by Cassie Hayes
Millie had nodded sagely. “Yes, that may be true. But I made a vow, Dell. Till death do us part, I promised to God and all my family. T’would be a disgrace for me to leave, even though I barely know the man anymore. ‘Sides, it’s not like he beats me.”
Her shrug said it all. She no longer loved Otis, and their lives were all but separate now, but her word meant more to her than anything else. Unless he laid a hand on her, which he was just smart enough not to do, she’d continue to run the business and keep him in drink. That was the last time Delilah had brought up the subject.
“So how did your meeting with that printer fella go?” Millie asked, looking up from the big canvas bag of mail she was sorting.
All Delilah had to do was shake her head. Millie had mourned with her after each rejection. It had actually been her idea to contact printers by letter using ‘Dell’ instead of ‘Delilah’, not that she’d had any success with it. Now she came around the counter and scooped her up into her ample bosom for a deep hug.
“I’m sorry, darlin’. I know this was your last hope. It’s a shame, that’s all there is to it.”
Delilah struggled to escape from Millie’s motherly grip. “Oh, but I have one more printer to talk to yet. And I have a good feeling about this one.”
Millie’s brow furrowed. “But I thought this was the last one in town. What happened today?”
“It turns out there’s another printer in San Francisco. His name’s Franklin Browne and I’m on my way to see him right now! I just had to stop in and tell you the news, and to have you wish me luck.”
“Of course I wish you luck, but tell me about this fella. Name doesn’t ring a bell.”
Millie knew everyone in town on account of handling all their mail. If she didn’t know a person, she made it her business to get to know them.
“Really? Well, my, um…acquaintance did say he was new to town. Perhaps that’s why you don’t know him yet.”
“Mmm, p’raps.”
Shaking the thoughtful look away, Millie trundled back behind the counter and pulled out a stack of letters and her ledger book.
“You take these,” she said handing over the letters, “and sign here,” pointing to a line in the book.
Once Delilah had signed, Millie opened the safe built into the wall and pulled out her scale. Every man who brought in a letter, also left two dollars in gold with Millie as payment for his ad. If it was mailed, the envelope was likely filled with gold dust, and Millie would have had to take it anyway.
One of Millie’s side businesses was buying gold, and she was known for having the most honest scale and best safe in town — the post office’s safe. Not even Otis could crack it, and he’d tried plenty of times. Gold dust was an acceptable form of payment everywhere in town, but Delilah preferred to conduct business with coins, so any dust, nuggets or flakes she received went straight to Millie for exchange. She also kept the bulk of her funds in Millie’s safe, which was undoubtedly more secure than any bank in town.
While Millie handled the weighing and calculations for exchange, Delilah rifled through her latest batch of ads. Another dozen men looking for brides. Some were poor, some were rich — or said they were. There were farmers, ranchers, shop owners, trappers, miners and everything in between.
If the paper ever made it into production, the ads would be anonymous, marked only by a number, but she knew people would be surprised if the identities of some of her gentlemen was ever revealed. One in particular was quite well-known in California politics. That even he was having trouble finding a suitable bride certainly gave testimony to the need for her service.
If only she could find someone who would take her money.
“Here you are, Dell. Want me to add it to your account?”
“Please. I honestly don’t know what I’ll do if this printer turns me down. How in heaven’s name will I return all this gold to these poor men?”
The anxiety that had been keeping her up at night gnawed at her stomach. It hadn’t occurred to her when she started planning that she would have so much trouble finding a printer who would work with her. Women had more opportunities in California than back east, but some prejudices seemed to live on.
“Well, don’t you worry your pretty little head about that right now, honey. Remember what the Bible says: ‘Do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself.’ You just scurry along and charm the socks off that printer man. And don’t forget to keep me informed.”
She gave Delilah a warm smile of encouragement and shooed her out the door.
It was easy for Millie to tell her not to worry but she’d been entrusted by more than a hundred men with their hard-earned money, and she even had a handful of business advertisements that her father had secured. Not only would it be difficult to track down each man to refund his money, but it would be terribly humiliating to admit to her father that she’d failed. She desperately needed Mr. Browne to agree to work with her.
As she hunted for the building Miss Sweet had directed her to farther down on Clay, near Portsmouth Square, Delilah couldn’t help being grateful that the rains had stopped, but silently cursed the bone-chilling summer winds that had taken their place. A layer of dense fog pulsed and swirled overhead, not quite reaching the ground but also not allowing the sun to peek through.
The long sleeves of her brown woolen dress helped cut the biting cold but she knew her cheeks would be a shade too rosy when she arrived and her hair would be mussed. But at least her shoes and skirts wouldn’t be caked with mud, as they had been all through the spring.
Spotting the sign for F. Browne Printers & Stationers, Delilah ducked into the protection of the closest alleyway to smooth any flyaway hair back into submission and shake the dust from her skirts, making sure none lingered on her backside from her collision with that pesky Jack Dalton. The knots in her stomach had grown so large on the walk over that she could barely swallow. Even her hands were shaking.
She was so terrified of being turned away yet again, she was almost afraid to try. But Millie’s Bible-quoting voice echoed through her brain: “Be strong and courageous. Do not be frightened, and do not be dismayed, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go.”
With a deep lungful of breath, she squared her shoulders and walked through the front door with a mask of confidence she didn’t really feel. A handsome dark-haired man with a great, bushy mustache sat behind a desk smoking a cigar, his feet — clad in shiny leather shoes — crossed on the desk. She tried not to wince at the acrid stench as she approached him with her hand outstretched.
“Mr. Browne, I presume?”
Chocolate brown eyes skimmed her from head to toe, making her fidget at the scrutiny. She was no stranger to having men look at her — there were so few ladies in the area that she supposed they saw her as an oddity — but this man’s hot gaze held more than curiosity and it was all she could do to keep herself from blushing.
“Indeed,” he said, leaning forward to shake her hand, cigar chomped firmly between his teeth. “And who do I have the profound pleasure of gazing upon?”
His grin widened around the cigar as her blush could no longer be contained. It spread across her cheeks like wildfire, which only served to make her more embarrassed. And the fact that his fingers were lingering on hers didn’t help matters in the slightest. Rarely had she encountered a more forward creature!
She plucked her fingers from his as if they were burning coals and, clearing her throat, finally found her voice.
“My name is Dell Price, and I would like to hire you for a rather large project. A Miss Fanny Sweet suggested I contact you. Before we continue, I would like you to answer me honestly. Do you object to working with a lady on a newspaper? If so, I shall waste no more of our time and bid you a good day. If not, then I believe I have a proposal that will be mutually beneficial.”
Browne puffed a few times on his cigar and appraised her more thoughtfully. “Just you? No husband or father or male partner of so
me sort?”
Delilah tilted her head back defiantly. “Just me.”
His toothy smile eased back into view under his moustache. His shrug was noncommittal. “Sounds intriguing. Let’s hear what you have to say.”
Delilah blinked at his words. She’d been fully prepared to be rejected out of hand after her blatant challenge and now he was interested. She sat in the chair he offered and pulled out all of her paperwork, notes and plans.
Over the course of the next hour, she detailed her vision for her newspaper. Browne asked a few technical questions but mainly just listened. He seemed genuinely excited about being part of her project, and she warmed to his charming personality.
“Miss Price, I must say that I’m quite impressed by your initiative. There are very few women with the intellect to hatch such a brilliant scheme and even fewer with the pluck to put it into action. I’d be delighted to work with you on this.”
Though she was taken aback by his generalizations on women’s intellect, a rush of relief flooded through her, loosening the knots inside her belly for the first time since Miss Sweet had made her recommendation. Her idea wasn’t going to die after all, her customers would have their chance at finding brides and she just might make her father proud.
“Oh, wonderful!”
As unseemly as it might be, she couldn’t contain her glee and clapped her hands together. He smiled at her schoolgirl behavior but held up a finger.
“My only requirement is that I receive the full payment for printing and storage costs up front. If things go well, we can discuss altering that arrangement in the future. Agreed?”
Delilah hadn’t planned on paying until the printing run was finished, which was customary. He must have noticed her confusion.
“You must understand, Miss Price, this is an unusual situation. An unmarried lady who wants to publish a paper chock-full of requests for catalog brides? I’m taking a big risk here. What if this is just a cover for something much more, um, unsavory? My reputation would be in tatters. Or what happens if your publication fails and I’m left with an unpaid bill? I do hope you understand.”
She understood all too well. If she’d been a man, there would have been no question of doing business with him — the very first printer she saw would have agreed — but since she was of the fairer sex, not only were her motives suspect but her integrity was as well.
But she had no room to argue. This was the only printer willing to work with her so she must either accept his terms and run back to Millie for the gold or give up on the idea altogether, and she had no intention of giving up now that she was so close.
Pushing her hand across the desk at him, she said, “Deal.”
Chapter 5
“Pass me the salt, would ya, Dell darlin’?” Sam asked.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to take over, Sam?”
“Naw, I think the boys would be downright stricken if I didn’t cook up their meals.”
Delilah did her best to not grimace as she passed him the salt cellar, knowing the men despised Sam’s terrible cooking.
“‘Sides, we’re celebratin’ and you ain’t gonna cook on such a special night!”
She nodded grimly and started setting the long table with tinware and spoons. A hearty beef stew might be just as easily eaten with a fork, but not Sam’s. He had a tendency to boil the whole concoction until it was a flavorless gray mush with a handful of gristly pieces of what once was meat thrown in for good measure. The tiny sprinkle of salt he was adding wouldn’t amount to anything by the time the stew was in the bowls.
As the tenants filed in, each greeted her with “Hey, Miss Dell,” or “Evenin’, Miss Dell.” No one here called her Delilah and she was happy with that. Today more than ever, she felt as if she’d grown into her new California name. She knew they all wondered if she’d made progress today but she’d promised to let Sam tell them the news.
Each one, with the exception of a few married men — and Jack, of course — had placed an ad with her already. They’d been her first customers, and since they lived in the same house, they had the advantage of staying updated on how she was progressing. They’d groused with her after each set-back, but they’d be happy tonight.
Gus, a widower from Kansas who’d arrived a few days earlier after a harrowing overland crossing, craned his neck to catch a glimpse of what might be on the stove. He gave Delilah a questioning look.
“Stew,” she whispered.
The whole table full of men groaned in unison.
Just then, Jack stumbled in through the front door.
“There she is!” he cried, his words slurring slightly. “The lady of the day. Did that no-good Franklin agree to print your silly paper? ‘Course he did! Boy knows a good thing when he sees it.”
Gus and the other men looked at her. “Is it true, Miss Dell? Did you finally find a printer?”
She glanced over at Sam, who was beaming with pride. “Go ahead, Dell. Tell ‘em.”
Her skin flushed hot. “Well, as a matter of fact, I have a signed contract with Mr. Franklin Browne to publish my paper. We start work tomorrow.”
The room exploded with hoots and cheers from the men, even the married ones, who’d been following along every step of the way. They patted her on the back roughly and gave each other hugs and handshakes to celebrate. Only one man didn’t cheer.
“Oh yes, ain’t this jus’ grand?!” Jack shouted above the roar of celebration. One by one, each man quieted and turned to stare had him swaying in the doorway.
“Little Miss Priss here sticks her pretty little nose into your business and you’re all jus’ happy as pigs in shit!”
Delilah blinked in surprise at his coarse language, and three men at the table leapt up in her defense.
“Jack, pipe down now, boy,” said Gus. “There’s a lady present!”
Jack nodded and held up his hands in agreement. “My mos’ sinceres’ ‘pologies. I din’t mean to offend Miss Priss’ delicate ears.”
His slurring was worsening but his drunkenness was no excuse for how unforgivably rude he was being. This afternoon, she’d thought for a moment that he might have the tiniest shred of decency in him, but he kept proving over and over again that he didn’t.
“Son, what’d I tell ya about callin’ her that?” Sam had moved up behind her, his hands on his hips and glaring at Jack.
“Sorry, Sam. You’re righ’. Iss not her faul’ that y’all want to drag yerself down by gettin’ hitched. I mean, don’t you fellas know tha’ a woman’s only gonna slow ya down? Soon as ya get one, they trap ya by havin’ babies. ‘Fore ya knowed it, youse stuck slavin’ on some sad lil’ farm and barely scrapin’ by ‘nuff to feed all dem mouths. Wives jus’ bring ya misery and strife.”
Delilah felt as if she’d been slapped. She wanted nothing more than to make her own way for herself. She’d been shown just how untrustworthy men could be when it came to marriage, so it seemed very unfair of him to say she would be nothing but a burden to a husband, if she was ever to pledge herself to a man again.
Stepping around Delilah, Sam wrapped an arm around Jack’s shoulders, as much to steady him as to comfort him.
“Jack, I know you’re feelin’ sore right now, but I gotta tell ya, I’d trade jes’ about anything for one more day with my Mabel. Mayhap ya don’t believe it, but a man ain’t truly a man if he ain’t got the love and respect of a good woman.”
Her heart warmed at his words, and broke at the same time. Sam had loved his wife so much and without reserve. A tiny part of her mourned that such a love was never to be a part of her life.
Sam slowly turned Jack back toward the front door, moving with him and talking low.
“Truth o’ the matter is, Jack, that only boys throw tantrums like you jes’ throwed. And until you grow up, mayhap it’s time you find someplace else to hang yer hat. You go on and find someplace else to spend the night, and if yer feelin’ like it, you can come back and ‘pologize to Dell and the boys here tomor
row. Otherwise, it’s been nice knowin’ ya.”
Jack’s blue eyes grew wider as he realized what Sam was saying, and that he was already out on the front porch looking in. As Sam gently closed the door, Jack desperately sought out her gaze, holding it until the door shut in his face.
It was only when the click of the latch echoed through the silent room that Delilah realized her cheeks were wet with tears.
~*~*~
“Blast ‘em all t’hell,” Jack mumbled before tipping back another shot of rotgut.
After Sam had kicked him out of the boarding house, he’d wandered along the waterfront hoping to find some sailor to pick a fight with. But the wharves weren’t as raucous as usual, so he ended up sitting on a rock, gazing at the ships crowded in the bay. Dozens had been abandoned the moment they set anchor, their crews — including the captains — preferring to take their chances at the diggings than risking a return trip to the east coast for another load of passengers.
He’d sailed on one of the ships left to rot out there. Providence was a schooner that arrived at San Francisco more than two years before, and Jack would never forget the fresh breeze that brought her into the choppy waters of the bay. This was months before that fateful day in January, 1848, when James Marshall discovered gold at John Sutter’s new mill in Coloma, and Jack had signed on as a deckhand in exchange for passage.
It was brutal work, scrubbing decks, tending the livestock, tarring the lines and doing whatever the officers ordered, but as the oldest of ten children on a poor Missouri farm, he was no stranger to hard labor. He’d suffered through worse while working the circus, and no journey had ever been so full of promise as the one he took around Cape Horn to the Sandwich Islands, and finally California.
He’d battled storms and even saved the ship from sinking out from under them by spotting a loose plank below the hull’s waterline and repairing it before it popped free. When they were becalmed, he would fashion a rough fishing pole and catch enough to feed the entire crew. They were the strangest looking fish — some had pointy snouts, others were blunt and brilliantly colored — but they all tasted mighty fine.
