Forbidden

by Beverly Jenkins

  “Young lady, from what Rhine told me, you’re lucky you’re not lying in a grave. Take my advice, okay? The more you rest, the faster you’ll be back on your feet.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And I must warn you, don’t let these hellions influence you. They cause enough trouble for two towns.”

  Vera laughed.

  Sylvia didn’t.

  Dr. Randolph held Sylvia’s gaze. Eddy saw a softness in the contact overlaid with something she couldn’t define—­regret? She wondered how long she’d have to be in residence before she could ask Vera about them. Not that she planned on staying in Virginia City. California was still her final goal.

  “You take care of yourself, now,” he said to her. “If you need me, Sylvie and Vera know where to find me. Good day, Miss Eddy, and welcome to Virginia City.”

  “Thanks.”

  He gave her a nod and departed.

  Vera broke the thick silence following his departure. “You know, Sylvia, you two aren’t getting any younger.”

  “Don’t meddle, Vera.”

  “You’re just being stubborn.”

  “Did I ask for your opinion?”

  “No. Just thought I’d give it anyway.” Vera turned to Eddy. “Keep healing. I’ll see you soon.” And with that, she left.

  “I’ll take that tray now, Eddy.” There was a sadness in Sylvia’s eyes.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Rest up. I’ll come back and check on you later.”

  When Carson Fontaine married Sally Ann, the newlywed couple celebrated the occasion with a grand tour of Europe. Rhine’s enslaved mother Azelia was brought along to attend to Sally’s needs, and apparently Carson’s, too, because nine months after the return to Georgia, both Azelia and Sally gave birth to sons less than two weeks apart. Both grew tall, lean, and devilishly handsome, and favored each other enough to have been mistaken as twins more than a few times. The only physical feature that set them apart were their eyes. Rhine’s were green like their father’s. Andrew had Sally Ann’s brown. It was their stations in life that set them apart the most though. When they turned eight years old they were no longer allowed to share carefree days hunting frogs and turtles, climbing trees and splashing in nearby creeks. Drew began training with Carson to run the plantation he stood to inherit upon Carson’s death, and Rhine began life as his brother’s personal slave and valet. There were shirts to iron, beds to make, boots to polish, and baths to draw. After Drew deserted during their first battle of the war, he went west, and Rhine joined the Union army. They lost track of each other, only to be reunited in Kansas City after the South’s surrender, and now the half brothers sat in a fancy San Francisco restaurant, eating and sipping champagne while reminiscing over old times.

  Pouring more champagne into his flute, Andrew asked, “I wonder whatever happened to Melissa Drummond?”

  Rhine smiled. “No idea, but that was quite a night she treated us to.”

  Andrew raised his goblet in mock salute. “To the many bawdy nights gifted us by Georgia’s randy southern belles.”

  And he was so right. The brothers spent the years leading up to the war bedding belles and in some cases their mothers, too. “Do you think Carson knew about our wayward ways?”

  Andrew shrugged. “He was so busy cuckolding his friends I don’t think he cared what we were up to. Poor mother.”

  “Have you gone back to see her?”

  “Why? She hated me as much as she hated you and Sable. It infuriated her that I refused to treat you like a slave.”

  And Drew hadn’t, whenever he could manage it. From insisting that Rhine be allowed to sleep in a proper bed instead of on the floor of his room, to refusing to take his lessons unless Rhine was allowed to join him, to never laying a whip on Rhine’s back.

  “But she hated my mother most of all,” Rhine pointed out. Fueled by jealousy, Sally Ann would’ve had Azelia whipped from sunup to sundown had she not been afraid of Carson’s wrath.

  “Yes, she did.” As if needing to move the conversation away from those painful times, Drew changed the subject. “So are you still planning on marrying that little bauble you introduced me to the last time I visited?”

  Rhine cut into his steak, and although his misgivings about Natalie rose, he said, “Yes, but as I said at the time, it’s not a love match. Her parents are fairly influential Republicans and their support will be needed if I decide to pursue a career in politics when I’m done on the city council.” Rhine had one year remaining in his three year term.

  “Why you’d want to poke around in the cesspool known as politics is beyond me. Find you someone to love and live out your old age in contentment as I plan to do.”

  “I need to help, Drew.”

  Andrew paused and said seriously, “There are other men helping in their own way. Leave it to them. I don’t want you lynched or beaten to death. Even White men are being killed by the supremacists now.”

  “I know, and I appreciate your concern, but a stand has to be made to protect the gains made since the war. If I can put myself in a position of power to do so, why shouldn’t I?”

  “Because not even you can stop the backsliding Republicans. Every day they’re moving farther away from what they once stood for. Your people have taken to calling them Lily White Republicans.”

  “I know, and it’s very apt.”

  After using the Black vote to swing political power their way and elect Grant to the presidency, more and more Republicans were now focused on gaining White voters in order to hold onto that power. Many were turning a blind eye to the rampaging supremacist groups like the Klan and the Order of the White Camellias even as their members were killing Colored men on their way to cast votes for candidates running on the Republican slate. It was maddening, but Rhine felt uniquely qualified to be a voice for those who did care, because of his passion, education, and ability to pass for White. He may have turned his back on being Black, but not on his race. Politics aside, he asked something that had been plaguing him. “Have you heard from Mavis?” Mavis was Drew’s sister and Rhine’s half sister.

  “No. I hired the Pinkertons. If anyone can find her, they can. Hopefully she’s still among the living.” Just as Drew and Rhine were connected by their close birth dates, so were their sisters. Mavis and the enslaved Sable had been born six minutes apart.

  “Any word on Sable?” Drew asked.

  “No, I’m still placing yearly notices in all the big papers, hoping she’ll see it, but so far nothing. If we are fortunate enough to be reunited, I’m not sure how Natalie will react, but I miss her dearly. I may have to go the Pinkerton route as well.”

  “Rhine, I know you’re rowing your own boat, but is Natalie really the woman you want to bind your life to?”

  Drew had been married for three years to the daughter of one of his clients. Her name was Freda, and they had a two-­year-­old son named for Drew. The way she and Drew lit up a room in each other’s presence testified to their strong loving bond. A part of Rhine envied that closeness, but having never known love, he was certain he could live his life very well without it. He cared for Natalie, but as he’d stated, the marriage would be one of convenience, nothing more. Eddy’s face played across his mind but he instantly pushed the image away. “I’ll be fine.” He looked past the doubt in his brother’s eyes and his own inner doubts and steered the conversation to a subject they both enjoyed: money, stocks, and profit.

  Later that night, while lying in the bed in Drew and Freda’s guest room, Rhine thought about Drew’s advice on both politics and life. Rhine was certain he could make a difference, but did he really need to do it on such a grand stage? He’d thought about running for Congress but in truth wasn’t sure whether to actually pursue a political career. He was already on the city council, where he and a few other like-­minded Republicans were doing their best to keep the Color
ed community’s rights from being trampled. He was also helping in small, quieter ways by making loans and investing in businesses the White bankers refused to service. Knowing he had the ability to pass for White was one of the reasons he’d crossed over, that and that he hated being treated like less than a man simply because of the circumstances of his birth. By walking among those who deemed themselves better because of the circumstances of their birth, he could secretly laugh at their blind ignorance of who he really was and use his presence as a way of fighting back. It came at a price though: hearing the cruel and tasteless jokes told by bigots at gatherings, and being looked at oddly for pointing out how tasteless they were; knowing that even though his Union Saloon opened its doors to the weddings and celebrations thrown by the Colored community, he couldn’t participate fully because he was no longer a member of the race. By passing, he’d gained a lot in terms of wealth and prestige, but he’d lost a lot as well.

  And now, Eddy. For the first time since leaving Virginia City he allowed himself to think about her fully. He was drawn not only to her beauty but to her strength and determination to carve out a better life. He thought back on the story she’d told about how hard life had been after the death of her parents and he was moved all over again. Was it any wonder that he’d become so affected by her in such a short span of time? Were he his true self, he’d waste no time pursuing her, but he wasn’t, and therein lay the problem. The man he was pretending to be had nothing honorable to offer. When he left her at Sylvia’s that evening, he’d tried to convince himself that putting her out of his mind would be easy, but so far his mind was refusing to play along.

  It took two more days of bed rest for Eddy to get back on her feet, but if Mrs. Stewart had had her way, the stay would’ve lasted longer. While waiting to be officially released, Eddy endured more burned food and continued to use the aloe concoction on her hands and face. Although she was unfamiliar with the plant and its benefits, she was glad for Mrs. Stewart’s expertise because it was helping her skin heal and dulling the pain of the burns.

  However, having worked from sunup to sundown most of her adult life, lazing around in bed was not only still frustrating, it also gave birth to a strong sense of guilt. Each time Mrs. Stewart brought in a tray of food, Eddy wondered if she was eating the kind woman out of house and home.

  On the third day, when Mrs. Stewart entered the room carrying the breakfast tray, Eddy was on her feet and dressed.

  “What are you doing up?”

  “I’m ready to begin earning my keep. What chores need doing?”

  “Eddy, I—­”

  “Please, I’m done lying in bed, and I’m strong enough to help out, so I start today.”

  “Not used to following orders, are you?” Mrs. Stewart asked, sounding amused.

  “No, ma’am.”

  “Then the two of us are going to get along just fine. I don’t follow orders well either.”

  Eddy eyed the burnt breakfast on the tray.

  Mrs. Stewart saw the look. “You’re welcome to make your own breakfast if you like.”

  “I’ll do it tomorrow. I don’t want to waste food.”

  “Honey, I’ve been wasting food since you arrived. Go fix you something to eat. There’s plenty.”

  Eddy took the tray from her hand. “Tomorrow.”

  The action caused Mrs. Stewart to view her silently before replying knowingly. “Yes. We’re going to get along real well.”

  Eddy forced herself not to mind that the bacon, eggs, and toast were again all burned. Washing the charred tastes down with a cup of coffee, she picked up the tray and left the room.

  Even though it her first full day on her feet and she felt well, she knew better than to overdo it, so she descended the stairs slowly to the main floor. At the bottom of the staircase was a large room that held a number of small tables with two chairs each. She wondered if it was the common room where the boarders took their meals.

  She found Mrs. Stewart in the big kitchen attached to the back of the house that Rhine had carried her through on the night she arrived. Rather than wonder if he’d returned from San Francisco, she took a look around. There was a large modern stove, a sink, lengths of countertops, and a slew of cabinets. The kitchen walls were screened to let in the outside air. “So, what would you like for me to do, Mrs. Stewart?”

  “First, I’d like for you to call me Sylvia or Sylvie. Mrs. Stewart is reserved for boarders and the like.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Now, let’s talk duties and wages. Have a seat.” She gestured at the table in the center of the room and Eddy complied. “So, how well do you cook?”

  “Rather well, I’m told. My mother made her living as a cook to wealthy families in Denver and I grew up helping her. I’m experienced with steaks, quail, trout, and everything in between. I’ve cooked for individuals, families, and large to-­dos like banquets and weddings. I do well with cakes, tarts, pickling, marmalades, jellies, and pies.”

  “Breads?”

  Eddy nodded.

  “Excellent. You’ll be preparing breakfast and dinner for the boarders daily. I open the dining room to the public three days a week: Tuesday, Thursdays, and Sundays, with Sunday being the busiest day. Can you handle all that?”

  “Yes. How many boarders, and how many people come on Sundays?”

  “I have three boarders, and usually ten to fifteen people on Sunday. Too many?”

  “Not at all.” In fact, Eddy couldn’t believe how small a cooking job this would be. During her years at the hotel, she and the staff fed at least fifty people daily.

  They talked wages next, and when told how much her weekly pay would be, she asked, “What other chores will you be wanting me to do?”

  “None. Just cooking.”

  The proposed amount was twice what she was paid as a cook before being demoted to scrubbing floors. “No floors or wash?”

  “No, I have other people to do those.”

  Eddy wasn’t sure how to respond.

  Mrs. Stewart explained, “If you’re as good a cook as you say you are, I don’t want you hired away by someone who’ll promise to pay you more. There’s a lot of money here in Virginia City, and the wealthy have the means to pay for the best.”

  “I see.” She wondered if Sylvia Stewart was one of those wealthy residents.

  “So, since you haven’t seen the city, let me give you a tour. You need to meet some of the farmers and storekeepers you’ll be dealing with and learn your way around. Later you can meet the boarders. Gabe Horne works in the mines, Whitman Brown works at one of the banks and is also a Baptist preacher. August Williams is a dishwasher at one of the hotels.”

  “There’s a hotel here?”

  “Yes, which is why I’m paying you so well. I don’t want you deserting me.”

  “Don’t worry. While I’m here, I’m all yours. I owe you a lot for taking me in and offering me work.” Then she thought of something she needed to make clear. “I left Denver to go to California, and soon as I save up enough money, I’ll be moving on.”

  “Understood.”

  “Thank you very much for the job.”

  “And thank you for arriving right on time. Let’s take that tour.”

  While Sylvia drove the small buckboard pulled by an old mare named Dilly, Eddy took in Virginia City. According to Sylvia, the initial silver strike in 1859 turned penniless miners into millionaires who built mansions, imported fancy furniture and smoked even fancier cigars. With all that money they also built churches, business establishments, and the International House hotel that Sylvia told her had one hundred rooms and an elevator. There were gaslights lining the streets and sewer lines beneath the city, thus making it more cosmopolitan than she’d imagined. Many of the buildings were made of brick and had fancy glass windows. There were a large number of saloons, and it seemed as if the owners were
in some kind of competition to see who had the fanciest doors. Most were very ornate and sported not only glazed glass windows but intricate gold leaf lettering and etched carvings.

  As they drove past Piper’s Opera House, Sylvia said, “It’s known for its high-­toned entertainment, but for all of Virginia City calling itself a Republican town, we’re not welcomed.”

  Seeing the place made her think of her last evening with Rhine. “Is there much bigotry here?”

  “Some of it’s subtle and some of it isn’t. For example, I told you about Piper’s not welcoming us.”

  “Yes, you did.”

  “None of the Whites here will patronize Rhine Fontaine’s Union Saloon because it caters to the Colored community. On the other hand, the local schools aren’t segregated.”

  “That’s something,” Eddy remarked, and wondered how Fontaine felt about not being patronized by his own kind.

  Eddy was told that there were nearly 25,000 residents in the gaslit city, but the Colored community numbered less than a hundred.

  “And most of them are men. You can count the number of ladies here on less than both hands. Good thing you’re not staying, otherwise you’d be beating the men off with your frying pan.”

  Eddy smiled at the picture that created in her mind.

  “There’s a large group of Chinese though. They settled in after helping build the railroads. Lots of Paiute Indians, Irish, Cornish, and Englishmen live here, too.”

  As the tour continued, Sylvia pointed out Vera’s dress shop. “She’s the best seamstress in town.”

  The place was on Main Street, and two beautifully gowned dress forms were displayed in the big glass windows. Eddy met the fishmonger, a Colored man from Louisiana named Amos Granger and Mr. Carter, one of the local barbers who shared his business with hairdresser Janet Foster. Sylvia then stopped so Eddy could meet Mr. Rossetti, who owned and operated one of the town’s general stores and markets. As they drove along, Eddy saw chickens walking along some of the main streets.

  “We have farms interspersed with the buildings,” Sylvia offered in explanation. “But many of the wild chickens once belonged to Lady Ruby before they escaped and struck out on their own.”