Vendetta

Vendetta

by Ian Welch

Published on SmashWords by Write Wordes, Inc.

Copyright 2013 Ian Welch, text and cover design.

Foreword

Gold fever was sweeping the world. In 1849, a gold strike in the Sacramento Valley triggered an influx of prospectors from all corners of the globe. They all had the one dream, instant wealth. By 1855 the Californian gold rush was over, but new discoveries were being made all around the world and word soon reached the Californian miners. The lure of the precious yellow metal was strong, many boarded sailing ships to seek their fortunes in far off countries.

Chapter 1

Sacramento goldfield

Clifford Foster lay on his back, immersed in a dream laden sleep, the image of a picture perfect tall dark haired woman floated into his thoughts.

Do you really have to do this? It is dangerous country out there. There are wild animals, it worries me. And don’t tell me you are doing it for me. I don’t need lots of money to be happy. Your dad has a good business, he would love you to take it over. We could have a good life here in San Francisco.

Listen to your wife Clifford. Abby is talking sense. Noah now stood beside Abby. They both were staring intently at Clifford.

I am almost ready to retire. My blacksmith business has looked after our family well for the last twenty years. It could do the same for you. Sure, it won’t make the fabulous wealth the prospectors talk about. But that is the problem, it is just talk. They are dreamers, they are living a fantasy. Only a very lucky few will strike it rich, the rest will barely cover their expenses. Believe me, I have seen it all before. Clifford smiled at Noah.

Dad, I have to make my own way in the world, I have to be master of my own destiny. I know your blacksmith business is a good business, it has provided a good living for you. But it is your dream, not mine. I have to follow my heart. Maybe I won’t get rich, but I will never know if I don’t try.

Abby and Noah faded away. Clifford felt a tickle on his forehead. Instinctively he lifted his hand to swat the insect away. He was immediately consumed with a painful tremor which pulsed through his whole body. His eyes flickered open, he was totally disorientated, nothing was recognizable. Clifford looked at his hand, it was barely light, he strained to see. His fingers were wet and sticky, they had something dark on them. He smelt them, still unsure he tentatively held his hand to his mouth and touched his tongue. Blood, no doubt about it.

Clifford was confused, he looked all around him. It was hard to focus, he wasn’t asleep, yet he wasn’t awake. He felt he was floating in a cloud. Dawn was just breaking, there was a dull glow from the rising sun struggling to peep above the dark outline of the land. The air was filling with the sweet sounds of birds welcoming the new day. God they sound close, they could almost be here in the house

The dawn chorus, why do birds sing their lungs out at day break. Do birds even have lungs? Clifford was thinking aloud.

Something was not right, he felt incredibly uncomfortable, sharp objects were sticking into his back. There was an ever so faint glow above him, it flickered for a moment, then disappeared. Now Clifford noticed the temperature, it was freezing, he had never awoken this cold before. His mind was swirling, he had trouble thinking logically. If it wasn’t so damned cold he would have liked to drift back to sleep.

Clifford tried to roll onto his side, even the slightest movement was excruciatingly painful. Now he was instantly wide awake, the debilitating pain had focused his mind.

Clifford could make out the skyline along the mountain ridges. Good God, he wasn’t in bed, he was outside. The glow he had seen must have been from his paraffin lamp, he used it to work his claim late into the night.

His memory came flooding back, he had been working into the night. He vaguely remembered slipping on some loose shale. That was the last thing he remembered. The light had been thirty feet above him, he must have fallen all that distance, it was a miracle he was alive. He tried to stand up, shafts of incredible pain shot through his body like bolts of lightning. He collapsed in a heap, he now regretted insisting on working alone. He jealously guarded the location of his claims as did most prospectors. That decision could well cost him his life now, he was miles from any other claim, no one knew he was here.

Clifford lay on his back and surveyed the rugged landscape. A bald eagle glided over him, its wings widespread. It looked at Clifford with a dispassionate stare as it caught a thermal updraft and soared towards the heavens. Clifford for a brief moment completely forgot his dire predicament, the natural beauty of such a magnificent bird in full flight completely captivated him. He twisted his body to follow its flight, incredible bolts of excruciating pain racked his body. He gasped in pain, the reality of his situation came flooding back.

Clifford looked around him, making an assessment of his situation. He glanced down to the riverbank, his cabin was tantalizingly close, a little over one hundred yards. He needed to get to his cabin, his very survival depended upon it. Clifford cautiously moved his limbs one at a time, he needed to assess the extent of his injuries.

He cried out in pain with even the slightest movement. Bolts of excruciating pain stabbed at the small of his back. He lay back in despair, there was no way he was going to be able to cover that one hundred yards. It may as well be one hundred miles.

Why God, why me? Clifford yelled out in frustration. He was not a religious man, Abby was the one with faith. His mind flashed back to their years together. She had always supported him without complaint, no matter what outrageous scheme he thought up. He suspected she did not approve of his foray into gold mining. But she had only politely questioned the wisdom of his decision, she had not demanded he abandon his dream.

Now he was going to leave her a widow, how would she support herself. And then there was Ethan. He was too young to step into the man’s shoes, to be the provider. No, he had failed Abby, he had failed Ethan. Abby had desperately wanted a daughter, but having Ethan had been a difficult birth, having any more children was an impossibility. Again he had failed Abby.

Okay, forget me God, the very least you can do is provide for Abby.

Clifford had always been a positive person. His exuberance and bubbling enthusiasm had often picked Abby up and carried her along. Now he was only feeling an energy sapping flood of depression. It was hard to be optimistic when facing certain death. And how would this death come, would he slowly waste away from starvation. He had heard tales of miraculous survival of people who had gone for weeks without food. They all recounted it was the lack of water that was the hardest to deal with. The body became dehydrated giving rise to debilitating nauseous headaches and hallucinations. If he was lucky, maybe he would just drift off to sleep and not wake up, but this was highly unlikely. Maybe he would succumb to exposure brought on by the freezing nights. Another likely scenario was he would be found by some flesh eating predator, which would wait until he became too weak to fend it off.

Clifford shuddered, the one thing he was certain of, no death was going to be pleasant. He propped himself up on an elbow, he could still see the eagle in the distance circling majestically in the abundant mountain thermals. A thought flashed through his mind. While he had still felt the pain as he had moved, it was nowhere near as debilitating as it had previously been. A weak sun was now out, his body had ceased shivering, in fact he felt comfortably warm.

Thank you God. Clifford realized he had yelled this out at the top of his voice. The words reverberated through the still morning air. The solitary eagle banked in alarm and swooped back towards Clifford, his sullen eyes locked on the cause of the disturbance. Clifford looked back down at his cabin with renewed optimism. He forgot his previous negative thoughts, he refused to accept he was not going to survive. He would not let his dream destroy him, nor would he let down those who depended on and believed in him.

By God I am going to make it to that cabin even if it kills me. He laughed out loud at the irony of the thought.

Clifford dragged himself over the rocky terrain, he knew to survive he had to make it back to the shelter of his cabin. It represented food, warmth and survival. It was excruciatingly painful, several times he passed out with the pain. Numerous times he slide on loose rocks down inclines. His saving grace was his journey was all downhill. He could never have made it up the mountain. The sun had set in the evening before Clifford dragged himself into his cabin. His eyes had been locked on his front door for the past three hours as he had painfully inched closer. He doubted he could have survived another night outside.

His hands were cut and bleeding, his throat felt like he had swallowed a rasp. Clifford grabbed a broom using it as a crutch, he managed to lift his head level with a shelf which doubled as his table. He hooked a pottery jug which contained water with the broom and carefully eased it towards him. Thankful that it had not tipped over, he greedily drank his fill. Now all he wanted was sleep. He gazed at his bunk, he knew it would be impossible to get himself into it. Again he used the broom to hook the blankets onto the floor. He covered himself and drifted into a dream ridden sleep.

The next four weeks Clifford rated as the worst in his life. His body was racked with pain, he ate very little, he never had the luxury of a hot meal. He existed on nibbling on his meager supply of salted meat which in turn fuelled his thirst. Trips to the water’s edge to restock his water jug were an incredibly painful mission, one he absolutely dreaded. The pounds fell off him, he had lost three stone. Clifford’s cheekbones protruded from his gaunt face, his eyes had sunken into his cheeks. The true extent of his sallow features were masked by the tangled beard he now sported. The skin hung loosely from his undernourished frame, he was wasting away.

By the time James Fisher stumbled on his campsite eight weeks after his accident, Clifford could support his own weight, but walking was still very painful. Clifford struck a deal with James. In return for James transporting him to the nearest settlement, Clifford would surrender a seventy five per cent share of his claim. Clifford deduced that it was better to get twenty five per cent and live. Anyhow, there was no way he would be able to work the claim in his present condition.

* * *

Abby had been left to bring up Ethan on her own, this had continued for over a year. She had taken a job with Al Johnson, an old timer who ran the local hardware store. He supplied all the hopeful prospectors’ needs. It was an exceptionally profitable business, he made far more money than most of his star struck clients.

Any news from Clifford, Abby? Al Johnson had a great deal of respect and compassion for Abby. He did not approve of Clifford leaving his young wife and son to pursue his dream of instant wealth.

No, no news Al, I haven’t heard from Clifford for months.

Has he sent you any money? Abby shook her head, she avoided Al’s stare.

I am going to give Clifford a piece of my mind when he gets home, he has no right to treat you like this. It is a husband’s duty to provide for his wife. Abby gave a weak smile, Al often made his opinions known to her. It was not an ideal arrangement, but if Clifford could make a substantial strike all the hardship would be worthwhile.

* * *

Six months after his accident a gaunt frail Clifford walked into Abby and Ethan’s house. Clifford had managed to get word he was coming, but that did not prepare Abby for the shock of seeing her husband in such a pitiful condition. It took another year to nurse Clifford back to somewhere close to his former condition. The doctor had informed Clifford his prospecting days were behind him. He was extremely lucky he was not paralyzed, he could never again do hard physical work, he should look at a desk job.

Clifford had a long time for reflection, his foray into prospecting in the Sacramento valley had in fact been a disaster that almost claimed his life. He had found very little gold, not even enough for his young family to survive on. Clifford had raced from claim to claim, his success rate was pitiful. His desperation grew with each failure, as did his risk taking. He had developed an uncanny knack for arriving at a new site just as a substantial find was struck at the site he had just vacated. He cursed his luck, the last claim showed huge potential. It was his haste to work it before others thought to try the area, which led to his accident.

Undaunted Clifford broke the news of a bold new venture he was planning. Abby listened patiently, she was amazed at the enthusiasm he was generating. At first she was skeptical, but as Clifford explained the logic of the decision, she could see some wisdom in this bold new adventure. She certainly had some apprehensions. Clifford was planning on taking the family on a sea voyage to the other side of the world. She had never heard of the country New Zealand, and she was uneasy about travelling to another goldfield. Clifford explained he was not chasing the gold this time, he physically was not capable of that. He was going to follow Al Johnson’s example and open a general store to service the miners.

This news incensed Noah, he was scathing in his criticism of Clifford’s latest hair brained scheme. What was he thinking heading to another goldfield and on the other side of the world. Noah was furious, he was close to retirement. His dream was for Clifford to gradually take over his blacksmith business, now his son was setting sail to God knows where.

Where on earth is New Zealand? Why risk your families’ lives to sail to the end of the world to a country no one has even heard of. Think of Abby, think of Ethan. For God’s sake, the boy is only twelve years old. Do you know how many sailing ships sail out to sea and are never heard of again?

I know you think I am crazy Dad, but this time it will be different. I am not going to chase the gold, I know I can’t physically handle that. While I was recuperating I had several long chats to Al Johnson who you remember Abby was working for.

Noah nodded, he knew Abby had turned into the bread winner for the family, she had been responsible for getting the family through their tough times.

Do you know Al made more money than most of the miners, and he did this by supplying their every day needs. His store stocked everything they needed, groceries, shovels, basic tools and equipment that everyone needed. His store was right on their doorstep, they did not have to travel for anything, they could spend all their time doing what they came to do. Look for gold.    

You don’t have to travel to the other side of the world to open a store, pleaded Noah, you could open one here in San Francisco.

You are missing the point Dad, it is at the new goldfields you need to be, you have a captive market. All they want to do is work their claims, they have no time to travel for provisions. But you need to be there first. There are small fortunes to be made, at least as much as most miners, and a lot less effort and risk. I sold my share in my claim to James Fisher. He has done very well, he paid me one hundred dollars for my share. Now I have enough money to set myself up in business.

Noah sighed, he knew it was pointless arguing with Clifford, his mind was made up. He had a nagging premonition that this would be the last time he would see his only son and his young family.

Chapter 2

Arrowtown, the early years

Ethan Foster sat on a chair and stared blankly into space. His tall lean frame slouched despondently, his mom would have reprimanded him and ordered him to sit up. Ethan had undergone a rapid transformation from a carefree boy, to a young man with all the worries of the world on his rapidly broadening shoulders. He had loved life here in Arrowtown, fishing and hunting, all the things boys like, right here at his back door. That had now changed, he had through necessity stepped up to replace his dad as the man of the house. He was desperately not ready for this.

The Foster family fortunes had undergone a massive upheaval. They were like a stage coach hurtling out of control on a downhill slope. Somewhere up ahead was a bluff with a hundred foot drop. Any chance of resurrecting their fortunes had evaporated three months ago, with the news of Clifford’s murder. Today they had gone over that bluff, today Ethan had hit rock bottom. The Foster family was no more. Why had his mom done it? What could possibly have driven her to make such a tragic decision? Now there was no future. The last final threads of hope had just snapped.

Ethan now found himself all alone on the other side of the world. He had just endured what no son should ever experience. In the last three months he had buried both his parents. First his father, Clifford, and then last week he had arrived home to discover his mom, Abby lying in the grass at the base of the big Rata tree cradling Clifford’s hunting rifle. She had blown a large hole in her head.

* * *

The furniture in the cold damp room comprised of a small wooden table and two slightly aged wooden chairs. The only light filtering in came from one small window. Daylight had to sneak through the large native Rata tree which caste a huge shadow over the entire small weatherboard house. The house was tiny, two small bedrooms and a lounge with a coal range for cooking and heating, attached to the outside wall. This had been home for Ethan and his mom, Abby for the last two years. It was basic accommodation, but it was all they had been able to afford. Now this was about to change. Ethan had received instructions to vacate the house by the end of the week. The house held no pleasant memories for Ethan, quite the opposite. It symbolized the family’s catastrophic change in fortunes.

A swirling cold fog rolled off the surrounding mountains and crept like a thief in the night through the streets. It sneaked into every pore and crack, in through every slightly opened window. The air was cold and damp, Ethan pulled his coat tight around him. It was his dad’s coat, it was already almost too small. He had gone through a growth spurt and was nudging six feet tall, three inches taller than Clifford had been.

Mom, I can’t wear Dad’s clothes, it just doesn’t feel right, it’s creepy.   

Ethan, we can’t afford to keep buying you clothes, you are outgrowing them almost before we get them home. Besides your dad would be proud you are wearing his clothes.

The small cottage was freezing, on any other day there would have been a roaring fire in the coal range, but not today. Ethan closed his mind to the cold, it was insignificant when compared to the depression that had descended upon him like a dark foreboding cloud. He sat all alone on the chair in the deserted lounge, his mind replayed his short life. He recalled the happy times, and there were many. The first year in Arrowtown had been filled with so many happy memories. It was an experience very few, if any boys his age experience. How did it all go so wrong, why did it go so wrong, it was agonizingly unfair.

Ethan’s mind replayed events of the last two years over and over again. His emotions were on a roller coaster. Close analysis of his dire predicament triggered an overwhelming flood of depression. His life was over, what did he have to live for? If Constable Ferguson had not removed his dad’s gun he would have ended it all like his mom. Damn the obnoxious constable. Constable Ferguson’s first reaction had been to try and pin his mom’s death on him. He had suffered hours of intense grilling, retracing all his recent movements. As if he would shoot his mom, she was all the family he had. Thank God he had Cheng as an alibi.

He did in fact have one friend. He and Cheng were the same age, they had gravitated towards each other. It was most