Solina’s sobs brought me back to the present. Her head lay on Nellie’s shoulder. I should be the one comforting her, but I was depleted of all energy by this journey into the past. Forgive. Now Solina would understand some sins were past forgiveness, even when unintentional. After Ben’s death, Jack and Nellie put the child’s things in storage or gave them away. I never knew what happened to most of them. I was too distraught, and what little thought I was capable of was fogged by the medications I was taking. Jack stayed in Ben’s little room when he was home. He knew better than to come near me again.
Solina’s handkerchief, already quite sodden, rose once more to her dark lashes. “All this time I didn’t know I had another brother, Mama. You should have told me.”
“I have tried to put those days with all their anguish behind me.”
A frown creased Nellie’s face. “Anguish indeed. That poor baby suffered every day of his life.” Perhaps she noticed the distress her observation caused me, for she changed the subject. “Tell me more about your brothers, Solina.”
My daughter made a face. “They are as different as night and day. Michael makes a complete pest of himself all the time and Thomas is so shy he barely speaks.”
“I dare say they will grow out of these phases before long.” I feared for Thomas. His parents had been badly injured in an accident when their horse panicked and their wagon had tumbled down a steep hill, overturning on top of them. Neither survived their injuries, despite Val’s best efforts to save them. Thomas was thrown clear and suffered only a few scratches. Physically. Emotionally, he was traumatized. He had no other family, so we took him into ours. He was polite and well behaved but distant. All I knew to offer him was a consistent routine so he might feel secure again.
“Maybe Thomas will grow up, but Michael will forever be a nuisance,” Solina declared.
I shook my head. “You can see why I left the boys home with Val. I would have lost my mind locked in a small train compartment with all the squabbling.”
Screeching brakes and clanging bells drifted in from the street outside. There was always some sort of commotion going on here in the city. I missed the relative quiet of our small town. I wouldn’t want to live here again, even though I missed Nellie.
Solina’s eyes seemed to focus inward as if something had just occurred to her. Her head bobbed off Nellie’s shoulder. “What’s a medicinal douche?”
I swallowed and opened my mouth to respond, but Nellie came to my rescue. She explained its purpose, but we both knew there was still so much Solina didn’t grasp. I hadn’t understood the cause of Ben’s death myself right away. I had been barely older than my daughter and not even doctors understood much about such diseases back then. I was treated with a mercury compound, Val later told me. Today, he said, doctors used an arsenic compound that was more effective and less toxic. All I knew was the pills and douche made me horribly ill.
Nellie took over. “Solina, I could hear Jack pacing the length of his room—he was staying in Ben’s old room— over and over he paced on the floor above the kitchen. I could tell he kept stopping by the window, so I went over to the parlor and drew aside the curtain. A woman lingered outside, and I knew at once it was Jack’s mistress. Surely she knew the meaning of the black wreath on the front door. I remember thinking if she had any decency, she would have left .
“Your papa decided if Jack Joyner wasn’t going to do anything about her lurking about, he would. He ran down from the third floor so fast I swear his shoes sounded like a machine gun—at least what I imagine one would sound like. I’ve never actually heard one.
“Anyway, I heard the front door slam and next thing I knew, our Val had seized the hussy by her arms and was shaking her. I watched him yelling and thought he accused her of having no shame, but I couldn’t really make out his words. But then he must have turned his face toward the house because I could hear what he said next plain as day. ‘They lost their son. For the love of God, go away and leave them in peace,’ he said that just as plain as day. She pulled away from him, and Val let her go. Later he confessed he apologized to her for his lapse of manners. He hadn’t realized he was hurting her.”
That was Val. Always chivalrous, but I sincerely doubted Nellie could hear Val speaking outside the house. She did like to embellish her stories. I chimed in, “Lourdes told him she had the right to be wherever she wished. Some nerve.”
“Outrageous,” Nellie agreed. “I was still watching from the parlor window. As soon as I saw the way her arms clasped over her belly, I realized she was swollen with child. I knew it would crush Ro if she learned this, so I would not be the one to tell her. In the months after Ben had died, she hadn’t noticed anything. She got out of bed, ate very little of what was put in front of her, and went back to bed. Nothing could cheer her up. Losing two that close together is enough to knock any woman down,” Nellie said.
Actually it was three. With Val’s help, I had aborted the child I was carrying in my womb when Ben died. Val had been certain that even if the mercury treatment cured me, it would harm my unborn child irreparably. I vowed I would never give birth again unless I was pronounced cured. Fortunately, the time came when I carried no trace of disease.
I didn’t care for this picture of myself as poor, pitiful victim. That was not who I wanted to be to my daughter and I didn’t want her writing that in her diary. I hurried the story along. “After Ben’s death, I vowed I would do all in my power to prevent any other baby from suffering as Ben had.”
Solina’s head swiveled in confusion from one of us to the other. “Why would another baby—”
“Jack had syphilis, a serious disease he got because he wasn’t faithful in our marriage. He passed the disease along to me, and it killed our babies.”
“How horrible!” Solina drew back in the loveseat, one hand pressed to her mouth, her eyes wide and round.
Nellie nodded. “Dr. Kasbarian kept the truth from your mother about her illness and Ben’s death. It was cowardly, but he was following the law.”
“The Comstock laws were dead wrong. In fairness to Lourdes,” I added, “you should know Jack wronged her too. She told your Papa that Jack knew her first, before he met me, and had promised her they would marry one day.” One of many lies he’d told her, no doubt.
“How did you find out about the disease, Mama?”
“Overheard your papa chastising Jack.”
“I was there,” Nellie said. “Val is such a gentleman, he hesitated to speak in plain language in front of me but I pushed him. Told them I wasn’t afraid to hear the word syphilis spoken aloud. Told Val and Jack if people were more open and honest, there’d be less disease around.”
“Amen,” I said. “Maybe, Solina, you can understand why I feel the need to march for women’s rights.”
“I never said—” Solina protested.
“Admit it. You were angry when I left you and your papa behind to go to the capital. You were ashamed when I got arrested.”
Solina screwed up her face. “Was I supposed to be proud of having a jailbird for a mother?”
“Yes indeed,” Nellie said. “I’m proud of your mother. It took great courage to stand up against such powerful men. She stands up—”
“We,” I corrected her.
Nellie acknowledged the correction. “We stand up against ignorance that harms men as well as women. I suppose the Examiner called your mother a baby killer because she has spoken out in favor of family planning, the right for women to control our own bodies.”
Yes, my stand on family planning was likely how the reporter derived that particular inflammatory statement. Who from those family planning gatherings fed information to the reporter? A traitor lurked in our midst.
Nellie continued, “I’m sure she’s told you how we marched on the state Republican convention meeting in Oakland demanding the right to vote.”
“She told me those men called you fifty thousand mice. Very rude of them. It’s fine that women in California ca
n vote for some things, but they can’t vote for president yet.”
“True,” Nellie said. “We are still treated like second-class citizens.”
I clasped Solina’s hand. “That’s why I became one of the Silent Sentinels, why I marched on Washington three years ago, so when you are old enough, you and every other woman in this country will have that right. We’re almost there. Nearly every state has ratified now.”
Solina squeezed my hand briefly. “I know. Papa told me. He told me how thankful he was that you only spent one night in jail.”
“I would have stuck it out with my fellow Sentinels, but you took ill.”
“Papa only said that so you’d pay the fine and come home, but he told me the truth: he feared your tuberculosis would return if you were ill treated. He says those women were beaten and tortured and you wouldn’t have survived. Papa fibbed to save your life.”
Even though I’d always suspected this manipulation, it still infuriated me. “It should have been my choice. My decision.”
Nellie’s chin lifted. “Your lungs are weak, Ro. Val did the right thing. Frankly, I’m surprised he let you make the journey out here.”
Fiddlesticks. I was stronger than my family and Nellie believed. Why must there always be Papa this, Papa that? I supposed I should be glad Val was so close to Solina, but it stung when she gave more credence to his words than mine. Male superiority was so ingrained in our culture, how would we ever overcome it? Even Nellie—how could she agree that Val had a right to lie to me?
“So, back to that man, Jack,” Solina said. “What happened when you found out?”
I sighed. “I overheard everything your papa and Jack said. I made Nellie explain what syphilis was. I had no idea such a disease existed. I realize now Jack never intended to hurt me or Ben. He honestly thought marrying a virgin would cure him of his disease.”
Nellie shook her head. “Such foolishness.”
“For a long time, I hated him.” If I could have pulled myself out of the dark hole I’d fallen into, if I hadn’t needed Nellie’s consoling so badly, if the medicine hadn’t made me so ill, I would have fled back to West Virginia immediately. After Ben’s death, nothing could ever have been set right between us, but even I have to give Jack credit for trying.
Jack
San Francisco, 1905
No matter whom else Jack tried to blame, he knew who was at fault. Even God tried to warn him. He remembered how it had thundered when he left El Paso with Lourdes, how lightning split the sky.
Making it up to Rosella was the only way he knew how to live with his guilt. He put on his coat and straightened his tie. Streetside, he handed a nickel to the trolley conductor and rode to the business district. It had been months since he had carried that white casket to the grave. All this time gloom hung over Nellie’s house. Rosella refused to leave the house. He didn’t think the pills the doctor had prescribed were making her so ill that she couldn’t leave her bed, just an excuse. In any case, they weren’t affecting him so severely. It was time for her to get out and rejoin the world.
On Market Street, Jack disembarked in front of the Emporium. The domed glass ceiling gave the department store an almost religious air. Jack circulated through the various departments, amassing purchases. He bought gowns—dark rose, emerald, deep blue. When he presented them to his wife, she smiled weakly, thanked him, explained she would only be wearing black for at least a year, and turned her face away.
Another day he brought home an assortment of imported teas and chocolates. Another, six bouquets of assorted flowers.
Rosella needed a change of scenery. Once she moved out of this boarding house and into her own home, one without memories, he hoped she would rebound. The pallets of bricks dwindled each day and the façade of their new home neared completion. Only a couple of arches to go. She would eventually forgive him, wouldn’t she? He never intended Mrs. Priester’s to be a permanent residence. It had gone on far too long already. A man of Jack’s wealth should have a home of his own. He showed Rosella drawings of the large parlor, the kitchen, the modern bathroom with the latest plumbing fixtures, wallpaper patterns selected by Nellie. Rosella slumped listlessly, staring out the window while he waxed enthusiastically about foundations and furnaces, bricks and shingles, windows and walls. At the mention of a garden, she perked up slightly but quickly fell into disinterest again, her face pale and pinched.
Nellie tried to point out the positives of the new house. “You’ll be near the Underwoods on Russian Hill. Won’t that be fine?”
Rosella smiled wanly. Jack thought she seemed fearful of leaving Nellie. He could find no trace of the adventuresome girl he’d married.
He bought two bicycles, thinking a ride in the fresh air would do her good. Nellie begged her to give it a try, but Rosella just looked angry, even at Nellie.
Jack’s boss wasn’t going to let him keep spending most of his time in San Francisco forever. Every day new industries cropped up in the West, and each wanted a spur connecting their site to the main rail lines. Jack was the company’s best at engineering the spurs, a fact Leroy Whiting reminded him of daily, raising those bushy white brows. “Women lose children all the time. She has to move on, Jack.”
Jack agreed. They both needed to move on—but how? Especially since she blamed him. Rightfully so, he acknowledged, but he hadn’t meant to hurt anyone, least of all his wife and son.
Ignoring the masses of ladies flocking to the Bargain Basement of the Emporium, the next week Jack mounted the grand staircase, and with rising spirits, he ordered a set of crystal goblets. Soon the interior of their home would be complete. He’d walked on the red oak floors for the first time that very morning. Planning the furnishings would give Rosella something fresh to focus on. She would need to set her own table. He nearly purchased china, but decided he would bring her back to choose the plate pattern herself. They would start over.
Another day, in an attempt to cheer her up, he insisted they visit the Underwood home to see their furnishings, for decorating ideas. He had never been to their home and had been angry and shamed when he learned that his wife had been taking money from the Underwoods. As a lady’s hobby, painting was fine, but anything more was unseemly. Still, he was willing to try anything that brought back the zest for life Rosella once possessed. Prior to their visit, Nellie would suggest to Mrs. Underwood that Rosella paint something for the family again, perhaps her portrait.
Not bothering to hide her lack of enthusiasm, Rosella agreed to go.
The elegance of the Underwoods’ home was evident from the meticulously manicured gardens to the stunning Spanish colonial façade. All the furnishings were top quality, exactly what Jack had in mind for his own home. Everything about the Underwoods was what he’d been led to expect.
Everything but the electric elegance of Alexandra Underwood herself. She shimmered sensually in a way his wife had not since Ben’s death. No, that wasn’t true. Since his birth.
When his mustache brushed Alexandra’s smooth hand in a brief kiss, the vibrations he felt flowing from her left him stunned.
~~~
Over the next month, Jack found excuses to return to the Underwoods, at first with Nellie and Rosella, later on his own. Nevertheless, he didn’t quit trying to revive his wife. He brought home chocolates, flowers, a book on portrait painting. Still, Rosella refused to paint Alexandra’s portrait.
On another visit to the Emporium, he passed a menagerie of animals—cats, exotic birds, dogs. He told the saleslady he was looking for anything that would encourage his wife to take an interest in the world. She held up a puppy with black and white fur and funny mashed face. “This little fellow is just what she needs, a Boston Terrier, America’s dog,” she said. “A puppy is just the thing to pull your wife back into the world. Give her something to take care of.”
A puppy might be just the thing.
When the goblets were delivered, he unpacked one and twirled it about, admiring its sparkle. Rosella walked to
the window and held the glass to the light.
“Why, this is Fostoria glass,” she said. “It’s made in West Virginia, you know. Moundsville.” She looked happy, lost in fond memories.
Jack had forgotten about all the glass factories near Aunt Elizabeth’s. He’d worked on spurs for the railway to several of them. He felt encouraged by her interest. “Our home will be finished soon. You’ll need to order furnishings—maybe you can find more things made in West Virginia and it will remind you of growing up there.”
She set the glass on the nearest table and sank back down onto the loveseat. “You do it.”
“Nonsense,” he said, sitting beside her. “I wouldn’t have any idea how to properly furnish a home.”
“Whatever you choose will be fine.”
He rose from the loveseat and called for Nellie. She carried in a wide canvas bag and handed it to him. She was beaming, nodding and deepening that double chin, her eyes teary.
Jack played his last card.
He took the puppy from the bag and set him on Rosella’s lap.
“His name’s Prince and he’s come to live with us.”
Rosella stroked the short fur with a smile that lit up her eyes for the first time since Ben died. The smile collapsed. Her hands covered her face and she sobbed. “Take him away. A dog is no replacement for a child.”
Of course not. Nothing was.
Rosella
San Francisco, 1905
I let the puppy cry, hoping Nellie would come in and care for it, but either she was asleep or didn’t like dogs. Half an hour of mournful whining grinded on my nerves and finally severed the last one. Didn’t the dog know it was the middle of the night?
I slid out of bed, lit a candle, and padded barefoot across the floor to the puppy’s box. Jack had a lot of nerve buying a puppy and taking off like that. Whoosh! Off to Oregon or Utah or somewhere. He’d told me his destination when he bid me goodbye, but I couldn’t remember. I hadn’t listened well enough and felt a pinch of regret. He was trying. Even through my fog of grief and anger and ill effects from the mercury treatment, I could acknowledge that.
Buried Seeds Page 17
