Page 1 of Native Hawk
Chapter 1
PARADISE, CALIFORNIA
SPRING 1875
Catalina Palatino Prosperi Valentini di Ferrara clutched hercaffelatte-colored silk parasol in one tight kid-gloved fist. This was it—the end of her journey.
The buggy driver stepped down to fetch her trunk from the back. She took a single calming breath of fresh, pine-scented air. Then she peered down the main street of her new home.
Despite her uncle’s descriptions, Paradise wasn’t quite what she’d imagined when she’d dreamt of coming to America from her villa in northern Italy.
For one thing, she’d never seen so many buildings made of wood. They butted up against each other like wardrobes squeezed into a too-small room. Their names—The Adams Hotel, Clark’s Dry Goods, The Red Dog, Assay Office, Pair-o-Dice Saloon, The Parlor—were painted above the doors in large, gaudy letters.
In Italy, her centuries-old stone-walled family estate dominated a grassy slope overlooking rolling vineyards. But this town, surrounded by thick evergreens, looked like it had sprung up in the middle of the forest. The street was bare earth, full of ruts, so wooden walkways connected the shops for foot traffic.
There was a lot of foot traffic. Or maybe it only felt that way because she was receiving so many stares. It seemed every man who passed Catalina ogled her as if they’d never seen a woman before.
Self-conscious, she straightened her jacket and smoothed the wrinkles from her traveling dress. Was there a tear in her skirts? Was her sleeve smudged with dirt? She’d been wise to choose the cocoa-and-cream ensemble, considering the amount of dust the buggy had kicked up on the journey.
At least the voyage had been shorter than the one her uncle had taken during the Gold Rush twenty-five years ago. There hadn’t been a railway or a stagecoach then. He’d traveled by ocean liner, steamboat, and mule.
She wished he were still alive. At least then she’d have one friend in this new land. She didn’t truly remember her uncle, since he’d left when she was an infant. But he’d corresponded to her father every week by letter. She’d read those letters so many times, she felt as if she knew him…and California. It had been his love of this little mountain town that had inspired Catalina to follow in his footsteps. One could make a new beginning in this new place, he had written. And that was exactly what Catalina intended to do.
Her heavy trunk suddenly landed with a thud on the ground beside her, startling her and sending up a puff of fine dust. She clapped her hand to her bosom.
The driver took off his grimy hat and wiped his brow with his forearm. “Whatcha got in there, ma’am—a boat anchor?”
She frowned. A boat anchor? Was he serious? Why would he imagine she was transporting an anchor? How odd.
Catalina could speak English passably well. She’d made a point of learning it over the last few years—ever since, for Londoners, a season in Italy had become all the rage. But the English that Americans spoke sometimes seemed to be a completely different language from that of London.
The driver apparently didn’t expect an answer. He left to fetch the porter from The Adams Hotel.
She glanced down at her trunk. No anchor. But everything else she owned was inside.
It was remarkable how little she possessed, considering her noble lineage and her family’s wealth. But most of that wealth was tied up in property and agriculture. The Ferrara vineyards produced some of the best Albana wine in Italy, and the woodlands on the estate were thick with valuable truffles. She could purchase anything on her father’s account.
Actual coin, however, was not so easy to come by. She’d barely been able to scrape together enough to pay for the journey. Besides, if her father had suspected her intentions—to leave her home and her family to pursue her dream of designing clothing in America—he wouldn’t have given her a singlelira.As the daughter of nobility, he expected her to simply marry the titled man of his choice and give him heirs.
She restlessly tapped her fingers on her parasol handle, gazing down the street again as she waited for the porter. A few women ambled along the wooden walkway. She studied them with narrowed eyes.
Their dresses were out of date and ill-fitting. One woman wore a drab, plaid, slope-shouldered dress that looked like it had been made during the presidency of Abraham Lincoln. Another sported a high-necked day dress made out of faded red linsey-woolsy, with a frayed bonnet tied under her chin. A young lady in an oversized blue crinoline swayed from side to side like a big bell.
Catalina clucked her tongue. Her talents were definitely needed here. Once she located the dressmaker’s shop, she’d start work immediately. Within a few months, the ladies of Paradise would be wearing her latest designs and setting fashion trends all over California.
Her spirits lifted, she ignored the gray-suited man who stopped to stare at her in open-mouthed shock. With a half-smile and a dip of her beribboned brown hat, she followed the driver and porter as they hefted her trunk and entered The Adams Hotel.
When she was finally settled into her room upstairs, Catalina propped her parasol against the wall, tossed her hat onto the feather bed, and peeled off her gloves.
The first thing she had to do was assess her finances. She emptied the coins out of her reticule and then dug to the bottom of her trunk for the satchel of money she’d brought, spreading it out atop the coverlet.
The currency still confused her. It seemed like she’d brought a great deal oflire.But since she’d arrived in America, and particularly in California, everything had cost much more than she expected.
Figuring the cost of the coach and the hotel, she only had enough funds left for two weeks of lodging, and that was if she ate like a bird.
Obviously, she needed to find employment as soon as possible.
She put the money back in the satchel, hiding it in the trunk, and then turned to look at her reflection in the mirror of the dresser.
