellion, but she’ll learn her place. I let you have your way, woman, sending her to your sister. But now she’s back and I’ll use her as I see fit.”
She felt the familiar deadening helplessness sweep through her, but she’d said only, “Byrony isn’t a hellion. She’s a sweet, kind girl. Why can’t you be more loving with her?”
“She escaped her responsibilities for nearly nineteen years. It’s time she paid me back.”
He was just like his own father, she thought now. And she’d known it, deep down, she’d known it even before she married him. But she’d loved him so much, known that she could change him. “Do you know something, Byrony,” she said to her grim-faced daughter, speaking her thoughts aloud, “he did change for a while. He tried, truly tried, but nothing ever went right for him. It made him bitter. That’s why we moved to California, so we could begin again, start fresh. If you’d just not talk back to him—”
“And let him hit you? Do you honestly believe that I can just stand there when he’s in one of his rages, and watch him strike you? Oh, Mother, let’s leave, together. Whatever good you saw in him a long time ago is no longer there. And Charlie’s becoming just like him. I can take care of both of us, Mother, I know I can. You’ve seen that I’ve gotten some education, and Aunt Ida taught me how to sew and cook. I can find work, support us.”
“I can’t, Byrony. He needs me.”
Byrony heard not only the pathos in her mother’s voice but also the underlying strength. She was more trapped than she would have been in a prison cell. “You’re right about the five hundred dollars. It will keep him feeling important for a month, hopefully. But then it will be the same again. He’ll blame everyone but himself for his failures.”
“He needs me,” Alice DeWitt said again.
Madison didn’t hear about the loss of the flour, and the five hundred dollars was gone within two weeks. He became morose and silent, spending most of his time in San Diego, complaining to Jeb Donnnally about his ill-fortune. Byrony waited for the explosion, but it never came. Instead, one evening Madison DeWitt came into the house, waving a letter in his hand.
“At last,” he shouted. “Now, my dear daughter, you’ll repay me for all those fancy years you spent in Boston.”
Byrony froze.