Calico Palace (35 page)

Kendra did not mind the tracks. Like her work for the Calico Palace, all this kept her from thinking too much.

A week after New Year’s, Loren went to Oregon on another buying trip for Chase and Fenway. Mrs. Chase promised him she would see to it that Kendra was not lonely while he was away. She began by inviting Kendra, with Ralph and Serena, to a musical party.

Mrs. Chase was a jovial, friendly soul. She was not highly educated, but she liked to read a good story, she was clever at party games, she enjoyed music and she had an inborn good taste about it. Among the newly arrived businessmen were some good amateur performers, and Mrs. Chase told Kendra they would provide the entertainment.

The evening appointed was mild and clear. Mr. and Mrs. Chase lived near Kendra, only a few steps farther up the hill. As Kendra set out with Ralph and Serena they saw the sunset afterglow, and Ralph said there would be a moon to light their way home. The walk was easy, and the parlor was bright with candles and firelight. Mr. Chase came hurrying to take their wraps, inviting them to warm up with cups of chocolate or glasses of wine.

Mr. Fenway was there, and half a dozen of the new traders. Two of these gentlemen were married and had brought their wives. Also present was that precious rarity, an unmarried girl about eighteen years old, daughter of one of the married couples. Her name was Ada Lansing. Ada was escorted by one of the bachelor traders, who was glowing with pride at this mark of favor.

As Kendra was the only other woman without a husband at her side, the other bachelors flocked around her. One of them set a chair for her in a warm spot near the fire, another brought a footstool, still another a cushion for her chair. It was all quite agreeable.

Mrs. Chase had not been able to get her heart’s desire, a piano, but they did very well without it. The four bachelors played guitars and sang as a quartet. They had joined for their own entertainment, but they were genuinely musical and worth listening to. After several songs, they rested while one of the married men, Mr. Dean, played his violin. It might have been better if he had had a piano accompaniment, but he was good and deserved the applause they gave him. Then the young lady, Miss Ada Lansing, favored them with a solo while her escort played the guitar.

Ada Lansing could not sing, and her song, which concerned shrill references to moonlight and dew, was not worth singing anyway. But she was young and pretty, and the gentlemen listened with their souls in their eyes. All but Mr. Fenway. Kendra, sitting next to Mr. Fenway, noticed him squirming. A moment later, as Ada sang blissfully on, Mr. Fenway growled out of the corner of his mouth,

“That’s the third time she’s flatted and she’s not
that
pretty.”

Kendra bit on her handkerchief to keep from giggling. Fortunately, in another moment the song came to an end. Applauding dutifully, she avoided the eyes of Mr. Fenway.

After another interval of guitars, Mr. Chase announced that they would now have a song by Mrs. Dean, wife of the man who had played the violin. Kendra shivered at the prospect of what they might hear now and what Mr. Fenway might say about it. But while Mrs. Dean had not Ada’s pretty face, she had a good voice and knew how to use it. She gave them a pleasant ballad, and this time the applause was real and they begged for more. Mrs. Dean sang again, simply and well.

The room was getting stuffy, and Mr. Chase opened a window. The guitar players performed again. This time they sang a mischievous song beginning,

“If there’s one thing really nifty it’s a gentleman of fifty

When a thoughtful girl is contemplating love,

For
if
a man of fifty has been reasonably thrifty,

He’s got just what thoughtful girls are thinking of…”

The audience laughed, all but Ada Lansing. Ada had expected to be asked for another song. Since coming to San Francisco she had received so much adulation that she now took it for granted that she would be the center of any gathering she favored with her presence. She forgot that this group had come to hear music, which she could not provide. All she understood was that Mrs. Dean had been encored while she herself had not. Ada rustled her skirts petulantly.

The quartet went into a mirthful chorus.

“For love without cash means a diet of hash,

Then love gets thrown out with the rest of the trash…”

When the chorus ended they decided they had been cynical long enough. Changing to a happier mood they began a song about spring and flowers.

Kendra was listening with pleasure. She was no singer herself (and unlike Ada Lansing, she knew it), but she liked music. Mr. Chase had told her pianos would be coming in soon. Kendra hoped she could get one. She and Loren would both enjoy it. He liked music too. She was finding that they had many tastes in common. Oh, she was a fortunate woman, she ought to be thanking heaven for Loren’s warm affection instead of dreaming about spangles of fool’s gold—

The guitar players began another tune. Kendra felt herself going tense. A tremor ran over her skin. Her hands felt damp. Her lips tightened. The men were playing the gay, lilting melody of “Love is like a dragonfly.”

That dance at the Comet House. The smoky lamps, the garish wallpaper, music by the army band. Ted’s arm around her, his whisper in her ear. “You’re beautiful… Every woman is as beautiful as some man thinks she is.”

—Oh God, make them stop! Make them play something else. Why does love hurt like this? Why doesn’t it
go
?

The men were blithely singing.

“Love is like a dragonfly,

Here today, tomorrow gone,

Love’s a teasing passerby,

Blows a kiss and hurries on…”

Kendra’s hands clenched each other in her lap. She felt rigid as a rock. Thank heaven nobody was looking at her. They were watching the singers, tapping their feet to the happy music, enjoying the song.

At last—it seemed like a thousand years—the singers changed to another tune. Kendra did not know what tune they played and she did not hear the words they sang. She sat there, trying to draw deep breaths and make her heart stop pounding, trying to unclench her hands, relax her taut knees, loosen her stiff lips, silently pleading—Make them keep on singing! Give me time!

They did keep on singing; she did not know how long, but she wished it had been longer. She heard the applause, she joined it. She heard the others thanking the singers and she realized that this was the end of the program. She heard Mr. Chase saying to her, “And now, ma’am, a glass of sherry? Real Spanish sherry this is, came a long way.”

Kendra took the wine. To her own surprise she found herself saying, “Thank you,” and a moment later, “It’s delicious, Mr. Chase.”

Mrs. Chase was passing toasted crackers with cheese, dishes of olives and nuts, and pretty little cakes. Kendra managed a few nibbles. She kept thinking,

—Nothing lasts forever. Before long I can get out of here. I can be alone. Oh thank God I’ll be
alone.
Please don’t let Loren ever guess this. Please, please let me get over it, some day, somehow.

At last it was time to go. They began thanking Mr. and Mrs. Chase for a pleasant evening. Kendra said the proper phrases, and found herself on her way home with Ralph and Serena. It seemed a long way, but they got there and said good night.

Kendra went upstairs to her room. She saw a faint glow in the grate. They had plenty of fuel now, for a ship had come in with a cargo of coal and Loren had bought enough to last the winter. Kendra built up the fire and watched the little flames run among the coals. She heard Ralph try the front door to make sure it was locked, and his footsteps as he went to his and Serena’s bedroom downstairs.

She took off her clothes, but she was not sleepy. She had never felt more wide awake. Lighting a candle, she put on a dressing-gown and sat in front of the fire. The flames crackled cheerfully. Outside, the wind was rising. Kendra put her head into her hands and forgot about the fire and the wind and all the other sounds in the house and out of it; she forgot everything but Ted and how happy he had made her for a little while.

—Why can’t I cry? she wondered.

It would be such a relief to cry. To do anything. Anything but sit here and remember, sit here with her hands holding her throbbing temples, her heart thumping in her chest, her spirit torn into little pieces of pain because she missed Ted as she had never missed anybody else, she wanted him as she had never wanted anything else in her life.

There was a knock on the door. Kendra started. The knock came again and she heard Serena’s voice.

“Mrs. Shields?”

—What on earth, Kendra thought. Why does she have to bother me
now
?

With an effort she went to open the door. “Yes, Serena?”

Serena was holding a woolen wrapper around her. There was a smile of apology on her rosy innocent face.

“I’m sorry to trouble you, Mrs. Shields, but I thought this might be important. It’s a letter for you.”

Kendra heard her with a puzzled frown. “A letter?”

Serena held out a folded paper sealed with wax. “A strange man knocked at the front door,” she explained, “and Ralph answered. The man gave him this and asked him to take it to you.”

A hundred cudgels began to beat on Kendra’s head. She took the letter, and managed to say “Thank you.” Serena went downstairs. Closing the door, Kendra went back to her chair by the fireplace.

She broke the seal and unfolded the paper. As she saw the writing her hands began to shake so that the paper rattled between them. Her eyes clouded; it was several seconds before she could steady them enough to read.

Kendra my dear,

Tonight I heard that song again. Love is like a dragonfly. If you don’t know what it did to me—but of course you know.

I came down from Sacramento yesterday on the schooner. My plan was to take the first boat for Honolulu. I had no plan to see you. I had asked about you, was told you had married Loren Shields. A good chap, I suppose; I saw him only once, but at any rate I understood that you were done with me.

So I thought I would go on to Honolulu and let you alone.

But this evening I walked over to see Mr. Chase. You may remember, before we went to Shiny Gulch last year I put my first gold dust on deposit with him. This evening I went to ask him what time he would be in the store tomorrow so I could get it. But I found his house all lit up and saw horses tethered outside. He was giving a party. I could not see indoors because of the curtains, but I could hear music. Somebody had opened a window. The music was good. I didn’t want to interrupt, but there was no harm in stopping a few minutes to listen.

Then I heard it. They were playing guitars. They began to sing that song.

And I was back with you at that ball in the Comet House, dancing to that tune and falling in love.

I thought if I didn’t see you again I would go mad. I walked to the nearest bar, told them I wanted to see Loren Shields on business, asked where he lived. They told me, and they told me I could not see him now because he was out of town.

Kendra, a few lines back I said when I heard you had married Loren I understood that you were done with me.

But are you, Kendra?

After all there has been between you and me, can you throw it away?

I am waiting in front. Come down and open the door.

Come down, Kendra.

Ted

K
ENDRA STOOD UP. SHE
walked to the end of the room and back again, holding the letter with both hands. Her hands came together and clasped each other, crushing the letter between them. She looked at the curtain covering the front window. If she should blow out the candle this room would be almost dark, no light but the glow from the fire. Not nearly as bright as the moonlight in the street. She could push the curtain aside and see Ted waiting there. Waiting for her.

It would be so easy. All she had to do was slip downstairs and open the door. If she went softly, Ralph and Serena would hear nothing, suspect nothing. Her bedroom was at the front of the house, theirs at the back, and the rising wind would blur all other sounds. Nobody would ever know.

—Nobody, thought Kendra, but me.

She looked at the bed with its smooth white counterpane. The whole room was like that. Smooth, seemly, well ordered. Like Loren and Loren’s gentle embraces. Nothing about this room reminded her of that rude bumpy covered wagon she had shared with Ted.

—Nobody would ever know, Kendra thought again. Nobody but me.

—But I would know.

She twisted her hands together, hearing Ted’s letter scrunch between them. She seemed to hear her own voice, an angry scornful voice speaking angry scornful words under the trees at Shiny Gulch.

—You’re a halfway person. That’s what I can’t stand. A coat with one sleeve, a house without a roof, a bridge that stops in the middle of a river—who wants those? Things are no good unless they’re
done.

The crumpled paper dropped out of her hands and fell on the floor. She struck her fist on the mantelpiece. The candle shivered, her shadow shook on the wall. She wondered,

Was I talking to Ted that day? Or to myself?

She began walking again, making a path up and down the room. Again her thoughts took words.

—Kendra, you are not a halfway person. What you do, you
do.
You’ve always been that way. Always, except for Ted. You love Ted and you hate him too. And Loren? You don’t love Loren and you don’t hate him either. But you do respect him.

She remembered what Loren had told her just before they were married. He had been in love with her, but while he was in Monterey she had married Ted. “So of course,” said Loren, “I put you out of my mind in that sense.”

She remembered. He had made a courteous call, to congratulate Ted and bring her a basket of wild strawberries. Then he had gone away, and he had not tried to see her again until Mr. Chase told him about the breakup of her marriage to Ted. Loren was not a halfway person.

—And you, Kendra, she told herself, you are not going to be one either.