Threads West, an American Saga

by Reid Lance Rosenthal

  “The New World?” The mayor chuckled. “My dear, my dear, this is America. We are no longer the New World. We are modern.” He gestured with both hands around the room, rolling his shoulders from side-to-side on feet that did not move an inch.

  Picking up on the cue, Rebecca responded, “Your mansion is most impressive, mayor. Visits here were the highlights of my father’s excursion to America. He enjoyed the shipping business he conducted with you prior to your election to Parliam…to Congress in 1852. He spoke very highly of you.”

  Beaming, the mayor stuck his thumbs in his vest pockets, bouncing several times on the balls of his feet. “Well, your dear father was always one of my most respected and welcomed guests and trading partners. His pride in you was evident, and I can see why.”

  Batting her eyelashes again, Rebecca kept her half-smile frozen in place. “You are too kind, mayor. I very much look forward to hearing more about Father’s visits.”

  Reaching forward, he took one of Rebecca’s hands in his, then covered both with his other. “I’m sure your long voyage must have been most tiring. I hear the disembarkation and immigration processes leave much to be desired, and that gentlemen and ladies are not separated from the rest of the rabble, whom I’m told are quite rough. I’m sure you need a bit of rest and to freshen up. How long shall we enjoy the honor of your company? Perhaps I can talk you out of going further west, though I understand from your solicitor’s letters that was your original intention.”

  Rebecca’s eyes were fixed on her small delicate hand sandwiched between the mayor’s meaty digits. Inga was sure Rebecca was fighting the impulse to pull away.

  “We shall see, mayor. I had planned to take the train to St. Louis several days from now. My hopes are that I would not have to travel beyond that. Your kind offer to grant me some time to rid myself of the weariness of the trip is accepted. I’m very grateful to you for putting Inga…” Rebecca turned, smiling genuinely at Inga, “…at my disposal. She seems quite competent and attentive.”

  Glancing briefly at Inga with an absent look, his eyes involuntarily soaked in the curves of her figure. “Of course, of course. Inga is our very best, just as you deserve milady. Inga, take milady Marx to the Green Suite.” He turned back to Rebecca. “That is the corner accommodation, the very best in the house, with two large windows looking out over Hell’s Gate and the grounds.”

  Inga started to say, “Your excellency…” but her words died in her throat at a sharp glance from the mayor. Milady Marx had apparently just been upgraded. She gave some thought as to how quickly she could get John to move the trunks from the smaller suite originally assigned Rebecca, to what the staff termed the royalty suite. I shall manage, she thought to herself. Smiling sweetly back at the mayor, she curtsied. “Yes, your excellency, right away.”

  The mayor returned his stare to Rebecca, again not able to control the slide of his eyes from her face to her breasts and then to her hips. “Would you like some refreshment, milady Marx? Tea? Bread pudding? I could have the kitchen staff put together whatever you wish.”

  “You certainly think of my every need, mayor. Some tea would be excellent. If it could be brought up to my room, I would be most grateful.”

  Spinning, the mayor raised an arm and snapped his fingers twice. “John,” he called out to the same big Negro who had greeted the carriage and now stood with his hands clasped before him at a far-off door. “Please tell the kitchen to prepare a pot of tea.” He turned back to Rebecca. “I know the English like milk and honey?”

  “Just milk, thank you.”

  “And milk, John. Let Inga know when it’s done so she may bring it up to milady Marx.”

  The mayor glanced at the huge grandfather clock that rose against the wall next to the stairway. “Would you do me the honor of dining with me tonight? It is almost four now. Perhaps seven o’clock? Would that give you enough time?”

  Widening her eyes, Rebecca smiled, “I was hoping that you would ask me for dinner, mayor. We have much to talk about. I wish to know all I can about the New… about America.”

  “Yes, yes my dear. I am sure we will find many topics for discussion.”

  “Thank you. I shall look forward to seven o’clock.

  Grinning delightedly, he again rocked back and forth on his toes. Turning to Inga, he gestured, “Please escort milady Marx from her chambers to dinner. The staff will serve supper in the blue room.”

  “Of course, your excellency.” Inga curtsied, smiling down at the floor. The blue room was centered at the back of the mansion. Its windows faced all directions from the round half-wall that extended out from the flat wood structure. It overlooked ponds, the flagstone terrace at the heart of the grounds and Hell’s Gate. Inga knew from the mayor’s occasional unsuccessful attempts to lure her to his bedroom that he considered this dining area to be the most romantic in the mansion.

  “Excuse me, then.” Bowing again, he kissed Rebecca’s wrist. “I will place you back in Inga’s capable care.”

  The two women ascended the stairs, Rebecca following several steps behind. Inga could feel her gaze. They reached the top landing and turned right down the wide spacious hall. Ornate gold frames with various paintings of New York and previous mayors lined the wide corridor. Large French doors at the end of the hall opened into a very spacious suite. Overstuffed chairs and an elm coffee table furnished the sitting area in one alcove, two huge elm armoires stood against another wall, and the water closet was lavish, replete with two pedestal sinks and an oversized round cast iron tub. The white porcelain finishes glistened in the last of the sunlight, which streamed in from two high-set windows. A huge bed with thick, highly polished, brass headboard and footboard was centered on one wall, positioned so that the first view from sleepy eyes would be to the enormous corner windows. Here and there, through the glass, taller buildings were visible in the distance above the spring buds of oaks, maples and elm trees that were scattered about the grounds. But there was no luggage.

  “Oh, my! John must have brought your trunks to the wrong room!” Inga did her best to display astonishment. She turned to Rebecca. “I shall rectify that immediately. My apologies.”

  Rebecca’s eyes were coolly amused as she looked directly back into Inga’s. “After meeting the mayor, I was promoted, was I?”

  Despite herself, Inga began laughing; Rebecca joined in.

  “Men,” snorted Inga shaking her head, then looking

  quickly at Rebecca to see if she had overstepped.

  “Yes, men. Curious but predictably single-minded creatures.” The two women smiled again with the knowledge that a bond had been formed.

  “Have you ever been invited to dine in the blue room?”

  Inga was surprised at the question. She slowly shook her head. “I have but it ended at dessert.”

  “I would have been astonished at any other outcome,” said Rebecca. “We shall see if I even last to dessert.”

  Smiling at one another again, Inga felt a grudging respect for Rebecca. It was not a feeling she had often for guests of the mayor, regardless of their gender or status.

  John and his two assistants struggled through the door with part of the baggage. “Thank you for moving those trunks,” Inga told them.

  Rebecca pointed. “Set them down over there on either side of the armoires, John.”

  As soon as the men left, Inga offered, “Milady Marx would you wish me to have a bath drawn for you? Is there anything else you might need? I will be up right away with your tea.”

  Reaching out, Rebecca gently rested her hand on Inga’s shoulder. “While I realize you must follow protocol for others, Inga, when we are alone, please just call me Rebecca. Perhaps we can spend some time together. I’ve never been to America and going into the city for shopping and lunch would be most enjoyable. I’m sure we can have fun.”

  Inga was delighted with the suggestion and the invitation. “It would be my privilege to accompany you milady… Rebecca, and I know some fine shops and w
onderful restaurants. I think you will find New York quite exciting.”

  “We have a date then. Perhaps tomorrow, late morning. I need a good night’s sleep. Five weeks in the cramped quarters of that ship have worn me thin.”

  “Midmorning it will be, then. I will have a carriage out front. Let me draw your bath for you, and then I shall leave you in peace.” Bustling into the water closet, she began filling the tub, and then moved to the French doors at the entry of the suite, turning toward Rebecca, her arms outstretched on both knobs. She began to close them behind her as she backed out into the hall, then she paused. With a slight giggle, she called out to Rebecca, who stood at one of the windows. “And you shall have a wonderful dinner.”

  Rebecca laughed. “I shall indeed. And an early and long night’s sleep.”

  CHAPTER 21

  MARCH 2, 1855

  SEDUCTION

  There was a light tapping at the entrance to her quarters. Rebecca swung open one side of the French doors. Standing there was Inga, a conspiratorial smile on her face.

  “It’s time for dinner with his excellency. I know that you have waited by the door with eager anticipation.”

  “Actually, I was sitting in the chair, staring out the window and counting the minutes until the clock struck seven.” They both laughed.

  “You look beautiful, Rebecca. I’m sure some of those fashions are available in New York, though not all. I wish I had the funds to buy one or two dresses like yours.”

  “Come, my dear.” Rebecca put her arm around Inga’s waist and began to walk down the balcony corridor toward the stairway. “With your looks and quick mind, I have no doubt that you will one day be able to afford clothing such as this.”

  Inga ushered her into the blue room. Pale yellow amber light from two wall-mounted gas lamps reflected off the windows, which extended from floor to ceiling in each facet of the curved wall. A highly polished, oak table almost three meters long was centered in the semicircular space. Handsome, carved, high-back chairs with plush, blue upholstery flanked the table, one at either end, and four on each side. Flickering down the length of the table were six candles. Two place settings, one on either end of the long oak expanse, gleamed in the soft light.

  “Have a wonderful time, Rebecca—I mean, milady Marx.” Inga glanced furtively behind her to see if anyone had overheard her use the less-formal greeting.

  Minutes after Inga’s departure, the mayor arrived. Rebecca bit her lip to stop the laugh that welled in her chest. His attire for the evening was even more pompous and gaudy than that of the afternoon. I really should put him in touch with Zachary, Father’s tailor. Smiling sweetly, she allowed the mayor to take her hand, lead her to the table and pull out her chair. As he walked down to his seat, he took care to move the candles so that they were arranged to afford a clear view of her. Smartly uniformed kitchen staff delivered the initial courses on which Rebecca nibbled, forcing herself to appear interested in the mayor’s conversation.

  By the time the main course arrived, roast duckling with mandarin sauce accompanied by vegetables from the mansion’s garden, discussion had progressed only to the point of inquiries by the mayor of the life and economic times in London and dull discourse on the weather in New York.

  Focusing on her plate, Rebecca was certain she would surely retch if she had to endure any more of his banal conversation.

  Her thought was interrupted when the mayor suddenly snapped his fingers, gesturing to the mousy looking servant who stood off to one side. “Alicia, move my place setting down next to lady Marx.” He barely managed to avoid spilling his wine as he pushed back his chair, which nearly tipped over when his ample derriere caught on the armrest. Padding down the table, he pulled out the chair next to Rebecca, sitting down heavily and leaning back with a smug, self-satisfied air. Alicia hurriedly transferred his place setting and overfull plate.

  “That will be all, Alicia.” He waved his hand dismissively. “I will ring the bell if anything further is required.”

  The mayor leaned toward Rebecca, reaching across the corner of the table and taking her hand in his, “I was very close to your father. You have no idea how delighted I am that his lovely daughter is my guest.”

  Rebecca debated whether to pull her hand away, then thought better of it. “Father never told me a great deal about his trip to America. What types of activities did the two of you share when you were together?”

  This query precipitated a lengthy reply by the mayor, peppered with obvious exaggeration about this or the other adventurous activity and the shipping business that he had shared with her father. Nonetheless, Rebecca heard several references that piqued her interest.

  “So you say my father went west while he was here?”

  “Yes, indeed.”

  “I had no idea! Just to St. Louis or did he go further?”

  “No, my dear lady Marx…may I call you Rebecca?

  And I’d much prefer you call me Ferdinando, rather than mayor.”

  “I would like that, Ferdinando,” Rebecca lowered her eyelids and allowed a beguiling half-smile to spread across her lips. “What did he do in St. Louis?”

  The mayor’s eyebrows furrowed. “Honestly, Rebecca, I don’t know. I did question him several times upon his return. I could not understand what on earth anyone could find to do for six months in St. Louis. However, he never answered the questions directly. He did return with a railcar full of rich furs and skins and a host of other frontier sundries, which were loaded on his ship. He seemed quite delighted.”

  Rebecca suddenly remembered. “I recall that voyage. I was just a little girl. We had word from an officer friend of ours in the Royal Navy that they had spied Trader just a day or two from Portsmouth. I recall standing at the dock in my shawl for almost the whole day as I awaited his arrival. He showed me the skins. The smell was rich and wonderful. I think it was a quite profitable cargo, too. Did Father meet anyone while he was in St. Louis or here in New York?”

  The mayor’s face blanched in uneasy surprise.

  “I’m not sure what you mean, Rebecca. Your father was absolutely devoted to your mother. He loved her deeply. He spoke of her almost as often as he talked about you.”

  Rebecca shook her head. “No, of all that I am quite sure. Did he make any business acquaintances that you know of?”

  “Oh!” said the mayor, relieved. “I know that he spent quite some time with an attorney, what you refer to as a solicitor, when he returned from that one particular venture to St. Louis. I did not feel that Henry’s business was any of my concern. The attorney died just a few years ago,” lamented the mayor, shaking his head sadly. “Great man. Such a pity.”

  He reached for her hand, his thumb stroking the top of her wrist. “You appear to have enjoyed tonight’s repast. My culinary staff is second to none.” Leaning forward a bit more, he spoke in a low, husky tone, “Would you honor me with a nightcap of sherry up in my quarters? The view is wonderful.”

  She politely placed long outstretched fingers delicately over her mouth, pretending to stifle a yawn. “I am literally exhausted, Ferdinando. It is difficult to explain how arduous the ocean journey was and how interminable the company.” Involuntarily, the image of Reuben’s green eyes and confident smile flashed across her mind. She willed the vision away. “Inga has been gracious enough to consent to accompany me into the city tomorrow to shop and see the sights. I must get some sleep. But how kind of you to offer.”

  “Well…tomorrow night, perhaps?” The mixture of disappointment and hope in the mayor’s voice was not lost on Rebecca.

  “Yes, perhaps tomorrow night. Is that a dinner invitation?”

  The mayor’s face brightened, “Of course, of course. Seven o’clock again?”

  “I shall look forward to dining with you.” Reaching over, Rebecca patted his hand, watching with hidden amusement as a scarlet flush crept up his fleshy jowls.

  The mayor leaped up to pull out her chair.

  “Goodnight, Ferdinand
o.”

  “Goodnight, dear Rebecca. Sleep well.”

  CHAPTER 22

  MARCH 3, 1855

  HANDLE OF PEARL

  Leaning over from Reuben’s left, Mae poured him another cup of coffee, bobbing her head and flashing a wide, white smile as Reuben thanked her. “Yessuh.” She held out the coffee pot to Johannes with a questioning look.

  Johannes’ mouth was full of toast and poached egg.

  Shaking his head, he swallowed hurriedly and grinned. “No thank you, Mae. I am about to float away.”

  Laughing, Uncle Hermann chimed in, “No more for me either, Mae, thank you.” Swiveling his eyes to Johannes, the elderly soldier gave the tall Scandinavian a keen look, “A bit better than kaffee boiled on a bivouac fire. I never liked the way the smell of gunpowder overwhelmed the aroma of the brewing.”

  In the process of inhaling another enormous bite of breakfast, Johannes stopped chewing momentarily, looking sharply at Uncle Hermann. His eyes shifted briefly to Reuben, and then back to the old soldier. “Sometimes just holding a hot tin cup in your hand is a fine thing, Herr Hermann. It reminds you, you are still alive.”

  Looking from one to the other, Reuben cleared his throat. “Johannes and I are going to take your advice and go down to Wiggins and Booraem Mercantile today Uncle. How far is it?”

  “It’s a good half-hour carriage ride. You probably noticed the small surrey behind the house by the alley. It’s older but clean and functional. Obviously, I have no room here to keep a horse; however, one half mile further down 157th Street there are some larger tracts, and small vegetable farms, each having several acres. My friend, Dr. Kampfmann, keeps my old mare for me. It’s an expense, and I haven’t harnessed her in more than three months. Of course with this…” he gestured to his leg, “… I haven’t ridden in years. Pausing for a moment, he added, “But an old Calvary man has to have a horse.”