The Measure of a Lady Read online

  He drew a finger down her jaw. She swatted it away.

  ‘‘I’m not a teller of tales, Rachel. Which, I would think, you’d find very reassuring. If you want your questions answered, you’ll have to ask your sister.’’

  She frowned then looked out the greenhouse windows. ‘‘Is she yours?’’

  He blinked. ‘‘Who?’’

  ‘‘Carmelita.’’

  Well, well, well. ‘‘No. Carmelita and I do not have that, uh, kind of arrangement. She rents a table from me. If she meets any of her customers after work hours, it’s not something I am privy to. Nor do I profit by it.’’

  She returned her attention to him. ‘‘Why?’’

  ‘‘Why do I not profit by it?’’

  ‘‘Why would you let her rent out a table in a gaming hall?’’

  Ah. He knew where this was going. What she really wanted to know was why he would perpetuate the ruining of a woman. Which would then segue into how he needed Jesus Christ as his Lord and Savior.

  Well, he’d been down that particular path before. And he’d decided he preferred the wide one over the narrow one, thank you very much.

  ‘‘A female dealer draws customers,’’ he said, then headed back out to the wagon, forestalling her salvation speech.

  She stayed put, quiet and subdued, while he carted tree after tree inside. Their pungent spicy smell overpowered all else.

  After depositing the last tree on the shelf, he wiped his hands on his trousers. ‘‘Well, that’s all of them.’’

  She said nothing. Just stood in the corner looking uncomfortable and confused.

  He rubbed his mouth. They were going to be working in close quarters for who knew how long. And he did enjoy those meals. Not just the food, but the company. Perhaps he should try to put them back on even footing. If he could.

  ‘‘They’re eucalyptus trees,’’ he said. ‘‘Came all the way from Australia. I’ve read that they grow extremely fast.’’

  She reached out to finger a leaf on one of the new plants.

  ‘‘I know they look kind of puny, but they supposedly get root bound, so it’s best to get them established in the ground as soon as possible. Won’t that be something? To be able to actually start on the planting?’’

  Her gaze returned to his, distress pouring from those big brown windows into her soul.

  He sighed. ‘‘I’m sorry, Rachel. For what I said earlier, about, you know, yesterday. I was angry and, well, I’m sorry.’’

  ‘‘Me, too,’’ she whispered, then tucked her chin down. He held out for as long as he could before approaching.

  The sting from that slap still lingered, and though she had apologized, he had no desire to receive another one, so he kept his hands to himself. When she refused to look at him, he bent down and peeked up under her bonnet.

  ‘‘I have your hairpins for you,’’ he offered.

  She covered her mouth with the back of her hand. Straightening, he reached into his jacket pocket and held out a box of brand new store-bought pins.

  A muffled groan escaped from behind her hand, but she made no move to take the pins. Shifting his weight, he kept the pins out there. Waiting.

  Finally, she lifted her distraught face. ‘‘I can’t accept those, Johnnie. You know I can’t.’’

  ‘‘Women in the camps do it all the time. The respectable ones, I mean. It’s not the same. There’s so few of you, the fellas just buy all kinds of stuff for the sheer pleasure of it. No one will think a thing. No one will even know.’’

  ‘‘I’ll know. You’ll know. I’ve already compromised myself far beyond the pale as it is.’’

  He slowly lowered his hand. ‘‘I thought you had a forgiving God.’’

  Pulling a hanky out from her cuff, she rubbed dirt stains from her fingers. ‘‘I do.’’

  ‘‘So did you talk to Him about what happened between us yesterday?’’

  Trapping her bottom lip between her teeth, she nodded.

  ‘‘Then you’re white as snow. So what’s the problem?’’

  The sad smile that started to form never quite made it to completion. ‘‘I’m supposed to go and sin no more.’’

  He tapped his hand against his leg. ‘‘Is there some Bible verse that says taking hairpins from a man is a sin? Especially when he’s just replacing the ones he disposed of?’’

  ‘‘I’m not accepting the pins, Johnnie. But I do appreciate your going to such trouble over them. It really wasn’t necessary.’’

  He crammed them back into his pocket, his irritation rekindled. ‘‘You covered up my Lorenzo Bartolini again. I distinctly remember telling you not to do that anymore.’’

  She moistened her lips. ‘‘You said not to cover it with a flour sack. And I didn’t.’’

  ‘‘Now who’s splitting hairs?’’

  ‘‘It’s highly offensive to me, Johnnie. Please do not ask me to work in that room while that whatever-you-call-it stares at me bold as she pleases.’’

  ‘‘I’m not asking. I’m telling. That whatever-you-call-it is a classic, exquisite, tasteful piece of art. If she’s staring at you, ignore her. But do not cover her up. Understood?’’

  She said nothing.

  ‘‘Answer me, Rachel.’’

  ‘‘I heard you, Mr. Parker.’’

  Mr. Parker? Were they back to that now?

  He glanced around the hothouse, satisfied his trees would be fine for the moment. ‘‘You about ready to go?’’

  ‘‘Yes. I think so.’’

  ‘‘Well, come on with me, then.’’

  After holding open the door, he followed her to the wagon and helped her up. When she was situated, he corralled Sweet Lips, tied her to the back, and proceeded to take Miss Van Buren home.

  chapter 9

  The next two months brought sunshine to the California coast but rain to Rachel’s spirit. For as the mud dried up, so did her sister. Each passing day Lissa’s complaints and insubordination increased.

  She’d adamantly denied any knowledge of a shaving salon and threatened to eat with Johnnie and Carmelita if Rachel didn’t believe her. A movement down Washington Street caught her attention. The young man pushing a cart up the steep hill moved much in the way Michael did.

  She resented performing what she considered menial tasks in the hotel, when in fact everything she did was nothing more than an honest woman’s work. Why, women had been doing such chores for centuries before and would continue doing so for many centuries to come. Still, if there was an easy way out, Lissa would take it.

  Rachel had caught men hauling the water for her. Beating the ticks for her. Preparing the fire pit for her. Purchasing trinkets for her. Just yesterday Rachel had come upon a large, burly man up to his elbows scrubbing one of Michael’s shirts with such violence the suds flew and the buttons popped off, and with Lissa lounging at his side not the least bit remorseful.

  O Lord. When will you send us a vessel that will take us safely home?

  Trudging her way from the livery back to the shanty, Rachel turned her thoughts to the progress she and Johnnie had made with his property. The eucalyptus trees had been planted according to a well-thought-out design strategy they had come up with. And the unending arrival of ships brought new trees and shrubs, many of which would be ready for planting next spring.

  Like clockwork, she would head to his land as soon as lunch was over and stay the rest of the day, enjoying the solitude and peace it offered. Enjoying the new variety of insects she’d discovered. But most of all, enjoying the lazy Sunday afternoons there with Johnnie.

  Another ship had been docked and abandoned this morning, so Rachel had headed back early to see if its cargo included any wash buckets. She approached the hotel and quickly realized a few of the old timers had dusted the streets with gold, for a crowd of newcomers crawled on their knees in the middle of the Plaza to ‘‘strike it rich.’’

  They dug up the soil with knives, crumbled it to dust in their hands, blew on it, and picked
out shiny little fragments that they carefully wrapped in bits of paper.

  The pursuit of commerce continued to keep the square busy and loud, with new buildings thrown up nearly every day. The hammering of nails, the delivery of planks, and the sawing of wood forced the men to shout above the din.

  She noted that the corner lot across from the hotel was being leveled. She also noted that Mr. Johnnie Parker stood on its border discussing architectural drawings with a man whom she recognized as the surveyor.

  She squinted. It was Michael and his face had turned lobster red from his effort. Whatever was in the cart must weigh a great deal.

  He stopped in front of Johnnie. They exchanged words, and then Johnnie pointed to his hotel and clapped Michael on the back.

  She had already changed directions before she realized her intent to intercept her brother. Waving, she caught his attention. He came up short, forcing her to close the distance between them.

  One look in the cart and she knew why he’d stopped. Crate after crate of liquor filled its bed.

  ‘‘You’re delivering alcohol?’’

  ‘‘It’s a job. And a good paying one, at that. It’s not like I’m drinking it.’’

  She pulled her lips down. ‘‘I don’t like it, Michael. Not one bit. There’s bound to be something else you can do.’’

  ‘‘Well, Rachel, you’re back from the hothouse a bit earlier than usual, aren’t you?’’

  She turned to see Johnnie approaching. Michael wasted no time in grasping the handles of his cart and continuing on his delivery.

  ‘‘Wait, Michael.’’

  He paused and twisted around.

  ‘‘Would you tell Lissa to come here, please?’’ she asked. ‘‘I need her to come with me in case I find a laundry tub down by the Presidio.’’

  He darted a quick glance at Johnnie before returning his attention to her. ‘‘I, um, I’m not really sure she can come right this minute.’’

  Where before his face had been red from exertion, this surge of color originated from an entirely different source.

  ‘‘Whyever not?’’

  He shifted his feet. ‘‘This is heavy as a box stove, Rache, and I’m on a schedule. Isn’t that right, Mr. Parker?’’

  ‘‘It certainly is, son. You go on now and finish your work. I’ll see if I can be of assistance to your sister.’’

  ‘‘Don’t you even think about taking another step, Michael, until you tell me what is going on.’’

  Her brother once again directed his focus to Johnnie, who gave him a slight nod. With that, Michael turned his back and continued on his way.

  Nonplussed, she whirled to face Johnnie. ‘‘Just what was that all about?’’

  ‘‘A boat came in today, and I have a large order on it. It will take Michael every bit of what daylight’s left to tote it all up here.’’

  ‘‘I meant about Lissa. Where is she?’’

  ‘‘I don’t think he knows, does he?’’

  Rachel narrowed her eyes. ‘‘I’m not sure. Do you?’’

  ‘‘Know if he knows? No.’’

  ‘‘Don’t play word games with me, Johnnie.’’ She crossed her arms.

  ‘‘Where is Lissa?’’

  ‘‘I couldn’t exactly tell you.’’

  ‘‘Can’t tell me or won’t tell me?’’

  ‘‘Is there something wrong?’’

  She uncrossed her arms and clenched her fists. ‘‘There is going to be something terribly wrong in a minute if you do not quit running me around the mulberry bush. Now, where is she?’’

  He said nothing.

  A ripple of unease began in the core of her being. She unfurled her hands. ‘‘What is it, Johnnie? What has happened?’’

  The blue of his eyes was a perfect match for the clear sky behind him. ‘‘I’m not sure anything has happened.’’

  ‘‘But you expect something to happen?’’

  He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped his forehead. ‘‘I think, perhaps, you’d best go on home. If I’m not mistaken, Lissa is in the shanty. She usually is this time of the day.’’

  Rachel entered the open door of her shanty and found a shaving salon instead. In one quick sweep she discovered a man in green checkered pants and a crisp white shirt with his back turned while he poured water from a kettle into a bowl. A man with a potbelly and wide backside stroked an orange cat asleep in his lap. Another handful of men lounged about the floor reading the paper, swapping stories and, for the most part, watching Lissa.

  And a more fetching sight they’d be hard pressed to find. The crisp white apron hugging her waist culminated at the back with a big stiff bow. Leaning over a drowsy miner, she gathered the lather from his face with a steaming cloth and gave it to the man in checkered pants.

  Shock and disbelief held Rachel motionless.

  Lissa inspected her customer’s face for stubble in a slow methodical manner, her finger and thumb wandering about like a gleaner after the harvest.

  Her ‘‘assistant’’ then handed her a cup of lather, which she brushed on for the second shave. The helper held out a razor, and Rachel did not miss the intimate look that passed between them when Lissa took it.

  He glanced up and froze. Then, with an insolent smirk, rested a proprietary hand below Lissa’s big bow and just above the curve of her buttocks.

  As the other men in the room discovered Rachel’s presence, they slowly rose to their feet. While she waited for the razor to be safely removed from the customer’s neck, she tried to recall where she had seen the offensive man staring her down.

  And then she remembered. It was the same man who had been eyeing Lissa that very first week they arrived. When Lissa had made a spectacle of herself in front of the crowd for a hat full of gold. He’d been on the periphery of the crowd, with a predatory gleam even then.

  ‘‘Get your hands off my sister and get out of my home.’’

  Lissa jumped. The man in the shaving chair jerked open his eyes. The cat meowed and did a figure eight between a pair of booted feet.

  ‘‘Rachel. What are you doing home so soon?’’

  Rachel held fast her gaze to what she considered the biggest threat in the room. ‘‘I said get out and I meant it.’’

  The other men came out of their trance. ‘‘Come on, Sumner. You heard the lady. Shop’s closed.’’

  Sumner whispered something in Lissa’s ear, and gave her back end a pat. Rachel walked to the fireplace, picked up a poker, and grasped it firmly in her right hand.

  ‘‘We’re goin’, Miss Van Buren, we’re goin’,’’ the man in the chair said. He whipped the bed sheet from around his neck, wiped off his face, and stood. ‘‘Come on, boys.’’

  They headed to the door, then paused. ‘‘You, too, Sumner. We won’t be havin’ you give the missy a hard time.’’

  Sumner picked his jacket up off the bed and gave a slight bow to Rachel. ‘‘It’s been a pleasure, I’m sure.’’

  He closed the door behind him.

  ‘‘Have you completely lost your mind?’’ Rachel asked.

  Lissa began to clean up the mess. ‘‘I enjoy giving the men a shave, and they enjoy receiving it. I’m very good at it, you know, and I’ve earned us quite a bit of money.’’

  ‘‘How on earth do you expect to marry a decent man, let alone a gentleman, when you refuse to behave as a lady ought?’’

  Lissa paused. ‘‘Don’t worry, Rachel. When we return home, no one will know that I tended to men’s toilets and you worked in a saloon.’’ She smiled without humor. ‘‘It will be our little secret, won’t it?’’

  Rachel narrowed her eyes. ‘‘Who was that man?’’

  ‘‘Which one?’’

  ‘‘You know which one.’’

  ‘‘His name is Merle Sumner.’’

  ‘‘And what has he to do with you?’’

  ‘‘Absolutely nothing.’’

  ‘‘I’m not an idiot, Lissa.’’

  ‘‘And I’m
through discussing it.’’

  Rachel leaned the poker against the hearth. ‘‘You will be going with me to the property every afternoon from now on.’’

  ‘‘No, thank you.’’

  ‘‘You haven’t a choice.’’

  Lissa lifted a brow. ‘‘You think not?’’

  ‘‘I know not.’’

  Picking up the bowl of dirty water, Lissa opened the door. ‘‘We shall see.’’

  ————

  Rachel woke with a start and turned her head but could not see Lissa sleeping next to her in the dark. The evening had been a disaster. Lissa had taken that bowl of dirty water out the door and not come back for hours. Where the girl had gone, Rachel couldn’t imagine, but she hadn’t returned until well after supper.

  Then she prepared for bed, brushed that long blond hair until it shone, braided it, and crawled into bed. All without a word. No greeting. No apology. No explanation.

  Rachel was at a total loss as to what to do. She couldn’t bodily force the girl to do her bidding, but clearly, she must do something and she must do it quickly.

  Please, Lord, please. Send us a ship. And in the meanwhile, show me what to do.

  She nibbled on her lip. Working in the hotel was obviously a stumbling block for Lissa. Perhaps they could open up a restaurant of their own. Something completely separate from Johnnie and his saloon.

  Heaven knew the men would pay a fortune for a home-cooked meal. But that would require a building and a kitchen and supplies and a piece of property to put it on.

  It would require someone more reliable than Lissa to help her cook and clean and tote supplies from the docks or from the mercantile.

  And it would require money. Quite a bit of money. Every cent they earned had been safely deposited in the customhouse, where neither Lissa nor Michael could get to it. Then, when it was time to go home, the funds for starting over would be available.

  If she was to use that to open up a restaurant here, they would not be able to leave at a moment’s notice. They’d have to wait until they had paid off their debts and made some profit.

  With a prayer on her heart, Rachel slid a hand across the bed, wanting only to touch Lissa while she prayed.