Kissing Comfort

by Jo Goodman

  He nodded to Newton, then Tucker, before addressing Comfort. “Miss Kennedy.”

  “Good evening, Mr. DeLong. I didn’t realize you would be here this evening.”

  “A decision at the last minute when I learned that my mother was not going to attend.”

  “How is your brother?” asked Newt.

  “Miserable.”

  Newt sighed heavily. “I’m more than passing familiar with that state.”

  Bode chuckled. “I noticed that you did not seem to be enjoying yourself before the break.”

  “Did you catch me napping?”

  “No. I didn’t see that.”

  “Then you’re right. I wasn’t enjoying myself.”

  “Uncle Newton.” Comfort tried to him give a cross look, but his expression was so comically forlorn that she couldn’t manage it. “He dislikes opera,” she told Bode. “So does Uncle Tucker. They’re here for me.”

  “Ah. I see.” He inclined his head toward Newton. “Then what would you say to joining me in my box? All of you, I mean. I can have another chair carried in. There’s plenty of room to add one. Mr. Jones, you can sit with Mr. Prescott at the rear. I know for a fact that you can sleep there undisturbed by anything except the sound of your own snoring.”

  Comfort saw immediately that her uncles were tempted by Bode’s offer, and that she was at the root of their hesitation. Tuck witnessed what she’d done when Bode annoyed her at the party, and she had every reason to expect that he’d told Newt. They were probably as concerned for Bode as they were worried about what she would do if it happened again.

  “It’s a generous offer,” she said. “I know my uncles would be delighted to join you.”

  “And you, Miss Kennedy?”

  “Of course I’m coming.” She accepted his arm as warmly as if she’d had a real choice, and then confided, “I don’t like to let them out of my sight.”

  Tucker and Newton fell into step behind them. “I heard that,” Newton said. “So did Tuck.”

  “But I’m not grumbling about it, am I?” Tucker said.

  Comfort allowed Bode to maneuver them through the crowded lobby. Ruby stickpins and diamond-encrusted hair combs glittered in the gaslight. Silk and satin rustled noisily as evening gowns and crinolines were reshaped in the press of so many bodies. There was chatter and talk, but it seemed that no one was discussing the opera. Comfort understood that for most of the patrons, the performance was an excuse to gather, to see and be seen, and that didn’t diminish her enjoyment.

  She noticed that while Bode was polite to everyone who spoke to him, he did not pause to engage in intimate conversation. It would have been different if she’d been on Bram’s arm. In contrast to Bode, Bram had an uncanny ability to greet everyone familiarly and make each person feel important in his life, and then never give them another thought until their paths crossed again. She rather admired Bode for the way he did it. There was no element of performance, no staging, no asides.

  He was merely genuine, and it was relaxing.

  Comfort paused at Bode’s side as the couple in front of them began to negotiate the stairs to the upper level. The woman’s train was so long, the flounces so elaborately detailed, that she required her escort’s help to keep from stepping on her own skirt.

  The gentleman fumbled with something in his hand as he lifted his companion’s train. He could not close his fingers over the object and lend assistance at the same time. It fell out of his palm.

  Comfort bent more quickly than Bode and scooped it up. “Here, sir. You dropped this.” She held it out before she had a proper look at it, and when she saw what it was, tiny sparks darted up the length of her arm. They danced on her shoulder and her fingertips went numb.

  Bode caught the red-and-white tin before it fell more than a few inches. “Here you go, sir. Almost dropped twice.”

  The gentleman smiled. His mustache lifted at the edges. “Thank you. I assure you, everyone sitting around me will be glad I didn’t lose this. I am cursed with an annoying tickle in my throat the moment the soprano begins her aria.”

  Comfort didn’t hear what he said as much as feel his words. His voice scratched her skin, making it prickle, and darkness closed in from all sides.

  Chapter Five

  The time that Comfort was unconscious of her surroundings could be measured in seconds, not minutes; therefore she was doubly distressed to find herself already being carried toward the outer lobby doors when she woke. Because drawing more attention was not what she wanted, she remained quiet in Bode’s arms and allowed him to transport her from the heavily perfumed and cloying confines of the theater into the brisk evening air.

  “You may put me down,” she said when they reached the sidewalk. “Tell him to put me down, Uncle Tuck.”

  Tucker ignored her. He continued to wave his arm in a wide arc to summon their driver, who was waiting with the carriage down the street.

  With no help likely to come from that quarter, Comfort applied to Newton. “Please, Uncle, explain to Mr. DeLong that I am fully prepared to stand on my own.”

  Hovering close at Bode’s shoulder, Newton heard her and nodded. “Comfort’s prepared to stand on her own,” he said. “But if you put her down, I’ll cut you off at your knees.”

  “Uncle Newt!” Comfort felt Bode’s silent laughter rumble in his chest. The threatening glare she gave him was ineffective because he refused to look at her.

  Tucker trotted off to meet the carriage and hurry the driver along while Newton continued to hover. Bode repositioned himself to better secure Comfort, and she surrendered to the inevitable and slid her arms around his neck so he wouldn’t drop her.

  It wasn’t until the carriage arrived and Tuck opened the door for them that Bode set Comfort on her feet. Newt lowered the carriage step, and Tucker reached out to take her hand. It was then that Bode eased away.

  “I’d like to call on her tomorrow,” he said to Newt. “If I may?”

  Preoccupied with getting Comfort safely in the carriage, Newt nodded. “Yes, of course. She’ll be at home.”

  “I’ll be at the bank,” Comfort said before she realized that her answer made it seem as if she welcomed Bode’s call.

  Tucker pulled her the rest of the way into the carriage and poked his head out. “She’ll be at home.” He gestured to Newt to get inside. “Thank you, Bode. Good night.”

  Bode flipped up the step after Newt climbed in. He tapped the carriage to alert the driver that it was safe to leave, and then he stood at the edge of the sidewalk, watching the carriage until it turned the corner on Montgomery Street.

  “Good night,” he said softly. Hunching his shoulders against the breeze coming up from the bay, he began walking home.

  Comfort knew she could not hope to put off an inquiry until she arrived home. She was mildly surprised that the carriage made it as far as Montgomery Street before her uncles began to pepper her with questions.

  Tucker leaned into the space that separated the bench seats and took Comfort’s hands. He squeezed them lightly and regarded her calm, dark eyes. He still took peace where he could find it, and just now it was in the gentle tightening of her fingers in his.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  She nodded. “Perfectly fine. It was unexpected, is all.”

  Newton knuckled his chin, thoughtful. “For us, too. You’ve never fainted before. Why do you suppose you did?”

  “I’ve been thinking about that,” she said. And she had. “I bent very quickly to pick up what the gentleman dropped.”

  “You did,” said Tuck.

  “And then I stood just as quickly.”

  “True enough,” said Newt.

  “So it was probably just that. The blood rushing in and out of my head.” When Tuck and Newt said nothing, she added, “It was overly warm in the lobby, I thought. And did you notice that every time a gentleman emerged from the cloakroom, a fog of smoke accompanied him? I suspect all of that contributed to my light-headedness.�
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  Tuck nodded once, released Comfort’s hands, and sat back against the thickly stuffed leather seat. “That seems like a reasonable explanation. Newt? What do you think?”

  “Except for leavin’ out the part where she got a good look at that tin, it sounds about right.”

  “That tin? What do you mean?”

  Tuck and Newt exchanged vaguely troubled glances. “Dr. Eli Kennedy’s Comfort Lozenges,” Tucker said.

  Newt added, “The red-and-white tin.”

  Comfort’s eyes darted between them. “I don’t understand.”

  Tucker frowned. “The gentleman dropped a tin identical to the one you keep at your bedside.”

  “No, he didn’t,” she said. “He dropped a glove. I picked up his glove.”

  “Comfort.” Newt said her name with a certain amount of reproof in his tone. “It wasn’t a glove.”

  “You and Uncle Tuck were standing behind me. I don’t know how you saw anything, but please, ask Mr. DeLong. He was right there. He saw it all.” Comfort maintained a steady gaze. Clearly it wasn’t what they expected to hear. If anything, they looked more troubled.

  “It was a tin,” Tuck said.

  Comfort didn’t know what to say. “I believe you think so, and even if it’s true, I don’t understand why you think it’s significant. I’ve seen tins like it before. You know I have. Many times. I’ve never fainted.”

  Newt pursed his lips and wiggled them back and forth as he considered her answer. “I don’t know, Comfort. I can’t explain that myself, but it seems like something about it is significant. I saw what Tuck saw. You dropped like a stone.”

  “You dropped the tin first,” said Tuck. “Do you remember that?”

  “I remember dropping the glove. It slipped right out of my fingers.”

  Tuck frowned. “I don’t understand this.” He looked at Newt. “You understand it?”

  “Nope. Not a thing.”

  Their genuine concern was more troubling to Comfort than her fainting had been. She tried to think of something that would ease their minds, but short of admitting that she’d picked up a tin, nothing came to her. It was tempting to retract her story and tell them what they seemed to want to hear, but the thought of lying, even with good intention, settled uncomfortably in her belly.

  Comfort chose to stare out the carriage window instead, thus avoiding the worried expressions they wore all the way home.

  Waking parched, Comfort reached for the carafe of water on her nightstand and poured a glass. The first one hardly quenched her, and she poured a second. By the time she satisfied her thirst, she had all but drained the carafe.

  She’d made the decision the night before that she wasn’t going to argue with Newt and Tuck about going to the bank. Not distressing them further influenced her decision, but it didn’t explain it in its entirety. There were things Comfort wanted to learn for herself, and to make certain she could do it, she had to reach Beau DeLong before her uncles.

  Since they expected her to remain at home, she thought it was safe to assume they would open the bank and visit the exchange before going to the Black Crowne Shipping Office. More immediately concerning was the likelihood that Suey Tsin would follow her if she got wind of what was being planned.

  To allay her maid’s tendency to be suspicious of any change in the routine, Comfort followed what had been established as normal for those infrequent occasions that she was feeling under the weather. That meant she didn’t bathe or dress her hair and was uncharacteristically snappish each time Suey Tsin crept into the room to check on her.

  On the third such inspection, Comfort played possum and garnered herself enough time to wash at the sink, plait her hair, and manage the strings that flattened the front of her simplest day dress. She chose a large straw hat trimmed with a black grosgrain bow that sat on her head like a mushroom cap. To make it plainer, she snipped off the ribbon streamer and removed the tiny tuft of field flowers that decorated the top. Instead of a jacket, she selected a thin brushed cotton shawl that had only a few hand-painted red poppies on it to recommend it as fashionable. She left her parasols in the stand. An elaborately decorated parasol was just the sort of accessory that would draw the notice of someone who coveted the money or status it would bring.

  She timed her exit to coincide with the household help gathering in the kitchen for breakfast and their daily meeting and had no difficulty walking out the front door. When Suey Tsin realized she was gone, the maid would assume she’d sneaked off to work. Comfort hardly felt a twinge of guilt for her deception.

  Black Crowne Shipping occupied a building set a block back from the wharf and south of Pacific Street. Unlike the warehouse, which abutted the lawless frontier known as the Barbary Coast, the shipping office where business was regularly conducted had not yet been swallowed up by the vice and violence of that district. It was, however, close enough to give a woman on her own reason to worry. Comfort clearly remembered Mr. Tweedy’s reluctance to venture through the area and knew his concerns were not without foundation. She also recalled what she’d told him to ease his fears.

  The Coast was quiet, at least relatively so this early in the morning, but in a few hours it would be a hive of activity. That was no different than it had been when she was younger and new to the city, although no one had yet called it the Barbary Coast. She’d known it by the name “Sydney Town,” and for a brief period of time, it had been home.

  There were mostly tents then. And shanties. Rough wooden pallets in the open air were what passed for boardinghouse accommodations, and the men who paid for the privilege of sleeping there were glad to be off the ground. After a hard rain, the mud was so deep in the streets it could suck in a horse. Sometimes it trapped a rider as well. Miners lived hand to pan and hand to mouth. All of them had dreams of the rich strike that would take them home on a golden ship. The ones who became successful, though, were hardly ever the ones panning the streams and digging out ore. Those that realized wealth got there by recognizing other opportunities and making the miners pay.

  It wasn’t much of an exaggeration that a man with three shovels, a couple of pickaxes, and a pound of nails could sell it all off and make enough money to open a hardware store. An enterprising merchant from Pennsylvania brought enough flour, salt, and bacon grease with him to start a cookery and, later, a dry goods emporium. There were men who sold rivets to repair dungarees, and who understood eventually that there was even more money in making and selling the denim trousers. And so it went for the men who had entrepreneurial skills, although perhaps no one was as committed to the success of their endeavors as the gamblers and whoremongers.

  Newt Prescott and Tucker Jones came to banking the way a bear comes to be trapped in a pit. They fell into it on their way to somewhere else. Unlike the bear, they didn’t try to get out. Once they understood their good fortune, they worked hard to make certain they’d earned it.

  Comfort knew that Newt and Tuck believed it was her presence that was responsible for the trust other miners showed them. Children were so rarely seen that miners occasionally offered her uncles money just to ruffle her hair. They’d offer more to hear her laugh.

  Newt swore they never took so much as a mote of gold dust in response to these offers. Tuck said it was because she would have bitten off the fingers of a man who dared touch her hair, and she laughed so infrequently that they would have been taking the money with no hope of keeping it.

  What really seemed to engage the miners’ trust was how close Comfort stayed to her uncles and how much regard they showed for her welfare. The first miner who asked them to hold his small bag of gold because he feared being rolled and robbed on his way to his claim discovered they could be counted on to return what they’d been given and a little something else besides.

  While the miner worked his claim, Comfort accompanied Newt into town, where he bought three pounds of nails. She helped him sell the nails in smaller quantities, sometimes one at time, and when they returned to the min
ing camp, they had parlayed the miners’ trust into gold and interest and a modest profit for themselves.

  That was the beginning. After that, Comfort assisted Newt every time he went into town. She stood at his side and helped him hawk whatever he decided to purchase that day. Sometimes it was apples or eggs they got from a farmer before he could bring them to market. They sold wheat flour and salt pork, tea and coffee, and occasionally loaves of stale bread and slices of cheese. Whether they sold the wares on muddy corners or went from tent to shanty to tent again, at the end of the day they had gold to show for it.

  Tuck accompanied them, but he didn’t have the temperament for selling. His role was to follow them around and protect their investment. Neither he nor Newt considered that it was the gold.

  Eventually they earned enough to set up a storefront, where they lent money for very little interest and offered to manage accounts for a small return to their customers. They lifted their first safe from an abandoned ship in the harbor, and it was good enough to survive the fire that leveled the town a few years later. They rebuilt, this time with a grander vision in mind, and began to make real investments in property, the Pacific trade, and the mining companies that were moving in. In 1859, when the Comstock Lode was discovered on the eastern slope of the Sierras in Nevada, they were among the backers of the quartz mills and mining machinery that eventually opened up the greatest veins of gold and silver anyone had ever seen.

  Jones and Prescott became millionaires.

  They never got entirely used to it, but occasionally they enjoyed trying. They built a house on Nob Hill as grand as any that existed at the time. Newt wrote to each of his four sisters back in New York and asked for their advice about books for his new home, especially those suitable for the edification and proper deportment of the odd little girl, now fourteen, whom he and Tucker wished to raise as a lady. And, he wrote on, recommendations for two old soldiers who were now required to stand toe to toe with society’s best-heeled mavens and industrialists would also be welcomed. His sisters were helpful in all aspects of the venture, and he purchased over two hundred books to begin their library. Tucker put in a conservatory, not so much because he was interested in rare or beautiful plants, but because he wanted a room that opened to the sky.