The Measure of a Lady

by Deeanne Gist

  Lissa was not. The girl had eyed Rachel the rest of the evening, fraught with speculation.

  Rachel brushed her lips with the ends of her hair. Just last year she had clandestinely read one of her father’s medical books written by a New York physician of wide experience where he most decidedly stated that the full force of sexual desire is seldom known in a virtuous woman; that nature had provided a more susceptible organization in males than in females.

  The entire discourse seemed to suggest that some nameless and horrid immorality would result if the two parties, even in a legal union, were equally passionate.

  And that was why it was the female’s responsibility to set the moral climate within the family and society.

  Tears welled in her eyes. Was her purity nothing but superficial? Something so easily dissolved that she would fall from virtue at the mere touch of a man?

  She glanced at Lissa sleeping soundly beside her. And Michael, curled up by the fireplace. They were dependent upon her not only for their basic needs but also for their moral needs.

  Slipping from the bed, she stoked the fire and then lit a lamp, turning low the flame before retrieving her Bible from the table. Crawling back beneath the covers, she turned to Proverbs and started with chapter two. The chapter on avoiding adulteresses. She did not stop until she’d read through chapter five, ‘‘Forsaking Lust.’’

  ————

  Rachel set boiled ham, potatoes, and onions on the table. Johnnie had left right after breakfast saying he wouldn’t be back for the noon meal. He hadn’t said where he was going, but he took her list of groceries with him. She hoped he picked some of them up today. There were only so many ways to cook pork.

  Michael and Lissa filed into the kitchen and the three of them sat down at the table. Soda had eaten earlier, then opened the hotel for business as soon as Rachel and Lissa had finished their chores. He’d eyed the Mexican blanket she had draped over the statue but said nothing about it. Nor did he remove it.

  But the men were not so discreet. Of course, they had no way of knowing the ladies sat on the other side of the wall with nothing but a curtained doorway separating them.

  ‘‘Looks like the missy done covered up Johnnie’s naked ladykin again.’’

  ‘‘Hoo, I cain’t wait to see his expression. He shore is sensitive about that there statue.’’

  ‘‘I’m bettin’ that’s one piece a furniture in this hotel that won’t never get scrubbed.’’

  The men exchanged hearty laughs.

  Rachel cut a bite of meat and jabbed it with her fork. ‘‘What are your plans for the rest of the day, Michael?’’

  ‘‘Well, I heard you could earn as much as twenty dollars for digging a grave,’’ he said. ‘‘So I was going to head over to Cemetery Hill and see if they needed an extra hand.’’

  She nodded and took a sip of tea. Grave digging was a worthy occupation and would perhaps give Michael firsthand knowledge of the consequences caused by hard drinking and hard living.

  ‘‘What about you, Lissa?’’

  ‘‘All this cleaning has simply ruined my hands and feet. I’m going to brew up some very strong peppermint tea to soak them in and then take a nice long nap.’’

  Rachel sighed. ‘‘I’m afraid our days of soft hands and feet are long over. Are you sure you wouldn’t like to ride out to Mr. Parker’s property with me today?’’

  ‘‘And dig around in the dirt? No, thank you.’’

  Before Rachel could respond, a woman in a white, blousy scoop-necked bodice and full colorful skirt entered in the back door of the kitchen.

  ‘‘I sorry I late.’’ She smiled and pulled a plate from the shelf.

  Michael jumped to his feet and gave up his chair.

  ‘‘Gracias, señor.’’

  Rachel stiffened. ‘‘What are you doing?’’

  ‘‘I am Carmelita.’’ She sat down, spooned ham and potatoes onto her plate, then began to eat. ‘‘I work tables for Mr. Johnnie. I live in room above hotel. He say la comida is ready at noon.’’

  ‘‘You live here?’’ Rachel put down her knife and fork.

  ‘‘Sí.’’

  ‘‘And Mr. Parker told you to take your meals here with us?’’

  ‘‘Sí.’’

  Rachel dabbed her mouth with her napkin. ‘‘Then where were you at breakfast? Why have I not seen you before?’’

  ‘‘I sleep in morning and now I eat noontime with you, sí?’’

  Rachel glanced at Lissa. The girl had her gaze pinned to the large expanse of bare flesh exposed above Carmelita’s low-cut bodice. Michael’s attention had been snared by the same.

  Rachel knew what she was supposed to do. Knew what society dictated she do. But never had she been required to perform such an unpleasant task. How could this girl not know it was highly improper for her to sit at the same table as ladies?

  ‘‘You work in the hotel?’’ Lissa asked.

  ‘‘Sí. The men, they like the women. So they play at Carmelita’s table and they pay no attention to cards. They pay attention to Carmelita. So Carmelita win much gold.’’

  Whatever reservations Rachel had before, they vanished with this bit of table conversation.

  She would not, could not, expose her young and impressionable siblings to the kind of decadence Carmelita would introduce into their everyday lives. No, it was best to nip this in the bud right this very moment.

  ‘‘Carmelita, I’m sure you would understand if I were to ask you to no longer take your meals with us.’’

  Carmelita paused, spoon halfway to her mouth.

  ‘‘Don’t,’’ Lissa said. ‘‘Don’t you do this, Rachel. How could you?’’

  ‘‘I’m sorry,’’ Rachel continued, ignoring Lissa’s appeal. ‘‘But if I am to instill piety and virtue in my sister and brother, then I must do so with a clear conscience.’’

  She quickly shied away from thoughts of her less than virtuous behavior yesterday—and on a Sunday, no less.

  Carmelita’s gaze bore into Rachel, then without another word, she stood and stepped away from the table.

  Lissa jumped to her feet. ‘‘Carmelita! Wait.’’

  Carmelita swept through the curtain and into the hotel.

  Lissa leveled a glare at her sister before slamming out the back door.

  The enthusiastic shouts of men greeting Carmelita easily reached the ears of the two still in the kitchen.

  ‘‘Was that really necessary?’’ Michael asked softly.

  ‘‘Yes,’’ she answered, ‘‘but I didn’t like doing it.’’

  ‘‘I didn’t like you doing it, either.’’

  He, too, left without finishing his meal.

  Rachel forced herself to stay at the table until she’d eaten everything on her plate. Then she rose and cleared the dishes. But the entire time, her anger at Johnnie for putting her in this position simmered.

  Just wait until she got ahold of him.

  chapter 8

  The door to the shanty was propped open, giving Johnnie a clear view inside. But instead of finding Rachel, he found Merle Sumner. Sitting in a chair, his tight checkered pants peeking out from a sheet, his head thrown back, his face lathered up, and Lissa hovering above him, giving him a shave.

  ‘‘Is your neck getting tired?’’ she asked, her soft voice pouring out like liquid honey, the razor poised above Sumner’s jaw.

  He opened his eyes. ‘‘No, my dear. I do not believe I have ever felt so fine as I do at this moment.’’

  Johnnie watched her soften at the man’s words, having no idea she had an audience of two instead of one. How could she not have heard him come in? There was no question in his mind that Sumner had heard him, though. The man missed nothing. Had extremely keen senses. Most seasoned sharks did.

  She placed her free hand beneath Sumner’s head, her fingers spreading through his black hair. ‘‘I just wish I could make you a bit more comfortable.’’

  Sumner’s hand snaked out from benea
th the sheet, touching Lissa’s elbow.

  Johnnie narrowed his eyes. ‘‘Where’s Michael?’’ he asked.

  Lissa gasped. Sumner didn’t so much as flinch. Just loosely grabbed her wrist to keep her from slicing him accidentally.

  ‘‘Oh, Mr. Parker. You gave me a fright.’’ She disengaged herself from Sumner then smoothed a hand down the front of her apron.

  ‘‘Where’s Michael?’’ he repeated.

  ‘‘A new ship full of gold seekers came in today. It also carried the post, so Mr. Sumner here paid Michael to wait in line and pick up his mail for him.’’

  ‘‘Where’s your sister?’’

  ‘‘She’s at your place. Said you were paying her to water your trees.’’

  He hesitated. ‘‘What are you doing, Lissa?’’

  Sumner slowly raised his head. ‘‘I believe she is Miss Van Buren to you, is she not?’’

  Johnnie didn’t so much as acknowledge him. Kept his gaze pinned to Miss Van Buren.

  She smiled, a little too brightly. ‘‘I’m giving Mr. Sumner a shave.

  Three dollars. Would you like one?’’

  ‘‘I thought you worked with your sister.’’

  ‘‘I do, I do. But as you know, we finish up every day at noon.’’

  Johnnie moved his attention to Sumner. The man offered him a slow grin beneath the lather on his face. ‘‘You may have a turn with her, Parker. As soon as I am done.’’

  Johnnie tightened his jaw. ‘‘Does your sister know about this, Miss Van Buren?’’

  Lissa pulled herself straight. ‘‘Would you or would you not like a shave, Mr. Parker?’’

  ‘‘Depends. Where did you learn to shave a man’s face?’’

  ‘‘Your neck is safe with me, sir. I’ve been shaving my father’s for years.’’

  Johnnie pulled out a chair. ‘‘In that case, don’t mind if I do.’’

  Sumner hooked another chair with his boot, pulled it toward him, and propped his feet up onto it. Flicking the sheet so that his belly gun was visible and within easy reach, he closed his eyes and presented his face to Lissa.

  The girl became all business, holding Sumner’s jaw with one finger while pulling her strap across his face with the other hand. And in between each stroke Sumner found some reason to touch her.

  Nothing overt, but enough that by the time she had finished and her subject pulled the sheet from his neck, Johnnie’s unease had risen to volatile levels.

  Defend the poor and fatherless; Do justice to the afflicted and needy.

  He might not be a Bible-thumping churchgoing man anymore, but some habits died hard.

  Sumner measured out three dollars in dust and strolled to the door. Johnnie rose to his feet.

  ‘‘Enjoy yourself, Parker. I know I did.’’

  Johnnie waited until Romeo had cleared out before turning to Lissa. She busied herself shaking out the sheet, wiping down her instruments, and warming more water. She stirred up the shaving cream, releasing a burst of mint into the air.

  Finally, she faced him. ‘‘Please, have a seat.’’

  ‘‘This is a very dangerous game you play, Lissa.’’

  Her lips puckered. ‘‘I don’t know what mean.’’

  Johnnie advanced toward her. ‘‘Oh, I think you do. No sunbonnet has any business whatsoever attending to a man’s toilet, particularly without a chaperone. What will your sister say?’’

  ‘‘My sister is not my keeper.’’

  He stopped before her. ‘‘No? In whose shelter do you reside?’’

  She lifted her chin. ‘‘I help with the work, so this shanty is just as much mine as it is hers. Besides, you are not my father, uncle, or brother. No relation at all. I will not discuss matters of such a personal nature with you.’’

  ‘‘I see. You’re too pure to have a conversation but not too pure to perform a man’s toilet.’’

  Grabbing two corners of the cloth, she snapped it into the air, billowing it out like a flag. ‘‘Sit down, Mr. Parker. I haven’t all day.’’

  He gently took the sheet from her and proceeded to fold it. ‘‘Merle Sumner is a card shark and a womanizer. If I catch you alone with him again, I will tell your sister. In the meanwhile, you are to stick to the duties your sister assigns you. Have I made myself clear?’’

  He handed her the folded cloth.

  She snatched it from him. ‘‘Get out.’’

  Nodding once, he left the shanty and headed to the livery.

  ————

  He hadn’t planned to make another trip out to his property so soon, but as long as Rachel was out there, he’d decided to hitch up a wagon and take the new trees that had arrived on this morning’s ship.

  He could not believe she had turned Carmelita away. That woman had some kind of nerve. What a sanctimonious prig. He knew full well he could have had her at the blink of an eye yesterday.

  So the reality of it was, Rachel was no better than Carmelita. But she obviously thought she was.

  He slapped the reins a bit harder than he meant to. J.B. lurched forward, causing the potted plants to teeter before settling back down.

  She must have heard him coming, because she was waiting for him at the front stoop of the greenhouse. Her hand shaded her eyes, though the bonnet she had on today was more serviceable than the piece of fluff she had worn yesterday.

  He pulled J.B. to a stop. ‘‘Whoa there, fella.’’

  ‘‘I wasn’t expecting to see you.’’ She moved to the wagon. ‘‘Where did all those come from?’’

  Jumping from his perch, he rounded the wagon and yanked the dowels out of their housing. The hatch fell open.

  ‘‘Why, what are they?’’ she asked. ‘‘They smell wonderful.’’

  He began to loosen the ropes that secured the saplings to the bed. He knew he was being rude, but he didn’t trust himself to speak yet. He shouldn’t have come.

  ‘‘Johnnie?’’

  He released the square knot, then pulled the rope hand over hand.

  She stepped closer. ‘‘I need to speak to you about something.’’

  He flung the rope down. ‘‘You have anything against Mexicans?’’

  Her hand flew to her throat. ‘‘Of course not.’’

  ‘‘Then you care to explain to me why you tossed Carmelita out of my kitchen today?’’

  Jerking her hand down, she whipped her spine up so straight she gained a whole inch in height. ‘‘I had no choice.’’

  ‘‘Yes you did.’’

  Her shoulders sagged a bit. ‘‘I really didn’t, Johnnie. What would people think if I allowed a fallen woman to break bread with my family three times a day?’’

  ‘‘I see.’’ He turned back to the wagon bed and grabbed the tree he’d freed. ‘‘You’re worried about what people would think. Well, that’s very Christian of you.’’

  ‘‘No! I mean, well, it wasn’t just that.’’

  Lifting the pot off the planks, he strode around her and into the hothouse.

  She scrambled after him. ‘‘I have a responsibility, Johnnie. To my family. To the community. If I associate with her, it would look as if I was condoning her behavior.’’

  He slammed the tree down onto a shelf. The exotic fragrance of the new eucalyptus permeated the glass structure.

  ‘‘And just what kind of behavior are you referring to?’’

  ‘‘You know perfectly well what I mean. She works in a saloon.’’

  ‘‘So do you.’’

  ‘‘I most certainly do not. I clean a hotel during its nonoperating hours.’’

  ‘‘A hotel that doubles as a saloon.’’

  ‘‘Quit splitting hairs with me, Johnnie.’’ She propped her fists on her waist. ‘‘If it were just me, that would be one thing. But it’s not. I have Lissa and Michael to think about. Don’t you see?’’

  ‘‘Prove it.’’

  ‘‘What do you mean?’’

  ‘‘I’ll send Michael and Lissa on an errand. And whil
e they are gone, you, Carmelita, and I can sit down and share a meal.’’

  She clasped her hands. ‘‘But I can’t. Lissa and Michael might catch us or hear about it later, and then I wouldn’t have a leg to stand on.’’

  ‘‘Sounds like a bunch of excuses to me.’’

  ‘‘My family comes first, Johnnie. And there are rules of society that govern what is acceptable behavior for a lady and what is not. That town at the bottom of the hill may think it doesn’t have to follow the edicts of society, but it does. And it’s going to start at my dinner table.’’

  ‘‘Is that a fact?’’

  ‘‘Yes, it is.’’

  ‘‘Well guess what? It just so happens that it is my dinner table we eat at. And because of that, I get to choose who sits at it and who doesn’t. So let me make this perfectly clear.’’ He pointed a finger at her. ‘‘Carmelita can sit, eat, drink, and cavort at my table all the day long if she wants to. You got that?’’

  Rachel stood in the middle of the aisle, sickly trees on both sides, righteous indignation coming off her in waves. ‘‘Then Michael, Lissa, and I will take our meals in the shanty.’’

  So. She wanted to fight dirty, did she? ‘‘What? You think you can single-handedly reform me or Carmelita or all of San-Fran-cisco, Miss Van Buren?’’

  She said nothing.

  He slowly closed the gap between them. ‘‘Because if you do, you might want to start in your own backyard, so to speak.’’

  Her lips thinned. ‘‘Just what is that supposed to mean?’’

  He slid his gaze down one side of her frame and up the other, making a point to pause at the most inappropriate places. ‘‘Well, there’s the little matter of your, shall we say, loose behavior yesterday, not to mention the fact that your sister runs a shaving salon right inside the hallowed walls of your shanty.’’

  Innocent confusion fanned across her face before she frowned. ‘‘What are you talking about?’’

  He gave her a heated look. ‘‘Well, my dear, it is my understanding that unmarried respectable girls do not wallow about in men’s laps, giving them free access to their pure, chaste bodies.’’

  The slap was quick, hard, and painful. He didn’t so much as flinch.

  ‘‘I needn’t any reminders of my own wayward behavior, Mr. Parker. I was asking for clarification on the shaving-salon issue.’’