Calico Palace

by Gwen Bristow

  The next morning brought that rare delight, a day of unclouded sun. The wind had cleared the sky; the bay was a great wide glitter of water, and the dingy little town of San Francisco looked liked a smudge on a golden world. Kendra and Eva rode down the hill escorted by Morse and Vernon.

  Both men were talking eagerly. They were planning another dance, and Eva had promised to help with the decorations. Vernon told her the New York Store had Chinese lanterns and other Oriental ornaments, brought over on the Eagle. Wouldn’t she like to see these?

  Indeed she would, Eva exclaimed. “Shall we go to the New York Store?” she asked Kendra.

  “Why don’t you go there,” Kendra suggested, “and leave me at Chase and Fenway’s? They have a much better selection of groceries, and Mr. Hodge is so helpful.”

  She said it with a bright smile, to hide the fact that this was not her real reason. Her real reason was that at Chase and Fenway’s she had her best chance to hear of Ted. Mr. Fenway had said Ted had “packed his duds” and left, but this was not strictly true. In his hurry Ted had not packed all his duds. Hodge, who now occupied Ted’s former room over the store, had mentioned that Parks had left various objects behind him: shirts and shoes, a razor, and even—Hodge said respectfully—some books. An honest fellow, Hodge had stored all these in a box and put the box under the bed, in case Parks should come back. Kendra kept hoping he would.

  Not knowing any of this, Eva agreed to Kendra’s suggestion. They all four went into Chase and Fenway’s, for Eva would never have let Kendra go in alone. She wanted it seen that her daughter was always well protected.

  Mr. Fenway was roaming about with an oil can, anointing the locks and hinges. At the counter Mr. Chase was bargaining with a rancher who had brought produce to town. The packing boys were lugging boxes from the storeroom, and the fellow called Pocket sat by the stove, reading the Star. Pocket had already sent a boatload of goods up to his employer, Mr. Smith, but Smith’s partner, the Mormon leader Sam Brannan, had gone to Sutter’s Fort and had told Pocket he could stay a while in town. Pocket was more neat these days than when he first came in with his rag of gold. He now got regular shaves and kept his trousers brushed, and today he wore a new plaid shirt, though all his pockets bulged as before.

  Kendra had seen so few sunny days in San Francisco that she was astonished at the difference the sun made in the store. The bare boards of the walls seemed almost to glisten. From a side window a brilliant shaft of light slanted across the front door, brightening the entrance and deepening the shadows at the side. As Kendra and the others came in, the door swung silently shut behind them, but the men in the store heard the sound of military boots, and turned.

  Seeing Kendra and Eva in the beam of sun, Pocket laid down his newspaper and politely stood up. Pocket liked women, and Kendra had several times heard the packing boys say how much women liked Pocket. Mr. Fenway sauntered forward, and Eva told him she was going to leave Kendra in his care while she went with Morse and Vernon to see the Chinese decorations at the New York Store. She laughed tactfully. “You’ll forgive me for taking business to your competitor, Mr. Fenway?”

  “They need some business at that store,” Mr. Fenway said with mournful satisfaction. “I hear they’re having a hard time getting rid of all that Chinese stuff.” This thought cheered him so much that he continued to look pleased for two or three seconds before returning to his usual gloom.

  When Eva had gone, Hodge gave Kendra her basket and she went into the storeroom. The boys had brought out several boxes holding tobacco, matches, playing cards, and other small items for which they had constant demand, and were now arranging these on the shelves behind the counter. They grinned admiringly as she passed, and Pocket looked up to give her a shy smile.

  The storeroom was dim and cheerless, for it had only two small windows and these were on the side away from the sun. Kendra chose what she wanted, but it was dull work without Ted and in a few minutes she was done. She went back to the door leading into the front room.

  After the gloom of the storeroom the sun across the main entrance was almost dazzling. Kendra paused in the doorway to let her eyes get used to the light.

  Mr. Chase had gone out with the rancher. At the shelves behind the counter the boys were working little and talking much, while Hodge and Mr. Fenway conferred with another customer, a dusty character addressed as Mr. Ingram. In spite of his earthy appearance Mr. Ingram seemed to be a valuable patron, for in one gnarled hand he held a paper on which was written a long list of items he wanted to buy. Pocket, back at his newspaper, was rubbing one hand over his newly shaved face as if he could not get used to the smooth feel of it. Pocket had a clean-cut jaw and strong features, and since she had been seeing him whiskerless Kendra had observed that he was quite a handsome man.

  All of a sudden, as if he had heard his name, Pocket turned toward the front door. Kendra could see his face in profile. His lips parted with a quick intake of breath, and he smiled, like a man who opens a smudgy window and sees a rainbow.

  There had been no sound of the door’s opening—there never was—but now it did seem to Kendra that she too had heard something, a faint rustle maybe, but it had been so faint that she had hardly noticed it. Now she turned her head and saw what Pocket was looking at.

  Full in the flood of sunshine stood a girl.

  Any girl was an event in San Francisco, but this girl, anywhere, would have taken a man’s thoughts away from what he should have been doing. She had red hair and green eyes and a sumptuous figure, and she wore a green silk dress that matched her eyes, and a fashionable straw bonnet with green ribbons. Her face was not perfect, but the look of it was warmer and more tempting than orthodox beauty. It was an unexpected face—full lips, short impudent nose, and freckles. She had so many freckles that she looked as if somebody had sprayed her with powdered gold.

  Her eyes were green as clover, and from under the brim of her bonnet the wind had blown wavy locks of hair, copper-red, the shade and shine of a new penny. As she stood there in the sunbeam, slowly and with an air of merry mischief she untied the green ribbons and took off her bonnet. Her red hair caught the sun like a torch, her freckles almost twinkled in the light. She was not beautiful, but she was spectacular, and Kendra wondered what such a woman was doing out here at the end of the world.

  Pocket had not paused to wonder. Dropping his newspaper, he had sprung to his feet and was going with long strides to meet her. He reached her with hardly a sound—surprising, what quiet habits he had—and with a shy and likable smile, he spoke. “May I take your bonnet, ma’am?”

  The stranger’s clover-green eyes sparkled upon him. No doubt she was used to making conquests, but she was not tired of it. “Thank you,” she said, and handed him her bonnet with winning grace. As Pocket took the bonnet she added, “I’m looking for—” but she had no chance to finish, for by this time the other men had seen her too, and now the whole room was astir.

  The three packing boys were staring, Foxy murmuring, “Lord, look athere!”—and the others making comments of their own. Hodge seemed to have forgotten his dusty customer, but it did not matter because the customer was staring too, forgetting the list in his hand. Even Mr. Fenway had started forward, and was now pushing aside a barrel that stood in his way. They had all taken a step toward her, but Mr. Fenway looked around with an air of stern rebuke, reminding them that he was boss here and he would greet his visitor. He reached her and his long figure crumpled in a bow.

  “Good morning, ma’am,” he droned. “My name is Fenway. Can I be of service?”

  Hodge and the customer, Foxy and Bert and Al and Pocket gazed in rapture. The freckled charmer managed to include them all in the smile with which she answered,

  “Why Mr. Fenway, you’re the very man I’m looking for. You and Mr. Chase. Is it convenient for you to talk to me?”

  Mr. Fenway solemnly assured her that it was most convenient.

  Kendra, in the doorway of the storeroom, made up her mind to
stay there and keep still. Something—she did not quite know what—told her that this buoyant redhead had made Mr. Fenway forget that she herself was anywhere around. If he should be reminded of her presence this scene would fade off, and she wanted it to continue.

  The redhead was saying to Mr. Fenway,

  “You are very kind to a stranger, sir. My name is Marny—oh, just call me Marny, everybody does. I feel as if I know you already, Mr. Fenway, because I’ve met so many of your friends—I’ve been with a gambling parlor in Honolulu. I came in two days ago, on the Cynthia.”

  “Ah,” said Mr. Fenway, “the Cynthia.” He nodded, enjoying this reminder of misfortune. “You had a bad voyage, I’m told.”

  Marny smiled and shrugged. “Why yes, but we got here, and that’s what matters.”

  Kendra did not hear what Mr. Fenway said next. She was thinking—a gambling parlor in Honolulu.

  She was remembering what Loren had told her at Cape Horn. She could almost see and hear it all again—the wind and the roaring water, the gray glow from the skylight, and Loren telling her Pollock was happy to have her on the Cynthia because she was a pure young maiden. And then—

  “There’s a gambling parlor in Honolulu where he goes often. Folks say he admires the hostess… But he wouldn’t have her on the Cynthia. He believes a girl like that would offend the ship.”

  Kendra had never been inside a gambling parlor and nobody had ever told her what sort of person a gambling hostess was supposed to be. But Loren had certainly implied that this hostess would not be welcome on the Cynthia because she was not a pure young maiden.

  Kendra remembered the ship’s figurehead, the goddess crowned with the crescent moon. Cynthia the moon goddess, ever young, ever virgin. She remembered how she herself had laughed at Pollock’s fancy.

  And yet, on the long hard voyage from New York, with herself on board, the Cynthia had met with no mishaps and had made notable time. But on the short easy voyage from Honolulu, with Marny there, the Cynthia had been stormed off her course.

  —And so, thought Kendra, Captain Pollock believes the ship was insulted by having Marny on board. And now he’s frightened. Maybe his fine record is over.

  —Oh, what nonsense! But he believes it.

  —And there was a storm.

  But how, she wondered, had Marny ever been allowed to board the Cynthia? Was this what had caused the captain’s break with Loren? Loren would take the applications for passage, but he knew how Pollock felt. And even if he had not known, in this as in everything else the captain had the final word.

  Every answer seemed to be the start of a new question. Kendra felt more baffled than before.

  7

  IN THE FRONT ROOM of the store, Marny was making a debut. The beam of light had moved, and still shone upon her as if it had been put there to follow her about. Against her freckled cheeks the light caught her hair in penny-red sparkles. Foxy had brought a pack of cards from the shelf and was holding it out to her. Smiling her mischievous smile, Marny was taking off her gloves and handing them to Pocket to be cared for along with her bonnet. Mr. Fenway was inviting her to come in closer to the stove and get warm.

  “You are so thoughtful, Mr. Fenway,” said Marny. She had a beautiful speaking voice. She added, “We’ll both come in.” As she spoke, to Kendra’s surprise and apparently to the surprise of everybody else, she turned toward the dark corner beyond the beam of sun, and said gently, “Delbert?”

  Now they observed that she had not come in alone. A man was standing in the shadow on the far side of the sunbeam.

  The gleam on Marny had been so bright, and she herself was such a striking figure, that the man might have stood there a long time before anybody noticed him. As she spoke he took a step out of the shadow, calmly, as though it had been her business and not his to take the light.

  He looked as if he had always been calm and always would be, because the world did not contain anything important enough to get him excited. Calmly he took off his hat, calmly he gave a nod to the other men. He had glossy dark hair, chin-whiskers neatly trimmed, a calm narrow mouth and a nose like a parrot’s beak. He wore a black suit and white shirt, and shoes spotless except for the street dust. Hat in hand, he seemed to be waiting for whatever was going to happen next—not that he cared, but one must get through the day somehow. His boredom was so different from the radiant aliveness of Marny that Kendra wondered how she could put up with him.

  But put up with him she did, for she was saying with perfect grace, “Mr. Fenway, may I present my friend Delbert?” With an air of elegant weariness Delbert bowed, and Marny suggested, “Why don’t you sit there by the stove, Delbert?”

  Moving with courtly indifference Delbert went toward the stove, and taking up the newspaper Pocket had left, he sat down on a box and began to read. Marny appeared to forget about him. Followed by her courtiers, she moved into the warm atmosphere between the stove and counter, and held out her hand to Foxy. “Now,” she said, “the cards.”

  The men gathered around her, all business suspended, watching. With his blue bandana Pocket dusted a space on the counter and reverently laid Marny’s bonnet and gloves upon it. Her eyes dancing around at her adorers, Marny began opening the case that held the cards. Her hands looked strong and firm, the skin very white and as freckled as her face. The fingers moved with expert speed. She took out the cards. Delbert continued to read the paper.

  Taking a step to the counter Marny cut the deck, holding the two halves on end, her thumbs almost touching between them. There was a zip and a zip, and the pack was shuffled. For a moment she held up the cards and looked at them, with a smile. It was a smile of affection. These cards were friends of hers; her fingers went through them, touching them gently, softly, as if each card had a personality of its own and she loved them every one.

  Holding the pack in one hand, she flexed the fingers of the other hand above them, then brought the upper hand down in a light firm grasp. With a quick movement she dropped the lower hand and lifted the other. For an instant the pack stood up in a column as though the cards had come alive to do her bidding. She brought her hands together and did it again, only this time she moved her hands horizontally apart and the pack opened out like an accordion. While the men watched in delight, she did it over and over, up, sideways, and in columns slanting to the right and left.

  She took the pack in one hand and raised the hand to the level of her shoulder, holding up the cards. After a moment of stillness she gave a twitch of her wrist and the cards fanned out. Anybody can fan a deck, but in Marny’s hand the cards were spread so perfectly that the edge of every card was exposed as much as its neighbor and no more, and the fan was firm between her thumb and her finely disciplined fingers. With another twitch she brought the deck together again.

  The men sighed with admiration. Pocket grinned proudly, as if he had discovered her all by himself. Even Mr. Fenway murmured approval. Delbert smothered a yawn.

  But they were not looking at Delbert, they were looking at her. “You sure can handle ’em, miss,” Hodge exclaimed.

  Foxy’s eyes were bulging. Foxy was a lean, gangling youth, loosely put together, with big hands and feet and a good-humored ugly face. Almost breathlessly he asked, “Will you deal us a game?”

  With a glance at Mr. Fenway, Marny smiled and shook her head. “Not now. Not here. Later.”

  “What games do you deal, miss?” Foxy asked eagerly.

  Marny’s green eyes flashed around the group. “You name it, boys, I’ll deal it.”

  Pocket took a step closer. “Are you going to stay in town, Miss Marny?”

  “I’m thinking of it. I might take one of those tables at the City Hotel. If I do,” she invited, “will you drop by?”

  Pocket said gently, “I don’t gamble, Miss Marny.”

  Her eyes widened in amused surprise. Before she could answer Foxy exclaimed, “Well, everybody else does. You’d better stay, miss.”

  Marny nodded thoughtfully. “They te
ll me,” she said with a question in her voice, “that in San Francisco, you haven’t got any pious folk who think it’s wicked to play cards.”

  “Wicked?” the men repeated together, and Foxy added, “If there’s any such folks around here nobody told me anything about ’em.”

  “In Honolulu, we’ve got some really stiff-necked people,” said Marny. In a wondering voice she went on, “And boys, when the whaling ships get to port after six months in the Arctic, and the sailors come ashore, you know what those prigs want them to do?”

  The men shook their heads.

  Marny said, “They want them to meet at a church sociable and have cookies and tea.”

  The men hooted. Mr. Fenway mumbled that the prigs didn’t know much about sailors. The dusty customer, Mr. Ingram, who had not opened his mouth since Marny came in, did not open it now, but his lips moved in derision. Mr. Ingram stood with his thumbs in his pockets, his battered hat on the back of his head, silently enjoying things. Delbert folded back a page of the paper and continued to read.

  “Well now,” said Marny, “nobody believes the sailors are going to spend their shore leave sipping tea. They want some lights and music, and some excitement. And besides the sailors, there are the men who live in Honolulu all the year round. They want a place where they can have some fun after business. And everybody knows they’re going to get it.”

  The men noisily agreed, and Marny laughed. The locks of red hair danced, and her freckled face had a glow of intimacy, as if she were confiding in her best friends.

  “But you know, boys, there’s always somebody around to take advantage of a situation like that. In Honolulu it’s the police. They made us pay to be let alone.”

  “Ah,” said Mr. Fenway. He sighed with doleful wisdom, as if he had known it all the time.