This is an excerpt from a work in progress...
The heat was starting to become oppressive, but the land didn't care. There was no shade or water in sight. The mules were becoming weary and slowed. All of this happening, but we still plowed ahead. We had to get to California. Had to get to the gold.
"James," one my fellow travelers called out. Jacob was his name. A younger man, near my age, traveling from Georgia. Rumor was his father was the Governor. Why he had decided to go West, let alone travel through Texas and Mexico, was something I had never understood.
"Do you need something, Jacob?" I asked, my irritated brogue rearing its ugly head.
"Is the heat causing you to wilt, my friend?" Jacob was also an educated man, which confused me more. He wasn't like myself or the others, poor immigrants or laborers, some even criminals, looking to find their riches in the mountains.
He dressed well, or at least better than the rest in our group, and was always reading a book when we stopped to camp or rest. And he always seemed to be of the cheerful sort, but if you caught him in a moment when he thought himself alone with his thoughts, you could see a deeper pain that seemed to at his insides.
I looked at him for a moment before answering. "Aye," I replied. "Ireland is nothing like this."
"Do you miss it?" he asked.
"No," I stated. "There was nothing for me there. I was nothing there. Famine and the English killing people everyday, and I was the bottom of the heap." We rode quietly for a moment, just the sound of the horses and mules echoing in the desert. "But America is a new start. A new life," I said. "A man can be anything here. There's no fancy families living of their name to keep me down. I can be as important as I want."
Jacob nodded along, listening. "That's why I'm going to California," I exclaimed, pointing towards the west. "To find my riches, go back to Texas, and get the respect I didn't have in Ireland."
I looked back at Jacob. He was pensive, rubbing his hand across his beard. "That life," he said finally. "All that money and respect you so desperately crave? It comes with a great price."
"I'd pay any price not to have my life in Ireland," I replied adamantly.
"Your resolve is greater than mine then," he said, a distant look on his face.
I mulled over that remark. "Why are you going to California," I asked eventually.
I don't know if it was him measuring his response or if he just hadn't truly thought about it, but Jacob took his time answering. "I'm not going to California," he finally let out. "I'm running away from Georgia."
"Why?" I asked, confused.
"Because, James, sometimes the price is too high to pay." With that, Jacob urged his horse into a trot. He rode on ahead of me, leaving me to ponder his words, and, as he put it, wilt in the heat.
Follow me on Twitter @Jake_Collin
Like The Rantin' Arkansan on Facebook: The Rantin' Arkansan
No comments:
Post a Comment