Unrivaled (26 page)

I didn’t take my satchel with me; I left it in the garage. Only a fool brings everything he owns with him to the gambling table. I was down to my last Royal Taffy when I finally won enough money to make it worth going to the train station.

“Sure would have liked to have won that candy.”

I looked over at the man who was staring at the taffy with true regret. Tossing it to him, I gave a nod and a wink to the others.

“Tell us we have a chance at winning back our money tomorrow night.”

“Sorry to disappoint.” By the next evening, I hoped to be in Colorado.

I walked back to the house. The wind was brisker than when I’d left. I turned up the collar of my overcoat against it, but the
cooler air did me some good, helped to clear my head. Once home, I grabbed my satchel, pushed my hat farther down on my head, and set off for the train station.

Or I would have if I hadn’t nearly run my father down in the process.

He stepped back from the walk onto the winter-hardened grass, looking pointedly at my satchel. “Where are you going?”

I shrugged. “San Francisco.”

He took the cigar from his mouth and motioned back into the house. “Don’t. I hadn’t realized . . . I thought . . .” He sighed. “I might not have been the man I should have back then, but I’m worth knowing now. Now I’m a man you can be proud to call your father.”

“It was never about you.” It was about me. And my sisters. And my mother.

“I understand I did a lot of things wrong. But I want you to stay.”

He wanted me to stay. “And what about me? I wanted a lot of things back when you left, and I never got one of them.” My throat had gone tight, and there was a lump in it that I couldn’t quite swallow. Cold air always did that to me.

“I’ve missed you.”

“And you think
that
can make up for the past fifteen years?” Somehow I managed to get the words out.

“I hope so.”

I swallowed. And then I swallowed once more. “I’ll take that into consideration.”

He moved to embrace me, but I put a hand out to stop him. And then, because I couldn’t speak, I turned and went back into the house.

He wanted me to stay. Though his words had done me good to hear, I would have said no if I’d known what was waiting for me down at the factory. Getting the machines back to work was more of a headache than anyone expected. The different sugars came quickly, but there was a delay in getting the flavoring. And additional butter couldn’t be delivered until the beginning of the next week. It took sugar, vinegar, flavorings, water,
and
butter to make Royal Taffy. We couldn’t start production until all the ingredients arrived.

Dwindling numbers of workers showed up at the gates each morning. And each morning we turned them away. When my father asked me to sit in on his meeting with the company’s lawyer, I was more than happy to.

It was with a bad temper and a growing headache that I attended a concert Thursday evening. Every beat of that big drum drove the pain further into my skull. By intermission, all I wanted was to leave. Knowing that I couldn’t, I decided a stiff drink would have to do. I angled my way to the bar and ordered a whiskey for myself and a lemonade for Augusta. As I turned to leave, I saw Lucy Kendall. Everyone else seemed to be deceived by her bright blue eyes and caramel-colored hair. Everyone else was taken in by the way she smiled as if you were her favorite person in the world. By the way she looked you in the eyes when you were talking as if what you had to say was important.

But I knew the truth.

I handed Augusta her drink, downed my own, then made my way through the crowds to Lucy. There were a few things I wanted to tell her.

When she saw me, alarm flared in her eyes. She stepped behind Alfred as if she hoped he would protect her.

I pushed him aside, grabbed her by the arm, and pulled her
along with me toward the far wall. “It was you, wasn’t it? You’re the one to blame.”

Alfred trotted along beside us. “Here, now! Watch yourself, Clarke! You’re going to tear her sash.”

Her sash. The ever-present reminder that she was the Queen of Love and Beauty. I almost laughed in his face. I would have if my head hadn’t been hurting so badly. “She’s no queen! And there’s not one ounce of love in her cold, black heart!”

Lucy put a hand on her fiancé’s arm. “I’m fine. If Mr. Clarke has something to say, then we might as well let him say it.” Her chin tipped up as her eyes glinted.

I stepped toward her.

She stood her ground.

One more step, one more inch, and I could have devoured her.

Or murdered her.

“You’d better just—just—
watch out
!” I’d never wanted to strangle or kiss a girl so badly in all my life. It must have been the headache. Or the whiskey.

She smirked.

That decided me. “It’s all a game to you, isn’t it? Standard will survive, and we’ll start making Royal Taffy again by the end of next week. You haven’t hurt us at all. But you’d better explain yourself to all those boys and girls who aren’t working. They aren’t getting paid for yesterday or today or tomorrow. And while you’re explaining, you might want to figure out where their families are going to sleep once they get turned out of whatever shack it is they’ve been using. That’s the problem with you rich people, you have no idea how people really live!”

The smirk had fallen off her face, and she took a step back as if she were afraid I might hit her. “I didn’t mean—”

“Don’t tell me what it is you meant to do! Just figure out how to fix what you did.”

As I stood in front of my dresser after the concert on Thursday night, I tried to unfasten my pearl necklace, but my trembling fingers kept slipping from the clasp. I hated pearls! They were just so—so
round
and perfect. I choked back a sob.

“Just figure out how to fix what you did.”

Every boom of the drum in the symphony’s fourth movement had driven a stake into my heart. It was only due to the greatest of efforts that I hadn’t dissolved into tears during the carriage ride home.

I put the necklace back into its case, then drew a kimono on over my corset and drawers.

I hadn’t really given a first or second thought to the consequences of canceling Standard’s deliveries. As much as it grieved me to say it, Charlie was right. The people I’d hurt weren’t him and his father; it was the workers who labored at the factory. I’d hurt people like Sam and Mr. Blakely, Morris and Edna . . .
the very kind of people I’d thought I was protecting. My father would be so ashamed of me.

I sat down on my bed, covered my face with my hands, and wept.

How had everything gone so wrong?

All I’d wanted was to save the confectionery for my father. To make him see that I was worthy of helping him. The only thing I’d ever wanted to do was make candy. And now, even that talent had deserted me. The Veiled Prophet candy had made it plain that I had no taste.

I might as well be Walter Minard.

Father was right. Girls shouldn’t meddle in business.

And Winnie was right: I was mean.

But Charlie was the right-est of them all: Maybe I really did have a cold, black heart.

I pushed away from the bed and took a deep, steadying breath. Then I gave myself a long, hard stare in the mirror. In the morning I would tell Mother to sell the company. I would still be engaged to marry Mr. Arthur, but that wasn’t the worst of things. He was the most eligible bachelor in the city. Making a good marriage was what I was supposed to do. Maybe that’s the best that I
could
do. Maybe I’d expected too much from life and from myself.

I couldn’t be unhappy with my engagement; it was a brilliant match. Mr. Arthur was every girl’s dream. I may have encouraged him for the wrong reasons, but in the end it had turned out right, hadn’t it? It was the only smart thing I’d done these past few months.

As I stood there sniffling, I pulled the pins from my hair, letting it tumble down over my shoulders. Then I picked up a hairbrush and started counting strokes.
One, two, three . . .
I would put an end to all this foolishness and I would concentrate
on becoming Mrs. Alfred Arthur. I sighed as I watched myself in the mirror.
Twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four . . .
I would do what I was meant to do because what I wanted to do wasn’t possible. I brushed my hair for a while longer before bending at the waist to let my hair fall toward the floor. Then I started brushing it out from underneath.
Forty-seven, forty-eight, forty-nine . . .
I couldn’t create a candy worth eating, and I couldn’t keep Standard from destroying City Confectionery. I hadn’t been able to do anything at all since Charlie Clarke had come to the city.
Eighty-one, eighty-two, eighty-three
.

Ouch!

I took some extra care untangling a knot at the nape of my neck before I started counting again.
Ninety-eight, ninety-nine, one hundred.

I swept away the last of my tears, put my brush away, and turned the light off. In the past, tears had always made me feel better. They’d always made room for more comforting thoughts. But tonight I discovered that nothing had come to replace them. No hope and no peace. I felt even more empty than I had before.

I had just broached the topic of the sale with Mother over breakfast when Sam banged through the kitchen and into the dining room.

Mother greeted him with a look of exasperation. “May we help you, Mr. Blakely?”

“I just needed to know what to do with the extra Fancies.”

“Extra?” Mother said the word slowly as if she didn’t quite know what it meant. Today was delivery day, and he usually only took enough in the wagon to cover what had been ordered.

“Stix, Bauer and Fuller wouldn’t take theirs.”

“They wouldn’t take their own order?”

“Nope. Said something about a contract with Standard.”

I had a bad feeling in the depths of my stomach where my hate for Charlie Clarke normally dwelled. “What exactly did they say?”

“Said they wouldn’t take it.”

“Besides that.”

“On account of the contract.”

“What contract?” Mother and I echoed the same question.

“With Stix—”

Mother was going to wring his neck if he wasn’t careful. “Yes, but did they say what the contract was about?”

He shrugged. “Candy, probably.”

“I’m going to go and straighten this out.” I put my napkin on the table and rose from my chair.

Mother covered my hand with her own. “That’s what we have Mr. Blakely for.”

“He doesn’t—”

Mother indicated Sam with a gesture of her chin.

I lowered my voice to a hiss. “You know he won’t do anything about it.”

Sam didn’t even pretend not to be listening. “He did. He said he’d put the Fancies back into inventory, but I should check with you first to make sure.” Mrs. Hughes had served him a plate filled with eggs, and he was shoveling them into his mouth with relish.

“See?” I gestured toward Sam with an open palm. I was still going to have to straighten things out.

“I don’t care about Stix or Mr. Blakely or boxes, Lucy. You were about to say something about the proposed sale—”

“Sam, can you take me down to Stix?”

“Lucy—if you would just listen!” Now Mother had stood as well.

When she grabbed for me I ducked and moved toward the kitchen. “We can talk when I get back.”

I waited for an hour before the manager became available. He smiled as he greeted me. “The Queen of Love and Beauty, herself! What can I do for you this fine morning?”

It was cold and dreary and it was very nearly noon, but I hadn’t come to quibble. “I was told that you wouldn’t take your delivery of Fancy Crunch this morning.”

“Ah.” He dropped my hand as his smile slid from his face. “Isn’t there someone else to whom I should be speaking?” His gaze was darting in every direction but my own.

Father was ill, Mr. Blakely unsuited to business, and Mother would just as soon sell the company as figure out what had happened. “Perhaps we could speak in your office.”

“I don’t—”

I stepped through his door before he could say anything more. “We had to take your order back to the confectionery. May I ask you why you refused it?”

He was lingering in the doorway as if he hoped I might rejoin him in the hall.

I turned my back to him and sat in the chair positioned in front of his desk.

“I—just—” I heard him heave a sigh. He came around to sit behind the desk. “I really don’t feel comfortable—”

“You must understand City Confectionery’s situation . . . considering my father’s illness . . . ?”

“Of course, of course!”

“So I’m certain you’ll also understand why we were concerned
when our deliveryman came back without having fulfilled your order.”

He sighed again as he fiddled with a pen. He looked up at me. “If you must know, it’s our new contract with Standard Candy.”

“Fancy Crunch isn’t a Standard candy.”

“That’s where the problem lies. Is there not someone else from your company I can speak to, Miss Kendall? Someone from the business office, perhaps?”

“Mr. Blakely is the superintendent charged with production, but today he happens to be . . . supervising. He couldn’t come himself, but I assure you that he has complete confidence in me.”

“There’s really nothing to discuss. Standard’s new contract doesn’t allow us to sell City Confectionery products.”

“When you say, ‘doesn’t allow . . . ’?”

“The contract forbids it.”

“How can Standard forbid you from selling our candies?”

He gave me a look that was fraught with pity. “If we sell your candies, then they won’t allow us to sell theirs.”

“Why that’s—that’s—not fair!”

“Fairness is something I find overrated. Surely you can agree with me that sentiment has no place in business. Our arrangement with Standard is purely contractual and has nothing at all to do with you.”

It had everything to do with me! “But as a man of business, can’t you see how this would damage our company?”

“It’s not within my power to control.”

“So you’re going to choose Standard over us?”

His brow peaked in disbelief. “I have to choose Standard. I sell two Royal Taffies to every packet of Fancy Crunch that I sell. You must see that I have no choice. My hands are tied.”

“But I—can’t you—!”

He rose, walked around his desk, and took me by the elbow.
Then he led me to the door. “If I can make a suggestion, Miss Kendall? You’ll be much more successful as a Queen of Love and Beauty than you will be in business. Fancy Crunch will always be a personal favorite, but I have to be able to sell my customers the things they want.”