Traveled Hearts (First In Series Book 1)

by Veronica Mahara

  Her next task was finding a kitchen maid for the cook. She hired a girl by the name of Gretchen Giles. Though barely seventeen years old, she seemed strong enough to handle the rigors of the kitchen and Miss Benton’s authoritative personality. Her final hire was a helper for Hannah. Angie Greer was also young and sturdy, and Hannah took to her immediately. Kevin worked with Frederick’s choice of stableman, Sam Richards, and a gardener was hired to come regularly to tend to the grounds. Keeping her household running smoothly, she defined herself as mistress of the house. It barely gave her time to indulge in her artistic passion, but she managed to squeeze in a few painting sessions each week.

  Frederick had surprised her with a small glass summer house down a grassy hill from the main house. It stood like an eager child, ready to play. Paned French doors opened like welcoming arms. The gabled roof structure was painted white with light blue trim. Inside, the high ceiling gave the space a palatial feel. Jessica left the doors open when she could. The cool, soft breezes were refreshing. She felt a sense of freedom here. Frederick provided her with the money she needed to make it her own, and it became one of her favorite escapes. A wooden, tabletop easel rested on a small desk. A soft-pink chaise, her most prized possession, stretched against one of the walls. At times she would unlace her shoes, kick them from her feet, step onto the thick, flowered rug, then lie on the chaise, letting her mind wander back to her life in Hartford–her and Jacob’s wild horseback races, their intimacy, her parents’ love, her brother’s teasing. How safe she had felt.

  Today she retrieved the picture she had painted of Jacob and her by Mary’s Pond and bravely hung it in her studio as a bittersweet memory. She gathered her art supplies and sat on the manicured grass outside her studio. She breathed in the mild, sweet air. A large eucalyptus tree stood close by. The striped bark and draping branches filled with blue-green leaves intrigued her, and she began to pencil in what she saw. A gust of wind blew its rich scent her way, making it all that much easier to capture the tree’s essence. Before long, she was in her peaceful element, and the painting came to life.

  When she finally rose from the ground, her back was stiff and her legs tingled. Satisfied with the results, she brought the painting in to dry before she applied the final touches. She heard her husband’s voice, and her peace was shattered, her daydreaming put away. She quickly washed her hands in the basin of water and hurried inside to dress for dinner.

  The evening supper was served by Gretchen as it was every night at approximately seven o’clock. Frederick took his usual seat at the head of the table, and Jessica sat on the side next to him. It was a long, formal table in a large, decorated room dressed with white wainscoting and blue-toile wallpaper. The chairs were upholstered in deep-blue velvet. The less formal parlor would have been her preference for all their meals. Frederick liked eating in the austereness of this room, and there was no use in convincing him otherwise.

  He spooned his soup, and before it reached his mouth he turned to her. “What have you painted today?” He slurped the light-green liquid.

  “The eucalyptus tree outside of my studio.” It wasn’t his way to ask her about her painting. She buttered a roll in silence.

  “It’s time for you to get more involved with my clients. I’ll have the gentlemen’s wives call on you. They’re wondering if I’m married at all. I won’t have you painting all day when you could be helping me advance my career.”

  She sipped her soup. “I’ll do what I can.”

  “You’ll do more than that. I need you to convince them of my value to their husbands. I need the wife’s trust as much as I need the husband’s.”

  “I see. Then I will tell them you are most capable and highly motivated.” Her glibness was not lost on Frederick.

  “My, did we forget our place so soon?”

  “Frederick, please don’t talk to me like I am your prisoner. We are man and wife.”

  “Apparently you were not taught the duties of a good wife.”

  Gretchen brought in the next course, and Jessica took her plate and stood.

  Gretchen’s eyes went as wide as saucers.

  “I will do my best. Excuse me. The parlor’s light tonight is more suitable for my digestion.”

  Frederick laughed as she exited the room. She was sure she would have to pay a price for her insolence. Indeed, the rest of the night she received a cold shoulder from him. He visited her room and had sex with her without a word. When he was finished, the feeling of acute loneliness engulfed her. To her relief, he took no time in going back to his room.

  It wasn’t long before Jessica was socializing with the wives of Frederick’s clients. Teas, clubs and dinner parties began to clutter her calendar. It wasn’t much different than her obligations back in Hartford. Polite, gracious, well groomed, she knew all too well how to be in society. It bored her terribly. She longed to paint, to explore the city, to expand her mind. She decided to do just that. While Frederick was at the bank, she would visit various parts of San Francisco with Hannah by her side.

  ~

  The July morning was bright and warm, and Jessica was eager to begin her explorations. She asked Sam to take her and Hannah into the city. The lanky, middle-aged driver was reluctant at first, but Jessica held firm. She handed him a small map on which she had circled several streets. “Make sure we see all of these places, and tell me if you know others I might like exploring.” He took the map and securely fixed his cap over his balding head. “Yes, ma’am.”

  A light-gray fog hung above Battery Street. Jessica and Hannah perused the merchants’ wares along the waterfront. Everything from maritime supplies to ladies’ gloves were sold in shops tightly strung together. The smell of the saltwater this morning helped to diffuse the strong odors surrounding the bustling area. Jessica held her handkerchief to her nose as they went by the shops and stalls. The fishmonger was cleaning a bucket of newly caught salmon, shouting, “Salmon, just out of the sea!” Another market was selling pig parts, and yet another had a vat of boiling meat, or something that smelled as such. Then Hannah pointed out an art supply sign. The small store sat cramped between the printer’s and a woodworking shop.

  When she opened the wood-trimmed screened door, her eyes darted from brushes to paints, artists’ tools and more. She was like a child in a sweet shop. With the allowance Frederick gave her each week, she purchased a new brush and some paper. The storeowner suggested a few art galleries on Kearney Street, not far from where they were.

  Sam handled the carriage with experience as he guided the horse along the roads, some laid with wood, others with packed-down earth. Still the coach seemed unstable, and she and Hannah held on to the handles inside the doors. They stopped at another store that sold art. Stepping inside a low-lit venue, Jessica looked at the foreign paintings—dark still lifes of rotting fruit and bread, limp flowers, and portraits of scruffy-faced men. The most provocative art, however, was in a small room behind heavy, black, velvet curtains. They were allowed to go into the room with the gallery owner’s consent and warning. The seductive art showed women and men with exposed bodies, and animals and ethereal ladies doing the unimaginable. Jessica felt her face heat up as she bravely took in the artist’s techniques. Hannah turned away with a giggle and left, the black curtain falling heavily behind her. Jessica was glad to be alone. She came closer to the scandalous paintings, wondering how they got the lines and shadows to work with such intensity. This was something she had never seen before. Touching the raised edge, the brushstrokes had left behind, she was startled by the curtain opening and the gallery owner gesturing her to come away. The show was apparently over. Nodding graciously, she felt no reason to be embarrassed. No matter what the interpretation, this was art. In quick order, however, she found herself standing by the carriage with Hannah. “Well, that was quite different.” Jessica laughed and Hannah put a hand to her mouth still giggling.

  Next was a dry goods store that displayed various artists’ works, but these were more chee
rful. The paintings moved Jessica in a most profound way. They were optimistic and dreamlike, a dream of something good to happen and figures relishing in contentment—something she longed for. The warmth and richness of the colors spoke to her. Beautiful ladies in summer dresses standing on a seashore, the blue-and-green ocean dancing before them. The same lovely ladies lounging on a front porch, fanning their lightly dressed bodies. Families on ships crossing the vast Atlantic in hopes of a new life. Gardens rich in abundance. Each one beckoned her to enter its scene. She left the store doubting her own abilities and discontentment with her life. She wondered if she would ever be able to create such graceful forms of art that moved the observer in such a way. The desire to improve her talents fought with her reality. After she returned home she felt eager to try her hand at creating folds of light fabric in sunlight. It wasn’t easy. If only she could receive more training.

  Whenever possible, she ventured to other parts of the city, some less savory than others. If Frederick were to find out, she would have to endure his harsh reprimand, yet her hunger to expand her view of the world kept her adventurous spirit alive. She visited the Tenderloin District by herself. The faces of the residents locked in her mind. The poverty tugged at her heart. The danger kept her from getting off her horse, even with the various smells of baking bread, and cooking stews, fragrant and alluring. It was perhaps not far from her own world. She thought of her aunt June wanting every recipe. However, some parts stunk of sewage and manure. The dirt-stained faces of the children in their tattered clothes stayed with her. She would paint those faces someday. For now, she would draw them from memory.

  A man called to her. “What business do you have here?” Another spit on the road as she passed by. She became all too aware of her silk purse and coiffed hair, her polished boots and immaculate riding suit. Jessica trotted away from the district and hastily found the street that would lead her back home.

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Gretchen brought the terrain of stewed lamb to the table and began to serve the meal. Jessica was glad Frederick was in a better mood and she in a better frame of mind. Her outings proved to be beneficial to her and her marriage.

  “What a wonderful smell!” Frederick inhaled the steam coming off his bowl. “What have you been up to today, my dear?”

  “I rode in the park, sent a thank-you note to Mrs. Russel, and a RSVP to the Hylands. We will be expected at their home next Thursday.” She ate her stew with gusto. Her ride today had given her an appetite. She couldn’t wait for her next adventure.

  ~

  Sam took her to Market Street. She instructed him to stay with the carriage while she went on her own to the shops. “I won’t be long.”

  Walking along the row of buildings, each with its own store on the street level, Jessica was drawn to the windows above the shops. She saw what seemed to be residences as curtains hung in windows framing a lamp or plant. The sight pleased her. Living right in the heart of it all, how exciting! More wandering brought her to a sidewalk filled with a group of fifteen or so men and women. A few of the women held small children. They were gathered in front of a bakery. She stopped to listen to the most vocal of them—a man who looked as if he was the owner of the bakery, his white shirt and pants stained with grease spots and dusted with flour. From what she could gather, he was talking, or shouting about Chinese immigrants taking over their neighborhoods. The bakery exuded the most delicious smells. If not for the intense mood of the crowd, she would have purchased some of his pastries. Her stomach growled under her fitted waistcoat. Fanning herself vigorously from the summer heat did not help the sweat from running down her back. She should be on her way, but she was compelled to ask the gentleman standing next to her, “What have the Chinese done?”

  “They’ve taken our jobs. They work for nothing, let them live on nothing!” The group cheered him on.

  “We almost got rid of the wretches. How were they allowed to set up the damn village anyhow? They’re a bad reflection on all of us!” another called out.

  “I don’t understand.” She raised her voice above the clamor. “Everyone should be able to support their families.” Her own bravery shocked her, but she embraced her boldness, which she soon regretted.

  Another man poked his red face into hers. His long, gray apron revealed the blood of a butcher’s work. “What do you know about any of this? You look like you haven’t done half a day’s labor! What do you know of the opium dens? The gambling? It’s against the law!”

  “Not to mention the sewage problems they’ve caused!” a woman shouted, rocking her baby as it began to cry.

  The butcher grabbed Jessica’s lace collar and came in closer. His rotten breath made her stomach turn. “You gonna feed my five kids? Are ya?” He sneered, then spat on the ground in front of her. “Go back to your life of tea and needlepoint.” The crowd began to close in on her, some raising fists.

  Jessica backed away, lifting her skirt to hurry down the sloped and narrowing street. She could hear him and others taunting her as she made her escape. Her satin, and beaded purse swung from her wrist, her fan clutched in her hand. She ran blindly. Finally, she ducked around the brick stairs of a building, peering out from the porch to make sure no one had followed her. She took a deep breath, straightened her coat and, smoothed the skirt of her dress. She waved her fan in front of her sweaty face. She wasn’t sure how far she had come, but as she looked around, she felt as if she had stepped into another world. From the windows and stoops of three-story buildings she saw Chinese faces, some looking at her with curiosity. This was the Chinese district, the place she had most desired to visit. She was greeted on the street, and what she saw was friendly and communal. Surely, the people at the bakery were overreacting.

  Walking along the sidewalk, she came to a marketplace. Aromatic bundles of herbs, whole fried ducks, garlic, and onions, hung from many storefronts. Barrels were filled to the brim with potatoes and the sweet and pungent smell of fermentation. Across the dirt road were more stores, but these sold silk scarves, brightly painted lanterns, and baskets each filled with colorful trinkets the likes of which Jessica had never seen. Spying a pair of slippers, her mood changed. A line of such stores claimed both sides of the road.

  Three Chinese men in matching dark, baggy clothing, their long braids under small, black caps, approached her. They bowed to her and began to show off their baskets of produce. One came rushing from the back of the store with a canister of powder. “You like this?” He raised it to her nose. The strong spice made her head spin with its exotic, richly layered scent. She recognized cinnamon and nutmeg, but the other notes were unfamiliar to her. When she asked about the ingredients, she received an answer in Chinese. She smiled and nodded and bought a small bag of the unusual mixture. She tucked it into her purse and stepped onto the road.

  The shops and stalls had colorful lanterns and banners with Chinese art and symbols hanging from poles and front awnings. She fancied them but dared not bring a lantern or banner home. She recalled Frederick saying something disparaging about Chinese culture at one of the dinner parties. The colors fascinated her, and her excitement grew as she thought of painting the scenes. The storekeepers called for her to buy their offerings. A few children ran out and tugged at her skirt, beckoning her to buy their trinkets. She smiled and patted their heads, then continued along. Curious about the unfamiliar sounds and smells around her, she strolled down the row. The music played by a man crouched over a gourd-shaped instrument with only one string enchanted her. The heavy aroma of sweet and sour foods swirled among the taste of dust and the stink of sweaty bodies. A cooling breeze brought forth the water from the bay then retreated, returning the previous odors. There were only one or two non-Chinese people besides herself.

  Before long, she had passed the merchants, and there was a noticeable lack of women and children. The road narrowed further, and a sharp, aromatic smell hung in the air, like the incense from church, but not as appealing. It cut into her throat
and she began to cough. She put her fan to her nose and went around the corner, hoping to find more of the pleasant shops and owners. Soon, she found herself in a maze of square and squatty huts built from old lumber and scrap metal. The small doorways had gray smoke trailing out from the inside as if escaping some misfortune.

  This was the place the men were talking about. Prostitution. Opium. Gambling. Anxiety rose in her chest. Where was the road she had come in from? Where were the colorful shops? She walked on, looking from one side to the next. The air felt heavy and gray-blue shadows had replaced the bright sun. Another turn and she came upon Chinese men sitting outside of the huts, hunched over tables, that were scattered with cards and some with small, whitish blocks. She turned around to retrace her steps, but which road was the right one? A young Chinese woman dressed only in a yellow, silk robe with a painted purple dragon appeared from one doorway of the lower shanty buildings. Jessica pressed her fan to her nose and mouth, but the smell of dirty flesh, urine, and feces mingled with the acrid smoke bellowing out from behind her. Retching, she rushed from the scene but couldn’t move. The small woman had her by the skirt. She slapped the woman’s hand away with her fan. “Let me go!”

  A tall man stumbled from an adjoining hut, a long, black pipe in his hand. Jessica’s heart thumped in her throat. He was not Chinese, but a white man with an ashen face peeking through his scraggly hair. Before she could escape, his arm was around her waist and he was dragging her into his den. She fought with all her might, dropping her fan. The man set aside his pipe and lifted her off her feet. She cried out as she pounded her fists on his arms, her legs kicking the air. Taking both her arms behind her back, he growled, “I’ve got you now, little one.” The smell of his breath made her retch again. Then he kissed her cheek, leaving his spittle on her face. “Help! Help me!” Her scream came up from deep inside. Struggling to get free in spite of the pain in her arms and shoulders, she kicked his shin. Letting out a curse, he held on tighter and dragged her into the doorway. The Chinese woman came over and with a cackle picked up Jessica’s white, pearl adorned fan and flitted it mockingly, then threw it on the ground and stepped on it. The man gave a sinister laugh. His stench made her feel faint. His crusty lips were on her neck and she screamed again. Surely the others in the more civil part of the village would hear her. His hand pulled up her skirt and her throat tightened—she could barely let out a squeak. Suddenly, the man was shoved aside. With a thrusting force, she fell to the ground, her body sliding in the gravel. Staggering up, she saw Sam strike a blow to the man’s face, rendering him unconscious.