by Deeanne Gist
‘‘Don’t be ridiculous. I would walk right out of them. Have you any idea how hard mine were to find? The merchants don’t carry small boots like that as a rule. And with the streets getting worse every day, I’ll be lost. We must find it. We must.’’
He stood and hurled the one boot safely to shore, then helped her look for the other. But to no avail. Finally, he gave up and took in the sight of his beloved.
The water had plastered her gown to her, delineating with mouthwatering detail every curve, every limb, every everything. Delicious as the sight was, it was the hilarity of her antics that won his attention.
Her hindquarters stuck high in the air, trailed by a profusion of limp ruffles, while her nose barely cleared the surface of the water as she hunted for her lost treasure.
A wave crashed against her face, bathing her in its lust to reach the shore. Swiping her face with an impatient hand, she continued her quest.
‘‘Johnnie? What is it?’’ She reared back so quickly he thought sure she’d been stung.
He scurried to her side then relaxed. ‘‘It’s a midshipman.’’
‘‘Is it a fish?’’
‘‘Yes.’’ The fish was like a floating gaslight, giving off almost enough illumination to read by. ‘‘It gets its name from the spots on its body that resemble the brass buttons of a midshipman’s uniform.’’
‘‘But look at it. It’s, it’s glowing.’’
The fascination of her voice drew his attention. She stood now, and if he were any kind of gentleman whatsoever, he would turn from the magnificent display she offered.
But the sweetness of Rachel was simply too much to deprive himself of. Besides, she was to be his wife, and everything there before him would one day be his.
Still his conscience prickled.
At least the gown isn’t white, he thought, for the brown color of the dress held no translucent qualities, thus providing at least a modicum of modesty.
He perused the outline of her shape, which left little to the imagination. And her legs. Old mother Eve, but her legs went on forever.
‘‘What triggers it to turn up its lights?’’ she asked.
He took a deep breath, forcing his gaze back to the fish. ‘‘No one really knows, but speculation is that it’s beckoning one of the opposite persuasion for, uh, romantic reasons.’’
She looked skeptical. ‘‘I don’t know. Have you taken a good look at that face? Why, it’s about the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen.’’ She tilted her head. ‘‘Maybe that’s why it lights up. So its enemy can see the midshipman’s face and then swim away in terror.’’
He smiled.
She looked up.
‘‘I’ve missed you,’’ he said.
The sun touched her cheeks, her eyelashes, her lips. ‘‘Why haven’t you come for coffee?’’
‘‘I had some things I needed to sort out in my mind.’’
‘‘And have you sorted them out?’’
‘‘Almost.’’ That was as close to the truth as he could come. He’d gone back and forth in his ruminations about her. He knew that to marry her he must give up not just his livelihood but the monstrosity he had paid a fortune to build. Yet the truth was, he didn’t want her living in that squalor anyway.
So he’d quit courting her over coffee every morning and instead focused his attention on his business. But with each passing day, the profession he had chosen for himself held less and less attraction. Even the money no longer completely compensated for the dissatisfaction of his work.
And when that man had taken his life’s blood on the front door stoop of Parker House, it had shaken Johnnie mightily. Had shaken Michael, as well. The boy had not dealt cards since. Had instead worked in the kitchen washing glasses and running errands.
‘‘We don’t even know if he was a Christian,’’ Michael had confessed to Johnnie after the doctor had pronounced him dead and the men in charge of the cemetery carted him off.
And Johnnie had no answer for his protégé.
After that incident, he found himself hoping, no, praying, that the men in his saloon would only win and never lose. He shook his head.
He was going off his bean.
Still, he had walked down to Mickle’s Dry Goods and purchased a Bible. Then he’d started reading it. Again.
And the more he read, the more he realized it wasn’t Rachel he should be giving up his business for, but the Lord.
‘‘No one can serve two masters; for either he will hate the one and love the other, or else he will be loyal to the one and despise the other.
You cannot serve God and mammon.’’
Something sharp rubbed against Johnnie’s foot. He jerked, then reached down in the water and withdrew the culprit peeking from its muddy burrow.
‘‘A clam,’’ Rachel said.
He shook his head. ‘‘An oyster.’’
She gasped. ‘‘Oh. Do you think it might have a pearl inside?’’
He rubbed the black shell between his fingers. ‘‘Shall we find out?’’
Clasping her hand, he led her through the water. A light wind carried the smell of salt to his nose and threw a spray of water onto his pants. Wet sand cushioned his feet when they reached the shore.
Settling onto his knees, he withdrew his jackknife from its scabbard at his waist and introduced its blade into the seam of the oyster’s shell.
He worked it all the way around until he could pry open its tightly sealed mouth. Poking around the gooey insides with his knife, he hadn’t really expected to find anything.
Yet there in its center was a perfectly round ball. Removing it carefully with forefinger and knife, he dropped it onto his shirt, wiped it clean, and rolled it into the palm of his hand.
‘‘Oh,’’ Rachel breathed. ‘‘Look. ‘Again,’ ’’ she quoted quietly, ‘‘ ‘the kingdom of heaven is like a merchant seeking beautiful pearls, who, when he had found one pearl of great price, went and sold all that he had and bought it.’ ’’
Matthew thirteen-something. He’d passed over the verse a million times. He looked at the miracle of the pearl cradled in his hand, then at the miracle of this woman who knelt before him. And with the sea gulls squalling, the waves crashing, the damp sand sucking at his knees, and his heart pounding, he knew what he must do.
All that I have to give, I give to you, Lord, he silently vowed. My heart, my mind, my soul, my body. He sighed. And my business. I am in your hands. Do with me what you think is good and right.
Rachel took the pearl from his palm and placed it in hers. ‘‘It’s so perfect. Perfect in color. Perfect in shape. Perfect in beauty.’’
She transferred the pearl back to him, and he tucked it carefully into the pouch at his belt and sheathed his knife.
She gasped and pointed. The sunset’s hint of rose teased the cloudless sky, causing the mountaintops to glow like pieces of coal in an age-old fire.
The phenomenon that had captured Rachel’s attention, however, was not the transfiguration of nature’s sky but a flight of seventy, maybe even eighty, white pelicans. These regal creatures were not the brown pelicans that were as common as miners. These beauties were as rare as sunbonnets.
With regal dignity, they soared with long necks curved back, yellow bills resting forward and white wings displaying a spread of almost ten feet.
They coasted about the cove without any apparent purpose other than sheer pleasure. Johnnie knew what was coming, but even knowing did not detract from the amazement he felt when without the slightest provocation they all began to turn.
Large arcs. Small arcs. Tightly honed circles. Each creature with a unique dance that made up a whole until the entire flock revolved like the wheel of a wagon.
Ten minutes the performance lasted with the individuals and groups painting a multitude of patterns against the glowing colors of God’s palette.
Then, with no warning, the great white birds rolled into a long V that closed like scissors into a straight line.
&nb
sp; Yet even as these exceptional beings rode the air as a unit without hardly moving a wing, they retained their individuality. One dipping.
Another swaying. Still another rocking from side to side.
Free, yet carefully staying within the framework of the whole.
chapter 22
Johnnie was looking to lease the Parker House. In the meanwhile, business carried on. But the taste had become so repellent in his mouth that he had decided, with or without a renter, he was closing the place down. Tomorrow.
He’d find places for Soda and Carmelita to work if he couldn’t keep them on himself. The men who rented tables, however, would easily find new posts within a day’s time.
A young man sidled up to Johnnie’s table and calmly placed a bag of nuggets atop it. Thirty thousand dollars worth of nuggets. Johnnie peered through the smoky haze to take the man’s measure.
He was old enough to shave but not old enough to grow a full beard. The fuzz above his lip made it look as if he needed to wipe his nose, and the spotty patches of hair on his cheeks begged for a razor.
‘‘Where are you from, son?’’ he asked.
‘‘Galveston, Texas.’’
‘‘You have family there?’’
‘‘Have me a wife and two little ones.’’
Pursing his lips, Johnnie shuffled the cards. ‘‘You placing a bet?’’
‘‘Sure am. I’m pundling down the whole caboodle.’’
‘‘I see.’’ Johnnie began to cut the cards over and over with one hand. ‘‘Thirty thousand in gold could last a lifetime in Galveston.’’
The boy grinned. ‘‘Yeah. But sixty thousand could last you two.’’
Johnnie chuckled. ‘‘You planning on living two lives?’’
‘‘Feels like I already have. One at home and one in Californy.’’
‘‘What’s your name?’’
‘‘George William Henry Harrison Jackson the Third.’’
Johnnie lifted one corner of his mouth. ‘‘Well, George William Henry Harrison Jackson the Third, tell me about your family.’’
George spent the next five minutes extolling the virtues of his wife, his boy, and his new baby girl. ‘‘Why, I been gone so long,’’ he continued, ‘‘I ain’t seen that baby since she was all pruned up from the birthin’.’’
Johnnie nodded. ‘‘I imagine having those little ones is quite a trial for your woman. Having you come home with thirty thousand in gold would impress not just her but her father, too, I’m wagering.’’
‘‘Hoo, ain’t that the truth. Her pa’d strut ’round town like a turkey gobbler in a hen pen.’’
Johnnie placed the cards face down on the table and looked the boy right in the eye. ‘‘You really willing to give all that up for one game of monte?’’
George narrowed his eyes. ‘‘You scared I’m gonna break the bank?’’
‘‘You’d need a thousand times that to break the bank. But if you pick that pouch up and put it in your pocket where it belongs, you could sail out of here on the next ship and go home a hero. And if I were you, that’s just what I’d do.’’
George scratched the back of his head, knocking his hat askew. ‘‘If that’s what you would do, then why haven’t you?’’
‘‘I don’t have a woman.’’
‘‘An old man like you? Why, I’d o’ thought you done had a whole passel of young’uns by now.’’
Johnnie shook his head. ‘‘Oh, I have somebody I’m sweet on, but she won’t have me because I’m a gambler.’’
‘‘Well, that’s a right shame.’’
Johnnie brightened. ‘‘Say, you might could help me out.’’
‘‘How’s that?’’
‘‘Well, my sunbonnet runs the cafe right over there on the corner. The noon bell is due to ring any moment now. What would you think if you and I went over there right now and bought a meal from her?’’
The boy scratched his chin, clearly skeptical.
‘‘Then,’’ Johnnie continued, ‘‘when she serves us up, maybe you could mention to her how I wouldn’t let you gamble away your thirty thousand but instead had you take the next ship home?’’
Johnnie stood, not giving the boy a chance to consider. ‘‘You do this for me, and I’ll personally buy your ticket back to Texas. Then this time next month you’ll be with that woman of yours and the youngsters, too. What do you say?’’
George’s eyebrows lifted, and he stuck out his hand. ‘‘You got yerself a deal, pardner.’’
————
Johnnie made sure he knocked on the front door the following morning.
Rachel opened it wide and took a step back. ‘‘What do you have behind your back?’’
He kept himself face forward so she couldn’t see. ‘‘I can’t tell you yet. Now, go get me something to drink, woman. I’m near dying of thirst.’’
Smiling, she closed the door behind him, bolted it, and went to pour their coffee.
He stuffed the old flour sack underneath his seat, took off his hat, smoothed back his hair, and then rubbed clammy hands against his trousers.
‘‘Good morning,’’ she said softly, coming in with their cups.
‘‘Morning.’’
They sat, but he could no more take a swallow than play a harp with a hammer.
‘‘Is something wrong?’’
‘‘Not a thing,’’ he said.
She leaned back, taking a drink. ‘‘That was a wonderful gesture you made yesterday for George William Henry Harrison Jackson the Third.’’
He humphed. ‘‘Anybody with a name like that needs all the help he can get.’’
She smiled, her gaze never wavering.
‘‘What?’’ he asked.
‘‘Nothing, really. I’m just wondering what has you tied up in knots this morning.’’
How could she tell that? ‘‘I’m, um, I’m leasing the Parker House.’’
Her eyes widened. ‘‘Leasing it?’’
‘‘Yes. I’ve decided to get out of the saloon business.’’
She slowly straightened and set her cup on the table. ‘‘Oh?’’
He nodded.
‘‘What will you do then?’’
He again rubbed his hands against his legs and took a deep breath. ‘‘Well, actually, I was thinking I’d settle down. You know, with a wife. Maybe have a kid. Or two. Or twelve.’’
His words lingered, an echo of innuendo reverberating throughout the room. Preparing her. Preparing him. Raindrops began to tap on the big bay window.
‘‘And how are you planning to support your wife and twelve children if you are no longer running a gambling house?’’
He rested his forearms on the table. ‘‘Well, as it happens, I own a great deal of real estate here in San Francisco. I could support a family and then some on the rents alone.’’
She stared at her brew as if it held the secrets of the universe.
‘‘Rents from people who are running saloons?’’
Uh-oh. He slowed down. Tread carefully, old boy. Tread carefully.
‘‘I’m not sure what you mean,’’ he said.
She folded her hands and looked him square in the eye. ‘‘What I mean, Johnnie, is that if you lease the Parker House, your family will be living off the profits of a gambling den. Furthermore, you could find that your next renter decides to use your property as a brothel.
How would you feel about your children having a father who owns a gambling den and bawdy house?’’
He swallowed. ‘‘I don’t think I’d like that very much.’’
‘‘I don’t imagine your wife would, either.’’
‘‘So what are you saying?’’
‘‘I’m not saying a thing.’’
‘‘I could collect three hundred thousand dollars in rent fees from the Parker House, maybe even five hundred thousand. If I sold it outright, I’d stand to lose millions.’’
She took a sip of coffee.
‘‘Listen, Rachel. I can s
ee your point about a bawdy house. I’ll give you that. But there is nothing in the Bible about gambling dens. Nothing.’’
She ran her finger along the rim of her cup. ‘‘I wish you and your wife well, then.’’
His stomach tightened. ‘‘I won’t be running them. I won’t be frequenting them. I won’t have anything to do with them.’’
‘‘Other than profiting from them.’’
He rubbed the back of his neck. ‘‘I’m going to build a greenhouse as big as my saloon and become a tree farmer.’’
Her finger stopped.
‘‘San Francisco isn’t some mining camp that’s going to fold up overnight,’’ he said. ‘‘This town is going to be something. And part of that will include populating it with flora and fauna. I plan to be the major supplier.’’
‘‘Then what do you need all those properties for?’’
‘‘Security. In case we have a bad growing season or something.’’
‘‘I’d rather go broke.’’
‘‘Admirable, but not practical.’’
‘‘I wouldn’t be able to sleep at night.’’
He allowed a slow smile to form. ‘‘That’d be all right with me.’’
Pink filled her cheeks. ‘‘I’m being serious.’’
‘‘You think I’m not?’’ He grabbed the old sack under his chair and set it on the table between them.
After a moment, she loosened the drawstring and pushed the burlap sides down. A pair of small tan work boots stood inside.
‘‘Oh, Johnnie. They’re beautiful. Wherever did you find them?’’ She stroked the hide of the sturdy leather. ‘‘You know I can’t possibly accept—’’
‘‘Will you be my wife, Rachel?’’
Her hand stilled and her eyes lifted, softening to the color of molasses. Several seconds passed before the merest hint of amusement began to play about her lips. ‘‘You brought me a pair of men’s boots as a token of your favor?’’
‘‘It would have been less trouble to move a mountain than to find those boots.’’
She let out a short laugh. Then her smile faded and she closed up the gunnysack. ‘‘I won’t marry a man who profits from gambling and drinking.’’
He found himself having to take deep breaths in order to calm his frustration. ‘‘And I won’t marry a woman who thinks she can lead me around like a bull with a ring in his nose according to the whims of her conscience.’’
