Bonanza
~*~*~ Advent Calendar ~*~*~
* Day 4 *

Summary:  Virginia City, traditionally, was a place for men to come and make their fortunes, but the gentler elements of society had their own contributions to make–especially at Christmas!

Rating:  G  1,900 words

Note:  This story was written for the Bonanza Brand 2020 Advent Calendar, originated in the Forums.

Women’s Work Matters

When the Cartwrights made their usual cattle drive to California the fall after the Comstock bonanza, rumors of what happened afterwards drifted back from San Francisco long before they were expected to return. On the whole, people here were pleased with what we heard. If, as seemed likely, that family was going to be the face of Nevada for the rest of the world, we needed for them to make a strong impression on every level of San Francisco society. Best we could judge, that’s exactly what they did.

Not necessarily a good impression, of course, but certainly a strong one. After the way they tore through the Barbary Coast, no one was likely to believe that folks in Nevada were just helpless chickens for the plucking–which mattered, because it was already obvious that getting silver out of the Comstock would need more than strong backs and plenty of sweat. Without the money to pay for timber and pumps and blasting powder, a claim certificate for the most promising strike on the mountain wasn’t much more than a pretty piece of paper. And it was only ten years ago the Forty-Niners had found out the hard way what happened to honest prospectors when the men with money came calling on their mines. A lot of stakeholders here had already decided to sell up and go looking for a simpler road to riches. The rest were kind of hoping the Cartwrights would find a way to save our bacon, not so much because they had more cash than anyone else in the Territory (at least right after a cattle drive) but because they were canny at finding ways to benefit from difficult situations, and generally saw to it that the benefits got pretty well spread around. Given the choice between Ben Cartwright’s noisy orders and soft-spoken bullying from a San Francisco bank, most people were happy to be deafened.

So anyway, it was man’s work the Cartwrights were doing on our behalf down on the Barbary Coast that fall. Maybe that’s why they couldn’t find time for doing a favor for a lady–or maybe Adam Cartwright didn’t want to get into a wrestling match with big Swede Lunberg over Annie O’Toole. Take your choice.

After the Cartwrights, it’s a safe bet that Annie O’Toole was the best known, and probably most admired, person in Nevada Territory. Those were the days when the newly-christened Virginia City measured a woman’s worth not by her face or fortune, but by her cooking, and you couldn’t just call Annie O’Toole the finest cook on the Comstock–she was the only person there with a proper stove and the knowledge to go with it. Once she’d roped in Adam Cartwright to provide fresh meat and a few choice vegetables she was on her way to a surer fortune than any mining claim was likely to provide. She had one of those as well, of course, having grubstaked her old friend Swede Lunberg’s prospecting–that was how she came to be in Nevada in the first place. Trouble was, Swede was more than half-convinced Adam wanted more out of Annie than a simple business partnership, and Adam was too polite (or too self-protective) to tell him he didn’t want to marry a sharp-tongued woman older than he was, however well she cooked. It came to words, if not blows, and Swede vanished from the scene, leaving Annie, for all her fine prospects, anything but happy.

No, there weren’t a lot of secrets on the Comstock in those days. We minded our own business, true enough, but we liked to know every one else’s business too, and anything to do with Adam Cartwright was always going to make my ears prick up, even when it made me as stupid and jealous as poor Swede Lunberg. For all the good that did me. After all, there wasn’t time or space for cooking at Julia’s Palace, and there was nowhere other than Annie’s to buy a decent meal. At first I hadn’t minded being the one who went to pick up the orders for the Palace (any chance of laying eyes on Adam was worth the effort!), and Julia went on sending me long after I had begun to mind a great deal. No doubt she wanted to teach me a lesson. Girls at the Palace couldn’t afford to wear hearts on their sleeves, after all–weren’t even supposed to have hearts, in case they got in the way of business.

Then again, I was the person Julia usually sent on any errand outside the Palace, which was why I was trying to match thread in the Camerons’ general store on the day the Cartwrights got back from San Francisco. They tied up their horses outside the store and Hoss, who came in to buy a bagful of his favorite candy, got caught up in conversation with Mr. Cameron. Five or ten minutes later, Little Joe poked his head in the door to ask what was keeping his brother. Being Little Joe, he noticed me. Usually he gave me no more than a polite nod, but this time he also saw what I had in my hand, and his eyes suddenly got wide. “Hey, Hoss–she’s picking out sewing stuff. You s’pose–” and then, to my complete astonishment, he called across the store to me. “Excuse me, ma’am–miss–do you do embroidery?”

I didn’t do more than stammer, “Well, uh…” before he said gleefully, “Wait ’til older brother sees this!” and darted away again.

Since Hoss was still paying for his candy, there was only one person “older brother” could be. Julia would have wanted me gone at once–our conversations with men were supposed to be something they paid for–but she’d have had to drag me out by the hair. Dreams didn’t come true for me often, not even my tiniest ones.

Joe wasn’t gone long, and didn’t come back alone–apparently Adam really did want to see this. Or, maybe, wanted to pick my brains about it, unlikely as that might seem.

“I have to find some embroidery thread for Miss O’Toole,” he plunged into speech. “She’s bound and determined she’s going to make a pair of carpet slippers for her Swede by Christmas. The canvas and the pattern for them came here by mail safe enough, but I was supposed to buy thread for her in San Francisco, and unfortunately the emporia catering to ladies there had already sold out all their stock. Nothing suitable left until the first ships come in next year.”

“How’d you learn that when you didn’t go near a–an “emporia” the whole time we was there?”

Adam fixed his brother with a glare like–well, like his father’s, but there was a flush creeping up his neck all the same. “No need to make unpleasant insinuations, Joe. I wrote the appropriate establishments from our hotel, and they all wrote back with apologies. There was no reason for me to visit any in person.”

Joe didn’t look convinced, but Hoss poked him in the ribs with a massive finger and he let the subject drop. Adam wrestled his expression into one of earnest desperation and turned back to me. “Miss, I don’t suppose you would know of a place in Virginia City that might have something Miss O’Toole could use? Or even some kind person who would be willing to share her, ah, personal stock? Anything at all?”

I wished I had a whole basketful of embroidery thread to share with him myself, but… “No, I’m afraid the closest thing I’ve seen around here is the yarn Mr. Cameron stocks.” I made a vague gesture towards the nearby shelf.

“Much too coarse,” Adam said heavily after a long moment’s stare.

Hoss reached past his brothers and picked up a ball of the yarn. “Ya know, this stuff’s made just like a tiny thin rope. I’ll bet Miss Annie could unravel it some and use a single strand for her stitching.”

(And they say that Hoss is the slow-witted one….)

“What about the colors? Most of this is pretty dark. You suppose she’d want something brighter?” Joe said in a worried voice.

The yarn came in navy blue, two shades of brown, a dark green, and a rather daring purple. “Do you remember what the pattern was like?” I asked Adam.

“Leaves and flowers…roses, I think,” he mumbled doubtfully.

“Oh, purple roses are all the fashion,” I said with relief. “She’ll love it.”

More to the point, as things turned out, her Swede loved it, and insisted on wearing the carpet slippers to their wedding the next summer, despite everyone’s protests. Those slippers went with him to Europe for the honeymoon tour, and for all I know he’s wearing them still, in the grand mansion Annie had built out on the road to Reno. Of all the miners who staked early claims on the Comstock, Swede Lunberg made the greatest fortune, and he always gave full credit to his wife for his success–as, indeed, did she, and everybody else. But that’s getting ahead of my story.

Out of courtesy, I waited until December to be sure Annie O’Toole didn’t need more yarn for her peace-offering to the Swede before buying out the rest of Mr. Cameron’s stock. There were plenty of projects lined up for that yarn–a Nevada winter isn’t much like one in San Francisco–but first of all I took the last bright purple ball and knitted a pair of plain, thick mittens. No fancy stitching, no coded designs, nothing to raise a spark of jealousy in even a hot-tempered Swede…just a simple token of friendship, or perhaps a thank-you for a successful business partnership…and, as close to Christmas as I dared to wait, I tiptoed out of Julia’s Palace and tucked those mittens into Adam Cartwright’s saddlebags.

A few days later, as I and my good (in fact, my only) friend Pinkie were making our way to church, I saw those mittens again. On Adam Cartwright’s hands. He was actually wearing them, and I was so happy I could have melted into a warm puddle right where I stood, until I noticed the look Pinkie was giving me slantwise from under her bonnet.

(Why Pinkie should have attached herself to me, out of all the girls at the Palace, I’ll never know. Certainly I’d done nothing much to encourage her, or anyone else for that matter. It wasn’t like we were all at finishing school together. But Pinkie wouldn’t be brushed away, and after a while I stopped trying to. It was easier to let her be my friend, and besides, she darned stockings much better than I ever will, even though I could knit them faster.)

She had the decency to wait until Adam was out of sight before she spoke. “You know he thinks Annie O’Toole knitted them. Wouldn’t be wearing them if he didn’t. Folk like that don’t take gifts from girls off the streets.”

Friend or not, there are times I’d really like to box Pinkie’s ears.

I took a deep breath instead and counted to ten. “Doesn’t matter,” I finally said, only half lying. “I knitted them, and he’s wearing them, and that’s good enough for me.”

Character: Annie O’Toole
Gift: carpet slippers

Inspired by:  The Saga of Annie O’Toole
Director: Joseph Kane
Written by:  Thomas Thompson, David Dortort (creator)

Link to Bonanza Brand 2020 Advent Calendar – Day 5 – Grandpa’s Gift by Inca