The Measure of a Lady
Page 31
‘‘In three years time I expect our home to be covered with graded drives, grass-covered plateaus, flowers, and young trees.’’
He had worked his way to her elbow and ran into the sleeve. Then kept going, kissing her right through the fabric and along the rest of her arm.
She turned to look at him, bumping him with the brim of her bonnet. ‘‘Oh. I’m sorry.’’
He placed her hand on his shoulder and made quick work of the bow at her chin, drawing the silken piece off her head. ‘‘You are so beautiful.’’
Encircling her waist, he drew her flush against him, her bonnet still in his hand, and kissed her. Not the chaste kiss he had bestowed after the ceremony, but a real kiss. A deep kiss. A kiss of a man and his wife.
She ran her fingers up into his hair, grabbing handfuls of his thick, black mane. ‘‘It’s still light outside,’’ she whispered.
He said nothing, yet he must have dropped her silk bonnet because his hands held nothing but her now. He kneaded her waist, her sides, her shoulder blades.
‘‘Johnnie.’’ She tugged. ‘‘The book said we must wait until dark.’’
He leaned just far enough away to look at her, his hands cupping her sides, his thumbs moving restlessly over her rib cage. ‘‘The Good Book?’’
‘‘No,’’ she said, allowing her lids to close and her head to fall back.
‘‘My father’s medical book. Written by a doctor. A very renowned doctor.’’
His thumbs became more bold. A tiny moan escaped before she could stop it.
‘‘Rachel, love, the only book I care about is the Good Book. And if it’s not in the Good Book, then I don’t care what time of day it is.’’
She fluttered open her eyes. ‘‘You don’t think it’s a sin, then?’’
He wrapped her close, cradling her head against his chest. ‘‘I know it’s not.’’
She sagged into him. ‘‘Oh, thank heavens.’’
She felt him smile against her hair before scooping her into his arms and carrying her to their room in the back.
ONE YEAR LATER
epilogue
The bell on the Cottage Cafe door jingled. Rachel looked up. The sunbonnet woman couldn’t have been more than fifteen years old and far too pretty for her own good.
Tall, slender, regal, and with a set of magnificent violet eyes, she clutched a valise in one gloved hand and held her wool shawl together with the other. Michael stood beside her, two more valises in his hand.
Silence descended as everyone in the room came to his feet. Rachel immediately moved to them.
‘‘Miss Eldridge,’’ Michael said, ‘‘this is my sister Mrs. Parker.’’
Rachel smiled. ‘‘How do you do?’’
The girl curtsied. Rachel raised her brows and looked at Michael.
‘‘I found her at the wharf looking kind of lost. She just arrived. Her uncle died on the passage over.’’
Rachel placed her arm around the girl. ‘‘Oh, you poor dear. Are you all alone?’’
Miss Eldridge nodded.
Rachel tilted her head. ‘‘So, how many marriage proposals did you receive between here and the bay?’’
The girl blushed.
Michael scowled. ‘‘A hundred, at least. Starting with Harry. I think that old codger lies in wait at the wharf just hoping one of these days some bonnet’s going to say yes. You should have seen them. They—’’
‘‘Michael?’’
He stopped short, realizing his audience. Blood rushed to his cheeks. ‘‘I beg your pardon, miss. I meant no disrespect.’’
Rachel watched in fascination as each of them seemed to turn redder than the other. Michael finally caught himself ogling her and held out a hand—satchel and all—indicating she and Rachel precede him.
Rachel led her to the back. As soon as they crossed into the kitchen, the noise in the dining room rose with excitement.
Michael set the valises down next to the wall and disappeared into the scullery.
Annie wiped her hands on her apron. ‘‘Well, who do we have here?’’
‘‘This is Miss Eldridge, just off the boat,’’ Rachel said. Josephine set a glass of lemonade on the table. ‘‘Here, take a rest now, sugar. You have any family?’’
Miss Eldridge shook her head and took the proffered chair.
‘‘Any place to stay?’’ This from Mary Belle.
Another shake.
Carmelita sank into the chair beside her. ‘‘Any dinero? Money?’’
Tears filled the girl’s eyes.
All productivity in the kitchen came to a halt as the girls surrounded Miss Eldridge and offered words of comfort and support.
Johnnie and Soda came through the back door. Johnnie made immediate eye contact with Rachel.
‘‘A new arrival,’’ she said.
‘‘Ahhh.’’ He set two bottles of milk on the worktable. ‘‘And our customers?’’
She bit her cheek. ‘‘Would most likely appreciate some service.’’
‘‘Selma?’’ Johnnie yelled above the commotion the girls were making.
Selma’s head popped up like a jack-in-the-box.
‘‘Can’t you control these girls any better than this?’’
She smiled. ‘‘It’s a bonnet, Johnnie. And she’s all alone.’’
‘‘Yeah? Well, so are our customers.’’
‘‘Bonnets?’’ Selma asked.
He narrowed his eyes. ‘‘Alone.’’
‘‘Oh, all right, then.’’ She clapped her hands. ‘‘Come on, girls. Back to work. We have some customers with a hankerin’ for some grub.’’
The door jingled.
‘‘I’ll get it,’’ Rachel said.
She swept into the dining room and smiled, moving to give Lissa a hug. ‘‘Hello, dear.’’
Rachel gave a nod to her companion. ‘‘Mr. Sumner.’’
‘‘Mrs. Parker.’’ He removed his hat, greeting several men at the various tables but receiving only grunts in return, if anything.
She hooked elbows with Lissa and pulled her away, saying over her shoulder, ‘‘I’m borrowing my sister for a while.’’
Productivity stopped again as the girls all welcomed Lissa. They introduced her to Miss Eldridge, and Lissa sat down. Faint bluish circles teased the otherwise flawless skin below her eyes.
Pulling off her gloves, Lissa told the girl it would be safest if she stayed in the House of Refuge where she had the protection of the Parkers.
She described the grounds to her. ‘‘It’s nothing like it is here in town. The House of Refuge sets in the middle of Parker’s Tree Farm.’’
Selma gave Lissa a glass of lemonade.
She took a dainty sip. ‘‘There are mounds and hillocks, a huge orchard of baby trees, and a brook winding through the eastern quadrant. But my favorite spot is the pond. Oh, wait until you see it. It is edged with water lilies and filled with swans and ducks.’’
Johnnie quietly walked to Rachel’s side and slipped his arm around her waist, giving her a squeeze of comfort. Lissa loved it out at the House of Refuge, but she would not leave Sumner.
Mrs. Sumner had boarded a boat two months ago to return to the land of her youth. Freeing Sumner to move back in with Lissa.
Rachel ground her teeth together. If there was anyone she wanted to refuse service to, it was Mr. Sumner. A more despicable man she could not imagine. Catching herself, she sighed.
I’m sorry, Lord. I simply do not like him, even though I know him to be knitted together with your very hands. Help me. Help me want to forgive him.
Michael returned to the kitchen and gave Lissa a kiss on the cheek. She noticed his flushed face, guessed at the cause, and proceeded to discomfit him as only a sibling could do.
Rachel had no doubt Lissa understood that any time she wanted, she could walk away from Sumner. And when she did, her family would be there. Waiting.
Rachel looked up.
Johnnie winked, mouthing I love you.
author’s note
Because the city of San Francisco burnt down six times in less than two years (the first time being in December of 1849), much of our gold rush history was lost in those flames—making it exceedingly difficult for the city to preserve original artifacts of the time. Therefore, I had to rely heavily on the personal diaries and journals written by eyewitnesses. Once I had exhausted those sources, I turned to the wonderful compilations historians have made readily available.
I discovered California’s history to be so rich it seemed superfluous to make up anecdotes when the real ones were so very colorful. The story about the small boy gambling with duck-shot: true. The bull and bear fight: true. The ‘‘hang him’’ episode: true. The masquerade ball: true. The street sign mentioned at the opening of the novel: true. The name of George Washington’s dog: true.
And those were just the tip of the iceberg. I wish I could have incorporated all the tales I unearthed, but there simply wasn’t room. It was a fun and entertaining journey, though, and one that my high school American History class skimmed over with alarming brevity.
The City Hotel and the Parker House were both prominent hotels/saloons in San Francisco, but they were owned by Sam Brannan (City Hotel) and Robert Parker (Parker House). I had actually already named my male protagonist Johnnie Parker before discovering there was a Parker House. So it seemed natural to make him the owner of those establishments for the benefit of my story. Johnnie is totally and completely a fictional character, in no way reflecting the actual owners of those establishments.
Blessings,
Deeanne Gist
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Table of Contents
Cover Page
Title Page
Copyright Page
Table Of Contents
acknowledgments
Sanfrancisco April 1849
chapter 1
chapter 2
chapter 3
chapter 4
chapter 5
chapter 6
chapter 7
chapter 8
chapter 9
chapter 10
chapter 11
chapter 12
chapter 13
chapter 14
chapter 15
chapter 16
chapter 17
chapter 18
chapter 19
chapter 20
chapter 21
chapter 22
chapter 23
chapter 24
chapter 25
One Year Later
epilogue
author’s note