Calico Palace (9 page)

But Marny was gone, the streak of sun no longer shone through the window, and without those two bright presences the place was dingy again. The boys began lazily to take more goods out of the boxes they had set in front of the shelves. Another stroller wandered in from the street, bought a box of matches, and sat down by the stove for a smoke. Kendra began to roam about the storeroom, looking for anything else she might use. On a shelf near the back door, so high that she could barely reach it by standing on tiptoe, she saw a bottle of lemon extract, which gave her an idea of making lemon-iced cupcakes.

The back door was shut and bolted, and near it stood several barrels not yet opened. Kendra set her basket on one of these and reached for the bottle of lemon extract. How quiet it was in here, and how noisy everywhere else. From the front room she heard the boys jabbering. From outside she heard the thud of horses’ hoofs, and the bang of hammers and clatter of planks as a new saloon went up. As she put the bottle into her basket she heard another sound from beyond the back door.

She started, and listened. Her heart began to thud like the hoofs on the road outside. What she was hearing was a whistled tune.

She caught the tune only in fragments, for the wind was blowing the notes around, but it was a tune she would have recognized anywhere in the world. The whistler was coming nearer. He was whistling “Love is like a dragonfly.”

The dance and the gaudy lights and the crowded floor, Ted’s arm around her and his caressing eyes looking down into hers as the band played the dragonfly tune and he whispered, “You’re beautiful… Every woman is as beautiful as some man thinks she is.”

—Don’t be a fool, Kendra told herself. Anybody can whistle that tune. Anybody, anybody—

At the same time her hands were pushing at the bolt. The door swung open. And there was Ted, just reaching the foot of the steps as he walked along. At this moment, as if her eyes had called him, he looked up and saw her.

Here at the back was a flight of broad shallow steps up which barrels could be rolled to the door. Kendra stood at the top of the steps. As Ted saw her he stopped.

Ted’s face was brown, as if he had been living in a place where there was more sun than often shone in San Francisco. His whole appearance was different. Usually so neat, today he looked unkempt, his clothes frayed and his boots cracking. But as he stood there his eyes went over her with yearning, he gave her the smile she knew and loved so well, and to Kendra it was as if he had not changed at all. For a moment he stayed where he was; he turned his head aside, as though trying to pull himself away from her; he looked at her again, and slowly, almost unwillingly, he began to climb the steps. It was as though he was being drawn by a force he could not withstand, like a man honest but hungry, walking toward a purse he knew he was going to steal.

Kendra quivered with happiness. Ted was here again, and this time she was not going to let him go. Not without her.

As he reached the top step Ted almost pushed her into the room, and shut the door. He did not say anything and neither did she. They swept into each other’s arms. This was the kiss Ted had run away from, the kiss they should have had, that cloudy day hardly a month ago though to Kendra it seemed a hundred years. For a moment she felt a radiant joy. But again, her moment did not last. Again, Ted thrust her away from him, demanding,

“Why the hell can’t you get out of my life?”

“Because I love you,” she said.

The words did not surprise her at all. It was as though she had been planning to say them, just like that.

Ted clenched his fists against the door behind him.

“I love you too,” he said. “I didn’t mean to. I never dreamed—” He broke off, and burst out defensively, “And I didn’t intend to see you this morning.”

“Then what are you doing here?” she exclaimed.

“I came to pick up my things.”

“Why were you whistling the dragonfly tune?”

“Was I? I didn’t know it.”

“You were thinking about me,” Kendra said.

“I’ve thought of nothing else since—” Ted stopped, listening to the voices in the front room. “We can’t talk here.”

Kendra spoke quickly. “We can talk tomorrow afternoon. There’s going to be another dance at the Comet House. My mother intends to go over there with Mrs. Chase to see about the decorations. You can come to see me while she’s out.”

“Kendra, this is all wrong,” said Ted.

“You’ll come to see me tomorrow?”

“All right!” said Ted. “I’ll be there.”

Then he pushed the door open and rushed down the steps and away.

Kendra waited where she was. She felt tremors of joy. Ted was with her again and this time he was not going to leave her.

Her thoughts were clear and straight. She wanted Ted. She had not known how much she wanted him until she saw him walking toward the back steps.

She began to laugh. This was the year 1848, a leap year, and she had remembered the old saying—A lady may propose marriage in a leap year, and if her lover refuses he must give her a silk dress. Kendra did not want a silk dress. She already had several. But she wanted Ted and she meant to have him.

“T
ELL ME!” KENDRA PERSISTED.
“Why did you go?”

“You know why. To get away from you.”

“But why did you want to get away from me?”

“Because I’m no good, Kendra! No good for you, no good for anybody. How often do I have to say it?”

“Do you love me?”

“Would I have run like that if I didn’t?”

“If you love me, then why did you go?”

“Oh Lord,” said Ted, “now we’re starting over.”

They stood facing each other in the parlor. The room had a happy look with Eva’s bright rugs and curtains, and a bowl of wild yellow poppies on the table. Eva and Mrs. Chase, with several army officers, had ridden over to the Comet House. In the back yard Mrs. Riggs was hanging out laundry.

Ted strode over to the front window, stared out a moment, turned around and came back.

“Kendra, I didn’t mean to start anything but a mild flirtation that day when I brought the groceries. But I came to the door of this room, and there you were, and we saw each other. It was like a lightning flash. You remember.”

“Yes,” said Kendra. “I remember.”

“I should have left then,” said Ted. “I should have gone to Los Angeles, gone back to Honolulu—anywhere away from here.”

“Then,” she asked clearly, “why didn’t you?”

“How did I know what was going to happen?” he demanded. “I thought I knew all about men and women. I used to laugh when I heard of men so in love they were helpless. I didn’t know it happened like this.”

“I didn’t know it either,” said Kendra. “But it does happen, it
has
happened, to you and me both. Oh Ted, where have you been?”

He answered shortly, “To the gold country.”

“The gold—” Kendra caught her breath. “Why didn’t you tell me you were going there?”

“I didn’t know I was going there. All I wanted was to get out before I made any more trouble. I would have taken any boat going anywhere. The only one sailing that day was Sutter’s launch. I took the launch to the fort—saw the men bringing in gold from the sawmill—”

“Then it’s true, Ted? There really is a golden river?”

Ted nodded. A light broke over his face. When he spoke his voice was awestruck. “Kendra, it’s true. Not just one river,” he went on eagerly, “but miles and miles of rivers. Nobody knows how many. The sands are speckled with gold, the cracks in the rocks are lined with gold. Look.”

Ted was wearing his leather jacket, worn and bedraggled now. From a pocket he took a small buckskin bag that had once held tobacco. Loosening the drawstring he poured on the table a pile of yellow grains. “Gold dust,” he said.

Kendra moved the grains with her finger. She picked up a pinch and rubbed it between her thumb and fingertip. When Pocket had brought that rag of gold to the store she had not been excited. But now something curious began to happen inside her—a flutter, a sort of pain, and yet a sort of pleasure too. It ran down from her chest through her middle and made her legs feel quivery; it ran up to her head and gave her a tingle at the back of her neck. Her voice like his was awestruck as she asked,

“And there’s really so much gold? You
know
?”

With a slow smile at her, Ted nodded. Kendra felt the same intimacy of their first meeting, the sense that their thoughts had met and joined. In a low voice, like a conspirator sharing a secret, Ted answered her question. “Kendra, at a ravine called Shiny Gulch, I’ve already picked up three hundred ounces of gold. I’ve put most of it on deposit with Mr. Chase. Part will pay for my outfit, and he’ll keep the rest for me. And there’s more of it, and more and more. I’ve seen it.”

Kendra picked up another pinch of gold. She put it into the palm of her hand and looked down at its glowing promise. She thought—I’m tired of being nobody’s child. Now I can show them. Alex, my mother, all those aunts and uncles who think my father was the family disgrace. They’ll be proud to know me when I come back. I’ll have a carriage with matched black horses, I’ll have a fur cloak and a muff pinned with a spray of opals. I’ll have Ted—he’s clever, he’s handsome, he’s sophisticated and charming. I’ll have everything.

She looked up. With barely breath enough to speak, she asked,

“Who else is up there at that place called Shiny Gulch?”

“Workmen from Sutter’s Fort, a few ranchers, some of the local savages. The word will get around, of course, but it’s not around yet. I’m going back. I had to come to town to buy supplies. I’ve made friends with a fellow named Ning, at least that’s what they call him, his right name is Ingram—”

“Ingram?” she repeated, “He was in the store yesterday, buying a lot of things.”

“We need a lot of things,” said Ted. He was talking fast, with boyish eagerness. “Boots and blankets, shovels and pans, food—it’s a wild country, we’ll have to carry everything we intend to use.”

Ted explained that Ning knew a lot about gold mining. Ning had grown up in Lumpkin County, in the mountains of north Georgia, where gold had been discovered years ago.

“He knows what we need,” Ted hurried on. “We’ll go back as soon as we get our outfit, and then—Kendra, before the end of summer I’ll be rich. The gold is there. I can do anything I please, buy anything, go anywhere. Remember once I told you what I’d do if I could?—sail to the lonesome islands, the dim far countries—”

She remembered. He had told her this, and he had added, “I’d take you with me.” Ted was still talking, telling her about this marvel of the hills. Gold in the waters and under the rocks, gold in flakes and specks and even in lumps among the pebbles of the earth. Gold, waiting for somebody to come and pick it up.

And Ted loved her. He had said so. He was saying it now.

“Oh Kendra, it’s such fun to tell you all this! You understand it, you understand how I feel, you always did. I’ve missed you so!”

“I’ve missed you too,” she told him joyfully. “But now you’re here, and when you go back—”

“Yes!” he cut in, almost angrily. “I’m going back. And this time I’m leaving for good.”

“No!” she cried in sudden fright.

“Yes!” he repeated vehemently. “I’m getting out of here. You’re the first girl I ever loved and I hope to God you’re the last. I’m not going through this another time.”

He took a long step toward the door. But Kendra had never had a subtle thought in her head nor a subtle speech in her mouth. She rushed to him and locked her hands around his wrist.

“Ted, you love me! You said you did!”

“That’s why I want to leave you. If I didn’t care what became of you—but I do care.” He broke off and looked longingly down at her. “Why do you have to be so lovely now when we’re saying goodby?”

“We’re not saying goodby, Ted.”

“Kendra,” he urged, “I’m lazy, I’m useless, I’m unreliable, I’ll never amount to anything—”

“I don’t care. We’ll have all that gold from the rivers.”

“Oh Kendra, the trouble is not money! The trouble is me. I’m not good enough for you. And you’re a nice girl. You’ll want to be married.”

“Of course. We can be married here, now. The head magistrate—what do they call them in California?—the alcalde. He can marry us.”

“Then you’ll be stuck with me the rest of your life.”

“That’s what I want.”

“Oh my dear,” said Ted, “don’t be in such a hurry to make a fool of yourself.”

Again, hands thrust into his jacket pockets, he walked to the front window and back to her. Kendra looked up at his tumbled hair and the lock that kept falling over his forehead; his roguish face, now drawn into lines as if he were fighting her and himself and everybody else in the world. There on the table lay the buckskin bag and the beckoning pile of gold dust. Ted was gazing at her with a look that was wistful and tender and yet strangely frightened, as if he wanted to escape and could not. Suddenly Kendra asked,

“Ted, why did you come back to San Francisco?”

“I told you,” he answered—“to get supplies.”

“You could have bought those at Sutter’s Fort. Why come all the way down here?”

“The prices are better here,” said Ted. “At the fort, everything has been brought up the Sacramento River, or by land around the bay. That makes things expensive.”

“Everything you buy here, you’ll have to take back the same way. So why come to San Francisco?”

“Another reason,” said Ted, “was that I wanted to leave my gold in a safe place. Mr. Chase will keep it locked up for me.”

“Wouldn’t Mr. Sutter have kept it for you? He must have a safe or some sort of strongbox.”

She took a step closer to him. Standing very near him she looked up directly into his eyes.

“Ted, why did you come to San Francisco?”

Ted looked down at her a moment without answering. As on the first time he had ever looked at her, he made her aware of her every feature—her dark blue eyes, the arrow of hair on her forehead, her slim strong body, eager and demanding before him. All of a sudden Ted turned on his heel and struck the table such a blow that everything in the room seemed to tremble.