Forgiven (16 page)

The orchestra played waltzes, and waiters slid through with trays of delicacies—a seafood (shrimp, according to Miss Everts’s whisper), a pastry filled with small black nubbins (caviar, Miss Everts called it), and, of all the awful things, snails. Due to my constrained condition and the peculiarity of these dishes, I declined to eat.

Will materialized in front of us.

“Miss Everts! And you’ve brought your lovely guest. Hello, Kula.”

He bowed over my hand, his eyes lifting to mine the lower he went. Right off the bat, I was flustered. Back in Yellowstone, one of Pa’s men told tales of magicians who could enchant a subject with a mere look, put her to sleep or make her do silly things. Mesmerizing, after the doings of a Dr. Mesmer, he’d said. I’d scoffed—surely that wasn’t possible. But now I knew it was true. I wondered what silly things I might do under the gaze of that Will Henderson.

“May I get you something to drink, ladies?”

Miss Everts glanced at me and spoke up. “Kula, I shall socialize. Will.” She slipped right away, leaving me alone with Will, who looked at me.

“Some punch?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said. “Punch.” I followed him across the crowded space, slowing to regard the artwork on the walls as we passed.

There were the usual landscapes and portraits, but there were also paintings the likes of which I’d never seen. I confess that the naked ladies made me blush, and I moved past them with a quick step. Heaven forbid I—the “artist’s model”—should ever pose as such. But there were also two panels of work that captured me. They were in gilt frames around painted images that progressed as if the subjects were on parade, from top to bottom: ladies in their odd robes cinched at the waist with their hair tied up in wide ribbons, wandering in gardens with arching bridges, passing through willows that wept over rippled ponds, serving tea in tiny shelters with wing-tipped roofs.

I stood before these panels long enough for Will to fetch my punch and return.

As I took a sip he asked, “You like Chinese art?”

I nodded. And then drank a few swallows of the punch, my thirst making up for my lack of appetite. There was alcohol in that beverage; I recognized the pungent taste from sips I’d stolen while working in a steamy kitchen. “I’ve never seen such work before. I had no idea it could be so lovely.”

“There is nothing lovely in this room. Except for you.”

I was in the middle of another sip and gulped it down in surprise. On top of what I’d already drunk, the alcohol went straight to dizzying my brain. I choked out, “Ah . . . thank you.”

“It’s true, you know. You’re turning heads.”

“You are blunt, Will Henderson. Is it warm in here?” I suddenly knew the reason for the fan that dangled from my wrist. I snapped it open and waved vigorously.

He lifted his hand to push that thicket of wavy hair off his face. I dared not look him in the eye, and instead examined the other guests more carefully. There were any number of girls my age about the room. Most of them had eyes planted firmly on Will. I could certainly understand why. And yet Will was here next to me.

I took another swallow of punch. “You know,” I said, tilting my head at the other girls, “I believe many of those heads turn this way for you, not for me.”

He smiled through his teeth. “They’re waiting like vultures.”

I had to laugh. “For what?”

“For me to make up my mind.”

“About?”

“Which one of them I’ll marry.”

The alcohol was having a most uplifting effect. I giggled. “Oh, and do you have a favorite?”

“No.” He looked in my eyes. That mesmerizing technique worked its magic on me, again. “None before now.”

I drained my punch cup. “And now?” The squeaky voice must have been mine, though I didn’t recognize it.

“Now I’ve found someone so different, so . . . unspoiled.” He leaned toward me, his lips brushing my ear. “It would send all their tongues wagging, would it not? Me with someone like you?”

His words had an immediate sobering effect. I pulled back. “Someone like me?” Someone with my skin color, he meant. Of course. I pursed my lips.

“Oh yes! Why, you know what I mean. Gorgeous. Unique. Not from their silly little circles.” His eyes met mine, and his seemed so genuine, so filled with sweetness, or what I took for sweetness, that I forgave his comment. I wished his lips would brush my ear again. He asked, “Would you dance with me?”

I took a breath. “I’m not practiced.”

“It’s not hard. I’ll show you.”

Which he did. When his arm circled my waist and his hand pressed my back, I thought I might dissolve. After two waltzes, during which I became increasingly dizzy—whether from that punch or the dancing or some combination—I begged for a rest.

Will asked, “Would you like more punch?”

I nodded, unable to speak. In point of fact, my tongue was a massive object that seemed to be giving my mouth a certain deal of trouble.

Will went for the punch and returned almost immediately. We sat now, in a pair of chairs against one wall of the room. I drank, trying to cool my mouth. The alcohol taste was stronger in this cup. It gave me a loose, dizzy feeling that only seemed to increase my fondness for this charming boy beside me. He was elegant, friendly . . . I remembered how he had rescued me from the rain.

I leaned toward Will. I felt so safe, so sure that I could tell him anything. “I have a secret. Shh.”

He leaned toward me so that our faces were only inches apart. “Please share.”

“I know about your dragon, you know. I’m not really . . . I’m really here because I’m looking for a box that belongs to my father. And, you know,” I tapped his arm with my fan. His eyebrows lifted, but I pressed on. I dropped my voice to a whisper. “I think it must be full of gold.”

He smiled. It was a funny smile, not one I’d ever seen from him before. It was almost cruel. But his warm eyes crinkled again. “Why do you think so?”

“Oh, the gold rush. The past. Something about that dragon brotherhood.” The room spun around me. It was so warm in that grand room. “And it needs to be gold, in order to set Pa free.”

“Set him free!” Will laughed, so I did, too. He laid a hand on my arm; it was soft, warm. “What, is he an outlaw? Or some kind of a captive?”

I nodded. “Sadly, yes. He’s both. But he didn’t do it, what they’re saying. He was bad in the past, but he doesn’t deserve this. Not my pa. It was that Snake-eyes, evil Snake-eyes.” I shook my head, trying to clear Wilkie’s looming face from my mind. I thought of my father’s eyes, those sad, clear, blue eyes. My poor father. “And when I set Pa free, then I’m going to set myself free.” I smiled at the thought. “Yes. Set
myself
free. Not wait for someone to do it for me.”

Will lifted his hand and brushed a stray hair from my face. “Aren’t you free now, Kula?”

Melt—I thought I might melt. Oh, I could be free with you, Will Henderson.

He leaned closer, and I thought for a second he would kiss me, right there, in public, in front of fine society. Me, Kula Baker. But instead he whispered, “I’ll go fetch more punch.” And he was gone.

I blinked. The dancers swirled about on the floor. Heavens. My brain was addled. What had I just said to Will? The room closed on me, the bodies pressing in on me from the dance floor. I lifted my fan and batted like crazy. I stood. The press of bodies around me grew like a wall. I gulped air. I had to get out, get some air.

I looked for Will but could not see him through the crush of people. I thought it best to seek reinforcements, since my brain was no longer functioning as it should. Miss Everts. I could find her; she’d help me. But she seemed to have taken a page from Jameson’s book and vanished into thin air.

I crisscrossed the great room, inserting myself between guests who increased in hearty behavior with every instant. William Henderson must have invited the entire city. The orchestra turned up the tempo; what was that lively tune? The temperature in the room grew to sweltering. I used my fan with a passion, but it did not help. Will—where was Will? I blew the lank hair up off my forehead and then mopped my cheeks with the back of my gloved hand.

What had I just told Will Henderson? Something about gold, about being free. Being free. The image of the girls, those girls, those girls behind their bars came into my mind, and my empty stomach roiled.

I reached the opposite corner of the room and still no sign of Miss Everts. And no sign of Will, either. Although I was sure I no longer needed punch. What I needed was air. I pressed one hand at my middle, hoping it would help me breathe. This blasted corset—I could not catch my breath. I fanned so hard I was sure the rice paper would split along the bamboo splines of my fan.

“Air.” I think it was my voice; it sounded like my voice, but it was as though I was hearing it through a thick fog. And just as the room began to swim again, a firm hand caught my elbow.

Chapter
TWENTY-THREE

April 12, 1906

 

 

 

 

THE HAND GUIDED ME ALONG THE WALL TO A DOOR. Helped me through the door and into the sparkling night.

The cool air was like diving into the lake—like gulping ice or waking to a frosty morning. I shivered, but I was revived. My head beginning to clear, I turned to my rescuer.

“Mr. Gable!” I lifted my thick ringlets off my neck, thankful for the cool night. “Forgive me. It was so hot . . .”

“Yes. And the punch is heady. Particularly when you’ve been offered so much.” The artist smiled at me kindly.

“Yes.” Noise from the party spilled out onto the balcony where we stood, filling the awkward silence.

“Kula! There you are.” Will, looking disheveled, stared as if he’d been searching for me for hours. “Mr. Gable.”

Sebastian Gable bowed. He regarded Will and the punch glass in his hand. “Miss Baker could do with water.”

A momentary silence. Then Will said, his voice bright once more, “Of course! I should have thought of that.” He called to one of the servers, who brought water on the spot. I took it and drank gratefully.

“Miss Baker. If you’re all right . . .” I nodded. “Well, then.” Mr. Gable turned to leave. He hesitated. “Miss Baker, you do me a great honor by allowing me to sketch your
visage.
Your comments have made me think.”

“I . . .” I was flabbergasted. “Thank you.”

Mr. Gable eyed Will for a moment, then nodded to me with a smile, and slipped back in through the door.

Will leaned to me. “You’ve proved my point.”

“Which point is that?” While now I could breathe, I confess that Will still befuddled me.

“The unspoiled one.” His truly was the sweetest smile. “I knew it from the moment I met you.”

My throat had grown thick again, but now it was with an emotion entirely shocking, one I could hardly put into words. “Knew what?”

“Knew you were different. Knew I wanted to get to know you.”

Here, standing before me, my dream come true. As handsome as a god, as rich as a king, as sweet as butter. And fawning over me. Young, too. I hadn’t expected that. Will was the desire come true of my life. My corset bound so tight and my feelings pressed so that I thought I might snap the laces.

Yet there was more niggling at me, in the back of my head. A tingle that I tried to tamp down. Oh, that punch had truly addled my brain. I took another gulp of water.

“Let me show you around San Francisco,” Will pressed. “I can show you the real San Francisco. Come with me tomorrow.”

“I . . .” I knew the real San Francisco, did I not? The madhouse streets, the girls in cages . . .

“Come. You won’t be able to avoid me, Kula Baker.”

“All right,” I began, “but . . .”

“No ‘buts.’ I’ll be at Miss Everts’s house at nine.”

“But . . .”

Will held up his hand to silence me, and gave me that dazzling grin again.

A chill breeze blew across the patio, and I shivered. No, I shook like a leaf, but not from the cold. It seemed that I now had exactly what I wanted. Will could give me everything—money, power, respectability. He could help me find Wilkie, find Pa’s box. He could give me everything. Unlike David, David who could give me nothing.

“You’re chilled. I’ve been thoughtless. Let’s go inside,” he said.

We stepped through the doorway. All eyes turned in our direction as if on cue. The girls scowled. The young men smirked. The gentlemen and ladies stared at me and Will Henderson with mixed expressions.

I lifted my chin. Those society girls would not make me feel inferior. As to the others, I knew prejudice mixed with jealousy when I saw it. I turned to Will. “It’s late. I think I should go home. I need to find Miss Everts.”

“Yes,” said Will. “Of course.”

We made our way through the crowd. This time no one jostled us; it was as if we were parting the Red Sea. On the far side of the room Will said, “Just wait here, will you? I’ll see if I can find her.”

I waited, with every eye upon me, or so it felt.

My scarlet dress was a beacon; that could be the only explanation for the eyes trained on me from every quarter. It wasn’t long before my face grew hot and I snapped open my fan again. I went out into the vast marble hallway and looked at the artwork, which drew me like a magnet.

There were paintings everywhere—more, even, than in the ballroom. They lined all the walls, up the grand staircase and up to the second story. As I climbed, I examined the paintings. They grew increasingly odd, modern, abstract. I followed them up and then along the corridor, studying each piece as if I were in a museum.