by Barbara Taub
Locking the door behind her, Leila headed back to the hotel lobby and asked about a restaurant. To her surprise, the desk clerk offered to send up a tray with two dinners and a pot of tea. “Big dinners,” she pleaded. “My brother eats a lot. And I don’t suppose there’s any chance of a bath?”
To her further delight, he offered to have a bath sent up as well. Leaving her new best friend, Leila headed to the door of the hotel only to pull back into the shadows as a familiar mustache entered. He approached the helpful desk clerk, and Leila’s eyes narrowed as money changed hands. Leila stepped behind the door as the Mustache left the hotel.
WWMD? Probably not this, Leila mused as she stomped back to the desk. But Dad would certainly approve. She motioned the desk clerk closer and grabbed his shirtfront. “I’ve been having a really bad day for weeks now.” Her voice dipped into a startlingly low growl. “And it would upset the heck out of me to find out you might have told someone where we’re staying. Just so you know, my hand is inside this little purse, and I’m holding a little gun pointed right between your legs. So if you are at all fond of your family jewels, you’re going to tell me, right now, what you just sold to the Mustache. And then you’re going to tell me how you plan to fix it.”
“Hey, Thomas!” Leila crowed. “I just got us upgraded to a suite! It has its own water closet, which I hope like heck is Victorian-speak for bathroom. Grab your stuff ’cause we’re moving rooms. Hurry up before dinner and the baths get there.”
Later that night, Leila woke to hear yelling and the sounds of a fight coming from down the hall in the direction of their old room. Smiling, she put the pistol back onto the table next to the sofa where she was curled up and closed her eyes.
“Hey, wake up.” Thomas was shaking her shoulder. “I’m hungry.”
“Not exactly a news flash.” Leila buried her head under the pillow she had stolen from him in the night. Then she pulled off the pillow and sat up on the sofa to look at him. “How is the shoulder?”
“It’s fine.”
“You’d say anything to get breakfast. If you expect to leave this room, you’re going to have to show me. At least the front.”
“I think you just want to see me without my shirt.” Thomas threw back his shoulders and struck a heroic pose.
“Been there, done that, have the cut-up T-shirt to prove it.” She swung her legs off the sofa. She’d gone to sleep in the long slip-thingie, and Thomas waggled his eyebrows at her until she grabbed her coat and put it on. Leila pointed at his shirt, and he obediently unbuttoned. “Hey, it looks great.” She marveled at the shiny pink spot. “Okay, I’m feeling strong—let’s see the back side.” To her amazement, it too looked almost healed.
“I told you my family heals fast. But it takes lots of nourishment,” he whined. “How long until you’re ready?”
“Since I have to don the dress of a thousand layers, you’ll just have to starve for a while.” Leila grabbed her dress and escaped to the water closet.
In the lobby, they were heading for the desk when she noticed the clerk from the night before, his head in bandages and one eye swollen almost shut. He flinched when he spotted Leila and rushed out of the hotel without meeting her eyes. At the desk, they asked the new clerk if he could recommend a restaurant that served breakfast. Explaining that he didn’t know the area because he was just filling in for the previous clerk who had resigned suddenly, the man mentioned he had noticed a new restaurant across the street.
The Seattle that greeted them outside the hotel was a steady drizzle of rain soaking into a landscape of mud-choked streets and raw new buildings. The people hurrying past had collars turned up and hats pulled low against the rain. She grabbed Thomas’ sleeve as he plunged them into the mud and attempted to hold her skirts clear with the other hand. “I’ve seen Mary Poppins; I know they had umbrellas back then … er … now. So what do they have against them in Seattle?”
Around the corner, a freshly painted sign in a bright window welcomed customers to the Seattle Cafe. “Yes!” Thomas practically dragged her across the street, blithely ignoring obstacles and mud in his single-minded drive toward breakfast.
“First thing we do,” she told him as she surveyed her filthy boots, “is get regular clothes we can wear without having to worry about how to get mud out of lace.”
Fifteen minutes later Leila sat back and watched him in disbelief. “How can you eat that crap?” A suspicious glance at his plate confirmed they did indeed have the same fare. Runny eggs sporting remnants of shell oozed into charred bits of blackened bacon next to a coldly congealing mass that might have started life as anything from porridge to grits. The basket in front of their plates contained dubiously round objects that looked like they might be useful if she wanted to exercise her pitching arm but which defeated even Thomas’ optimistic appetite.
“It tastes pretty bad,” he admitted. “But I’m desperate. Do you want the rest of yours?”
“Knock yourself out.” She pushed her plate toward him.
A crash from the kitchen was followed by an enraged bellow. “That’s it, Alex Menard! You’re done—get out of here. Who ever said you were a cook?”
“You did! I said I was an actor.” A tall young man emerged from the back of the restaurant, peeling off an apron and tossing it back into the kitchen with a flourish. He saw Thomas and Leila staring and started toward them with a grin on a face that could have made him a fortune as an underwear model in a future century. The sound of footsteps from the kitchen sent him swerving out the door.
A weary-looking man stepped into the dining room, spread his hands, and looked at the ceiling. “My wife’s nephew,” he explained. “Now she’ll be mad, and I won’t have a cook.”
He shook his head. “More coffee?”
Leila declined politely. “I never thought I’d say this,” she whispered to Thomas, “but I can’t drink Alex’s coffee. It’s the only thing worse than his food.” She sighed over the memory of Thomas’ coffee. Coffee… That was it! “Excuse me.” She waved over the restaurant owner. “My brother here is a great chef who trained in France. Maybe he could cook for you?”
“You can really cook?” The owner looked dubious. “Well, I’m desperate. I’ll give you a try for today and let’s see how it goes.”
Thomas looked rebellious. She kicked him under the table and lowered her voice. “It’s perfect for you. They have food here. And we need the money.”
“I can’t protect you if I’m cooking. And we need to figure out why the Metro brought us here.”
“Earning our room and board is protecting. I’ll stay right here with you and help you get started.” Leila lowered her voice and looked straight at Thomas. “But I might as well tell you there is no way I’m getting involved in whatever the Metro wants or in Null City’s wars. That already got you shot and cost both of us a year of our lives. Not to mention the extra 120 candles I’ll have to blow out by the next time Mom and Dad wish me happy birthday… I only came here so I wouldn’t be trapped in Null City if the Metro breaks down. It just makes more sense to lay low until we can make it back to our own time and I can see Mom and Dad again.”
Thomas looked at her for a long moment before nodding reluctantly. He stood to shake hands with the owner, who introduced himself as Ben Harroway. They disappeared into the kitchen while Leila picked up Alex’s discarded apron and got to work on the dining room.
The cafe, they learned, was open until after lunch and then again for dinner. When they finished cleaning up after the light lunch crowd, Leila dragged Thomas to Frederick & Nelson, the new store Ben recommended. Though it had opened just after the Great Fire as a furniture store, Ben told them the two partners had a simple business philosophy: sell whatever people wanted to buy. At the Frederick & Nelson store, a hand-lettered sign offered HOME FURNISHINGS/ WOMEN’S COSTUMES/ SUITS, FURS, ETC. On the porch outside, several women and boys were selling baskets made of branches interwoven with bright twine. One of the boys told them the basket
s were traditionally crafted by women of their Macah tribe and could even hold water. Despite Thomas’ grumbling about the expense, a delighted Leila bought two of the colorful baskets. Inside the store they found sturdy boots for both of them, plus heavy trousers and two shirts for Thomas as well as two blissfully corset-free calico dresses for Leila.
At days-end, an exhausted Leila and Thomas received Ben’s enthusiastic thanks as they sat over dinner after the last customers had departed. He told them he had broken the news about Alex to his wife. She was not happy with him, Ben added. “Is she really close to her nephew?” asked Leila sympathetically.
“Actually, we never even met him until he showed up here a few weeks ago,” Ben said. “But you know—family.”
The next weeks went on much the same, with Thomas cooking every day except Sunday when the cafe was closed. Despite the fact that Alex no longer worked at the cafe, he managed to show up regularly to eat Thomas’ cooking and chat with Leila. Soon he was accompanying her on walks while Thomas cooked. She explored the growing city, often stopping to chat with the Macah families about their basket making. Too often for it to be coincidence, she thought she caught glimpses of the Mustache. Once as she was heading toward Frederick & Nelson, she was sure she saw him speaking with her Macah friends. Because of Thomas’ frustration at not being around to protect her at every moment, she decided not to mention her worries about being followed. But she never stepped out of the hotel without making sure her little gun was in her purse.
At the end of their third week, Ben came to them with their wages but looked sheepish. “My wife says everyone in Seattle is talking about this place. But she wants me to hire Alex back again.” He shook his head at their horrified expressions. “Not as cook. But thanks to Thomas’ cooking, we have so much business now, we could use another waiter. I don’t think he could mess that up too much, and he’s already here for most meals.”
At the hotel that night, Leila and Thomas counted their dwindling stack of money. Even with wages from the cafe, they weren’t going to be able to pay for their rooms much longer, especially if only Thomas was working at the restaurant.
“I’ve been thinking about this.” Leila took a breath and put her hand on his arm. “Maybe I don’t cook, but I’ve followed my parents around their job sites since I could walk. Plus, I worked at Dad’s construction company the past four summers. I can’t build a skyscraper, but I could build a restaurant, maybe with rooms on the back for us. You’d cook for Ben until we’re ready, and then we go into business together. I’ve been looking at Seattle. With all the rebuilding going on since the Great Fire destroyed the business district last year, the city has doubled from 20,000 to over 40,000 people. They aren’t allowing any more wooden buildings, but not many people here know how to build with brick. And thanks to Dad,” she concluded smugly, “I am a brick expert.”
“How do we pay for it?” Thomas stared at their small pile of money.
“We have to sell part of the jewelry.” Leila held up a hand at his instinctive denial. “I don’t want to, either, because I’m pretty sure I’m supposed to hang onto them, but I don’t know what else to do, and we have to live.”
“We do have something else to sell.” Thomas looked thoughtful. “I can cook and you can build. Maybe we need a partner to provide financing. That German man who opened the new meat-packing plant has been coming into the cafe for the past few days. He really likes my food, especially because I can speak a little German, and I’ve cooked a few German dishes for him. We’ve been talking about art ever since I told him I was studying painting back in England. He told me he’s never even seen an oil painting!” Thomas shook his head in disbelief at such a deprived existence.
“Thomas—focus!” Leila shook him. “What about the money?”
“Well, he and his wife are building out on First Hill, and they say it’s where lots of the new money is moving. I wonder if it might make sense to approach him about financing a really nice restaurant where they could bring their families for a fancy dinner.”
“And where the restaurant could charge lots of money,” Leila agreed happily.
They stayed up most of the night making lists. Leila drew rough sketches of building plans that Thomas then converted into drawings. Leila remembered seeing an abandoned building site at the edge of the First Hill neighborhood. At breakfast the next morning, she asked Alex to meet her there.
Returning to the hotel, she put on one of her sturdy calico dresses and the clogs she’d bought for the mud. As she left the hotel, she caught a glimpse of a man who looked like the Mustache. It wasn’t the first time she’d sensed him watching her, but since she was almost always with Thomas or Alex, she hadn’t worried. Checking her purse, where the little gun bumped reassuringly against her side, Leila crossed the street and boarded one of the horse-drawn trolleys headed for First Hill.
As far as she could tell, the building, indeed the entire block, had been started before the Great Fire and then abandoned. Unreliable Alex was, of course, nowhere in sight, so she decided to look around. Climbing over the piles of abandoned building materials and debris, Leila pushed her way into the middle of the site. She was crouched down examining the already-laid foundation when she heard a stealthy footstep behind her.
Giving silent thanks for her dark dress and hair, Leila crawled back into the shadowed cave formed by two toppled piles of wood. The footsteps came closer. She eased her pistol from her purse and froze. Boots came into view and paused as if their owner was looking for something. As they turned toward her corner, she heard a shout from the street. “Leila! Where are you?”
The boots melted soundlessly away, but she didn’t move. A minute later, she heard another shout. “Leila?”
Cautiously peering out from her shadows, she saw a tall back—not as tall as Thomas but too tall to be the Mustache.
“Alex,” she called softly. “Over here!”
As he came into view, she was practically sobbing. “Did you see him? Did you see the man who was following me?”
“Nobody was out there,” Alex assured her. “What are you doing here?”
“I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.” Leila gave a shaky laugh at Alex’s shocked face. “I guess they don’t have that joke here yet. Okay, if you promise to keep it a secret, I’ll show you around.”
Followed by the bemused Alex, she roamed the site, chattering about possible windows, doors, and kitchens. When she finally looked up, he was staring at her from his perch atop a pile of rubble.
“Where do you put all that energy?” He shook his head. “I’m tired just listening. Let’s go back and get Thomas to fix us something to eat.”
The next day, dressed in the carefully brushed and pressed outfits from Poppy, Leila and Thomas sat before Charles Frye, the German meat packer. He listened to them politely but seemed skeptical.
“Yes,” he told them. “I think Thomas could be the cook. But you—you are a little girl. How could you build a restaurant?”
Despite Leila’s claim that she was older than she looked and knew what she was doing, he seemed unwilling to move forward. She didn’t look at Thomas as she took the velvet case from her purse. Mr. Frye’s eyes widened at the flash of sapphires surrounded by diamonds. Leila squared her shoulders and spoke with grim determination. “This was my mother’s jewelry, and I’d prefer not to sell it. But we can put it up as collateral if you’re willing to give us a loan for the building. If we don’t make a success of the restaurant, you can give the jewels to your wife.”
“Leila?” Thomas looked worried.
“Trust me.”
Leila paused at the door of La Fontaine Restaurant to hang an elegantly-lettered sign announcing their grand opening next week. We actually did it!
Thanks to Alex and his endless supply of friends willing to work for Frye’s money and Thomas’ cooking, the brick walls had gone up under her exact direction, fixtures were installed, furniture and dishes ordered. In addition to work
ing at the cafe, Thomas supervised the kitchen installation, bewildering observers with his insistence on multiple sinks, tiled floors, overhead lights, and huge center island.
Leila told him she would hurt him if he mentioned one more time how his kitchen was a copy of the one he’d seen during a never-to-be-forgotten lunch with Cécile at Taillevent in Paris. Without missing a beat, he told her that actually the kitchen was an exact copy of the one in the animated movie Ratatouille because the Remy, the chef rat, was his hero. She beamed at him.
Somehow, he also found the time to stand between Leila and the frequent overtures from Alex and his friends. Almost any time she spoke to a young man, she could count on looking up to see Thomas, a frowning giant standing with arms crossed, often holding one of his largest knives. When her narrow-eyed return glare silently said, “You’re not the boss of me,” his hand would twitch on the knife. The helpers became models of polite decorum.
The morning of their grand opening, Thomas came into the kitchen carrying a huge box. “Mrs. Frye sent this over for you. It’s for tonight. She said she had it altered to fit you.”
Leila’s eyes widened as she pulled the box open and saw the dress inside. Pale blue silk swirled down from an impossibly small fitted waist. “You know what this means, don’t you?”
“The corset?” Thomas waggled his eyebrows hopefully.
“It’s just not fair.”
That night, after twisting unsuccessfully to try to see herself in her tiny bedroom mirror, she headed to La Fontaine’s dining room. Ready for the evening ahead, the glowing kerosene lamps placed between the long mirrors lent an illusion of light and space. With a special pole, she lit the huge chandelier in the center of the room. Ordered for a hotel destroyed in the Great Fire, it had been purchased by a delighted Leila for a fraction of its original cost.
Unlike the dark colors and fussy decorations of most Victorian rooms, Leila had backed the wall lamps with panels of light silk brocade bordered, like the mirrors, with strips of gilt paneling. The floor had a dark carpet, but the rest of the dining room was all light: linens, flowers, candles, and china. Against the mellow background, she caught sight of her blue dress swirling in the long mirrors and froze in shock.