by Gwen Bristow
Taking lists of what the girls needed, Hiram and Pocket went off to Chase and Fenway’s. Before long they came back laden with packages. Later the same day Mr. Fenway called. He told Rosabel the store had just received three fine new pianos, and he would be happy to have her come in any time it suited her, to try them and choose one for the Calico Palace. Rosabel said she would love to try the pianos as soon as she had a dress to wear, and while she was sewing on the dress would Mr. Fenway please make sure the pianos were in tune. Mr. Fenway solemnly promised to do so.
Kendra asked him to take a note to Serena Watson, asking if Serena would do some dressmaking. The next morning Serena came in to say she would be glad to have the work. A little extra money was always handy. (Serena was joyfully pregnant, but she was too kind to say she did not have to spend her time making baby clothes because Kendra had given her the clothes her own baby had left when he died.)
Almost shyly, Dwight asked Kendra if she would prepare meals for the four of them. He said her cooking, which he had sampled at the Calico Palace, had spoilt him for the meals served in the restaurants. He would gladly pay her whatever she asked.
“Don’t be silly,” Kendra exclaimed. “Of course I’ll cook if you’ll set up a kitchen. As for pay—aren’t you giving me a place to live?”
But Marny told her privately, “Please let him pay you a little dust, Kendra. He wouldn’t feel right otherwise. Dwight’s the proud sort. And right now he’s ashamed of himself.”
“Ashamed? What for?”
“For the way his buildings went down in the fire. He’s going to put up some fireproof buildings if it kills him. When he gets them up he’s likely to set the town on fire himself, just to prove they won’t burn.”
So Kendra accepted a salary of half an ounce a day, which was the usual pay for barmaids. Dwight wanted to give her more, because cooking required more skill than pouring drinks. But he was providing the food, and Kendra said that as he was giving her both board and lodging she would take no more. Dwight laughed, and offered Rosabel a salary to be Kendra’s assistant. Rosabel was no expert at cooking, but she said she would like to learn. They managed very well.
For their kitchen, behind the hotel Dwight set up an iron house twelve by sixteen feet. These iron houses were brought out from the States in pieces. The edges were grooved, so that the parts slid together easily, and two men could put up such a house in a day. There was an opening for a stovepipe and others for windows, and Dwight put in panes and shutters. Kendra found it an adequate kitchen, not attractive to rats.
Every morning, before the wind began to blow up the dust, Kendra and Rosabel went out with baskets on their arms and guns at their belts, to buy their dinner. Often they stopped at Chase and Fenway’s. While Kendra shopped, Rosabel played one of the new pianos, to the enjoyment of both Mr. Fenway and herself.
Not long after the fire, Kendra received two letters by the steamer mail. One came from Eva at Hampton Roads, the other from Loren’s brother Clifford Shields in Boston. Both were written in response to Marny’s letters telling about the deaths of Loren and the baby, and both were written to offer Kendra a home.
Eva’s letter was graceful and gentle. “I know you are suffering heartbreak, my dear girl. But you are young, and life is still open to you. If you can come to us, you will be welcome. Your friend Miss Randolph did not mention your financial situation, but if there is any problem here, Alex will gladly defray your expenses.”
The letter from Clifford Shields had a tone of real affection. He said Loren had written him about his happy marriage, and he was grateful to Kendra for having made it so. “I shall always regard you as my sister,” wrote Clifford. “If you can come to Boston, my wife and I will be happy to receive you.”
As she read the letters, Kendra shook her head.
—Thank you, she thought, but no. I am not going to accept anybody’s kindness. Here with Marny and the Calico Palace, I’m independent and I’m wanted.
She declined the offers as graciously as she could, and went on doing the work she liked to do.
Marny too was working. As they had done when the Calico Palace burned for the first time, she and Norman and the Blackbeards had rented space in the hotel for their gambling tables. Norman had taken a bedroom in the hotel, and invited Rosabel to share it, but she thrust out her lip at him and refused. “You’ll let me stay with you, won’t you?” she asked Kendra. “I’m mad at Norman.”
“Of course you can stay with me,” Kendra answered. She said no more, but she thought—You poor silly girl, can’t you get it out of your head that Norman is going to marry you? He’s not going to.
In their free time Norman and Marny conferred with Bruno Gregg about pictures, and bought equipment for the new Calico Palace. Sometimes Kendra went to the auction rooms with them. She enjoyed seeing the mirrors and hangings and fine furniture, and hearing the spiels of the auctioneers, and listening to Blossom and Blossom’s colleagues outbidding each other for trappings to embellish their parlor houses.
Dwight spent many hours on his plans for the new building. He moved his drawing table into his bedroom so he would not be disturbed by Kendra and Rosabel. Two small buildings, both banks, though in the heart of the fire, had withstood it.
“That proves,” Dwight said vehemently to Marny, “buildings can be made fireproof.”
Marny was taking a rest from the card table while Kendra and Rosabel prepared dinner. Dwight sat by the drawing table, Marny stood looking out of the window. In the sunset light she saw the burnt-over district. The new buildings were shooting up as fast as before, most of them no better than those that had gone down in the fire. And yet, as Kendra had said, some villain might start another fire; or, careless as men were with their cigars, anybody might start one. In a voice of exasperation Marny exclaimed, “Won’t people in San Francisco ever learn?”
“I’m learning,” Dwight said tersely.
He pushed his chair back and stood up. Marny knew what he was thinking. The two banks that had survived the fire had been small buildings of brick reinforced with iron. Many people were voicing doubts that a large building, with several floors and many rooms, could be made fireproof.
Dwight said, “Size doesn’t mean anything.”
“I’m not worried,” Marny answered. “You’re good at your work, Dwight. I’m not concerned about people who say you can’t do it.”
“‘You can’t do it!’” he echoed. Restlessly he walked to the window and stood by her, looking out. “‘You can’t do it!’” he repeated angrily. “Like my father back in New York.”
“Oh dear,” Marny exclaimed with wry humor. “Was that your trouble? You’ve never told me about your father.”
“You’ve never asked me,” said Dwight.
Marny spoke quietly. “Dwight, I don’t ask my friends what they did before I met them. Most people like to talk about themselves. But some don’t. So, I don’t ask. But I do wonder.”
“You don’t say anything about wondering,” he remarked smiling.
“No, but I wonder about the people who came out from the States before the gold rush. People like you. Those who came here after the gold news got around, they’re simple to understand. But those of us who came before then—we all had our own reasons, and they’re different reasons with each one of us. Why would Hiram Boyd ship as a sailor to come around the Horn? Why would you leave New York and go to live in Honolulu, out at the end of the world?” She laughed shortly. “You don’t have to tell me, Dwight.”
“I’ve just told you,” he answered. “Family trouble.”
Marny thought of her own family. “Did they nag you and boss you?”
“Not exactly,” said Dwight. “But I was the black sheep. We were three brothers. I was the one who was never going to amount to anything. I wouldn’t take good advice. My father had a store. A good one, started by his father. He wanted to open some branches. He wanted the three of us to join him. The others were enthusiastic. I wasn’t. I wanted to be
a builder and I wanted to take my own risks. They couldn’t understand why I wanted to try anything so chancy when I could go into the good old family business and be safe.”
“Some people like to gamble,” said Marny. “Some don’t.”
He nodded. “And I guess they’ll never get together. Anyway, I came out here to the Pacific so I could do what I wanted.”
“And not have to listen to any more good advice,” she added.
“Exactly,” he said. He went on, “I didn’t run away and hide. They know where I am. My father writes to me now and then, asking if I haven’t had adventures enough and why don’t I come back to civilization.”
“Do you think you’ll ever go back?” she asked.
“Oh, some day,” said Dwight. “But not yet.”
He turned from the window and looked at her with proud affection.
“First,” he said, “I’m going to build a fireproof Calico Palace for you.”
“For me,” she said softly.
“Yes, Marny dear,” he answered. He smiled confidently. “For you.”
Marny smiled back at him. Dwight meant what he said. Or at least he thought he did. He thought he was going to build that Calico Palace for her. But she was not the reason. He was going to build it for his father.
—For his father, she thought, and his brothers. He’ll not go back to them until he has a fireproof building like a scalp on his belt. Maybe several fireproof buildings. If he can do it in San Francisco he can do it in New York. He’ll show them.
—And as soon as he has those scalps on his belt, he’ll leave me just where I am, and go back to his father.
—Well, that’s all right, she reflected. It’s all right, so long as he doesn’t know I know it. A man so often complains about a woman, She doesn’t understand me. Let him say it. Never, never let him guess you understand him so well.
Dwight cleared the lot for the Calico Palace and laid a foundation of wrought stone from China. He promised Norman and the Blackbeards that they could open the public room as soon as he had finished the first story, and use the small rooms behind it as living quarters. When he had finished the second story Marny could join them and open her parlor.
With the Calico Palace under way, Dwight turned his attention to Hiram’s bank. (The name of the bank was still Eustis and Boyd, but Mr. Eustis was a bashful man, excellent at the work he did at his desk in a corner, but so quiet that the customers seldom knew he was there. Hiram’s big jovial presence so filled up the place that except on formal documents the treasure house on Montgomery Street had no other name than “Hiram’s bank.”)
Early in June the first floor of the Calico Palace was ready. Norman moved in, and opened the public room. Rosabel stayed with Kendra and helped her with the cooking.
“Do you like this work?” Kendra asked her. “I mean, do you like it as well as playing the piano?”
“I like playing the piano better than anything,” said Rosabel. “But I like cooking too.”
They were working in their iron kitchen. The fire gave them a welcome warmth, for outdoors the wind was whistling through clouds of chilly June fog. Kendra had put a pork roast into the oven and was now boiling onions, while Rosabel sat by the table peeling potatoes. After a short silence Rosabel said,
“Norman told Marny the Calico Palace was doing fine. Just that one room so far, but it’s full all the time.”
Kendra said she was glad of this. After another minute or two Rosabel added,
“Norman wants me to come back and play the piano in the public room.”
“I’ll miss you,” said Kendra. “You’re a lot of help.”
“I hate the public room,” said Rosabel. “Getting pinched by every Tom-Dick-and-Harry down from the mines. At least in Marny’s parlor they have some manners. I’m not going.”
“I don’t blame you,” Kendra said positively.
“Besides,” said Rosabel, “I like learning how to cook. I sure do wish I could cook like you, Kendra.”
Kendra stirred the onions. “You’re learning. But it does take practice. I’m afraid you won’t have much time for cooking when Marny opens her parlor.”
Rosabel dropped the paring knife with a clatter. “I’m not going back to Marny’s parlor,” she announced.
Kendra went to the table. She put her hand on Rosabel’s shoulder. “If you want to help me make cakes and rolls,” she said, “I’ll be glad to teach you.”
“I don’t want to go back to the Calico Palace at all!” exclaimed Rosabel. Curling an ankle around a leg of her chair, she looked up at Kendra, her eyes wide and dark and appealing under their black velvet eyebrows. “I’m tired of living like that!” she said. “Nothing to count on. Nothing to look forward to. Nobody giving a damn what becomes of me. I want to be married like other people.”
Rosabel sounded suddenly so alone and helpless. Kendra felt a rush of sympathy. She stroked Rosabel’s puckered forehead. “Rosabel,” she said gently, “I’m going to speak the truth, even if it hurts you. You’d better give up hoping for Norman. I don’t think he’s ever going to marry you.”
Rosabel’s soft little mouth set in a new hard line. She spoke clearly. “I don’t want to marry Norman,” she said.
“Oh, I’m glad of that,” Kendra answered with relief. “There are so many others. A pretty girl like you, you’ll have all the proposals you want.”
“I don’t want any more proposals,” snapped Rosabel. Forgetting the unpeeled potatoes, she stood up.
“Then what do you want?” Kendra asked in astonishment.
“I want to marry Mr. Fenway,” said Rosabel, and she put her head on Kendra’s shoulder and began to cry softly.
54
ROSABEL REACHED INSIDE HER dress and took out a letter.
“Ralph Watson brought this over today,” she said, still with a little choke in her voice. “It’s from Mr. Fenway. Read it.”
The letter was addressed to Miss Rosabel Fitzgerald. Kendra wondered if this was her real name, and doubted it. Not at all sure what to expect, she began to read.
On expensive paper, the letter was written painstakingly, with many flourishes. It was evidently a letter composed in advance, altered, polished, made as fine as possible, and at last, copied with care.
San Francisco
June 12, 1850
Dear Miss Rosabel,
This epistle brings you a respectful offer of marriage. Though thronged by admirers more worthy than myself, you will, I beg, do me the honor of considering my proposal.
For some time it has been my pleasure to observe your beauty and talent, and the smiles that brighten the hearts of those around you. Many times you have made my spirit glad. When I was a child back in New Bedford, Massachusetts, my mother had a piano and she played it like you. She looked like you too, black curly hair and big dark eyes like yours, and she had your good cheer and sweet disposition. My father was a seagoing man and when he was away my mother would pass the time playing the piano by the hour and I used to sit and listen and the music made me happy. I thought nobody could play the piano like my mother until I heard you.
Miss Rosabel, I believe I can provide for you very comfortably. Chase and I are doing a good business in the mercantile line. Besides the store, I own four lots bringing in good rents. I also have a fair sum in cash, safely put away.
I take the privilege, Miss Rosabel, of laying my heart, hand, and fortune at your feet.
Yours with deep regard,
Silas Fenway.
Kendra looked up. Rosabel stood waiting, eyes wide, lips parted.
“Isn’t it the most beautiful letter you ever read?” Rosabel asked. She sounded awestruck.
Kendra felt a catch in her throat. “He means every word of it,” she said. “Have you answered it yet?”
Rosabel shook her head. “I—I don’t know if I can,” she returned. “I mean, I’m scared to try. He sounds so educated. I’m not educated like that.”
“Why don’t you send him
word to come and see you here?” asked Kendra. “Then you can tell him you accept his offer.”
“Oh no!” Rosabel exclaimed. “He wrote to me. I ought to write back.”
She spoke with conviction, but with dread of the task. Kendra thought she understood why Rosabel had shown her the letter.
“Do you want me to help you, Rosabel?” she asked.
Rosabel’s reply had a touching eagerness. “Oh Kendra! Would you?”
“I’ll be glad to. This evening after dinner, when Marny has gone down to her card table, we’ll write the letter. Tomorrow when Dwight goes out you can ask him to take it to Mr. Fenway.”
“Oh you are so good!” exclaimed Rosabel. “I wish I could make up a beautiful letter. But I can’t, I know I can’t.”
“Nobody can do everything,” Kendra reminded her. “I wish I could play the piano like you. All I can do is tinkle tunes. You have real talent.”
“Silas told me the other day I had real talent,” Rosabel answered happily.
That evening Kendra composed a reply to Mr. Fenway. It was more flowery than she herself would have liked, but Rosabel wanted some fancy words and Kendra put them in. Rosabel copied the letter in her slow awkward handwriting, and the next morning Dwight took it with him. They did not tell him what was in it. Dwight assumed that he was delivering an order for dress goods.
About two hours later Mr. Fenway called at the hotel. Kendra and Rosabel were in the kitchen preparing the midday lunch when they heard a knock on the iron door. Rosabel started, with a quick smile as if she had already guessed who the caller was, and Kendra went to open the door. There stood Mr. Fenway, more carefully dressed than she had ever seen him, with a black silk cravat tied under his Adam’s apple, and a high beaver hat in his hand. He bowed low.
“Good morning, madam. I was told that this is where I could find Miss Rosabel.”
Before Kendra could answer she heard Rosabel’s voice behind her. “Here I am, Silas!”
A smile appeared on Mr. Fenway’s long narrow face. He bowed to Rosabel, and stepping over the threshold he said to Kendra, “I suppose Miss Rosabel has told you, she has made me the happiest of men?”