The Parrishes are expecting you?” It was a question, not a statement. A young woman—the maid, Jennie supposed—had opened the door. Behind her was a portrait-lined hall. Jennie gripped Dougie’s hand tighter as she spied glass vases with roses gracing side tables they’d have to walk beside. An open door at the end of a long hallway allowed a breeze to flow in and provided a view of an expansive formal garden where stone birdbaths dotted the green like lily pads on a pond. There was also a pond. Charles was right: this man might have been a poor pastor once and an Indian agent who was not regularly paid (according to the newspaper), but he did have resources. Or his wife did.
Jennie answered the maid. “Yes. My husband has an appointment and—”
“Not specifically today, no. But the Reverend said for us to stop by sometime.” Charles poured out his charm.
Jennie glared. No appointment? They were intruders on a Saturday morning. If the Reverend was preaching somewhere the next day he’d be busy working on his sermon. That was how it was for Jennie’s father, and visiting at such a time was disrespectful.
“We can come later,” Jennie said. She held Douglas’s hand and started to turn, careful to keep her hoopskirt from knocking against the sculpture of a draped Greek woman holding a bowl in which a rose floated. The flower was the size of her own hair comb but much more beautiful. First roses of the season often are. Someone here loved flowers.
“Why don’t you let him know that Jennie Lichtenthaler Pickett is here with her family to see the Reverend. Go ahead.” Charles urged the maid away with his hat he’d removed.
The maid left to do what Charles suggested.
“Let’s leave,” Jennie said.
“No.”
“We’ve intruded, Charles, we should—”
“Welcome, Picketts.” The big man had moved on cat’s paws, entering the hall without a sound as they’d argued. His hair was dark and thick, trimmed around his ears, and his beard was a silvery white. He had blue eyes, the color of sky right after a summer storm. Kind eyes. To Dougie he said, “You must be Mr. Pickett. I don’t believe we’ve met.” He knelt down and reached out his hand.
Dougie sought permission and Jennie nodded. She’d never seen a grown man squat down to shake a child’s hand.
“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Pickett.”
Dougie laughed and kept pumping Mr. Parrish’s hand.
“Minnie, let’s see if Chen can rustle up some cookies for this young man. Is it all right if he goes with her? Our cook’s quite gifted when it comes to cookies.”
“Of course,” Charles answered, though the question had been posed to Jennie.
Mr. Parrish transferred his gaze back to Dougie. He stood without pressing his palms against his thighs and smiled, passed Dougie’s hand onto Minnie’s, who walked with him to the kitchen. Mr. Parrish motioned for them to enter the parlor on the right. Her heart beat a little faster, hoping Douglas would be on his best behavior. Cookies increased that likelihood.
“Now then, what can I do for you? It’s been years—maybe since your wedding—that I’ve had the pleasure.” He shook Charles’s hand, directed them to sit on a red velvet settee.
Charles rubbed his hand across the fine material, and Mr. Parrish told the story of having it sent around the Horn. “Quite an undertaking for a settee, but it belonged to the Winns, Mrs. Parrish’s family, and when her father died, it was left to her. Of course she longed for it. I could bring it here, and so I did. It’s what one does for family.” He raised his palms together, as if to say “I had no choice.”
“We’re here because of family,” Charles began. “We have a proposition for you. An investment you might make. Go ahead, Jennie, tell him.”
Oh, she knew he’d want her to speak, as she had some sort of relationship with Mr. Parrish as a preacher like her father, but still, to talk of money before first finding out how his wife faired, that was rude. “I wonder, first, about the health of Mrs. Parrish. We hear she suffers.”
He nodded and the after-storm blue eyes clouded over. “She does. No one seems to have any way to stop the deterioration. So we keep her comfortable. I was gone for five months. I came back as soon as she took a turn.”
“I’m sorry,” Jennie said. “Unexplained illness is the most difficult. It’s like living through a flood and then having the water never recede. Everything has a new level of vulnerability around it.”
“Yes. That’s exactly what it’s like.” He looked at Jennie, who saw respect or perhaps surprise in his eyes. He bowed his head, clasped his hands together as though in prayer.
Charles frowned, used his hands to urge Jennie forward. She shook her head.
Minnie entered then with tea and cookies.
“Shall I pour?” Jennie offered as Minnie set the tray down on the table.
Mr. Parrish accepted Jennie’s offer. The scent of mint lifted from the porcelain pot. It mingled with the roses in the cut-glass vases set around the room. A slight breeze moved the ribbons hanging from her straw hat and tickled her neck. The three sipped in silence. Then, “I wonder if Mrs. Parrish might like a brief visit. I’d be pleased to thank her in person for the lovely honey she sent us after the wedding.”
Mr. Parrish hesitated, then said, “I think she’d like that. Let me see if she’s up to it.”
He left the room.
“Just talk about the loan. I didn’t bring you along to dally.”
“I’m not. It’s disrespectful not to pay attention to the lives of people we’re hoping to have a commercial relationship with.”
Charles sat up straight. “Oh, you’re playing them. I get it. Softening them up for—”
“She says she’d love to have you come in, Mrs. Pickett.” Mr. Parrish had returned on those cat-paw feet. She hoped he hadn’t heard what Charles had said or even her comments about the loan. Jennie didn’t look at Charles but stood and allowed herself to be taken to a room that might have been a dining room at one time, as it was across from the kitchen. It was now a large bedroom. Perhaps so that Mrs. Parrish didn’t need to climb the stairs. Another settee, not red velvet but green, owned the wall opposite the windows that reached from ceiling to the floor. Sunlight poured into the room and landed like the end of a rainbow on a figure so small she looked childlike among the comforters and quilts.
“Mrs. Pickett.” She reached out her hand as she spoke Jennie’s name with effort-filled breath.
“Jennie. Please call me Jennie.” She reminded Jennie of her sister Rebecca, who had died of typhus, that terrible disease. Mrs. Parrish’s eyes remained clear, and she motioned for Jennie to sit next to her. Mr. Parrish faded away. It was only this ailing woman who drew Jennie’s attention. “You’ve had a time of it.”
“Oh yes. That’s a good way to say it. ‘A time of it.’ One can imagine what the time was like.”
Jennie smiled, and nodded agreement.
“My time has been good, filled with such joys. A loving family. A kind and faithful husband. We’ve been blessed. And you? I’ve not seen you since the wedding. You’re well? Your parents are well?”
The woman’s gentle resignation of what awaited her, carrying the weight of it without resentment nor evidence of fear, took Jennie’s thoughts to her child. Jennie considered telling her about Baby Ariyah and her great loss, but she answered her question instead. “My parents are well. And I am. We are. We have a child now. Douglas. He’s in scamping cookies from your cook.”
She smiled, coughed. Jennie stood to hand her the glass beside the bed and helped her drink. She wore a flounced cap that framed her oval face, and Jennie’s fingers against her neck felt like she gentled a newborn’s.
“Chen makes the best cookies. I’ve had little hunger for such of late.”
“Your doctor has given you aromatics and herbs?”
“Oh, all that’s available has been done.”
Her lips looked dry and cracked, so Jennie didn’t think everything was being done. “I have some glycerin. It might help your dry lips feel better.” I’ll bring her my blend of cinnamon, garlic, cloves, and eucalyptus for her cough.
“That would be lovely.”
Jennie reached inside her reticule and brought out the tin. “Let me wash my hands before I put it on.” The rose-decorated bowl and pitcher on the washstand held fresh water. The mirror above revealed Jennie’s hat askew. She straightened it, then rewashed her hands. In the mirror, she saw Mrs. Parrish close her eyes. “Here we are.” Jennie brought her fingers to the paste and spread it on the ailing woman’s lips. Her eyes watered at the touch. So did Jennie’s, so grateful to bring comfort.
“Thank you.” She dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief she pulled from her sleeve. “It does feel better.” She sighed, coughed. “I don’t know why every little thing seems to make me want to cry. I’m really in little pain and Josiah is so good to me. Minnie as well. And my boys, all grown now, so I’ve not to worry over them. I think Charles Winn is about your age.” She patted Jennie’s hand. “Endings were always beginnings for me, but this ending . . .” Her voice trailed off.
“My sister Rebecca shed many tears with her typhus. Tears must be a way to chink the cracks in our hearts with liquid love.”
“Liquid love. I like that.” Her eyes fluttered. She was tired.
“Thank you for letting me visit with you. I need to check on Douglas. I’ll leave the glycerin. Perhaps Minnie can put it on for you.”
“Oh, Josiah will do that. He loves to touch me.” Jennie thought she might have blushed, but it was difficult to tell. “Thank you. Come back. Any time.” She waved a weak hand, closed her eyes, adding as Jennie left, “It’s still a new beginning, isn’t it? Just one we have to take alone.” Then she began to softly snore.
The kitchen sat across from Mrs. Parrish’s room, and Jennie heard Dougie chattering with Minnie, she thought, but the response came from an accented voice. The Chinese cook. All sounded well, so she returned to the parlor before Dougie could spy her, wondering if there was anything more she could do for Mrs. Parrish.
“There you are. We were about to come and get you,” Charles said. “Wouldn’t want to tire Mrs. Parrish out now, would we.”
“She’s resting. She seemed to like the visit.”
“A woman’s touch is always welcome, I suspect.” Mr. Parrish turned back toward Charles as Jennie lifted her hoop to sit beside him. She smoothed her purple-dyed linen skirt. “Now that Charles and I have solved the problems of the world—including getting the anti-liquor laws passed—what was it the two of you wished to discuss with me?”
That Charles would have talked about the anti-liquor laws amazed her, but then it shouldn’t have. Chameleon that he could be—as charming people often are—he would have found a way to see Mr. Parrish’s preferences opposing liquor and suggested he agreed with it. “Go ahead, Jennie.”
A flare of irritation escaped her eyes as she looked at Charles.
“We’ve come seeking a loan, Reverend Parrish. It’s a terrible thing to discuss commerce with someone who has his own trials, but here we are, hat in hand.” She motioned to Charles, who was kneading the edge of his bowler hat, crown down as though they were begging. Which they were. Her tone or the words caused him to stop the finger twisting and turn the hat crown up. “Charles has a good job at the prison working as an assistant to my brother-in-law. But we’d like very much to one day purchase our own property, have a small farm where I could grow my herbs and plants, and Charles could spend less time with people who have criminal intent.”
“Many are imprisoned by their addictions,” Mr. Parrish said.
Charles started to speak, but Jennie interrupted. “I agree. And that’s one reason why we seek a loan, so that Charles can spend more time with those not impaired by drink or laudanum or morphine. He’d like to use the funds to invest in property that he’d improve and then resell. Our capital city is growing here, now that the war is over. You’ve seen so many changes since you arrived in . . . what year?”
“We left New York in ’39. Arrived here in ’40.”
“It would take us a while, but Charles is a good carpenter and farmer and we are young and healthy and could improve properties. But we need a stake. Like the miners who head into Canyon City to find gold. Land would be our gold.”
“How much are you seeking?”
Charles said, “Five hundred dollars.”
Jennie gasped. That wasn’t what he’d said. They’d agreed on one hundred dollars; more than enough, in fact. Why had he surged ahead to ask for such an impossible amount? Jennie couldn’t imagine Mr. Parrish loaning that much.
“I’d need to think about it.” He isn’t turning us down outright? “Elizabeth and I like to encourage young families in our state. But that is a large amount of capital, especially here. You’ll soon discover that assets aren’t always in currency.”
“We understand,” Jennie said. “Please take all the time you need to consider our request. Or an alternative.” She narrowed her eyes at Charles and he sat back, his lips tight.
“Let’s speak on Monday. I like to discuss things with Mrs. Parrish. I’m sure we can do something to assist.”
Dougie bounded down the hall at that moment, all smiles, and it seemed the perfect time to depart. Jennie stood, taking Dougie’s hand and pulling him into her skirts. “And were you a good boy?”
“Quite the little charmer,” Minnie said. Jennie couldn’t tell if it was a compliment or not.
“We should be going. Charles has promised to help me with the love apples we’ve planted. Tomatoes, I believe they call them now. They seem to be doing well, but we need to transplant them.”
Charles stood then. “We’ll stop by Monday—to answer any questions you might have.” That last he said hurriedly before Jennie could stop him.
“That’ll be fine. Two o’clock. And be sure to bring young Pickett too. Chen always has more cookies.”