Under the Desert Sky (27 page)

“Now it's your turn, Christian. Try to tie all the feathers of the same length together and then hand them over to Phoebe. The actual sorting will come later,” Andy said. “Open the front gate and let this poor critter out. We've got fifty-one more birds to go.”

Phoebe always thought the birds seemed somewhat crestfallen when they ran off, as if they were humiliated by their ordeal. She smiled when she thought of the first plucking she and Edwin had tried to do by themselves. It was nearly a disaster—Edwin thought it was inhumane to take the feathers, but Phoebe convinced him that cutting the feathers didn't hurt the birds, and besides, it was the only way they were going to make any money.

“Ina Claire, you and Will can carry some of these bundles up to the house. Leave them on the porch, because most of them will be quite dirty,” Phoebe said.

•  •  •

When the plucking was over, a long, busy day of sorting began. Everything had to give way to the feathers, which had to be washed, starched, and sized before they were tied into bundles. The entire surface of the porch was covered with feathers, with more feathers spilling into the kitchen. The table, the chairs, the floor—every place had an assigned size where the feathers would be grouped.

“I had no idea there were so many kinds of feathers and that you'd have to sort them out,” Ina Claire said.

“It's all about money.” Phoebe picked up one particularly long, graceful feather. “On the London market, this feather could fetch as much as sixty to eighty dollars.”

“For one feather?” Ina Claire asked. “That seems hard to believe. Who would pay that?”

“Don't say that around Mr. Prinsen,” Andy said. “He intends to make the Salt River Valley competitive with the biggest ostrich ranches in South Africa.”

“But it still comes back to who wants one of these,” Ina Claire said.

“They've been around for a long time,” Christian said. “Themei, the Egyptian goddess, wears one. It's the symbol of justice because it is perfectly even and equal on both sides.”

“I don't know about that,” Phoebe said, “but as long as women in high society want feathers, I intend to see that they're available.”

“What about the boos, Mama? Who wants these?” Will threw a handful into the air.

“Now, there's a future feather man.” Christian moved over to bundle some of the tail feathers, which were indeed called boos. “It looks to me like these would make good feather dusters.”

“I think these are Wapi's feathers,” Will said. “Can I make a duster out of him?”

“And who is Wapi?” Ina Claire asked.

“He's our pet ostrich,” Phoebe said.

“Wapi can talk,” Will said.

“Really? Wapi can talk?” Ina Claire had a questioning look.

“July says parrots can talk, and ostriches are bigger than parrots.”

Ina Claire laughed. “That's true. Ostriches are certainly a lot bigger than parrots. What does Wapi say to you?”

“He doesn't talk to me. Wapi can only talk Afrikaans, so July and Wet are the only ones who know what he says.”

“If he came from Africa, I can understand that,” Ina Claire said, smiling, and obviously enjoying her play with Will.

“July's teaching me how to talk Afrikaans. Then Wapi can talk to me. You want to hear me say something?”

“Yes, I would,” Ina Claire said.

“My
naam
is Will
en ek vier jaar oud
. Do you know what I said?”

“I do. You said your name is Will and you're four years old.”

Will's eyes widened and his mouth opened in surprise. “You can talk Afrikaans?”

“I know a few words, but not enough to talk to Wapi.”

•  •  •

Phoebe watched the interaction between Ina Claire and her son. During the evening at the Prinsens', she'd felt disquieted while listening to what the young woman had gone through. That night, she'd definitely been jealous, thinking Ina Claire and Christian might have had a romantic involvement; but if Ina Claire was her rival, she wished she could dislike her. Ina Claire had a friendly way about her; it was easy to see that Will was taken with her, and Phoebe had to admit that she liked her as well.

Just then the hall clock struck nine.

“Oh, dear,” Ina Claire said, looking toward Andy. “I didn't know it was that late. I need to get back. Are you going back to the Prinsens'?”

“There's no need for that,” Phoebe said. “I have plenty of room for everyone. There are three available bedrooms upstairs, since July moved to the bunkhouse.”

“There are two rooms,” Christian said. “You can't have mine.”

•  •  •

Phoebe tossed and turned far into the night. She was extremely tired; the work that day had been exhausting, but here she was wide-awake. Why couldn't she go to sleep?

Even as she asked herself the question, though, she knew exactly what was causing her to be so restless. She couldn't sleep because Christian was in the room just above her. And even more disturbing was that Ina Claire was in the room next to his. She was reasonably certain that Christian wouldn't go to Ina Claire's room tonight, not while he was staying in Phoebe's house. But what if Ina Claire went to his room? Would he be able to resist her? Would he want to?

•  •  •

Two days later Phoebe, Christian, and Will were in the office of J. L. Stein, an ostrich-feather broker who represented the New York market. On a blackboard he'd written the prices per pound, listing the classes of feathers: whites, primes, firsts, feminas, and spadones, among a dozen other classifications. The prices ranged from a high of $300 per pound all the way down to $5 a pound for drabs and tails. Before leaving home, all Phoebe's feathers had been graded, with Andy and July making the final determination.

The feathers were in sacks, each separated by grade. Will insisted on dragging in one bag himself.

Mr. Stein had asked that the feathers be emptied onto a long table in the back of his office so he could gauge them. The primes were brought out first.

“Oh, yes.” He separated the bundle into individual feathers. “These are fine feathers, Mrs. Sloan. I do believe you've outdone yourself.”

Phoebe was flattered by Mr. Stein's praise. “Thank you. I appreciate that, coming from you, sir.”

“I'm not just saying that. The Arizona feathers seem to be more luxuriant than the African. I believe how you grow the alfalfa makes the difference, and when the irrigation system is improved, I think this valley will surpass the biggest producers abroad.”

“That would be wonderful,” Phoebe said.

Stein inspected each bundle of feathers, and when he was finished, he went to his cash box and began withdrawing money. He counted out $1,170. “I believe this is my best offer, ma'am. I can pay a little more because these feathers will stay in the New York market, and that will save the transport cost to London. I hope this amount meets your expectation.”

“I understand.” Phoebe desperately tried to control the trembling of her hand as she accepted the money. “Perhaps when you return for the next plucking, you can do better.”

“I would hope so. With the US market continuing to grow as it is, I can see a very profitable partnership developing between us. I believe our company will import at least a half million dollars' worth of feathers this year, and there's no reason why feathers from you and your cohorts here in the valley shouldn't become a big part of our inventory.”

“I look forward to that, Mr. Stein.”

When Phoebe and Christian and Will had walked a short distance from the brokerage house, Phoebe turned to Christian, a broad smile spreading across her face. “I want you to pinch me. I can't believe this.”

Will turned to Phoebe and immediately pinched her arm.

“Ouch!”

Christian laughed. “He just did what you told him to.”

“I guess I did ask for that. I know you're used to dealing with millions upon millions of dollars, but this is the most money I've ever seen.”

“It means more to you because it's yours—you worked for it, you made it. Now that you're a rich woman, what're you going to do with your money?”

“I hardly think I'm rich, but I know the first thing I'm going to buy.”

“And what is that? A new hat, maybe even one with an ostrich feather?”

“I'm going to buy a pound of butter—no, make that a keg of butter!”

Christian laughed as the three of them continued down the street to the Maricopa Loan and Trust.

When they entered, Phoebe stepped up to the teller. “I'd like to make a deposit.”

“Yes, ma'am,” the teller said. “And your name is . . . ?

“Phoebe Sloan.”

The teller checked his register. “Just a moment, ma'am, I need to get Mr. Forbes.” He went into a room walled off with glass and soon returned with the president of the Loan and Trust.

Charles Forbes stepped to the window. “Good morning, Mrs. Sloan, Mr. Henshaw says you want to make a deposit.”

“Is there something wrong with that?” Christian asked.

“Does this gentleman speak for you?” Mr. Forbes asked.

“I speak for myself, but to repeat his question, is there something wrong with my making a deposit?”

“If you recall, I lowered your interest rate when you made your mortgage payment in June, but your part of the bargain was to pay five percent. I'm afraid there was an error in our calculations. You owe an additional thirty-eight dollars.”

“Was the error on the part of Mrs. Sloan, or was it on the part of the bank?” Christian asked.

“It doesn't matter. She didn't live up to her part of the bargain.”

Christian withdrew a money clip from his pocket and pulled off two $20 notes and laid them on the counter. “Now she's paid.”

“Christian, you don't have to do that. Take your money back.” Phoebe opened her reticule and took out the cash she had received from Mr. Stein. “I believe you said thirty-eight dollars.” She counted out the exact amount. “Now, I want to know what kind of interest you're paying on savings.”

•  •  •

“That felt good,” Phoebe said as she, Christian, and Will walked back out to the wagon. “Ever since Edwin died, I've struggled, and now for the first time I have enough money to take care of the next mortgage payment and still have enough to support Will and me.”

“Do you know what I think?”

“What?”

“It calls for a celebration. Suppose we go to the Phoenix Restaurant and have something to eat.”

“What's a restaurant?” Will asked.

“It's time you found out, my boy,” Christian said as they headed for the courthouse plaza.

W
ill looked around the Phoenix Restaurant with an expression of awe. “Mama, look at all the people sitting at the tables. The people who live here sure do have a lot of company.”

“They do indeed,” Christian said with a little laugh.

They were met by the maître d', who escorted them to a table, then left a menu with Christian and Phoebe.

“Why don't I get one?” Will asked.

“Well, little man, if you want a menu, I shall certainly give you one,” the maître d' said.

After Christian explained the purpose of the menu, Will challenged him. “You mean all I have to do is say what I want to eat and they'll bring it?”

“Sure, if they have it.”

“Do they have apple pie?”

“Yes, here it is, right here.”

“I want apple pie.”

“That's for dessert. You'll have to order something else first.” Phoebe said.

“Wet said I could have anything I wanted.”

“I did say that, Phoebe. And since this is his first experience with a restaurant, shouldn't he get whatever he wants?”

“Ohhh, you are spoiling him rotten,” Phoebe said, though her complaint was ameliorated by a broad smile.

A few minutes later, while Christian ate lamb chops and Phoebe had baked chicken, Will was enjoying a slice of apple pie.

“How is your chicken?” Christian asked.

“You know what I like best about it?”

“What's that?”

“I didn't have to cook it.”

Christian laughed. “Well, I can see how that might appeal to you.”

“This is the first time I've been in here.” Phoebe glanced around the room.

“Edwin didn't like this restaurant?”

“No, you don't understand. This is the first time I've been in any restaurant since I came to Arizona. I think”—Phoebe glanced over at Will, who was enjoying his pie—“I think Edwin didn't particularly want to be seen in public with me.”

“Edwin must have been a”—Christian started to say that Edwin was a fool, but didn't want to say so in front of Will—“very busy man, not to have time to take his family out on occasion.”