Blossom (The Blossom Trilogy Book 1) Read online

  “I was born in the fog of Boston, and I’ll die in the fog of San Francisco. Let’s enjoy the sun while we have it, shall we?” asked Mrs. St. Clair in a genuinely welcoming way.

  As the two settled into their chairs, Minnie, one of the household’s maids, entered the room. “Ready now, ma’am?” she inquired.

  “Yes, you may begin, Minnie.”

  “As you wish,” she said gently and disappeared.

  Clarissa knew that a late-afternoon tea service was an ideal setting for an intimate conversation. However, it could be a complex ritual depending on the household or hostess. The hazards were numerous. A slippery tea cup on a slippery saucer, boiling-hot water, one lump or two, gloves on or off, China or India tea, milk first. The thoughts swirled in her head. However, successfully navigating this mine field gave all the participants a secure feeling that they belonged to their class.

  In no time at all, Minnie rolled in a tea cart with a three-tier service piece graced with delicate triangular sandwiches and petit fours.

  “How lovely,” remarked Clarissa at the sight of the pastel-colored treats.

  “I don’t know about you, but I actually like crust on my sandwiches! I know it’s not proper, especially at tea time, but I learned to like crusts when Mr. St. Clair and I were young and making our way in the world.” With that, Mrs. St. Clair sighed and dismissed Minnie to return to the kitchen. Minnie backed out of the room and quietly said, “Very well, ma’am.”

  “Funny, isn’t it?” asked Clarissa.

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s funny that people call us the ‘upper crust’ and yet your lovely kitchen staff cuts your crust off even though you prefer it!”

  “Yes, it is ironic, I suppose.” Brock’s mother looked down at her well-trimmed sandwich and then up directly at Clarissa.

  “How are you and Brock getting along? Any wedding jitters?”

  “Everything’s on schedule. But I have to say that Brock doesn’t always seem very interested in what I’m saying or what we’re doing lately. Is that just how men are about these things?”

  “Men do see the world differently than we women see it. And Brock, he’s always been more comfortable around a barnyard than a boardroom or a ballroom. But he’s a real jewel, though I must admit I’m a bit partial!” exclaimed Mrs. St. Clair. “He’s a good man who’s driven to make his own way in life. And he’s chosen you to be at his side while he’s doing it.”

  She cleared her throat politely. “Now on to the real reason why I asked you here. I wanted to spend some time with you before the wedding.”

  Clarissa responded quickly, “And I couldn’t be happier to be here with you…or to marry your son.”

  “Before you receive yet another gift of a crystal bowl for fruit or an epergne to arrange flowers in, I have something for you,” Mrs. St. Clair said as she revealed an odd-looking coin.

  “It’s for your shoe.” She carefully placed it on Clarissa’s open palm.

  “My shoe?”

  “Why yes, your shoe. My mother gave it to me just before my wedding. Since my two girls didn’t live long enough to see their wedding days, or even their first birthdays, I’m giving it to you, my new daughter.”

  Clarissa knew that Mrs. St. Clair was very guarded about speaking of the deaths of her two infant girls. She wasn’t sure how to respond about the coin or the girls. This was growing increasingly uncomfortable for her and it showed on her face.

  “It has to do with the English rhyme: Something old, something new. Something borrowed, something blue. And sixpence for her left shoe.” She placed her hand on Clarissa’s when she said “her left shoe.”

  Clarissa was familiar with the saying, but now it all made sense in this situation.

  “Of course, and how thoughtful of you to share it with me.”

  “Have your mother and bridesmaids already given you the other items?”

  “No ma’am, not all of them yet,” Clarissa responded. “But, I’m sure everything will be in place by Saturday.”

  “Now if I could just get Austin to find the right girl and settle down. Perhaps one of your friends would be a suitable match?”

  “I’ll give it some serious thought, ma’am.”

  Mrs. St. Clair poured the tea. Even though she knew Clarissa liked two lumps of sugar, she asked anyway. “Two lumps, please,” was the response. Clarissa unfolded and laid a lace-trimmed, crisply pressed white napkin across her vibrant turquoise-skirted lap. Above it was an eggplant-purple blouse with turquoise accents and trim. It was tight at the neck, waist and wrists, and puffy everywhere else.

  “Your colors today are so exotic, like a peacock feather. I would not have thought to put them together. You’ve done it so beautifully.”

  Clarissa replied, “Oh, thank you. It’s a tad loud I suppose, but the combination is arresting, like your son’s eyes. I just melt away every time he looks into my eyes.”

  “He has his father’s eyes. I know that feeling well, though it’s been some time since I’ve looked into Mr. St. Clair’s eyes, bless his soul.”

  “I am truly sorry that our conversation keeps turning to your losses,” said Clarissa, resting her cup and saucer down on the white napkin covering her lap.

  “Now, now. We must not focus on what we’ve lost. We have so much to look forward to, together. My mother taught me a saying that comes in handy more often than I’d like: Just because a cloud blocks the sun, it doesn’t mean the sun is gone. You keep that in mind!”

  Clarissa smiled weakly at first and then widely as she thought of her wedding day. “Thank you. I will. Now I have to share something with you. I’m afraid Brock is going to reduce me to a pool of tears when we’re saying our vows,” confessed Clarissa. “I know brides are supposed to blush, but I don’t want to be a blubbering bride.”

  “Tears show everyone how happy we are or how unhappy we are. I’m certain that your tears of happiness will sparkle like the diamonds in your wedding tiara. I helped Brock pick them out, but your tears—and your love—are worth far more than diamonds.”

  “I hope so, Mrs. St. Clair.”

  “It’s high time that you call me something other than Mrs. St. Clair. What do you think?”

  “How about Mother? That’s the way I feel about you.”

  “Don’t you think your mother will mind?”

  “Not at all. She’s gaining a son and I’m getting a second mother.”

  Clarissa reached over and selected a pink petit four with a sunny yellow flower bud made of icing on it.

  “Our life together is going to be as sweet as this piece of cake.”

  Mrs. St. Clair added, “Yes, my dear, your marriage is going to be an absolute dream.”

  Chapter 14

  Something Borrowed

  Sunday, April 15, 1906, 4:04 p.m.

  Three days before the earthquake and firestorm

  “Blast! This dress is not only uncomfortable, it’s downright dangerous!” Blossom tugged at the skirt to loosen the bunching at the hemline.

  “Then why are you wearing it?” asked Brock.

  “It’s not even mine. I borrowed it from a friend who thought it would help you see me as something more than a bakery girl from Chinatown.”

  “It worked. But you didn’t need a dress to do that. From the minute I first saw you, I knew there was something special about you. And it didn’t have anything to do with what you were wearing.”

  “Well, that’s good, because you’ll never see me in this dress again!”

  They smiled at each other. Brock took her left hand in his right and they walked over to the barn. She tripped on the hem of her skirt and her body jerked.

  “Agreed,” he said with conviction. “From this point on, we’ll just be ourselves.”

  She looked at him with a puzzled expression. “Were you pretending to be something or someone today?”

  “No. I’ve always been a what-you-see-is-what-you-get kind of person. I may have had the benefits of wealth, b
ut I’m making my own way in life with this dairy farm. So, for better or worse, I’m not at all complicated and I’m definitely not a game player.”

  A vision of Faye flashed through Brock’s mind. “I know someone who fits that description well.”

  “Do you like that person?”

  “Not particularly, but she is my fiancée’s best friend.”

  The word “fiancée” halted the conversation.

  Blossom realized they were no longer holding hands. Painful silence took over. She faked a smile so he wouldn’t see how the awkwardness of the moment affected her. Blossom mustered her strength and asked, “Your fiancée, what’s she like?”

  “Do you really want to know?”

  Blossom looked off toward the bay. “Yes, I do. If she means so much to you that you want to marry her, then yes. I want to know what makes her so special to you. I bet she has everything I have to do without.”

  Brock licked his upper lip.

  “Clarissa, that’s her name, lives on Nob Hill and comes from a good family. She’s everything—”

  Blossom interrupted, “No, what is it about her that you love?”

  “Everything, I guess…not just one or two things in particular.” What is it that I love about Clarissa? I’ve never thought about it that way, he thought. “We’re comfortable together, like a hand and glove.”

  “Has the earth shaken when you’ve kissed her? Oh, I’ve gone too far with that question, haven’t I?”

  “I can honestly say that’s something that’s only happened with you, and you haven’t gone too far with your question.” Brock began to clearly see that he and Clarissa were like perfect strangers who knew quite a lot about each other and wondered if that was enough to result in a lasting marriage. He knew it was on Nob Hill.

  Brock took Blossom’s hand again and they walked together.

  “What are the girls like, I mean women, on Nob Hill?” asked Blossom.

  “Usually, their lives are planned out for them. They’re raised by nannies and maids. They’re schooled in all the right subjects. Their social calendars are carefully tended to. They learn how to direct the household staff. The goal, I guess, is to put the best package together that leads to a marriage that’s mutually beneficial to both families.” Brock stopped talking and digested what he’d just said. Sounds more like merging two businesses than a marriage between two people.

  “I think not having to work would be great! I work so hard. But everyone works hard in Chinatown, so it’s not something to complain about, I guess. In Chinatown, you’re never alone and yet you can be so lonesome. Or you just keep yourself too busy with work to get lonesome.”

  “Actually, work is good,” said Brock. “Ladies obsess about the pattern on their dishes, the color of the table linens and the placement of silverware. Don’t get me wrong. I like to eat, but all the rules and the fussing make me crazy. It’s just dinner after all!”

  They stopped walking. Blossom looked at Brock. “But maybe you’re wrong. To your mother, it’s much more than dinner. Besides, your life—as a man—seems so much more direct and to the point. You work. You eat. You sleep.”

  “You make us sound so boring.”

  They started walking again. “Oh, I didn’t mean to. I guess I was thinking about how living in Chinatown is more complicated. It’s not all about work and food and sleep. It’s that there’s no privacy. Everyone knows everyone else’s business.”

  “Blossom, it’s the same way on Nob Hill. Everyone knows about everyone else. Maybe it’s because so many people have so much more time to sit around and talk about each other.”

  He turned to face her and held both of her hands. His heart skipped a beat and began to race. “I’ve never met anyone quite like you, Blossom, and I’ve never been so comfortable and open before.”

  “I feel the same way. What makes it confusing is that I’ve never really had the chance to get to know someone who wasn’t part of Chinatown,” admitted Blossom. “There might as well be walls around that place with one gate in and out. Not that I’m complaining. It’s all that I know. But there’s so much more of the world that I want to be part of.”

  “So what’s holding you back?”

  “I’m not sure that it’s a case of being held back. My father and Grand Ma Maw and our business keep me busy. I just don’t think there’s been a reason to push out beyond Chinatown…until now.”

  They stopped walking again.

  “Brock, why are you here with me and not Clarissa?”

  He pulled her close into an almost stifling embrace.

  “You’re not at all like Clarissa. You’re not what I thought I wanted in life.”

  “Oh.”

  “Wait, that didn’t come out right. You’re different. It’s the way we talk and laugh. It’s your eyes, your smile, your touch. I can’t seem to get enough of you. You’ve made me see that I may not feel—or ever feel—that way about the woman I’m about to marry. I’m not sure if I should thank you or despise you for it.”

  “Oh.”

  “I’m not clear about why, but it’s you that I want to be with right now, not Clarissa.”

  “Oh. Oh no!” She brought her palms up to her mouth. A thunderous belch escaped. Blossom looked at Brock, her eyes unusually open.

  “I suppose I could blame my corset or say that the fried chicken is talking back to me, or clucking back at me—” She started to laugh and couldn’t complete her sentence. He joined her in diffusing the breach in good manners.

  “You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you? I don’t think I’ve ever heard a woman burp before, other than Clementine. She burps like a sailor who’s swallowed too much beer too fast. She curses like a sailor too, when she thinks nobody is around.”

  “Please excuse me,” said Blossom.

  “Any other surprises for me?”

  “I’m sure to surprise you again if you stick around long enough!”

  “I think I’ll do just that.”

  Chapter 15

  An Experienced Single Woman

  Sunday, April 15, 1906, 4:47 p.m.

  Three days before the earthquake and firestorm

  “Hello, Mrs. Donohue. Is Clarissa at home?” asked Faye as she was greeted in the parlor of the Donohue estate.

  “Why yes she is, honey. She just got back from Brock’s house. I’ll send someone up to get her from her room.”

  “Oh, that won’t be necessary. I’ll just scoot right up there myself.”

  “As you wish, honey,” said Clarissa’s mother.

  Zelda observed Faye’s arrival and went about her daily chores. She left the kitchen and headed down the hallway. “Jesus, Mary and Joseph, I swear this house actually grows dust,” she muttered to herself. She randomly swished her feather duster—which felt to her like an ever-ready extension of her hand.

  As she passed by, she smiled sweetly at Faye and as soon as she was beyond Faye’s line of sight, she stuck out her tongue and crossed her eyes. The passive-aggressive act did not escape the sharp eyes of Mrs. Donohue, though she shot a smile and a nod in Zelda’s direction in a subtle display of approval. Faye quickly turned, only to find Zelda’s back moving down the hallway toward the kitchen.

  Zelda plopped herself down next to Katie Malloy at the servants’ table. The staff was taking a quick break as the dinner hour quickly approached.

  “Why Mrs. Donohue tolerates that snake in the grass, I’ll never know!” announced Zelda.

  “These rich folks stick together,” said Katie. “And I mean stick, like pine sap on the bottom of your shoe. They tolerate each other’s shenanigans more than they ought to so as not to upset anyone or cause folks to talk behind their backs about them. They’re more concerned about what other people think about them than we are of putting food on the table or having a bed to rest on at night.”

  Zelda jumped into the flow of what Katie was sharing. “That’s because they don’t have to! They have everything. The only thing they could lose at this point
is their precious reputations. Makes me sick in the stomach,” she said dramatically, putting the back of one hand against her forehead and the other on her stomach.

  The two laughed. Katie looked at the wall clock and jumped to her feet.

  “Enough of that. Some of us have real work to do, and not fill up our days with dress fittings and tea sipping!”

  ***

  Up the stairs and down the hall to the second door on the right, Faye stood outside Clarissa’s bedroom door listening with great interest to assess what was going on behind the closed door.

  The sounds of a woman sitting at her vanity could be heard…a hairbrush being set down on the counter, dainty cabinet drawers opening and sliding shut, the sound of a perfume atomizer being sprayed liberally blending with the sweet melody of a hummed tune.

  There’s nothing going on in there that’s worth standing out here in the hallway for, thought Faye.

  Faye rammed her words through the keyhole. “Clarissa, are you in there?”

  “Yes, come on in. You know that you don’t have to knock or call out before coming in. This room is practically as much yours as it is mine. Now when Brock and I share a bedroom, then you’ll need to knock!” Clarissa giggled like a young schoolgirl who’d seen a painting of some naked Romans for the first time in a fine-art book.

  Faye noticed how the room smelled of rose essence and lilacs. “Couldn’t decide which perfume to put on, could you?”

  “I sprayed both.”

  “Yes, I can tell,” replied Faye as she entered the room. And so can my stinging eyes and burning throat, she added in her head.

  “So what have you been doing today, Faye?”

  Weighing her options and determining if the time was right to drop her Brock-and-the-other-woman-in-Chinatown cannon ball, Faye said, “Oh, nothing much. I went into the city to do a little shopping. How about you? Where’s Brock?”

  “I’m having a quiet day at home. Brock is probably still playing gentleman farmer up on Twin Peaks. He told me they’re breaking in a new filly.”