The Flame

by Jane Toombs

  He glanced at her and, from his expression she knew she'd surprised him by not immediately jumping at his offer.

  "I'm no longer quite so impulsive as I once was,” she told him. “And I have changes to make in my life as well. I've decided to change The Flame into a hotel, which I'll continue to own, but a manager will run it for me. I suppose you've figured out I own Manigault Merchandise as well."

  "Philippe would've been pleased,” he said. “He took such pleasure in well-tailored clothes."

  "I'll also be leaving Virginia City for a while,” she went on. “Not for good. Despite everything, I feel I belong here."

  "Where will you go?"

  "I may travel. But when I return, I'll no longer be Monique Vaudreuil. I'll be Mary Vere Harrington."

  "I'd like that,” Jeremy said. “I always think of you as Mary."

  "Well, then, as Jeremy and Mary, perhaps, in time, we can start over."

  For the rest of the drive, they spoke of other things, reminiscing about Philippe, talking of Virginia City's future.

  "Nevada's close to becoming a state,” he told her. “Perhaps as early as next year. Things will change."

  "They always do,” she said. “Look at us, amiably conversing instead of quarreling."

  He grinned at her. “I wouldn't bet we'll never quarrel again. You couldn't possibly change that much—even in a year."

  When he dropped her off at The Flame, Jeremy leaned over and kissed her, a kiss full of promise rather than violent with passion, the first such kiss they'd shared.

  As she walked up the stairs to her room she wondered what would happen if, after all was over, they did come together. She knew by now she wouldn't die of a broken heart if it never happened, but at the same time she'd never stopped loving Jeremy, and she longed for them to have a future together.

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  CHAPTER 25

  On her own, without resorting to help from Ward Chambers, Mary found herself a house far out on the outskirts of San Francisco and furnished it simply before she moved in with Gabrielle, the only one of her parlor house employees she hadn't found a place for. Bertha and Rosie were comfortably ensconced in a San Francisco parlor house, with a madam Mary trusted to do right by them. Jess was going to continue to work for her at the hotel, and Ah Sing had announced she would marry the ancient Virginia City Chinaman who'd proposed to her a year before.

  "He is kind,” she said. “He owns a store, and I will sell my herbs from there."

  Gabrielle, though, had decided she wanted to change her life. “I have not met a man I'd marry,” she said, “and I no longer wish to cater to men I am not married to, especially miners. If you'll permit me, I'd like to come with you, Miss Monique—I mean Miss Mary."

  Since Mary had no real wish to be entirely alone, she was glad to agree. Gabrielle could be trusted with her secret, when the time came, and wasn't likely to want to ever return to Virginia City.

  Her changed name caused no problems in San Francisco. She simply informed Ward Chambers she now went by the name of Mary Vere, and he changed her accounts to reflect this. She told no one in Virginia City where she was, though she did intend to check with Ward regularly to make certain nothing calamitous had happened to any of her enterprises.

  And so she and Gabrielle settled into the house on the outskirts. Long before she intended to tell Gabrielle why they were there, the French woman guessed her condition—difficult to hide what with bouts of morning nausea and vomiting.

  "The baby is George Guildford's,” Mary said. “It isn't possible it could be any other man's."

  "Did he know?” Gabrielle asked. “Before he sailed for England, I mean."

  Mary shook her head. “I didn't even know."

  "We all knew he asked you to marry him. Would you, if you'd known?"

  "I'm not sure what I'd have done, but I don't think so."

  Before the time Mary's condition became obvious, Gabrielle began filling in as her agent to visit Ward Chambers at the bank.

  "Mr. Chambers has a Frenchman assisting him,” Gabrielle came home one day to report.

  "The bank has hired a Frenchman?” Mary asked.

  Gabrielle shook her head. “He assists, but he tells me he's an observer, sent by his father to study banking methods in different countries."

  "Apparently he spent some time with you."

  Gabrielle blushed. “I believe he admires me."

  The next time Gabrielle visited the bank she rushed home in a hurry. “A man called Buck Thornton left a message with Mr. Chambers for you. His ship has landed and he's at the Whaley Hotel with Dillie Randolph."

  Dillie's here! Hooray for Buck Thornton. Mary looked down at her expanded abdomen and sighed. She couldn't risk being seen. Gabrielle would have to go to the hotel, pay Mr. Thornton and bring Dillie to the house.

  Mary explained it all to her first.

  Gabrielle's eyes grew wide. “Dillie was a Negro slave, and you bought her?"

  "I'm going to set her free. When I was a child in Alabama, she was my only friend."

  When Gabrielle returned from the hotel, Mary noticed a little boy trailing after Dillie. As she and Dillie hugged one another, he held to Dillie's skirts, peering up at her. With a shock she noted the child with the coffee-with-cream-skin resembled the Randolph twins.

  "They done let me bring little Abe,” Dillie told her. “Massa Randolph don't want no nigger grandsons ‘round his place. You don't mind?"

  "Oh, Dillie, I'm glad you could bring your son. He's as welcome as you are."

  "Never thought I'd see you again, Mary Vere. Gonna make it up to you what you done for me if it takes me all my born days."

  "I try to keep my promises. And, Dillie, you don't have to keep the Randolph name, you know. You can choose any name you want for your last name.

  "Never had no last name. We just don't. But Massa Buck, when he come to fetch me, he say I gotta have two names. I say don't have but one. He say take Randolph. So that be what I done. Anyway, my mammy tell me my pa was some kind of cousin to Massa Randolph, come visiting from Virginia long time ago ‘n’ Abe sure ‘nough be a Randolph. Guess I keep the name."

  Dillie looked Mary up and down. “When you gonna have that baby you be carrying? Look like soon."

  "I hope you know something about birthing,” Gabrielle put in. “She won't hear of having a doctor or a midwife, and I've never seen a baby born before, much less helped birth it."

  "Helped my mammy with the cabin babies. Reckon I can help Miss Mary."

  George Guildford's daughter was born in the bright dawn of a sunny California day. True to her predication, Dillie helped bring the girl into the world with little fuss and, after cleansing her, brought the baby in to Mary.

  Gabrielle, who'd stayed away from the birth, took one look at the tiny girl and cried, “She's the living picture of her father."

  Mary had to agree. With her golden curls and fair skin, she certainly resembled him. Over the next few weeks, as she nursed her daughter and regained her strength, Mary considered Georgianne's future, along with her own, and came to no conclusions.

  Gabrielle, meanwhile, had been making daytime excursions on her own, and Mary suspected she was meeting the Frenchman who “assisted” Ward. Sure enough, Gabrielle soon confessed.

  "His name is François DuBois,” she said. “In six months, he'll be through here and be sailing for London, England, where his next bank position is waiting. After that it will be home to France.” She sighed. “François wants to call on me. I had to say you didn't permit that."

  "Do you believe he's serious?"

  Gabrielle shrugged. “At least he isn't a married man."

  "You say he leaves this country in six months?"

  Gabrielle nodded.

  "Perhaps François should be allowed to call on you here after all. When he does, Dillie can take the baby into the back garden, beyond the fence, along with little Abe."

  Gabrielle hugged her. “You will like him, I
know."

  In fact, Mary found François somewhat stiff, but decided perhaps he was nervous meeting her, the ogre who, at first, wouldn't allow him to call on Gabrielle. But he seemed earnest enough and certainly smitten with Gabrielle.

  "Because Gabrielle has no parents,” Mary told him, after sending Gabrielle from the room on an errand, “I feel I must watch out for her welfare. I trust your intentions are honorable."

  "Oh, but yes, of a certainty,” François said. “A beautiful woman who understand numbers, as she does, is a true rarity. I aspire to marry her, if she will have me."

  His words made an idea bloom full blown in Mary's mind. She smiled at him. “Then shall we set a date?"

  Though taken aback, he was willing.

  And so, six months later, Mr. and Mrs. DuBois sailed for England with a golden-haired baby named Georgianne. At the dock to see them off, Mary and Dillie waved as the ship pulled away.

  "I purely don't know how you let that little bitty baby go,” Dillie told her, as she tried to keep young Abe in tow. “Must've broke your heart clean in two."

  Had it? Mary felt a certain emptiness, but her heart felt intact. In that heart she knew she'd done the right thing. George's daughter belonged with him, belonged in England, not Nevada. That's what she'd written in the letter Gabrielle was carrying to him along with his child.

  Now it was time for Mary Vere to return to Virginia City.

  "I can't believe you own that hotel,” Dillie said as their carriage pulled up in front of The Flame, where they'd be staying until Mary found a house.

  Mary smiled as she looked up at the new sign above the entrance: The Flame, with “Hotel” centered below it. The familiar black metal torch with its flaring copper flame rose above the sign, welcoming her back.

  Jess came out to help them alight and broke into a broad smile when he saw who it was. “Miss Monique!” he cried. “I mean Miss Mary. Mighty hard to remember."

  "It's so good to see you again, Jess,” Mary said.

  As usual, Abe got away from Dillie. He stood staring up at Jess.

  "You be big!” Abe's voice held childish awe.

  Jess swung him up into the air and perched him on one shoulder. “You got a name, boy?"

  Abe glanced at Dillie.

  "You can tell him,” Dillie said. “It's safe here."

  Abe took a deep breath. “I be Abraham Lincoln Randolph."

  "Mighty big name. See you grow into it, boy."

  "I tole everyone back home he be called after Abraham in the Bible,” Dillie said. “Keep his real name secret."

  After setting Abe down, Jess took a moment to look Dillie over. If anything, his smile got broader.

  She sashayed past him as only Dillie could, and Mary hid her own smile as she introduced the two of them. Maybe more would come of bringing Dillie to Nevada than she'd expected.

  Virginia City had grown in the fifteen months she'd been gone, but news traveled around town as fast as ever. Her father came to see her as she and Dillie were still unpacking.

  "I thought you'd forgotten me,” Lester Harrington said.

  As Mary hugged him, she noticed he didn't smell of whiskey as he usually did. “No, I'd never do that,” she assured him. “I just needed to be by myself for awhile, away from Virginia City. Then I remained in San Francisco until Dillie got there."

  She introduced Dillie and Abe to Harrington and explained who they were.

  "You be Miss Mary's pa?” Dillie said. “When we be girls back home, she always be telling me she find her pa some day."

  Harrington glanced at Mary, who smiled at him. “It took me awhile, but here we are together, father and daughter,” she said.

  "I'm proud to meet a friend of my daughter's, Dillie,” he said. “It looks like you got yourself a fine boy there."

  "Sometimes, what you don't be wanting be good after all,” Dillie said. “Abe be my good thing. Miss Mary, she make sure we both be free, just like she promise long ago."

  "But you are free,” Harrington said. “President Lincoln set all slaves free in January of this year."

  Dillie nodded. “Miss Mary, she make sure."

  It took Jeremy longer to come to Mary. Halfway through the next week, she was about to enter Manigault Merchandise in order to see how things were running, when she heard a man call her name. Turning, she saw Jeremy.

  "I heard you were back,” he said. “Will you walk with me?” He held out his arm.

  Mary placed her gloved hand on Jeremy's arm, not caring where he led her, her heart hammering just because she was near him.

  "Do you intend to stay?” he asked.

  "Yes, I'm looking for a house. Dillie, Abe and I are temporarily booked in at my hotel."

  "The Flame? It was the talk of the town when you converted it. Who are Dillie and Abe?"

  She explained.

  Jeremy shook his head. “Always full of surprises, aren't you? I've missed you."

  Words she'd so often longed to hear him say. But instead of impulsively telling him how many times she'd thought of him as she waited in San Francisco, she said nothing about that. Instead, she deliberately brought up Laura.

  "In the talk we had, Laura told me she didn't think you and I would ever suit, that you wouldn't be happy with an independent woman like me."

  He stared at her. “Laura said that?"

  She nodded. “I've spent months mulling over what we talked about, Laura and I. Your wife was a wise woman, Jeremy."

  Taking a deep breath, he let it out slowly. “In many ways, yes. But she tried her best to please me in every way, never understanding that wasn't what I really wanted. Or really needed. Yes, your independence will cause problems. I know that. Quite likely you'll find many faults of mine to take issue with.” He gave her a one-sided smile. “You always do seem to."

  Mary blinked, not quite able to take in what he was saying. She saw they'd taken the cemetery road and were almost there.

  "Don't look so confused,” he told her. “Surely you know by now that, despite everything I did to try not to, I've always needed you.” He stopped and turned her toward him, gazing into her eyes. “It's taken me over a year to admit to myself that I love you, Mary."

  Her breath caught, leaving her unable to speak.

  "You've told me enough times that you loved me, but I need to know if it's still true,” he said.

  "I ... I ... yes,” she whispered.

  "Then what does it matter how many times we quarrel in the future?” He wrapped his arms around her, kissing her as though he never intended to let her go.

  When he finally did, she pulled back, knowing she had to tell him, that she couldn't let such a thing lie between them untold.

  "I had George's baby,” she said bluntly. “He didn't know, but he will as soon as his daughter arrives in England. I sent her over with friends of mine who were traveling there. I hope you won't mention this to anyone else. I'd rather people didn't know."

  For a moment, Jeremy just stood there. Then he put his hands on her shoulders. “You didn't have to tell me."

  "You're wrong. I did. If we're to have a future, there'll be no more lies between us, Jeremy. Nothing hidden."

  He drew her to him slowly, and she let her head rest against his chest. “Shall we give it a try?” he asked.

  "I wonder what Philippe would say the odds were?"

  Jeremy laughed, the sound rumbling through his chest and into her ear. “Damned if the man wasn't right about me all along,” he said. “He knew me better than I knew myself. If Philippe could arrange it, he'd tip the odds in our favor."

  Mary pulled slightly away, looking toward Mount Davidson, to the flag on the peak unfurling in the wind, to the blue sky beyond. Wasn't she The Flame of Virginia City? This was where she belonged, this was home. She and Jeremy would share the future here.

  But as they walked, light-hearted and happy, back toward town, a strange notion took hold of her. Maybe I never will leave Virginia City. Maybe I'll stay on even after I die
, the ghost of a flame.

  Then Jeremy squeezed her hand and smiled at her, and the thought fled. Yes, they'd quarrel, but they'd also love one another. She flung her free arm into the air.

  "Isn't the world wonderful?” she asked, more of her surroundings than of Jeremy.

  "I'm beginning to think so,” he told her.

  Hand in hand they walked into Virginia City.

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  Jane Toombs

  Jane Toombs is the author of eighty plus published books and twenty some short stories or novellas. She's an award-winning author and has been published worldwide. Jane writes stories in almost every genre, but generally manages to sneak a touch of paranormal into most of them. She, the Viking and their well-traveled calico cat, Kinko, currently live in Michigan's Upper Peninsula on the south shore of Lake Superior. Jane enjoys hearing from readers and her email address is posted on her website at www.JaneToombs.com.

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