Summers, True

by Poppy

  Jeremiah came home late in the afternoon, always with a full bottle of whiskey. She did not ask where he acquired it now on the pretext of taking it to the club-house. He started drinking immediately, but he was always sober enough to go down to dinner, and, since they ate alone at a table for two, nobody was able to remark on his condition. Back in their rooms, he quickly drank the rest of the bottle. Sometimes he was still sober enough when they went to bed to indulge in some of his fumblings. Sometimes he simply tumbled in, still in his underclothes, and lay, open-mouthed and snoring, until morning.

  Poppy endured it. She took short walks and measured her growing strength each day. She was gaining but not yet strong.

  One evening Jeremiah said, "Mr. Wilton wants to know when you will be able to help Phillipa select her trousseau. She is depending on you, but they didn't wish to interrupt our honeymoon." He snickered and gulped his whiskey.

  "I can go almost any time," Poppy said slowly. "I need things for myself."

  "What things?"

  "Another wrap."

  "You have two. Wash them."

  "Gloves, bonnets."

  "Are you barehanded and bareheaded?"

  "Not completely," Poppy admitted, eyes flashing.

  "Mrs. Stander squandered on you. You've got plenty."

  "Your wife's appearance?" Poppy suggested, one eyebrow scornfully high.

  "Handsomest woman in town," Jeremiah mumbled into his glass. "Much admired, much admired."

  Another glass and he would be at the point where he understood nothing. "Shall I hire a carriage?"

  "She'll call in his carriage. Shall I tell him tomorrow afternoon?"

  "Ask if two is convenient. I'll be ready then."

  Poppy told herself Jeremiah had been too blurred by drink to understand what she was telling him. She would explain and show him the things she needed when he was sober enough to comprehend her needs.

  She and Phillipa had a delightful afternoon. Phillipa still did not talk much, but she glowed with happiness . that made words unnecessary. She wanted a beautiful trousseau, but in her poverty she had never owned more than simple cotton dresses and her working gowns for the gambling rooms. Poppy mentally blessed the countess for her hours of meticulous tutelage in the Paris shops.

  Once Phillipa said Mr. Wilson wanted her to have everything possible, including clothes for a steamer trip down the coast on their honeymoon, Poppy threw restraint aside. They spent delicious hours fingering materials and discussing trims and agreed it would take them days even to complete their lists. Poppy would be the only attendant at the wedding, a wedding in Mr. Wilton's church since Phillipa's priest could not approve, but a dress for that was a small detail when they were envisioning orders by the dozens.

  Then Phillipa in her artless way said Mr. Wilton had finally approved plans for the house he was building for her. He was even talking of sending to the east and Europe for some of the furniture. Poppy gasped and exclaimed, then began to make new lists of household linens. She wondered about rugs and samples for the draperies and upholstery, but when she saw Phillipa was becoming frightened and confused, she said that could, wait.

  They went out every afternoon. Twice, young matrons who had been at Poppy's reception recognized them in the shops and asked them home to drink a cup of tea. One evening at the end of the second week of this, Poppy actually found herself smiling as she changed for dinner. She was not happy, but life was endurable.

  She would make an effort, she determined. She tensed, but always managed not to cringe when Jeremiah touched her, and he was always too far gone in drink to notice. If she steeled herself to put up with those few unpleasant minutes at night, perhaps in the other hours together they could build some kind of a companionship that would give 'them comfort and bind them together.

  She waited, seated before the fire, still smiling, for once not dreading Jeremiah's appearance. He came in, tore off his hat and coat, and threw them over a chair. Clutching his bottle, he advanced toward the table where Mrs. Stander always had glasses and ice waiting. He stopped, staring.

  "Who ordered 'that?" he demanded, pointing.

  "The champagne? It's only a half bottle. I thought you might prefer not to drink alone."

  "What are we celebrating?"

  "Nothing in particular."

  "You mean, every night?"

  He drank his bottle every night. "Not if you prefer I didn't," Poppy said meekly. She honestly did not care. She had only meant to be companionable. "As you like, Jeremiah."

  ''Help yourself since you've ordered it and I'll have to pay," he grumbled. He wrestled his bottle open and splashed whiskey into a glass. "Go ahead. I'm not an expert waiter who will pop corks."

  "Later," Poppy said warily.

  He glared at her over his glass. "What's that in your hair?"

  Poppy's hand flew up to touch the tiny nosegay of silk flowers. "From Paris. Phillipa and I were shopping, and they were just unpacking these. They were so charming all the ladies took at least one."

  "How much?"

  "I don't know," Poppy confessed. ''They were just a little something pretty, and everybody loved them."

  "If you don't know, how did you pay?"

  "I gave your name."

  "That dress," Jeremiah said, pointing again. ''Is that new?"

  Poppy smoothed the gray velvet over her knees. "I had the skirt and cape, so I only had to get the bodice. I can't always wear the same things, day after day."

  "I looked in your wardrobe. I looked. You've got clothes, clothes, clothes, thousands of dollars worth of clothes."

  "I have some fine furs, which cost you nothing," Poppy said slowly. "For the rest, I do not even have the necessities. I mentioned this to you before."

  "You gave my name for that bodice too, I suppose," Jeremiah said and dashed his empty glass on the hearth. "I can't have this extravagance. I cannot stand this constant expense. It must stop."

  "I can't return this. I've worn it."

  ''But no more, you understand, no more." He grabbed another glass and filled it. "No more giving my name. Understand?"

  "You had Mrs. Stander buy those clothes for me before we were married."

  "That was before I had you hobbled and haltered," Jeremiah said, gulping his drink.

  Poppy's fists clenched. She remembered the promises he had made before they were married. Her own carriage. Now he ignored her hints for carriage fare. He always said they would be using Mr. Wilton's carriage. Her own house-he had vowed he would build her the finest in the best part of town. She might as well find out how sincerely he meant that, too.

  "When we finished shopping, we went to drink tea with Mrs. Finney in her new house," Poppy said without inflection. "I have been in several of the new homes. Now that they are laying the foundations of the Wilton house, everybody wants to know when we will be building ours and if it will be near theirs."

  "A house? We'll be in Sacramento."

  ''That's certain? Isn't your residence here?"

  Jeremiah colored darkly. "Do you know what houses cost these days? Do you know what my expenses are? That reception, the handsomest reception this town has ever seen, and for your wedding, don't forget. Do you know what that cost? Do you know how hard-pressed I am sometimes? Don't you realize a man in politics never knows when he may need funds available? Large sums, instantly available, and you dribble my money away on nonsense." He tore the flowers from her hair and threw them into the flames.

  Poppy watched the pretty trifle char to ashes. "I didn't understand."

  "But I'm happy you're spending so much time with Phillipa," Jeremiah said hastily. "Yes, that's fine, fine. Mrs. Everett G. Wilton-to-be. Good, very good. It's not that my business interests aren't sound, completely sound, but I'd hate to buck him as a competitor. He's a man that doesn't forget, friend or foe."

  "Then he must notice we always use his carriage."

  ''That's good, good."

  Poppy tried one last time. "If Phillipa ever was not
able to call for me, I do not have carriage fare in my purse."

  "He'll see she always has a carriage, always. He can't set her up with her own before they're married. Not proper, and he has delicate feelings, Mr. Wilton has," Jeremiah explained expansively. "But she'll never lack a carriage and pair. Generous to a fault, Wilton. Well, he can afford it. Not like some of us."

  "I think I'll have that champagne now," Poppy said.

  She knew exactly what she was going to do the next day. Pretending to be asleep, she could hardly wait for Jeremiah to leave the house so she could get up and dress and be off. She walked the whole distance to her house, sustained by pure rage, and pounded ruthlessly on Maurice's door until he stumbled, eyes still half shut, to open it.

  "Put on the coffee," Poppy ordered. "Then go soak your head in water until you're awake enough to talk."

  She waited until Maurice, wrapped in a wool robe, sat opposite her, blinking and sipping the black brew.

  "How much rent have I coming, and what have you done with the other house?" Poppy demanded.

  "I have your rents, all, we are not behind. But I was not certain I was a welcome visitor, even to bring them."

  ''That's what I thought."

  Maurice stood up and fumbled in a drawer. "Here."

  "Thank you. And the other house?"

  "Vacant."

  "Can you rent it?"

  "Easily. Is it for rent?"

  "If I did not occupy it, could you find a tenant and collect the rents?"

  "Of course." She could not tell even Maurice the complete sordid truth. "I have decided a married woman should have her own private funds, privately available." She added hastily, "Provided her husband does not inquire, of course."

  "Of course," Maurice agreed expressionlessly. "I do not believe most people are aware you own these houses."

  "Consider yourself in charge of them both,"Poppy decided.

  "Perhaps I could have a note to that effect?"

  "Bring me the paper. I'll write it now." Poppy drew a deep breath. "One more thing. If you were selling jewelry, where would you go?"

  "I wouldn't."

  "Or having pieces duplicated?"

  "Like the fine ladies of London and Paris who gamble too high?" Maurice laughed. "In Europe, I could help you. Here? Some Italians are reputed to do fine work."

  "It's not important," Poppy shrugged. "Let me write you that note."

  With money in her purse, she hired a carriage, drove to the boarding hotel where Phillipa was living, and left a note that she would not be able to go shopping that day. She thought of going to Madame. Of all the people in San Francisco, she would know best where jewelry was bought and sold at favorable prices.

  Still Poppy hesitated. She seemed to go to Madame only when she was desperate, and she was not proud of that. Madame would accept it as she accepted many things, but the thought of what she could say about the marriage to Jeremiah made Poppy cringe. Madame's tongue was a sharp weapon, and she did not hesitate to cut with it. As to what Jeremiah would say if anyone saw her entering Madame's and told him, Poppy chilled at the very thought.

  No, Madame was her last resort. First she would try Josh Wiggins. Josh had been in San Francisco almost from the earliest days. He must know every merchant in town. It would be good to see Josh again, to talk to him about Andy, Jack, and Maurice and, painful though it was, to tell him of Josie's end and that nightmarish night.

  ''The waterfront, Josh Wiggins and Son General Merchandise Store," Poppy ordered. She counted over the wealth she would show him. One pair of jade earrings. One gold necklace and nugget. One gold and pearl wreath. One pearl necklace. One small lady's gun with elaborate inlays. They meant money and self-respect. She did not know what she would do with the money, but it was freedom to decide the path of her future, and she must have that, instead of being held like an animal in a trap. She played with the half dozen long cords and heavy tassels that decorated her reticule and stretched out her legs. "Don't fight the other carriages. It's a fine day. I'm in no hurry."

  "A fine day for a fire, as usual," the driver grumbled. "See the smoke."

  Poppy glanced out. "No trouble. We're going to the other side of the wharf."

  Chapter Forty-two

  As the carriage stopped where the street ended at the wharf, Poppy saw a small clipper, probably one designed for the coastal trade, tied up at the end. Even with furled sails, she was a beautiful thing, graceful as a dancer and bright with new paint, polished brass, and a laughing golden dolphin figurehead. Clutching the heavy reticule, she walked forward, feeling irresistibly drawn, until she was standing right beneath it.

  Such a pretty ship. Such a clean ship. Such a fast ship, bound for unknown ports, beckoning ports where perhaps a young woman could make a fresh start. If she had the will. If she had a little money.

  Poppy's lips parted, and she breathed quickly. Josh would not buy the jewelry, but he would tell her where she could sell it. She only needed to learn when the ship sailed. South or north, she did not care.

  She put one foot on the gangplank. The words, "When do you sail, where are you bound?" were ready on her lips, when a tall figure moved to the rail above her and stood looking down. She shrank back, hands flyingto her throat.

  Dex. She knew he came and went. She had assumed he was away now because, in all the gossiping hours when she was shopping with Phillipa, she had heard no word of him or Felicite Pannet. Was he arriving? Or leaving?

  Fixed by that steady look that held recognition but no welcome, the set face that did not smile and the Lips that uttered no word, she gave a stifled cry, turned, and fled back along the wharf. Panting, she whirled around the comer and ran into Wiggins's store.

  Efram beamed from behind the counter. "Miss Poppy, I'm pleased to see you haven't forgotten us."

  "Never," Poppy said fervently. "Where's your father?"

  Efram's face sobered. ''There's a fire a couple of streets over, a man we've had some trouble with. Stocks his place at a discount from us, but he's always slow to find the cash on accounting day. Still, Pa went over to see if he could help."

  "He'll be back soon?"

  "Should be. If I can't help you."

  Poppy looked around. Everybody had gone to watch the fire. They were alone in the shop. She opened her reticule and made a little heap of the jewelry and the derringer on the counter beside it.

  "I didn't like to carry those things without some protection," she said, in case Efram was shocked. "I know you don't handle this kind of merchandise, but do you know who might give me a fair price?"

  "All of these?"

  "I don't know. I needed the advice of an honest man, so I came here."

  "I'd think you should take them two or three different places and compare the offers."

  That was sensible, but this was a small, gossipy town. If she went to even two places, somebody would see her and mention it to Jeremiah, if no more than to joke that apparently his bride shopped for her own jewelry. The thought made Poppy shudder. Perhaps she should go to Madame after all.

  Josh's voice said strongly from the doorway, "That is all I have to say to you, gentlemen. I was there to see if I could help. Now if you will excuse me, I have duties in my own establishment." The scent of smoke heavy around him, he strode in and said with surprise, "My dear Miss Poppy, this is indeed a pleasure."

  "Poppy?"

  Jeremiah, fireman's hat pushed back above his smoke-smeared face, uniform dripping sooty water, burst through the door and stamped across to stand over Poppy and glower down at her. "What are you doing here?"

  "Here?" Poppy put out a casual-seeming arm to try to conceal the heap of jewelry. "These are my old and good friends, the first people I met when I came to San Francisco."

  "Such good friends you've never mentioned them and didn't invite them to our wedding?" Jeremiah sneered. "Lies, lies, everybody lies to me. What are . you hiding there?" He swept her arm aside and glared down at the heap of jewelry and the derringer beside it
.

  She did not lose her head. "I was showing them how I have prospered since we met."

  "Bribery," Jeremiah said darkly. "Or blackmail. You were playing the beggar with me last night, whining you didn't have even carriage hire, but I doubt you walked here."

  He swung around toward the door, and Poppy saw the other men in the Fire Company uniforms crowding there. Jeremiah made a commanding gesture, and they began to seep into the shop until they filled every inch of floor space and stood silent, eyes alert, waiting to hear what Jeremiah had to say. "