Calico Palace

by Gwen Bristow

  Kendra looked frantically around her. On the street she saw a group of men going toward the tent, but they were not looking her way. Struggling to free herself from Stub, she tried to scream. Her voice came out in a gurgle. Not hearing her above the street noises, the men went in. Stub held her, enjoying his triumph, prolonging it by repeating, “A sweet little kiss, maybe more than one sweet little kiss—”

  Across his shoulder Kendra saw another man walking along Kearny Street toward the Calico Palace. He walked briskly, head up and shoulders erect, a man who had nothing to hide. As he came into the glow from the tent she saw his bright cider-brown eyes and pink cheeks, and a mighty wave of thankfulness rolled over her as she recognized Loren Shields.

  Again she cried out, and this time gladness made her voice strong.

  “Loren!” she called. “Loren! Make him let me alone!”

  The next thing she heard was a yell. Stub Crawford tumbled down on the ground, and Loren, fists clenched and face distorted with rage, was exclaiming,

  “Kendra, my dear girl, what—”

  She did not hear the rest of his words. She found herself leaning against him, weak with fear and relief and joy, and she sobbed on his shoulder as he held her up with his arms around her. On the ground, Stub was holding his near-broken head and bawling that somebody was always being mean to him.

  At that moment the flap of the tent was pushed back. Chad’s curly black head came through, and she heard his voice demanding,

  “What the hell is going on out here?”

  Kendra raised her head. She did not answer. She could not. But in a few blunt words Loren explained. Hands on hips, Chad profanely told Stub what he thought of him.

  “And all these fine cakes,” barked Chad, “and the fellows clamoring for them—”

  Chad was down on his knees now, picking up the cakes from the ground, dusting them with his bartender’s apron, and setting them one by one on the tray. They could be sold as usual—what was so awful about a little dirt? Watching him, Kendra began to laugh. It was slightly hysterical laughter but it soothed her nerves. Chad, solemnly in earnest, got up from his knees and carried the rescued cakes into the tent.

  “Show me where you live,” Loren said to Kendra, “and I’ll see you home.”

  They started walking across the lot, toward the door to the kitchen. Loren’s arm was still around her shoulders.

  His presence gave her a sense of safety such as she had not felt since the day she lost Ted. She asked,

  “Loren—how did you happen to be here just when I needed you?”

  “I came in from Honolulu yesterday,” he said, “on the Hope. I didn’t know what had happened to you until this afternoon, when Mr. Chase told me. As soon as I heard, I started right over to see you. Thank God I got here when I did.”

  Behind them, they heard Stub grunting and groaning as he stumbled to his feet. They stopped and looked around, and saw him running away, across Kearny Street and across the plaza and out of sight. Loren turned back to Kendra.

  “And now,” he said, “I’m going to take you out of this mess.”

  He smiled down at her, tenderly.

  “Maybe you don’t know it,” he went on, “but I’ve been in love with you ever since we were both on the Cynthia. Only I was too big a fool to say it, so I lost you. I’m not going to lose you again.”

  31

  TWO WEEKS LATER KENDRA married Loren Shields. With this, her world changed. Loren gave her the love and security she had yearned for. He gave her a gracious life almost unmatched in the crudeness of San Francisco. She married Loren in December, 1848, and before New Year’s Day she knew she had made the second big mistake of her life.

  Over and over she asked herself why. Sometimes she thought she understood. She had been so alone and so frightened, and Loren had come to her like a rescuing hero. But every time she remembered this she asked again, despairingly, “Why, oh why was I such a fool? Why didn’t I know better?”

  For if she had needed anything to make her sure of it, marriage to Loren showed her all over again that the only man she wanted was Ted.

  Loren loved her. As he had told her that evening while they crossed the lot behind the gambling tent, he had loved her since they had been together on the Cynthia. He had not said so because he knew the risks of shipboard romances.

  When you first go to sea, Loren told Kendra, the older men all warn you about these. They say: By the time you’ve spent six or eight weeks in the masculine monotony of a trading vessel any woman looks good, and a really desirable girl looks like Helen of Troy. No matter how much in love you think you are, never get involved with a girl on a voyage. Wait and see if it’s the real thing. It usually isn’t.

  Loren himself had found that the old seamen were right. More than once he’d been attracted by a pretty passenger, only to find when he reached port that it was nothing but her uniqueness. He would forget her in a week.

  So he left Kendra in San Francisco, and went with Captain Pollock on that errand for the military. Thought he’d wait, come back to San Francisco, and see if she still seemed as charming as before. But in the meantime there was that trouble about Marny and he gave up his berth on the Cynthia. He had to start a new career. He went down to Monterey to consult a trader there, and while he was gone Kendra married Ted Parks.

  “So of course,” Loren continued, “I put you out of my mind in that sense. But I tell you, Kendra, I was a mighty disappointed man.”

  He smiled at her fondly.

  “But now, if your marriage wasn’t real, here I am.”

  Everything was done smoothly. Loren went to the alcalde and got a legal annulment of Kendra’s first marriage. Mr. Chase was pleased about it all, so pleased that he offered to have the wedding in his own home. Mrs. Chase served wine and wafers, and Mr. Fenway looked on as dolefully as before, as if he wished people would stop doing this sort of thing.

  Several days beforehand Marny gave Kendra a present of an embroidered silk shawl from China.

  “I won’t be there for the ceremony,” she said. “If Mr. Chase didn’t want me in his store he’d want me even less in his parlor. But I’ll be thinking about you, and wishing you all sorts of happiness.”

  She spoke sincerely, though as Kendra found out later, Marny was doubtful about the wisdom of this marriage. Marny did not understand why Kendra should still love Ted, but Kendra did love him and Marny knew she did. However, her opinion had not been asked and she did not give it.

  The fact was that Marny did not believe her opinion would be worth anything. Marny was not one of those people who think themselves competent to offer other people advice on every subject under heaven. If she had seen Kendra playing a poor game of cards she would have said so. Cards Marny knew about. But she did not know about marriage, she was wise enough to know she did not know, and she kept her mouth shut.

  After the wedding Kendra and Loren went to their own home, a luxury Loren had secured by a union of good luck and good sense. A trader who owned a house on Washington Street, near Stockton, wanted to move to Canton. For three months he had been waiting for a vessel to take him there. At last the captain of the ship Rhone, about to sail for Honolulu, announced that he had enough seamen to go on to Canton. The trader engaged passage and sold his house to a land speculator. The new owner had put the house into the care of an agent, to be rented while he waited for the price to rise.

  The house was a story-and-a-half cottage, plain but solidly built. The rent would have paid for a mansion in the States. But Loren earned a good income, and in Honolulu he had changed his gold dust for coin, the article more wanted than anything else in San Francisco. Loren went to see the house agent, a gentleman named—or at least called—Mr. Reginald Norrington.

  Mr. Norrington was a short squat fat man who did business in a smoky little office on Clay Street. He had black hair around a bald spot, a greasy moonlike face, plump fluttery hands, and few charms except a gift for making the best possible terms for his clients.
In spite of the high rent he wanted for the cottage, decent dwellings were so scarce that several persons had already asked him for this one. However, they had offered him gold dust. He was hesitating. Then Loren, several days before his marriage, walked into Mr. Norrington’s office and showed him enough gold coins to pay the rent for six months ahead. Smiling all the way across his moony face, Mr. Norrington said his client would be proud to have a tenant of such fine repute as Mr. Shields.

  Loren had planned everything for Kendra’s convenience. He told her he had to make frequent buying trips and it would not be safe to leave her alone. He had asked Chase and Fenway’s clerk, Ralph Watson, with his wife Serena, to live in two rooms on the first floor. They were delighted, for they were sadly cramped in their little room over the store. Serena would do housework. Thus Kendra would be relieved of drudgery, and when he was away she would have a man in the house.

  Kendra was not unhappy. Loren was so kind, so cheerful, so considerate, that he was easy to live with. And he loved her. But though she tried to love him back she could not. She knew now that love was not made by trying. If it did not go when it ought to go, neither was it there when it ought to be there.

  Several days before Christmas Loren told her there was to be a ball Christmas evening at the Comet House. Wouldn’t she like to attend?

  When she heard his words Kendra felt a shock that went through her like a knife. To dance again in the parlor where she had fallen in love with Ted—she could not, she simply could not. Exclaiming that she smelled something burning, she ran out to the kitchen and waited till she could control her voice. When she came back she said to Loren,

  “Instead of going out let’s do something unexpected. Let’s have a good old-fashioned Christmas dinner and invite some friends. Wouldn’t you like that?”

  Loren brightened at the idea. “I’d like it very much. But wouldn’t it mean a lot of work for you?”

  “Oh, Loren, don’t be so careful of me! You know I never mind cooking, and Serena can help.”

  He laughed in anticipation. “I don’t think there’s a turkey in town, but we can get a ham—”

  “Fine,” said Kendra.

  Dinner was a great success. The guests were Mr. and Mrs. Chase, and Mr. Fenway, and Lieutenants Morse and Vernon. The lieutenants apologized for eating so much, but said it was the first good meal they had had in months. Mr. and Mrs. Chase agreed that Kendra was a rare cook. Even Mr. Fenway uttered praise. Loren, presiding over his first dinner party in his own home, beamed with pleasure.

  New Year’s Day was cold and cloudy with flurries of rain. But again Loren and Kendra were host and hostess, for more than ever San Francisco was a town of lonely men. Business firms in other Pacific ports were sending agents to open branches in the land of gold. A few of these newcomers had wives, most had not; all were homesick, all hated the mud and rawness around them and longed for the ways of civilized men. On the first day of 1849, groups of lonely young fellows set out to bring one of these pleasant ways to San Francisco. They dressed up in formal suits and kid gloves and polished boots, and went slopping through the rain to make New Year’s calls on the ladies.

  Kendra had been warned by Loren to expect them, so she was ready, sitting by the fire with cake and wine on a table at her side. The young men brought her gifts of books and candy, walnuts and dried fruit. They paid her flowery compliments, wished her a happy New Year, bowed and went on, leaving tracks of mud all over the carpet.

  Kendra did not mind the tracks. Like her work for the Calico Palace, all this kept her from thinking too much.

  A week after New Year’s, Loren went to Oregon on another buying trip for Chase and Fenway. Mrs. Chase promised him she would see to it that Kendra was not lonely while he was away. She began by inviting Kendra, with Ralph and Serena, to a musical party.

  Mrs. Chase was a jovial, friendly soul. She was not highly educated, but she liked to read a good story, she was clever at party games, she enjoyed music and she had an inborn good taste about it. Among the newly arrived businessmen were some good amateur performers, and Mrs. Chase told Kendra they would provide the entertainment.

  The evening appointed was mild and clear. Mr. and Mrs. Chase lived near Kendra, only a few steps farther up the hill. As Kendra set out with Ralph and Serena they saw the sunset afterglow, and Ralph said there would be a moon to light their way home. The walk was easy, and the parlor was bright with candles and firelight. Mr. Chase came hurrying to take their wraps, inviting them to warm up with cups of chocolate or glasses of wine.

  Mr. Fenway was there, and half a dozen of the new traders. Two of these gentlemen were married and had brought their wives. Also present was that precious rarity, an unmarried girl about eighteen years old, daughter of one of the married couples. Her name was Ada Lansing. Ada was escorted by one of the bachelor traders, who was glowing with pride at this mark of favor.

  As Kendra was the only other woman without a husband at her side, the other bachelors flocked around her. One of them set a chair for her in a warm spot near the fire, another brought a footstool, still another a cushion for her chair. It was all quite agreeable.

  Mrs. Chase had not been able to get her heart’s desire, a piano, but they did very well without it. The four bachelors played guitars and sang as a quartet. They had joined for their own entertainment, but they were genuinely musical and worth listening to. After several songs, they rested while one of the married men, Mr. Dean, played his violin. It might have been better if he had had a piano accompaniment, but he was good and deserved the applause they gave him. Then the young lady, Miss Ada Lansing, favored them with a solo while her escort played the guitar.

  Ada Lansing could not sing, and her song, which concerned shrill references to moonlight and dew, was not worth singing anyway. But she was young and pretty, and the gentlemen listened with their souls in their eyes. All but Mr. Fenway. Kendra, sitting next to Mr. Fenway, noticed him squirming. A moment later, as Ada sang blissfully on, Mr. Fenway growled out of the corner of his mouth,

  “That’s the third time she’s flatted and she’s not that pretty.”

  Kendra bit on her handkerchief to keep from giggling. Fortunately, in another moment the song came to an end. Applauding dutifully, she avoided the eyes of Mr. Fenway.

  After another interval of guitars, Mr. Chase announced that they would now have a song by Mrs. Dean, wife of the man who had played the violin. Kendra shivered at the prospect of what they might hear now and what Mr. Fenway might say about it. But while Mrs. Dean had not Ada’s pretty face, she had a good voice and knew how to use it. She gave them a pleasant ballad, and this time the applause was real and they begged for more. Mrs. Dean sang again, simply and well.

  The room was getting stuffy, and Mr. Chase opened a window. The guitar players performed again. This time they sang a mischievous song beginning,

  “If there’s one thing really nifty it’s a gentleman of fifty

  When a thoughtful girl is contemplating love,

  For if a man of fifty has been reasonably thrifty,

  He’s got just what thoughtful girls are thinking of…”

  The audience laughed, all but Ada Lansing. Ada had expected to be asked for another song. Since coming to San Francisco she had received so much adulation that she now took it for granted that she would be the center of any gathering she favored with her presence. She forgot that this group had come to hear music, which she could not provide. All she understood was that Mrs. Dean had been encored while she herself had not. Ada rustled her skirts petulantly.

  The quartet went into a mirthful chorus.

  “For love without cash means a diet of hash,

  Then love gets thrown out with the rest of the trash…”

  When the chorus ended they decided they had been cynical long enough. Changing to a happier mood they began a song about spring and flowers.

  Kendra was listening with pleasure. She was no singer herself (and unlike Ada Lansing, she knew it), but she lik
ed music. Mr. Chase had told her pianos would be coming in soon. Kendra hoped she could get one. She and Loren would both enjoy it. He liked music too. She was finding that they had many tastes in common. Oh, she was a fortunate woman, she ought to be thanking heaven for Loren’s warm affection instead of dreaming about spangles of fool’s gold—

  The guitar players began another tune. Kendra felt herself going tense. A tremor ran over her skin. Her hands felt damp. Her lips tightened. The men were playing the gay, lilting melody of “Love is like a dragonfly.”

  That dance at the Comet House. The smoky lamps, the garish wallpaper, music by the army band. Ted’s arm around her, his whisper in her ear. “You’re beautiful… Every woman is as beautiful as some man thinks she is.”

  —Oh God, make them stop! Make them play something else. Why does love hurt like this? Why doesn’t it go?

  The men were blithely singing.

  “Love is like a dragonfly,

  Here today, tomorrow gone,

  Love’s a teasing passerby,

  Blows a kiss and hurries on…”

  Kendra’s hands clenched each other in her lap. She felt rigid as a rock. Thank heaven nobody was looking at her. They were watching the singers, tapping their feet to the happy music, enjoying the song.

  At last—it seemed like a thousand years—the singers changed to another tune. Kendra did not know what tune they played and she did not hear the words they sang. She sat there, trying to draw deep breaths and make her heart stop pounding, trying to unclench her hands, relax her taut knees, loosen her stiff lips, silently pleading—Make them keep on singing! Give me time!

  They did keep on singing; she did not know how long, but she wished it had been longer. She heard the applause, she joined it. She heard the others thanking the singers and she realized that this was the end of the program. She heard Mr. Chase saying to her, “And now, ma’am, a glass of sherry? Real Spanish sherry this is, came a long way.”

  Kendra took the wine. To her own surprise she found herself saying, “Thank you,” and a moment later, “It’s delicious, Mr. Chase.”