by Poppy
"Only the bodice and front panels," Mrs. Stander said, looking shocked. "Such beautiful material, not worn at all. 1 saved yards from the back of the skirt, enough for a capelet, muff, and bonnet. Or even to upholster a small settee and chair."
"You are provident," Poppy gasped. "I could never endure to touch it again. If you have some use for it?"
"Thank you," Mrs. Stander said. "Waste not, want not, I was taught."
Where was that? Poppy wondered. And how did you come by the money to open this handsome house?
Mrs. Stander resumed, "Since she knew you, she was able to produce a quite satisfactory street dress and matching coat. A blue we thought would become you."
"I'm sure it is beautiful." She dared not question the cost.
"Where is it?"
"Also a blue and gray stripe since you will want to begin to dress for dinner. Suitable for indoors, but it can be worn under the coat, also."
Poppy frowned. "I'm not sure what kind of dresses I'll need, and I must purchase carefully."
"Of course if these are not to your taste, they can be returned," Mrs. Stander said stiffly. "I selected only the bare necessities. You will need a morning dress and a wrap, too. I found a pretty rose print and a lavender sprig for the wrap." She gestured toward the large, unopened boxes.
Mrs. Stander had assembled, possibly out of honest ignorance of other people's lives, a wardrobe for a married woman. "I am not a housewife," Poppy said, her tone sharp in spite of her intention.
"Your evening clothes are important." Mrs. Stander nodded understandingly. "I know. So we included another dress, one I was assured you had seen and thought most attractive."
But Felicite had bought the blue. ''Let me see it."
Mrs. Stander lifted a lid. Poppy caught one glimpse of the white dress, and fury flared in her. Necessities she must have. That was the ultimate in unnecessary luxury.
"I saw that and said it was lovely," she said crisply. "I did not even consider it. Most unsuitable."
"So beautiful," Mrs. Stander murmured wistfully.
"I cannot think of any place I would wear it."
"Almost like a wedding dress."
"You don't like it?" Jeremiah asked from the door way.
Poppy almost jumped from the chair. "What are you doing here in the afternoon?"
"The clubhouse can survive my absence for once." He came in and stood looking down at the boxes. "Did you include a second choice for the occasion I mentioned, Mrs. Stander?"
"What occasion?" Poppy demanded.
They did not seem to hear her. Mrs. Stander had opened the largest box, and they were looking at a gown of fawn velvet heavily beaded with brilliant brown around the low neck and down the panels of the skirt. Poppy caught her breath, knowing how that fawn and 'brown would bring out the brilliant colors of her hair and eyes.
Mrs. Stander held it up. ''See the little train. Small, not enough to impede even for dancing, but it gives height and dignity."
"Beautiful," Poppy admitted. ''Beautiful. But too expensive and too elaborate for any place I would go."
"But this is a command performance," Jeremiah smiled. "For Mr. Wilton. Everett G."
Poppy had to laugh. "Is there an Everett A or B?"
Jeremiah brushed that aside. "Phillipa is recovering but still low in her spirits and needs distraction."
"An unsuitably elaborate gown for me will hardly distract Phillipa."
"Mr. Wilton wishes to take her to the theater. To start accustoming her to such public appearances with him. She professes the idea throws her into a frenzy of fear." Jeremiah's tone was contemptuous.
"Phillipa is timid."
"She feels she could face it with you beside her, an old friend."
"I see."
"Accommodating Mr. Wilton is important to me," Jeremiah said, speaking as if Mrs. Stander were either a piece of furniture or an intimate so close he could reveal himself without restraint. "An appearance at the theater with him would make an excellent impression. He is an influential man, Poppy, and I have long wished to cultivate his acquaintance. I assure you the evening will be worth far more to me than the cost of the gown."
So she could earn the gown with one evening spent on Jeremiah's elbow and wear it usefully for dozens of other nights. "When?"
"Three evenings from now."
Poppy bit her lip. Having the stitches removed and watching these things unpacked had left her trembling with weakness. Dr. Armstrong had been emphatic that she should not attempt to leave the house for another week, and Jeremiah knew that. Perhaps he had forgotten, and she decided not to mention it. The gown was gorgeous, and three days could work a miracle.
"I'll accept the gown with thanks," she said demurely. "I cannot afford most of these other things."
"Select what you wish to keep, and Mrs. Stander will remove the rest," Jeremiah promised.
Poppy selected only what she felt she must have, but Mrs. Stander refused to give her the bills. She said that must be settled with Mr. Dunbar; and he said it could wait until later.
Three days later, as she dressed for the theater, Poppy wondered how she would get through the evening. Her hands were shaking by the time she started to brush her hair. But she needed that dress, and she had no other way of earning it. Besides, she owed Jeremiah more than this small favor for the great one of saving her life. She would endure the evening if she spent days in bed afterwards.
Mrs. Stander had brought her furs from the house. Though the weight seemed intolerably heavy, Poppy knew there were no finer in the city.
She and Jeremiah slipped into the theater as the curtain was rising. Phillipa and Mr. Wilton were already in the box. Poppy pressed Phillipa's hand and sat back gratefully. She would be all right if she had only to sit here through the play, though Shakespeare did run long, and then walk back to the carriage to be driven home again.
When the lights went up between the acts, Phillipa sat as if frozen. Poppy decided her gown of rich shimmering gray, with bands of tiny pink rosebuds at neck and around the hem, was a compromise between mourning and Mr. Wilton's wishes. The colors set off Phillipa's fragile beauty to perfection.
"I'm so frightened," Phillipa whispered. "I've never been in a theater before."
"Do you like it?"
"It's like magic. All those olden people that I thought were dead, walking and talking down there."
"Then sit back and enjoy it."
"Nonsense," Mr. Wilton boomed. "We can't have the two loveliest ladies at the theater and not show them off on our arms. Come now, just a short promenade to stretch our legs before the curtain goes up again."
That promenade was part of the payment for her gown. Mr. Wilton only wanted her to help support Phillipa, who was looking more terrified every minute. He had no way of knowing Poppy was not fully recovered. Jeremiah certainly had not mentioned it, and he was not mentioning it now. Face averted from him to hide the anger in her eyes, Poppy smiled reassuringly at Phillipa and stood up.
"Just pretend you're walking across the :floor of the Palace to the bar 'and back again," Poppy whispered. "Take Mr. Wilton's arm, and I'll stay on this side of you, and Jeremiah will be beside me. Come on. You'll see. It will be all right."
Phillipa was trembling as she stumbled to her feet, but Poppy put her good arm around her. Entwined like schoolgirls, she thought with a grimace, but she thought Phillipa might turn and run to hide if left alone. They went out into the carpeted corridor back of the boxes and slowly walked the length. As they turned back, Poppy felt Phillipa give a shudder of relief and relax.
This was not too unlike the Palace at a crowded hour, with men in severe black broadcloth, flourishing their long black cigars, except that each man had a lady on his arm. The ladies were not as pretty as the Palace girls, but their gowns were magnificent, and each of them preened and turned to show off her flashing jewels. The air was dense with cigar smoke and heavy perfumes, and the chatter of many voices seemed to reverberate off the walls.
She turned her head to ask Jeremiah to return to the box and looked straight into Dex's eyes. On his arm was Felicite, exquisite in delicate lavenders and pinks with tiny violets framing her white shoulders and crowning her golden hair, diamonds sparkling at throat, ears, and wrists. Always before, she had seen Felicite at a distance, beautiful and perfectly dressed and groomed, a vision of loveliness. Seen close, her face was still beautiful but almost inhuman, cold and perfect as a china doll, with no hint the rosy lips could alter their slight pout to smile or the blue eyes change their calm, bored stare to a warm glance.
Mr. Wilton held out his hand to Dex, ''This is fortunate. I heard you were back in town, and I've been waiting impatiently for another conference."
"I only returned yesterday." Dex made as if to move away.
"Then I'll see you tomorrow morning. My business won't wait," Mr. Wilton said. He boomed out introductions and did not wait to hear them acknowledged. "I'll be marrying very shortly, and I want the matter of this damn Mex thieving settled before I leave on my honeymoon."
"Perhaps it's best left until you return."
''Meanwhile you go down there again, and they spill their side of it into your ear?" Mr. Wilton demanded. "No, Mr. Roack. I don't trust what those people are going to do or say. You'll look at my papers first and see that it's rank theft, rank."
"Tomorrow morning then," Dex said, turning away. "And my congratulations."
Mr. Wilton's laugh boomed out. "Congratulations, yes, and thank you. Aren't we the lucky men with our two beauties? Phillipa is my lovely. I don't believe Poppy and Jeremiah have yet set a date."
Felicite's perfect lips parted, and she said, in a barely audible childlike whisper, "Yes, two beauties. I think I've heard. Similar backgrounds. Perhaps a double wedding. Have you settled the place?"
That was intended as an insult. She was telling them she knew they were gambling hall girls and their weddings could only be some vulgar performance, such as a double ceremony at a place like the Eureka. The men were beaming complacently. Men never understood such female clawings. They took the words at face value.
Poppy felt herself go white with rage. "Not yet," she said. "Have you settled yours? The engagement has been rumored for so long." She hoped her tone made it sound like years, with Felicite sinking into spinsterhood.
"A wedding?" Felicite's perfect face almost showed expression. "In winter? But no. The trousseau alone. Winter clothes, so heavy, so dull. Impossible."
"As you hear, neither have we set a date," Dex said quickly.
Felicite's glance wandered in search of other company. ''Such discussions, je m'ennuie."
"Natural enough, if you have to travel," Mr. Wilton said, sensing something wrong and trying to inject a note of cordiality. "Not every lady enjoys traveling, even with a new husband and especially if he has his mind on business. She couldn't enjoy being left behind alone, either. Very understandable."
"Tres boring," Felicite shrugged.
Poppy stared. What could Dex see in this painted china doll? Not one flicker of emotion touched her face or colored the voice that whispered only of l'ennui. Poppy bit her tongue to keep from blurting that obviously she must find the prospect of bed boring, too.
"Then you don't wish to marry?" Poppy said and shook her head as if in pitying sympathy. "Of course for some women, better, much better alone."
The faintest color touched Felicite's white cheeks. "A spring trousseau, quite pretty. Spring weddings, quite pleasant."
Rage burst in Poppy. So she did intend to marry him. Then Dex was a besotted fool. Remembering the surge and fire of his passion, the tumult and torrential cresting of his physical expressions, she was outraged that he planned to unite himself with this china doll. At best, Felicite would find his caresses barely pleasant, provided she did not decide they were completely dull.
Poppy knew she would walk out of the theater on the instant, without a word or backward look, abandoning everything and everybody, if Dex gestured her to go with him. She would throw herself into his arms, if he promised no more than the one night together. She would take it, without counting the cost and without regrets. Felicite was prepared to tolerate him, barely, for a lifetime. Fury, frustration, and jealousy bubbled up in Poppy until she could not stop herself from speaking.
"Insipid," she drawled, raising an eyebrow. "Spring weddings are for those who like infants for attendants, buds instead of flowers for decorations, and maidenly blushes better than kisses. Spring weddings are for children. I've chosen white for my wedding gown, but I'll have every fireplace burning at the reception and every dark red rose in San Francisco for decoration. I am a woman, and I love color and warmth and life. So perhaps you would not care for an invitation to my wedding to Jeremiah next week."
Then she stood there, head defiantly high, wishing she could die.
Chapter Forty
POPPY was so exhausted the next day that she fell to her knees when she tried to get out of bed. She barely managed to pull herself back up into the bed and ring the silver bell.
Mrs. Stander took one dismayed look at her white, drawn face and black-shadowed eyes and sent for Dr. Armstrong. He came and told Jeremiah, hovering outside the door, that the theater excursion last night had been madness. The girl was young and strong, but she needed time. Then, in answer to Jeremiah's question, a wedding, that was something else. A small, quiet wedding in a few weeks, no, a month would be better, provided they did not contemplate a strenuous honeymoon trip, should be quite possible. Mrs. Stander would take care of all the arrangements? Then they had his blessing.
Poppy listened, motionless, silent. She knew she would not die. She was condemned to life. Out of spite and jealousy, she had announced her wedding plans. She was trapped by her own words. Her mind circled endlessly through the long, sleepless hours of her nights looking for a way out. She could find none. She had the gold chain and the earrings, but they could not buy her a new reputation. As Jeremiah's bride, she would be that beautiful gambling hall girl who had married the man who saved her life. As the woman who had jilted the man who saved her, she would be a notorious wanton. No respectable woman would speak to her. No respectable place would employ her, not even the Eureka if she could face it again, and she could not. Only one profession would be open to her. Madame, for all her friendship, might think her too notorious to have in her fine house, especially at the risk of offending Jeremiah's powerful friends.
So she must marry. Jeremiah promised Sacramento after the next election, and she did not doubt that promise. That she might be the governor's lady in time was completely possible. The future could 'hold Washington as well.
There would be a certain bitter pleasure in receiving Dex in an official mansion. She literally would have killed herself before she let him see her sink into the gutter. Yes, she must marry.
Phillipa clapped her 'hands with pleasure like a child when Poppy asked her to be the only attendant. She would not be at all nervous, she promised, because all the attention would be for Poppy. This was wonderful, the perfect rehearsal for her wedding, because afterwards she could copy every detail of Poppy's and arrange her own without an anxious moment.
Jeremiah wanted an evening church wedding, even if small, with only their closest friends as guests. He asked his Fire Company. With a wicked secret smile, Poppy asked Maurice and Clyde and Pete and all the rest of her favorite people from the Palace and the Eureka.
Mrs. Stander said she would arrange everything for the reception at the boardinghouse. Remembering her bitter boast, Poppy asked only that fires be lit and the decorations be red roses, but she did not even bother to look at the room or inquire a
bout the collation. Mrs. Stander and Jeremiah could arrange that to their pleasure. She left the guest list for the reception to them as well, except for one ,thing. She made sure invitations went to the Pannets and Dex. She anticipated their polite refusals, but regretted they did not send even token gifts. She had looked forward to dashing them to the floor and stamping on them.
She had no heart for shopping, and when Mrs. Stander said she had not yet returned any of her purchases to the shops, Poppy nodded indifferent acceptance. At another time she might have wondered at this selection of a wardrobe so suitable to her new condition in life and been angered that he had been so certain of her acceptance, but now she was too numbed with despair.
For the church, the white dress was as perfect as anything she might have found, ethereal as a cloud. She designed a wedding veil of layer after layer of finest tulle,. falling only to her waist, and held by a wreath of pearls and gold leaves. That was Jeremiah's wedding gift. Mr. Wilton, as his gift to them, added the pearls to wear at her throat. Poppy knew his generosity represented his sincere gratitude for the perfect ease with which Phillipa was beginning to plan her own wedding.
