Calico Palace

by Gwen Bristow

  “Getting some papers of Loren’s,” he said. “Wanted the address of his brother in the States. Somebody’s got to write to the family.”

  Mr. Chase spoke gruffly. Loren had been his friend, and writing such a letter was a task he did not relish. Marny was surprised that he had troubled himself to tell her why he was here. He seldom spoke to her unless he had to.

  To her further surprise, when Mr. Chase had locked the door to the safe-room he came directly toward her. Standing awkwardly before her, he cleared his throat as if he wanted to say something and was not sure how to go about it. He caught sight of the boots and used these for an opening.

  “Say, that’s mighty tidy of you,” he said, “taking off your boots just inside the door. The trouble Fenway and I have with most folks! Why, those boys would have the place knee-deep in mud if we didn’t keep after them.”

  She smiled at him. “I don’t like a muddy floor any more than you do, Mr. Chase. So I try not to bring the mud inside.”

  Mr. Chase cleared his throat again. “You’ve got your good qualities, Marny,” he blurted, as if embarrassed to say so. “You’ve got your faults, I’ll admit that, but you’ve got your good qualities too.”

  Marny was so startled she was almost stricken dumb. In his mind, she knew, there were two kinds of women, the chaste and the unchaste, and the unchaste were bad women and that was the end of it. She was a professional card player who made no secret of her love affairs, and for him to admit that she had good qualities—this was something the like of which she was sure he had never done before. She could only say,

  “Why, thank you, Mr. Chase.”

  Standing there, stocky and shy, he reminded her of a little boy about to confess a fault. He said,

  “My wife—she’s been telling me—how you stood by Kendra in her trouble. Now that was kind of you.”

  —Good heavens, thought Marny, this is really costing him an effort.

  It was such a concession on his part that she wished she could do something for him in return. As she thought of this she had an inspiration. She held but her hand.

  “Mr. Chase, I haven’t been able to give much help. But now—you and Mrs. Chase have done so much, maybe there is something I can do to help you. Would you like to give me the address of Loren’s brother? I can write the letter to him, you know.”

  Mr. Chase caught his breath in a gasp of gratitude. Not only was this a hard letter to write, but writing letters of any sort was not one of his best accomplishments.

  “Would you, Marny? You’ll tell him all about the accident, and how much everybody admired Loren, and sort of ease the shock of it all?”

  “I’ll do my best, Mr. Chase.”

  With one hand Mr. Chase stroked his chin, with the other he gave her the papers. He spoke gravely.

  “Marny, I just want to say this one thing. You’ve got your faults, but you’ve got a heart of gold.”

  He turned around and walked off, to the side door. As he opened it he said over his shoulder,

  “Well, goodby, Marny, I’ll see you later. And I say again, you’ve got a heart of gold.”

  He went out.

  The corner where Marny stood was dim. She hoped Mr. Chase had not seen that her lips were trembling with mirth.

  Didn’t Mr. Chase know he was uttering the oldest of trite old sayings? The bad woman with a heart of gold—what sentimental goose had first said that? In Athens? Egypt? Somebody had probably said it in the shadow of the pyramids, long before Rahab had given shelter to the spies of Israel.

  Didn’t Mr. Chase know that? No, he didn’t know it. With sincere and earnest surprise, he had told her she had a heart of gold.

  After the tension of the past few days Marny needed release and here it was. As she heard Mr. Chase turn the key in the lock outside she burst out laughing, and she laughed till she hurt.

  52

  KENDRA NEVER HAD ANY clear recollection of the next few weeks. She knew she walked around, she washed and dressed and combed her hair and tried to eat the food they brought her. But she was hardly aware of what she was doing. She was hardly aware of anything but her own heartbreak.

  She knew people were being good to her. Ralph and Serena were loyal. Her other friends came to see her as often as they could. This was not very often, for the winter went on with wind and rain and torrents of mud, and sometimes for days together the streets were really dangerous. Pocket dropped in more frequently than the rest of them, because he now lived in the building that housed the library and so had only a few steps to walk. He was gentle and kind, and brought her the newspapers, but Kendra could not bestir herself to read them.

  Whenever the street was passable Marny walked up the hill with Dwight, and had him wait for her at the library while she visited Kendra. Marny said she had sent word of the deaths of Loren and the baby to Loren’s brother, Clifford Shields, who lived in Boston. Now she offered to write to Eva. Kendra gave her the address at Hampton Roads, and was grateful. She could not have written the letter herself, not yet. Serena told her one day that Ralph had said Marny was no longer staying in Mr. Fenway’s room over the store. She had moved into the Gresham Hotel with Mr. Dwight Carson. Serena spoke in a voice of regret. “Oh dear,” she said, “really, I thought she was trying to lead a better life.”

  Kendra murmured, “Marny has been very kind to me, Serena.”

  This was all she said. She was not able to take much interest in what Marny did. Or anything else. As Marny had foreseen, she had drawn on her reserves until now she was as limp as an empty sack.

  She was not even much interested when Marny told her the new Calico Palace had opened. She thought—Some day I suppose I’ll go to look at it. But she was still too numb to think of it more than this.

  She received about forty letters. At first she let them pile up on the parlor table, not even alert enough to break the seals. But at length Marny said to her, “Why don’t you open them, Kendra? Isn’t it some comfort to know all these people care enough to write to you?”

  So Kendra opened the letters, and received a surprise that was almost a shock.

  Nine or ten of them were the sort she had expected, from acquaintances who sent their sympathy. One of these came from Dwight Carson, one from Hiram’s partner, Mr. Eustis. Another came from Reginald Norrington, the squatty little agent from whom Loren had rented the house. There was even an awkwardly scrawled note that said, “Dear madam, I feel so sorry for you. I still remember what a good dinner you fixed for us the day we got here. Yours with love, Rosabel.”

  But most of the letters were not messages of sympathy at all. They were proposals of marriage.

  Among these were a few scribbles from clumsy louts like the fellow who had wanted to marry her after she parted with Ted. But the rest were written by men of obvious education, who formally and respectfully begged permission to call and repeat their offers in person.

  Kendra had heard it said that with San Francisco’s huge over-supply of men, no widow here was likely to stay a widow long. But she had not dreamed that men of culture and worldly wisdom would try to marry a woman they had never even spoken to. Certainly she had not thought any man at all would suggest a new marriage so soon after her husband’s death. Marny too was surprised. Not even Marny had known how many men in California were reduced to such desperation as this.

  Kendra thought later that it was the fact of these absurd and somehow pathetic offers that had first roused her to reach beyond her own despair. As she read one after another, she exclaimed to herself—How lonely people are!

  She was lonely too. She felt more alone than she had ever felt. —But at least, she thought as she read the letters, these men are trying to do something about it. And so can I.

  Like them, at least she could try. She was not going to sit here forever, enclosed in a shell of pain. She was going to look out of the shell. She had to do it, and she had to do it herself because nobody could do it for her.

  She began getting exercise again by wrap
ping up against the rain and walking on the porch. In the rare breaks of sunshine she went outside. The next time Marny came to see her Kendra said, “Tell me what’s going on in town.”

  “Good!” said Marny. “You’re waking up.”

  “Yes,” said Kendra. “I’m waking up.”

  Marny looked her over. They sat in the parlor drinking hot tea while the kettle steamed on the fire and the mist blew past the windows. “You are waking up, Kendra,” Marny said after a moment. “Your color is coming back. You were white as a candle. And your voice—it’s different. It sounds more the way it used to.”

  Kendra spoke in some perplexity. “My voice? I didn’t know it had ever changed.”

  “You didn’t hear yourself, Kendra. That metallic monotone. But you’re getting natural again, dear, and I’m glad. Now let’s see, what’s going on. There’s plenty going on.”

  She talked first about her own main interest, the Calico Palace.

  The Calico Palace had been the last of the gambling houses to re-open after the fire. It had been six weeks in the building, an extravagantly long time in San Francisco. But oh, so grand, said Marny. Four stories high, with the finest pictures and the fanciest bars in town. Not very stout or solid—what could you expect in six weeks? But the roof did not let in the rain, and this was luxury enough.

  The other gamblers had rushed back into business. The contractor who had promised to finish Denison’s Exchange in sixteen days had actually done so in eleven. The “building” now had a loud new band, and a new game called rondo, something like billiards but different. The place even had a new name. The United States Exchange they called it now, a mighty high-sounding title for a place as shaky as a chicken-coop.

  Marny said the new El Dorado also had been raised with chicken-coop speed. Not as large as before, though they would probably add to it later. They had simply thrown up some walls and nailed on a roof so they could get back into business. Rents were so outrageous that nobody wanted to waste much time on building. Get something up, anything, get inside it and make money, this was the idea.

  But Marny said she and Norman had not wasted time. As soon as the Calico Palace was well under way, Norman had rented a table in the public gambling room of the Gresham House, where he dealt cards every evening. As for herself, Marny said she had taken a private gambling room—or rather, a space curtained off by cotton blankets—also in the Gresham Hotel. Here she had dealt for a select group of gentlemen who used to patronize her parlor, while one of the Blackbeards stood guard and kept out the rabble.

  But now they were all back at the Calico Palace. And business was great.

  Marny drew a deep warm breath like a contented cat. Kendra, remembering what Serena had told her, felt herself smiling a little. She asked,

  “Marny, are you having an affair?”

  “Why yes, dear. Do you mind?”

  “I don’t think it’s any of my business,” said Kendra.

  “Thank you. It isn’t, of course, but I like you for saying so. Look.” Marny reached inside her dress and brought out a little bundle wrapped in a handkerchief. She held it out.

  Kendra looked inside, and caught her breath. The handkerchief held a necklace made of a gold chain with a pendant of two pink pearls and a black one. “How beautiful!” Kendra gasped.

  Marny smiled. “Pearls from that diving place in Mexico—La Paz,” she said. “Chain of California gold. Dwight had it made for me. I wear it every evening.”

  “Good heavens, Marny! Isn’t that an invitation to thievery?”

  “Yes, but we have iron shutters, and I always put this in the safe when we lock up. Dwight wants me to wear it.”

  She took back the precious little package, hid it inside her dress again, and went on.

  “Oh, Dwight’s a fine fellow, Kendra. And the new Calico Palace—we’re so proud of it!”

  “So everybody’s happy?”

  With a bit of a shrug, Marny shook her head. “Not everybody. Rosabel is not speaking to Norman. They’ve had a tiff.”

  “About what?”

  “Oh dear, I don’t know. I suppose the same old story, she wants to get married and he doesn’t. I hope they make it up. I don’t care which way, but I don’t want Rosabel going off to the El Dorado or the Verandah. She brings in a lot of trade.” Marny glanced at the clock. “Time I was getting into my mud-boots. Dwight will be here any minute.”

  Kendra had an idea. “I’d like to see all those new buildings around the plaza. May I walk down the hill with you?”

  “Of course!” Marny answered with enthusiasm. “It’ll be fine for you to go out and look around. Dwight will see you home—I’ll have to set up my card table. Get your boots.”

  Kendra stood up. “You’re good, Marny,” she said, “to help me get my mind off myself.”

  “You’re good, my dear, to want to get your mind off yourself. Some people must love trouble, they cling to it so, but you don’t. Put on a warm shawl, Kendra, the fog’s heavy today.”

  Kendra was surprised at how much more alive she felt after she had seen the plaza. The fire was only two months past, but today a stranger could hardly have told that there had been a fire at all. Everything in the burnt area had been replaced by something creaky-new. True, most of these structures did fit Dwight’s description, tarpaper and toothpicks. Many were not even buildings, but cloth houses of canvas tacked over wooden frames. Some were nothing but tents with floors. But all of them—stores, restaurants, saloons, lodging houses, gambling casinos, Blossom’s flower garden and its rivals—all were alive with business.

  The sidewalks were full of people. In the roads wagons rattled and drivers yelled, in the plaza auctioneers bellowed their wares. Kendra did not go inside the Calico Palace. But she saw it, tall and tempting, windows bright through the fog, the transparencies with their promised delights beckoning men from the street.

  The plaza had come to life again, full of mud and rats and vigor and gold, crude, bawdy, and splendid. Kendra felt braced by merely being in the midst of so much energy. She envied these folk of the plaza. They had no pretenses. They knew what they wanted and they meant to get it. She wished she could be as sure as they were.

  But later, as she looked back, it seemed to Kendra that all this time she had known exactly what she wanted. —How strange it is, she thought, and yet how logical, that we get what we really want in this world. And oh, how we pay for it!

  She had not wanted what Loren had given her. She had wanted the plaza and the Calico Palace.

  So now, three months after the deaths of Loren and the baby, here she was. In the Calico Palace, in the racket of Kearny Street. And she had paid a dreadful price.

  She tried not to inflict her pain on other people. They could not ease it. Nothing but time could help her, and even with the merciful blurring of time she knew her wound would never quite heal. Nobody could give her the promise Pocket had given her at Shiny Gulch, that after a while she would reach a point where she did not care. This was not that sort of wound. To the end of her life there would be moments when the scar would hurt. —If my son had lived he would be five years old now, ten years old, twenty. I wonder how he would look? What he would be doing?

  This would never go away. This was the price she had paid to come down to the plaza.

  Mr. and Mrs. Chase had offered her a home, but she had declined. She let them think this was because she was too proud to accept, and preferred to earn her own living; and while they did not approve of the Calico Palace they admired what they thought was her courage in accepting a harsh necessity. But this was not her real reason.

  It was true that Loren had not left much money. He had spent all he earned to give her the safety and sheltering she had not wanted. It had not occurred to him that he ought to be provident. Young and vigorous, he had never had a serious illness in his life. He had earned a good income and he had had every prospect of increasing it. He had loved Kendra and his greatest pleasure had been to give her everything he thoug
ht she wanted. Loren had left no debts, but he had left little else.

  Kendra found this out when a boy brought her a letter from Reginald Norrington, telling her the rent was overdue. Mr. Norrington’s letter was obsequious. He said he had not troubled her sooner because of his respect for her grief. But this was March, the third month since her husband’s demise. (“Demise” was the word used by Mr. Norrington.) He said if he had owned the property himself he would not be addressing her now. But she must realize he was not free, he had a duty to his client, the owner of the house she lived in. And so on, and on.

  He sounded greasy, Kendra thought. She did owe the rent and she was ashamed that she had let it slip her mind; a reminder two lines long would have been enough. The day she received the letter she walked down the hill with Ralph. First she went to the store. Mr. Chase opened Loren’s safe and gave a start of dismay when he learned the smallness of its contents. He told her to go to the bank of Eustis and Boyd. Maybe Loren had kept his money there.

  Loren had not. He had not kept his money at all. He had poured it out with loving extravagance on the expensive house and the fine furniture, the plank sidewalk, the summer’s water wagon and the winter’s loads of firewood, on the best food and clothes to be bought in town, on a salary to Ralph and Serena to give her protection and relieve her of work. There was not much left.

  Mr. Chase at the store, Hiram at the bank, urged her to accept aid. Hiram offered her a loan for as long as she wanted it, at no interest. Kendra said no.

  She did not add that today’s discovery had given her a sense of release. The neat little white house had never seemed to her like anything but a cage. Now she was free of it. She thought of the cheese rolls and cupcakes she had made when the Calico Palace was a tent in the mud. She could do this again and this was what she wanted to do.

  She sent Ralph to Mr. Norrington’s office with rent to the end of the month and a note saying she could not afford to keep the house longer than this. When she told Ralph and Serena they said this was quite all right. Serena was expecting her long wanted baby, and wouldn’t have time to keep on working for Kendra anyway. They would find another place to live.