Calico Palace

by Gwen Bristow

  The day after Dwight’s steamer sailed Marny went to the vault of Hiram’s bank and took out her nugget necklace.

  “It’s my favorite ornament,” she explained.

  She wore it that evening. Kendra guessed that she was wearing it not only because it was her favorite ornament, but because it was a badge of independence. Dwight had been a fine fellow but he had also been exceedingly possessive. Marny had not forgotten the day he had insisted that she wear his pearls to the wedding.

  But she had genuinely liked Dwight. A few evenings later, drinking chocolate between shifts at her card table, she frankly told Kendra she missed him. Geraldine came purring around her ankles and Marny picked her up.

  “I’m glad we have a kitten,” said Marny, stroking Geraldine’s fur. “She’s a lot of company.”

  Kendra came to the table with a cup of her own. Marny went on,

  “I love our kitten. Only she’s hardly a kitten any more, she’s growing. Have you noticed, Kendra? Pretty soon she’ll be a cat.”

  Under Marny’s affectionate stroking, Geraldine stretched and sighed with pleasure. Kendra exclaimed, almost with envy, “And she needs so little to make her happy!”

  Marny smiled and nodded. “Plenty to eat, plenty of cuddling, a warm place to sleep—oh, it’s so simple to be a cat!”

  She added that it was time she took over her table from the Harvard man. She put Geraldine on the floor and drew the nugget necklace out of the pocket of her dress. Between shifts at the card table she liked to take off the necklace. The nuggets were heavy, and after an hour or so they grew wearisome on her neck. She fastened the catch and made sure her pretty little Colt was in place at her belt. Marny had never fired her gun in the parlor, though several times when some fellow became a nuisance she had whipped out the gun and held it on the offender until the guards could lead him outside. But she always wore it, and she frequently practiced using it. She made no secret of this; she wanted it known that she could take care of herself.

  Watching her, impulsively Kendra exclaimed, “Marny, it’s none of my business, but—don’t you think you’ll ever want anything that—well, that will last?”

  “I don’t know,” answered Marny. “I don’t even know if there is any such thing.”

  “I don’t either,” Kendra said frankly, “but I keep hoping there is.”

  She looked at Geraldine, curled up in a warm corner, blissfully content. “As you said, Marny—it’s so simple to be a cat!”

  Marny laughed in agreement, waved goodby, and went back to her parlor.

  58

  THE VERY NEXT DAY, Marny and Kendra learned that it was not so simple to be a cat.

  Shortly before noon, when Kendra went to Geraldine’s room with a pan of chopped meat, she found that their kitten had changed overnight. Usually Geraldine ran to meet her, eager to get her pan of food. But today Geraldine was not concerned about food. She was crying, dashing from wall to wall, rolling on the floor, and otherwise behaving in a most alarming fashion. Frightened, Kendra shut Geraldine in the room and went to call Marny.

  Wrapped in her woolen robe, her hair like a copper-red shawl on her shoulders, Marny was having coffee at the kitchen table. She listened sleepily, and sleepily began to laugh. As she did so, Kendra had a flash of enlightenment.

  “Do you suppose,” she exclaimed, “our kitten has turned into a cat?”

  “It does seem so,” said Marny. “I’ve never seen a cat in a mood for love, but I’ve been told this is the way they carry on. We’ll ask the vet.”

  They sent one of the barboys to the office of Dr. Wardlaw. The doctor came in later that day, was led up to Geraldine’s room, looked her over, and smiled wisely.

  “You’re right, girls,” he said. “She’s grown up.”

  He told them not to let her have kittens yet. Give her a bit more time. Marny and Kendra looked at each other, startled.

  “Do we want her to have kittens?” Marny asked.

  “I hadn’t thought of it,” said Kendra.

  “You girls don’t know much about cats, do you?” said Dr. Wardlaw.

  “No,” Marny owned modestly, “we don’t.”

  “We’ll think about the kittens,” said Kendra.

  “You’d better,” said the doctor.

  Over her squalls and protests, they locked up the room with Geraldine inside it.

  For two more days and nights, Geraldine continued her shameless conduct. Lovesick tomcats gathered on the dump heap behind the Calico Palace. They tried to climb the brick walls. All night they yowled. To human ears their tones were dreadful noises, but Geraldine heard them as the sweetest of love songs.

  It did not last long. On the third night Geraldine yawned and went to sleep. The next day she had forgotten all about the matter. From the innocent look of her nobody would have thought she could ever have behaved like such a hussy.

  Her suitors went their way. The early California spring began. The hills turned green, and beds of wild flowers began to bloom on the slopes. As Valentine’s Day came near, Kendra made heart-shaped cookies for sale, Marny hung pictures of cupids on her parlor walls, and Hortensia played romantic ballads on the piano. Hiram and Pocket sent Geraldine a feather cushion, and a white lace valentine with a tender sentiment signed Tom Katz.

  But in San Francisco nobody lived long in peace. Besides the usual assaults and burglaries on dark streets, every few days they heard a new fire alarm; and not long after Valentine’s Day there was a riot in the plaza.

  The turmoil in the plaza was not a public execution but it was very nearly one. A storekeeper, alone in his store one evening, had been beaten up by two ruffians who left him unconscious on the floor and made off with his cash box. Now two men had been arrested and charged with the crime. The day they were brought in, several thousand citizens rushed to the plaza shouting that they wanted the prisoners hanged right here and right now.

  The storekeeper had not died, and the assault was no worse than hundreds that had gone before it. But for some reason this one had tipped the scales of the people’s endurance. They were in a mood to hang somebody. The pair now being charged looked like just the sort they wanted to hang.

  The men in custody were useless fellows, not noted for habits of temperance or steady work. Still, there was no clear proof that they were the men who had attacked the storekeeper. But for two days the plaza seethed like a pot of boiling water.

  While the tumult raged, the resorts around the plaza put on airs of desperate gaiety and went on with business. In the Calico Palace, Marny dealt cards and Norman moved about with gallantry and grace. Kendra baked cakes, Hortensia played the piano, the croupiers and bartenders stanchly stayed at their posts. The Blackbeards and their assistants managed to keep the peace indoors. But they all quaked lest the men yelling for law and order outside should lose their tempers and start behaving like the men who had roused their wrath. And in the midst of all the other commotion Geraldine had another attack of love trouble.

  Marny and Kendra had decided that they wanted Geraldine to have a family. They had planned that when the time came they would put her into the little house Dwight had made, and carry her to Dr. Wardlaw’s office. The doctor had promised that he would make her acquainted with a handsome tomcat worthy to be the father of her children.

  But with those thousands of men storming outside, they could not follow their plan. All they could do now was shut the door of Geraldine’s room and let her do some storming of her own.

  In the plaza, citizens with cooler heads were begging for order. At last, about one o’clock on the second night of the uproar, the cooler heads prevailed. Tired and sleepy, the crowd began to disperse. A good many of the men came to the bars of the Calico Palace. Over their drinks they muttered that they were going home this time, but if the crimes did not lessen somebody was going to get hanged for sure.

  Hiram came up to Marny’s parlor to make certain she and Kendra were all right. Marny told him they had suffered nothing but loss of
sleep, “and being scared half to death,” she added, “but we’re used to that.” Hiram had time for only one drink at the bar before Norman tapped him on the shoulder and said, “Closing time.”

  Closing the Calico Palace tonight took longer than usual, but with their customary persistence the Blackbeards and the other guards managed to do it. They were expert at getting the building empty of everybody who did not belong here. They started on the top floor and worked down, and two watchmen stayed on guard until the gambling rooms opened in the morning, just in case the Blackbeards had missed a prowler. So far, they never had.

  When the customers had gone, Marny went to the bar and poured a drink. She sipped it thankfully. Her head ached and so did her arms and legs and back, tense with long apprehension. She was glad to reflect that the men who had been making all that racket must be as weary as she was, so the plaza would be quiet tomorrow and she could catch up on her sleep. She poured another drink, lighted a candle, and with the glass in one hand and the candlestick in the other she went upstairs.

  Kendra’s door was closed and Marny heard no sound from beyond it. Probably Kendra was already asleep. Marny was crossing the landing to her own room when she saw Norman coming toward her. He too had a glass in his hand.

  “Come and sit down a minute,” he said, speaking in an undertone so as not to disturb the sleepers. “Something I want to tell you.”

  They sat down on the top step of the staircase and Marny placed the candlestick between them.

  She smothered a yawn. “Make it brief,” she pled.

  Norman turned his glass between his hands. His face was grave, as if he was about to broach a matter of importance.

  Norman had never tried to make love to Marny. She was too smart to attract his amorous thoughts. Norman’s idea was that while a smart co-worker was a good thing, no man in his right mind would want a ladylove who could beat him at cards. But the fact that he and Marny had never been lovers and were never going to be, kept the way open for them to be friends. He talked to her with a candor he rarely showed anybody else.

  After thinking how best to say it, Norman spoke.

  “Marny, I’ve made a decision.”

  “Yes, Norman?”

  “I’ve decided,” said Norman, “to ask Hortensia to marry me.”

  Marny was taking a swallow from her glass. She choked on it, and coughed. “Norman,” she exclaimed when she could speak, “how many drinks have you had?”

  “This is my first this evening. No, I’m serious, Marny.”

  From Marny’s throat came a small wordless sound of wonder. Norman had spurned many girls who would have been glad to marry him. Over and over he had told her he was never going to get married, couldn’t see why any man would want to tie himself up like that. She could not help her astonishment. After a moment Norman continued,

  “I wanted to tell you, so we could talk it over. Don’t you think it’s a good idea?”

  Marny considered this. After a pause she said, “Norman, if you get married you’ll have to do a lot of changing.”

  “I know,” said Norman.

  “What I mean is, don’t be in a hurry. Think it over.”

  “I’ve thought it over,” Norman answered firmly. “And I’ll tell you something, Marny. It’s time I did some changing. I know I don’t look it but I’m past forty years old. I’m beginning to want things I used to not want. Like a permanent arrangement. A couple of kids. Things like that.”

  Norman sounded like a man who meant what he said. Marny sipped her drink and waited for him to go on.

  He laughed a little. “And I’ll tell you why I like Hortensia,” he said. “She’s no milksop. Remember how she made us raise her price? She’s a person. Wouldn’t get dull. She’d keep a man interested.”

  This time Marny answered, and her voice too was firm. “Hortensia wouldn’t put up with any running about, either,” she reminded him. “Have you thought of that?”

  “Of course I’ve thought of it!” he returned, almost indignantly. “Like I told you, I’m ready to settle down. Hortensia’s a fine girl and I’ll treat her right. I’ll tell you something else, Marny, Hortensia’s a nice girl. She may have done a bit of running about herself, but no more. She’s kept her door locked ever since she’s been here.” He added proudly, “To everybody.”

  “Yes, I know,” Marny said with a faint amusement. “You really have thought about this, haven’t you?”

  “Yes I have. I don’t jump into important things without thinking. You ought to know that by now.”

  He was in earnest, but Marny could not help wondering how long this was going to last. However, she reflected as he talked on, Hortensia could take care of herself. She had left New York determined to come to California, but without money enough for the journey. She had told them how she had worked her way, going as far as she could pay for and then getting a theatrical engagement and earning money to take her farther, until at last in New Orleans she had earned enough to buy a ticket for the Isthmus route. If Hortensia married Norman she could cope with him. And Norman was, in many ways, a good catch. He had money and he was making more; and as he had said of Hortensia, he would never be dull.

  He was demanding, “Don’t you think it’s a good idea?”

  “I just wanted to make sure, Norman,” she answered. “And yes, now that we’ve talked about it, I think it’s a good idea.” She drained her glass and stood up.

  Norman stood up too. He was smiling all over his face. —Good heavens, thought Marny, he looks like a joyful bridegroom.

  Norman picked up the candlestick and handed it to her. “You’re a good girl, Marny,” he said, and gave her cheek a pat.

  They said good night and went to their own rooms. After the confusion of the past two days Marny was so tired that she went to sleep quickly, and stayed asleep until noon the next day. She woke feeling well. The sun was shining and the air had a zesty tingle. Marny washed her face, pinned back her hair, put on a robe and started downstairs for breakfast.

  At the kitchen door she met Kendra. Marny started to say “Good morning,” but before she could speak she saw that Kendra’s face was full of trouble. “What’s wrong?” Marny exclaimed.

  “It’s Geraldine,” said Kendra. She sounded almost breathless with concern. “Geraldine is gone, Marny. She ran away last night.”

  “Oh Kendra!” Marny gasped. “You mean she got out—into that mob in the plaza?”

  Kendra nodded.

  “And half of them toppling drunk,” Marny said in a voice of dread.

  Kendra nodded again. Their eyes met, and they did not need to tell each other what they were thinking. Those men shouting in the plaza could have killed Geraldine without even seeing her. It would have been easy for a little cat to be trampled in such a frantic mob. Even if she had not been hurt last night, there were all the dangers of today. She could be crushed by a wagon wheel, or her bones broken by the hoofs of a horse. They thought of Geraldine dying in agony, or lost in a cellar and starving.

  Marny shivered. “When did you see her last, Kendra?”

  “Late yesterday. Come in and I’ll tell you about it.”

  They sat at the kitchen table and Kendra brought Marny a cup of coffee. She said she had gone to Geraldine’s room shortly before dark with food and fresh water. Geraldine had made no secret of the fact that she wanted to run out and take a lover, but Kendra had left the pans and shut the door with Geraldine safely inside. Then, when she went to Geraldine’s room this morning, the door was ajar and Geraldine had fled.

  There was no way to be sure just when she had escaped or how. Everybody had been upset last night. In the confusion, someone could easily have opened the door to Geraldine’s room by mistake, and left it unlatched. Kendra had asked the Blackbeards if they had seen Geraldine running around when they were closing up last night. They had said no.

  Marny drank two cups of coffee, but when Kendra brought her a hot waffle she had a hard time making herself eat half of it. Kendra
was not surprised; she had no appetite either. Marny dressed and went to her card table, glad she had to keep her mind on the cards and not think of Geraldine. She had never dreamed she could feel this way about a cat.

  When the Harvard man came to relieve her at the cards, Hortensia followed her to the door. “I’m so sorry about Geraldine!” Hortensia whispered.

  —Hortensia is a nice girl, Marny thought as she went out of the parlor. I wonder if Norman has spoken to her yet. I don’t know and I don’t care. Oh Geraldine! I wonder if she’s still alive. Please, God, if she has to get killed don’t let it hurt her very much.

  Day after day, they kept hoping they would find Geraldine somewhere in the building. If she had run downstairs while the place was full of men she might have been scared by so many strangers. Maybe she had hidden somewhere and now could not get out of her hiding place. Marny and Kendra looked and looked. They could not find her. At night they listened at the door by which Geraldine had first come in, hoping they would hear her calling from outside. Night after night they heard nothing but the wind, and sometimes a spatter of rain, and revelers singing their way home. Sadly, they came upstairs.

  “We might as well give up,” Marny said at last.

  “We can always find another cat,” said Kendra, “but—”

  She paused and Marny finished the sentence. “—but it won’t be the same cat. It won’t be Geraldine.”

  They sat at the kitchen table, Marny drinking chocolate while she took a break from the cards. Geraldine had been gone ten days.

  Kendra glanced at the clock. It was nearly midnight and she was tired. In the oven was her last batch of cakes for the day. When these were done she could go to bed. “Maybe,” she said wearily, “we ought to forget about Geraldine.”

  “I wish I could!” Marny retorted. “Damn cats. I wish I’d never seen a cat. I’m never going to adopt another cat as long as I live. If anybody had told me—Kendra! What’s the matter?”

  Kendra had given a start. She was holding up a hand in warning. “Hush! I heard something.”