The Measure of a Lady (5 page)

‘‘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.’’

Johnnie 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

R
achel 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.’’

‘‘Watch yer tone, Lambert,’’ the man beside him said. ‘‘That’s a sunbonnet yer talkin’ to.’’

Rachel awarded her scruffy defender with a smile.

The man running the table scowled, then moderated his tone.

‘‘Does Johnnie know about this, miss?’’

‘‘Of course he knows,’’ she replied. ‘‘I’m sorry he neglected to tell you, but we’ll be closing down every day between breakfast and supper. Now off you go.’’

She looked at the men, but no one moved. She rapped on the skillet. ‘‘You heard me. Time to go.’’

Those seemed to be the magic words. Within a few minutes, she’d closed the door behind the last customer.

‘‘Come along, Lissa,’’ she called. ‘‘All’s safe now.’’

Lissa entered the room, a pouty look about her mouth.

‘‘Mr. Soda,’’ Rachel said, ‘‘we are going to need a good deal of water if our efforts are to be fruitful. Would you be so kind as to show Lissa where she could fetch some?’’

He swallowed. ‘‘Yes, miss. I suppose I could.’’

‘‘Why do I have to haul the water?’’ Lissa asked. ‘‘Why don’t I stay here and you haul the water?’’

Rachel took a deep breath. ‘‘Mr. Soda, I’d like to introduce you to my sister, Miss Lissa. Lissa, this is Mr. Soda and he is going to show you where to fill the water pails.’’

Soda nodded his head in acknowledgment and Lissa threw her sister a glare before following him out the back.

Rachel put away the frying pan, slipped on an apron she’d found earlier, and grabbed a gunnysack. She walked back into the hotel only to stop short as she spied a crowd of men jostling for position at the front window.

One tipped his hat. Another waved. And yet another pasted a ridiculous grin onto his bushy face.

Oh, for heaven’s sake. Ignoring them, she ripped a hole in the bottom of the sack, walked over to the statue, and pulled the burlap bag over it until the statue’s head popped through. There. Much better.

Brushing her hands together, she hauled a tick off the bunk closest to the kitchen.

The front door crashed open. ‘‘Here, miss, let me get that fer ya.’’

She whirled around. A man wearing the customary garb of rolled pantaloons, muddy boots, and an unadorned monkey jacket hurried toward her.

‘‘Good heavens, sir,’’ she said, touching a hand to her throat. ‘‘You scared the living daylights out of me barging in that way.’’

He halted and whipped his hat off. ‘‘I’m sorry, miss. It’s jus’ that I cain’t rightly stand around watching you struggle with this here tick when there’s a man around to carry it fer ya.’’

She offered him a soft smile. ‘‘It’s no trouble, sir. It’s my job. But thank you. Now, please, you’re keeping me from my work.’’

He rolled his hat round and round in his hands. ‘‘It’s right sorry I am to be disturbin’ ya, miss. But, I’m not leavin’ till ya tell me where it is yer wantin’ this here tick.’’

Sighing, she stepped away from the mattress. ‘‘Very well, Mr. . . .?’’

‘‘Albert Roberson.’’

‘‘Mr. Roberson. I’m taking it out back to the line I’ve rigged up.’’

Throwing the tick to his shoulder, he glanced at his friends still peering in the window and tossed them a triumphant grin.

Suppressing the urge to roll her eyes, she guided Mr. Roberson to the cord she had tightly stretched between two posts in the yard.

‘‘Careful not to let it drag in the mud, sir. It’s a nice sunny day for cleaning, but I don’t wish to add to my labors by caking the tick with mud.’’

‘‘No, miss. I’ll be real careful.’’

He threw the tick over the line, its weight causing the rope to bow some. Thanking him, she walked him back to the front door and closed it firmly behind him. The latch did her no good, for the ring it was to slip over held a padlock that was closed tight. And with no key in sight.

Turning her back on the men, she went to the kitchen and retrieved a coal shovel. After wiping it clean, she set to using it on the tick.

Never had she seen—or smelled—a mattress so filthy. With each whack of the shovel, more dirt and debris poofed out. Stopping to catch her breath, she propped her hands—shovel and all—against her knees.

She mentally counted the number of ticks lining the walls of the hotel and groaned inwardly. How could anyone let his bedding get into such a state?

Straightening, she lifted the shovel again.

Whack. Whack. Whack
.

When her arms stung to the point they no longer obeyed her commands, she returned to the kitchen, found a broom, and started knocking away cobwebs and brushing down the plank walls of the hotel.

She wondered where Lissa was and what was taking her so long. She wondered what exactly Michael was helping Mr. Parker with. And she wondered what on earth she would make for supper.

Pausing, she cocked her head, listening. Then, she heard it again. A shuffling. A subdued giggle. A
‘‘shhhhh.’’

Rachel moved to the back door, and there stood Lissa, surrounded by a group of miners placing buckets of water next to the shack.

One of the men saw Rachel and nudged his neighbor. Who nudged the man beside him. Like a line of dominoes, one man tapped another until all were aware of her presence.

In their center stood Lissa, eyes defiant and challenging.

Rachel nodded her head. ‘‘Gentlemen, thank you for the water. You are excused.’’

They silently, and somewhat sheepishly, filed down the alley, leaving Lissa and Soda to face her alone. Lissa cocked a brow. Soda wrung his hands.

‘‘Lissa, you will beat that tick hanging on the line behind you until you have knocked every speck of dirt from its stuffings.’’

‘‘I tried to haul the water, Rachel, but those men would not hear of it. They insisted on doing it for me, and then some. I tried to say no, but they would not let me.’’

Rachel’s gaze wandered to the tick. She swallowed. ‘‘Yes. I suppose that’s true enough. Still, look at all those buckets. Who do they belong to?’’

Lissa shrugged. ‘‘I really couldn’t tell you.’’

Rachel then turned her attention to Soda. ‘‘Do you have a key to the padlock on the front door?’’

‘‘Yes’m.’’

‘‘Would you please go and lock the front door for me?’’

He hesitated. ‘‘I don’t know, miss. Mr. Johnnie, he hardly ever locks the door.’’

She held out her palm. ‘‘Then give me the key and I’ll lock it. I don’t wish you to get into any trouble.’’

He shook his head. ‘‘No, miss. I’ll lock it, if that’s what you want.’’

She allowed him to pass by her, then reached to the side, picked up the shovel, and walked it out to Lissa. ‘‘You’ve a mattress to beat. And so help me, if I see some man doing it for you, cleaning the ticks will become your sole responsibility and no one else’s. Do I make myself clear?’’

Lissa jerked the shovel from Rachel’s grasp and made her way to the tick.

————

Johnnie frowned and jiggled the door again. Why was the door locked? Where was Soda? His customers?

He pounded on the door. ‘‘Soda! Open up.’’

Seconds later, he heard the lock snap free and the latch release. The door swung open.

‘‘What in the blazes is going on?’’ Johnnie asked Soda, stepping into the hotel, then coming up short.

The floor gleamed, the bar shone, the tables were dust free, his statue was wearing a burlap sack, and the fourth bunk over was missing its tick.

His gaze reversed its course. His statue was wearing a
burlap sack
?

Michael stepped in beside him, then went back outside and began to swipe the mud from his boots.

Johnnie turned to Soda. ‘‘Where are my customers?’’

Soda swallowed. ‘‘From now on we’s closed every day from mornin’ to supper so’s the ladies can clean up the place.’’

Lissa shuffled in with a bucket and rag. ‘‘Hello, Mr. Parker.’’

‘‘Lissa.’’

She moved to the empty bunk and began wiping down its base.

Setting his jaw, he made a move toward the kitchen.

Soda reached out a hand, stopping him. ‘‘You’d bes’ be wipin’ off them boots or goin’ round the alley. The missy will be givin’ you a tongue-lashin’ fer shore if’n you walk acrost her floor in them muddy boots.’’

Her
floor?

Johnnie glared at him. ‘‘The floor will be a mess the minute the men start piling back in.’’

Soda stared right back. ‘‘She’s been workin’ mighty hard. I’ll not have ya ruinin’ her floor.’’

Johnnie hesitated. ‘‘Soda?’’

‘‘Yes, Mr. Johnnie?’’

‘‘When I return, my Lorenzo Bartolini had better not be wearing a flour sack.’’

‘‘I’ll be glad to return her to her former glory, Mr. Johnnie.’’

‘‘Thank you.’’ He spun out the door and made his way down the alley. He shook his head, barely suppressing his anger. What could that woman possibly have been thinking?

At the end of the alley, he paused and watched as Rachel swung at a tick with all her might.

Uumph
. Up the shovel came.
Whack
.

Uumph . . . whack
.

Uumph . . . whack
.

Straightening, she leaned the shovel against the post, then braced one hand against it and the other hand on her back.

After a moment, she left the shovel, returned to the tick, and struggled to lift it off the line. All instincts urged him forward, but he checked them. Surely she didn’t mean to move that thing all by herself?

Yet that’s exactly what she set out to do.

She tugged, inching it off the line bit by bit. Anyone could see she was too weak to handle the mattress alone.

She crouched underneath it, allowing half of it to fall down her back like a cape, then propped her head along the crease in its middle. Lifting her hands up to steady it, she stood, balancing it on her head, and started moving backward.

The other half of the tick slowly followed, and when it finally came free of the line, it fell with a thud against her face and torso, folding over her like an upside-down book trying to slam closed. She staggered.

He jogged toward her. But not soon enough. Like a top that had lost its momentum, she tottered to the ground and hit with a resounding splat. The mattress still sandwiched her inside of it, and mud now caked both it and her.

He smiled at the epithets coming from inside the folded over tick. They were the cleaned up versions of the real ones and were spewing from her mouth with feeling.

Ankles, pantalets, and petticoats peeked out the edges like lettuce and leg o’ lamb. She flayed about. He reached down and flipped back the top of the mattress.

She now lay completely flat on the tick. An open-faced sandwich.

She squealed.

He bowed and extended a hand. ‘‘May I be of service?’’

She scrambled off the mattress and turned a gorgeous shade of red.

Any neatness that her serviceable brown dress had held this morning had long since disappeared. One of his aprons drooped down her front, its ties wrapped multiple times around her waist. The hair twist at the back of her head sagged, with one section of silky hair tumbling free across her shoulder.

She lifted her chin. ‘‘Good afternoon, Mr. Parker. I didn’t realize you were home.’’

He allowed his smile to widen. ‘‘I know.’’

The blush moved down her neck, but she held firm his gaze. The girl had pluck. He’d give her that.

‘‘Next time you need to move a tick,’’ he said, ‘‘just let Soda or me know. We’ll be glad to assist you.’’

She tightened her lips. ‘‘I can do it. I just slipped is all. It’s my fourth one today and I guess I’m a little tired.’’ She took a deep breath. ‘‘Are you hungry? You’re a bit low on supplies, so supper will be a simple affair. But it is on the stove when you are ready.’’

Moving to the nearest post, he undid the rope, stretched it taut, and re-secured it. ‘‘You closed down my hotel.’’

‘‘I forgot to have you do it before you left.’’

Lifting the tick, he flung it back over the rope and began to roll up his sleeves. ‘‘Had you discussed your intentions with me, I would not have let you close it. Do you have any idea how much money you cost me today?’’

‘‘I can’t very well scrub it down while the men are in there.’’

Picking up the shovel, he swung it into the tick. Mud flew everywhere.

She gasped and jumped back, but not before the stuff peppered them both.

He swung again. ‘‘That may be, but I rent out tables to certain men at certain times of the day. They depend on the money those bring in, as do I.’’
Wwwwhump
.

‘‘If you will just let that be, I will do it later.’’

He continued to beat the mud out of the mattress. ‘‘You can have the hotel from nine to noon. That should be sufficient.’’

‘‘But it took me all day just to do the floor and four ticks.’’ She paused. ‘‘Three ticks.’’

He swung. ‘‘Nine to noon, Rachel.’’

‘‘Eight to noon. And I haven’t given you leave to call me by my Christian name.’’

Wwwwhump
. ‘‘The men stay up almost all night long. They aren’t going to rise at eight in the morning. And, please, call me Johnnie.’’

‘‘You are making a mess. You need to let that mud dry, then beat it.’’