“Tell you what,” Jewell said, recapping the flask upon its return. “Why don’t you take the night off? Go see a show?”
“I think I will,” Kassandra said, immensely satisfied. God had dropped her off in this place, wobbly and nearly unable to stand, but today she summoned her strength and found her legs. If she couldn’t trust her Lord to lead her, she’d make her life her own.
Unlike many of the young women who spent their time working for Jewell, Kassandra had no desire to find a man and fall in love. She was too engrossed with falling in love with the city. Though theaters and music halls were in abundance back in New York, she had spent her life being either too sheltered or too poor to enjoy them. Not so here. Just as Kassandra was working to create a new identity of confidence and beauty and breeding, so also was the city of San Francisco.
Every day new improvements were made—the streets paved with cobblestones, ground broken to begin the construction of more sophisticated, aesthetically pleasing buildings. She learned there had been a horrific fire just a few years before her arrival, but there was no evidence of any such destruction. It had sprung back to life, resplendent in its resilience, and in that Kassandra felt a kinship and a sense of belonging she never had before.
She went to the theater on the arms of some of the wealthiest men in the city—bankers and merchants, shipping moguls and politicians. Often the show was a comedy burlesque, a broad satire of the plight of the earliest gold-seekers played out in a melodramatic frenzy. Other times, singers would take the stage performing sentimental songs that reduced the room full of men—from the gritty to the groomed—to sniffling into their handkerchiefs. Once she saw a beautiful little girl sing and dance into the hearts of the audience, and Kassandra wondered what songs Reverend Joseph and Mrs. Hartmann would teach her daughter.
By far her favorite evenings were those when a traveling troupe came to town, and she had the chance to see the works of Shakespeare—known to her only as those words studied in her schoolbooks—come to life on the stage.
During the day she delighted in exploring the city on her own. In no time at all it seemed unreal that she had ever found it frightening.
She especially loved poking through the more exotic shops of San Francisco’s Chinese district. There she found many of the different plants and herbs that she had learned about under Imogene’s tutelage. Besides the familiar chamomile and lavender, Kassandra learned—through arduous conversations consisting of shouted short phrases and emphatic gesturing—about new remedies the Chinese proprietors had brought from their native country. Many of these were known to ease the monthly trials of womanhood, and Kassandra brought them back to the skeptical Jewell, who couldn’t imagine anything worthwhile coming from that bunch of pigtailed heathens.
But the other women eagerly embraced such exotic cures for their regular womanly discomforts. Under Kassandra’s careful guidance, they made teas from red sage root that was meant to nourish their blood and encourage mental tranquillity They made tinctures of the herb called dong guai, which seemed to put each of them on a more regular, predictable cycle. Even if Jewell never openly endorsed the Chinese invasion under her red roof, she did seem to enjoy running a productive, unruffled establishment, for which she openly credited “Sadie and her potions.”
All of this would seem to solidify Kassandra’s status and position with Jewell, but there was one condition Jewell would not tolerate, and as Kassandra entered her second spring in San Francisco, she knew she was in violation of Jewell’s most emphatic edict.
She was pregnant again.
The idea of a new baby—the feel of it—filled Kassandra so she could hardly bring her mind to focus on anything else. Unlike before, where the earliest months were lost either to innocence or ignorance, she was immediately aware of the changes in her body And, though she knew she had to keep the information to herself, the revelation seemed always to be just a breath away When she first walked downstairs every morning, her stomach churning, she had to stop herself from announcing her news to the still-sleepy women lounging on the sofas. She loved knowing there was a baby under all the layers of silk as she strolled through the city streets. Be careful with me, she wanted to say to every gentleman who followed her upstairs from the parlor, I am carrying a child. With this baby she felt every bit of the hope and promise she’d carried with Daniel, and a chance to recapture what she’d abandoned with her daughter.
She hadn’t prayed much since her arrival in San Francisco, but she did so now—every day—thanking God for giving her another chance to be a mother, asking Him to keep her and the baby strong, hoping her prayers weren’t trapped under the red roof of Jewell’s fancy house.
Pregnancy was, in Jewell’s estimation, illness, weakness, and betrayal all in one. She was militant in her insistence that her girls take all measures necessary to prevent it, and had been known to patrol her own carpeted hallways replenishing each room’s vinegar jar. Every new recruit received instruction in how to insert the acidic suppositories that allowed a working girl to keep working all year long.
Because of her obsession, it was a rare case who slunk away from Jewell’s parlor with empty pockets and a bulging belly—for there was never a question of the girl’s staying on to have the child in her upstairs room.
“I put up enough with Millie and her brat daughter,” she would say whenever the subject came up. “I ain’t one to turn away a girl in need, but a screamin’ kid is bad for business.”
As much as Kassandra had worked her way into Jewell’s good graces, she still took great pains to find the perfect time to put her head on the chopping block. She wanted a time when they could speak alone, but those moments were rare. Jewell had ten girls working for her these days, and with only seven bedrooms in the house, there was always somebody about. If Jewell were to react with her usual bluster, Kassandra would have no chance to appeal to the woman’s well-hidden sympathetic nature. Her best bet was to get the two of them away from the house for the afternoon. One day, wearing her new green walking dress, Kassandra asked Jewell to accompany her on a little shopping excursion and maybe a spot of lunch.
“Come on, Jewell,” Kassandra said, “we can have a champagne lunch at the Parker House, and I’ll get me a hat tall enough that all the men there will be able to follow me straight back here.”
“I guess it has been a while since we had any new blood,” Jewell said, though Kassandra knew the true selling point was the roast duck and oyster platter at the Parker House Hotel.
They made quite a vision, walking together. Kassandra, a full head and shoulders taller than Jewell, glided down the walkways while Jewell puffed beside her with visible effort. Several times Kassandra stopped, supposedly to admire some item in a shop window, and allowed Jewell to catch her breath before pressing on.
A number of men recognized them and tipped their hats as they walked by. A fair amount of women knew them, too, though their greetings weren’t nearly as friendly.
“You know, when I got here in ′49, I had the only house in town. The others were workin’ outta tents. But I had me built a great big house, bright red roof, stocked it full of the best lookin’ women I could find.” They passed a trio of haughty, painted women as they walked through the hotel door. “Now you can’t swing a pickax without hittin’ some cheeky whore in this town.”
“Well, there are certainly enough men to go around,” Kassandra said, smiling at a hungry-looking miner, probably fresh from his claim, who held the door open for her and offered a charming smile through the layer of grime on his face.
“That ain’t the point,” Jewell said.
She ignored the maître d’ and headed for a prime table in the center of the room. She didn’t pick up the conversation until they were settled in their seats and had caught the attention of at least a dozen other patrons.
“There’s just no sense of adventure anymore. No fun.”
“Everybody certainly seemed to be having fun last night.”
&n
bsp; “I’m talkin’ about for me. I like the idea of makin’ somethin’ outta nothin’. Bein’ somebody. Now these girls are just usin’ me as some quick path to get rich.”
“None of us are exactly rich, Jewell.”
“Yeah? What did you have when I met you?” She summoned the waiter and brusquely ordered a bottle of white wine and a platter of oysters. “Now we got these girls comin’—they’re nothin’ but starvin’ trash where they come from. Livin’ a couple o’ months in my house, gettin’ sacks of gold for the same tricks that’d go for two bits back home.”
“You certainly don’t seem to complain when you are taking your share,” Kassandra said, thinking of those settle-up sessions where Jewell sat with her table top scale, carefully calculating her percentage.
“I’m sentimental, Sadie girl. Not stupid.” She poured a second drink and shot a pointed look at the string quartet in the corner that abruptly ceased the sprightly tune they were pursuing and opted for something softer. “I got all these girls thinkin’ they’re workin’ independent. And I say fine, go on out into the street and see how long you last there. I just want a little loyalty. That’s all.”
This wasn’t the turn of conversation that Kassandra wanted, and deep in the pit of her—just where that tiny life settled—she prepared herself to fight.
“Jewell,” she said, just as the woman was downing, her third glass of champagne, “I am pregnant.”
“I know.” She finished her drink, slurped down another oyster, and dabbed the corners of her mouth with the starched white linen napkin, leaving a trace of red lip rouge on the fabric.
“How could you know?” Kassandra asked, not sure if she believed Jewell at all.
“It’s my job to know about my girls.”
“I do not want to leave,” Kassandra said, feeling irresponsible warmth at being one of Jewell’s girls.
“No reason you got to. Bein’ pregnant don’t have to be permanent.” She belched in the most ladylike way she was capable of and dabbed her mouth again. “It’s early yet.”
“No,” Kassandra said, loud enough to call the attention of some of the other customers. Then, lowering her voice, “I have lost two children already, Jewell. I cannot lose another.”
Jewell arched her thin brows at this revelation, but remained unmoved. “I’m not talkin’ ‘bout hackin’ it out of you.”
“But you have before.”
“We’ve all done things before,” Jewell said. “You wanna do an open confession of your sins?”
“Of course not.”
“I’m just sayin’ that you ain’t the only one who knows about all those fancy herbs and whatnot. Get you some black cohosh—”
“No, Jewell.”
“Well, then.” Jewell bristled and picked up another oyster. She offered it up to Kassandra, who shook her head, her stomach lurching at the sight of the cold, gray, moist meat within the shell. “Looks like you’re gonna have to find yourself a new place to live then, don’t it?”
“Jewell, please—no, hear me out. I have never belonged anywhere. Never felt like I had a real home before this.”
“You’re kiddin’ me?” Jewell said, making no attempt to stifle a laugh. “Well, sorry to bust your dreams, girl, but no matter how much you feel like home, what I got is a place of business. Pregnant women and screamin’ kids don’t exactly make for good business.”
“This baby means the world to me.”
“Well, that’s just great to hear.” Jewell made a toasting gesture with her newly refilled glass. “You willin’ to pack up your stuff and make your life out on the street?”
“That’s just what Mrs. Hartmann said,” Kassandra muttered.
“Sounds like a woman after my own heart.”
“I was not strong enough then. But now—”
“It seems you’re waitin’ for me to give you a blessin’.”
“The first day I arrived here, you told me I needed a friend. You have become that friend for me.”
“Well, I’m sorry for misleadin’ you ‘bout that,” Jewell said. “Besides, there’s one other side to this story we haven’t talked about yet. Who’s the daddy?”
“You know better than to ask that.”
“Well, I know it can’t be a certain science, but you got to be able to narrow it down to a few You have your regulars, you know. Don’t tell me you ain’t even thought about this yet.”
“What difference could that make?” Kassandra asked.
“As much difference as you want it to. It don’t mean a thing if you decide it’s some poor panner who just came in to dump his gold dust on the town. But if you get it in your mind it’s that rich banker—”
“Jimmy?”
“Now, don’t look like you just stepped in a pile of horse patties. He might be a bit pudgy—”
“And short, and old, and awful.”
“And rich. An’ smitten with you, if you wanna know the truth. You could waltz right up to him with any man’s kid in your arms, and he’d take you in a heartbeat.”
“You cannot be serious.” This time it was Kassandra who laughed, and the outburst once again drew the attention of their fellow diners.
“Mark me, girl. You just wait until you’ve got yourself a nice little bulge—just enough to round you out a bit, leavin’ no room for questions—and then march down to that bank of his and announce it to anyone who’s there to listen.”
“You are terrible!”
“I’m smart. It’ll work one of two ways. He’ll either be so proud of himself he’ll parade you around that bank like a farmer with a prize turkey. Or he’ll be so shamed he’ll grab you aside and propose just to shut you up.”
“And how would I ever be able to convince him that the child is his?” Kassandra asked, as the plan started to take on an edge of feasibility.
“That’s easy. Take one look at the kid when it’s born. See if it looks like him. If it’s fat, bald, and wrinkly, it’s his.”
“You know, Jewell, only a true friend would come up with something like this.”
“This ain’t the workin’s of a friend, missy It’s the dealin’s of a businesswoman, plain and simple. Now where’s the waiter with that duck? I’m like to starve to death.”
lthough Jewell’s idea may have had its origins in jest, it wasn’t long before the idea of marrying Jimmy the banker took true form. Jewell steered any client other than he away from Kassandra, allowing her to focus her attentions and concoct her affections for the pudgy little bald man who showed his appreciation with lavish gifts and frequent visits.
“Just look at our Sadie,” Jewell would say the minute Jimmy stepped into the parlor. “Doesn’t she look lovely today?”
Jimmy would rub his pudgy little hands together, looking at Kassandra the way she imagined he looked at a nicely charred steak. “She sure does, Miss Gunn. She does indeed.”
“You might say she’s positively glowin’,” Jewell would add, sending Kassandra a broad wink behind Jimmy’s back and erupting into her trademark wheezing laughter when Kassandra narrowed her eyes in silent chastisement.
“Do not listen to her,” Kassandra would add, taking Jimmy’s arm in fawning possession. “I’m the same old horse-faced girl I ever was.” Then, having settled up with Jewell, she made her way upstairs with Jimmy following close behind. After Jimmy’s almost ritualistic visits, Kassandra would open her window and look out in the street just in time to see him leaving the house. She never called out to him or made any noise she could remember, but he’d turn anyway and see her leaning against the sash.
“Good night, my love!” he’d say, blowing her a broad kiss. “Until we meet again!”
Kassandra would smile in return, put her hand to her breast in a pantomime of a grand romantic flutter, then step away from her window and put out her light, wondering just how she could resign herself to joining her life with this man.
“It seems wrong,” she said to Jewell late one night when all the other girls were either workin
g or sleeping and the two women sat together on a large wooden swing on the front porch. Jewell’s weight caused it to sag a bit on one side, so Kassandra sat with her back flush against the opposite end, one leg keeping her braced upright, the other guiding her bare foot against the smooth porch floor as she kept the swing moving in a slow, creaking motion. She didn’t feel well—just a little stomach bug, some cramping—but enough to have begged the night off. Jewell, in a rare moment of understanding, agreed, and the two women had spent the better part of the evening sitting out on the swing, talking. And not talking. The summer night was chilly, and Kassandra wore Imogene’s shawl wrapped around her shoulders over her nightgown.
“I do not like deceiving him.”
Jewell laughed as she exhaled a puff of smoke from her cigarette. “You’re a whore, honey. It’s what you do.”
“I hate that word,” Kassandra said, shivering and pulling the shawl close about her.
“Don’t matter if you hate it. Don’t change what it is.”
“I was thinking tonight that if I go through with it, it won’t change anything. I don’t think I could ever love him—or even like him any more than I do right now. I will just be sharing his bed. Every night. I just won’t be getting paid for it.”
“Oh, you’ll be gettin’ paid all right, missy,” Jewell said, “an’ a fine sight moren what you’re gettin’ now. Think of it. A house. Carriage. Whatever that heart of yours desires. Plus a good daddy for your baby. I think women like me would be flat out of business if all these girls grew up with a good daddy.”
“I grew up with a wonderful father.” Kassandra looked up at the moon, a wide gray smear behind a haze of clouds.
“He know you’re here?”
“I don’t know.” He was on the other side of the country looking up at the same moon, wondering why she had left her newborn daughter in the arms of a relative stranger.
“I bet he don’t,” Jewell said. “If he’s as good a daddy as you say, he wouldn’t be able to live with himself knowin’ you’re here.”
Speak Through the Wind Page 27
