Forgiven Page 13

  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 particularly fine portions of the cargo,

  the fresh and pretty females who come

  from the interior, are used to fill special orders

  from wealthy merchants and prosperous tradesmen.”

  —San Francisco Chronicle, December 5, 1869

  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.

  With each painting I looked at, I grew more and more uncomfortable. No—that wasn’t it. I grew frightened. The paintings scared me. Not because they were of monsters, or terror. They were peculiar and unrecognizable sometimes, yet gorgeous and emotional at others. But they were free and rambling and untethered . . . and everything that I was not.

  I was not free. I was tethered to my place as a servant. And I was a slave to my desire to be otherwise, to be worshipped.

  Will. He was the perfect catch—hadn’t he said as much in the ballroom? All of the girls in San Francisco wanted him. I wanted him—he was my dream. This was the opportunity I’d waited for my entire life. It was up to me to seize it now. I should have felt free, to be so close to attaining everything I’d ever wanted, but instead it was as though I’d just stepped into a windowless room, the door locked behind me, trapping me inside.

  I was lost in thought when I heard familiar voices issuing from a room down at the end of the corridor. The door was partway opened, and Miss Everts’s distinctive voice rang out clear as a bell, then mixed with others I didn’t recognize. I slipped along the hallway, thinking to signal her that I was ready to leave.

  But at the door I stopped. The voices were raised—a quarrel. The door was open six inches, which was enough for me to peek through.

  It was a good thing that I’d had nothing to eat. It was a good thing that my head had cleared from the punch. Otherwise, I would have become a puddle of scarlet silk on the floor.

  Josiah Wilkie stood at one end of a
table, William Henderson at the other. In between them was Phillipa Everts. I didn’t know what words had passed among them, but I surely knew what passed between their hands. I watched Phillipa Everts hand a thick stack of bills to Josiah Wilkie.

  Money.

  Miss Everts gave Snake-eyes money. The man who framed my pa, the man who had destroyed my life, the man who wanted to bind me in chains, the man who held Min in torment and trafficked in evil . . . The man who had stolen the one thing in the world that could free my father.

  And my patroness, Miss Phillipa Everts. My employer, my . . . my friend, even. The one person in San Francisco I’d trusted with my life and all my secrets, Miss Phillipa Everts gave Josiah Wilkie money.

  I backed away into the hall, clutching my stomach and leaning against the wall for support. If they found me, I was dead. I had to leave, and fast. I made my way to the marble staircase and then fairly ran down it to the bottom, at which point I clutched the banister and tried to regain my senses. I shut my eyes, but all I could see was Phillipa Everts’s hand clutching those bills.

  “There you are! It’s all arranged.” I spun around; Will smiled down at me, with Miss Everts and Mr. Henderson arriving close behind him.

  “What . . . ?”

  “Our excursion tomorrow.” Will shook his head. “I will not hear protests. I’ve spoken with Miss Everts. I shall be there at nine to fetch you for the ferry. I’m taking you to see Mount Tam.”

  I said nothing—how could I? Miss Everts came to my side. As we made our farewells, Will clutched my hands in his until I forced mine from his grip.

  I couldn’t look at Miss Everts. We rode home in silence, and I went straight to Mei Lien and begged for help in freeing me from my corset. After dousing the lights I lay in my sheets and stared through the night at that blood-red dress that lay draped over my chair, lifeless, as if a corpse. As if all hope had drained from it and lay drowning on the floor in the swamp of that ruffled train.

  Chapter TWENTY-FOUR

  April 13, 1906

  “Such beauty as this was apt now to crush

  and break her. All her being was still sore,

  and this appeal of nature was sometimes more

  than she could bear.”

  —Lady Rose’s Daughter, a novel by

  Mrs. Humphrey Ward, 1903

  I TOSSED AND TURNED ALL NIGHT, A MESS OF sleeplessness, fears, uncertainties . . . and longings.

  When I did sleep, I was tormented with broken dreams: about my father hanging for a crime he didn’t commit, about finding the wealth that might buy his freedom, about David’s smiling eyes, and about the rich, handsome Will Henderson. Each time I woke, I could hardly pull together more than snippets of images. At some point I ran away from an artist who kept trying to paint my visage. I followed Miss Everts to a secret passage. I sat alone in the horseless behind a semi-invisible Jameson.

  And worst of all were the images of Wilkie. Wilkie and Mei Lien and Min. Wilkie chasing after me, but also chasing after the two of them. And I was the only one who could stop him by beating him with a rolled-up parchment that didn’t feel anything like a weapon.

  I didn’t want to see Phillipa Everts in the morning, and I hadn’t been expecting to, but for a change, she was in her rooms when I went to tidy them. I found myself slamming doors and tossing things aside and shoving my way through my chores.

  “Kula! Please be careful. That mirror was my grandmother’s.”

  I’d almost broken it when I’d thrown it down on the dresser. Exhaustion and anger at her loosed my tongue. “You disappeared during the party.”

  “I told you I had business to attend to. And you did provide adequate distraction.”

  “Distraction!” The only distraction I saw was her with Josiah Wilkie.

  “Kula, I know you aren’t skilled in social niceties, but I assure you it was obvious to me that all eyes were on you, my new-to-San-Francisco-and-obviously-foreign protégé.”

  I pursed my lips. “I’m glad to be of service.”

  She pointed her finger into the air. “I have told you that all will be revealed soon. You must be patient.”

  “Fine.” I felt disgust. We two were quite a pair, her with her secrets and me with mine. I left to ready myself for Will’s arrival, slamming the door in my wake. The whole house seemed to vibrate.

  The day was fair and promised to warm up following the passage of the storm front. By eight forty-five I was pacing in the front hallway. Into the parlor and back, into the drawing room and back; I couldn’t keep still. When the doorbell rang and Jameson answered, I was right behind him to see, to my horror, both David and Will standing on the porch at the same time, regarding each other with sidelong glances.

  Jameson showed both men in, giving me that fish-eyed look that was becoming so familiar. He bowed and disappeared, probably to laugh behind my back.

  I looked from David to Will. I’d gone from dreaming of one man in my life to a state of overabundance.

  David was the first to say something. “This is a pleasant surprise.” He didn’t seem pleasantly surprised to me.

  I gestured, helpless; I couldn’t find my tongue.

  “You’re Will Henderson. We met once or twice before you left for the east. I’m David Wong.” David reached out his hand to shake Will’s. “My family owns Wong Importers.”

  “Ah! My father has spoken about Wong’s.” Will said. “You must be here to see Miss Everts.”

  “I’m actually here to pay a call on Miss Baker,” David replied mildly. “I met her last week and thought she might want to see some of the sights of the city.”

  Will looked at me. His eyebrows were raised so high they seemed to be missing. For an instant something passed over Will’s face—surprise? anger?—and then he said, “I’m taking Miss Baker on an excursion to Mount Tam.”

  “Ah . . .” My voice came out in a pathetic high pitch, so I smiled at them both with as much feeling as I could muster. I looked from one to the other.

  “It was so nice of you to think of her, David,” Will continued, then flashed his most enticing smile. “I’ll bet you thought she knew no one in San Francisco. But Miss Everts introduced her to our society at my home only last night.”

  For a moment I was confused. Why was he being so rude to David? Then I understood. Will never imagined that I would want to be with David because David was Chinese. Even me, with my exotic looks—it would not be possible in Will’s world that Kula Baker could spend any serious time with David Wong.

  In that moment I regarded Will with pity. Charming, gorgeous Will, who saw the world through his own tight lens.

  David said evenly, “Well, that’s fine, then.” He shot me a look, and then went to turn away. Did he assume I thought as Will did?

  “Tell you what,” Will said, clapping a hand on David’s shoulder. “Why don’t you come along? I have to make a stop at the end of the day in Sausalito, and Miss Baker wouldn’t need to be detained with me. I hate to inconvenience her. You could bring her home.” He leaned over. “Maybe we can discuss a bit of business. I’d like to do something to surprise my father.” Will turned to me. “I hope that’s all right with you, Kula. If not, I’ll delay my other business.”

  “No! Yes! That’s lovely!” I chirped. I looked at David, practically pleading with my eyes.

  David turned his hat in his hand, gazing past me down the hallway. His face was impassive; when he did look at me, his eyes revealed nothing. He nodded and said, “Let’s go then.”

  Will drove us to the ferry landing in his automobile. The two gentlemen sat in front at my insistence; from the backseat I observed them carrying on a pleasant if high-volume conversation.

  Will Henderson. Rich, handsome, clearly smitten with me. My dream come true.

  David Wong. Who stirred something in me that I didn’t know existed. David, who held my heart in his gentle palm and my soul in his dark, kind eyes. David, who could give me nothing.

  Whatever had I gotten myself i
nto? I sighed.

  The three of us must have been a curious sight, because the other passengers at the landing and on the ferry gave us no end of peculiar looks. Will—Anglo and handsome and a gentleman; David—a Chinese man consorting openly with two non-Chinese; and me—dark-haired and olive-skinned.

  But I grew distracted by our journey. Seagulls flew overhead, crying like abandoned babies. The water stank of raw smells, a bit like the lake at home, but also with a salty tang, and it was foamy and green, with floating bits of seaweed. A brisk wind made a chop on the water, but I’d been on the Zillah on the lake and could stomach the tossing of this ferry. I stood at the rail, savoring every movement, the sounds and smells and chucking breeze, not to mention the sight of the sunlight sparkling off the water and the sapphire sky overhead, the color of that sky reminding me of my hot springs.

  It was not a long trip. The town of Sausalito climbed stair step up a wooded hill above the bay, a sight to behold from the ferry. Once we docked, we transferred direct from the ferry to a train to take us to Mill Valley; we would ascend Mount Tam on the mountain railroad that departed at ten forty. I was glad for fair weather, for the mountain car was open, pushed by the engine up the winding slope. Will explained that the rail line had a nickname: “the Crookedest Railroad in the World.”

  I sat between Will and David on the seat at the very front of our car. Will on the one side pressed his shoulder against mine, and asked constantly if I minded the steep slope; David on the other side sat silent. The ribbons of my hat were tied firmly under my chin to keep it from abandoning my head in the breeze. The strings of my heart were drawn tight between these two men.

  Our car clacked and climbed through areas wooded with coast redwoods and oaks and chaparral, as my companions told me the trees were; beneath the tall and somber redwoods, ferns were beginning to unfurl from the cool earth. The train climbed into the higher stretches, where the woods grew spotty. The vista opened across the peninsula to the Pacific, its blue waters pocked with chain stitches of white foam meeting the brighter blue sky, and I leaned forward to clutch the metal car frame and turned in my seat to let my eyes roam as far west as they would, into that thin dark horizon line where sky meets sea.