Forbidden

  This was not the first time Beatrice had subjected them to one of her singing finds. Rhine just hoped he could sit through the performance without his ears bleeding.

  Entering the opera house, Rhine saw that the auditorium was crowded as usual. All the well-­to-­do in the area were in attendance: mine owners, local politicians, and businessmen were accompanying their wives to their high-­priced seats. Piper’s Opera House could accommodate an audience of fifteen hundred. It was one of the most esteemed venues in the nation and built its reputation by showcasing everything from Shakespearean acting troops to world renowned singers. Infamous actor John Wilkes Booth appeared in the play Apostate only a month before assassinating President Lincoln. Mark Twain lectured from its stage in 1866. A deadly real life drama took place in 1871 when a vigilante mob muscled a murderer out of the town jail and hung him from the stage rafters. Rhine doubted tonight’s offering would be that exciting.

  He was correct. The singer he’d been planning to guard his ears against turned out to be a thin, mustached man reciting poems by Lord Byron. His high-­pitched, nasal-­toned voice and overly dramatic presentation resulted in many of the men in the audience quietly excusing themselves from their wives and making a beeline for the smoking room in the back of the theater. Rhine and Lyman Greer joined the exodus.

  On the ride home, Lyman Greer said to his wife, “I thought he was supposed to be a singer.”

  “He is. He’s all the rage back East but he has a case of the sniffles and didn’t want to risk his voice.”

  “Men don’t get the sniffles, Beatrice,” he informed her drolly.

  Rhine held onto his smile.

  Natalie added in a petulant voice, “And I found it incredibly rude that you and Rhine left us, Father.”

  “We didn’t want to catch the sniffles.”

  Finding that to be a perfect response, Rhine drove on.

  When they reached the Greer home, Lyman and Beatrice thanked him and went inside but Natalie lingered. “So, how long will you be in San Francisco?” she asked.

  “Just a few days. I’ll be visiting my brother.” Andrew was now one of San Francisco’s most prominent bankers.

  “Will you be discussing putting the saloon up for sale?” she asked, sounding hopeful.

  “No, because it isn’t for sale.”

  “I thought we agreed—­”

  “We haven’t agreed to anything,” he countered mildly.

  “A member of the city council shouldn’t own a place no decent person will enter?”

  “My clientele are as decent as you and I. The only difference is the color of their skin.”

  “You’re making me a laughingstock.”

  “You can always call off the engagement.” And truthfully, one part of him wished she would.

  “And let another woman in town have a shot at the most handsome man in Nevada?” Her smile caught the moonlight. “I won’t be crying off. I’m determined to change your mind.”

  “And if you can’t?” he asked, hoping he sounded nonchalant. For the past few weeks she’d been after him to sell the saloon, and she was as persistent as she was beautiful.

  “I’m not worried. I always get my way. Now, give me a kiss before Mother comes out and starts fussing about me ruining my reputation by being out here with you in the dark.”

  He complied, and when he broke the seal of their lips, she whispered, “I’m not letting another woman have your kisses either.”

  He chuckled. “Come. I’ll walk you to the door.” Once there, he said to her, “I’ll see you when I return from San Francisco.”

  She stroked his cheek with a gloved hand. “Good night, Rhine.”

  He inclined his head and walked back to his rig. As he drove home through the lamplit streets his thoughts involuntarily swung to Eddy. He wondered what she would’ve thought of Herbert Gould. According to the few things she’d shared about her past, she’d been working since the age of twelve, which meant she’d probably never put on a costly gown, fastened a jeweled necklace around her throat, and been escorted to a place like Piper’s. Unlike Natalie, who had parasols to match every gown in her armoire, inside Eddy’s old carpetbag he’d seen a few well-­worn blouses, two skirts with fraying hems, and three threadbare shifts. She’d also been wearing an old pair of boys’ brogans when they found her in the desert. Although Natalie had more materially, there was an underlying strength in Eddy’s character that Natalie would probably never have. He also sensed that Eddy knew the value of what it meant to own one’s own business and wouldn’t badger him to sell simply because of personal prejudice. He was on his way to take her over to Sylvia’s. Even though that saddened him, he knew her leaving him was for the best.

  He drove on, and as always the night air was filled with the constant drone of the mines’ machinery housed along the base of nearby Mount Davidson. The noisy pumps that kept the tunnels free of scalding water that flowed below the surface joined the cacophony set off by air compressors and the enormous hoisters that ferried caged miners underground and brought the newly found ore to the surface, twenty-­four hours a day, seven days a week. Every now and then explosions echoed across the landscape from the black powder used to open up new veins that ran for miles around and below the city. Visitors and newcomers found the constant noise troublesome, but to men like Rhine whose wealth from the mines increased with each passing day, it was as soothing as a lullaby.

  Dressed in her worn white blouse and faded dark skirt, Eddy sat in one of the chairs in Fontaine’s bedroom and waited for his return. Her carpetbag and brazier were at her feet. She was anxious to get to Mrs. Stewart’s home so she could recover fully and begin this new phase of her life even as she wondered how his evening had fared and what the fiancée looked like. For the hundredth time she told herself neither question mattered and that she should be more concerned with what her future held. It seemed like only yesterday that she’d left Denver, but in reality more than a month had passed and here she sat in his bedroom. The difference in their races notwithstanding, he’d gone out of his way to show her nothing but concern and kindness. Once she got on her feet and saved up her money so she could resume her journey to California, she’d remember him fondly.

  “Are you ready?” he asked when he entered the room a few minutes later.

  “I am. How was the performance?”

  “Awful.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “No sorrier than I.”

  She slowly pushed herself upright. Like this morning, she was moving easier but still not at a normal pace.

  “Shall I carry you?”

  “No.” As she picked her way to where he stood by the door, he watched and waited.

  “I can get you a cane,” he said in a teasing tone.

  “Ha, ha,” she tossed back, and yes, she’d miss bantering with him.

  He crossed his arms. “You know the sun will rise in about eight hours.”

  Finding it difficult to keep a straight face in the wake of his playful teasing, she countered, “Make yourself useful. Get my carpetbag and the brazier.”

  He complied and made it back to the door as she continued moving at a snail’s pace.

  “You’re perspiring, Miss Carmichael.”

  “I’m fine,” she said, breathing heavily.

  Apparently he didn’t believe the lie because he set down the brazier and carpetbag and picked her up.

  “Rhine. Put me down.”

  “No. We want to get to Sylvia’s tonight, not next week . . . ” He paused. “That’s the first time you’ve ever used my given name.”

  Looking up into his pleased and oh so wickedly handsome face, she fumbled for a reply, “I needed to get your attention.”

  “You have it.”

  The whispering began again, but this time it was plainer and far more distinct. What in heaven’s name wa
s she supposed to do with an attraction to a man who was not only forbidden to her by law but engaged to be married as well?

  His blazing gaze fixed on hers, he added softly, “If I deliver you all tuckered out and breathing hard, Sylvia will take a buggy whip to me.”

  “And we can’t have that,” she somehow managed to say.

  “No. As Jim pointed out this morning, I am far more afraid of her than of you—­or at least I was until now . . .”

  Eddy’s heart began a now familiar pounding. “We should go.”

  But for a moment he stood rooted, drinking her in, and she did the same to him.

  “Eddy—­”

  She shook her head. “Let’s just go, please.” Whatever he intended to say would not negate the reality of who they were, nor their destinies.

  There was now a hint of sadness in the eyes holding hers but he nodded understandingly. “Okay, but I owe you for telling me my tie was crooked.”

  That made her laugh.

  Smiling, he carried her out of the room.

  As they got under way, Rhine glanced over. “Are you comfortable?”

  “I am.”

  It was a nice night and his mind played with the idea of driving out into the desert so they could sit, talk, and enjoy a few more hours of each other’s company, but he knew that was impossible. “I’m traveling to San Francisco tomorrow. I’ll be gone for a few days, so if you need assistance with anything have Sylvie send word to Jim.”

  “I will. What is that noise?” It sounded like a giant slowly beating a mountain-­sized drum.

  He explained the mining operations.

  “And this goes on all day?” she asked.

  “And all night, every day of the year.”

  “How do people sleep?” She wondered why she hadn’t heard it earlier.

  “You’ll get accustomed to it.” He could just make out her features in the dark but got the impression that she didn’t believe him.

  When they arrived at Sylvie’s back door, he tied the horse to the post and came around to her side of the carriage.

  She asked, “I suppose you’re going to insist on carrying me again?”

  “I am.”

  “I’m taking back my offer of sweets.”

  “I think I’ll survive.” After handing her the carpetbag and brazier, he eased her slight weight into the cradle of his arm and set out in the darkness towards the door. Because it would be the last time, he allowed himself to enjoy holding her near.

  Sylvie appeared under the light above the door. “Good evening. Come on in. Glad you didn’t make her walk, Rhine.”

  “She’s been a perfect patient,” he lied, and saw the smile on Eddy’s face just before she turned away.

  Sylvie ushered them through the large kitchen built onto the back of her place. “Her room is upstairs.”

  Once there, he set her down on a large upholstered chair.

  “Thanks, Rhine,” Sylvie said to him. “I know you have to get back. We don’t want to hold you.”

  He only had eyes for Eddy while replying to Sylvia, “I told Miss Carmichael I’ll be in San Francisco for a few days. When I return I’ll stop by and see how she’s faring.”

  Sylvie nodded. “That’s very kind of you.”

  “Take care of yourself, Miss Carmichael.”

  “I will, Mr. Fontaine, and thank you again for your kindness.”

  Rhine wanted to linger, but having no legitimate reason to do so, he instead inclined his head in good-­bye. “Have a good evening, ladies.” And he departed.

  Chapter Six

  When Eddy awakened the next morning the unfamiliarity of her surroundings threw her for a moment, but it only took a few seconds to remember where she was. Sylvia Stewart’s boardinghouse. Her first thoughts were of Rhine, and she wondered if he was thinking of her. She chastised herself for that. She was now back in the real world where he was a wealthy White man and she was as poor as a church mouse Colored woman once again relying on the goodwill of strangers. When he returned from San Francisco he’d resume his life with his saloon and fiancée. It made no sense to dwell on anything else.

  Mrs. Stewart entered the room carrying a tray. “Here’s your breakfast, Miss Carmichael, and I’m apologizing in advance.”

  Eddy had no idea what that meant until she pulled back the napkin covering the food. The plate held three strips of crisp black bacon, burned scrambled eggs, and on the edge, a pool of runny grits. Apparently Eddy didn’t hide her reaction well enough.

  “Sorry honey, I’m a really poor cook.”

  “No, this is fine. I’m grateful for the meal.”

  “You lie so beautifully.”

  Eddy dropped her head to hide her smile.

  “My cook went back East. Until I can replace him, I’m afraid you’ll have to put up with whatever I don’t burn completely.”

  “Once I get on my feet, I’ll help. I’m a cook, remember?”

  “I do, and my boarders and diners are going to worship at your feet. Every time I lose a cook they swear my cooking’s going to send them to their graves.”

  Eddy didn’t wish to begin eating and appear rude but she was starving, so she dug in. Although the food tasted as bad as it appeared, her hungry stomach didn’t care.

  What sounded like a far off explosion filled the air. Startled, she asked, “What is that?”

  “Black powder going off. It comes from the mines.”

  She remembered Rhine’s explanation from the night before but had no idea there were explosions, too. “I thought I heard whistles last night. Does a train run through the city?”

  “Yes, but the whistles mostly signal shift changes for the miners. It takes newcomers a little while to get used to all the noise, but in a week or so you won’t even hear it.”

  Eddy still doubted that.

  “So, how’s our patient?”

  The question was asked by a tall, statuesque red-­haired White woman standing in the doorway. She was wearing a beautiful white blouse and a fine-­looking gray skirt.

  “Morning, Vera,” a smiling Mrs. Stewart replied. She made the introductions. “Miss Eddy Carmichael. Miss Vera Ford.”

  Eddy had had her fill of the charred breakfast and so set the tray on the nightstand. “Pleased to meet you, Miss Ford.”

  “I’m pleased as well. How are you feeling? Oh never mind, you’ve been eating, Sylvie’s cooking.”

  Sylvia drew herself up as if offended, then laughed. “Don’t start, Vera Ford. You’re not the best cook either.”

  “No, I’m not, which is why I run a dress shop.”

  By the fondness on their faces it was evident the two women were friends.

  “In spite of Sylvie’s awful food, are you feeling better?”

  “I’m still a bit weak,” Eddy replied. “But hoping it will pass soon.”

  “If anyone can get you back on your feet, it’s Sylvie.”

  Sylvie asked, “I’m not meaning to be rude but how in the world did you wind up out in the desert by yourself?”

  Eddy told them the story.

  When she finished, both women appeared shocked and Vera asked, “He set you down in the middle of the desert?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “What a complete cad. Sylvie, we need to make sure the sheriff hears about this. We don’t want this varmint preying on anyone else.”

  “Mr. Fontaine said the same thing,” Eddy pointed out. She wondered if he’d already caught the train to San Francisco.

  Mrs. Stewart’s voice brought her back. “How awful that must have been for you, Eddy.”

  “It was.” The only saving grace was that Nash hadn’t forced himself on her, or killed her outright.

  “Thank the Lord for Rhine and Jim,” Mrs. Steward stated.

  Vera agreed. “I wouldn’
t mind being lost in the desert if I knew the best looking man in the territory would find me. You couldn’t have been rescued by a better man, Eddy.”

  Eddy agreed. Having no idea if Vera knew she’d been staying at the saloon, she didn’t offer anything more.

  Sylvia told her friend, “The handsome Rhine aside, Eddy’s a cook, Vera. She’s going to help me out here once she gets on her feet.”

  Vera nodded approvingly. “Good. Otherwise, your dining room will be closed inside of a week if the place has to rely on your cooking.”

  Sylvia tossed out, “And she calls herself a friend.”

  “Good morning, ladies,” a cheery male voiced called out.

  Eddy looked up to see yet another visitor. The brown-­skinned man in the doorway was older, mustached, and carrying what appeared to be a black doctor’s bag.

  Sylvia’s entire demeanor changed. “Good morning, Oliver.”

  Eddy noted the frost in the greeting.

  Sylvia did the introductions. “Eddy Carmichael. Doc Randolph.”

  Eddy wondered what the story was between the two. She glanced at Vera and received a shake of her head loaded with exasperation.

  “Nice to meet you, Miss Carmichael. Rhine Fontaine told me about you. Thought I’d come by to see how you’re faring.”

  “Nice to meet you, too, Dr. Randolph. Other than feeling weak, I’m mending.”

  “Good to hear. Mind if I make sure?”

  “No, sir. I don’t have money to pay you though.”

  “That’s quite all right. Think of it as a welcome gift from the community.”

  He walked to the bed and removed his stethoscope from his bag. He listened to her breathing then looked into her eyes and checked the blistered skin on her hands. He turned them over to view her palms. “You’re putting aloe on her, Sylvie?”

  “No, Oliver, I’m using lard,” she replied sarcastically. “Of course I’m using aloe.”

  Eddy said, “And it seems to be working well.”

  “Good. Keep applying it.” He placed his instruments back in his bag. “I want you to stay in bed another day or so.”

  “I don’t like lying around.”