The Measure of a Lady Page 4

  Johnnie jerked upright, snuffed out his cigar, and tried to prepare himself for just about anything.

  ‘‘Rachel,’’ Lissa screeched. ‘‘What did you do that for?’’

  Miss Van Buren grabbed the girl’s arm and propelled her toward the alley. ‘‘Let’s go.’’

  Lissa broke free from her sister’s grasp. ‘‘You had no right.’’

  ‘‘You are making a scene. Now come to the back and we will discuss it there.’’

  ‘‘I will not. I will stand on this porch and sing the day away, and there is nothing you can do to stop me.’’

  Miss Van Buren leaned close to her sister, whispering furiously. Johnnie could not hear what she said, but Lissa clenched her fists, whirled around, and marched down the alley toward the back of the hotel.

  Miss Van Buren shooed Michael in the same direction. He immediately acquiesced.

  Then she pinned Johnnie with her gaze. ‘‘I need to speak with you.’’

  He glanced at the crowd. It didn’t appear any blood would be shed in the scramble to recover the gold. And discretion being the better part of valor, he decided he’d best see what she had to say.

  Michael and Lissa were waiting for them when they rounded the corner.

  ‘‘I cannot believe you just did that,’’ Lissa hissed. ‘‘Michael and I earned that gold, not you.’’

  ‘‘Tainted money is tainted money, and we’ll have nothing to do with it.’’

  ‘‘Tainted? I’ve being singing for people my entire life.’’

  ‘‘Go to the shack, where we can discuss this privately. I will be there momentarily. I must first speak with Mr. Parker.’’

  Lissa glanced between the two of them, clearly not wanting to be put off.

  ‘‘Go on,’’ Miss Van Buren said gently. She looked to Michael.

  ‘‘Escort your sister to the shack, please.’’

  Michael touched Lissa’s elbow. She jerked away from him and stormed to the shanty, her brother on her heels.

  Miss Van Buren stepped into the kitchen. ‘‘Please excuse our little display,’’ she said as Johnnie followed her in.

  ‘‘No apology necessary.’’

  She took a deep breath. ‘‘This town is a disgusting mess.’’

  If she’d been armed, he would have raised his hands up in the air. As it was, he chose to remain silent and see what, exactly, she expected him to do about that.

  ‘‘The hotels and boardinghouses are uninhabitable. The food is even worse.’’

  Still, he said nothing.

  ‘‘When was the last time you laundered the bedding in your hotel?’’

  Frowning, he straightened his spine. ‘‘I change out the bedding when necessary.’’

  ‘‘How long?’’

  ‘‘I don’t know. A while. If you’re looking to pick a fight, Miss Van Buren, I believe you have a sister primed and ready.’’

  ‘‘How long since the ticks have been beaten clean?’’

  He didn’t dare tell her he had never cleaned the mattresses. No telling what she would do.

  She scrunched up her nose when he didn’t answer. ‘‘And the hotel itself? When was the last time it has been scrubbed top to bottom?’’

  ‘‘The men don’t mind it.’’

  ‘‘That may be so, but if they had the choice between clean and dirty, I imagine a great many would prefer clean. Might even pay extra for it.’’

  ‘‘And your point?’’

  ‘‘When was the last time you had a home-cooked meal?’’

  He sighed. ‘‘If you are on a mission to change the habits of hotel owners by badgering them to death, then you are wasting your breath. Are we finished here?’’

  She moistened her lips. ‘‘I have a proposition for you.’’

  He frowned. ‘‘I’m listening.’’

  ‘‘I need food, shelter, and income. You need a woman’s touch in that hotel of yours. The kitchen is too small to prepare dinner for your patrons, but it is certainly good enough to provide yourself and my family with decent meals. I propose you provide room, board, and pay for me and my family in exchange for home-cooked meals, washed and ironed clothes, and a clean hotel.’’

  ‘‘How much pay?’’

  ‘‘Thirty dollars a day.’’

  He lifted his brows. ‘‘That’s a whole month’s wages back home.’’

  ‘‘I’ve been all over this town, Mr. Parker. I know what the going rates are.’’

  ‘‘Still, that’s two-ten a week.’’

  ‘‘One-eighty. We don’t work Sundays.’’

  Slipping his hands into his pockets, he rocked on his heels. He couldn’t care less about having a clean hotel, but home-cooked meals and a family to share them with? That was something else entirely. Particularly a family with two sunbonnets. No need for her to know that, however.

  ‘‘What room, exactly, were you expecting to stay in?’’ he asked.

  ‘‘Why, the one we are currently in.’’ She hesitated. ‘‘I thought you said last night you were almost through building your new one. And I saw a very nice wooden dwelling just behind the one we are in. I assumed that was the one you were referring to?’’

  ‘‘It was.’’

  ‘‘It looked complete to me. Is it not?’’

  ‘‘Not quite.’’

  ‘‘Well, that’s no problem. Michael can help you finish it. With two of you working, it would be ready in no time and you could live in it.’’

  He rubbed his mouth. The cabin was dried in. It just needed trimming and a bit of furniture. But he’d planned on renting the shanty out, not paying someone to stay in it.

  And had she forgotten his place was more than just a hotel? That it was, in fact, a gambling hall? But time and again, he had seen people do things here in California that they never would have done back home.

  He considered her as she stood motionless with her head high, back straight. If he said yes, she and her ladylike ways would put a crimp in his daily routine. But if he said no, she would probably go one door down and make the same offer to Ralph. Who would jump at the chance to have a sunbonnet live with him, wash for him, and cook his meals.

  By Judas, just having a sunbonnet on his property would most likely double his business.

  ‘‘All right, Miss Van Buren. We can give it a try, I suppose.’’

  She nodded her head once. ‘‘Thank you, Mr. Parker. You won’t be sorry.’’

  ————

  Rachel tugged loose her bonnet strings, pulled it from her head, and tossed it on the bed. Lissa sat in a chair, legs crossed, foot swinging.

  ‘‘Have you any idea what you just did out there?’’ Rachel asked.

  ‘‘Yes, dear sister. I made it possible for our family to afford food and a place to live. Do you have any idea what you just did?’’

  ‘‘As a matter of fact, I do. I reestablished us as ladies worthy of respect in a society without law and church-going women. At least, I hope I did.’’

  ‘‘And in the meantime,’’ Lissa asked, ‘‘how do you propose we eat?’’

  Rachel unbuttoned her coat. ‘‘We are not destitute and you know it.’’

  ‘‘Not yet.’’

  Rachel slipped off her coat, folded it in half, and laid it over the back of a chair. ‘‘A lady would rather starve than offer herself up as a public display to an unruly crowd of men. Men who would certainly get the wrong impression and who might very likely come to the conclusion that she was open to all sorts of immoral suggestions.’’

  ‘‘I wasn’t displaying myself, I was singing to them. Much like I did to our friends back home.’’

  ‘‘Those are two entirely different things, and well you know it. You had only to paint your face and dress immodestly to proclaim yourself beyond the pale.’’

  ‘‘You are being ridiculous.’’

  ‘‘I am very serious and hoping they will attribute your little lapse to youthful ignorance. But you and I both know you have been taught h
ow to behave so that you do not invite unwelcome attention. If we are to survive in this degraded town, we must be very circumspect, very careful and above reproach.’’

  ‘‘I’ll not starve, Rachel.’’

  ‘‘Nor will you have to. I have secured a source of income for us.’’

  Lissa’s foot stilled. ‘‘And just what would that be?’’

  ‘‘Mr. Parker is going to provide us with room, board, and pay to cook his meals, wash his clothes, and clean his hotel.’’

  Lissa leaned back in her chair. ‘‘How very circumspect and above reproach of you to find us employment by caring for an unmarried man and working in his saloon.’’

  Rachel stiffened. ‘‘It is not a saloon. It is a hotel.’’

  ‘‘Do not try and wrap that establishment up in a pretty little bow when you know good and well it is a saloon that serves spirits and caters to gamblers. Renting out bunks and slapping a respectable name on it does not make it any less than what it is.’’

  ‘‘We will not be in it while it is open for business. We will do our cleaning between hours. Besides, it is only temporary. At some point, there will be a ship going back east. And rest assured, we will be on it.’’

  Lissa rolled her eyes. ‘‘You are simply trading one desperate situation for another. We starve here or we starve back east. What’s the difference?’’

  ‘‘The difference is that Elizabeth, New Jersey, is an established, civilized community with churches and women and morals.’’ She held up a hand to stop Lissa’s counterpoint. ‘‘We will not starve, either. We will save every bit of gold we earn here and use it to set up a home and a respectable livelihood once we return.’’

  ‘‘Save our gold? Similar to the gold you just tossed out like so much garbage?’’

  ‘‘It was tainted.’’

  ‘‘So is money earned working in a saloon, Rachel. There is absolutely no difference.’’

  ‘‘We have been over this already. I am through talking in circles with you.’’

  Lissa’s foot began to swing again. ‘‘ ‘And thus I clothe my naked villainy with old odd ends stolen out of holy writ; and seem a saint, when most I play the devil.’ ’’

  ————

  The following morning Rachel found Mr. Parker in his usual spot—coffee, newspaper, and all.

  He stood.

  She hovered in the doorway. ‘‘We need to discuss a few things when you have a moment.’’

  ‘‘Of course. Won’t you join me?’’

  She stepped into the kitchen. ‘‘Actually, I thought I should start breakfast.’’

  ‘‘I’ve been making do with coffee every morning for quite some time. One more morning won’t hurt.’’ He poured her a cup of the same and set it in front of a vacant chair.

  Settling herself down, she picked up the tin cup. Maybe if she drank it swiftly, it would go down better.

  She took a big swig. Hot. Slamming the mug down, she pressed a hand to her lips, tossed the brew around in her mouth, and finally swallowed. When she looked up, he offered her a cloth.

  She dabbed at her mouth. ‘‘It’s hot.’’

  ‘‘So it is. Are you all right?’’

  She could barely breathe. ‘‘Fine. Thank you.’’

  He leaned back in his chair, took a slow swallow, and stared at her. ‘‘So what is it you wanted to talk about?’’

  ‘‘Well, for starters, I need a tour of your storeroom.’’ She folded her hands in her lap. ‘‘I also need to know what time you would like your meals served, where your mercantile is, and what kind of budget you would like me to adhere to.’’

  He tugged at a string around his neck and withdrew a key from behind his shirt, then placed it on the table beside her.

  ‘‘Here is the key to the storeroom. Eight, noon, and five for meals. If you will make a list of sundries, I will pick them up for you. And there is no need to worry over budgets. I can afford whatever you need.’’

  She fingered the key, still warm from lying against his skin.

  ‘‘Don’t lose that,’’ he said.

  She slipped it over her head and allowed the piece of metal to shimmy down behind her bodice. It settled inside her corset. His eyes tracked its progress.

  ‘‘Mr. Johnnie?’’

  A black man with friendly eyes and hair sprinkled with white stood at the door between the kitchen and the hotel.

  Johnnie smiled. ‘‘Come in, Soda, and meet the lady I was telling you about. Miss Van Buren, this is Soda. He serves, uh, refreshments to my customers and looks after things when I’m not here.’’

  She nodded. ‘‘How do you do?’’

  ‘‘I do jus’ fine, miss. Jus’ fine.’’ He turned to Johnnie. ‘‘Alverson and Canfield are headin’ to the mines and wanna settle up.’’

  ‘‘Tell them I’ll be right there.’’

  ‘‘I’ll do that. It was nice meetin’ ya, miss.’’

  ‘‘Nice meeting you, Mr. . . . Soda?’’

  He bobbed his head and left as quickly as he’d come.

  She pushed her chair back.

  Johnnie leapt to his feet to assist her. ‘‘I have some work to do on another piece of property,’’ he said, ‘‘and I would like to take Michael with me. We’ll be gone all day.’’

  ‘‘Oh. Well, of course. I’ll pack you a lunch and then fetch Michael.’’

  ————

  The boy talked nonstop during their hike to the four acres Johnnie owned on the outskirts of town. He repeated verbatim the heated argument between his sisters and the subsequent dressing down Miss Van Buren had given him.

  ‘‘She said I should have known better,’’ Michael continued. ‘‘And that she can’t trust my judgment anymore, that her and Lissa are in danger of lawless men every time they step outside the door, that I did a lousy job of being a protector, and—’’

  Young Michael’s soliloquy came to a sudden halt as they topped the hill. ‘‘Thunderation,’’ he said, ‘‘would you look at that? I wouldn’t have thought a blade of grass could grow here without four posts to hold it up.’’

  Johnnie scanned the once barren sandy spot he had reshaped into gentle hills and covered with native lupine. It wasn’t exactly the pastoral greens one would see back home in Connecticut, but it was a start. ‘‘It’s a long way from completion.’’

  ‘‘What do you mean?’’

  ‘‘Well, I plan to convert this into a pleasure ground.’’

  Michael’s mouth hung open. ‘‘You’re building a park?’’

  ‘‘No, not a park. Just a quiet place that has something other than sand dunes and scrub oak.’’

  ‘‘But, you can’t just make something like that. God has to. Shoot, I haven’t seen one single tree since I got here. Never heard of no pleasure grounds without trees.’’

  Johnnie smiled. ‘‘The pond’s over here. Come on, I’ll show you.’’

  He led the boy toward the west side of the property but got no farther than the greenhouse when Michael stopped yet again.

  Alone on the crest of a hill, a large glass-encased structure winked in the sunlight.

  ‘‘What’s that?’’

  ‘‘My hothouse.’’

  ‘‘Why, it’s nicer than any building in all of San Francisco.’’

  ‘‘Just about.’’ He turned to go, but the boy climbed up the slope, pushed open the door, and went inside, his lanky form moving down the window-lined aisles.

  ‘‘What’s wrong with your plants?’’ he asked.

  Leaning against the doorframe, Johnnie inhaled the loamy smell of closed-in soil and plants, then sighed. ‘‘I don’t know. I’m really good at surveying and design, but the only thing I know about trees and shrubs is what I’ve read. So far, I’m not having much luck.’’

  The boy bent over and stuck his finger into the soil of a struggling Garrya elliptica. ‘‘Rachel would have a fit if she saw this. Nothing makes her madder than somebody killing their trees.’’

  Jo
hnnie stiffened. ‘‘I’m not killing them; they’re dying all on their own. I don’t know what’s wrong with them.’’

  ‘‘Rachel would. ’Course, her specialty is bugs, but she knows an awful lot about trees, too. Can’t say what she knows about bushes, though.’’

  ‘‘Bugs? Her specialty is bugs?’’

  Wiping his finger against his pant leg, Michael walked back out of the greenhouse. ‘‘Yeah. But Pa made her leave her collection back home. Said he wasn’t carting no trunk full of dead bugs clear around the Horn. She cried for days. We still don’t mention it in front of her.’’

  A slow smile tugged at the corners of Johnnie’s mouth. He’d not realized the boy had such a dry sense of humor. ‘‘Really? Well, what do you know about that? I collect wild beasts. Of course, I had to leave mine back home, too. Took up too much room in the wagon.’’

  Michael looked at him a moment before he let out a bark. ‘‘You’re fooling me, Mr. Parker. You don’t have no wild animal collection.’’ He sobered. ‘‘Do you?’’

  Johnnie pushed himself away from the door. ‘‘No more than some female has a collection of dead bugs. Come on, now. I’m paying you to help me bulk up the edges of that pond, not jaw all day.’’

  chapter 4

  Rachel stood just inside the entry of the City Hotel banging on a frying pan with a large metal spoon. ‘‘Attention, gentlemen. The City Hotel is now closed. Please gather your things and exit the building in an orderly manner, if you will.’’

  Mr. Parker and Michael had left half an hour earlier or she’d have had them clear the place out. As it was, she had no choice but to do it herself.

  There were a few men at the bar and several more circling the gaming tables.

  Soda rushed to her. ‘‘Now, missy, you cain’t jus’ be kickin’ the boys out like this without no kinda warnin’. Why don’t we waits fer Mr. Johnnie to comes back and let him handle the fellers?’’

  ‘‘I haven’t time to wait, Mr. Soda. I have a job to do and I intend to do it.’’

  An unkempt man with gray whiskers frowned at her. ‘‘I rent this here table from Parker. You cain’t jus’ up and close down my business.’’