The Rose Legacy (3 page)

He flicked the edge of the paper. “Yes, I see your point, Miss DiGratia, but …”

Carina stiffened. “Are you saying you can’t help me?”

“No, no. I’m not saying that at all.” He patted his hand over the blond hair parted in the middle and slicked back from his face. “What I’m saying is, your claim has been jumped.”

Carina waited. What on earth did that mean? She was angry, disillusioned, and uncommonly tired. All she wanted was a place to get clean and lie down. “I’m willing to pay for your services,” she stated, though she had no idea what those services might cost. To her knowledge, no one in her family had been involved in litigation. They did business with their own and handled differences with loud voices but no courts.

“Miss DiGratia.” His eyes went over her, liking what he saw, she knew by his expression. He stood and walked around the desk with a bit of swagger. “You are in the finest legal hands in town.” He reached for her own hand and brushed it with his lips. “I assure you if anyone can assist you, it is I.”

Carina withdrew her hand. “Then you will get my house back?”

“I’ll do my utmost. But you look completely exhausted. Would you care to continue the discussion over supper? No charge, of course.” He flashed a set of unusually broad and straight teeth.

Carina fought the unexpected tears. She was weary, had no place to stay, and dared not refuse his offer. She needed him. Besides, she was hungry. She dropped her gaze to her hands. “Is there someplace to lodge until they are out of my home?”

“I will personally vouch for you. The trouble, of course, will be vacancy.” He assisted her to her feet. “But we’ll see what we can find.” He tucked her hand into his arm. “Your bags will be safe here in the office. No need to carry them along.” He led her out, then turned the key in the door.

“Thank you, Mr. Beck.” She returned a faint smile.

“Things will work out. You’ll see.”

Carina followed him into the lobby of the Crystal Hotel. The lobby was not large, but well enough appointed with gold-flocked, white silk wallpaper and brass lamps. She looked up the stairs that led to the rooms as Berkley Beck rang the bell.

“Yes, Mr. Beck?” The clerk shoved his spectacles up his nose with one finger and eyed them through the small oval lenses.

“Any vacancies, George?”

“You got to be kidding. On Friday night?” His glance at Carina brought the fire to her cheeks, then he turned back to Mr. Beck. “You needing a … room?”

“Miss DiGratia has need of a room.”

George eyed her again, his eyes through the spectacles like the enlarged gape of a fish. His mouth, too, opened and shut like a carp tasting a pond’s surface. Then he turned back to Mr. Beck. “I’m full up. But Swisher moved out of Mae’s ‘bout an hour ago. Went to stay on the Mary Jean since he struck ore. Try over there.”

“Very good. Keep us a table for supper, will you?”

Berkley Beck took Carina’s elbow and rushed her out. “Let’s just hope we’re in time.”

In time? And the room had only vacated the hour before? Carina didn’t ask. She only wanted to wash the dust from her face and teeth and lie down someplace quiet. Her stomach growled, as she had not eaten since early that morning, and she was light-headed and dizzy. Supper was necessary.

When Mr. Beck turned onto Drake, she refused to look at the house next to Mae’s that should have been hers by now. She shivered. The evening air had chilled with the setting of the sun, chilled more swiftly than she would have expected. She was glad for the warmth of the front hall they entered. Its smooth pine walls had a golden hue that caught and held the lantern light like amber.

Carina’s eyes landed on the innkeeper. Mae Dixon was perhaps the largest woman Carina had ever seen. The dimples on her cheeks would have swallowed half of Carina’s pinky finger, and no less than three rolls connected her chin to her chest. A grizzle of mostly gray hair was knotted behind her head, and her earlobes were thick and curled under where they met her skin. But most impressive were the eyes, thick-lashed and nearly violet.

“Well, Berkley Beck, what have we here?” Mae’s throaty voice was thick as butter.

“Mae, Miss DiGratia needs a room. Legal matters keep her from claiming her rightful property next door.”

She raised thin eyebrows. “The Shipley place? Whew. Even you’ll have a time ousting the Carruthers.”

“Nevertheless, oust them, I will. In the meantime …”

Mae shook her head and the neck skin swung. “Swisher moved out not an hour ago. But I have a man holding the room on a ten dollar deposit.” Berkley Beck reached into his vest and took out twenty dollars. “Miss DiGratia’s first week and a little something on top.”

Mae Dixon pressed her hands to her ample hips. “Are you bribing me?”

“One hand washes the other.”

“When I need washin’, I use the pump.”

Mr. Beck flashed his teeth, conceding the point. “For Miss DiGratia’s sake, then.”

Mae fixed her strange purple eyes on Carina, shrugged, then turned to the wooden boxes on the wall behind her. She slid the key from one and handed it over. “Number eight.”

Carina silenced any protest. She was in no position to be sanctimonious. The man who had put down the deposit would fare better finding another place than she could.

Pocketing the key, Mr. Beck turned to her. “We’ll collect your bags after supper. Would you like to have a look at the room first?” He led her away from the counter. “I daresay you’d better keep it, even if it’s not to your liking. It was a terrific stroke of luck to find one open.”

“It wasn’t open.”

“It wasn’t occupied … yet. Possession is nine-tenths of the law.”

The room felt overly warm. “So now I’ve done what the Carruthers did to me—jumped that man’s claim?”

“Miss DiGratia—”

“Please.” Carina raised her hand. “Don’t explain. I only know that I …” Her head suddenly swimming, she swayed against him. She closed her eyes, only vaguely aware of Berkley Beck supporting her back outside.

He was speaking, but his words sounded faint and meaningless. “ … the elevation. Your blood will thicken after a time … so thoughtless of me.”

The cold air cleared her head, and she looked up with an exhaled breath. “I’m better now, thank you.” She released his arm.

“In a few days you’ll adjust. Can you make it back to the hotel for supper? I could borrow Mae’s hack, but it’s more trouble than it’s worth trying to get through now that the sun’s down.”

“What do you mean?”

“The miners, of course.” He directed her attention to the swarming street. “Three thousand men at last count, or very nearly.”

Where had they all come from like ants from the ground? The sight was overwhelming. Carina shook her head. “I can walk.”

The din that had been considerable during the day was now far worse, increased by the raucous noise that passed for music blaring from the saloon doorways they passed. Gambling parlors and every other commerce dependent on the miners had stepped up their efforts to lure the men in.

Carina was thankful for Mr. Beck’s sturdy arm as he shouldered them through the crowd. The dining room at the Crystal Hotel was packed, all but the table held for them. As Berkley Beck seated her, she wondered why someone had not stolen their table as he had done the room at Mae’s. Maybe with Berkley Beck it only worked one way, and for that she should be grateful.

She took the menu handed her by the red-haired woman whose lips pressed in a hard, tight line. The skin at either side of her mouth was creased and craggy like quarried granite.

“Thank you, Mrs. Barton.” Mr. Beck took his bill of fare with a smile.

The woman did not return the smile nor speak but merely walked away. Carina sighed. The menu swam before her eyes, and she pressed them shut. She could well believe Berkley Beck’s speech about thin blood. The walk over had left her winded, and her heart was still pounding.

“The ham steak with redeye gravy is exceptional.” Carina closed the menu. “Thank you.”

The ham steak
was
exceptional. It was the first good thing she had experienced. That, and Mr. Beck’s kindness. Wiping her mouth, she looked up at him. When he smiled, his face seemed thinner, scarcely framing his broad mouth, but he was handsome in his own way.

His dark eyebrows contrasted with his blond hair, and she wondered if his beard would come in dark as well, though he bore no shadow by which to tell. Unwillingly she thought of another whose blue black shadow would be well under way by this time of night, whose dark melting eyes matched his swarthy complexion. She pushed away the thought.

“Feeling better?” Mr. Beck’s blue eyes were amused.

Carina realized she hadn’t spoken since the meal was served. She laughed. “I’ve been discourteous.”

“Nonsense. You needed to eat. I’m only glad it met with your approval.”

With the food warming her stomach, Carina felt almost punchy. “You’ve been so kind.”

“My pleasure, I assure you. And now I’ll see you back to your room. You have need of a good night’s sleep.” He stood and pulled out her chair.

“Have they brought the check?”

“They’ll charge it to my account.”

So he was a man of standing. Good. She had done well to find him. Carina waited outside while he ducked into his office for her bags.

He came back out in a moment. “Have you a trunk somewhere?”

Somewhere
inverità
. “That is another matter I must discuss with you. On the road up, my wagon broke a wheel. A freighter sent it over the side with all my belongings.”

“Deplorable bad luck.”

Carina ducked under a low-hanging sign where the boardwalk dipped to a lower level. “But what can be done? Must he pay damages or … or …”

“Unfortunately, it does state in the miners’ bylaws that the wagon road must remain open. Any blockage is forfeit. Heinous as it may seem, the freighter was within his rights.”

Carina frowned. “Why should he be allowed to deprive me of my goods to pass by with his?”

Mr. Beck stopped at the base of Mae’s steps. “He shouldn’t. But he is. The road is critical, and yours is not the first wagon to meet that fate. I’m terribly sorry.”

Carina saw his sincerity, but it changed nothing. She turned as a man stormed out Mae’s door, his flaccid cheeks red, fists clenched at his sides. He blew past them with neither a glance nor word, but Carina was certain it was the man whose room she had usurped.

She felt a twinge of remorse, then realized she had only acted as did everyone else in this place. She would have to stop regretting such actions if she were to survive in Crystal City.

“Never mind,” Berkley Beck murmured. “He’ll find someplace else.”

She smiled, more grateful than she could say to have found Mr. Beck. Though he had wrongfully usurped the room, it was more than anyone else had done for her. Bene. She would take it. Mr. Beck had won it for her. And one thing she knew. Berkley Beck would never have cast her belongings down the mountain, whatever the bylaws said.

He took the staircase ahead of her, stopped outside number eight, and fished the key from his pocket. Then he opened the door to reveal a space the size of a horse stall, stuffed with a cot, washstand, and coat hook. The side walls were stretched canvas, stained and mottled. Carina took it in with one glance, and her expression must have said more than words.

Berkley Beck set the carpetbag and satchel inside the door and stepped back out. His voice was gentle. “In the morning we’ll see what we can do about things.”

She nodded and watched him down the stairs. Then she went into the room and lifted the carpetbag to the cot. Thankfully it contained a nightgown and change of undergarments, her pig bristle toothbrush and tooth powder, and a hairbrush. Only those things she’d needed readily at hand.

The black leather satchel she placed under the cot. She would not think about that now. She looked around the room again, slowly circling it with her eyes, very close to tears. The morning seemed a long way off.

T
HREE

What joy in the sunshine. What glory fills a bird’s throat that infects the air with song. I am awakened to the wonder, and I will open my ears and close my eyes, the better to listen and feel the sun’s glow.

—Rose

C
ARINA WOKE WITH A
crick in her neck. The room was cold, and the blanket smelled of whiskey and something worse. She shoved it away from her face, disgusted, then rubbed a hand over her eyes and sat up. The sun’s rosy glow filled the tiny window like the rose-painted panes in the cathedral at Turin, where she had visited once with her papa when she was very small.

Carina felt a pang for the old country, something she seldom felt, as she’d been so young when they left. It was the newness, the unfamiliar room, the shock of all that had gone wrong. She had wakened earlier than she might normally after taking most of the night to fall asleep, yet not early enough by the sounds of commotion beneath the floor.

She would have snuggled back in and forgotten it all but for the smell of the blanket and the lumps in the ticking. She tried to remember if she had ever slept on straw before. Played in it, yes—sliding and tossing it until she was prickly with hay dust. But slept on it? Maybe on the ship. Certainly not since.

Frowning, she reached back to rub the stiffness from her neck, still surprised she had slept at all through the continuous din of the night. The lace edge of her cotton batiste gown brushed her cheek, and she closed her eyes, thinking of all the things she had lost on the mountainside. Her anger brought her fully awake.

She sat up and swung her legs out, then wrenched them back immediately as a mouse skittered across the floor. Once her heart stopped pounding, she watched the creature. Unlike the rodents she had seen before, this one had pale toffee-colored fur with fat white cheeks and large black eyes. Its ears were pink shells. When it stopped at the corner and raised up to sniff the air, she could see its whiskers trembling in the morning light, fragile as spider threads.

Sliding her legs out once again, she leaned closer to the mouse. “Good morning, little
topo
.” It tipped its head, took one good look, and ran. Carina dropped to her knees beside the cot, closed her eyes, and murmured, “Grazie, Dio, for this day. Keep me from the Evil One and all his ways. And if you don’t mind … give me my house today.”

She crossed herself, touching her forehead, her chest and each shoulder, secure that nothing evil could pass that shield—or at least after yesterday, hoping so. Then she stood and ran her fingers through the tangles of her hair. She took off her gown and carefully folded it back into the carpetbag, then tied on her corset and slipped the skirt and blouse on from the day before. Taking the pitcher from the stand, she went out of the room.

Downstairs she found Mae setting out plates of hot cakes as fast as she could on the long wood-plank tables lined with men. Carina touched her arm as she hustled by on her way back to the kitchen. “Excuse me. Where do I get water?”

“The pump’s out back.” Mae swung around. “But wait a moment.” Carina watched her cross the room, fascinated by her graceful rolling gait.

“Take this with you.” Mae pulled a pistol from beneath the desk. “Those Carruthers are bad eggs.”

Carina looked at the pistol in Mae’s soft palm. She must arm herself to gather water to wash? What had she gotten into? She clasped the cold metal of the gun.

“There’s enough men in town totin’ hardware that a girl with looks like yours better watch her step. What are you anyway, a Spaniard?”

Carina frowned. It was true the combination of Papa’s northern coloring and Mamma’s darker features was unusual. But a Spaniard? “I am from Italy, though now I am American … like you.”

“Well, you’re just exotic enough to attract more attention than you want.”

Carina slid the gun barrel into the waist of her skirt. She had never before handled a weapon, but she was glad for it now. “Thank you.”

The air was frigid as she stepped outside and looked cautiously about. She saw no sign of the Carruthers while she filled the pitcher at the pump, but the skin on her neck crawled, thinking they could be watching from the house, her house.

Exotic? There were Italians in Crystal. She had seen them, heard them on the street as she passed through the day before. But they were
contadini
, southern peasants, not northern Italians from the Kingdom of Sardinia like her papa. They came to America with nothing, came to escape hardship, but they were ill-equipped to rise to higher status. Could they be, as Papa said, so entrenched in hardship they clung to it?

She had not known such hardship, and she crossed herself in gratitude, then reached for the pump handle. She had not even known hunger, thanks to God and her papa. Angelo Pasquale DiGratia was an educated man and a gifted physician. He had been famous in Salerno, a friend of Count Camillo Benso di Cavour, prime minister to Victor Emmanuel II, king of Sardinia-Piedmont.

And he was well respected in Sonoma. With his classic patrician features, blond hair, and blue eyes, his knowledge of seven languages, four of which he could read as well, and, most of all, his ability to heal … ah, Angelo Pasquale DiGratia was a great man. She felt a homesick pang. Oh, Papa.

With the full pitcher, she made her way back to the boardinghouse. Inside her room, Carina scrubbed with the vendor’s soap, then brushed her hair into a dark, rippled veil down her back. Closing her eyes, she tossed it softly back, feeling the length of it brush the top of her thighs. Loose like this, it was her finest feature, or so Flav—

She jerked her head upright. She would not think of that. Her hair dried while she brushed the dust from her blouse and skirt and donned them again. Once she was dressed, she twisted and clipped her hair at the nape with the horn barrette her mother had given her.

First she would check on Dom. She would have to leave him at the livery until Mr. Beck got her house back. But she would see Mr. Beck directly. After that, she would attend to the task that burned most fiercely.

Carina pulled the door closed behind her. From the tumult downstairs she guessed Mae was still serving food, and when she reached the stairs, she saw it was so. The benches, made of a single log hewn lengthwise and supported by thinner crossed logs, overflowed with more men than Mae housed.

Every table was filled, and as fast as Mae shoved platters of meat and hot cakes down, they were devoured. Like slopped hogs, the men ate, then took up their hats and walked out. There was no refinement, no leisurely enjoyment. She pictured her own papa at the breakfast table, his shirt white in the gentle sunlight, his motions elegant, relaxed, his smile quick as his laughter. Even her brothers with their pranking did not match this … coarseness.

Watching the miners, her hunger left her. Though the smell of fried bacon and woodsmoke teased her nose, Carina shook her head. Even were there room for her, she would not join them. She slipped out unnoticed.

The morning air had a bite, though the June sun climbed up the clear sky. It seemed to have no power yet to warm the day. As she turned onto Central Street, she passed three boys scrabbling in the sawdust swept out from the floor of the Boise Billiard Hall. Carina wrinkled her nose at the smell of whiskey, vomit, and tobacco spittle in the sawdust, but the boys seemed oblivious. One jumped up and hallooed, gripping a coin above his head. The other two dug their fingers in with renewed fervor. She looked away.

Empty ore wagons, hauled by mules or horse teams, made their way out to the mines. She turned toward the stable.
Tavish Livery and Feed
. A sign to the right of the door read:

City transfer & hack line
Expressing and hauling

And on the left:

Boarding horses a specialty
Horses let by the day, week, or month
Carriages to Wasson Lake and all points of interest
Fine saddle horses.

Inside, she strained in the dim light. Dom was there, and beyond him, she saw the freighter’s blacks. So he was in town somewhere, no doubt delivering his precious cargo. He who made free with her own precious things. Dom whickered as she reached for his muzzle.

“Help you, lass?”

She turned to the wizened ostler, so bent his head was no higher than hers. His knuckles, like crab apples, gripped the harness he held. A pang for Ti’Giusseppe seized her, and she swallowed the lump of longing in her throat. “This is my mule.”

“Ah, the one with a will of ‘is own, now.”

“He was trouble?”

“Not an animal alive gives Alan Tavish trouble, lassie. I have the way with them, ye see.”

She smiled, sensing the same affectionate passion for creatures her ti’Giusseppe possessed. That, at least, she could be glad of. Dom was in a good place.

“Are you needin’ ‘im hitched up, then?”

Hitch him to what, rubble on the mountainside? She frowned to think of her belongings crashed to pieces and felt the hurt and anger still inside.
Oofa!
Enough. What was done was done. “Thank you, no. But I will need him saddled … if you have a saddle?”

“I do, but not a lady’s.”

“I can ride astride.” As she had with Flavio too many times.

“Then I’ll get ‘im ready for ye.”

“Thank you. I’ll come back.” Carina blinked as she stepped back outside into the brightness and headed across the street.

“Watch it!”

She jumped back from the irate driver and his string of shaggy mules straining with a load of ore.

“Lose yer purty head if you don’t watch out!” He spat a brown string.

Carina raised a bent arm topped with her fist. “Animale!” Twice now she had been spat at by tobacco-chewing brutes. Animals! Not even Ti’Lorenzo, who always held a plug in his cheek, American-style, had ever spat in her direction.

Gathering her skirt, she crossed through the traffic and started down the uneven boardwalk to Berkley Beck’s office. When he didn’t answer her rap on the door, she tried the knob. It held fast. Surveying the street, she saw no sign of him among the growing crowd, so she made her way to the Crystal Hotel.

Unlike the night before, the dining room was empty, though by its condition, it had been well used earlier. The miners must rise with the sun, or more likely from the noise last night, they simply stumbled from the gaming halls back to their diggings in the mountainside.

Only Berkley Beck lingered at the corner table, engrossed in a newspaper. The coffee steam from his cup drew her irresistibly.

At her approach, he jumped up. “Miss DiGratia.”

“Good morning, Mr. Beck.”

“Please.” He held the chair for her.

Carina sat.

“May I order you breakfast?”

Her appetite had not returned. “Only coffee.”

“That I have already.” He turned over a white china cup and poured from the pot beside his plate.

Carina sipped slowly, breathing the aroma. A pang of longing seized her for Mamma’s coffee and cake. She could almost breathe its fragrance, and her mouth watered at the thought. No one matched Mamma’s
tarelle
. She sighed.

“I trust you spent a restful night?” Mr. Beck’s voice was sincere.

She raised her eyebrows. “A loud night, but I did make a friend.”

“A friend?”

“Yes. A fat-cheeked fellow.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Did this fellow have a name?”

“Topo, I guess. He skittered under the floor board before I could make his proper acquaintance.”

“Aha.” Berkley Beck laughed. “You’ll find the rodent population thriving. There’s not a cat in town. Are you sure you won’t eat?”

Carina shook her head. “Thank you, no. I came to find you. I went first to your office.”

“I’m afraid I do dawdle over breakfast. A terrible habit, but one I cultivate nonetheless. I apologize.”

“There’s no need.”

“Now that you’ve found me, I can only hope it wasn’t all business.” Again his broad teeth flashed.

She returned his smile. “I’m anxious to have my situation resolved. I had expected to be settled in already, and today I meant to find employment.”

“Employment, Miss DiGratia?”

She took out the advertisement that had appeared in the same paper as the one for her house and held it out to Mr. Beck. “You see here? Professional opportunities for women. Contact Madame LeGuerre.”

Mr. Beck’s eyes went abruptly from the advertisement to her. “Unless I have misread you, Miss DiGratia, these are not the professional opportunities you seek.”

“What do you mean? It says training provided.”

Mr. Beck folded the advertisement and covered it with his hand on the table. “I would encourage you not to pursue this avenue further.”

“Why not?”

“Madame LeGuerre is a … well, a madam.” Carina looked at him blankly.

“A woman of the night.”

Her eyes widened involuntarily. “You mean this is … but …” Carina spread her hands. Was it possible? Yet another error? “I didn’t know. I purchased a house. I intended to learn a profession—not that profession. I …” She sagged in her chair. “I don’t know what to do.”