California Gold by John Jakes

Author:John Jakes [Jakes, John]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Historical
Publisher: MysteriousPress.com / Open Road
Published: 2012-03-24T04:00:00+00:00

So said the official parade program lying open on her lap. It was a splendid morning in the San Gabriel Valley, January 1, 1898. Carla was expensively, even extravagantly dressed. So were all the ladies crowding the veranda of this fine house on Orange Grove Avenue. It belonged to a vice president of the Bank of Pasadena, a dull little man who did business with Carla’s father.

Since its inception on New Year’s Day, 1890, the Tournament had become an important event on the Southern California calendar. A local traveler and promoter had persuaded the Valley Hunt Club to sponsor a parade of vehicles, followed by an afternoon of games and concerts. The promoter remembered colorful flower festivals he’d seen while traveling in the Mediterranean, and he suggested that parade entries carry floral decoration. The event was supposed to be an antidote to the low spirits that followed the bursting of the land bubble in ’88. A corporation of private citizens ran the event now, and it attracted more tourists every year.

Precisely at ten-thirty the guests on the veranda heard music from Colorado Avenue, and they put aside their punch and champagne, their plates of fresh watermelon and strawberries in cream, and crowded to the rail to await the first units turning south on Orange Grove. Utterly bored, Carla nevertheless joined them, feigning enthusiasm.

Following the color guard came the City Band, blaring Sousa’s “Thunderer March,” then the gentlemen of the Valley Hunt Club, red boutonnieres in their lapels, red rosettes brightening the bridles of their thoroughbreds. There were marching units and bicycle units. A ten-man glee club rolled by on tandems, singing “My Old Kentucky Home.” But the loudest applause was reserved for the vehicles artfully smothered with roses and geraniums, carnations and marigolds, sunflowers and chrysanthemums in blankets and garlands and sprays. Every wheel bore flowers, and every harness and headstall. Green chains of twining smilax complemented the flowers. Carla soon grew glassy-eyed at so much color.

Entries ranged from modest to magnificent, and were sorted into categories, starting with single Shetland-pony carts, tandem goat carts, and burro carts. Hotels and businesses entered huge gleaming four-in-hand and six-in-hand road coaches driven by professional whips. On top of these splendid equipages were giggling, waving girls, the prettiest to be found. Pennants of blue, yellow, and cardinal decorated the first-, second-, and third-prize entries in each category.

Professor Thaddeus Lowe, who had operated the Union balloon corps in the Civil War, was represented by six vehicles. Lowe and his family rode in the first one, a George IV phaeton. Something of a local celebrity, the professor operated a narrow-gauge scenic railway running to the summit of a peak named, predictably, Mount Lowe.

Carla’s host and hostess sought her out.

“Enjoying yourself, my dear?” the banker’s wife asked.

“Oh yes, it’s beautiful.” She hated it.

“After lunch we’ll drive to the park,” the banker said. “There are bicycle races, ring tournaments, burro races—it’s thrilling.”

Anyone thrilled by a burro race is an idiot, Carla thought. She smiled. “I certainly hope to go with you.

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