Blossom broke in. “Are you telling me that my mother is not Chinese and that she’s alive? You decided that this is the right time to tell me?”
Blossom quickly considered what she’d been told and then asked, “She has a working name? What does she do for work? Does she need a stage name because she’s a beer hall singer?”
Grand Ma Maw slid her hand across Blossom’s lips.
“Perhaps it best to be silent, my child. Let me tell you our story…your story.”
Blossom slowly nodded in agreement.
“Love be wonderful. Love be messy. Love even be wonderfully messy. You the result of wonderfully messy love,” observed the old woman.
“Your Grand Ba Ba and I raise your father the very best we could. You know all about how we come here to Gum Saan, the gold mountain. We make food to feed prospectors. Miners just put things over fire and take what happens. My cooking, they like! We wash dirty clothes of other people for extra money. That where your father met your mother. I always call her by her real name, Iris, because her eyes not like any eyes I ever seen…until I see your lavender eyes. Men along river nickname her Cameo Rose because she always wore cameo brooch.” She paused. “Go to my dresser.”
Blossom obeyed her grandmother.
“Open top drawer.”
Blossom did.
“Now, pull it out of dresser. Take light and shine it inside.”
She did.
There, resting against the back wall of the dresser was a worn cameo brooch.
“It yours now. She give it to me to give to you when I think it right time. Now is time.”
Blossom sat down next to Grand Ma Maw. She studied the oval-shaped brooch, with its white and caramel-brown carved set of three blooming roses. It was a “three stages of love” brooch with a bud, a half-open bud and a fully blooming rose. It was surrounded by a beaded edge of silver. A single pearl dangled freely from the center of the broach’s bottom edge. She ran her fingers over it again and again as if it would conjure up an image of her mother.
“It not a crystal ball,” Grand Ma Maw whispered.
“You said the men along the river called her Cameo Rose. I get the cameo part and the rose part, but not the working-along-the-river part. Was she a prospector?”
Grand Ma Maw inhaled deeply again. “No, she not. She was artist. Make beautiful drawings and paintings. That one she paint,” said Grand Ma Maw as she pointed to the life-like portrait of Chang that hung on the wall near Grand Ma Maw’s bed.
“Look at the love in his eyes. She see it. She paint it. Perhaps that where you get your talent with pencil and paint brush. Her sketchbook was your sketchbook all along. First pictures in book from her eyes and hands.”
Blossom smiled slightly. In the past, she’d wondered who had been the previous owner of the book. But years ago, she stopped thinking or asking about it.
“But you also must know this. Iris was like your friend Monique.”
“A prostitute? You’re telling me that my mother was a prostitute?” a now pop-eyed Blossom replied.
“Yes.”
“Did she work in a parlor house, a dance hall or a…what was it that Monique called it? Oh yes, a crib. She wasn’t a streetwalker was she?”
“I not know what you mean. But most people call her good-time girl,” Grand Ma Maw replied and added, “But your father, he love her with all his heart. And she love your father. She involved with young man from family of bakers who made special bread. It tasted sour. It sturdy and last a long time. We ate a lot of it. Anyway, she became pregnant. No one know your father and her was lovers. That would have ruined her life among the white men.”
Blossom was doing her best to listen and not ask questions. But it was impossible to remain silent.
“If she was a prostitute, how did anyone know who the father—my father was? It could have been anyone along the river, right?”
Grand Ma Maw looked out the open window. “Think of it, my child. Iris had pale white skin with eyes the color of lavender iris. She white and laid down only with white men—until she met my Chang. They fell in love, despite my many warnings. I try to keep them apart. But their love pull them together. It meant to be. You meant to be. Iris stop working soon after.”
Blossom listened, waiting for more.
“We all knew that a couple—Chinese man and lily-white woman—never be accepted anywhere. It against law. Then add baby. Their love must be hidden. So, she give you to me to raise, along with cameo. She left and it destroy her…and your father too. Not like heart ache. Not even like heart break. This worse. Like glass that fall and shatter into too many bitty pieces to put back together.” Grand Ma Maw made a sweeping motion with both hands toward the floor as if the glass shards were scattered in all directions.
“You too young to understand, but there come time when you notice how life stop giving you things and how life start taking them away. For your father, this time came too early. But, what we do was right thing to do. My mother told me young ones always stand on shoulders of generations that come before them. She said her mother told her same thing. Older lift up younger for better life.”
Grand Ma Maw stopped before continuing her story.
“I can’t believe that I caused their sadness and separation. It was my fault, wasn’t it? What am I thinking, of course it was my fault,” Blossom acknowledged painfully.
“No. This not your fault. We move here to Chinatown and start new, like springtime. Start our business. No laundry this time. I hate washing other people’s clothes. We told everyone your mother die in childbirth. And, until now, story worked.”
Grand Ma Maw noticed the hurt feelings that were not the least bit masked on Blossom’s face.
“She send me some letters and some money, from time to time. She never give return address, so I cannot tell you where she is. She visit once. But it not go well. You very small. What left of your father’s heart shatter all over again. She never come back. ”
Blossom was stunned as the pieces of her past came together.
“But what about the photo of my mother on Ba Ba’s nightstand?”
“She one of our relatives who we knew would never come here,” explained Grand Ma Maw.
“Do you have a photo of my real mother?”
“Yes. You find Iris in frame behind your cousin’s photo.”
Blossom got up to retrieve it, but Grand Ma Maw’s hand tugged her back.
“You sure you want to see her now? You been through too much already?”
“Yes, I want to know and see it all now. I’m feeling like my life is a series of questions that I didn’t know I had to ask!”
“Alright, but do not disturb your father. Let him sleep one more night not knowing that you know truth about him and your mother. Tomorrow come fast enough, I believe, and he tell you more. He hold this in so long that he be happy to tell you, even if it mean reliving it and it breaking heart all over again.”
“Relive it? Don’t you think he does that already?” asked Blossom. “If they loved each other the way you described, how could he have held the truth in so long and not relived it in his mind every day?”
Grand Ma Maw listened but did not respond.
“What I think I’ve learned about love with Brock makes this whole thing seem unbearable. I couldn’t do it. I won’t do it if Brock loves me the way I believe he does and says he does.”
“Blossom, learn from those of us who walk path before you. Maybe we make wrong decision, maybe right decision. This—” Grand Ma Maw stopped to collect her thoughts. “This your time for choices and decisions. Choose your path wisely and have no regrets. These words come from a woman at end of her life. You have much to look forward to.”
“But I don’t feel like I have any choices to make, Grand Ma Maw.”
“Oh, my treasured one, you always have choices. Don’t ever forget that. If you remember anything—anything—that I say to you in your lifetime, know that you always have a choice even if you do n
ot see it. Your courage and ability to make choices separate you from other peoples. Do not ever, ever lose that.”
“I hear the words you are saying, Grand Ma Maw, and I know you are speaking with wisdom in your heart. But it’s hard to see too far into the future, considering that the man I love with all of my heart is getting married on Saturday…and not to me.”
Chapter 33
The Morning After
Tuesday, April 17, 1906, 9:03 a.m.
One day before the earthquake and firestorm
“Rise and shine, my pet,” announced Austin sweetly. He held his head in a wince-inducing attempt to soothe the throbbing brought on by too much liquor and fun the night before. “Sonofabitch” he yelled, all the words smashed together into one angry word outburst.
“Oh, well, that was useless, now wasn’t it?” he continued, discovering that Brock was not in the room and his bed was made.
“What fresh hell is this? I can’t remember how the night ended, but I’m here and he’s not. I wonder which of us had the better time?”
He looked into the hallway mirror. A purple lump on his forehead was clearly visible. He pulled his hair forward to cover the mysterious addition to his face.
“I guess that’s why they call them bangs after all!” Austin rubbed his unshaved chin and headed down to the kitchen for some much-needed coffee.
Upon entering the room, he placed his order. “Coffee, black. Toast, dry. Shot of whiskey, straight up. Ice, wrapped in a towel.” He plopped himself at the servants’ table and placed his forehead on the cool marble tabletop with an audible thump.
“Ugh, another bad move on my part!”
“Mr. Austin, do you want it brown or burnt today?” asked Clementine in a response that had become a routine between them.
“You pick. My head might explode if I think too hard.”
Clementine replied, “Yes, sir.”
Austin summoned the energy and fortitude to softly sing some lyrics in a slurry and somewhat unclear way.
“In a cavern, in a canyon,
Excavating for a mine,
Dwelt a miner forty niner,
And his daughter, Clementine.
Oh my darling, oh my darling,
Oh my darling Clementine,
Thou art lost and gone forever,
Dreadful sorry, Clementine.
How I missed her! How I missed her!
How I missed my Clementine,
Till I kissed her little sister,
And forgot my Clementine.”
Clementine shook her head. Austin had been singing that song in her presence since he was a boy. Even then, he would scramble the lyrics to make it his own song.
“Did my precious brother come and go already? Off to see his blessed cows and horses, I’d guess.”
“Yes, sir, indeed he did,” said the woman with a slow Southern accent, drawing out her words as if they were stuck in melted caramel.
“Did he have a hangover?”
“No, sir. How was the party?”
“It was wicked, like it should have been,” he replied and raised his eyebrows several times in a synchronized pattern.
“And between us girls, would you believe that snotty Faye Huntington showed up…at Prickly Pete’s! There’s something about her that makes me crazy!”
“Your parents and her parents were mighty close…until you kids came along. Usually that brings folks together,” said Clementine as she poured Austin’s coffee. “Not your folks.” She placed his two drinks down in front of him.
“Here’s your coffee and whiskey. Toast will be ready soon.”
The South was known for strong coffee, and Clementine made it that way. “My Pa, may he rest in peace, used to say that coffee should be black as night, strong as love and hot as hell!”
“He was right!” Austin sipped slowly from his cup until he thought about Brock again.
“Cows and horses. Horses and cows. He’s stuck in the past. It’s like he can’t see the future…the future that’s right here on our streets.”
Clementine listened as she fussed with some just-washed kitchen utensils.
“I’m going to get me one of those automobiles. That’ll show him. They’re all over the city now and I’m not going to be left behind, even if they do have trouble with the city’s hills.”
He went on, “I’m leaving the horses—and the never-ending trail of horse shit—behind with Brock. I’ll have a shiny new automobile. He can keep his hay-burning oatsmobiles!”
A searing bolt of pain drilled into Austin’s forehead. In a half-hearted attempt to distract himself, he took a long drag on the cup’s edge as if he was inhaling the heavy smoke of a cigar.
With great satisfaction, he sighed. The distraction appeared to work.
“Burns my britches, yes, it burns my britches. I live for nights that I can’t remember while he’s off playing farmer and marrying a beautiful woman. On top of that, he’s the apple of Mother’s eye. Could anyone’s life get better?”
The cook slid a plate of bone-dry burnt toast in front of Austin. “I couldn’t rightly say, sir, but this toast might help you see the world differently. There’s nothing like black coffee, golden whiskey and burnt toast to set you straight. That was my Pa’s remedy too.”
“It may set me straight, but straight toward what?”
“You’ll find your way, Mr. Austin. With your brother married and out of the house soon, you’ll have your mother’s undivided attention for the first time in your life. Maybe she’ll help you in ways that she hasn’t been able to in the past.”
She put her hand on his shoulder and patted him.
“Yeah, that’s exactly what I need, my mother’s undivided attention. That ought to do me as much good as a brand-new Bible in a brothel.”
“Let’s face it, I’ve always been like leftovers around here. I got what was left from my parents after Brock got the attention and praise.”
Austin moved the chair next to him out and away from the table. He motioned Clementine to sit down.
“You know I can’t sit with you, even here in my kitchen. If your mother saw that, well, it just wouldn’t be good.” She didn’t sit down, but she did lean against the counter’s edge.
“Ya know, all I am is…what I’m not. I’m not like Father. Not like Brock. Not like Mother. I’m just me and that doesn’t seem to add up to much. But, and this is a big but, I might have hit on something the other day, Clementine. It fascinated me, and the men who were doing it fascinated me too.”
Clementine looked intrigued. “And just what was that, if I might ask?”
“I was on Market Street and it was the usual chaos. Motorcars, streetcars, carriages, wagons, pedestrians and newspaper boys were all hurrying in every direction, with no one in control of the whole mess. It was kind of like when you kick an ant hill.”
Clementine nodded.
“I walked in front of a stopped cable car and noticed everyone was waving at it. I got on the cable car and on the front end of it were two men and a hand-crank camera. The cable car was facing the bay and the Ferry Building at the end of the line.”
Austin stopped to sip his coffee and have a bite of toast.
“So what happened next?” asked Clementine, her interest piqued.
“The cable car started moving and the two men started taking turns wildly cranking the camera. When I asked them about what they were doing, they said they were making a travelogue that would be shown in cinemas all over the country.”
“Tell me more.”
“They cranked like mad men. They sang Daisy Bell over and over again. It helped them keep the rhythm of the cranking the same. You know…‘Daisy, Daisy, Give me your answer, do; I’m half crazy; All for the love of you.’”
Austin stopped and rubbed his forehead. “It was nuts I tell you, just nuts. If I heard them get to the point of ‘a bicycle built for two’ one more time I thought I’d jump right off the cable car and head to a saloon. But I couldn’t. I had to
see what happened next.”
Clementine blinked in an exaggerated way.
“I looked ahead and to the sides to see what the camera was recording. I saw the biggest dray being pulled by teamsters with a line-up of horses hauling the delivery. It was like a barge moving through town! Anyway, they cranked all the way from 8th Street until we got to the Ferry Building and turned around on the turntable. I offered to help crank, but they said ‘no.’ I got their card. It’s in my wallet upstairs. I think their last name was Miles, and they were brothers.”
“Sounds fascinating.”
“You should have seen how people stopped and stared, but most waved and smiled and acted a little crazy. Even a flock of nuns with wings on their hats waved—modestly, of course. No one stood still, like you have to when a photograph is taken. These pictures were being taken in motion and, believe me, everyone was in motion!”
He took another sip of coffee and nibbled on the dry toast.
“I haven’t seen you this excited about anything in years,” said Clementine.
“There’s something there. I’m not sure what it is yet, but I’ve got to learn more about taking pictures in motion.”
Clementine nodded and patted Austin on the shoulder again.
“There’s an old saying where I come from,” she said with a glistening eye. “It says, ‘Pray, then move your feet!’ You can’t just wish and dream all day or your life will pass you by. Look at what your father earned in his life, and he earned it with hard work.”
Austin nodded in return, though he was never too keen on the idea of work, much less hard work.
“You might be onto something. People like to watch people, now don’t they?” she asked. “Just look at all the benches in the parks…so folks can watch the parade go by even when there isn’t a circus in town.”
He rested his chin on the palm of his hand. His elbow was firmly on the tabletop.
“Yes, yes they do.”
“Then, before too many other people get the same notion as you, you best get on that idea of yours quicker than a grease fire in a grimy kitchen!”
Blossom (The Blossom Trilogy Book 1) Page 18