The Measure of a Lady (23 page)

‘‘It does to me.’’

‘‘It does to me, too,’’ Henry said.

She sighed. ‘‘I’m so sorry about all this, Mr. Crocker, and terribly embarrassed.’’

‘‘No need for any apology,’’ he said. ‘‘I do think, however, that you and Parker have a few things to work out. My offer still stands. But he’s right. No matter how much respect and trust you have in a marriage, you also need love. I would, anyway.’’

He gathered up his portfolio, and Rachel walked him to the door.

‘‘May I stop by tomorrow?’’ he asked.

‘‘Of course.’’ She shut the door quietly behind him before turning to face Johnnie. ‘‘I am very angry with you. You had no right. You are not to come through that back door anymore. Front door only. And if it is locked, then it is because I want some privacy.’’

‘‘All right.’’

She blinked at his easy capitulation.

‘‘I came over to see if you wanted to go to the beach.’’

‘‘Johnnie. The man was proposing marriage to me. I can’t just tell him I’ll think about it and then go to the beach with you.’’

‘‘Why not?’’

‘‘Because. It would be horribly insensitive.’’

‘‘Well, then, I’ll go get him and bring him back so you can tell him no. After that will you go to the beach with me?’’

She rubbed her forehead. ‘‘I’ll do no such thing.’’

‘‘But it’s the first clear day we’ve had for over a month. It may be the only one. And I want to spend it on the beach with you.’’

‘‘The streets are too muddy. We’d never make it down there.’’

‘‘Is that a yes?’’

‘‘No.’’

‘‘Why?’’

‘‘You are being obtuse on purpose.’’

‘‘I’m not.’’ He glanced out the window. ‘‘He already knows you aren’t going to marry him.’’

She propped her hands on her waist. ‘‘And how could that be when I myself haven’t even decided yet?’’

He pushed in the bench. ‘‘Because if he thought he had a chance he never would have walked out that door and left you alone with me. You love me and he knows it.’’

He opened the box of charcoal and rubbed a piece of drawing paper between thumb and forefinger. ‘‘What are these?’’

She snatched them out of his hand and wrapped them back up. ‘‘They are a gift.’’

Frowning, he put his finger on the cross-section of twine so she could finish the knot. ‘‘You probably shouldn’t have accepted them.’’

She jerked the twine tight, but he didn’t notice and slipped his finger from the string’s hold. But not before she took in the brownness of his skin. The slight dusting of hair on his knuckles. The prominent veins on his massive hand.

‘‘I’ve missed you,’’ he said.

She looked up. Worry lines marked his forehead and the sides of his eyes. ‘‘Are you well?’’

‘‘Just tired,’’ he said.

‘‘You quit coming for coffee.’’

‘‘So you’ve missed me, too?’’ He hooked a tendril of hair behind her ear.

‘‘Yes,’’ she admitted softly.

‘‘Well then, let’s not waste the day. Go put on some old clothes, and I’ll get us some donkeys.’’

‘‘Donkeys?’’

‘‘They do much better in this quagmire than the horses.’’

His eyes were even bluer than this morning’s sky. ‘‘I must speak with Mr. Crocker first.’’

She expected him to preen or display a show of male satisfaction.

He did neither.

‘‘I’ll send him over,’’ he said.

‘‘What if you can’t find him?’’

‘‘He’s at my place.’’

She started. ‘‘How do you know?’’

‘‘I watched him out the window when he left.’’

She turned back to look out the window, but of course, Mr.

Crocker was nowhere in sight.

chapter
21

R
ather than going to the main beach, where hundreds upon hundreds of abandoned ships obstructed the view, they rode all the way down Columbus Street to a quiet little cove that had yet to earn a name.

Upon arriving, the cool breeze roared in Johnnie’s ears, but he welcomed nature’s assault, glad to be away from the town that had bit-by-bit closed in on him.

He dismounted from his donkey and helped Rachel with hers. He’d been unsure how her burro would react to a sidesaddle, but she’d handled it splendidly.

Barely had her feet touched the ground when she flew to a nearby rock, peeking underneath it like a raccoon looking for food.

He secured the animals to a couple of scrub trees, smiling at the work boots peeking out from beneath Rachel’s calico. Her brown dress had seen better days, but it did nothing to diminish her beauty or animation.

She wore a blue slat bonnet that protected her face from the sun instead of the superfluous ones that she normally catered to.

A tiny geyser of water spouted up from the sand beside her and she jumped. Moving to her, Johnnie knelt and without a word started digging around the geyser. After a moment, she joined in. In short order a long cigar-shaped tube revealed itself. They kept digging, front paws paddling like dogs after a bone.

It was slow going with the moist sand wanting to slink back into the burrow they dug, but finally they reached their treasure. Digging more recklessly, they uncovered a large clam, almost a foot in length with a tube clamped tight between its shell.

‘‘What on earth?’’ she breathed.

Johnnie freed it from its muddy home, holding it aloft. ‘‘It sucks water down this tube, siphons out the food, and then spits the water back out.’’

‘‘Fascinating.’’ She touched the ridges on its shell. ‘‘Never in my life have I seen a clam this size. I didn’t even know there were such things.’’

He smiled and put it back in its burrow. They covered it up, careful to leave a bit of its eating cylinder above the surface.

‘‘Do the seagulls ever carry off these tubes?’’ she asked.

‘‘They do. It’s a delicacy for them, and they frequently snatch them right out of the clam’s mouth with no regard whatsoever to the requirements of its owner.’’

Much like I snatch gold from the miners,
he thought.

She sat back on her heels. ‘‘Well, I’m vastly relieved. I had begun to think that even the gulls in California smoked cigars.’’

He laughed at her foolishness and pulled her up. They built a sand castle, collected shells with which to decorate its facade, and finally dug a large moat around its circumference.

Rolling up his trousers, Johnnie pulled off his boots, yanked off his socks, and splashed into the water. ‘‘Come on. It feels great.’’

He bent and washed off his hands. He could tell she wanted to come in, but it would require the removal of her boots.

She stood by the castle vacillating. He said nothing. He’d pushed her into enough sin; he would do so no more. After a bit she crept up to the water’s edge—closer, closer until the tide unexpectedly rushed at her.

Squealing, she tried to outrun it but could not. It crashed over her skirt, boots and all. She bent over to dip her hands in, but the water receded too quickly.

He heard her mumble in irritation, then watched in amazement as she stomped right to him, her boots slapping with each step.

‘‘You’re ruining your work boots,’’ he said, not bothering to disguise his amusement, ‘‘and I know how fond of them you are.’’

‘‘They’ll dry.’’

‘‘True. They’ll also be ruined.’’

They stood calf deep in the frigid ocean, the water lifting her skirt to its surface and entangling it within his legs.

‘‘Did you say no to Crocker?’’ he asked.

‘‘I did.’’

When Crocker had left the Parker House, Johnnie had watched Rachel’s place from one of his upstairs windows. Her suitor had eventually come out with the returned gifts and a solemn face.

When Johnnie procured the donkeys at the livery, he’d heard Crocker had left town for good.

Waves tumbled one on top of the other, each in a race to reach the shore first. A hungry fish nipped at Johnnie’s ankle.

‘‘You gave him his gifts back,’’ he said.

‘‘Yes.’’

He let the impact of that sink in, knowing she’d kept
his
gifts. Had, in fact, treasured them. Cataloged them. And pinned them to a board. He wondered, not for the first time, exactly what it all meant.

‘‘He’s left town,’’ Johnnie said.

‘‘Yes. He told me that’s what he would do.’’

‘‘Oh.’’

After several moments, she turned and tried to head back but her boots did not follow where she led, and at that very moment a thigh-high wave crashed against them. She gasped and began to topple, arms windmilling.

He reached for her, but instead of pulling her up, in her panic, she brought him down. They both fell into the shallow water, submerging themselves beneath its icy abode for mere seconds before their salty nemesis released them.

She rolled to a sitting position, struggling for breath, arms flailing, bonnet collapsed, hair slick against her face, skirt and petticoat churning about her on the water’s surface. ‘‘My boots!’’

She tried to get her footing, but her skirts thwarted her every attempt. He scrambled to the place they had stood and blindly searched with his hands, but try as he might, he could only come up with one boot.

The thought of arriving in town barefoot must have given her the impetus she needed to conquer the ocean’s temperature and tow, for she too was cavorting about on all fours.

‘‘It’s gone, Rachel,’’ he said. ‘‘You can wear mine.’’

‘‘Don’t be ridiculous. I would walk right out of them. Have you any idea how hard mine were to find? The merchants don’t carry small boots like that as a rule. And with the streets getting worse every day, I’ll be lost. We must find it. We
must
.’’

He stood and hurled the one boot safely to shore, then helped her look for the other. But to no avail. Finally, he gave up and took in the sight of his beloved.

The water had plastered her gown to her, delineating with mouthwatering detail every curve, every limb, every everything. Delicious as the sight was, it was the hilarity of her antics that won his attention.

Her hindquarters stuck high in the air, trailed by a profusion of limp ruffles, while her nose barely cleared the surface of the water as she hunted for her lost treasure.

A wave crashed against her face, bathing her in its lust to reach the shore. Swiping her face with an impatient hand, she continued her quest.

‘‘Johnnie? What is it?’’ She reared back so quickly he thought sure she’d been stung.

He scurried to her side then relaxed. ‘‘It’s a midshipman.’’

‘‘Is it a fish?’’

‘‘Yes.’’ The fish was like a floating gaslight, giving off almost enough illumination to read by. ‘‘It gets its name from the spots on its body that resemble the brass buttons of a midshipman’s uniform.’’

‘‘But look at it. It’s, it’s glowing.’’

The fascination of her voice drew his attention. She stood now, and if he were any kind of gentleman whatsoever, he would turn from the magnificent display she offered.

But the sweetness of Rachel was simply too much to deprive himself of. Besides, she was to be his wife, and everything there before him would one day be his.

Still his conscience prickled.

At least the gown isn’t white,
he thought, for the brown color of the dress held no translucent qualities, thus providing at least a modicum of modesty.

He perused the outline of her shape, which left little to the imagination. And her legs. Old mother Eve, but her legs went on forever.

‘‘What triggers it to turn up its lights?’’ she asked.

He took a deep breath, forcing his gaze back to the fish. ‘‘No one really knows, but speculation is that it’s beckoning one of the opposite persuasion for, uh, romantic reasons.’’

She looked skeptical. ‘‘I don’t know. Have you taken a good look at that face? Why, it’s about the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen.’’ She tilted her head. ‘‘Maybe that’s why it lights up. So its enemy can see the midshipman’s face and then swim away in terror.’’

He smiled.

She looked up.

‘‘I’ve missed you,’’ he said.

The sun touched her cheeks, her eyelashes, her lips. ‘‘Why haven’t you come for coffee?’’

‘‘I had some things I needed to sort out in my mind.’’

‘‘And have you sorted them out?’’

‘‘Almost.’’ That was as close to the truth as he could come. He’d gone back and forth in his ruminations about her. He knew that to marry her he must give up not just his livelihood but the monstrosity he had paid a fortune to build. Yet the truth was, he didn’t want her living in that squalor anyway.

So he’d quit courting her over coffee every morning and instead focused his attention on his business. But with each passing day, the profession he had chosen for himself held less and less attraction. Even the money no longer completely compensated for the dissatisfaction of his work.

And when that man had taken his life’s blood on the front door stoop of Parker House, it had shaken Johnnie mightily. Had shaken Michael, as well. The boy had not dealt cards since. Had instead worked in the kitchen washing glasses and running errands.

‘‘We don’t even know if he was a Christian,’’ Michael had confessed to Johnnie after the doctor had pronounced him dead and the men in charge of the cemetery carted him off.

And Johnnie had no answer for his protégé.

After that incident, he found himself hoping, no,
praying,
that the men in his saloon would only win and never lose. He shook his head.

He was going off his bean.

Still, he had walked down to Mickle’s Dry Goods and purchased a Bible. Then he’d started reading it. Again.

And the more he read, the more he realized it wasn’t Rachel he should be giving up his business for, but the Lord.

‘‘No one can serve two masters; for either he will hate the one and love the other, or else he will be loyal to the one and despise the other.

You cannot serve God and mammon.’’

Something sharp rubbed against Johnnie’s foot. He jerked, then reached down in the water and withdrew the culprit peeking from its muddy burrow.

‘‘A clam,’’ Rachel said.

He shook his head. ‘‘An oyster.’’

She gasped. ‘‘Oh. Do you think it might have a pearl inside?’’

He rubbed the black shell between his fingers. ‘‘Shall we find out?’’

Clasping her hand, he led her through the water. A light wind carried the smell of salt to his nose and threw a spray of water onto his pants. Wet sand cushioned his feet when they reached the shore.

Settling onto his knees, he withdrew his jackknife from its scabbard at his waist and introduced its blade into the seam of the oyster’s shell.

He worked it all the way around until he could pry open its tightly sealed mouth. Poking around the gooey insides with his knife, he hadn’t really expected to find anything.

Yet there in its center was a perfectly round ball. Removing it carefully with forefinger and knife, he dropped it onto his shirt, wiped it clean, and rolled it into the palm of his hand.

‘‘Oh,’’ Rachel breathed. ‘‘Look.
‘Again,’
’’ she quoted quietly,
‘‘ ‘the kingdom of heaven is like a merchant seeking beautiful pearls, who, when he had found one pearl of great price, went and sold all that he had and bought it.’ ’’

Matthew thirteen-something. He’d passed over the verse a million times. He looked at the miracle of the pearl cradled in his hand, then at the miracle of this woman who knelt before him. And with the sea gulls squalling, the waves crashing, the damp sand sucking at his knees, and his heart pounding, he knew what he must do.

All that I have to give, I give to you, Lord,
he silently vowed.
My heart, my mind, my soul, my body
. He sighed.
And my business. I am in your hands. Do with me what you think is good and right
.

Rachel took the pearl from his palm and placed it in hers. ‘‘It’s so perfect. Perfect in color. Perfect in shape. Perfect in beauty.’’

She transferred the pearl back to him, and he tucked it carefully into the pouch at his belt and sheathed his knife.

She gasped and pointed. The sunset’s hint of rose teased the cloudless sky, causing the mountaintops to glow like pieces of coal in an age-old fire.

The phenomenon that had captured Rachel’s attention, however, was not the transfiguration of nature’s sky but a flight of seventy, maybe even eighty, white pelicans. These regal creatures were not the brown pelicans that were as common as miners. These beauties were as rare as sunbonnets.

With regal dignity, they soared with long necks curved back, yellow bills resting forward and white wings displaying a spread of almost ten feet.

They coasted about the cove without any apparent purpose other than sheer pleasure. Johnnie knew what was coming, but even knowing did not detract from the amazement he felt when without the slightest provocation they all began to turn.

Large arcs. Small arcs. Tightly honed circles. Each creature with a unique dance that made up a whole until the entire flock revolved like the wheel of a wagon.

Ten minutes the performance lasted with the individuals and groups painting a multitude of patterns against the glowing colors of God’s palette.

Then, with no warning, the great white birds rolled into a long V that closed like scissors into a straight line.

Yet even as these exceptional beings rode the air as a unit without hardly moving a wing, they retained their individuality. One dipping.

Another swaying. Still another rocking from side to side.

Free, yet carefully staying within the framework of the whole.