Forbidden

by Beverly Jenkins

  “When?”

  “Sometime soon. Whenever your schedule allows.”

  He nodded. “I’ll let you know.”

  “Before the end of the month, though, Rhine.”

  “Understood.” He picked up his wineglass and wished for something much stronger.

  “You’re awfully solemn,” she said. “I know you were keen on keeping the saloon, but selling it is for the best. You’ll see.”

  He wanted to yell at her, but having never yelled at a woman in his life, ever, he signaled for more wine.

  As he drove her home after the meal, she linked her arm with his and leaned close. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. McGuire’s always has fine food.”

  “They do, but I’m saying thank you for selling the saloon.”

  He chuckled bitterly. “I’m not selling the saloon, Natalie.”

  She smiled. “Stop teasing.”

  He pulled back on the reins and halted the carriage. “Listen to me now. I didn’t go to San Francisco to sell the Union. I’m not going to sell the Union.”

  She looked startled. “You’re serious.”

  “Just as I’ve always been.”

  “But I want you to.”

  “I understand that, but I don’t want to. If I sell my source of income, who’s going to pay for all the hats and gowns you care so much about?”

  “Papa says you’re one of the richest men in the state. You have stocks and property.”

  “And once I go through all that providing for you, then what?”

  “A man is supposed to defer to his wife,” she said accusingly. “And make her happy.”

  “Then maybe you need to marry someone else, Natalie.”

  “I’m the last of my friends to become engaged, the gossips will have a field day if I call it off. Take me home please.”

  He set the carriage in motion. They rode the rest of the way in silence.

  When they reached her house, he handed her down. “Natalie, I will marry you, care for you, and provide for you, but I will not sell my business for you.”

  “Let me know when you have time to accompany me to Vera’s.” And she walked off and left him standing by the carriage.

  He waited until she was inside before driving away. He needed a drink.

  Sylvia was right about there not being any food left over after dinner. Miner Gabe Horne was short and stocky. He appeared to be only a few years older than Eddy but seemed so shy he wouldn’t hold her gaze more than a second or two. He ate silently but upon leaving said, “Nice to meet you, Miss Eddy. Good food. Next time, cook more please.”

  The other boarder, young August Reynolds, the hotel dishwasher, was a tall, lean beanpole of a man who after eating his fill of the fish, vegetables, and biscuits, said to her, “Miss Eddy, not even the International Hotel serves food this good. Once word gets around, they’re going to want to hire you.”

  “I’m only working for Miss Sylvia.”

  “Good to know because I’ll enjoy coming home each evening to the way you cook.”

  Eddy liked the two men. However, the third boarder, Whitman Brown, was another story. He came in after the other two had gone up to their rooms. He was bright-­skinned and annoying. “I’m a pretty important man around here,” he announced when she placed his plate on the table in front of him. “I handle all the Colored accounts at one of the banks.”

  “That’s nice.”

  “I’m also the Baptist preacher here.”

  “Miss Sylvie told me.”

  “Are you a churchgoing woman?”

  “No.” And after meeting him, even if she had been, she wouldn’t be attending any services he conducted. She didn’t care for his pompous manner. Before she could politely excuse herself, he went on to tell her about being from Cleveland, attending Howard College, and having previously worked at the Freedman’s bank. She decided it would be rude to ask if he was one of the men responsible for its inept operation.

  “I need to get back to the kitchen,” she said finally in the middle of him telling her again about his important duties at the bank.

  Later that evening, as she sat on the back porch with Sylvia drinking lemonade, she asked, “Is Mr. Brown always such a blowhard?”

  “Always. And he’s convinced he’s better than the rest of us poor Coloreds because of his bright skin. Says his mother won’t allow him to propose to anyone darker than a brown paper bag, so he’s still unmarried.”

  After listening to his inflated opinions of himself, she didn’t find that surprising. The brown paper bag test was well-­known. Eddy always saw it as both shameful and ridiculous. The bigotry practiced by those outside the race was harmful enough without bigotry being meted out by those within.

  After Sylvie excused herself to go inside and write a letter to her brother back East, Eddy reviewed her evening. She was pleased that her food had been so well received and that she hadn’t burned anything. It would take her a little while to learn all the ins and outs on the stove, but she knew becoming completely comfortable with it would only be a matter of time. Being healed up and back on her feet made her feel good as well. She felt as if she’d been bedridden for years.

  Her thoughts then turned to Rhine Fontaine. His invitation to dinner had been surprising and, yes, insulting, if she were being truthful. Did he believe she thought so little of herself that she’d keep time with a man engaged to be married? She supposed with his looks and money some women might have jumped at the chance to take him up on the offer, but she was not one of them. Did he often dally with women outside his race? Was he one of those men who slaked their lust with women of color but treated their own women like fragile regal queens? Was that why he proposed what he had? Eddy doubted she’d ever get answers to the questions, but decided she was okay with the not knowing. Her new life didn’t include him anyway.

  Still in need of that drink, Rhine threaded his way through the Union’s evening crowd. Behind the bar his young bartender, Kenton “Kent” Randolph, looked up from the drink he was pouring for his father, Dr. Oliver Randolph, and smiled. “Evenin’, Rhine. Where’ve you been?” Kent asked.

  Rhine could barely hear him over the noise.

  “Took Natalie to dinner.” And had his ego filleted by one Eddy Carmichael. Rhine went behind the bar and took down a bottle of bourbon. As he treated himself to a healthy portion, he glanced curiously between father and son. The Randolph men were so estranged these days, he was surprised they weren’t shouting at each other, which was their usual means of conversing. “How are you, Doc?” Rhine asked.

  “Doing just fine, Rhine. You boys ready to get whipped on Friday?”

  The doctor was referring to the annual baseball game between the Colored Republicans and the Whites. His teasing added another barb to an already trying day. “How about letting us play with fifteen men?” Rhine asked.

  Kenton laughed. “Your side could play with thirty and we’d still whip you.”

  Doc chuckled, raised his glass of gin, and drifted off into the crowd.

  Rhine asked Kent, “You two make peace?”

  Kent put the top back on his father’s favorite gin. “Hell, no. He’s a customer. I’m the barkeep. As long as he’s not telling me how to handle my life, I don’t have to tell him to mind his own business.”

  An amused Rhine thought that made sense. Kent was eighteen. His father wanted him to go back East to medical school so Kent could take over his clients once he retired. All Kent wanted was to be a rancher. They’d been arguing over the matter for the past six months. Rhine was friends with them both so he stayed out it. “I’m heading up to my office. Anything I need to know?”

  “Edgar Carter wants to rent the place in a few weeks to celebrate him and his wife’s thirty years of marriage. I told him I’d talk to you and let him know.”

  Edga
r was the barber who cut Micah and Christian’s hair. Rhine made a note to ride over to the orphanage to see how the twins had been behaving while he was away. “Does Edgar have a date in mind?” The Union Saloon also served as a social hall for the city’s Colored community, being the only venue in Virginia City they were allowed to use for such celebratory purposes.

  “I wrote it down. It’s on your desk.”

  “Okay, as long as there’s nothing else going on, I don’t see why he can’t.”

  “I told him that, too.”

  Rhine saluted him with his glass and headed to the kitchen.

  Jim Dade looked up from the pots he was washing at the large sink. “How was dinner?”

  “Long. Why did I propose to Natalie?”

  Jim stopped, gave him a look, and went back to the pots. “I asked you that question six months ago.”

  Rhine sighed. “I’m hoping she breaks things off before I lose my mind and have to be sold to the circus.”

  Jim laughed softly.

  “It’s not funny.”

  “Sure it is. Sometimes you can be brilliant as the sun—­like having us install the new gaslighting—­and other times you’re dumber than the bacon in the cold box, like proposing to her.”

  Rhine saw no sense in arguing with the truth, so he took a draw from his glass instead. “And I saw Eddy today.”

  “How is our little lady?”

  “Doing well. She sends her regards. I asked her to have dinner with me.”

  Jim spun. “What?”

  Rhine tried to explain himself. “It wasn’t something I planned to do. One minute I was talking to her and the next minute . . . God, Jim she’s so beautiful. Tough as nails, too.”

  “So what did she say?” Jim asked pointedly.

  “Asked me if I was inviting Natalie along with us.”

  Jim laughed so loud the walls rang. When he recovered he tossed out, “Cut you off at the knees, hey pretty boy?”

  “Yes, and she didn’t even need to use the fish knife she had in her hand.”

  “I knew I liked her.” He then turned serious. “You know she’s not for you.”

  “I do.”

  “Then let her be.”

  “I’m trying.”

  “Try harder. She’s a nice girl, Rhine. Don’t mess things up for her here.”

  Rhine sighed aloud in frustration and regret.

  “Unless you’re going to toss Natalie aside and tell Eddy who you really are.”

  Rhine saw the seriousness in his partner’s gaze. Outside of his siblings, Jim was the only person who knew his true heritage.

  When he didn’t respond, Jim said, “Then go get drunk.”

  Rhine toasted him with the glass. “Thanks. I think I will.”

  Chapter Eight

  Sylvia’s dining room would be opening to the public that evening, so Eddy began preparations before dawn. There were cakes to make and chickens to pluck. She peeled potatoes and shucked corn and sat outside with a bowl in her lap and shelled peas. By the time she took the cornbread out of the oven just before the diners arrived, she was more tired than she’d imagined she’d be. Luckily, she didn’t have to serve, too. Sylvia had hired help for that, a Paiute woman named Maria Valdez and her adolescent sons, Jonas and Wilson. The Indian family was both friendly and efficient.

  The number of diners was small, but like the boarders, must have found the food very much to their liking because Maria kept coming into the kitchen for more servings. At one point Eddy told her, “This is the very last piece of cornbread, Maria.”

  “Mr. Granger the fishmonger isn’t going to be happy, but I’ll let him know.”

  Sylvia came in while Eddy was slicing the last cake. “Eddy, honey. The people want to meet you.”

  Eddy glanced down at the food-­stained apron covering her skirt and blouse.

  Sylvia wouldn’t let her beg off. “Just come. It’ll only be for a minute or two.”

  Giving her hands a quick rinse under the tap, Eddy stepped out into the dining room. Boisterous applause greeted her entrance, which filled her with both embarrassment and appreciation. Carpenter Zeke Reynolds was among them and she sent him a shy smile. Then one by one the diners introduced themselves, telling her how much they enjoyed the food and welcoming her to Virginia City. She already knew Mr. Granger and Zeke, but she didn’t know the others and hoped she’d remember their names. She would, however, remember this special evening and how they made her feel. They promised to spread the word about her great cooking and that they’d be back on Sunday with friends.

  As people paid their bills and departed, Eddy began clearing the tables. Zeke walked over to her. “I may have to marry you, little lady. Your food was outstanding.”

  Eddy laughed. “Is that the only qualification you’re looking for in a wife, Mr. Reynolds?”

  “Call me Zeke.”

  She nodded. “Okay, Zeke. Is it?”

  “Hmm. Let’s see, good cook, beautiful, well spoken, likes baseball.”

  Eddy chuckled. He was indeed a charmer. “I need to get back to work.”

  “I understand.” But for a moment he simply stood there, his interest in her on full display. “I’ll see you at the big game.”

  “I’m looking forward to it.”

  Basking in her triumphant first outing and brimming with happiness over the nice encounter with Zeke, she joined Maria and her sons in the kitchen for the cleanup. When all the dishes and pots were put in their places, they went home. Maria did the housekeeping so she’d be back in the morning.

  On the heels of their departure a smiling Sylvia breezed into the kitchen. “You made the house quite a bit of money this evening, Eddy Carmichael.”

  “Glad to hear it.”

  “And the food was delicious. My old cook was good but he can’t hold a candle to you.”

  It had been a long time since Eddy had been praised for anything, and she hadn’t realized how much she’d been craving a kind word until then. “I enjoyed myself.”

  “So did the men, especially Zeke. I saw him talking to you.”

  “He’s nice.”

  “That he is. Did I mention he was unattached?”

  Eddy laughed. “Yes, Sylvie, you did.”

  “I wasn’t sure. Now, did you get a chance to eat?”

  “Yes, ma’am, I did.”

  “Then go on up to your room and get some rest, you’ve earned it.”

  “I’m going to get the kitchen ready for breakfast in the morning and then go up.”

  “Okay. So pleased to have you here, honey.”

  “Thank you.”

  “After breakfast in the morning, I’m going to visit the orphanage to talk to Sister Mary about fund-­raising. Would you like to come along?”

  “I would.”

  Sylvia nodded and left Eddy alone. Still buoyed by her success, she stepped outside into the fresh air and drew in a deep breath. She’d start her preparations for breakfast in a moment. Off to the west the sun was slowly sliding towards the horizon, tinting the sky with the reds and grays of evening. After all she’d been through in the past few weeks, she finally felt like her world had settled. She had a nice place to live, a landlady she adored, and most importantly she was earning a wage with her cooking. Now all she had to do was save up enough to restart her journey to California. Meeting Zeke was also something positive. Even though she had no plans to stay in Virginia City, it might be nice to spend time with a gentleman whose interest was more easily encouraged than Rhine Fontaine’s. The thought instantly brought the face of the handsome saloon owner to mind. Determined not to dwell on him, she went back inside and began the preparations for breakfast.

  Friday morning, after breakfast with Jim, Rhine drove to the orphanage. He hadn’t visited since returning from San Francisco and he wanted to see how his f
avorite set of twins were doing. As soon as he parked they tore down the front steps to greet him.

  “Miss Mary has some crates at the freight office,” Christian told him excitedly. “She said it’s okay if we ride with you to go get them. Can we go?”

  The earnest plea on his face made Rhine chuckle. “Why aren’t you in school today?”

  Micah explained. “Mr. Reinhart is sick so there’s nobody to teach us.”

  Reinhart was the school’s only teacher. “How about I go in and speak with Miss Mary first. I don’t want to find out later that you’re pulling my leg.”

  Micah looked surprised. “We wouldn’t do that.”

  Rhine was fairly sure the boy was right, but who would’ve thought he and his brother would pay a visit to Lady Ruby’s chicken coop in the middle of the night? “Are you off punishment now?” he asked as they accompanied him up the steps.

  “Yes,” Christian replied proudly. “We get dessert today.”

  “Congratulations.”

  “But Miss Willa Grace went to visit her sister, so we have to wait until she gets back.”

  Rhine found Mary in her large book-­lined office and she corroborated the boys’ story about the crates. “The orphanage has been adopted by a Methodist church in Sacramento and the crate contains donations of some kind. I’d really appreciate it if you’d pick it up and bring it back.”

  “Is it okay if the twins go, too?”

  “Please. Mr. Reinhart’s been ill since the day you left for San Francisco, and with Willa Grace away, I’m at my wit’s end trying to keep up with them.”

  “No pranks?”

  “None.”

  “That’s good to hear.”

  “The day’s still young, Mr. Fontaine. I’m taking them to see Vera at ten for fittings.”

  He laughed and left the office to collect the twins.

  “When was the orphanage founded?” Eddy asked as Sylvia drove them through the streets to the orphanage.