The Black Rose (32 page)

Mr. Walker nodded greetings to each woman in the room before stepping forward again, his hat still in his hand. “I didn’t mean to walk back an’ surprise y’all lovely ladies. I was jus’ wondering where a newspaperman from Denver might leave his calling card for the proprietor of this here hair business. I heard so many good things at the picnic, my curiosity got the best of me, so I decided to come see this miracle cure for myself.”

Nearly too late, Sarah realized she had left her comb in her customer’s hair longer than she should have. Quickly she jerked the smoking comb away, and it clattered to the stove.

Sarah’s mind had been wiped empty of her thoughts, a state that shocked her nearly as much as Mr. Walker’s unexpected appearance. What was wrong with her? She needed to tell this man she was busy, that he had his nerve walking back here in the company of women he wasn’t properly acquainted with, and he needed to learn some manners.

Instead she heard herself speaking in her most polite tones. “Well, Mr. Walker … you might find some room for a calling card on that table. Lela, clear up that mess for Mr. Walker.”

Lelia looked at Sarah with obvious surprise, then she exchanged a glance with Sadie, who was smiling knowingly. Finally, with her lips tight, Lelia moved aside some bowls and mixing spoons to make a clear space at the edge of the kitchen table. For a moment, none of the other women spoke or moved, as if Mr. Walker’s presence had mesmerized them.

“Who is
this
?” Rosetta finally asked pointedly, breaking the silence.

“Rosetta, this is Mr. Charles Walker from Denver,” Sarah said. “He’s …” Then she faltered. She couldn’t even begin to explain why he was there, since she didn’t know herself.

“Madam,” Mr. Walker said, moving forward to shake Rosetta’s hand. “I’m sorry to intrude. I’m a newspaperman—I sell advertisements in Denver—and Mrs. McWilliams said some things today I couldn’t get out of my head. I have a great interest in new businesses, you see, ventures an’ such. We didn’t have an opportunity to speak earlier. I was hopin’ she could tell me what time might suit her.”

You missed your opportunity
, Sarah thought, nearly smiling. But she was still as impressed by Mr. Walker’s eloquence as she had been at the picnic. He could put words together, all right! Glancing at the other women, Sarah saw that they were impressed, too. Even Lelia was gazing at Mr. Walker as if he were a prized discovery, trying to be subtle as she straightened her apron and patted down her hair.

But Mr. Walker didn’t look Lelia’s way. He was gazing dead-on at Sarah. “Madam, I fear you’re busy,” he said. “I do believe I’ve picked a bad time.”

Madam! He’d used the word often, and Sarah liked his formal manner of address, which was so unusual to her ear. Her chest swelled.

“Well … you see I’m fixin’ hair right now… . I don’t know how these ladies would feel …”

“He can stay!” Sadie said, cutting her off. “Why not? Right, ladies?”

The other women agreed.

So, for the better part of an hour, Charles Walker stayed in Sarah’s kitchen, refusing to accept food or drink, simply studying the mixing being done at the table, then strolling behind Sarah to watch the work she was doing with the hot comb. Occasionally, he asked questions—
How long does
this procedure take? How long does the effect of the hot comb last? How long
have you been doing this? How do you deliver your formula after it’s mixed?—
but for the most part he studied them in silence.

And soon the women began talking again, nearly forgetting he was there.

Finally, standing out of her sight behind her, Mr. Walker spoke to Sarah in a low, private tone. “I need to take the Tuesday train. I really hope we’ll have a few moments to talk before I leave for Denver, Mrs. McWilliams,” he said, then added even more softly, “That is, if
Mr.
McWilliams won’t mind.”

Again, Sarah’s heart danced. It was clear to her by now that Mr. Walker’s only purpose in being here was probably to try to sell her an ad in his newspaper—what else would a man like him want with her?—but she couldn’t control her body’s excitement at the mere sound of his voice, almost as though he were touching her instead of only speaking. The blood in her veins was racing with anticipation. Even her nose was savoring his so-close scent; he didn’t smell like honey soap the way she’d imagined, but his skin and clothes definitely smelled somehow sweet and masculine all at once. Lord have mercy! Sarah cursed at herself, trying to keep calm.
Remember, Sarah, he could jus’ be tryin’ to charm his way into stealin’ your formula. What’s he askin’ all these questions for?
That thought helped Sarah snap back into herself again.

“Mayhap we can make an appointment Monday evening, Mr. Walker,” she said primly. “And I’m a widow, sir, so it’s been seventeen years since Mr. McWilliams would care ’bout my business meetings one way or the other.”

Then she dared one glance around to look at Charles Walker, and the first thing she saw was his perfect, wonderful grin.

Chapter Eighteen

“I just don’t like him, Mama. You saw the way he came in here all high and mighty!” Lelia said, frustrated, as she watched Sarah search her wardrobe for a dress to wear to supper with Mr. Charles Walker. He hadn’t appeared at church as Sarah had hoped he would, but he’d slipped a note under her front door Sunday night, promising to pick her up at six o’clock Monday; he’d included the address of a nearby hotel and even a three-digit telephone number, which was useless to Sarah, since she did not know anyone with a telephone. Unsightly poles had been erected throughout her neighborhood like dead upright trees strung together, but most of her friends had neither telephones nor electricity. Electricity cost too much to wire throughout the house, and telephones just seemed like a needless bother.

Still, this one time, Sarah would have liked to telephone Mr. Walker to tell him she would be ready to meet him at six. It would have been nice to hear his voice, which had been fluttering through her mind all weekend.

Lelia scowled. “Mama, I’ve met pretty-talking men like him, and believe me, most of them aren’t worth the clothes on their backs.”

There was something too knowing, too wise, about Lelia’s tone that made Sarah gaze back at her daughter suddenly, searching her face. Lelia’s eyes held steady, and Sarah was almost certain she could see things written in her daughter’s smoky eyes that she did not like at all.

Lelia sighed, searching for her words, then she went on, not blinking: “You’ve barely cracked a smile to a man in all the time I can remember, and you’re so busy thinking about hair formula, I hate to think how long it’s been since you’ve felt a man’s hands and lips… .”

Shocked by Lelia’s candor, Sarah whirled to face her. “That’s none of your—”

“Mama, are you going to listen to sense for a minute? Try to forget I’m your daughter and let me talk to you like a grown woman.”

Lelia’s eyes looked weary in a way they should not, Sarah realized, as if her daughter had already been around the world and back. What had made them look that way? “Don’t you get big with no child, actin’ like a fool,” Sarah said between gritted teeth.

Lelia shrugged. “Oh, I ain’t having no babies, Mama. Don’t worry about
that
.”

The way she’d said that, Sarah knew there was something else behind the words, an unspoken invitation for Sarah to ask her more. But Lelia was likely to say anything at all, and Sarah realized her heart did not want to know her daughter’s secrets. A woman’s secrets were her own, and Lelia was a woman now whether Sarah liked it or not.

“So let me tell you what I think about this Charles Walker,” Lelia went on, uninvited. “I can tell just by looking at him he’s got a woman in every city he sets foot in. Men like that don’t marry, ’cause they like the bachelor’s life. They talk like gentlemen and dress like gentlemen, but they don’t act like gentlemen.”

Sarah felt her face turning dark. “Lelia, you act like we courtin’! The man asked me to supper to talk ’bout business.”

Lelia put her hand on her hip, gazing down at Sarah as though she had never heard anything so silly. “Why would a man all the way from Denver care about what we’re mixing in your little kitchen, Mama? You don’t have to go to supper to talk about that. You can talk on the porch.”

Maybe he believes in me
, Sarah thought stubbornly, but she didn’t say the words aloud. Lelia was right; Charles Walker had no reason to believe in her the way Lelia, Sadie, and Rosetta did. He didn’t know her. He had no idea where she’d come from or what she’d been through. But what did he want with her, then?

“Just don’t forget yourself, Mama,” Lelia said, her tone softening. She wrapped her arms around Sarah in a hug. “There’s some men who leave heartbreak behind them.”

“Did someone do that to you, Lelia?” Sarah asked her, still afraid to know.

Lelia shrugged. “Maybe once, but that’s all over for me,” she breathed close to Sarah’s ear. “In fact, Mama, I have something to tell you… .” Sarah felt her insides clench as tight as a fist, bracing for terrible news while Lelia put her at arm’s length so she could gaze down into her eyes. “With my friends, I’ve been using a new name I made up for myself. I didn’t tell you because I was afraid you’d think it was an insult to you and Daddy.”

“A new name?” Sarah said, confused.

“It’s like Lelia, but it’s different,” she said. “It’s A’Lelia. I put an ‘A’ in front. I’ll write it down for you so you can see how I like it. But don’t get mad, Mama. Please?”

Sarah’s heart leaped with relief. Compared to the unthinkable events she’d been afraid of, Lelia’s news was so mild that Sarah almost smiled.

A’Lelia. The new name was close to Lelia’s birth name, yet it was more suited to the tall, mysterious woman that Lelia had become. Sarah was honestly impressed that her daughter had enough creativity and confidence to want to choose her own name—just like Mrs. Brown, when she’d begun calling herself
America
—but it also saddened her. Her little girl was gone. The woman she’d become was fascinating company, changing so quickly and saying anything that popped into her mind, but Sarah was sure as hell going to miss her child.

“A’Lelia,” Sarah said, trying the name on with her mouth. Her eyes smarted.

“Isn’t it pretty, Mama?”

This time Sarah did manage to smile. Lelia sounded so eager, so pleased, and Sarah didn’t want to ruin her joy. “It’s pretty, all right,” she said, meaning it. “I just hope you ain’t expectin’ me to remember to call you by that. You’ll always be Lelia to me.”

Lelia shook her head, smiling with gratitude. “I’m just happy you’re not mad,” she said, and hugged her again. “I’m miserable when you get mad at me.”

But Sarah already knew that. For all Lelia’s faults, she really did try hard to please her. She always had, from the time she’d stayed up late studying as a child to the way she still spent so many long hours helping Sarah experiment with her hair formula long after Sadie and Rosetta had gone home. Lelia had subjected herself to so many hair treatments, it was a wonder the poor girl’s hair hadn’t fallen out. And Sarah couldn’t think of one time her daughter had complained.

“I know, baby,” Sarah said, squeezing Lelia as she kissed her long neck. “Now leave me be, child. I’ve still got to get dressed for supper.”

Lelia scowled. “You didn’t hear a word I said just now, did you, Mama?”

“Oh, Lelia, stop. You don’t got to worry ’bout me like I’m a schoolgirl. I’ve been a long, long way from that just about my whole life.”

But in a corner of her soul where she could be honest with herself, Sarah wondered if she was only trying to fool them both.

A two-passenger black buggy arrived in front of Sarah’s house at six o’clock, and the sight of it froze Sarah in her doorway. The stylish buggy looked nearly new, its paint gleaming, and it was canopied with a buffed black leather top. Two pretty lamps hung from its sides, and the seat was cushioned with leather. Even the steel spokes of the tires glistened. A quality buggy like this one might have cost two hundred dollars or more, Sarah thought. Mr. Walker sure had borrowed a handsome vehicle!

Mr. Walker reined the spotted white horse to a stop, grinning at her from where he sat on the shaded, cushioned seat. He pulled the hand brake in place, then leaped down. “Evenin’, Mrs. McWilliams,” he said, half bowing as he tipped his flat white hat.

“Evenin’, sir,” Sarah answered stiffly. Lelia was right; she hadn’t courted in her whole life, not really, and suddenly she felt like a visitor to a strange land where she didn’t know the first thing about the customs.
We
jus’ goin’ to supper to talk about business,
Sarah told herself, repeating the reminder several times so she could gather the nerve to face Mr. Walker. “I may be back late, Lelia,” Sarah told her daughter, and closed the door behind her before Lelia could mutter anything she might not want Mr. Walker to hear.

“Hope you like ragtime, Mrs. McWilliams, ’cause I’ve got a treat in store,” Mr. Walker said, taking her hand to help her climb into the buggy, which sank slightly beneath her weight. The horse huffed and shifted its hooves on the cobblestones, but the buggy didn’t move.

Sarah forced herself to ignore the soft warmth of Mr. Walker’s hand around hers. It was easy to tell he was a man who worked behind a desk instead of a plow. Suddenly she felt self-conscious as she realized her own hand might not feel nearly as soft to him. “I thought we was goin’ to supper, Mr. Walker.”

“Well, I don’t know ’bout you,” Mr. Walker said, walking around the buggy to take his own seat, “but to my experience, a little good music helps me digest my food better.”

With a snap of the reins, Mr. Walker began the thirty-minute drive through St. Louis’s major thoroughfares, where he had to patiently wait his turn behind stopped streetcars, slow down for pedestrians darting across the street with packages or baskets of fruit, and take his place behind the other carriages, surreys, and automobiles that shared the road with them. The ride was smooth on the freshly paved road, and Sarah enjoyed the brisk pace of their journey as the early evening breeze kissed her face. Electric signs lit up brightly all around them in the waning daylight, proclaiming banks, markets, and casinos. Sarah was usually in such a hurry to finish tasks and chores, she realized, that she almost never visited the city at night to appreciate its liveliness, even when she rode the streetcars. A leisurely carriage ride was an entirely different experience! All she had to do was sit back against her soft seat, her feet nestled atop the carpeting, and watch people and buildings fly past her. She didn’t have to worry about sore feet, strangers’ leers, or unexpected heaps of horse manure in her path. In Mr. Walker’s buggy, she felt as though she didn’t have to worry about a thing.