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And now, Eddy. For the first time since leaving Virginia City he allowed himself to think about her fully. He was drawn not only to her beauty but to her strength and determination to carve out a better life. He thought back on the story she'd told about how hard life had been after the death of her parents and he was moved all over again. Was it any wonder that he'd become so affected by her in such a short span of time? Were he his true self, he'd waste no time pursuing her, but he wasn't, and therein lay the problem. The man he was pretending to be had nothing honorable to offer. When he left her at Sylvia's that evening, he'd tried to convince himself that putting her out of his mind would be easy, but so far his mind was refusing to play along.

I
t took two more days of bed rest for Eddy to get back on her feet, but if Mrs. Stewart had had her way, the stay would've lasted longer. While waiting to be officially released, Eddy endured more burned food and continued to use the aloe concoction on her hands and face. Although she was unfamiliar with the plant and its benefits, she was glad for Mrs. Stewart's expertise because it was helping her skin heal and dulling the pain of the burns.

However, having worked from sunup to sundown most of her adult life, lazing around in bed was not only still frustrating, it also gave birth to a strong sense of guilt. Each time Mrs. Stewart brought in a tray of food, Eddy wondered if she was eating the kind woman out of house and home.

On the third day, when Mrs. Stewart entered the room carrying the breakfast tray, Eddy was on her feet and dressed.

“What are you doing up?”

“I'm ready to begin earning my keep. What chores need doing?”

“Eddy, I—­”

“Please, I'm done lying in bed, and I'm strong enough to help out, so I start today.”

“Not used to following orders, are you?” Mrs. Stewart asked, sounding amused.

“No, ma'am.”

“Then the two of us are going to get along just fine. I don't follow orders well either.”

Eddy eyed the burnt breakfast on the tray.

Mrs. Stewart saw the look. “You're welcome to make your own breakfast if you like.”

“I'll do it tomorrow. I don't want to waste food.”

“Honey, I've been wasting food since you arrived. Go fix you something to eat. There's plenty.”

Eddy took the tray from her hand. “Tomorrow.”

The action caused Mrs. Stewart to view her silently before replying knowingly. “Yes. We're going to get along real well.”

Eddy forced herself not to mind that the bacon, eggs, and toast were again all burned. Washing the charred tastes down with a cup of coffee, she picked up the tray and left the room.

Even though it her first full day on her feet and she felt well, she knew better than to overdo it, so she descended the stairs slowly to the main floor. At the bottom of the staircase was a large room that held a number of small tables with two chairs each. She wondered if it was the common room where the boarders took their meals.

She found Mrs. Stewart in the big kitchen attached to the back of the house that Rhine had carried her through on the night she arrived. Rather than wonder if he'd returned from San Francisco, she took a look around. There was a large modern stove, a sink, lengths of countertops, and a slew of cabinets. The kitchen walls were screened to let in the outside air. “So, what would you like for me to do, Mrs. Stewart?”

“First, I'd like for you to call me Sylvia or Sylvie. Mrs. Stewart is reserved for boarders and the like.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“Now, let's talk duties and wages. Have a seat.” She gestured at the table in the center of the room and Eddy complied. “So, how well do you cook?”

“Rather well, I'm told. My mother made her living as a cook to wealthy families in Denver and I grew up helping her. I'm experienced with steaks, quail, trout, and everything in between. I've cooked for individuals, families, and large to-­dos like banquets and weddings. I do well with cakes, tarts, pickling, marmalades, jellies, and pies.”

“Breads?”

Eddy nodded.

“Excellent. You'll be preparing breakfast and dinner for the boarders daily. I open the dining room to the public three days a week: Tuesday, Thursdays, and Sundays, with Sunday being the busiest day. Can you handle all that?”

“Yes. How many boarders, and how many people come on Sundays?”

“I have three boarders, and usually ten to fifteen people on Sunday. Too many?”

“Not at all.” In fact, Eddy couldn't believe how small a cooking job this would be. During her years at the hotel, she and the staff fed at least fifty people daily.

They talked wages next, and when told how much her weekly pay would be, she asked, “What other chores will you be wanting me to do?”

“None. Just cooking.”

The proposed amount was twice what she was paid as a cook before being demoted to scrubbing floors. “No floors or wash?”

“No, I have other people to do those.”

Eddy wasn't sure how to respond.

Mrs. Stewart explained, “If you're as good a cook as you say you are, I don't want you hired away by someone who'll promise to pay you more. There's a lot of money here in Virginia City, and the wealthy have the means to pay for the best.”

“I see.” She wondered if Sylvia Stewart was one of those wealthy residents.

“So, since you haven't seen the city, let me give you a tour. You need to meet some of the farmers and storekeepers you'll be dealing with and learn your way around. Later you can meet the boarders. Gabe Horne works in the mines, Whitman Brown works at one of the banks and is also a Baptist preacher. August Williams is a dishwasher at one of the hotels.”

“There's a hotel here?”

“Yes, which is why I'm paying you so well. I don't want you deserting me.”

“Don't worry. While I'm here, I'm all yours. I owe you a lot for taking me in and offering me work.” Then she thought of something she needed to make clear. “I left Denver to go to California, and soon as I save up enough money, I'll be moving on.”

“Understood.”

“Thank you very much for the job.”

“And thank you for arriving right on time. Let's take that tour.”

While Sylvia drove the small buckboard pulled by an old mare named Dilly, Eddy took in Virginia City. According to Sylvia, the initial silver strike in 1859 turned penniless miners into millionaires who built mansions, imported fancy furniture and smoked even fancier cigars. With all that money they also built churches, business establishments, and the International House hotel that Sylvia told her had one hundred rooms and an elevator. There were gaslights lining the streets and sewer lines beneath the city, thus making it more cosmopolitan than she'd imagined. Many of the buildings were made of brick and had fancy glass windows. There were a large number of saloons, and it seemed as if the owners were in some kind of competition to see who had the fanciest doors. Most were very ornate and sported not only glazed glass windows but intricate gold leaf lettering and etched carvings.

As they drove past Piper's Opera House, Sylvia said, “It's known for its high-­toned entertainment, but for all of Virginia City calling itself a Republican town, we're not welcomed.”

Seeing the place made her think of her last evening with Rhine. “Is there much bigotry here?”

“Some of it's subtle and some of it isn't. For example, I told you about Piper's not welcoming us.”

“Yes, you did.”

“None of the Whites here will patronize Rhine Fontaine's Union Saloon because it caters to the Colored community. On the other hand, the local schools aren't segregated.”

“That's something,” Eddy remarked, and wondered how Fontaine felt about not being patronized by his own kind.

Eddy was told that there were nearly 25,000 residents in the gaslit city, but the Colored community numbered less than a hundred.

“And most of them are men. You can count the number of ladies here on less than both hands. Good thing you're not staying, otherwise you'd be beating the men off with your frying pan.”

Eddy smiled at the picture that created in her mind.

“There's a large group of Chinese though. They settled in after helping build the railroads. Lots of Paiute Indians, Irish, Cornish, and Englishmen live here, too.”

As the tour continued, Sylvia pointed out Vera's dress shop. “She's the best seamstress in town.”

The place was on Main Street, and two beautifully gowned dress forms were displayed in the big glass windows. Eddy met the fishmonger, a Colored man from Louisiana named Amos Granger and Mr. Carter, one of the local barbers who shared his business with hairdresser Janet Foster. Sylvia then stopped so Eddy could meet Mr. Rossetti, who owned and operated one of the town's general stores and markets. As they drove along, Eddy saw chickens walking along some of the main streets.

“We have farms interspersed with the buildings,” Sylvia offered in explanation. “But many of the wild chickens once belonged to Lady Ruby before they escaped and struck out on their own.”

“Who's Lady Ruby?”

“A madam. Owns one of the bordellos—­Lady Ruby's Silver Palace. Has a number of coops behind the place and her chickens lay some of the best eggs around. It's where I get my eggs.”

Eddy had never heard of an egg-­selling madam.

“She's from the West Indies and is quite a character. The Stanford twins over at the orphanage freed some of the chickens. Those little boys are something.”

“There's an orphanage?”

“Yes. Run by a former nun named Mary. We'll go by there later in the week so you can meet her. Wonderful lady. Many in the community do our best to help her out whenever we can because she takes in Colored children.”

Eddy looked forward to making her acquaintance.

During the entire tour, the earthshaking noise of the mine machinery filled her ears, and Eddy was still convinced she'd never get used to it.

As they drove on she spotted fashionably dressed women carrying parasols and men in suits and bowler hats moving singularly and in pairs on the crowded city walks. She wondered what kind of lives they led and what it was like to live in the desert city. The air was certainly warmer than in Denver. It would probably take her as long to get accustomed to the heat as it would to the constant drone of the mining machinery. As Sylvie turned a corner, they came up on a construction site. Men of all races were laying brick, toting lumber, and wielding hammers. “What are they building?”

“A new bank, from what I've been hearing. Ah, there's Ezekiel Reynolds.” She pulled back on the reins. “He's someone I want you to meet.”

A Colored man looked up from his sawing and upon seeing them showed a smile that lit up his handsome brown face. He called out, “Hey there, Miss Sylvie.”

“Hi, Zeke.”

“Who's that pretty lady with you?”

“My new cook. Come, let me introduce you.”

The man said something to one of the Chinese workers, wiped his hands on a rag and walked over.

While he turned his smile on Eddy, Sylvie said, “Zeke. Miss Eddy Carmichael. Eddy, Ezekiel Reynolds. He's one of our Republican leaders. Works tirelessly on our behalf.”

Eddy nodded a greeting. “Pleased to meet you.”

“Same here.”

“Eddy's from Denver.”

“Denver's loss is our gain. Welcome to Virginia City.”

“Thank you.”

“You planning on putting down roots?”

“No. I'm going on to California, hopefully before winter.”

“Pity. Pretty woman like you would give us poor men someone to look forward to seeing every day.”

He was a charmer.

“How'd the Reno meeting go?” Sylvie asked him.

He sighed. “Not well. Doc and I will talk about it at the next Lincoln Club meeting. Some of what's happening in the South is starting to draw concern.”

Sylvie explained. “The Lincoln Club is our Republicans committee. They keep us abreast of what's happening with the race both here and across the country.”

Eddy was pleased to hear that. It spoke to the progressiveness of the community. There'd been a similar group in Denver.

“Zeke, we won't hold you any longer. I just wanted Eddy to meet you.”

“I'm glad you did. You should bring her to the baseball game. Be a nice way to introduce her around.”

“That's a wonderful idea.”

“Do you enjoy baseball?” he asked Eddy.

“I do. My father played on a team when I was growing up.”

That seemed to please him. “We play the White Republicans once a year to raise funds for the cause. Proud to say, we've beaten them three years running and I don't see that changing this year.”

Even as Zeke held her eyes, Eddy wondered if Rhine played for the other side.

Sylvie brought the short interlude to a close. “We'll see you there.”

He nodded and said to Eddy, “Nice meeting you, Miss Eddy. Looking forward to seeing you at the game.”

“Same here.”

He walked back to the site, and as Sylvie got Dilly moving again, Eddy glanced over and found Zeke Reynolds still watching her. He nodded. She nodded in reply and was shyly pleased by his obvious interest.

“He's a nice man,” Sylvie pointed out. “Owns a carpentry business and is very much in demand in the area. He's the cousin of our boarder August. Zeke's also unmarried.”

“You aren't going to be playing matchmaker, are you?”

“Who me?” she asked innocently. “Of course not. I was just letting you know about him.”

Eddy chuckled. “I see.”

Chapter Seven

T
he next day, as Eddy walked through the streets on her way to do business with Amos Granger the fishmonger, she felt like a bird freed from its cage. The morning air was already stifling, but she didn't let it foul her mood. She was no longer confined to bed and there was a pep in her step because of it. Sylvia tried to convince to her to drive for the errand, but Eddy had walked everywhere in Denver and she wanted to see the city. Besides, the shop wasn't that far away. Most of the Whites she passed looked through her. Accustomed to being invisible to them, she didn't let that impact her mood either. The Colored people she passed eyed her curiously and she assumed it was because she was a new face. They nodded politely, however, and she responded in kind.

Entering the fishmonger's establishment, shemet the steady eyes of the very large Amos Granger. Were he made of bricks, he could've passed as a building on the street. “Good afternoon, Mr. Granger.”

He nodded. She could tell by the way he was studying her that he was trying to place her face, and then he said. “You were the little lady with Sylvia yesterday.”

“Yes, sir. I'm Eddy Carmichael, Sylvia Stewart's new cook.”

“Howdy-­do, Miss Carmichael. What can I do for you?”

“I'm interested in buying some of your fish.”

“Bass or trout?”

“Whatever you have the most of.”

“Bass.” He walked over to a large wooden barrel and removed the top. Reaching in, he extracted one from the ice inside.

Eddy took it from his hand and gave the frigid fish a good sniff. He eyed her silently, and she wondered if she'd offended him. If she wanted to do business with him in the future it wouldn't do to start off on the wrong foot. “No offense, sir, but I wanted to make sure they were fresh.”

“None taken. It lets me know you know what you're doing. How many do you want?”

Not real certain just how much the boarders would eat, she decided to err on the side of more than not enough. If she purchased too much, she could always make soup or chowder, although the thought of serving either in this heat made her perspire even more.

“You want me to gut and scale them?”

“No. I can do it myself.”

“You sure?”

“Positive. I've been doing both most of my life.”

He seemed pleased by that and put her fish in a brown bag along with a small bit of ice. “Anything else?” he asked, handing Eddy her purchase.

“Yes. Sylvia's is open to the public on Thursdays and I'd like to do a weekly fish fry. Would you have enough to supply me each week?”

He paused for a moment. “I do, but I'd have to short some of my other customers and that's not really good for business.”

“I see.” Eddy really wanted to do the fish fry because she knew it would be a profitable venture. She eyed the fishmonger. He looked like a man who enjoyed eating. “I understand about your other customers, but suppose, just suppose in addition to paying you for the catch, I throw in your favorite dessert. Say, twice a month. Would that be enough compensation, Mr. Granger?”

When a smile lit up his face, she knew she had a deal.

R
hine's first order of business upon returning to Virginia City from his three days visit to San Francisco was to attend the scheduled city council meeting. It was billed as an agenda meeting and therefore closed to the public. He was tired after the traveling and would've preferred resting up, but council business could be volatile at times, as different factions volleyed to put their own stamp on the city, so he had to show. Upon entering the room at the town hall he was greeted by Natalie's father.

“Welcome back, Rhine. How was the big city?”

Rhine took a seat at the table. “Thanks, Lyman. Just fine.”

“Does Nat know you're back?”

“Not yet, but we're having dinner later. I'll see her then.”

Lyman nodded approvingly and took his seat. The other six members, including council president Daniel Watson, greeted each other, and after a few minutes of chitchat the meeting was officially called to order. On the agenda under old business was the ongoing discussion about where to place the new cemetery. Even though mining had slowed a bit, no one wanted to place a cemetery on open land that might one day yield silver ore, so the decision was tabled once again. Other old business dealt with whether to sic the sheriff on the businesses behind on their taxes, and finding money in the budget to replace or repair a number of the nonworking gaslights along Main Street. They then moved on to new business, and Rhine didn't bother hiding his disgust with fellow councilman Clyde Swain's proposal to segregate the city's schools. Called Wally behind his back due to his corpulent body and the heavily waxed, turned up mustache that made him resemble a walrus, Swain was in Rhine's mind everything that was wrong with the present day Republican party.

“So, Swain,” Rhine said, interrupting the man's bigoted soliloquy on the advantages of the plan. “Are you proposing we build a separate school for the children you mean to displace?”

“Of course not.”

“Then where are they to get their education?”

He shrugged as if not caring. “I'm sure their folks can come up with something. It's unseemly for my children to have to sit in the classroom with them. Let them build a school of their own. It's being done in other places around the country.”

Natalie's father Lyman tried reasoning. “Clyde, there are only three of their children in our schools.”

“All in my daughter's classroom,” he tossed back angrily. “How would you like it if it were Natalie?”

“She wouldn't care, nor would her mother or I.”

Wendell Barnum, Swain's brother-­in-­law, spoke up. “Other states are keeping Coloreds out of their schools and I think we should follow suit.”

“And I don't,” Rhine countered.

“Neither do I,” said Patrick McFarland. McFarland was a saloon owner, too, and although he didn't openly encourage Colored patronage he didn't openly bar them either. However, being Irish, he knew how it felt to have the boot of bigotry on his neck.

Swain huffed, “I say we vote.”

The six men at the table turned to council president, Daniel Watson. Watson, a reasonable man, said, “You don't have the votes, Clyde. Let's move on.”

“But!”

“Let's move on. I could maybe support a look at your proposal if there were hundreds of Colored children, but not for three.”

Swain's face twisted with anger and he sat back forcefully against his chair.

The next order of business was of particular interest to both Rhine and McFarland. A newly formed group of woman who'd organized to rid the city of vice wanted a permit to hold a march.

McFarland asked, “Do we have to grant them a permit?”

Watson said, “Since my wife is one of the organizers. Yes.”

Rhine was torn between amusement and ire. The last thing any of the saloon owners wanted was a gaggle of women kneeling in prayer in front of their establishments or taking up axes in their misguided efforts to “clean up” the city.

Watson said, “They'll be marching two weeks from today. I've told my wife—­any damage to buildings will get them arrested.”

Rhine was thankful for that at least. It was bad enough that some of the other business owners in the city wanted to raise the taxes on the vice establishments, as the saloons, bordellos, shooting galleries, and dice palaces had come to be called. So far the council had not seen fit to put the proposals to a vote, but now he was having to deal with a bunch do-­gooder ladies as well. He wasn't pleased with this newest assault on his livelihood, and hoped Natalie wouldn't be among those marching.

With nothing else pressing on the agenda, the meeting adjourned a few minutes later. Rhine ignored Swain's angry glare, said good-­bye to everyone else and left the room. Although he would be meeting Natalie for dinner, the urge to see how Eddy was faring was stronger, bedeviling him since getting off the train, so instead of driving to the Union like he was supposed to do, he turned the Rockaway towards Sylvia's boardinghouse.

E
ddy was out in back of Sylvia's scaling the fish she planned to serve to the boarders for dinner when Rhine Fontaine's carriage pulled up. Every effort she'd made to keep him out of mind suddenly dissolved and she fought to keep her features schooled.

When he reached her, he inclined his head politely. “Miss Carmichael.”

His green eyes were even more arresting than she remembered and her heart thumped madly. “Mr. Fontaine. How are you?” she asked lightly.

“I'm well. Thought I'd stop by and see how you were getting along.”

“I'm fine. Up and around as you can see. How was San Francisco?” To maintain the distance she needed from his tempting presence, she began filleting the fish she'd already scaled.

“Good. I spent time with my brother and his wife and saw to some business matters. Are you settling in?”

“I am.”

“Sylvie treating you well?”

“Yes. She's a wonderful woman.” Eddy hoped he'd only stopped by to make good on his pledge to check up on her and would leave directly. “How's Mr. Dade?” she asked.

“Ornery as ever. He sends his regards.”

“Please give him mine.”

“I will.” He watched silently as she worked. “You wield a very wicked knife, Miss Carmichael.”

She chuckled in spite of herself. “Years of practice. This will be my first time feeding Sylvie's boarders. Just hoping I don't burn anything.”

“I doubt that will happen.”

“When you cook, anything can happen.” Getting accustomed to a new stove could be tricky, and she was very nervous about how the meal would turn out, but his presence had her even more at sixes and sevens. “I really need to get this fish done.”

A small smile curved his lips. “Is this your polite way of telling me to be on my way?”

“Yes.”

For a moment he didn't say anything, and a silence rose thick with all that had to remain unsaid. “You have a scale on your cheek,” he told her.

When he reached for it, Eddy gently backed out of range and brushed it away with a blind hand. “I'm covered with them,” she added with false amusement, in yet another attempt to keep the conversation light. In truth, as much as she wanted to feel his touch, she didn't want the memory of it added to the inner turmoil she was already battling because of him.

If he was offended, he didn't show it. “Have dinner with me.”

Her heart was pounding so loudly she was certain he could hear it, but she kept her wits about her. She studied him with his fine good looks and even finer clothes. “Will your fiancée be joining us?” she asked pointedly.

His head dropped.

“I had no idea you were a dishonorable man, Mr. Fontaine.”

“I'm not.” He added, “At least not usually.”

“Then you should go home.”

A long moment passed. “Eddy, I—­”

“I have work to do, Rhine,” she said quietly.

He looked off into the distance for a moment, then turned back and nodded tersely. “My apologies.”

She watched him walk back to his carriage and drive away. Confident she'd done the right thing, she returned to the fish.

A
s Rhine drove off to meet Natalie for dinner, he tried to put his finger on how he felt in the wake of Eddy's response to his invitation.
Humbled
. He'd never had a woman back away from his touch before, but then he'd never met a woman like Eddy Carmichael before. Considering how fragile and near death she'd been when he and Jim came across her in the desert, seeing her fully recovered was immensely pleasing. However, she was like a fish knife through the chest of a man's ego. She apparently didn't care that he was wealthy, charming, or that women had found him irresistible since birth. He had a fiancée, and although they hadn't talked about it directly, he knew he was the wrong race. Rhine considered himself to be a man of honor, and as one already engaged he was supposed to be leaving her alone, but something inside still refused to listen.

“
S
o, when does the saloon go on sale?”

Rhine paused over his glass of wine and studied Natalie's hopeful eyes. He set the glass down. “Are you ready to order?” They were eating at McGuire's, one of the fanciest and most exclusive places in town. The place was crowded but he had no appetite.

She smiled at him over her menu. “Rhine, I know that's why you went to San Francisco, so stop teasing me. When?”

He had one woman in his life that he couldn't have, and a woman he did have that he'd begun to question his future with. “Have you decided what you want to eat, Natalie?”

“Oh all right, pull my leg a bit longer.”

The waiter came over. Natalie ordered the lamb and Rhine chose a steak. When the waiter thanked them and left to take their requests to the kitchen, Natalie said, “Since you're so intent upon making me wait for my surprise, I'd like you to accompany me to Vera's dress shop so I can pick out my wedding costume.”

“When?”

“Sometime soon. Whenever your schedule allows.”

He nodded. “I'll let you know.”

“Before the end of the month, though, Rhine.”

“Understood.” He picked up his wineglass and wished for something much stronger.

“You're awfully solemn,” she said. “I know you were keen on keeping the saloon, but selling it is for the best. You'll see.”

He wanted to yell at her, but having never yelled at a woman in his life, ever, he signaled for more wine.

As he drove her home after the meal, she linked her arm with his and leaned close. “Thank you.”

“You're welcome. McGuire's always has fine food.”

“They do, but I'm saying thank you for selling the saloon.”