Keeping a lid on her temper, Eddy looked over at Sylvie, who, glaring at her friend, said, “Forgive her, Eddy. Vera sometimes doesn’t think before she speaks.”
Instantly contrite, Vera dropped her head and sighed. “I’m sorry, Eddy. Sylvia’s right. I just want you to have the respect you deserve. Everyone’s talking about your great cooking.”
“And that’s all I need them to talk about.” She dried the last dish and walked out of the kitchen door. She’d always had a temper, and rather than treat Vera to piece of it she took a seat outside. She didn’t need reminding about her meager wardrobe. Every morning when she got out of bed and had to don the same skirt and blouse she’d washed out the night before, she told herself it didn’t matter, but it did. Before the death of her parents, her father had provided well for his family. There hadn’t been money to waste on luxurious things, but she’d had nice gloves and shoes to wear on special occasions. There’d been books and oranges for Christmas. The only nice thing she still possessed was her mother’s locket. Sylvia paid well, but Eddy still had to use some of it for her room and board, and as she’d noted before, every extra penny went into her California fund.
When she went back inside the kitchen, Sylvie and Vera were no longer there, so she began putting together the dry ingredients for the morning’s biscuits.
“Eddy?”
She turned to see Vera in the doorway. “Yes?” Her voice was cool.
“I came in to offer my sincerest apologies for hurting your feelings. As Sylvie said, I don’t think sometimes, but I truly would like for us to be friends. Can you forgive me?”
Although Eddy had a temper, she wasn’t one to hold a grudge, and Vera did appear sincere. “You’re forgiven.”
“Thank you. I would like to propose something, and I want you to hear me out.”
Eddy waited.
“When I visited San Francisco a few weeks back there was a seamstress shop that provided little tea cakes and candies to its customers while they waited for their fittings. Although I am the leading seamstress in Virginia City, I’d like to up the ante a bit, just to keep the competition on their heels. Would you have the time to make me tea cakes maybe once or twice a week? I’d pay you of course, but I’d also like to pay you by making you a few skirts and blouses.”
Eddy scanned her face. It was very apparent that Vera was trying to broach that last part as delicately as possible. Eddy had her pride, but she wasn’t a fool. She was as tired of wearing her well-worn skirt and blouse as Vera was of seeing her in them, so she smiled. “I’d love to. How many cakes do you think you’ll be needing?”
Rhine spent his evening at the city council meeting. This one was open to the public and it had been a boisterous one. The proposal to implement the vice tax came up for a vote. Natalie’s father Lyman cast the deciding tie-breaking vote that sent the proposal down to defeat, thus giving victory to men like Rhine, McFadden, and the other saloon owners. A round of shouting, threats, and fist shaking from the measure’s supporters followed, but it didn’t change anything. After the meeting adjourned, Rhine was glad to return to the noisy but less angry confines of his saloon.
Kent nodded a greeting as Rhine approached. “How’d the meeting go?”
“We’re still in business, that’s all I can say. What are we serving tonight?”
“Lamb. Jim’s in the kitchen. Wants to talk to you.”
The hungry Rhine nodded and headed for the kitchen. He found Jim inside peeling and slicing potatoes for the Saratoga chips the customers were so fond of.
“Evening, Jim. Kent said you wanted to talk to me?”
“Yes. We have to change the Thursday menu.”
“Why?”
“Fishmonger Granger’s promised his entire Thursday catch to little Miss Eddy, so no more fish fry for us on that night.”
Rhine was confused. “What? Why?”
“Because she’s serving fish on Thursdays now, too, and folks are buzzing about her food like bees on flowers.”
Surprise replaced the confusion. “Is that the reason we’ve been low on attendance the last two weeks?”
“That would be my guess.”
So the beauty was not only haunting the edges of his mind, she was costing him customers.
Jim added, “Not sure if there’s a way to change Granger’s mind, but in the meantime I’ll switch to quail or chicken for Thursdays, unless the farmers have promised her all those, too.”
“Let’s hope not. Anything else?”
“No. That’s it.”
“Okay. Is there something I can eat?”
Jim dished him up a plate of lamb, potatoes, and carrots from the pots on the stove and Rhine took it up to his office.
While eating, he pulled out his ledgers. Poring over the numbers of the past two weeks, he saw that the Union’s profits were down about three percent. It wasn’t a number that would make him close the doors but it was enough to make him wonder just what Eddy was cooking over at Sylvia’s. He’d seen her a few times at the orphanage, and when he did, he was respectful and did his best not to dwell on her admission that she’d asked herself what might happen between them had he not been engaged. She surprised him with how blunt and direct she’d been that day, but then again, she’d been surprising him since the day she woke up in his bed and stubbornly tried to make it to the washroom under her own power, even though the desert had left her with none. It wouldn’t be long before the men were lining up to eat at Sylvia’s just to catch a glimpse of her, if they weren’t already, and he was honest enough to admit that bothered him far more than the cut in his profit, because the attraction between them still lingered. He felt it and sensed she did, too, but it had to remain unrealized because he’d already chosen Natalie. He’d had dinner with her and her parents before the city council meeting and promised to escort her to Vera Ford’s seamstress shop in the morning to view pictures of wedding costumes. He wasn’t looking forward to it but she was his fiancée and it was what she wanted, so he’d go along and smile. It made no sense to be pining for Eddy because, as she said, the subject was moot. He just wished he knew how to make the pining stop.
The following morning, as Eddy stood in one of the nicely decorated back rooms of Vera’s shop with her arms outstretched, she felt like a scarecrow as Vera’s assistant, an Irishwoman named Shanna McKay, used her tapes to take Eddy’s measurements. First had come ankles to waist, then waist to shoulders, followed by across her back, shoulders, and bosom. Once that was accomplished, soft cotton fabric was laid against her chest and she was told, “Just trying to get a look at what blouse material we want to use.”
“Something sturdier than this. It needs to hold up to my day.”
Shanna replaced it with another sample. “If you had your way, you’d be wearing denim from head to toe. Don’t you want to look nice?”
“I’m a cook, Shanna. Nothing looks nice adorned with food stains.”
“Miss Vera said she wants you to look like a lady of means.”
“Well since I’m not, I’d prefer something practical.”
Vera entered on the heels of that. “Is she giving you a hard time, Shanna?”
“Not really.”
“Which means of course she is.”
Eddy smiled. “I need practical wear, Miss Vera. Gravy stains are hard to wash out.”
“Understood, dear, so let’s do practical and pretty. You might want to go walking with Zeke or another gentleman at some point, and you’ll be glad to have something nice.”
Eddy concurred but in reality thought she’d do more walking back and forth to the market than anywhere else. She was glad when Shanna finally put away the tapes and then heard, “Come back tomorrow, Eddy. I should have the fabrics cut out and we can do some fittings. We don’t want her looking like she’s wearing a potato sack, do we Miss Vera?”
“Certain
ly not.”
Eddy sighed. “I’ll come by after breakfast.”
“Good. Now let me get back to my other customers, who are, by the way, Rhine Fontaine and his fiancée Natalie Greer.”
“Ah.” Eddy didn’t want to see him with his fiancée, but since there was no way around it, she left the fitting room and walked out into the shop’s main room. Her plan was to acknowledge them and quickly be on her way, but fate had other plans.
“Miss Carmichael?”
Eddy looked up into those emerald green eyes and silently chastised herself for still finding them and him so mesmerizing. “Mr. Fontaine.”
“It’s a pleasure to see you again.”
Eddy offered an almost imperceptible nod. She’d seen him at the orphanage a few days ago.
“Miss Carmichael, my fiancée Miss Greer.”
“Pleased to meet you,” Eddy said.
The woman smiled falsely but gave no verbal reply. Vera’s face took on a distinct coolness in response to the obvious slight, but Eddy let the rudeness roll off her back. Women like Greer thought it beneath them to exchange pleasantries with women like her, and it wasn’t as if it was the first time Eddy had encountered the attitude.
Fontaine appeared perturbed as well before turning his attention back to Eddy. “Your cooking skills are causing such a stir my customers are deserting me.”
“Just earning my wage, Mr. Fontaine.”
His eyes never leaving Eddy’s, he told his fiancée, “Miss Carmichael is the woman Jim and I rescued in the dessert. She’s also spearheading this year’s fund-raiser for Mary’s orphanage.”
Greer offered nothing in response.
Needing to distance herself from all that he was and the tiny shoots of hope that refused to die, Eddy said, “I have to get back to Miss Sylvia’s and start dinner. I can’t steal more of your customers if there’s nothing for them to eat.”
He chuckled, and his smile made the shoots inch higher. To save herself, she turned to the fiancée and employing the good manners the woman obviously lacked, said, “A pleasure meeting you, Miss Greer.”
The blue eyes flashed dismissively, and Vera’s jaw tightened in reaction.
Head held high, Eddy walked to the door. “Good-bye, Miss Vera, and thank you.”
“You’re welcome, honey.”
“Ms. Carmichael?” Fontaine called gently.
Eddy turned back.
“My apologies.”
Eddy realized he was apologizing for his fiancée’s lack of grace, and she found that so endearing there were no words. A quick glance at Miss Greer showed her red-faced. Whether it was from anger or embarrassment, Eddy didn’t know or care. “Thank you,” she replied softly.
“You’re welcome.”
With that, she pulled open the door and stepped out into the sunshine.
On the drive back to the Greer home, Natalie said, “Thank you for embarrassing me.”
“I was about to tell you the same thing.”
“I shouldn’t have to converse with a woman like her.”
“Is that why you were so rude?” A big part of Natalie’s problem was that her parents had never pointed out unbecoming behavior, so if they were to be married, it was left to him. “I’m a Republican and after we marry, more than likely we’ll be entertaining people of color in our home. You’ll be expected to be polite. Do you think you can do that?”
“Why, you’re genuinely upset with me,” she said, sounding surprised. “She’s just a Colored cook, Rhine. I don’t have to converse with Coloreds or servants.”
“She’s a human being, Natalie—just like we are.”
She blew out a breath. “Oh all right. I doubt I’ll ever see her again, but if I do, I’ll try and remember that.”
“Thank you.”
“Although I still don’t see why,” she pouted, and hooked her arm into his as he held the reins. “It’s not like she means anything to either of us.”
Rhine was silent for the rest of the drive.
Rhine had agreed to have lunch with her and her mother. Out of disapproval with her rudeness, he would have preferred to drop her at the door and go on about his day, but when they reached her home, he stopped the buggy, came around and handed her down. “Are you still upset?” she asked, looking into his eyes.
“No.”
“Your eyes say something different.”
“Let’s go in. We don’t want to keep your mother waiting.”
Inside the spacious mansion, they handed their hats and gloves to the Chinese houseman and Natalie led Rhine into the dining room where her mother Beatrice sat waiting.
He walked over and kissed her cheek. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Greer.”
“Hello, Rhine. You survived the dress shop, I see.”
“I did,” he said distantly. After helping Natalie with her chair he took a seat.
Natalie said, “He’s upset.”
Beatrice, dressed in the finery befitting her station, looked between the two. “What happened?”
Natalie blew out a breath. “I didn’t speak to a little Colored cook at the dress shop, and he says I embarrassed him.”
Conversation stopped as the Chinese maid brought in their soup. Rhine nodded his thanks to the woman, and after she exited, he explained, “I reminded Natalie that once we marry we’ll be opening our home to people like Miss Carmichael and that rudeness didn’t become her.”
“He’s right of course, Natalie.”
Natalie started in on her soup. “Having them in our home will be something I can’t avoid, but I don’t see why I have to acknowledge them publicly.”
Rhine tried to mask his annoyance but apparently failed.
“I’m simply being honest,” she said in defense. “I understand that you have a misguided fascination with them, and I’m willing to overlook it, but you should be just as tolerant of my lack of fascination.”
Rhine reminded himself that she was only twenty years old and that she’d led a sheltered, privileged life. That she didn’t seem to be bothered by her lack of charity didn’t sit well, however.
Her mother said, “Natalie, your father and I were staunch abolitionists, as were your grandparents. They even entertained the great Frederick Douglass himself, so I’m not sure where this stance of yours is rooted.”
“It’s rooted in my ability to form my own opinions, Mother.”
Beatrice must’ve seen the flash of disdain in Rhine’s eyes and added hastily, “An opinion I’m sure you’ll amend once you think long and hard about it.”
“We’ll see, but in the meantime this entire tempest in a teacup has given me a headache. I’m going to up my room and lie down.” She pushed back from the table and stood. “Rhine darling, I’ll see you later.”
He stood politely and watched her go.
When he retook his seat, Beatrice said, “I wouldn’t put much stock in this so called opinion of hers, Rhine. She has abolitionism in her blood. She’ll come to her senses.”
Because of her beauty, he thought she might be the wife for him and the mother of any children he might sire. Admittedly, his own shallowness caused him to use that as a standard and overlook Natalie’s lack of interest in anything but herself. She was stunning to look at—what more did he need? Now, he knew better and had no one to blame but himself. She didn’t read the newspapers, had no knowledge of national or world affairs, and after witnessing today’s rude behavior and listening to her attempt to justify it, he had more trouble seeing himself married to her. “Natalie and I may not be evenly yoked, Mrs. Greer.”
“Oh don’t be silly. As I said, she’ll come to her senses. I’ll have her father speak to her. By tomorrow this little matter will be water over the dam. You’ll see.”
“I’m not so sure. She’s been pressuring me to sell the saloon.”
“Honestly, I can see why she’s uncomfortable with your ownership, and it might help if you reconsidered her reasons. People have been whispering about your place since the day the doors opened. No wife wants to be the subject of gossips.”
Rhine offered a bitter chuckle. “Then maybe I should cry off, because I’m not selling the Union.”
She stiffened in reaction.
Rhine stood and inclined his head. “Thank you for the meal, Mrs. Greer. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” He made his exit.
“Rhine!”
He didn’t look back.
On the drive to the saloon an irritated Rhine thought about the many reasons he refused to sell the Union. First and foremost it was his, and gossiping aside, only he had the right to decide whether to place it on the block. Secondly, having been a slave who’d never owned so much as the clothes on his back, reaping the benefits of a profitable business whose deed bore his name meant a great deal. It also meant a great deal to his patrons, not only socially but economically. Three years ago, when Cecil Roland came to town and couldn’t find anyone who’d lease him space to open his blacksmith shop, Rhine offered up one of the properties he owned, just as he’d done for two of the town’s barbers and a laundress. The investments turned out to be good ones, as all four businesses were thriving. As owner of the Union, he helped purchase Bibles for the Baptist church—even though he had a keen dislike for the pompous Whitman Brown—and helped pay for the train ticket needed by Zeke Reynold to accompany Doc Randolph to one of the civil rights conventions held last year. With all that in mind, selling the Union might make Natalie and the gossip harpies happy but it would have a very negative impact on the Colored community, and Rhine refused to be party to that.
Turning his carriage onto the main street, he decided to stop in and see the old fishmonger, Amos Granger. The Thursday night fish fry was one of the Union Saloon’s most profitable events. Rhine hoped to convince the man to modify his decision to sell their usual supply to Miss Eddy Carmichael.
When Rhine walked in, Granger looked up from the fish he was gutting. “I suppose you’re here about your fish.”
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