Sunny, warm. Our nation’s birthday.
And mine! Parade and picnic today.
A Happy Independence Day all around!”
Eliza hears Shorty’s now familiar voice outside the café. Eliza wipes her hands on her soiled apron and unties the muslin strings. She tosses the apron over a chair back and joins Shorty and Pearly on the porch of the Moonstone. She places a plate of small cakes, cookies, and sweet rolls on the bench just outside the front entrance.
“Grand day for a parade,” she says, glancing at the cloudless sky. The Fourth of July parade, scheduled to begin at three, is running late. Kids whoop up and down Broadway in anticipation; flags wave lazily in the afternoon breeze. A bunting on the storefront across Broadway barely rustles, its red, white, and blue colors bright and bold. Eliza closes up shop and joins Pearly.
“Sweet roll, anyone?”
In the near distance Jefferson Randolph Smith rides into view. As the self-proclaimed parade marshal, Smith sits tall atop a dappled grey stallion. The horse whinnies under Smith’s control, its flared nostrils and bobbing head barely managed. Smith prances down Broadway, and stops every few yards to talk to onlookers. He stops briefly in front of The Moonstone Café and tips his hat to Eliza and Pearly. The moment seems suspended in time. Eliza focuses on Smith’s face.
I wonder what his story really is, Eliza thinks. There is always more to a man than what meets the eye. There’s more’n a few skeletons hiding in his closet, if’n you know what I mean.
The women nod in return. Shorty rises and makes a mock salute. Smith dips his head in return.
Behind Smith, newsies hawk the daily rag. Eliza hands out cookies and raisin buns to the ruffians as they march by.
“Thank you, Ma’am.”
“Mighty thanks!”
“Sweetest buns in Skagway!”
Charlie Adams, the leader of the pack, does a seductive little dance aimed at Pearly.
“Get on with you!” Pearly laughs.
Behind the newsies, The Orphan’s League float brings Eliza and Pearly to their feet, and two marching bands draw loud applause to the beat of John Phillip Sousa. A lone cloud blocks the sun for a moment. Eliza puts her hand to her forehead to shield the glare and squints to see who is coming next.
Everyone loves a parade!
“Wish we had a formation of suffragettes marching today. Would love to wear a bright yellow sash and sashay right down the middle of Broadway,” Eliza says. “It’s been eight long years since the formation of the National American Woman Suffrage Association, and we’ve only got four states rallied behind the vote so far. We’ve got a long way to go.”
“If you were to march down Broadway today, you’d get sashayed right out of town!” Shorty laughs.
“You wait, Mr. Richardson! One of these days I’ll do it! We’ve got the vote in Colorado and Utah and Idaho already.”
“And don’t forget Wyoming,” Pearly says. “I was there when women first got the vote. Back in ’69 that was. Can’t believe it’s been that long. Rollicking time.”
Eliza flashes Pearly a conspiratorial grin.
“If and when Alaska becomes a state, we’ll be the first ones out there marching. Me and your lady friend here.”
“I have no doubt about that, little missy. No doubt about that at all.”
The Alaska Guard, a rag-tag group of Civil War veterans, passes by in solemn formation, a leg missing here, an arm in a perpetual sling there. The mood sombers as the men trickle past. Eliza notices some of the regs along the route.
“Hard life, some of the regs.”
John Brook’s Packers bring up the rear, and in their wake, the distinct tang of horse manure. Eliza is sorry the parade is over so quickly.
After the parade, for a moment, silence.
Pop! Pop! Pop!
Eliza flinches instinctively.
Gunshots?
She shakes off the sudden chill that has run up her spine. Fireworks are underway, and a town picnic over at Captain Moore’s.
“Give me just a second.”
Eliza locks up the Moonstone and closes the door behind her. She checks the knob. When she re-emerges on the porch, Shorty is gone.
“Always in a hurry, that man.”
Pearly and Eliza walk arm in arm to the picnic, the arc of the sun high in the sky.
“Today is my birthday,” Eliza says.
Pearly tightens her grip on Eliza’s arm.
“Well, Lawdy Be! Wouldn’t you know we’ve arranged a party for you, right here in li’l ol’ Skagway!”
Eliza’s resolve melts like a pat of butter when she sees the mountains of food prepared on the buffet: cold roast, potato salad, corn on the cob, and what seems like miles of Harriet Pullen’s pies. For once, Eliza is out of the stifling kitchen. Fresh air swirls around her, its scent as fresh as she’s ever noticed. She looks toward the Sawtooth Mountains, capped in snow even at the height of summer.
I must walk more often, Eliza thinks. I must get out into this grand place and explore. Most days I don’t get past the kitchen!
“Look, Lizzie! That’s what we kids used to do in Omaha! We just loved the Fourth of July.”
Pearly steers Eliza around. In a near field, men and boys pony up for relay races and three-legged races. Eliza notices Mayor Charles Sperry commanding his own conversation with some of her regs, Frank Reid, Si Tanner, and Jesse Murphy. Their demeanor does not match the lightness of the day.
“My turn!”
“No, mine!
Pearly and Eliza laugh as they watch fifteen or twenty children scramble for pennies in a hay pile. Their screams of delight pierce the afternoon air. Two older girls toss beanbags under a maple tree in Captain Moore’s front yard. Eliza fills her plate.
“Quite a spread here!”
“The church women outdoing themselves again.”
Pearly winks at Eliza.
“You are positively wicked, you know that!”
“Got to keep up my reputation.”
Eliza and Pearly walk to a picnic table at the far edge of the lawn and sit. Mayor Sperry mounts an improvised platform and shouts to the group assembled in the yard. Some of the men grumble and walk away from the platform and over to the maple. Pipe and cigarette smoke circle above their heads. A low hum underscores the mayor’s impromptu speech.
“Citizens of Skagway! It’s my pleasure to welcome you all to this harmonious gathering . . .”
Children scamper through the throng and grab for melting ice cream pops.
“. . . and a privilege to welcome the governor of our great territory of Alaska, John Brady, to our little hamlet . . .”
Light applause wafts across the lawn. A group of women has organized a scavenger hunt for the little ones, and a beehive of children scatters. They run across the lawn and around the maple, to the rear of the house, and even under picnic benches before returning, breathless, with treasures of every kind—pinecones, feathers, and maple leaves—before collapsing into a heap.
“. . . riches for all . . .”
“Ugh,” Pearly says. “Riches for some, maybe less for most. Bunch of malarkey.”
Malarkey is one of Pearly’s newfangled phrases.
“Why, hello Mrs. Brown.”
Shorty plops his plate onto the table and sits next to Pearly. He pinches her backside as he sits.
“You are both wicked. Just wicked,” Eliza says.
Pearly collapses in laughter.
“. . . and in a few month’s time we will be known as a shining city on a hill . . .”
“Yeah, except that we’re on the flats,” Shorty interrupts.
Men laugh.
“. . . and will be the envy of all the world.”
Captain Moore moves to the edge of the lawn at the conclusion of the speech. Harriet Pullen, who has been chatting with another woman at the edge of the grandstand, hurries across the lawn to catch up with Moore. She uses an opulent fan to swish away mosquitoes.
Eliza makes eye contact with Moore as the duo passes.
“Thanks ever so much for hosting this grand party,” Eliza says.
She directs her comments at Moore and nods to Harriet Pullen, Skagway’s copious pie baker.
Can’t get too cozy with the competition.
THE NEXT MORNING ELIZA WAKES EARLY AS USUAL, DRESSES, and hurries down to the kitchen. Her routine falls just short of the chaotic, and by six a.m. the humidity in the cramped kitchen rises. Four loaves of bread and two pies sit cooling at the far end of the plank table; small mounds of Miner’s Snickerdoodles wait for their turn in the oven.
Charlie Adams pokes his nose through the back door just before opening.
“Go on, don’t need any beggars this morning,” Eliza says, looking cross.
“I didn’t come for any goodies, Ma’am. I have this here for you.”
Eliza wipes her hands on her apron and takes the small package proffered from Charlie’s dirty hands.
“What?”
“It’s from Miss Pearly. She said it’s for your birthday.”
Charlie turns to leave.
“Wait. I don’t have any cookies ready as yet, but you be sure to come back at closing and I’ll save a snickerdoodle for you.”
Eliza takes a moment to inspect the small package. The wrapping is of the finest quality, a white-on-white pattern encased with a dark pink satin ribbon formed into a full bow. She strokes the smooth satin and hesitates to open the package. Her resolve is weak.
Nestled inside the white box and under a layer of white tissue, a gold locket rests on a small white pillow. Eliza gasps. She has never owned such a fine piece of jewelry. Her wedding ring had been of the cheapest silver, and that she sold happily in Whatcom, although for a pittance. And she never even tried Steiner’s garnet. She draws the box closer and notices the delicate filigree. She reaches into the box and picks up the locket, a perfectly shaped heart.
A banging on the front door rouses Eliza from her fixation on the locket. She places the box on a nearby shelf and quickly fastens the locket around her neck. She rushes the full length of the café and unbolts the door. It is six a.m. straight up.