Hannah climbed into the coach. In a few minutes three young women, laughing together and talking loudly in a foreign language arrived. They were all similarly dressed in short cotton dresses, trimmed in lace at the bodice and hemline, that showed their white pantalets and ankle-high shoes. They pointed at her, giggling among themselves, before boarding the stagecoach. One sat on the bench beside Hannah, and the other two sat facing her. Still giggling, in halting English they introduced themselves as Clarisse, Adrienne, and Miette, but Hannah was not sure which girl went with which name. Two of them were apparently on the cusp between their twenties and thirties, with dark hair, well-powdered faces, and bright red lips. The one she thought was Miette was younger. Her coal black hair was a tangle of curls that hung down to just above her shoulders. Her eyes were amber in color, glistening against the contrast of heavy lashes and dark brows. Hannah thought her by far the prettiest of the trio.

They began peppering her with questions. “Why are you going to Angels Camp, mademoiselle?” one asked, her lips turned up in a smile that showed a dimple in her right cheek.

For the second time Hannah explained her journey.

“Ah, to marry your beau. Tres bien.”

“And you? Why do you go to Angels Camp?” Hannah responded.

“Bien sûr, mademoiselle, nous sommes actrices. Entertainers.” The women looked to each other, nodding agreement.

“Entertainers. What will you do in Angels Camp?”

The trio traded smiles among themselves. “Oui. We sing and dance. We entertain the men in the champs aurifères who crave our company after their hard day’s work.”

After the initial flurry of conversation, the French girls spent most of the daylong stagecoach ride into the foothills talking among themselves. Hannah was pleased to be left. She took one of the stagecoach’s heavy wool robes and pulled it tight around her, dozed off and on as the stage bounced and rolled from side to side following a trail across the flatlands around Stockton. She could feel the horses beginning to strain against their braces on the uphill grade. At times she admired the scene as the trail wound through pine and fir forests with rolling green hills in the distance. Other times, closing her eyes, she tried to envision her reunion with Josiah Parker.

It was late afternoon when the driver finally reined the horses to a halt. Hannah came fully awake and stared out the stagecoach windows. The horses had stopped in front of a large structure held together with rough nails. Similar buildings lined the main, hard-packed dirt street. Hannah gasped at the shoddiness of the tiny village of Angels Camp.

“We are here, filles,” whispered one of the girls. “Look de toute beauté, beautiful,” the one she thought was Miette said. She smiled, showing the dimple in her cheek, and immediately began primping the ringlets of her hair.

A crowd of twenty or thirty overall-clad men, their woolen shirts showing signs of heavy wear, began gathering around the coach, shouting to one another about the arrival of the “French girls”. When the coach door opened they let out a roar of greeting. Hannah held back, waiting for the trio, led by Miette, who pushed her two companions out of the way to be first, stepped down. She gave the miners a toothsome smile, a flutter of her lashes, and waved a delicately gloved hand. The other two, each trying to outdo the other in coquettishness, followed. Led by Miette, they lifted their skirts just a little and did an impromptu dance on the plank sidewalk in front of the building that boasted a large, hand-painted sign proclaiming the Angels Camp Saloon and Gaming Hall.  The men gathered around them roared approval. More men came pouring out of the building to join those already cheering.

“They’re here!” the men shouted almost in unison. “The girls are here. Let’s celebrate, boys! Look at that one!” Someone pointed to Hannah, the last woman to step down from the stagecoach. “Fair skin, dark brown hair. What a beauty. Come on, boys, back to the bar. Let’s buy ‘em a drink.”

The crush of the men jamming into the saloon pushed Hannah and the French girls forward like an irrepressible wave. She tried to resist, but the force was too strong. Instantly surrounded, she protested, “No! No! I’m not one of them,” but the miners paid her no heed. Several hands pressed on her back, forcing her deeper into the large room. Her fear rose.

“What’s your drink, darlin’?” A portly chap, reeking of sweat and whisky, and old enough to be her father, took her by the arm. He smiled at her, revealing a gap where a tooth should have been. “Let me get it for ya.”

She pulled her arm away and struggled to resist the crowd pushing her forward, as she frantically searched the sea of faces for Josiah Parker. Her fear rose to a level where faintness came over her when she realized he was not among the miners. Dear God, she thought, what will they do to me? Her panic took over.

A dark complexioned man saw her distress and rushed to her side as she started to melt onto the floor. He pushed the other miners away and caught her in his arms and shouted to them to clear a path. He took her out the door where she was able to take several deep breaths.

“I’m not with those other girls,” Hannah pleaded weakly, trying to regain her composure. “I came to meet Josiah Parker. Do you know him? I didn’t see him in the crowd.”

The man looked around. “Maybe that’s him coming down the road. You’ll be okay now.”

“I didn’t know you were on the stage,” Josiah Parker said breathlessly as he rushed up to them. “Lucky I was at the store when it arrived. Saw you and came as fast as I could.”

“Mister Parker… I was so afraid… I… I don’t know what might have happened if this gentleman hadn’t rescued me.”

Josiah Parker extended his hand to the man. “Can’t thank you enough for saving Miss Runyon, Sir.”

“Elle est spéciale,” he said, and then switched to English. “No thanks necessary.”

“Indeed she is special. She’s going to be my wife. Frenchman are you?”

The man nodded, tipped his cap to Hannah and headed back into the saloon. Hannah and Josiah Parker stood staring at each other. Her first sight of him stunned her. In Boston, she remembered, he had always looked so properly dressed when he came to call on her. Now he wore a faded woolen shirt, so dirty its original color was hard to tell, and old trousers held up by cord suspenders. The handsome face she remembered was almost entirely covered by hair. After a pause that seemed to last a long time, he reached out to embrace her. She allowed him only a few seconds before pushing him away.

“I am exhausted after such a long journey, Mister Parker. Will you take me to the hotel where I can rest for a while.”

“Hotel? Oh, Hannah, there are no hotels in Angels Camp. But you can rest in my cabin.”

“That’s not proper, Mister Parker.”

He gave her a wistful look. “Things are not proper here in Angels Camp. Not the way they are in Boston. I know you’ll find my cabin comfortable. It’s the best I can do.”