by Jo Goodman
“Well, it is very much like a ship,” she said.
He glanced over his shoulder on his way to the broom closet and asked, “Have you ever been on a ship?”
“No.” Her eyebrows knit, forming a neat vertical crease between them. “That is, not on one that was bound for anywhere.”
Bode retrieved a mop. “One at berth in the harbor, then.”
“Mmm, not precisely berthed.”
“Ah,” he said, understanding. “You were on one of the ships abandoned during the early days of the rush. My father said that until the hulks burned and sank, it was possible to walk across the bay and never touch water. Was that true?”
“I don’t know. I never tried. But it seems as if it might have been true. There was more wood on the water than there was on land. Men fled the ships as soon as they arrived—even the men who sailed them.”
“I know. My father and the other masters lost entire crews to gold fever. They had to pay exorbitant wages in excess of fifty or even a hundred dollars a month to keep enough men to make the return voyage.” He finished wiping the spill and set the mop in front of him, holding it in a two-fisted grip that turned his elbows out. “So if you weren’t using the hulks like lily pads to traverse the bay, did you live on one?”
“No. Some people did, of course, but not us. Newt and Tuck like terra firma, they would say.” She saw Bode’s ironic smile and appreciated it. “I know. They have long since recognized the contrariness of making San Francisco home, but they’re settled now, and will tell you they still prefer shifting land to shifting seas.”
“Then I don’t have another guess,” he said. “Why were you on one of the ships?”
She didn’t answer right away, considering whether this was something she wanted to tell. In the end, she decided it hardly mattered. The deed had been done so long ago that no one was in danger of being punished for it. At the time, no one thought of it as a crime.
“Uncle Newton heard there was a safe on one of the ships that could be had if it could be taken off. He told Uncle Tuck about it, and they decided it was worth looking into. They were preparing to open a lending store and had enough business that they needed a safe.”
“But not so much business they could buy one.”
She shook her head. “No, they were just being thrifty.”
Bode started to chuckle and then swallowed it whole when he realized she was serious.
“It also would have taken too long to order anything like it and have it transported west. Enterprising men looked closer at hand for the solutions to their problems. The most successful found them.”
“They always do,” he said. “You accompanied them, obviously.”
“I accompanied one or both of them almost everywhere. It wasn’t safe for me to be left alone, or at least they didn’t think so.”
“They were right.” He paused. “They still are.”
Comfort ignored him. “Uncle Tuck rigged some kind of contraption that enabled them to hoist the safe out of the hold. They came close to sinking the rowboat and the safe because that part of their plan was not well thought out, but eventually they managed to get it on board without drowning themselves. There was an old mule and a travois waiting for us onshore, and the poor animal earned its feed that night for pulling that safe through Sydney Town.”
“That’s a good story.”
“It’s true.”
“That’s what makes it good.” He let the handle of the mop sway back and forth. “What kind of safe was it?”
“A Hildesheim.”
“No, I meant what kind of locking device did it have? Padlock? A combination?”
“It had a pin and tumbler mechanism.”
“How was it opened?”
She smiled. “I did the job on the box.” Surprise made Bode lose his grip on the mop handle, but he caught it before it hit Comfort on the head. He was too stunned by what she’d told him to offer an apology. “You were only a child.”
Comfort clapped her hands together once, delighted with his reaction. “I made it a better story, didn’t I?”
He realized he’d been taken in. “All right,” he said. “I believed you. And yes, it made for a better story, but tell me what really happened. How did you get the safe open?”
“It was already open. The ship’s captain emptied it before he left his command. Tuck worked on it for a long time—weeks, not hours—before he was able to reset the pins and tumblers so they operated on a new combination of numbers. He and Newton got stumbling drunk the night he finally figured it out.”
“I imagine they did. What did you do?”
“Filled and refilled their glasses.”
He eyed her suspiciously. “Really?”
“Really. I liked to take care of them. I wanted to be useful.” As soon as the words were out, Comfort wished she could call them back. The slight tremor in her voice caught her off guard and somehow attached a deeper meaning to her words, one that she hadn’t meant to reveal or, having revealed it, one she didn’t intend to examine.
Bode considered asking her if wanting to be useful was the reason she worked in the bank. It wasn’t a fair question, he decided, because she was already looking away, obviously regretting that she’d let him see vulnerability. He also decided against asking her because it wouldn’t have been easy to stop with that single question. He’d want to know if being useful to her uncles, to the men who were in every way her saviors, was the reason she’d been so long in accepting a proposal.
He picked up the mop and carried it back to the closet. The last time he tried to ask her about proposals, she’d crippled him.
Comfort picked up her hat and ran her fingers back and forth along the straw brim. When Bode turned away from the closet, she said, “I’d like to leave now, Mr. DeLong.”
“Mr. DeLong? Is that truly how you want to address me?”
“It’s your name.”
“It was my father’s name, too. I prefer Bode.”
Comfort felt leveled by the stare he turned on her, and perhaps it was only her imagination, but she believed he was threatening her with a discussion of their kiss as well. “Bode,” she said, and butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth.
He looked her over, waiting. “Imagine that,” he said when nothing happened. “Lightning didn’t strike you.”
Comfort rolled her eyes. She fixed her bonnet on her head and picked up her shawl. After snapping it open, she cast it around her shoulders and stood. “You don’t have to accompany me home. As I said, it was a kind offer but unnecessary.”
He pretended she hadn’t spoken. Sometimes that was the smoother course, he was learning. Opening the hatch, he crooked his fingers to motion her over. The dilemma that presented itself was whether he should assist her through the hatch and follow her down or whether he should go in first and make certain she made the descent safely.
While he was being uncharacteristically indecisive, Comfort took the matter out of his hands and put her right foot on the first step. She held on to the open hatch for support and brought around her left foot. She made a graceful pivot, grabbed the ropes, and started down the stairs in the same position she’d made the climb.
Bode was impressed. After two years in his employ, his clerk still hadn’t mastered the steps, unwisely choosing to use them like stairs instead of ladder rungs. Bode watched Comfort until she was only a few feet from the bottom before he lowered himself through the hatch and followed.
Alexandra regarded Bram over the rim of her teacup. “I don’t know how this will change things,” she said. “But I’m certain it will.”
“It was an accident.”
“I know that.” Her tone was crisp with a hint of impatience. “Even I can acquit you of doing something that is foolish and painful.”
“Painful is inadequate to describe what I’m feeling, Mother.”
“As foolish is often inadequate to describe so much else that you’ve done.”
Bram conceded the point. Hi
s head was supported by two large down pillows, but his splinted leg was supported by three. This morning he’d been visited by Alexandra’s choice of physicians. There was a frightening discussion about weights and pulleys that went on around him and that he tried not to hear. The laudanum made that easier. He did learn that whatever Dr. Harrison intended to do to him, it wasn’t going to happen today.
Gritting his teeth, Bram pushed himself up to his elbows. He carefully supported himself on one and reached for the bottle of laudanum at his bedside. He was aware of Alexandra’s eyes following him. She would only give him the drops as the doctor prescribed, but if he could manage to get them for himself, she didn’t try to stop him.
He unscrewed the stopper, raised it, and allowed three drops to fall on his tongue. When he’d closed the bottle, he returned it to the nightstand. His elbows slid out from under him, and he collapsed back onto the pillows. The movement jostled his leg. He groaned.
“I don’t see that it’s worth the trouble you take to get it,” Alexandra said.
“It will be,” he told her. “In a few minutes, it will be.”
She sipped her tea and said nothing.
His mother’s silence was sometimes her hardest censure, and Bram didn’t bear it well. “Did I hear Dr. Harrison mention Rigoletto when he was here?” he asked.
“He did. He attended the performance we missed.”
“And? Was it the success Newland Jefferson predicted it would be?”
“It’s Harrison’s opinion that it was. I haven’t looked in the papers yet.” She set her teacup aside. “I don’t think you heard the more important part of my conversation with the doctor.”
“The weights and pulleys. I heard.”
“Not that. It seems your brother attended the play.”
“Bode?”
“Do you have another brother?”
Her tone, as dry as dust, made him chuckle. “A brother that you bore? No. But I can’t speak for father’s bastards.”
“I should have had Dr. Harrison put a splint on your tongue.”
He grinned, unabashed. “Why do you suppose Bode went? I know he enjoys opera, but he doesn’t enjoy opening nights. I don’t think he’s been at one for years. Probably not since he moved out.”
“If I have to hazard a guess, and it seems that I do, Bode was there because Miss Kennedy was there.”
“She was? She went without me?”
“Apparently, yes.”
“She didn’t sit with Bode, did she? That would be odd. I’m not sure she even likes him.”
“She was escorted by her uncles and sat with them.”
“Good. I’m glad she didn’t forget herself. She’s my fiancée.”
“Hmm. The doctor says she left in Bode’s arms.”
“You mean, on Bode’s arm.”
“I said what I meant.” Alexandra absently fingered the cameo brooch at her throat. “Harrison didn’t see what happened, otherwise he would have lent assistance, but he had it from someone who was present that Comfort fainted during the break between the second and third acts.”
Bram shook his head. “I don’t believe it. That someone got his story wrong.”
“She might have been ill, Bram. Fevered. It can happen, you know.”
“If she was ill, then it came on her suddenly. She wouldn’t have left the house if she didn’t feel well, not even for the opera, not when she knows how much her uncles dislike it.”
“I wondered about that.” She shrugged. “I don’t suppose we’ll know until we ask. She’d tell you the truth, wouldn’t she?”
“Yes. What reason would she have to lie?”
Alexandra’s steady glance fell on her son. “Perhaps she would if she’s pregnant.”
Bram reared back slightly, pressing his head more deeply against the pillows. “Comfort is not pregnant. Who would the father be?”
“I thought it might be you,” Alexandra said, arching an eyebrow at him.
“Well, it’s not.” Reaching behind his head, he plumped the pillows. “It’s not anyone. She’s not pregnant. If she fainted, and I still have my doubts that Harrison or the person he listened to got it right, it’s not because she’s carrying a child.”
“I believe you’re offended on her behalf.”
“I’d like it if you weren’t so surprised. Comfort is my friend, Mother.”
“How easily you forget yourself, Bram, and I find that I’m offended on her behalf. She’s your fiancée. It’s natural that you should offer a stout defense of her character, but I think you should base it on this new development in your relationship, not the friendship that came before.”
“Very well,” he said, closing his eyes. He could feel the laudanum beginning to work. “I expect she’ll come by today, or send someone around to ask about me. I’ll inquire about the opera then.”
“I was thinking you should send a note inquiring after her. That’s the proper response given what the doctor said.”
“All right. I will. Later, though. I’ll do it later.”
Alexandra frowned. “This is precisely why I have no liking for those drops.”
“I know, Mother.”
She sighed and leaned over to brush away the hair that had fallen so predictably across his brow. “I cannot stay out of patience with you,” she said. “Your brother either. I admit I’ve been unhappy with him, but I’m going to invite him to dinner this evening.”
Bram gave her a wan smile. “You’re curious.”
Alexandra didn’t deny it. “You’d be just as curious if your brain wasn’t a potato.”
He supposed she was referring to the soporific effects of the laudanum. “You’ll let me know what he says, won’t you?”
“Yes.” Standing, she drew up the covers so they fell over Bram’s shoulders, then she stroked his head again. “I know you care about Comfort’s welfare. I do, too. That’s what makes it difficult to know how to think about Bode’s involvement, whether it’s blessing or curse.”
When Bram offered no opinion, she realized he’d fallen asleep. It was probably just as well. She knew which side he’d take in the blessing versus curse debate. Outside of his brother’s hearing, Bram did not often miss an opportunity to pronounce Bode the devil incarnate.
Bode didn’t wait for Newton and Tucker to come to him. After escorting Comfort home, and seeing her all the way to the front door, he directed his driver to take him to the Jones Prescott Bank.
He was shown to the second floor, where the partners shared an office, and was announced with deference that he didn’t require or believe he’d earned. He supposed the head teller’s behavior had something to do with Bram’s accident. Perhaps he believed there were still repercussions to come.
“Mr. Tweedy, is it?” asked Bode.
“Yes, sir.”
“Thank you. My mother also wishes for me to thank you for your assistance when Bram fell.” His mother had no idea who Mr. Tweedy was or that he’d been of any particular help, but Bode was grateful, and he knew Alexandra’s thanks would send the other man along quickly, if for no other reason than to tell his coworkers. As expected, Tweedy hurried off.
Newton and Tucker were getting to their feet as Bode approached. He shook their hands and waved them back in their chairs. “I apologize for arriving unannounced. I appreciate that you’re busy.”
Tuck folded his rangy frame back into his leather chair and stretched his legs under the desk. “Take a chair,” he said. “I had a feeling you’d come by today.”
Newt frowned. “You did? You didn’t say anything. How many times do I have to remind you that you gotta start telling me when you get one of those feelings?”
“You’ve been sayin’ it since we fought at Monterrey, so I guess if I was counting, that’d be quite a few plus a bunch.”
Bode had never been privy to the sparring between these men. They were well known from San Francisco to Sacramento for being careful but canny investors. There had been a time when their reputation for
turning a profit led to undisciplined speculation among less scrupulous financiers, but after watching the opportunists drive share prices to heights that had nothing to do with their real value, Tucker Jones and Newton Prescott changed the way they conducted business. To protect their depositors’ savings—and their own—secrecy was their holy grail.
Bode wondered if perhaps their best-kept secret was that they were still foot soldiers at heart.
“Newt and I were going to pay you a visit later, so I guess you saved us the trouble of getting there.” Tuck rubbed the back of his neck when Bode remained standing. “About that chair . . .”
Bode glanced around and chose one that straddled the invisible line dividing the partners’ office.
“It’s always telling where a person sits,” said Newt. “That’s why we insist on it. You want to hear what your choice tells us about you?”
“Actually, no.”
Tucker gave a shout of laughter. “Good for you. I believe that’s the first time someone’s declined. People generally like hearing that sort of nonsense. Newt says pretty much the same thing no matter where someone sits, but it makes most folks think he knows them real well.”
Newt’s mouth curled in disgust. “Now, you didn’t have to tell him all that.”
“Think I did,” Tuck said. “You started it.” He gave Bode his full attention. “Are you here about our niece or some other matter?”
“It’s Miss Kennedy,” said Bode. “She visited Black Crowne Shipping this morning. I came here to let you know that I delivered her home safely. It is impossible to know whether she’ll remain there, although I believe Suey Tsin will take extraordinary measures to see that she does.”
Bode had not given much thought to how Comfort’s uncles would react except to hope that they would not throw him out. Given an eternity to contemplate what they might do, he still couldn’t have predicted that Newton would stand and reach across the desks to Tucker with his palm out.
“Didn’t I say she would?” asked Newt. “That’ll be twenty.”