Since Zeb’s return, they’d worked feverishly to close over the hole near the stream, and stored most of the wealth in a specially devised hiding place under the barn. “I ain’t doin’ no more prospectin’,” Zeb had declared adamantly. “This is more’n enough ta las’ me a lifetime. Me and Hector’s gonna become farmers.” Zeb’s split would be worth almost $20,000 at the 1850 standard.
Rafe had divided their half of the cache with Helen, despite her objections. She’d sewn pockets throughout the interior of their clothing to hold most of the nuggets. Rafe had a particular affection for one ten-pound nugget, which he’d kept as part of his share. Helen felt jealous sometimes, watching him caress the blasted rock. How he was ever going to carry it while skydiving, she had no idea, but he assured her he would.
Finally, it was time to go.
She tried not to cry, but the tears came in buckets.
“Don’t you be worryin’ none ’bout me,” Zeb said, hugging her tightly. “I got Hector now.”
“But you’ll be lonely here.” She was sobbing.
Zeb’s rheumy old eyes twinkled. “Were you and yer man lonely whilst you were alone here?”
Helen blushed as Rafe came up beside her, drawing her to his side with a comforting squeeze. His eyes were clouded with emotion, too.
“Besides,” Zeb went on, “there’s this Injun woman up north aways that I bin eyin’ fer some time. Mebbe… well, mebbe…” He ducked his head bashfully.
“Well, aren’t you the crafty one!” Rafe laughed, leaning forward to shake his hand. Then, on second thought, he drew Zeb into a friendly bear hug.
More tears spilled down Helen’s face.
The whole time, Hector hung onto Zeb’s thigh for dear life, probably fearful that she and Rafe would take him away from the only real home he’d ever had. Helen kissed Hector good-bye, although she’d done so a half dozen times already. Then Rafe hauled the boy up into his arms and murmured something in his ear. Hector nodded and looked lovingly toward Zeb.
They mounted their horses.
“Will you write?” Zeb asked.
She stared at Rafe, unsure how to answer.
“We can’t,” Rafe said. “I wish we could. I can’t explain, Zeb, but it would be impossible where we’re going.”
Zeb walked up, close to their horses, and confided, “I understand. Actually, I know who you really are.”
“You do?” Had they somehow let something slip in the weeks they’d lived with Zeb? She glanced at Rafe.
Rafe grimaced with uncertainty.
“Yessirree” Zeb whispered. “Yer angels. Delivered by God ta help an old man who wuz ready fer the whiskey jim-jams. The good Lord sent you two ta save me and give me a new reason fer livin’.” His eyes scanned his beautiful valley and landed upon Hector, who chased a squirrel across the yard, already having put the pain of departure aside with youthful resilience.
“Angels?” she and Rafe exclaimed together, then exchanged a warm smile.
It was as good an explanation as any.
They rode off in silence, both contemplating all that had happened to them in the space of only eleven weeks. The good things far outweighed the bad, in Helen’s opinion. It was going to be harder than she’d ever imagined to leave the past.
They traveled leisurely through the hills of California, heading southward. Autumn was painting the rich forests and vast plains with its winter palette of rust and gold and burnt umber. The air turned brisk.
They spent their days riding, their conversation soft, skirting the important decisions to be made ahead. At night, they camped out in their tent under the stars, turning to each other with a wild hunger, as if reassuring each other with their bodies and throaty love words that the future would take care of the problems they were unable to solve themselves.
On the fourth day, they arrived in Rich Bar. The winter exodus had already commenced, with miners by the thousands heading for the dryer lowlands. So they felt safe staying one night with Mary at the Indiana House, renewing their friendship. They told no one about their good fortune, not even Mary, fearing for Zeb and Hector’s safety.