Calico Palace (34 page)

The back entrance of the tent was a flap behind the bar. As she came near she heard a thud, somebody kicking a rock out of the way. Kendra glanced around. Ambling toward her, shoulders hunched and hands in the pockets of his dirty coat, was the sponger from Shiny Gulch, Stub Crawford.

With a start, Kendra made for the flap. But Stub was already in front of her.

“Howdy,” he drawled in his peevish voice.

“Let me pass!” said Kendra. She spoke sharply, holding her tray like a shield before her.

Stubb sniffed at the hidden tidbits. “Seems like you’ve all the time got somp’n good,” he whimpered. “How’s about giving me some?”

“No!” retorted Kendra.

She was trembling. She had her little Colt with her, but now she was realizing with terror that she did not have it at hand. She had never really expected to shoot anybody; she carried the gun only because her friends had said she should. The Colt was hidden under her apron. To use it she would have had to throw down her tray, fumble with the holster—before she could have drawn the gun Stub would have knocked her down as he had done before. Clutching the tray, she demanded,

“Let me pass!”

She took a step to one side. Stub took one too, keeping himself between her and the tent. He was grinning. His mouth had a greedy look of wetness.

Kendra cried out, “Chad! Chad!” But the tent was full of noise and Chad did not hear.

“What you got under that cloth?” Stub asked hungrily.

Her nose caught liquor on his breath, and the stinks of his sweat-ridden clothes and his skin long unwashed. But Stub’s nose caught only the fragrance of the cupcakes.

“Sure smells good,” he said, “and you’re gonta give it to me. You’re gonta give it all to me.”

He reached both his dirty hands across the tray and clamped them on her arms, holding her where she was.

“You ain’t been nice to me, you ain’t,” he whined at her. “Last time I saw you, you set all them bullies on me. Now that wasn’t nice of you, not nice at all. I was a pore hungry man and you sent them rowdies after me with their guns. This time—”

Kendra had been gathering her strength. Now with all the force at her command she gave herself a wrench and pulled her arms out of his grip. The tray went down on the ground and rolled over, scattering the cakes among the rough weedy clods. But instantly Stub grabbed her again.

“Now you quit that,” he ordered. “Throwing away good food right in front of a pore hungry man. I’m gonta get it yet. And that ain’t all I’m gonta get. I’m gonta get me a sweet little kiss—”

Kendra looked frantically around her. On the street she saw a group of men going toward the tent, but they were not looking her way. Struggling to free herself from Stub, she tried to scream. Her voice came out in a gurgle. Not hearing her above the street noises, the men went in. Stub held her, enjoying his triumph, prolonging it by repeating, “A sweet little kiss, maybe more than one sweet little kiss—”

Across his shoulder Kendra saw another man walking along Kearny Street toward the Calico Palace. He walked briskly, head up and shoulders erect, a man who had nothing to hide. As he came into the glow from the tent she saw his bright cider-brown eyes and pink cheeks, and a mighty wave of thankfulness rolled over her as she recognized Loren Shields.

Again she cried out, and this time gladness made her voice strong.

“Loren!” she called. “Loren! Make him let me alone!”

The next thing she heard was a yell. Stub Crawford tumbled down on the ground, and Loren, fists clenched and face distorted with rage, was exclaiming,

“Kendra, my dear girl, what—”

She did not hear the rest of his words. She found herself leaning against him, weak with fear and relief and joy, and she sobbed on his shoulder as he held her up with his arms around her. On the ground, Stub was holding his near-broken head and bawling that somebody was always being mean to him.

At that moment the flap of the tent was pushed back. Chad’s curly black head came through, and she heard his voice demanding,

“What the hell is going on out here?”

Kendra raised her head. She did not answer. She could not. But in a few blunt words Loren explained. Hands on hips, Chad profanely told Stub what he thought of him.

“And all these fine cakes,” barked Chad, “and the fellows clamoring for them—”

Chad was down on his knees now, picking up the cakes from the ground, dusting them with his bartender’s apron, and setting them one by one on the tray. They could be sold as usual—what was so awful about a little dirt? Watching him, Kendra began to laugh. It was slightly hysterical laughter but it soothed her nerves. Chad, solemnly in earnest, got up from his knees and carried the rescued cakes into the tent.

“Show me where you live,” Loren said to Kendra, “and I’ll see you home.”

They started walking across the lot, toward the door to the kitchen. Loren’s arm was still around her shoulders.

His presence gave her a sense of safety such as she had not felt since the day she lost Ted. She asked,

“Loren—how did you happen to be here just when I needed you?”

“I came in from Honolulu yesterday,” he said, “on the
Hope.
I didn’t know what had happened to you until this afternoon, when Mr. Chase told me. As soon as I heard, I started right over to see you. Thank God I got here when I did.”

Behind them, they heard Stub grunting and groaning as he stumbled to his feet. They stopped and looked around, and saw him running away, across Kearny Street and across the plaza and out of sight. Loren turned back to Kendra.

“And now,” he said, “I’m going to take you out of this mess.”

He smiled down at her, tenderly.

“Maybe you don’t know it,” he went on, “but I’ve been in love with you ever since we were both on the
Cynthia.
Only I was too big a fool to say it, so I lost you. I’m not going to lose you again.”

T
WO WEEKS LATER KENDRA
married Loren Shields. With this, her world changed. Loren gave her the love and security she had yearned for. He gave her a gracious life almost unmatched in the crudeness of San Francisco. She married Loren in December, 1848, and before New Year’s Day she knew she had made the second big mistake of her life.

Over and over she asked herself why. Sometimes she thought she understood. She had been so alone and so frightened, and Loren had come to her like a rescuing hero. But every time she remembered this she asked again, despairingly, “Why, oh why was I such a fool? Why didn’t I know better?”

For if she had needed anything to make her sure of it, marriage to Loren showed her all over again that the only man she wanted was Ted.

Loren loved her. As he had told her that evening while they crossed the lot behind the gambling tent, he had loved her since they had been together on the
Cynthia.
He had not said so because he knew the risks of shipboard romances.

When you first go to sea, Loren told Kendra, the older men all warn you about these. They say: By the time you’ve spent six or eight weeks in the masculine monotony of a trading vessel any woman looks good, and a really desirable girl looks like Helen of Troy. No matter how much in love you think you are, never get involved with a girl on a voyage. Wait and see if it’s the real thing. It usually isn’t.

Loren himself had found that the old seamen were right. More than once he’d been attracted by a pretty passenger, only to find when he reached port that it was nothing but her uniqueness. He would forget her in a week.

So he left Kendra in San Francisco, and went with Captain Pollock on that errand for the military. Thought he’d wait, come back to San Francisco, and see if she still seemed as charming as before. But in the meantime there was that trouble about Marny and he gave up his berth on the
Cynthia.
He had to start a new career. He went down to Monterey to consult a trader there, and while he was gone Kendra married Ted Parks.

“So of course,” Loren continued, “I put you out of my mind in that sense. But I tell you, Kendra, I was a mighty disappointed man.”

He smiled at her fondly.

“But now, if your marriage wasn’t real, here I am.”

Everything was done smoothly. Loren went to the alcalde and got a legal annulment of Kendra’s first marriage. Mr. Chase was pleased about it all, so pleased that he offered to have the wedding in his own home. Mrs. Chase served wine and wafers, and Mr. Fenway looked on as dolefully as before, as if he wished people would stop doing this sort of thing.

Several days beforehand Marny gave Kendra a present of an embroidered silk shawl from China.

“I won’t be there for the ceremony,” she said. “If Mr. Chase didn’t want me in his store he’d want me even less in his parlor. But I’ll be thinking about you, and wishing you all sorts of happiness.”

She spoke sincerely, though as Kendra found out later, Marny was doubtful about the wisdom of this marriage. Marny did not understand why Kendra should still love Ted, but Kendra did love him and Marny knew she did. However, her opinion had not been asked and she did not give it.

The fact was that Marny did not believe her opinion would be worth anything. Marny was not one of those people who think themselves competent to offer other people advice on every subject under heaven. If she had seen Kendra playing a poor game of cards she would have said so. Cards Marny knew about. But she did not know about marriage, she was wise enough to know she did not know, and she kept her mouth shut.

After the wedding Kendra and Loren went to their own home, a luxury Loren had secured by a union of good luck and good sense. A trader who owned a house on Washington Street, near Stockton, wanted to move to Canton. For three months he had been waiting for a vessel to take him there. At last the captain of the ship
Rhone,
about to sail for Honolulu, announced that he had enough seamen to go on to Canton. The trader engaged passage and sold his house to a land speculator. The new owner had put the house into the care of an agent, to be rented while he waited for the price to rise.

The house was a story-and-a-half cottage, plain but solidly built. The rent would have paid for a mansion in the States. But Loren earned a good income, and in Honolulu he had changed his gold dust for coin, the article more wanted than anything else in San Francisco. Loren went to see the house agent, a gentleman named—or at least called—Mr. Reginald Norrington.

Mr. Norrington was a short squat fat man who did business in a smoky little office on Clay Street. He had black hair around a bald spot, a greasy moonlike face, plump fluttery hands, and few charms except a gift for making the best possible terms for his clients. In spite of the high rent he wanted for the cottage, decent dwellings were so scarce that several persons had already asked him for this one. However, they had offered him gold dust. He was hesitating. Then Loren, several days before his marriage, walked into Mr. Norrington’s office and showed him enough gold coins to pay the rent for six months ahead. Smiling all the way across his moony face, Mr. Norrington said his client would be proud to have a tenant of such fine repute as Mr. Shields.

Loren had planned everything for Kendra’s convenience. He told her he had to make frequent buying trips and it would not be safe to leave her alone. He had asked Chase and Fenway’s clerk, Ralph Watson, with his wife Serena, to live in two rooms on the first floor. They were delighted, for they were sadly cramped in their little room over the store. Serena would do housework. Thus Kendra would be relieved of drudgery, and when he was away she would have a man in the house.

Kendra was not unhappy. Loren was so kind, so cheerful, so considerate, that he was easy to live with. And he loved her. But though she tried to love him back she could not. She knew now that love was not made by trying. If it did not go when it ought to go, neither was it there when it ought to be there.

Several days before Christmas Loren told her there was to be a ball Christmas evening at the Comet House. Wouldn’t she like to attend?

When she heard his words Kendra felt a shock that went through her like a knife. To dance again in the parlor where she had fallen in love with Ted—she could not, she simply could not. Exclaiming that she smelled something burning, she ran out to the kitchen and waited till she could control her voice. When she came back she said to Loren,

“Instead of going out let’s do something unexpected. Let’s have a good old-fashioned Christmas dinner and invite some friends. Wouldn’t you like that?”

Loren brightened at the idea. “I’d like it very much. But wouldn’t it mean a lot of work for you?”

“Oh, Loren, don’t be so careful of me! You know I never mind cooking, and Serena can help.”

He laughed in anticipation. “I don’t think there’s a turkey in town, but we can get a ham—”

“Fine,” said Kendra.

Dinner was a great success. The guests were Mr. and Mrs. Chase, and Mr. Fenway, and Lieutenants Morse and Vernon. The lieutenants apologized for eating so much, but said it was the first good meal they had had in months. Mr. and Mrs. Chase agreed that Kendra was a rare cook. Even Mr. Fenway uttered praise. Loren, presiding over his first dinner party in his own home, beamed with pleasure.

New Year’s Day was cold and cloudy with flurries of rain. But again Loren and Kendra were host and hostess, for more than ever San Francisco was a town of lonely men. Business firms in other Pacific ports were sending agents to open branches in the land of gold. A few of these newcomers had wives, most had not; all were homesick, all hated the mud and rawness around them and longed for the ways of civilized men. On the first day of 1849, groups of lonely young fellows set out to bring one of these pleasant ways to San Francisco. They dressed up in formal suits and kid gloves and polished boots, and went slopping through the rain to make New Year’s calls on the ladies.

Kendra had been warned by Loren to expect them, so she was ready, sitting by the fire with cake and wine on a table at her side. The young men brought her gifts of books and candy, walnuts and dried fruit. They paid her flowery compliments, wished her a happy New Year, bowed and went on, leaving tracks of mud all over the carpet.