Blossom (The Blossom Trilogy Book 1) Page 13

  “I just feel like we’re so close now, that our hearts beat as one. I know that sounds nonsensical, but it’s how I feel.”

  With that, Brock rediscovered something he admired about Clarissa. It was her clarity and confidence in things like love and relationships.

  At that same moment, he confirmed to himself how unclear and unconfident he now was in his ideas and feelings about love and relationships.

  “You’re the only one for me,” said Clarissa.

  Brock held her close, but didn’t utter a word.

  “I could use some fresh air. How about you,” Brock asked as he began to stand up.

  “Yes, if that’s what you want.”

  As he walked away, Clarissa admired his six-foot frame, which was built like an upside-down triangle—broad at the shoulders and narrowing all the way down. Appropriately inexperienced, but knowledgeable about the male body from studying sculptures in art galleries, she felt naughty as she imagined Brock’s heavy brown suit being peeled away to reveal the muscular body that would be hers after they took their vows.

  Having felt the brush of her glance, Brock turned back. What’s that strange look on her face? “What are you thinking?”

  “Oh, nothing you need to know just yet.”

  Mrs. Donohue passed by a nearby doorway, made eye contact with Clarissa and nodded. “Everything fine with the upcoming nuptials? Brock, no second thoughts or cold feet?”

  Clarissa’s body stiffened at the candidness of the questions. Brock took the lead and responded, “Yes and no.”

  “Good, very good,” said Mrs. Donohue.

  “You know Brock, with you I have simply everything life has to offer,” Clarissa said as she walked toward him.

  Brock reached out his hand and escorted her to the garden.

  Yeah, and with Blossom I found something I didn’t know I was missing.

  Chapter 19

  Deception

  Sunday, April 15, 1906, 6:21 p.m.

  Three days before the earthquake and firestorm

  “Oh, there you are, my child. Seeing you always bring me great joy. But, odd thing happen today,” said Grand Ma Maw as Blossom closed the door behind her and the street noise was quickly muffled.

  “Anna Mae’s father come to see if his treasured daughter still here with you. I not show my surprise to him. Did you not say this very morning you go spend time with Anna Mae’s family? Why then her father come here in search of you two?” probed Grand Ma Maw, certain that Blossom was cornered like a mouse in the pantry with a broom aimed at it.

  “And at my mahjong game this afternoon, ladies interested in you more than usual,” she added.

  “You caught me. What can I say?”

  Grand Ma Maw was shocked for the second time today as Blossom actually admitted to what might be a transgression.

  “Our work was done around lunchtime, and Anna Mae and I went to visit Monique at Maison Bijou.”

  “Yes, everyone know of your Monique. She make quite a show of herself,” said Grand Ma Maw with a growing anger that could erupt at any moment. Grand Ma Maw recalled in her head how Monique’s internal compass seemed to always point her in the wrong direction, even as a child.

  “Why in name of our ancestors would you go there? Have you no common sense? Anyone see you go in or out? Your good name—and our family’s reputation—already a mess,” said Grand Ma Maw authoritatively. “Monique, that whore who sells and sells and sells herself. She just empty oyster now. No pearl to give her husband. No man want new wife with no pearl. I know she your friend, but she worse than a used handkerchief.”

  She looked at Blossom with intent eyes. “And what you do to your hair? It looks like a pile on your head, like mountain. And make-up on face. Only people on stage and good-time girl on street wear make-up!”

  “We were trying out some new looks for me at Monique’s.”

  “Just stop right there. Tell me no more,” interrupted the old woman with her palm raised and facing Blossom.

  “Oh, Grand Ma Maw, Monique’s home is beautiful. I wish you could see it. I’ll ask Monique if we can stop by sometime soon. You’ve never seen such fancy furniture and wallpaper. It’s like walking through photographs of a mansion in Paris. There are mirrors everywhere, even on the ceiling!”

  “Heavens, child, you promise me now you never go there again!”

  “Oh, but I didn’t tell you the best part! There are golden statues of naked women holding up candelabras that drip with sparkling crystals! Then, in Monique’s bedroom I saw—”

  “Stop…right…now,” commanded Grand Ma Maw. “I not wish to hear any more, and I not want you to bring visions of that horrible place into your mind or mine! I ask again, did anyone see you?”

  “I suppose I did say ‘hello’ to a few shopkeepers along the way. I wouldn’t want to be unfriendly in our own neighborhood.”

  “No way to fix now,” said Grand Ma Maw. “Hurry up and dress. We need your help in dining room. It may be Sunday evening and people have eaten big lunch, but that never stop them from coming out for nice dinner. Best of all, Ming Yang waits for you. He ask for you earlier. You ever going to show him some attention? He not wait forever!”

  “Grand Ma Maw, I’ll bring out his meal and I’ll take away his dirty dishes every day of my life if I have to. But it will be in this restaurant only, and it won’t be as his wife. I just wish…oh, what’s the point?” With that, Blossom turned and headed up the back stairs to her room to put on a proper outfit for serving in The Golden Palace’s dining room.

  Grand Ma Maw shook her head, confounded by Blossom’s apparent lack of good judgment and planning for the future.

  “What I do to deserve such a girl?” she said aloud to herself. Then she reconsidered her question. Could Blossom end up like me here in 50 years, still running the restaurant…doing same thing…day after day? This good living, but very hard life…little room for wishing or making wishes come true. I must find way to help bring her happiness.

  Chapter 20

  Listen With Your Heart

  Sunday, April 15, 1906, 7:23 p.m.

  Three days before the earthquake and firestorm

  Hand in hand, Clarissa and Brock strolled on the gravel pathway in the rose garden. The glow of the light inside the house appeared golden and warm from the outside looking in.

  “Brock, the roses remind me of something I read today.” Clarissa pulled from her waistband a small piece of paper that was neatly folded and tucked in. “I wrote it down to share with you tonight.”

  She unfolded the paper. “It’s about love, the gentle and romantic kind of love that poor President Garfield had with his wife, Lucretia. It was before he was assassinated, of course. Apparently, she wrote him these words as they were separated on New Year’s evening in 1856. I know. I know. Just get to the point, right?”

  “Nonsense. Go on,” urged Brock.

  “Thank you. She wrote—”

  Clarissa looked down. “I’ll read each word to get it just right. ‘Wherever you may be I know you are with me in spirit, and upon my lips I almost feel the fond kiss your ardent love places there.’”

  She stopped. Brock rubbed the back of his neck and sighed loudly.

  “Doesn’t that just melt your heart? It gets better, though. He wrote back, saying, ‘Your dear little message of love passed over the wide wintery waste that lies between us, to reach me…your letters are like dear little drops of yourself, sweet roses from the full garden of your heart.’”

  He cleared his throat and put his hands behind his back.

  “Say, tell me about the progress on our new house. Is your father still driving the construction crew crazy?” asked Brock, referring to the mansion Clarissa’s parents were building for them just down the street within the Nob Hill district.

  “He’s one to pay attention to the details, isn’t he?” Clarissa asked rhetorically, knowing that his success in business could be attributed to his precision and persistence.

 
“It should be ready for us to move into after our honeymoon this summer. I visited it on Thursday, and the men were installing the tile counters in the bathroom and the sinks were about to be dropped into place. I do wish you spent more time there to be sure the work is to your satisfaction, not just Daddy’s.”

  “If I’ve learned anything from your father, it’s to know when to get out of the way and when to stay out of it.”

  “But this is our house, our home. I want it to be perfect.”

  “Nothing is perfect in life,” Brock reflected. “I’m not sure that striving for perfection is something we should ever do.”

  Clarissa stopped walking. The garden pathway’s gravel no longer made the familiar grinding noise beneath their feet. She turned to face him and with her right hand lifted his lowered chin to look him straight in the eyes.

  “Talk to me. What’s going on behind that handsome face of yours? I’ve never heard you sound so doubtful and unsure. Is it the wedding?”

  Brock remained silent, staring directly into Clarissa’s eyes.

  “Honey, talk to me,” urged Clarissa.

  “I don’t know exactly what it is, so I can’t talk about it. Maybe I should leave.”

  “No, don’t go. We can talk about whatever it is tomorrow or the next day. I want to be with you. I get so little time alone with you as it is.”

  He took Clarissa’s hand in his and began to stroll again.

  “It’s so clear tonight. The moon is huge. Look at it rising over Oakland across the bay. You can always count on the sun and the moon, can’t you?” asked Clarissa.

  “Yes,” said Brock. “You can always count on them.”

  “Before you leave, I have a surprise for you inside,” said Clarissa excitedly. She led him into the music room, where her harp stood proudly as the center of attention, with ornate chairs scattered around the room. Hand-painted murals of violins and harps adorned the walls. Mrs. Donohue encouraged her daughter to add playing an instrument to Clarissa’s list of accomplishments. Mrs. Donohue made it known she would have preferred the selection of the piano, because Clarissa’s choice of playing the harp produced calluses on her fingers, which were never desirable for a true lady.

  “Sit down next to me,” she urged as she pulled a gold-painted chair next to the harp’s red-velvet-covered stool. With a hand on his shoulder, she pushed him down into the chair. Then, she situated herself at the harp.

  “Close your eyes and listen with your heart. I wrote this for you and I only used the best notes! It’s your song.”

  Clarissa played her original composition with passion. There was more to this tune than the mere plucking of strings. It was stirring, soaring and even subtle at times.

  Her eyes closed as she played. It was as if Clarissa could hear a full orchestra behind her as the music swelled and subsided. It was intoxicating to her.

  As she plucked a single string to make the last note, she sighed with relief. She awaited his reaction.

  “I’m not sure what to say. No one has ever written a song for me…much less played it on a golden harp,” admitted Brock. “However, I don’t believe the harps of angels could sound any sweeter. That was something I’ll never forget, Sweetheart, never.”

  Clarissa beamed. “Whenever you want to hear your song, for the rest of our lives, all you’ll need to do is ask.”

  “Does it have a name?” he asked.

  “Yes. Well, it didn’t until the other day when we were at the Cliff House and I read the Land’s End sign. That’s when your song got its name: Land’s End. On Saturday, we’ll leave behind our past lives and start a new one together. It will be like soaring off the cliffs and out over the ocean. Just you—” she paused and gently placed her left index finger on his heart. “And me,” she said as she placed her right index finger on her heart.

  Then, she whipped her fingers in swirling circles over the harp’s strings and laughed loudly.

  “But let’s not be so serious,” she said. “I’m glad you like it.”

  He looked into her eyes and said, “I do.”

  Chapter 21

  The Time Had Come

  Sunday, April 15, 1906, 7:58 p.m.

  Three days before the earthquake and firestorm

  The Golden Palace crowd was thinning. Blossom traveled through the dining room, checking on her remaining patrons to ensure unwanted plates were cleared and tea pots were hot and full. Her body was going through the same routine motions, displaying poise and confidence.

  A nagging piece of hair broke free from Blossom’s bun and needed to be tucked again. With her left hand, she captured it and slid it behind her ear. Then she touched her upper lip with her index finger, holding it there. She stopped walking and stood there.

  “You ill, Blossom?” asked Grand Ma Maw.

  “I’m fine.”

  The old woman looked at Blossom with curious and probing eyes. They were the eyes of a suspicious and protective caregiver who was seeing what she had dreaded for years: the awakening of the woman who was no longer the little girl and constant companion in this Chinatown bakery and restaurant. The time had come. Grand Ma Maw was sure of it.

  Chapter 22

  The Rice Bowl That Never Empties

  Monday, April 16, 1906, 2:42 p.m.

  Two days before the earthquake and firestorm

  Under the veiled guise of visiting Anna Mae before the dinner rush, Blossom left the bakery with Grand Ma Maw waving goodbye, then shaking her head as she often did.

  “I do not believe Anna Mae getting a special visitor today. But I do believe Blossom visiting someone special,” she said aloud, but softly.

  “You talking to me?” asked Blossom’s father.

  “No, my son, I talk to hole in wall.”

  “Now that we talking to each other, you notice how much time Blossom say she spending with Anna Mae’s family lately? We do something to drive her away?”

  “I not believe we drive her. I believe she drawn to something,” said the old woman as she watched Blossom blend in with the traffic and disappear down the street.

  Grand Ma Maw stepped back in the doorway and closed the door behind her. The bells mounted to the top of the door rang out.

  Grand Ma Maw had always welcomed the ringing of the bells on the door. That meant a customer had entered and business was going to be transacted. For the first time, she heard the bells in a different way. At this moment, they meant someone had left and the door closed behind them. She didn’t like this new feeling, not at all. She looked pained.

  “What you looking at? Have you no work to do? Chang, dinner rush here soon enough, and we not be ready.”

  Chang turned away and entered the kitchen.

  The door’s bells rang out loud and clear again. It was Ting Ting and Little Sunflower.

  “How are you two this fine afternoon?” asked Grand Ma Maw.

  “I’m great,” Ting Ting replied as she reopened the door to release the hanging crimson-fabric banner that was deliberately placed too close to the door opening. It was Grand Ma Maw’s plan for it to get stuck in the door regularly, as it drew more attention to the message on it as people opened the door to set it free.

  The banner’s vertically arranged characters made the following wish to everyone in luminous golden threadwork, “May good fortune follow you on your path through life.” While the message escaped Ting Ting’s notice, the banner did not.

  Little Sunflower made herself quietly comfortable on a chair in the corner of the restaurant entrance. “I’m great too.”

  “How’s the rice bowl today?” Ting Ting eagerly asked. She had an unusual fascination with the bowl on the shelf. The cobalt-blue dragon painted on its sides intrigued most children. But for Ting Ting, it was the rice inside the bowl that commanded her attention. Grand Ma Maw knew that Ting Ting loved the idea that the rice bowl would never be empty. Being a girl of substantial appetite, endless food was a dream come true for her.

  “You like to put new rice in bowl?�
�� asked Grand Ma Maw as she lowered it down from the shelf. Ting Ting nodded eagerly. “You handle bowl with great care.”

  Ting Ting did as she was instructed. Grand Ma Maw recalled a young Blossom as Ting Ting scampered away.

  When Ting Ting came back, Grand Ma Maw returned the rice bowl to its place and thanked her with a softly spoken shay shay.

  “Ting Ting, our great ancestors in Mt. Penglai—land of the Eight Immortals—thank you too,” she added. “Rice bring us together in Chinatown. It bind us, like sticky rice in mortar that hold Great Wall of China together, century after century.”

  Ting Ting hugged the old woman around the waist and looked up at her with a beaming smile. Little Sunflower smiled from her seat in the corner.

  “I read this question in a storybook today: Has a moment ever hugged you, hugged you like this,” the little girl asked as she embraced the old woman more tightly, “and never let you go?”

  “A moment? Hugged?” asked Grand Ma Maw. She thought about what the girl had really asked with her choice of words.

  “Yes. Yes, just now. Your hug never let me go, right?”

  “Right,” replied Ting Ting with a sweet giggle.

  Grand Ma Maw’s lip quivered. She looked at the door that led out of The Golden Palace.

  “Yes, my Ting Ting, I not let this moment go…ever.”

  Chapter 23

  The Unforeseen And The Seen

  Monday, April 16, 1906, 3:06 p.m.

  Two days before the earthquake and firestorm

  To Blossom, it felt good to be back in Brock’s carriage, beside the man she couldn’t stop thinking about. They’d been traveling for a while when she caught him staring at the brown-paper-wrapped package that she held on her lap. He didn’t ask about it, but he was staring just the same.