Chapter 14

 

“Dear Aunt Emily: My girl still says she won’t marry me. I even told her I don’t care that she don’t think she deserves me. It is making me mad and sad and I don’t know what to do. I think I need a drink. Signed, Texas Lonesome.”

“Dear Texas Lonesome: I am more certain of this than I am of anything else in the world: Your young lady is too honorable to marry a man whom she feels she has deceived. Please forgive her. I know she is miserable. All my love, Aunt Emily. (And please, dear Texas Lonesome, do not take refuge in the bottle. Your loving Aunt Emily will never forgive herself if such a dire consequence should occur.)”

# # #

Once Emily finally stopped crying and came to grips with her appearance, she trudged wearily down the stairs. She had scrubbed her face until it glowed, and pressed a cold washcloth over her swollen eyelids to try to soothe them. Her lids were still puffy, though, and she decided she probably should ask Mrs. Blodgett if she had any cucumbers.

She had read in a fashion magazine that both cucumber slices and mashed strawberries could be used to soothe swollen eyelids. The thought of wasting expensive strawberries on her eyes made her squirm. Cucumbers, on the other hand, grew by the million on the vines in Mrs. Blodgett’s tiny kitchen garden.

Then she washed her hair, since there was no doing anything else with it, and had to wait until it dried before she managed to wrangle it into her favorite upswept do. She was more pleased than she expected to be with the result of her efforts. Unless one looked closely, the ravages of her terrible yesterday and today—before Will climbed through her window and after he climbed back out again—were almost invisible.

She donned her prettiest day dress, a two-piece creation she had crafted herself from a pattern copied from McCalls. The fabric was a calico print, blue as bachelor’s buttons, purchased at her favorite cheap shop in Chinatown. On any normal day, she would have been pleased to have the blue of her eyes emphasized. Today, she didn’t even care.

Although her emotional crisis had not allowed her to eat a single thing the day before, the thought of food still made her feel ill. Nevertheless, she knew she must keep up her strength. She might yet be the only hope her family had. It was her duty to stay alive, however bleak the prospect of another forty or so years without Will Tate seemed.

“Lord, help me,” she whispered as she paused at the kitchen door. Then she drew a deep breath and pushed the door open.

“Why, good day, Emily darling,” Mrs. Blodgett said. “Your aunt said you weren’t feeling well this morning, but you certainly look fit to me.”

Emily kissed the woman’s kind old cheek. “I feel a little better now. Thank you, Mrs. Blodgett. I guess there’s a lot to be said for getting plenty of rest.”

Mrs. Blodgett eyed her keenly. “Well, you just sit right down and I’ll fix you a big breakfast, Miss Emily. How about ham and potatoes and eggs?”

Though the very mention of the succulent meal made Emily feel sick, she said, “That sounds wonderful, Mrs. Blodgett,” and felt like a fool when she heard herself.

Mrs. Blodgett gave her another curious look, but kept up a cheerful stream of chatter while she cooked. Emily wondered if she would have cooked for Will if they had married. She was a good cook, thanks to having to help Mrs. Blodgett. But Will would never know of her skill in the kitchen now. Emily wanted to rest her head in her arms and cry.

Soon Mrs. Blodgett plopped a steaming plate before her and said, “It looks to me as though you’re lost in a fog this morning, my dear. Is everything all right?”

Emily jerked to attention. “Oh, I’m sorry, Mrs. Blodgett.” She tried for a smile. “I guess I’m not quite feeling tip-top yet.”

“Well, I’m sure you’ll be feeling more the thing after you eat, dear. I don’t think you ate a bite yesterday.”

“No,” Emily sighed. “I don’t believe I did.”

Mrs. Blodgett rattled a pan and frowned. “Now, Miss Emily, I don’t suppose it’s my place to say so, but I don’t know why you won’t have that nice Mr. Tate. Mr. Blodgett says he’s the nicest man. And he wants to marry you, dear. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if that’s the reason you feel so poorly.”

Emily had to dash a tear away. “Oh, I wish everybody would stop plaguing me about Will Tate!”

“It’s only because we care about you, Miss Emily,” Mrs. Blodgett said, looking hurt.

When Emily saw Mrs. Blodgett’s pinched face she repented her impetuous exclamation. “Oh, Mrs. Blodgett, I’m sorry. I—I’m not happy about it. You’re right.” She took another nibble of her potatoes Lyonnais. “But there are reasons I am unable to marry Mr. Tate, Mrs. Blodgett.”

The housekeeper’s eyes widened. She pressed a wrinkled hand to her bosom. “Oh, dear, Emily. You don’t mean to tell me he’s a bounder?”

“Good heavens, no!” Taking note of Mrs. Blodgett’s horrified expression, Emily said, “Oh, no, Mrs. Blodgett. Mr. Tate is a perfect gentleman. He’s—he’s—well—” she had to pause and blow her nose on her napkin. “—He’s a wonderful man.” She tucked her hands in her lap and stared mournfully at the half-eaten breakfast in front of her. “It is I who am to blame,” she whispered miserably.

The housekeeper stared at Emily as if she’d lost her mind. “Miss Emily, I can’t believe that for a minute. Not for a single minute.”

“Nonetheless . . .” She couldn’t finish; neither her sentence nor her meal. She pushed her plate away with another sad sigh.

“Well, there’s something fishy going on here, if you ask me. Mr. Blodgett says Mr. Tate is a true gentleman and I’ve never known Mr. Blodgett to be wrong in the forty-five years we’ve been married. And he thinks you—” She tapped Emily’s shoulder with her spatula. “—are a fine young lady.”

Emily couldn’t find the heart to answer. The Blodgetts just didn’t know; that was all. She picked up one last potato with her fingers and realized she must really be in a state. She hadn’t eaten with her fingers since she was two years old. Sighing, she put it back on the plate, then snatched it back and flung it into her mouth.

There. Sustenance. She felt as if she wanted to die.

“Well, I wish you’d make up with Mr. Tate, Miss Emily. With him coming to call, I’ll wager your aunt wouldn’t be plagued by that awful Mr. Pickering so much. She’s in the parlor with him right now.” Mrs. Blodgett’s voice held a distinctly sour note.

“He’s here now?” Suddenly alarmed, Emily forgot her miseries. A bitter misgiving began to gnaw at her almost-empty innards.

“Oh, my, yes, miss. Mr. Blodgett told me he’s been with your aunt for a good hour or more.”

“Oh, Lord.” Emily pushed her chair back from the table. “I’d better go in there and investigate. I don’t trust that man.”

“Well, be careful, Miss Emily. Mr. Blodgett says the man is a villain.”

“Mr. Blodgett,” said Emily with conviction, “is absolutely correct.”

Emily forgot all about asking the cook for a cucumber. Giving up heartbreak for anger, she strode firmly away from the kitchen, down the ragged carpet to the parlor, and opened the door. The startled—and slightly guilty—expression on her aunt’s face when she entered the room did not escape Emily’s attention. Oh, Lord. Rather than launching a bitter attack on Pickering or, better still, stabbing him with her uncle’s letter opener, however, she forced a complacent look.

Pickering had the effrontery to wink at her. Emily’s insides recoiled in disgust. Since she didn’t want to upset her aunt, who already looked pale and drawn, Emily didn’t slap Pickering in his sincere face as she wanted to do. Instead, she gave Gertrude a smile and ignored Pickering altogether. Until this minute, Emily hadn’t known she possessed such theatrical talent.

“Good day, Aunt Gertrude. Thank you for asking about my health this morning. I’m feeling ever so much better now.”

Gertrude looked puzzled for a second or two. Then she brightened, apparently recalling that Emily had earlier been unwell.

“I’m so glad, dear. Er, won’t you say hello to Mr. Pickering, Emily?”

Emily turned toward him, held out a stiff hand, and said, “How do you do, Mr. Pickering?” With an effort, she repressed her shudder as he took her hand.

“I’m just fine, Miss Emily,” he crooned. “Just swell, in fact.”

Snatching her hand back, Emily said primly, “I do not believe it appropriate to use street jargon in the presence of my aunt, Mr. Pickering.”

As soon as the words left her lips, she wished she could call them back. Aunt Gertrude got so upset whenever Emily demonstrated her obvious dislike for Pickering.

But this morning, Aunt Gertrude didn’t even appear to be listening. Her vague blue gaze skittered around the room, as though she were trying to avoid looking at Emily. She seemed nervous, as though she were expecting news about the outbreak of a war.

“Is anything the matter, Aunt?”

“W-why, no, Emily darling. Everything is just grand.”

Emily directed a scowl at Pickering which, if he’d had a heart, would have caused it to frizzle up into a crisp, smoking lump. He smiled and shrugged at her. Emily wished the law took a more tolerant view of manslaughter.

It didn’t, however, so she left off glaring at Pickering and put a comforting hand on Gertrude’s arm. “Has Mr. Pickering done something to upset you, Aunt?”

“Why, Miss Emily, my sweet, how you do take on. I haven’t done a thing to your beloved auntie.”

“Oh, that’s not true, Mr. Pickering,” Gertrude interjected hastily. “You’ve probably saved my very life.” With those dramatic words, Gertrude gave him a glorious smile.

Gertrude’s words, however, did nothing to comfort Emily. A feeling of unease began to nibble at the back of her neck. The only thing on earth she could imagine provoking a comment of such a nature from her aunt would have been some sort of financial rescue. Oh, Lord. Emily knew Gertrude felt guilty about her spendthrift ways.

Pickering, however, did not seem inclined to stick around long enough for Emily to discover what he’d done to create this frightening gratitude in her aunt. With another slick smile, he said, “Well, now, I guess I’d better trot on along now. I’m a busy man, you know.”

“Yes,” Emily said with barely suppressed violence, “It must take a good deal of time to think up the various outrageous schemes you propound, Mr. Pickering.”

He leaned close and pinched Emily’s cheek. The uncharacteristically bold gesture shocked her, and she felt her face burn with indignation.

“How dare you. . .” she began, but nipped her words off before she said more. She refused to allow herself to upset her aunt, no matter what this man did. Come hell or high water, Pickering would not defeat her. If she had to beg in the streets, she wouldn’t lower herself to his level. At least she’d be an honest beggar!

“I’ll just mosey on along now,” Pickering repeated with an endearing smile for Gertrude and a sly wink for Emily.

She couldn’t believe his audacity. Pickering had ever been a thorn in her side whom she did her best to avoid so as to elude his disgusting advances. But he had never, until this very day, flaunted his interest in her before her aunt. Her uneasiness suddenly erupted into sickening suspicion.

“Good day, Mr. Pickering. I just don’t know how to thank you.” Gertrude’s myopic eyes filled with tears. She squeezed Pickering’s hand between both of hers.

Pickering gave Gertrude one of his very most sincere smiles and pecked her cheek. “Take care, Mrs. Schindler.”

If Emily had closed her eyes and only listened to him, he would have sounded like a kind-hearted, well-intentioned gentleman. But she knew better. Once he was gone she addressed her aunt. “Aunt Gertrude, why was Mr. Pickering here?”

Her voice was sharp, and Emily at once regretted not taking more care with her tone. One had to ease information out of Gertrude gently, as one might milk a cow with tender udders..

When Gertrude did not reply, Emily tried again. “Did Mr. Pickering come here for anything in particular this morning, Aunt?”

“Why no, dear. He just dropped in.” Gertrude popped up from the sofa. “I think I’ll just go to the other parlor now, dear. I—I think one of my students is here.”

Gertrude fluttered and twittered like a frightened sparrow. Emily’s emotions began a perilous slide toward dread. She watched her aunt trip out the parlor and knew she had to get to the bottom the lady’s strange behavior.

“Aunt Gertrude.” Emily dashed out of the parlor after her aunt. “Wait! We need to talk.”

“No we don’t, dear,” Gertrude shot back too quickly. “We don’t need to talk at all. Not about a thing. Nothing to talk about. Ha ha ha. We talked yesterday, remember? And I thought I was the one with the bad memory. Now I have a student, dear.”

But Emily, pursuing her down the hall, would have none of it. “You don’t have a student, Aunt Gertrude, and something is wrong. You must tell me. Have you let that terrible Mr. Pickering lend you more money?”

Although she knew her aunt shied away from brutal honesty, Emily’s uneasy prickles had by now turned into a veritable hailstorm of dread. She slammed her hand flat against the door Gertrude tried to shut in her face and pushed it open.

“Emily, how could you even ask me such a thing, after the terrible scolding you gave me yesterday?”

Her aunt’s anguish stabbed at Emily. She took a deep breath, striving for a calm she did not feel. “All right, Aunt Gertrude. I’m sorry for suggesting you might have asked Mr. Pickering for more money. But something is troubling you. Please tell me what it is. I want to help you. To help us all. We really shouldn’t look to other people—Mr. Pickering or Mr. Tate or anybody else—to solve our problems for us, you know.”

When her aunt’s plump, wrinkled face crumpled up like a discarded picnic-sandwich paper, Emily felt like the biggest brute in nature. “Oh, Aunt Gertrude, please don’t cry! I didn’t mean to make you cry when I tried to talk to you about money. Truly, I didn’t. I was just trying to help us out of our troubles.”

But it was too late. Gertrude collapsed onto a frayed wing chair, clutching her lacy handkerchief, and wept. “Oh, Emily, I’m such a burden to you. Such a trial. I’m so very sorry.”

Stricken to the core, Emily knelt on the floor in front of her aunt and took Gertrude’s hands in hers.

“Oh, Aunt Gertrude, you’re not. You’re not a burden. You just aren’t—aren’t very good with money, is all.” Emily taxed her rattled brain to think of something else nice to say. She finally came up with, “You’re a wonderful, wonderful aunt, Aunt Gertrude. And you have the most beautiful speaking voice and the best posture in San Francisco. I love you so very much.” That last part, at least, was the absolute truth.

A wobbly smile made its way to Gertrude’s face. She patted Emily’s hand.

“Thank you, dear,” she sniffed. “But I have, too, been a burden to you. You’re a beautiful young girl. You should have beaux and pretty things, and go to dances and to the theater. You should attend fancy balls and dine in the finest restaurants. But you have to work hard and make your clothes over from dead people’s leavings and haggle with those awful merchants in Chinatown.”

At Emily’s horrified, wordless exclamation, Gertrude pressed a finger against her lips before she could utter a protest.

“It’s the truth, dear, and I know it. Mrs. Blodgett told me how you help her with the marketing and the cooking and how you’re always having to make do. Oh, Emily, I’m so sorry. I’ve been such a sore trial to you. I, who was supposed to be your guide and support.”

Finally, Gertrude’s sobs got the better of her, and she couldn’t continue.

If Emily had ever felt worse in her life, it could only have been this morning when she watched Will Tate climb out her bedroom window, knowing he was lost to her forever. To see her aunt weeping her poor heart out on her behalf cut her to the quick. Only a mean, ungrateful child would create this much distress in such a soft-hearted creature as her Aunt Gertrude. Tears of shame prickled Emily’s eyes.

“Oh, Aunt, please don’t cry. I’m so sorry I hurt your feelings. It was wrong of me. It was because I was so unhappy about not marrying Mr. Tate and so worried about you and Uncle Ludwig losing everything you love so much.”

A wail of grief greeted her words. “Oh, Emily, darling, what a terrible aunt I have been to you.”

“Oh, no, Aunt Gertrude. You’re a wonderful aunt. I know you love me. That’s the most important thing. I know you find money matters—” Emily groped furiously for a word that wouldn’t seem to accuse her aunt of carelessness. “—troublesome. Many people do.” She supposed that might be true. “But, Aunt, you don’t have to feel guilty anymore. Now that Mr. Tate has taken over running Uncle Ludwig’s dachshund business, I’m sure everything will be all right again soon. You’ll see. He—he is gifted in business matters.” As he was gifted in making her heart sing and her body tremble with joy. Emily tried not to think about that.

“Oh, but Emily,” Gertrude sobbed, “You said you won’t marry him. And he loves you. And you love him. And it’s all because of me!”

Emily’s heart gave an enormous spasm of agony, cutting off speech for a minute. When she spoke, her words sounded pinched. “Oh, Aunt Gertrude. It’s all my fault. If—if I hadn’t set out to deceive Mr. Tate—well—well, it’s my fault. Not yours.”

Gertrude’s hankie dropped from her eyes to her nose and she peered at Emily over the damp lace. “Really?”

With a heartbroken nod, Emily whispered, “Yes.”

Since her knees were getting sore, Emily edged herself onto the chair next to her aunt. With a cry that must have meant something, although Emily didn’t know what, Gertrude threw her arms around her and wept onto Emily’s freshly pressed dress.

After a good cry, Gertrude began to babble. “Our financial situation will be just fine, dear, I know it. Perhaps you will change your mind about that dear Mr. Tate once our finances are straightened out. I believe it is the worry about money has overset you. So, you see, even though he will own my share of the business—”

“What?”

Emily hadn’t meant to shout. Her aunt’s sniffling confession had taken her by surprise, though, and although she wasn’t sure she had heard it correctly, she had a sinking feeling it boded ill.

With a small, disapproving frown, Gertrude dabbed at her red nose before she responded.

“You needn’t raise your voice, Emily. I’m not hard of hearing, no matter what my other faults may be.”

“I’m sorry, Aunt. Would you please repeat what you just said? I promise my attention will not wander this time.”

Gertrude patted Emily’s hand. “You’re such a good girl, Emily; such a comfort to me. I said I’m sure you’ll come to your senses about Mr. Tate, my dear, once our money problems are over.”

“Yes, yes. Maybe I will,” Emily said mechanically. “But what did you say about somebody owning your share of the business. What business? Who?” Oh, Lord above. Her aunt owned fifty-one percent of the dachshunds—Helga and a tenth of Gustav—a majority share, in fact.

Please, please, God, don’t let it be Pickering and the dogs.

Emily’s brief, fervent prayer was for naught. She felt her insides begin to shrivel when Gertrude started to fiddle with her hankie and look guilty.

“Now, Emily, I don’t want you to start fussing at me again. I was terribly upset yesterday after your tremendous scold, you know.”

“I know, Aunt Gertrude,” Emily replied through gritted teeth.

“And you did tell me you weren’t going to marry that nice Mr. Blake, you know. You know you did, dear. I didn’t imagine that, Emily.”

“Of course not, Aunt.”

“And I just couldn’t stand seeing you so upset over something like—like money, darling.” Gertrude spoke the word “money” as though it signified something vile, dirty and completely beneath her.

“Yes, Aunt. I know. I apologize for upsetting you yesterday.”

Gertrude continued to fidget. “I just hate to see you so upset, dear.”

Emily, whose nerves now crackled like Mrs. Blodgett’s potato slices being dropped into hot oil, made a stalwart effort not to scream. “Aunt Gertrude,” she said gently but firmly, “what was it you just said?”

“About what, darling?”

The sweet, vague smile accompanying Gertrude’s question made Emily press her hands together in frustration. She loved her aunt, she reminded herself. It would be a sin to grip her by her starched collar and shake an answer out of her. With the fortitude borne of exhaustive practice, Emily suppressed her shriek and forged onward.

“Who exactly owns your part of what, Aunt Gertrude? You said you sold somebody your part of the interest in something.”

But Gertrude shook her fluffy head vigorously at Emily’s words. “No, no, no. No, I’m sure I didn’t say any such thing, dear. I’m sure I merely said he owned my part of the business, dear. I couldn’t have said I sold it to him, because I didn’t. And you know, Emily, that no matter what my other faults may be, I never prevaricate. I gave him my share of the business—in return for forgiving some of what I owe him.”

“Who?”

Even as the word left her lips, Emily knew who. And she knew what. Her Aunt Gertrude had just handed over her share of Ludwig’s breeding kennel to Clarence Pickering. Emily was as certain of that as she was she would die one day—and hopefully soon.

Apparently her conviction, as well as the anger and frustration which accompanied it, leaked out in her expression. Gertrude began to look frightened again.

“Now, please don’t take on, Emily, dear. I know you don’t care for Mr. Pickering, but—but he’s really a very nice man.”

“Clarence Pickering is not a nice man, Aunt. He’s a sneaky, hateful scoundrel.” Emily’s teeth had set so rigidly, it was an effort for her to shove the words through them. Her assurance that, even though she could never be his bride, Will Tate’s interference in her family’s affairs would set them to rights had just been blown to smithereens in her face. And it was her own beloved aunt, of all people, who had set the bomb and lit the fuse.

Emily kept her fists pressed firmly into her lap to keep them from getting away from her and pummeling Gertrude. She had never felt like this before—as though she just couldn’t take one more little, tiny thing. And this wasn’t just a little, tiny thing, either. This was a huge, colossal disaster.

“Oh, Aunt Gertrude, how could you?” Emily made no attempt to hide her choler and disappointment. Even when Gertrude’s lips quivered and her cheeks wrinkled up, Emily felt only icy rage.

“But, Emily, darling, I thought you would be pleased.”

“Pleased?” Emily leapt out of the chair and began to pace the room, kneading her hands together. “Pleased!”

Her shriek, which defied every elocution technique she’d ever learned, made Gertrude wince. Emily didn’t care. Pleased? She couldn’t stand it.

“Oh, Emily.” Gertrude tugged her handkerchief unmercifully between her fingers, a lacy creation not designed for such a strenuous purpose. “Oh, Emily. I thought I was doing something good for us.”

Her aunt’s disconsolate statement brought Emily’s violent pacing to a dead standstill. She stared at Gertrude hard.

“No, you didn’t, Aunt Gertrude. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have looked so guilty. You did not think you were doing something good.” Emily pointed a trembling finger at Gertrude’s heart. “You’re fibbing to me.” Never in her life had Emily uttered such a shocking accusation.

“Oh, Emily.” Gertrude’s voice was a mere whisper of its former full, rounded, bell-shaped self.

“Don’t ‘Oh, Emily’ me, Aunt Gertrude. If you don’t feel guilty, why do you look guilty?” Emily strode up to her aunt and stood before her, fists held rigid at her sides. Although she was only five feet two inches tall, she loomed over Gertrude like a giant. “Why were you afraid to tell me what you’d done? Why did you try to run out of the other parlor? You knew you’d done wrong! You knew it! Why didn’t you talk to me before you did something so incredibly stupid?”

“Oh, Em—” Gertrude didn’t dare continue. Stunned to her very core, she could only stare at her niece. From a sweet, loving child, Emily had suddenly transformed into a blazing inferno of indignation.

“I’m sorry, Emily. I thought you’d be pleased that I’d gotten rid of some of those horrid bills,” she whispered miserably.

“At the cost of your own brother’s business? At the cost of your family’s well-being?”

Emily knew she should stop shouting at her aunt. She knew poor Gertrude couldn’t help herself. But right now, Emily couldn’t help herself, either. To think that the business Will Tate had barely begun to make profitable was now in the hands of Clarence Pickering was more than she could contemplate with equanimity.

“Clarence Pickering wanted to make me his mistress, Aunt Gertrude!”

Gertrude’s mouth dropped open. “No,” she whispered. Her lips quivered pathetically.

“Yes! Yes, Aunt Gertrude. Yes, yes, yes! He’s trying to ruin us, for heaven’s sake! And you just handed him Uncle Ludwig’s business! Your own brother!”

Gertrude gasped. “Oh, surely not that, Emily. Surely the business is safe.”

Exasperated beyond endurance, Emily flung herself away from her aunt and resumed pacing. “Oh, Aunt Gertrude, wake up! Please wake up! Clarence Pickering is a vicious, evil fraud! Of course, now he wants Uncle Ludwig’s business to succeed. Now that he knows he can’t ruin it. He tried to burn it down once. When that didn’t work, he tried to kidnap poor Gustav and Helga. Since neither of those vile plans worked, I guess he just figured he’d latch onto it for himself.”

“Oh, Emily, no!” Gertrude’s tiny protest might not have been uttered for all the attention Emily paid to it.

“I can’t believe you did it, Aunt. I simply can’t believe it.”

And without sparing a thought for her aunt’s shattered nerves, Emily spun around and stomped out of the room.

Oh, Lord. This was the worst thing that could possibly have happened. Emily could imagine many things, but she couldn’t imagine summoning the nerve to explain to Will Tate that his new business partner was Clarence Pickering, a man they both hated. Will knew Pickering was behind the foiled attempts to burn the business to the ground and then kidnap or kill the business’s principals.

Her beloved Will. Oh, Lord, how could she tell him about this? There was no way. Even Will, as honorable and perfect as a man could be, must have his limits. He’d never agree to work with Clarence Pickering. Then where would Uncle Ludwig and his stupid dogs be? On the street is where.

Emily ran up the stairs. Then she ran down the stairs. Then she stood still and kneaded her hands together. There had to be a way of solving this terrible dilemma without Will finding out about it. She’d already committed the dreadful sin of trying to deceive him. She wouldn’t allow Gertrude to ruin his business plans.

“Uncle Ludwig,” she whispered. “I must find Uncle Ludwig.”