THE PUBLIC SCHOOLS OF SACRAMENTO--A GLIMPSE OF GRANDPA--THE RANCHO DE
LOS CAZADORES--MY SWEETEST PRIVILEGE--LETTERS FROM THE BRUNNERS.
It is needless to say that we were grateful for our new home, and tried
to express our appreciation in words and by sharing the household
duties, and by helping to make the neat clothing provided for us.
The first Monday in October was a veritable red-letter day. Aglow with
bright anticipations, we hurried off to public school with Frances. Not
since our short attendance at the pioneer school in Sonoma had Georgia
and I been schoolmates, and never before had we three sisters started
out together with books in hand; nor did our expectations overreach the
sum of happiness which the day had in store for us.
The supposition that grandpa and grandma had passed out of our lives
was soon disproved; for as I was crossing our back yard on the Saturday
of that first week of school, I happened to look toward Seventeenth
Street, and saw a string of wagons bringing exhibits from the fair
grounds. Beside the driver of a truck carrying a closed cage marked,
"Buffalo," stood grandpa. He had risen from his seat, leaned back
against the front of the cage, folded his arms and was looking at me.
My long black braids had been cut off, and my style of dress changed,
still he had recognized me. I fled into the house, and told Elitha what
I had seen. She, too, was somewhat disquieted, and replied musingly,
"The old gentleman is lonely, and may have come to take you girls back
with him."
His presence in Sacramento so soon after our reaching there did seem
significant, because he had bought that buffalo in 1851, before she was
weaned from the emigrant cow that had suckled and led her in from the
great buffalo range, and he had never before thought of exhibiting her.
The following afternoon, as we were returning from Sunday school, a
hand suddenly reached out of the crowd on J Street and touched
Georgia's shoulder, then stopped me. A startled backward glance rested
on Castle, our old enemy, who said,
"Come. Grandpa is in town, and wants to see you." We shook our heads.
Then he looked at Frances, saying, "All of you, come and see the large
seal and other things at the fair."
But she replied, emphatically, "We have not permission," and grasping a
hand of each, hurried us homeward. For days thereafter, we were on the
alert guarding against what we feared might happen.
[Illustration: Photographs by Lynwood Abbott. PINES OF THE SIERRAS]
[Illustration: GENERAL JOHN A. SUTTER]
[Illustration: COL. J.D. STEVENSON]
Our alarm over, life moved along smoothly. Elitha admonished us to
forget the past, and prepare for the future. She forbade Georgia and me
to use the German language in speaking with each other, giving as a
reason that we should take Frances into our confidence and thoughts as
closely as we took one another.
I was never a morbid child, and the days that I did not find a sunbeam
in life, I was apt to hunt for a rainbow. But there, in sight of the
Sierras, the feeling again haunted me that perhaps my mother did not
die, but had strayed from the trail and later reached the settlement
and could not find us. Each middle-aged woman that I saw ahead of me on
the street would thrill me with expectation, and I would quicken my
steps in order to get a view of her face. When I gave up this illusion,
I still prayed that Keseberg would send for me some day, and let me
know her end, and give me a last message. I wanted his call to me to be
voluntary, so that I might know that his words were true. These hopes
and prayers were sacred, even from Georgia.
On the twenty-fourth of March, 1856, brother Ben took us all to pioneer
quarters on Rancho de los Cazadores, where their growing interests
required the personal attention of the three brothers. There we became
familiar with the pleasures, and also the inconveniences and hardships
of life on a cattle ranch. We were twenty miles from town, church, and
school; ten miles from the post office; and close scrutiny far and wide
disclosed but one house in range. Our supply of books was meagre, and
for knowledge of current events, we relied on _The Sacramento Union_,
and on the friends who came to enjoy the cattleman's hospitality.
My sweetest privilege was an occasional visit to cousin Frances Bond,
my mother's niece, who, with her husband and child, had settled on a
farm about twelve miles from us. She also had grown up a motherless
girl, but had spent a part of her young ladyhood at our home in
Illinois. She had helped my mother to prepare for our long journey and
would have crossed the plains with us had her father granted her wish.
She was particularly fond of us "three little ones" whom she had
caressed in babyhood. She related many pleasing incidents connected
with those days, and spoke feelingly, yet guardedly, of our experiences
in the mountains. Like Elitha, she hoped we would forget them, and as
she watched me cheerfully adapting myself to new surroundings, she
imagined that time and circumstances were dimming the past from my
memory.
She did not understand me. I was light-hearted because I was old enough
to appreciate the blessings that had come to me; old enough to look
ahead and see the pure, intelligent womanhood opening to me; and
trustful enough to believe that my expectations in life would be
realized. So I gathered counsel and comfort from the lips of that
sympathetic cousin, and loved her word pictures of the home where I was
born.
Nor could change of circumstances wean my grateful thoughts from
Grandpa and Grandma Brunner. At times, I seemed to listen for the sound
of his voice, and to hear hers so near and clear that in the night, I
often started up out of sleep in answer to her dream calls. Finally I
determined to disregard her parting words, and write her. Georgia was
sure that I would get a severe answer, but Elitha's ready permission
made the letter easier to write. Weeks elapsed without a reply, and I
had about given up looking for it, when late in August, William, the
youngest Wilder brother, saddled his horse, and upon mounting, called
out,
"I'm off to Sacramento, Eliza, to bring you that long-expected letter.
It was misdirected, and is advertised in _The Sacramento Union's_ list
of uncalled-for mail."
He left me in a speculative mood, wondering if it was from grandma;
which of her many friends had written it for her; and if it was severe,
as predicted by Georgia. Great was my delight when the letter was
handed me, and I opened it and read:
SONOMA, _July 3, 1856_
To Miss ELIZA P. DONNER:
CASADOR RANCHO, COSUMNE RIVER
NEAR SACRAMENTO CITY.
DEAR ELIZA:
Your letter of the fifteenth of June came duly to hand, giving me
great satisfaction in regard to your health, as well as keeping me
and grandfather in good memory.
I have perused the contents of your letter with great interest. I am
glad to learn that you enjoy a country life. We have sold lately
twelve cows, and are milking fifteen at present. You want to know
how Flower is coming on: had you not better come and see for
yourself? Hard feelings or ill will we have none against you; and
why should I not forgive little troubles that are past and gone by?
I know that you saw grandfather in Sacramento; he saw you and knew
you well too. Why did you not go and speak to him?
The roses you planted on Jacob's grave are growing beautifully, and
our garden looks well. Grandfather and myself enjoy good health, and
we wish you the same for all time to come. We give you our love, and
remain,
In parental affection,
MARY AND CHRISTIAN BRUNNER.
(Give our love also to Georgia.)
Georgia was as much gratified by the contents of the letter as I, and
we each sent an immediate answer, addressed to grandpa and grandma,
expressing our appreciation of their forgiving words, regret for
trouble and annoyances we had caused them, thanks for their past
kindness, and the hope that they would write to us again when
convenient. We referred to our contentment in our new home, and avoided
any words which they might construe as a wish to return.
There was no long waiting for the second letter, nor mistake in
address. It was dated just three days prior to the first anniversary of
our leaving Sonoma, and here speaks for itself:
SONOMA, _Sept. 11, 1856_
GEORGIA AND ELIZA DONNER.
MY DEAR CHILDREN:
Your two letters dated August thirty-first reached us in due
season.
We were glad to hear from you, and it is our wish that you do well.
Whenever you are disposed to come to us again our doors shall be
open to you, and we will rejoice to see you.
We are glad to see that you acknowledge your errors, for it shows
good hearts, and the right kind of principles; for you should always
remember that in showing respect to old age you are doing yourself
honor, and those who know you will respect you. All your cows are
doing well.
I am inclined to think that the last letter we wrote you, you did
not get. We mention this to show you that we always write to you.
Your mother desires to know if you have forgotten the time when she
used to have you sleep with her, each in one arm, showing the great
love and care she had for you; she remembers, and can't forget.
Your grandfather informs you that he still keeps the butcher shop,
and bar-room, and that scarcely a day passes without his thinking of
you. He still feels very bad that you did not, before going away,
come to him and say "Good-bye grandfather." He forgives you,
however, and hopes you will come and see him. When you get this
letter you must write.
Yours affectionately,
CHRISTIAN BRUNNER,
MARY BRUNNER.
Letters following the foregoing assured us that grandma had become
fully satisfied that the stories told her by Mrs. Stein were untrue.
She freely acknowledged that she was miserable and forlorn without us,
and begged us to return to the love and trust which awaited us at our
old home. This, however, we could not do.
Before the close of the Winter, Frances and Georgia began preparations
for boarding school in Sacramento, and I being promised like
opportunities for myself later, wrote all about them to grandma,
trusting that this course would convince her that we were permanently
separated from her, and that Elitha and her husband had definite plans
for our future. I received no response to this, but Georgia's first
communication from school contained the following paragraph:
I saw Sallie Keiberg last week, who told me that her mother had a
letter from the old lady (Grandma Brunner) five weeks ago. A man
brought it. And that the old lady had sent us by him some jewellery,
gold breast-pins, earrings, and wristlets. He stopped at the William
Tell Hotel. And that is all they know about him and the presents.