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Rhine had agreed to have lunch with her and her mother. Out of disapproval with her rudeness, he would have preferred to drop her at the door and go on about his day, but when they reached her home, he stopped the buggy, came around and handed her down. “Are you still upset?” she asked, looking into his eyes.

“No.”

“Your eyes say something different.”

“Let's go in. We don't want to keep your mother waiting.”

Inside the spacious mansion, they handed their hats and gloves to the Chinese houseman and Natalie led Rhine into the dining room where her mother Beatrice sat waiting.

He walked over and kissed her cheek. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Greer.”

“Hello, Rhine. You survived the dress shop, I see.”

“I did,” he said distantly. After helping Natalie with her chair he took a seat.

Natalie said, “He's upset.”

Beatrice, dressed in the finery befitting her station, looked between the two. “What happened?”

Natalie blew out a breath. “I didn't speak to a little Colored cook at the dress shop, and he says I embarrassed him.”

Conversation stopped as the Chinese maid brought in their soup. Rhine nodded his thanks to the woman, and after she exited, he explained, “I reminded Natalie that once we marry we'll be opening our home to people like Miss Carmichael and that rudeness didn't become her.”

“He's right of course, Natalie.”

Natalie started in on her soup. “Having them in our home will be something I can't avoid, but I don't see why I have to acknowledge them publicly.”

Rhine tried to mask his annoyance but apparently failed.

“I'm simply being honest,” she said in defense. “I understand that you have a misguided fascination with them, and I'm willing to overlook it, but you should be just as tolerant of my
lack
of fascination.”

Rhine reminded himself that she was only twenty years old and that she'd led a sheltered, privileged life. That she didn't seem to be bothered by her lack of charity didn't sit well, however.

Her mother said, “Natalie, your father and I were staunch abolitionists, as were your grandparents. They even entertained the great Frederick Douglass himself, so I'm not sure where this stance of yours is rooted.”

“It's rooted in my ability to form my own opinions, Mother.”

Beatrice must've seen the flash of disdain in Rhine's eyes and added hastily, “An opinion I'm sure you'll amend once you think long and hard about it.”

“We'll see, but in the meantime this entire tempest in a teacup has given me a headache. I'm going to up my room and lie down.” She pushed back from the table and stood. “Rhine darling, I'll see you later.”

He stood politely and watched her go.

When he retook his seat, Beatrice said, “I wouldn't put much stock in this so called opinion of hers, Rhine. She has abolitionism in her blood. She'll come to her senses.”

Because of her beauty, he thought she might be the wife for him and the mother of any children he might sire. Admittedly, his own shallowness caused him to use that as a standard and overlook Natalie's lack of interest in anything but herself. She was stunning to look at—­what more did he need? Now, he knew better and had no one to blame but himself. She didn't read the newspapers, had no knowledge of national or world affairs, and after witnessing today's rude behavior and listening to her attempt to justify it, he had more trouble seeing himself married to her. “Natalie and I may not be evenly yoked, Mrs. Greer.”

“Oh don't be silly. As I said, she'll come to her senses. I'll have her father speak to her. By tomorrow this little matter will be water over the dam. You'll see.”

“I'm not so sure. She's been pressuring me to sell the saloon.”

“Honestly, I can see why she's uncomfortable with your ownership, and it might help if you reconsidered her reasons. People have been whispering about your place since the day the doors opened. No wife wants to be the subject of gossips.”

Rhine offered a bitter chuckle. “Then maybe I should cry off, because I'm not selling the Union.”

She stiffened in reaction.

Rhine stood and inclined his head. “Thank you for the meal, Mrs. Greer. Now, if you'll excuse me.” He made his exit.

“Rhine!”

He didn't look back.

On the drive to the saloon an irritated Rhine thought about the many reasons he refused to sell the Union. First and foremost it was his, and gossiping aside, only he had the right to decide whether to place it on the block. Secondly, having been a slave who'd never owned so much as the clothes on his back, reaping the benefits of a profitable business whose deed bore his name meant a great deal. It also meant a great deal to his patrons, not only socially but economically. Three years ago, when Cecil Roland came to town and couldn't find anyone who'd lease him space to open his blacksmith shop, Rhine offered up one of the properties he owned, just as he'd done for two of the town's barbers and a laundress. The investments turned out to be good ones, as all four businesses were thriving. As owner of the Union, he helped purchase Bibles for the Baptist church—­even though he had a keen dislike for the pompous Whitman Brown—­and helped pay for the train ticket needed by Zeke Reynold to accompany Doc Randolph to one of the civil rights conventions held last year. With all that in mind, selling the Union might make Natalie and the gossip harpies happy but it would have a very negative impact on the Colored community, and Rhine refused to be party to that.

Turning his carriage onto the main street, he decided to stop in and see the old fishmonger, Amos Granger. The Thursday night fish fry was one of the Union Saloon's most profitable events. Rhine hoped to convince the man to modify his decision to sell their usual supply to Miss Eddy Carmichael.

When Rhine walked in, Granger looked up from the fish he was gutting. “I suppose you're here about your fish.”

“I am.”

“Not changing my mind, Rhine. To have that pretty little thing come into my shop, I'd sell her my entire catch seven days a week. Be glad she only asked for one day.”

Rhine's amusement made him smile. “She is quite lovely, isn't she.”

“Make an old man like me wish I wasn't. Real fine cook, too.”

“So I hear. She's taking my customers.”

“The way that girl cooks, you'll be lucky to have any customers at all if she stays around.”

Rhine had been wondering if she was still planning on striking out for California. Not wanting Granger or anyone else knowing she'd spent those first few days at the Union, he said, “Sylvie told me she was on her way to California when the man who was driving her across the desert robbed her and put her off the wagon.”

“That's what I heard, too. If I ever come across him, I'll gut him just like a fish. You don't do a lady that way.”

Rhine wanted to gut the unknown man as well.

“So, not changing my mind about the fish,” Granger added. “You and Jim will just have to pick out another night for the fish fry.”

“You're a cold man, Amos Granger.”

“Turn yourself into a woman as beautiful as Miss Eddy and promise me my favorite dessert twice a month and I may reconsider.”

Rhine laughed. “She bribed you?”

“Sure did, and I took it like a politician at the state capital.”

“Fine. We'll pick another night.”

Granger nodded and went back to his gutting. Rhine left the shop and climbed back into his carriage.

So little Miss Eddy had Granger in the palm of her hand, too. Who else would she be impacting? he wondered. Even though he knew setting out for California was her dream, it didn't mean he had to like the idea of her leaving. Their truce notwithstanding, he selfishly wanted her to remain in the city, if for no other reason than to be able to run into her every now and again on the streets or at events. He admired the way she'd handled Natalie's gracelessness at Vera's. Thinking back on the incident brought to mind the dilemma his fiancée posed. Until today he'd had no idea how intolerant she was. Bigoted, was more the word if he were being honest. Her behavior in the shop and her words at the table added up to someone he found not only surprising but distasteful. He'd already made the difficult decision to cross the color line. Would he be able to stomach marriage to a woman who had nothing but disdain for the blood running through his veins, too? And what if they had children? Would they grow up mirroring that same intolerance? And because he knew the answer to that question, he couldn't marry her. Not and live with himself.

That evening, he paid a call on the Greer family and found them at dinner. He met Natalie's smiling eyes only long enough to nod a cool greeting. “My apology for showing up unannounced and interrupting your dinner, but Lyman, I'd like to speak with you privately if I may.”

Lyman paused and shared a quick silent look with his wife before placing his linen napkin beside his plate. “Certainly. Let's go into my study.”

Once inside, Lyman closed the door and gestured Rhine to a chair. “What is this about?” he asked, taking a seat in the chair behind his desk.

“I've decided Natalie and I don't suit.”

“Beatrice told me what happened, but rest assured, I've spoken with my daughter and she has seen the error of her ways.”

“It's not that simple, Lyman, and we both know it.”

“Surely you aren't going to break things off over one silly little incident?”

“You may consider it silly, but coupled with her insistence that I sell my business, I see nothing but tears and disagreements ahead. I'd like to spare her that and allow her to seek a husband who won't subject her to gossip or make her a laughingstock, as she's termed it.”

“Rhine, I think you're overreacting. Natalie would make a perfect wife.”

“Not for me, nor would I make the perfect husband for her, Lyman.”

“This doesn't sit well with me, and I insist that for my daughter's sake you reconsider this decision. I can make things very difficult for you going forward, politically. Remember, my vote was the one to break the tie. Only because of your connection to Natalie have I remained on your side.”

Rhine offered a smile that didn't meet his eyes. “Is that a threat, Lyman? Are you forgetting who owns this house?”

Lyman went ashen.

Beatrice Greer had no idea how much her town councilman husband loved to gamble, or how lousy he was at that love. Two years ago, in a poker game in the Union's back room, Lyman had wagered the deed to their home in order to cover a bet his funds could not. Rhine now owned that deed.

Lyman was visibly shaken. “Of course not.”

“It sounded as if you might have.”

“Rhine, please. This will break Natalie's heart, and once word gets out—­”

“She can save face by saying she threw me over. I've no problem with being thought the cad. She's also welcome to keep the ring if she cares to.”

“And the deed?”

“I'll keep it in play for now, just in case you suffer another case of amnesia.” Rhine had genuinely liked Lyman, but his threat now changed things.

“Will you at least have the decency not to court anyone else in the immediate future?”

“I've no plans to. I've no desire to cause your daughter any more hurt than is necessary.”

“Then I suppose we are done here.”

“Unless you think I should tell your daughter myself.”

“No,” he said tightly. “I'll break the news to her.”

“As you wish.” Rhine got to his feet. “It will be impossible for us to avoid each other socially, but I assure you I will be a gentleman should we meet.”

Lyman offered no such pledge in return.

Rhine didn't mind. “I'll show myself out.”

On the drive through the darkened streets back to his saloon, he admittedly felt a strong sense of relief. Breaking the engagement had been unpleasant but the right thing to do. Natalie would find another fiancé and he would go on with his life. If he had to remain unmarried for the rest of his life, so be it, but if he did marry, the least he could do was honor his mother's ultimate sacrifice by finding a woman who didn't hold her and the Old Queens he was descended from in contempt. In some ways such a pledge made little sense to a man who'd left his race, but to Rhine it made all the sense in the world.

Chapter Ten

T
he following morning, after preparing breakfast for the two early rising boarders and sending them off with wishes for a good, and in miner Gabe Horne's instance, safe day, Eddy was in the kitchen putting together Whitman Brown's omelet. He liked onions with the eggs, so she was chopping one when he sauntered in.

“Good morning, Eddy.”

She didn't look up. “Good morning.”

He came over to the table. “You know, it's a shame your skin is so dark. You're well spoken, clean, mannerly. You'd make someone a perfect wife, but—­”

She did look up then. “Do you always insult women with knives in their hands, Mr. Brown?”

Upon viewing the gleaming blade, his eyes widened. “Uh, um . . . ”

She pointed said knife at the doorway. “Leave.”

“I wasn't trying to insult you. I was just stating fact.”

“Go!”

He bid a hasty retreat.

Wondering where he'd been when the Good Lord began handing out brains, she went back to what she'd been doing.

Once his breakfast was ready, she took the piled-­high plate out to the dining room, placed it on the table in front of him, and without a word returned to the kitchen.

She was still grumbling to herself when Sylvia entered. Eddy asked her, “Why is Whitman Brown such an ass?”

Chuckling, Sylvia replied, “I believe his overly inflated head is responsible. Has he gotten your goat already this morning?”

Eddy related his backhanded compliment, to which Sylvia replied, “I do wish he'd find someplace else to board, but he always pays his rent on time, and because of your cooking the only way he'll probably leave will be when Mr. Pringle the undertaker hauls him away.”

“Arsenic can help that along you know.”

“True, but outside of killing my boarder, what are you planning for the day?”

“I have to go over to Vera's for my fittings,” she groused. “I also promised her treats for her customers, so I made a batch of sweet wafers last night and put the dough in the cold box. Once I bake them, I'll fancy them up by rolling them around a fork while they're still warm.”

“I've never seen that done before.”

“I'll bring you a few once they're ready. What are your plans for the day?”

“Going to Janet's and get my hair done, then attend this afternoon's meeting of the Lincoln Club over at Rhine's place. Would you care to come along?”

She remembered Sylvie talking about the club when she was first introduced to Zeke. Even though the meeting was being held at Fontaine's saloon, she was interested in what the group was doing on behalf of the race. She was also interested in finding out if Zeke had returned to the city. He'd left about a week ago to do some carpentry work up in Reno. “What time?”

“Around three.”

“Count me in.”

“Good.”

Sylvia departed and Eddy took her wafer dough out of the cold box and began rolling it out. Next, she used her smallest biscuit cutter to produce little circles, rolled each circle paper thin and placed them one by one on the tin baking sheet. Once they went into the oven, she had to kept an eye on them so they wouldn't burn. When they were done, she removed them from the sheet and gently rolled each wafer around the handle of a fork. They ended up resembling straws and would be a perfect accompaniment to whatever beverage Miss Vera planned to serve, be it coffee, tea, or punch. As promised, she took a few into Sylvia's office, along with a cup of coffee.

Sylvia took a bite and her soft moan of delight made Eddy smile and ask, “Good, aren't they?”

“Oh my, these are heavenly. Can we add these to our Sunday offerings?”

“I don't see why not.”

Eddy was glad she liked them. “I'm going to take the rest over to Miss Vera, and after my fittings, walk to the market. I need to speak to Mr. Rossetti about donating something for the auction, and he said he'd have some oranges in today. I'd like to buy as many as I can so I can make marmalade.”

Sylvia paused and her face lit up. “Marmalade? Eddy Carmichael, you make marmalade?”

“Yes. My mother taught me.”

“You know, I'm never letting you leave me. I don't care if you do have your heart set on California. You are staying here.”

A laughing Eddy left her alone.

V
era loved the sweet little wafer straws, too, as did her assistant Shanna. In fact, they ate so many, Eddy cautioned, “Vera, you aren't going to have any left for your customers.”

“I don't care. These are wonderful.” And she dipped the end of another one into the tea in her fancy china cup.

The door to the store opened and they all paused as Natalie Greer entered. She was wearing a nice gray walking dress with a little matching hat and carrying a fancy parasol in the same shade. She gave Eddy a cold glare before turning her attention to Vera. “Vera, I've come to cancel the wedding costume I picked out yesterday.”

“If you've changed your mind and want to look at other patterns, that's fine.”

“I won't need a costume. I've decided Rhine and I don't suit. The engagement's off.”

“I'm so sorry.”

“Don't be. I'm not.”

Eddy couldn't help but wonder why she'd tossed him over.

As if having read Eddy's mind, she volunteered, “I want him to sell his saloon, and since he refuses, I won't marry him.”

“I see.”

“I'll not be the subject of gossip.”

Vera simply nodded.

“Hopefully, rescinding the order won't be an inconvenience.”

“No, Miss Greer. My shop and I will be fine.”

“Good. Thank you for your understanding.” After glaring Eddy's way again, she and her dainty little hat and parasol swept out.

In the silence that followed, Vera cracked, “So, he finally came to his senses. It's about time.”

Shanna quipped, “And every eligible young lady in the state is singing hallelujah!”

Eddy found it interesting that even though the Greer woman claimed to have initiated the breakup, Vera thought otherwise.

Vera helped herself to another wafer. “Okay, Eddy, let's get your fittings done.”

K
ent stuck his head in the doorway of Rhine's office. “Natalie's outside. Says she wants to speak with you.”

Rhine, seated at his desk glanced up from the report he'd gotten from his brother Drew on the oil fields they were investing in.

“She doesn't look happy,” Kent commented.

Rhine pushed his chair back and stood. “She has good reason. I broke off our engagement last night.”

Kent's jaw dropped.

“I'll tell you the whole sad tale when I return.”

Outside, Rhine found her seated in the family carriage with their Chinese driver. “Good morning, Natalie.”

“I'm here to see if you've come to your senses. I can't believe you'd beg off over something so trivial.”

And therein lay the problem, he thought to himself, but he didn't want to argue. “We don't suit, Natalie. I'm sorry the engagement didn't work out the way we'd planned.”

“Then I'm returning your ring. I've no desire to keep it.” And she handed him the small velvet box. “I went by Vera's dress shop and cancelled the wedding costume.”

“Whatever's needed. As I told your father, you may place the blame squarely on my shoulders.”

“Don't worry, I will. That little Colored cook you were so quick to champion yesterday was at the dress shop. Maybe I'll spread the rumor that you're keeping company with her as my reason.”

His jaw tightened and his voice took on an ominous tone. “Don't stir waters that might flow back to drown you, Natalie. Just find yourself another fiancé and go on with your life.”

“I don't need your advice.” She tapped the driver on his arm with her parasol and said imperiously, “Drive on.”

As the carriage moved off, Rhine walked back inside. He'd never been a vindictive person, but if one drop of Natalie's venom splashed on Eddy Carmichael, she and her family would be living in a tent on the outskirts of town.

“Frankly, I never knew what you saw in her anyway,” Kent confessed after hearing Rhine's story. “She and I grew up together and she's never been the nicest person.”

“Beauty can blind you.”

“But it shouldn't make you stupid. Glad you came to your senses. Now she can be some other man's problem.”

Rhine smiled. “You really don't like her, do you?”

“Name me five people in town who do and I'll buy you a drink.” Kent smiled. “Now that you're free, how about going over to San Francisco with me sometime soon. I'll introduce you to a cathouse with the prettiest women you've ever seen.”

Rhine found the claim amusing. “I'll leave the cathouse kittens to you.” Kenton Randolph's unabashed love for the ladies was yet another point of contention in his ongoing disagreement with his father. Then again, rumor had it that the good doctor had broken his fair share of hearts in his younger days, too.

Kent asked, “Will you be around for the Lincoln Club meeting this afternoon?”

“I will, but only as host. I don't want my presence to get in the way of an open discussion.” The rift between Black and White Republicans was real. The men in his wing of the party were being lambasted for their perceived indifference to the ongoing bloody assault upon the South's freedmen. At the club's last meeting, Rhine had been called upon to explain the reasons for the silence and lack of outrage, but in truth he hadn't been able to. The party's choosing political power over supporting the hard-­earned rights of the formerly enslaved was indefensible, at least for him, so he'd play host and allow the meeting to progress without his participation.

“We value your support, Rhine.”

“I know, but a one man band is just that. I have no influence over the party's national agenda and it sticks in my craw as much as it does the people here. Is Jim preparing the food?”

“Yes. Says he needs lemons so he'll have enough lemonade. I'm on my way to Rossetti's to get them and save him the trip.”

“How about I go? I need the air.” He wanted to walk off the lingering effects of Natalie's maddening visit.

“Suit yourself. I'll help get the chairs and table set up.”

“How many lemons does he need?”

“Two dozen or so.”

Rhine nodded.

E
ddy was glad to finally escape all the accidental pinpricks that went with her hour long fittings. She liked the idea of having new clothing, but walking down to Mr. Rossetti's store she felt like a pin cushion. It was a nice day, however, and the warmth and sunshine felt wonderful. As she made her way down the walk, she garnered a few waves and nods from people she'd met through Sylvia, like the blacksmith, Cecil Roland, and the barber, Edgar Carter, who was sitting on the bench outside his shop. “Mornin' to you, Miss Eddy.”

“Good Morning, Mr. Carter. Are you still planning on donating those haircuts for the auction?”

“Sure am, and looking forward to some of your good cooking on Sunday.”

“Looking forward to serving you.”

She'd been talking up the auction during the dinners at the dining room and nearly everyone she'd approached eagerly agreed to either bid or donate something. Because no one in the community could be termed wealthy, she didn't expect to raise a lot of money, but every penny taken in would benefit Mary and the orphanage.

A few moments later she entered Mr. Rossetti's store. She knew from talking with him on a previous visit that the middle-­aged Spaniard's roots in the city went back to the days before the town was established, and that his first store had been nothing more than a tent on the side of Mount Davidson. Two years after the big 1859 Comstock strike, he'd built a permanent store to serve the influx of people and the growing town.

“Ah, the lovely Senorita Carmichael. How are you on this fine morning?”

“I am well, sir. And you and your family?”

“We are doing very well.”

Mr. Rossetti was short, with a bulbous nose, and had a bright engaging smile that could light up the night. She explained about the auction. “Can you donate something people can bid on?”

He thought for a moment. “What about a washing wringer?”

Eddy's jaw dropped. “Really?”

He led her over to the area of the store where he kept washtubs, soaps, and other laundry items, and there was a wringer set atop a crate. It was designed to be attached by screws to the side of a washtub, and by turning the handle, wet wash was fed between two tubes covered with India rubber. It was by far the best item the auction would offer so far. “Are you sure, Mr. Rossetti?” The devices weren't terribly expensive but they weren't cheap either.

“Yes. Very. A few years ago Sister Mary took in a little Mexican girl when the other orphanage turned her away. That little girl is now my daughter, Felicidad. And like her name, she has brought my wife and I nothing but happiness.”

The emotion in his voice touched Eddy's heart.

“I wish I had more to give than just a wringer.”

Eddy was so moved by the story it took her a moment to find her voice. “Thank you for your generosity, sir.”

“You're welcome. My wife and I pray for Sister Mary and the orphans every night. She is a saint in our eyes. Now, come. The oranges arrived yesterday.”

H
e led her past the dry goods, miners' equipment, and three ice cream churns for sale, to another area of the large store that held his perishables like cabbage, celery, cucumbers, and corn. Most of the vegetables came from the local farmers but the fruit came via trains from California. Eddy saw the large display of oranges and smiled. “May I buy a dozen or so?”

“You may buy two dozen if you like, there are more than enough.”