The Rose Legacy

by Kristen Heitzmann

  “Well, you’re just exotic enough to attract more attention than you want.”

  Carina slid the gun barrel into the waist of her skirt. She had never before handled a weapon, but she was glad for it now. “Thank you.”

  The air was frigid as she stepped outside and looked cautiously about. She saw no sign of the Carruthers while she filled the pitcher at the pump, but the skin on her neck crawled, thinking they could be watching from the house, her house.

  Exotic? There were Italians in Crystal. She had seen them, heard them on the street as she passed through the day before. But they were contadini, southern peasants, not northern Italians from the Kingdom of Sardinia like her papa. They came to America with nothing, came to escape hardship, but they were ill-equipped to rise to higher status. Could they be, as Papa said, so entrenched in hardship they clung to it?

  She had not known such hardship, and she crossed herself in gratitude, then reached for the pump handle. She had not even known hunger, thanks to God and her papa. Angelo Pasquale DiGratia was an educated man and a gifted physician. He had been famous in Salerno, a friend of Count Camillo Benso di Cavour, prime minister to Victor Emmanuel II, king of Sardinia-Piedmont.

  And he was well respected in Sonoma. With his classic patrician features, blond hair, and blue eyes, his knowledge of seven languages, four of which he could read as well, and, most of all, his ability to heal … ah, Angelo Pasquale DiGratia was a great man. She felt a homesick pang. Oh, Papa.

  With the full pitcher, she made her way back to the boardinghouse. Inside her room, Carina scrubbed with the vendor’s soap, then brushed her hair into a dark, rippled veil down her back. Closing her eyes, she tossed it softly back, feeling the length of it brush the top of her thighs. Loose like this, it was her finest feature, or so Flav—

  She jerked her head upright. She would not think of that. Her hair dried while she brushed the dust from her blouse and skirt and donned them again. Once she was dressed, she twisted and clipped her hair at the nape with the horn barrette her mother had given her.

  First she would check on Dom. She would have to leave him at the livery until Mr. Beck got her house back. But she would see Mr. Beck directly. After that, she would attend to the task that burned most fiercely.

  Carina pulled the door closed behind her. From the tumult downstairs she guessed Mae was still serving food, and when she reached the stairs, she saw it was so. The benches, made of a single log hewn lengthwise and supported by thinner crossed logs, overflowed with more men than Mae housed.

  Every table was filled, and as fast as Mae shoved platters of meat and hot cakes down, they were devoured. Like slopped hogs, the men ate, then took up their hats and walked out. There was no refinement, no leisurely enjoyment. She pictured her own papa at the breakfast table, his shirt white in the gentle sunlight, his motions elegant, relaxed, his smile quick as his laughter. Even her brothers with their pranking did not match this … coarseness.

  Watching the miners, her hunger left her. Though the smell of fried bacon and woodsmoke teased her nose, Carina shook her head. Even were there room for her, she would not join them. She slipped out unnoticed.

  The morning air had a bite, though the June sun climbed up the clear sky. It seemed to have no power yet to warm the day. As she turned onto Central Street, she passed three boys scrabbling in the sawdust swept out from the floor of the Boise Billiard Hall. Carina wrinkled her nose at the smell of whiskey, vomit, and tobacco spittle in the sawdust, but the boys seemed oblivious. One jumped up and hallooed, gripping a coin above his head. The other two dug their fingers in with renewed fervor. She looked away.

  Empty ore wagons, hauled by mules or horse teams, made their way out to the mines. She turned toward the stable. Tavish Livery and Feed. A sign to the right of the door read:

  City transfer & hack line

  Expressing and hauling

  And on the left:

  Boarding horses a specialty

  Horses let by the day, week, or month

  Carriages to Wasson Lake and all points of interest

  Fine saddle horses.

  Inside, she strained in the dim light. Dom was there, and beyond him, she saw the freighter’s blacks. So he was in town somewhere, no doubt delivering his precious cargo. He who made free with her own precious things. Dom whickered as she reached for his muzzle.

  “Help you, lass?”

  She turned to the wizened ostler, so bent his head was no higher than hers. His knuckles, like crab apples, gripped the harness he held. A pang for Ti’Giusseppe seized her, and she swallowed the lump of longing in her throat. “This is my mule.”

  “Ah, the one with a will of ‘is own, now.”

  “He was trouble?”

  “Not an animal alive gives Alan Tavish trouble, lassie. I have the way with them, ye see.”

  She smiled, sensing the same affectionate passion for creatures her ti’Giusseppe possessed. That, at least, she could be glad of. Dom was in a good place.

  “Are you needin’ ‘im hitched up, then?”

  Hitch him to what, rubble on the mountainside? She frowned to think of her belongings crashed to pieces and felt the hurt and anger still inside. Oofa! Enough. What was done was done. “Thank you, no. But I will need him saddled … if you have a saddle?”

  “I do, but not a lady’s.”

  “I can ride astride.” As she had with Flavio too many times.

  “Then I’ll get ‘im ready for ye.”

  “Thank you. I’ll come back.” Carina blinked as she stepped back outside into the brightness and headed across the street.

  “Watch it!”

  She jumped back from the irate driver and his string of shaggy mules straining with a load of ore.

  “Lose yer purty head if you don’t watch out!” He spat a brown string.

  Carina raised a bent arm topped with her fist. “Animale!” Twice now she had been spat at by tobacco-chewing brutes. Animals! Not even Ti’Lorenzo, who always held a plug in his cheek, American-style, had ever spat in her direction.

  Gathering her skirt, she crossed through the traffic and started down the uneven boardwalk to Berkley Beck’s office. When he didn’t answer her rap on the door, she tried the knob. It held fast. Surveying the street, she saw no sign of him among the growing crowd, so she made her way to the Crystal Hotel.

  Unlike the night before, the dining room was empty, though by its condition, it had been well used earlier. The miners must rise with the sun, or more likely from the noise last night, they simply stumbled from the gaming halls back to their diggings in the mountainside.

  Only Berkley Beck lingered at the corner table, engrossed in a newspaper. The coffee steam from his cup drew her irresistibly.

  At her approach, he jumped up. “Miss DiGratia.”

  “Good morning, Mr. Beck.”

  “Please.” He held the chair for her.

  Carina sat.

  “May I order you breakfast?”

  Her appetite had not returned. “Only coffee.”

  “That I have already.” He turned over a white china cup and poured from the pot beside his plate.

  Carina sipped slowly, breathing the aroma. A pang of longing seized her for Mamma’s coffee and cake. She could almost breathe its fragrance, and her mouth watered at the thought. No one matched Mamma’s tarelle. She sighed.

  “I trust you spent a restful night?” Mr. Beck’s voice was sincere.

  She raised her eyebrows. “A loud night, but I did make a friend.”

  “A friend?”

  “Yes. A fat-cheeked fellow.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Did this fellow have a name?”

  “Topo, I guess. He skittered under the floor board before I could make his proper acquaintance.”

  “Aha.” Berkley Beck laughed. “You’ll find the rodent population thriving. There’s not a cat in town. Are you sure you won’t eat?”

  Carina shook her head. “Thank you, no. I came to find you. I went first to your
office.”

  “I’m afraid I do dawdle over breakfast. A terrible habit, but one I cultivate nonetheless. I apologize.”

  “There’s no need.”

  “Now that you’ve found me, I can only hope it wasn’t all business.” Again his broad teeth flashed.

  She returned his smile. “I’m anxious to have my situation resolved. I had expected to be settled in already, and today I meant to find employment.”

  “Employment, Miss DiGratia?”

  She took out the advertisement that had appeared in the same paper as the one for her house and held it out to Mr. Beck. “You see here? Professional opportunities for women. Contact Madame LeGuerre.”

  Mr. Beck’s eyes went abruptly from the advertisement to her. “Unless I have misread you, Miss DiGratia, these are not the professional opportunities you seek.”

  “What do you mean? It says training provided.”

  Mr. Beck folded the advertisement and covered it with his hand on the table. “I would encourage you not to pursue this avenue further.”

  “Why not?”

  “Madame LeGuerre is a … well, a madam.” Carina looked at him blankly.

  “A woman of the night.”

  Her eyes widened involuntarily. “You mean this is … but …” Carina spread her hands. Was it possible? Yet another error? “I didn’t know. I purchased a house. I intended to learn a profession—not that profession. I …” She sagged in her chair. “I don’t know what to do.”

  He would tell her to go home, that Crystal was no place for her. And he would be right. Oh the shame, to go home to Flavio’s taunting…. Hadn’t he said as much, calling her a foolish girl? He’d been angry, irate that she was leaving. But he was right. What would she do now?

  Mr. Beck laid a comforting hand over hers. “Miss DiGratia, I would be happy to engage you as an assistant.”

  She started. “An assistant?”

  “You no doubt noticed the deplorable condition of my office.”

  Now that he mentioned it, she did recall the cluttered desk and the stacks of books and papers along the wall. She had been too stunned by her situation to consider it before, but now … What were her choices?

  She looked into the earnest face before her. “Are you doing this out of kindness, Mr. Beck?”

  “Yours would be the kindness, Miss DiGratia. I’m a desperate slob.”

  That would not be so different from Mr. Garibaldi, whose books she’d kept. “Have you enough business to afford—”

  “Heavens, yes! I’m over my head with claim disputes, property settlements …”

  “Such as mine?” Carina raised the challenge pointedly. She couldn’t let him forget.

  “Well, yes, as a matter of fact.” He smoothed back his hair. “Then it will be some time before you settle it?”

  Beck sipped his coffee, dabbed his lips with the napkin, then folded and laid it over his plate. “Miss DiGratia, you have my word. I’ll move with all due haste. But …” He straightened. “I won’t mislead you. It will be involved.”

  Carina’s heart sank. “Involved means time.”

  He nodded regretfully. “My concern is that the transaction you made on the house may be as misleading as this one.” He patted the folded newsprint beneath his palm.

  Her anger flared. How had she been so duped? Was she a dunce, an imbecile? Innocente! Again she had trusted!

  Glancing up, she saw the freighter who had destroyed her wagon. It had to be the same, his brown hair hanging to his shoulders, the mustache jaunty and full. He stood in the doorway looking like a Corsican pirate, even without a gold ring in his ear and a sash at his waist. He’d acted one, too. It was piracy he’d practiced on her, no matter his reasons. Her blood burned at the very sight of him.

  He turned when the red-haired woman Mr. Beck had addressed as Mrs. Barton hastened to his side. She looked like a different woman, all sweetness and joy, the craggy sides of her mouth folded back around her smile, revealing long ferretlike teeth. “Quillan Shepard, bless you. You’ve brought my order?”

  Quillan Shepard. A rogue embodied, and this woman transformed from a silent malcontent to a doting aunt. Carina couldn’t help but stare. Bless him? How could anyone bless such a man?

  Mrs. Barton took the box from him, no sign of her tight-lipped grimace now. “Have a seat, and I’ll fix you something hot before you take off again.”

  He shook his head. “No thanks. No time for it.”

  Of course not, Carina thought. He’s much too busy to perform normal human functions. Sustenance and kindness must not interfere with commerce for such a one.

  “Well, you can’t take that pass on an empty stomach. If you won’t spare the time, I’ll pack something up.”

  “It’s not necessary.”

  She laid a hand on his arm. “I insist.”

  Quillan Shepard’s sudden smile transformed him, though it was brief and a little indulgent. Carina fumed. She would not be taken in. A mouse who considers the smile of the snake is soon made dinner. She had been naive yesterday, but she was no longer. She turned away and caught Mr. Beck’s gaze. Had she betrayed her contempt?

  Carina drained her cup, and Mr. Beck offered her more. She shook her head. “No, thank you.”

  He replaced the pot and threaded his fingers together. “Now then, if you accept my offer …”

  “I accept.”

  His face brightened, the brows pulling up abruptly like a marionette’s, the eyes wide and satisfied. “Good. Very good. As for compensation, the best I can do is pay your room and board and perhaps a dollar a week beyond.”

  “Mr. Beck, you’re too kind.” Relief washed over her. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.

  He raised her hand and kissed it. “I’m very sorry for your misfortune, Miss DiGratia. Whatever I can do to ease your situation … it’s my pleasure, I assure you.”

  Carina felt the warmth of his lips on her fingers. “Thank you.” From the corner of her eye she saw Mrs. Barton tuck a wrapped parcel into Quillan Shepard’s hands.

  “Will you come to the office now?” Mr. Beck’s breath lingered on her fingers.

  Carina pulled her gaze from the now empty doorway. “I have an errand today.”

  “Then have dinner with me.”

  She laughed. “Mr. Beck, you are shameless.”

  “Guilty where you are concerned, Miss DiGratia.” He stood and pulled out her chair.

  Carina preceded him outside. The day had warmed, she saw, as she stepped into the sunlight. It would likely get as hot as yesterday, the heat with the strange sharpness she had not felt before. As Icarus flying too close to the sun, had she, too, melted her wings and was even now was falling to earth?

  FOUR

  To rise to higher joy is to risk a deeper sorrow. Do I dare reach for the sun?

  —Rose

  CARINA WENT BACK to her room and stripped the sheet from her bed. One look at the stains on the mattress made her wish she hadn’t. How Mamma would have scrubbed the ticking to keep it fresh. She balled the sheet under her arm and went downstairs.

  “Where you heading with that bed sheet?” Mae called from behind the desk.

  “I have some things to collect, but I won’t harm it.” Carina edged toward the door, wondering how it could matter.

  “See that you don’t. Things come dear up here.”

  If they were dear, why did Mae take such poor care of them? But it wasn’t for her to judge. She would be careful with the sheet, but she could think of no other way to take care of her business. Carina found Dom ready for her as Alan Tavish had promised. “I’ve no place to keep him at present. Will you board him for me?”

  “Sure and don’t worry. He makes a fine companion in the wee hours.”

  Did the rheumatism keep the old ostler awake? Carina took her eyes from the crab-apple knuckles. “I’ll likely have him all day. Is there a feed bag?”

  Tavish shuffled to the wall and unhooked a bag, then filled it with oats. He then filled a water po
uch and tucked them in one saddlebag while she shoved the sheet into the other. “There now. That’ll keep ‘im.”

  “Thank you.” Leading Dom outside, she nearly collided with Quillan Shepard, coming for his horses, no doubt.

  He stepped aside, and, with a snort, she tugged Dom’s rein and passed. Holding the mule steady, she mounted. The sooner she was gone the less likely her tongue—

  “Miss DiGratia.”

  She reined in and turned back to him. The fact that he remembered her name was more annoying than gratifying.

  “If you need things replaced, I’ll pick them up for you.” His hair blew across his shoulders in the breeze.

  “I will find whatever I need in the stores, thank you.”

  “Not at my price.”

  “Oh, I see. You mean to profit from throwing my things over.”

  “If you buy directly from the wagon, I’ll charge you my cost only. If you go inside any store here, you’ll pay six times the rate.”

  “Do you so gouge the shop owners that they must raise the prices so high?”

  “Most of the cost of business up here is what it takes to get the goods from the train to the town. I think you have sense enough to see that.”

  “Sense enough?”

  “Well, anyone who takes up with Berkley Beck can’t have too much sense. Good day, Miss DiGratia.” He tipped his hat and went into the stable.

  Carina kicked Dom harder than she intended, and he leaped forward. He kept the pace only a short while though, then slowed to his usual plod. The noon sun was peaking overhead when Carina approached the steep, narrow strip of trail that had cost her so much. The pitch of the rocky slope dropping away from the trail made her head swim before she even neared the edge.

  Keeping her focus on the dusty trail, she made her way to the spot where the wagon had gone over. She dismounted, closed her eyes and gathered her nerve, then looked down the plummeting slope to the destruction below. Fragments of wood and fabric cluttered the rocks and sparse trees.

  She was pazza to think of going down there. What if she fainted or blacked out? What if her vision blurred and her head spun? What if she, like her wagon, plunged … Carina pressed her hands to her face, then with renewed resolution squinted through her fingers.