The Measure of a Lady (24 page)

chapter
22

J
ohnnie was looking to lease the Parker House. In the meanwhile, business carried on. But the taste had become so repellent in his mouth that he had decided, with or without a renter, he was closing the place down. Tomorrow.

He’d find places for Soda and Carmelita to work if he couldn’t keep them on himself. The men who rented tables, however, would easily find new posts within a day’s time.

A young man sidled up to Johnnie’s table and calmly placed a bag of nuggets atop it. Thirty thousand dollars worth of nuggets. Johnnie peered through the smoky haze to take the man’s measure.

He was old enough to shave but not old enough to grow a full beard. The fuzz above his lip made it look as if he needed to wipe his nose, and the spotty patches of hair on his cheeks begged for a razor.

‘‘Where are you from, son?’’ he asked.

‘‘Galveston, Texas.’’

‘‘You have family there?’’

‘‘Have me a wife and two little ones.’’

Pursing his lips, Johnnie shuffled the cards. ‘‘You placing a bet?’’

‘‘Sure am. I’m pundling down the whole caboodle.’’

‘‘I see.’’ Johnnie began to cut the cards over and over with one hand. ‘‘Thirty thousand in gold could last a lifetime in Galveston.’’

The boy grinned. ‘‘Yeah. But sixty thousand could last you two.’’

Johnnie chuckled. ‘‘You planning on living two lives?’’

‘‘Feels like I already have. One at home and one in Californy.’’

‘‘What’s your name?’’

‘‘George William Henry Harrison Jackson the Third.’’

Johnnie lifted one corner of his mouth. ‘‘Well, George William Henry Harrison Jackson the Third, tell me about your family.’’

George spent the next five minutes extolling the virtues of his wife, his boy, and his new baby girl. ‘‘Why, I been gone so long,’’ he continued, ‘‘I ain’t seen that baby since she was all pruned up from the birthin’.’’

Johnnie nodded. ‘‘I imagine having those little ones is quite a trial for your woman. Having you come home with thirty thousand in gold would impress not just her but her father, too, I’m wagering.’’

‘‘Hoo, ain’t that the truth. Her pa’d strut ’round town like a turkey gobbler in a hen pen.’’

Johnnie placed the cards face down on the table and looked the boy right in the eye. ‘‘You really willing to give all that up for one game of monte?’’

George narrowed his eyes. ‘‘You scared I’m gonna break the bank?’’

‘‘You’d need a thousand times that to break the bank. But if you pick that pouch up and put it in your pocket where it belongs, you could sail out of here on the next ship and go home a hero. And if I were you, that’s just what I’d do.’’

George scratched the back of his head, knocking his hat askew. ‘‘If that’s what you would do, then why haven’t you?’’

‘‘I don’t have a woman.’’

‘‘An old man like you? Why, I’d o’ thought you done had a whole passel of young’uns by now.’’

Johnnie shook his head. ‘‘Oh, I have somebody I’m sweet on, but she won’t have me because I’m a gambler.’’

‘‘Well, that’s a right shame.’’

Johnnie brightened. ‘‘Say, you might could help me out.’’

‘‘How’s that?’’

‘‘Well, my sunbonnet runs the cafe
right over there on the corner. The noon bell is due to ring any moment now. What would you think if you and I went over there right now and bought a meal from her?’’

The boy scratched his chin, clearly skeptical.

‘‘Then,’’ Johnnie continued, ‘‘when she serves us up, maybe you could mention to her how I wouldn’t let you gamble away your thirty thousand but instead had you take the next ship home?’’

Johnnie stood, not giving the boy a chance to consider. ‘‘You do this for me, and I’ll personally buy your ticket back to Texas. Then this time next month you’ll be with that woman of yours and the youngsters, too. What do you say?’’

George’s eyebrows lifted, and he stuck out his hand. ‘‘You got yerself a deal, pardner.’’

————

Johnnie made sure he knocked on the
front
door the following morning.

Rachel opened it wide and took a step back. ‘‘What do you have behind your back?’’

He kept himself face forward so she couldn’t see. ‘‘I can’t tell you yet. Now, go get me something to drink, woman. I’m near dying of thirst.’’

Smiling, she closed the door behind him, bolted it, and went to pour their coffee.

He stuffed the old flour sack underneath his seat, took off his hat, smoothed back his hair, and then rubbed clammy hands against his trousers.

‘‘Good morning,’’ she said softly, coming in with their cups.

‘‘Morning.’’

They sat, but he could no more take a swallow than play a harp with a hammer.

‘‘Is something wrong?’’

‘‘Not a thing,’’ he said.

She leaned back, taking a drink. ‘‘That was a wonderful gesture you made yesterday for George William Henry Harrison Jackson the Third.’’

He humphed. ‘‘Anybody with a name like that needs all the help he can get.’’

She smiled, her gaze never wavering.

‘‘What?’’ he asked.

‘‘Nothing, really. I’m just wondering what has you tied up in knots this morning.’’

How could she tell that? ‘‘I’m, um, I’m leasing the Parker House.’’

Her eyes widened. ‘‘Leasing it?’’

‘‘Yes. I’ve decided to get out of the saloon business.’’

She slowly straightened and set her cup on the table. ‘‘Oh?’’

He nodded.

‘‘What will you do then?’’

He again rubbed his hands against his legs and took a deep breath. ‘‘Well, actually, I was thinking I’d settle down. You know, with a wife. Maybe have a kid. Or two. Or twelve.’’

His words lingered, an echo of innuendo reverberating throughout the room. Preparing her. Preparing him. Raindrops began to tap on the big bay window.

‘‘And how are you planning to support your wife and twelve children if you are no longer running a gambling house?’’

He rested his forearms on the table. ‘‘Well, as it happens, I own a great deal of real estate here in San Francisco. I could support a family and then some on the rents alone.’’

She stared at her brew as if it held the secrets of the universe.

‘‘Rents from people who are running saloons?’’

Uh-oh. He slowed down.
Tread carefully, old boy. Tread carefully
.

‘‘I’m not sure what you mean,’’ he said.

She folded her hands and looked him square in the eye. ‘‘What I mean, Johnnie, is that if you lease the Parker House, your family will be living off the profits of a gambling den. Furthermore, you could find that your next renter decides to use your property as a brothel.

How would you feel about your children having a father who owns a gambling den and bawdy house?’’

He swallowed. ‘‘I don’t think I’d like that very much.’’

‘‘I don’t imagine your wife would, either.’’

‘‘So what are you saying?’’

‘‘I’m not saying a thing.’’

‘‘I could collect three hundred thousand dollars in rent fees from the Parker House, maybe even five hundred thousand. If I sold it outright, I’d stand to lose millions.’’

She took a sip of coffee.

‘‘Listen, Rachel. I can see your point about a bawdy house. I’ll give you that. But there is nothing in the Bible about gambling dens. Nothing.’’

She ran her finger along the rim of her cup. ‘‘I wish you and your wife well, then.’’

His stomach tightened. ‘‘I won’t be running them. I won’t be frequenting them. I won’t have anything to do with them.’’

‘‘Other than profiting from them.’’

He rubbed the back of his neck. ‘‘I’m going to build a greenhouse as big as my saloon and become a tree farmer.’’

Her finger stopped.

‘‘San Francisco isn’t some mining camp that’s going to fold up overnight,’’ he said. ‘‘This town is going to be something. And part of that will include populating it with flora and fauna. I plan to be the major supplier.’’

‘‘Then what do you need all those properties for?’’

‘‘Security. In case we have a bad growing season or something.’’

‘‘I’d rather go broke.’’

‘‘Admirable, but not practical.’’

‘‘I wouldn’t be able to sleep at night.’’

He allowed a slow smile to form. ‘‘That’d be all right with me.’’

Pink filled her cheeks. ‘‘I’m being serious.’’

‘‘You think I’m not?’’ He grabbed the old sack under his chair and set it on the table between them.

After a moment, she loosened the drawstring and pushed the burlap sides down. A pair of small tan work boots stood inside.

‘‘Oh, Johnnie. They’re beautiful. Wherever did you find them?’’ She stroked the hide of the sturdy leather. ‘‘You know I can’t possibly accept—’’

‘‘Will you be my wife, Rachel?’’

Her hand stilled and her eyes lifted, softening to the color of molasses. Several seconds passed before the merest hint of amusement began to play about her lips. ‘‘You brought me a pair of men’s boots as a token of your favor?’’

‘‘It would have been less trouble to move a mountain than to find those boots.’’

She let out a short laugh. Then her smile faded and she closed up the gunnysack. ‘‘I won’t marry a man who profits from gambling and drinking.’’

He found himself having to take deep breaths in order to calm his frustration. ‘‘And I won’t marry a woman who thinks she can lead me around like a bull with a ring in his nose according to the whims of her conscience.’’

‘‘Is the money so important to you, then?’’

‘‘Don’t twist my words around, Rachel. We live in a world of folks who don’t believe in Jesus Christ. I’m going to rub shoulders with them, conduct business with them, and debate politics with them.’’

‘‘We don’t have to profit from them.’’

‘‘You already do.’’

‘‘I most certainly do not.’’

‘‘I see. You ask each of your customers if he’s been saved by Jesus Christ and if he says no you refuse to feed him?’’

‘‘Don’t be ugly, Johnnie.’’

‘‘I’m not being ugly. You are talking out of both sides of your mouth. You have this ridiculous sign up about not serving prostitutes and instead cater to the very men who make use of their services.

How is that different from renting my property to someone who runs a gambling hall?’’

‘‘It just is.’’

‘‘No, it’s not.’’

‘‘As a Christian owner of an establishment, I must portray a flawless public image. Not flout the standards society sets down.’’

‘‘Standards, ha.’’ He stood. ‘‘They are nothing but a bunch of tripe that dictate how you women are to dress, walk, talk, laugh, eat, even smell flowers. Did you know there is a right and wrong way to smell flowers?’’

‘‘Yes.’’

‘‘And fainting,’’ he continued, ‘‘for the mere purpose of proving you’re delicate. How do you even keep up with what occasion constitutes a faint? Do you carry a list around, then consult it and
then
swoon?’’

‘‘Well, I can tell you this much,’’ she said, standing. ‘‘Serving women of ill repute in my eatery would definitely require a swoon.’’

He tightened his lips. ‘‘What does your rule book say about women who collect bugs? Dig in the dirt? Roll around in the ocean showing off their pantalets?’’

She stiffened.

He leaned in toward her. ‘‘And what about the claim that proper women have little or no sexual feelings? Because even you cannot deny that female passion exists. And not just in the whores.’’

Grabbing his hat, he whirled around and slammed out of the room.

Hurt, horror, and guilt competed for dominance within Rachel. Grabbing the sack of boots, she threw it at the door, rattling its hinges.

She knew physical love was acceptable, but it was not to be confused with sexuality. According to what she’d read, most women were not troubled with sexual feelings of any kind. Those whose feelings were excessive and who crossed the moral lines often caused debilitation and ill health not only in themselves but in the men whom they preyed upon.

She swallowed, not able to still the memories of Johnnie’s kisses. And touches. And her wish for more. Much more.

But he had twisted everything around in order to justify what he wanted to do. Yet she could not deny some logic behind his statements. She did serve men who had very likely visited
those
women.

Falling to her knees, she rested her forehead against the bench. She knew the Bible said to
‘‘put away from yourselves the evil person.’’

Yet a few pages over, it also said,
‘‘This punishment which was inflicted by the majority is sufficient for such a man, so that, on the contrary, you ought rather to forgive and comfort him, lest perhaps such a one be swallowed up with too much sorrow.’’

Confused and disheartened, Rachel stayed on her knees, earnestly seeking a revelation.

————

‘‘Oh, it smells so good,’’ Selma exclaimed, balancing on a chair while tying a ribbon to a branch of the fragrant evergreen. Frank had brought the potted tree into the shop and placed it in front of the bay window.

The grand fir had grown since Rachel had last seen it. She had not been out to the greenhouse in ages due to the rain, nor would she have gone anyway. Not after last month’s argument with Johnnie.