Captive Bride, page 7
He watched her go and then, at last, Alan Somma was free to collect his own pails and head back to the kitchen.
Huiann plunged her hands back into the barely warm dishwater and finished scrubbing the last of the sticky oatmeal from the pan by the time he came indoors. She pretended she hadn’t seen the little drama outside the window, but it was a scene she wouldn’t soon forget.
Alan Somma beckoned Huiann to follow him. He took her into the store where he handed her an empty shopping basket and indicated she should choose what she wanted from the shelves. She browsed the store, trying to identify the items she needed for cleaning the house and cooking a few meals. Difficult to do when the boxes and tins had labels in English and nothing else to indicate what was inside.
A knock on the door made Huiann duck behind one of the shelving units while Alan Somma went to answer it. The man at the door was a farmer with a cart full of fresh vegetables and fruit. Through the window she saw Alan Somma paid him for several baskets and began to fill the trays in front of the store. When he was finished, he came inside with a basketful of fruits and vegetables for Huiann. She nodded her approval of the glossy fresh produce.
Next he showed her the dry goods area where bolts of fabric were stacked. Several premade gowns hung on hangers. Inside a thick book, he showed her detailed sketches of women dressed in elaborate frocks with draping bustles behind.
Huiann felt a stir of excitement as she looked from the illustrations to bolts of material as untouched as a scholar’s empty scroll. Since her father owned a textile mill, fabric had been readily available all her life. She was a good seamstress and could copy any design, including these intricate Western gowns if she put her mind to it. Perhaps she could supply dresses to the store. Her hands itched to feel the smooth silk and satin, the light linen and heavy wool. She selected a few bolts—starting with plain cotton until she got the knack of the foreign designs.
Joy bubbled through her and she remembered to thank her ancestors and Buddha once again for steering her through rough waters to this safe port. Alan Somma was a guardian spirit sent down from the heavens to save her. She owed him her very life. And she’d find a way to repay him, even if it was through something as simple as sewing dresses for him to sell in his shop.
Chapter Six
“Vote for Sommers. Vote for change.” Jeremy offered a handbill and a big smile to a customer along with the man’s purchase. Alan might be having trouble blowing his own horn to prospective voters but his clerk more than made up for his reticence. In fact, it had been Jeremy’s idea to print up sheets stating Alan’s basic platform and distribute them. Alan was happy to talk to customers about any issues troubling them and baldly stated his stance on a topic even if it contradicted theirs, but Jeremy’s brand of outright campaigning didn’t come naturally to him.
“I agree with you it’s time to put an end to graft and corruption.” Albert Hennegar, a local business owner, faced Alan over the cracker barrel where several men had gathered. “But what I want to know is how you’d handle the sewage problem. The city’s growing by leaps and bounds. We need a modern, efficient system installed citywide.”
“A better equipped fire brigade,” another man chimed in. “That should be the top priority. Sewer system won’t mean much if the whole damn city burns down.”
Alan listened to the half dozen men voice their various complaints, all legitimate, all worth accomplishing, and every one a politician’s nightmare. He certainly didn’t want to make big promises he couldn’t follow through on.
“As a councilman, I’d do my best to ensure all the basic services are given primary attention. You’re all absolutely right. The city infrastructure should be modernized but by dependable contractors and without payoffs or bribery.”
By the time the last of his constituents had aired their grievances and gone on their way, Alan was exhausted. And this was only the beginning. Soon he’d have to make speeches, participate in debates and attend society functions, the thought of which made his skin crawl.
“I’m going for lunch,” he warned Jeremy before retreating to the kitchen and a breath of fresh air in his busy day—Shu-Ann.
Usually at midday he’d snack on beef jerky, crackers, cheese or pickled eggs, any convenient food that didn’t require preparation. It was a pleasure to walk into his kitchen and inhale the fragrant aroma of a hot meal mingled with the sharp scent of bleach and soap. The room had never been so spotlessly clean.
Shu-Ann wasn’t in the room so he went upstairs to look for her. She was sitting cross-legged on her bed with a lapful of fabric, her head bent over her sewing. She looked up as he entered the room and her dimples flashed.
“Will you join me for lunch?” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder.
She rose, the cream-colored cotton slipping off her lap.
“What are you making?” He pointed at the material.
Shu-Ann shook her head, her embarrassed expression suggesting she’d been sewing ladies’ unmentionables.
He led the way downstairs. “The food smells delicious. Thank you for making it.”
She replied and maybe she was telling him what she’d cooked or remarking on the weather or telling him he was a big ugly baboon. It didn’t matter. Alan realized he’d been lonely for a very long time. Although it made so sense, he felt more of a connection during these incomprehensible chats with Shu-Ann than he did talking with people like the Dodges.
“You’ll have to learn English because I’m pretty sure I can’t learn Chinese. Dong Li tells me English is as simple as a child’s reader compared to the complex novel of your language.”
Shu-Ann sat with him at the table without protest this time. While they ate, Alan told her the names of objects around the room and by the end of lunch she knew table, chair, floor, window and water.
“Alan Somma, appu?” She offered him a dish of baked apple coated in sugar and cinnamon.
He pointed to his chest. “Alan,” he corrected. “Alan.”
“Alan,” she repeated, pronouncing it closer to Aaron.
He liked hearing her say his name. She made it sound exotic and interesting. He forked up some of the apple desert and it melted like honey on his tongue.
“Very good, Shu-Ann.” He set down his fork and bowed his head. “Thank you.”
“Sank you,” she echoed and then pointed to herself. “Huiann.”
“Wan?” he tried.
She shook her head and repeated, “Huiann.”
Alan repeated her name until he’d gotten the pronunciation close enough to please her.
“Hao,” she approved with a nod.
“I should get back to the store so Jeremy can take a break.” Alan went to the stove and filled a plate. He pointed toward the store. “For Jeremy. Jer-e-my.”
He lifted his hand in a wave goodbye and headed back to work where he handed the plate of food to the clerk.
“Thanks.” Jeremy sniffed the steaming vegetables and rice. “Did she make this?”
Alan raised his eyebrows at the inane question. “Do I ever cook?”
Jeremy took a sampling bite. “Mm. Maybe I should hire a housekeeper.”
Business was slow that afternoon. Alan worked on the books while Jeremy waited on the few customers. Late in the day the bell tinkled and Mrs. Dodge and her daughter, whose name Alan had already forgotten, entered the shop. He slumped in his chair behind the counter, not wanting to have to deal with Abigail Dodge, but she caught sight of him and steamed toward him with her daughter following like a tugboat.
“Mr. Sommers, it was so pleasant having you for dinner the other night. I’d like to invite you again for next Thursday. There are several people I’d like to introduce you to who could prove important to your campaign.”
“The meal was wonderful, Mrs. Dodge, and the company much appreciated. But as for next week. I have a…” He should’ve had an excuse ready for such a situation. “I have a friend I might need to help move that night.”
She stared at him hard, as if seeing through the transparent ruse. “Well, if you can attend, let us know. Cynthia will be cooking a meal to shame a French chef. Miss Hatter’s Academy offered a wonderful education in homemaking skills as well as fine arts and deportment.”
Cynthia fiddled with the ribbons of her handbag. “I do hope you’re able to come, Mr. Sommers. Mother, I’m going to look at the stationary. I need envelopes and a pen.”
Jeremy had been standing nearby and now leaped forward eagerly. “We have some wonderful new papers in from the east, Miss Dodge. Floral patterned and embossed. Let me show them to you.”
He ushered the young woman toward the stationary display, discussing the merits of different weights and styles of paper. Alan didn’t miss the starry look in Jeremy’s eyes as he beheld Cynthia Dodge. He’d clearly be thrilled to receive a dinner invitation but wasn’t likely to get one as Mama Dodge had set her sights higher for the girl.
“You know, Mr. Sommers,” Mrs. Dodge continued, “the contacts one makes can be the difference between winning and losing an election.”
She was right, of course. He shouldn’t have been so quick to refuse. But the thought of another night with the Dodges when he could be at home with Huiann was completely unappealing. “Perhaps another time, Mrs. Dodge.”
She shrugged. “You might recall I mentioned the other night that Mrs. Wallace Finch and some of the other ladies of her club are holding a fundraiser to build an opera house for the community. Such a worthwhile endeavor. The rough edges of this city are slowly being ground away and civilization will prevail. Various merchants are contributing items to the dinner and dance. It’s a worthwhile cause and will reflect well on you as your name will be featured in the program.”
“What did you have in mind?”
“Well…” Abigail Dodge spoke for the next five minutes, requiring no input from him as she detailed a shopping list of goods he could donate, and pointed out how grateful Mrs. Wallace Finch and the ladies would be. Her entrée into this illustrious social club was clearly a big part of Mrs. Dodge’s interest in the project. As a banker’s wife, she surely deserved to mingle in that rarified circle yet didn’t have quite the pedigree they required. Alan could read the unspoken message between the lines. His mother had been a bit of a social climber herself.
Alan glanced at Jeremy and Cynthia leaning close together over the paper display. He wanted to give them more time alone so he continued to nod and agree long after he normally would have interrupted Mrs. Dodge.
“You’ll be doing the community a great service,” she finally ended her plea.
“I’m sure I can help with some of the supplies.”
“Excellent.” Mrs. Dodge started toward the door then seemed to remember she’d had a daughter when she arrived. She frowned when she saw Cynthia laughing and chatting with Jeremy. “Cynthia! It’s time to leave.”
The girl’s smile faded and her hands dropped to her sides. “Yes, Mother.”
Jeremy carried the stationary and pen set she’d chosen to the counter for her and rang up the purchase. After the ladies left the store, he turned to Alan. His face glowed pink and even his copper-colored hair seemed to shine brighter as though he was lit from within. “Did you see her?”
“Uh, yes. She’s very pretty.”
“No. She’s beautiful. Like an angel. How could you turn down dinner at their house? Although I’m glad you did. Do you think her parents would let me call on her? Her mother’s a bit of a battle-ax, isn’t she?”
“Yes. A bit.”
“Cynthia is unhappy here. She misses her school and her friends back east. She writes volumes of correspondence to them. If she’d marry me, I’d take her back to Massachusetts. There’s nothing keeping me here.”
“Whoa! Marry? You just met this girl. You know nothing about her.” Alan had seen Jeremy tumble in and out of love before. It always ended with the romantic young man getting his hopes shattered and moping around the store for several weeks until a new pretty face stole his heart.
“But I’m only a clerk. Her mother won’t take me seriously,” he continued as if he hadn’t heard Alan’s protest.
“I can’t offer you a raise, Taylor. I’m sorry, but I can’t afford it.”
Jeremy blushed even redder. “I didn’t mean that. I like my job here, but sometimes I think I need to strike out on my own to get ahead in the world.”
“Then you should. As you said, nothing’s holding you back.”
“Is that what brought you out west, Mr. Sommers, trying to strike out on your own?” Jeremy rested his arms on the counter and looked intently at Alan.
“Something like that. Look, Jeremy, I appreciate that you’re taken with Miss Dodge. She’s a lovely girl, sweet and well-mannered, but slow down. Take your time. She’s not going anywhere.”
“That’s the problem. Her mother’s determined to marry her off soon. With the proportion of women to men in this city I don’t need to tell you how hard it is to find a nice girl. Sometimes the loneliness is just too much. You understand.” His pointed glance suggested that he believed Alan’s new housekeeper was there for more than cooking and cleaning.
Alan ignored the inference. “All I’m saying is don’t be impetuous. Court her if you like, but be cautious. Don’t throw your heart at her feet.”
Jeremy smiled. “But that’s love, isn’t it? You have to offer everything. That’s the only way she’ll know how much you care.”
Alan shook his head. Jeremy was hopeless. Either he’d find an equally soft-headed girl and they’d live happily ever after like two cooing doves, or he’d be eaten alive by some she-spider.
He closed his account book. “I’ll tell you what. Why don’t we close up a little early tonight? Go out, get drunk and maybe you’ll find another girl just as pretty as Cynthia Dodge to fall in love with.”
Jeremy frowned and his jaw tightened. “I’m not a fool, Mr. Sommers.”
“I’m sorry,” Alan apologized. “What if I take Mrs. Dodge up on her dinner offer for next Thursday, but ask if I can bring you along?”
The frown erased and Jeremy’s ruddy face glowed once more. “I’d really appreciate that.”
“I could fall ill at the last minute and you could go alone and make my excuses.”
“You’d do that?”
“I’d be happy to do that.”
Jeremy thanked him again and went to take in the outdoor displays for the night while Alan cashed out the day’s receipts. He felt a little jittery and realized he was nervously anticipating the prospect of spending another evening with Huiann. Damn, he was as foolish as Jeremy, going cow-eyed about a woman he didn’t know. Next he’d be casting his heart on a mud puddle for her to step on as she crossed it.
Huiann had set two places at the table and sat with him without question. She served him from the dishes on the table, and afterward waved Alan away when he tried to help clean up. Tonight he didn’t give her a chance to escape to her room but waited in the kitchen until she was finished washing dishes then indicated the butcher paper he’d set on the table.
“Tell me more about your family.” He found the segment of paper where she’d drawn her village in China and tapped his finger on it. “Family. Father. Mother. Do you have any brothers or sisters?”
She stared blankly. Until now they’d done fairly well at communicating without speaking each other’s language, but they’d hit a frustrating wall. Alan tried to think of a pantomime for family then remembered he had a tintype of his own family taken at a studio before he left home.
“Just a minute.” He held up a finger and went upstairs, returning with the framed tintype of himself, his younger sister, Sarah, and their parents. They looked as stiff as pokers and grim. Of course, at the time Alan hadn’t done a lot of smiling and the rest of the family was angry with him for leaving so soon after returning home from war. His mother was distraught at losing him again and he’d had no way to explain why he had to go.
Huiann’s eyes widened. She pointed to Alan in the picture and spoke rapidly.
“Yeah. That’s me.” He studied himself, hollow-cheeked and dead-eyed. He didn’t quite look like the walking skeleton he’d been when the Union forces had freed him from the camp, but he didn’t look alive either. “This was taken after I got back from the war so I was still pretty skinny.
“This is my mother.” He pointed and repeated the word several times. “And my father. Fa-ther.”
“Motha—Mu. Fatha—Ba,” she translated for him. Grabbing up the grease pencil, she sketched stick people and pointed to them. “Mu. Ba. Bolin, Bao, Mei.”
Her eyes shone with tears. It must hurt like hell for her to think about the family she’d left behind and the father who’d sold her into slavery.
Alan pointed to his sister in the photograph. “Sarah, my sister. I had another younger sister but she died when she was only two. I don’t think my mother ever got over it. She grew harder after that and Sarah could never do anything to please her. Funny how a grieving person sometimes drives away those he loves.”
Huiann studied his family photo then pointed to his map of America on the butcher paper. He guessed she was asking where they were.
There was a United States map displayed on the back wall of the store, a more detailed representation than his crude sketch. He picked up the kerosene lamp and beckoned Huiann to follow him into the store.
It was evening now and no light came through the shuttered windows to illuminate the room. The glow of the lantern scattered the shadows before them. He showed her the faded map tacked to the wall.
“Here’s California, where we are. And here’s my family.” He traced a finger across the entire country from San Francisco to Milton, New Hampshire. So many miles and so much misunderstanding separated him from the people who loved him the most.
“New Hampshire is a lot different than here. Crisp and cold in the fall with beautiful leaves on the trees. Snowy in winter and never too hot in the summer because we’re near the ocean. Here it’s rainy and foggy all the time. Even in winter it rarely gets below freezing. It took me some time to get used to it.
