Calico Palace Page 2

  As Kendra sat here in the cabin of the Cynthia, she remembered how Eva had suggested, in her own tactful way, that Kendra drop the surname Logan and let herself be called Kendra Taine. “As long as you lived with a grandmother named Mrs. Logan,” said Eva, “calling yourself Logan was a matter of course. But I am Mrs. Taine. Your being named Logan will be—well, puzzling. You understand, don’t you?”

  Kendra understood. She knew her mother regarded that first marriage as a bit of childish folly and wanted to be reminded of it as little as possible. Kendra resented this. And Kendra was no more like her mother in nature than in looks. Eva had tact and grace; Kendra was forthright as a storm. The only way she knew to answer was to say what she meant. She said,

  “I won’t tell people my name is Taine. Maybe you’re ashamed of Baird Logan but I’m not. He was my father and my name is Logan and it’s going to stay Logan till I get married.”

  Eva knew when she had lost. Smiling pleasantly she replied, “Very well, Kendra.”

  They had not referred to the matter again. Those pleasant, tactful smiles of Eva’s were part of the endless pretending that made it possible for them to live together. Kendra hated pretending.

  “Now why,” said Loren’s voice beside her, “should you be so gloomy?”

  Kendra started. Loren stood by the chair next to hers, smiling down at her. He looked so amiable, so brotherly, that he made her feel like talking. But she was not going to tell him what she had been thinking about. She detested people who whined, and anyway, Loren would not have understood if she had told him. Loren had grown up in a small New England town. His home had been the easy-going sort, with wide fireplaces and comfortable old furniture and a lot of children and parents who loved them all. He simply would not have been able to comprehend the sort of lonesomeness Kendra had felt all her life.

  He stood looking down at her, his eyes bright in his happy face. Loren’s eyes were a clear light brown, like cider. Kendra said,

  “Loren, I was just thinking—how far is it from New York to San Francisco?”

  This was something Loren did know about. He answered promptly, “By way of Cape Horn, seventeen thousand miles.”

  Kendra gave her head a shake. “It’s a long way. It’s such a long way it scares me. It makes me feel like a nobody. So—unimportant.”

  “But you are important!” he exclaimed impulsively. “Here on the Cynthia, you’re more important than you know.” He caught his words. “Well, it’s getting late. I’d better see if the captain has any orders.”

  He went out. Kendra looked after him with a puzzled frown. This was the second time he had started to say something and had broken off.

  Now what, she wondered, could he have been talking about when he said that on the Cynthia she was more important than she knew?

  2

  NOW BEGAN THE BATTLE of the Horn. Day after day the Cynthia creaked and tumbled as she fought to get from the Atlantic Ocean into the Pacific, while the wind raged against her.

  The sailors dragged at the great ropes, and the sea flung icy waves across the decks, blinding and choking the men and leaving salt in the cuts on their hands. In the cabin the four passengers sat gripping their chairs, lest they be pitched out to go rolling around like marbles. They had no heat, and at night they had no light, for the oil lamps were too dangerous to be lit on so frantic a sea. Through the days they sat in the gray glow under the skylight, at night the darkness was so thick that Kendra felt as if she could almost gather it in her hands. They went to their berths as usual, but they could not sleep much, for the waves kept shaking them awake.

  Now they did have meals of hardtack, and cold, very cold, salt beef. Nothing else, for it was nearly impossible for the cook to keep a pot steady on the fire. Once in a while he did manage to make coffee, but by Captain Pollock’s orders this went to the struggling men on deck.

  By morning of the fourth day Kendra’s nerves were wearing thin. The night had been so rough that she felt bruised all over, and both she and Eva were glad when the time came to get up and go into the cabin. The steward brought them another meal of salt beef and seabiscuit, and water that tasted rusty from having been stored so long in the tank. The mate came in, ate his breakfast hurriedly, and went out. Captain Pollock was still on deck.

  Her hands clenched on her chair, Kendra thought how alone they were in this terrible passage at the bottom of the world, how many vessels had split where the Cynthia was fighting now, how lost were even the names of the people whose bones had broken on the rock of Cape Horn. Across the table sat Eva, with Bess and Bunker Anderson, grimly enduring the ups and downs. Loren came in and sat by Kendra.

  “The men on deck aren’t scared,” he told her. “Half of them have sailed with Captain Pollock before. Coming back to the same captain is the highest tribute they can pay.”

  Kendra smiled. He did make her feel better. Loren, who had also sailed with Captain Pollock before, went on.

  “He’s a strict master, but I was glad he wanted me again. A young fellow can learn a lot working with a man like him.”

  Captain Pollock came into the cabin and asked Loren to have the steward bring him some breakfast. Except for a nod he paid no attention to the passengers. The steward brought him beef and biscuit, and Pollock ate in silence, eating because he had to eat, all his thoughts outside with his ship.

  Captain Pollock was thirty-six years old, a man of stalwart build, with a sailor’s ruddy weatherbeaten cheeks and a sailor’s farsighted blue eyes. His hair and beard were chestnut brown, his hands large and strong, his shoulders broad; in his own rugged way he was a handsome man. He wore nautical blue with brass buttons, and excellent shirts and boots, all kept in order by the steward, part of whose duty it was to act as the captain’s personal attendant.

  Just now his clothes were soaking, his hair and beard and eyebrows frosted with salt. He had no leisure for words or rest. As soon as he had finished his bread and beef he strode across the cabin and mounted to the deck again.

  But though abstracted, he did not seem worried. He simply looked like a man who had a job to do. Kendra thought the very sight of him was enough to make anybody feel more confident. She said so to Loren, who had returned to the chair beside her.

  Loren agreed. He told her Pollock had been at sea since he was sixteen years old, and had been captain of his own vessel since he was twenty-five. He had been around the world four times, and not once had the underwriters been called on to pay a dollar’s insurance for a vessel or cargo under his command. At last the magnificent Cynthia had been built, especially for him. This was her maiden voyage.

  “And how he does love this ship!” Loren exclaimed.

  As he spoke, Loren glanced across the table, where Bunker Anderson was telling Bess and Eva an anecdote of his trading days in China. Lowering his voice Loren added, “Kendra, the other day I almost told you something and then thought I shouldn’t. But now I think I should. It will make you less concerned.” She listened with interest, and Loren said, “Captain Pollock is glad to have you on the Cynthia.”

  Kendra puckered her forehead. “You mean he’s glad to have me, more than the others?”

  Loren nodded. With another glance across the table to make sure the others were not listening, he said, “You bring good luck.”

  Kendra’s eyes widened in astonishment. “Me? Why?”

  He answered simply, “Because you’re a pure young maiden.”

  Kendra burst out laughing. She was a pure young maiden—in her sheltered life she had never had much chance to be anything else—but she had a practical mind. For the captain to think this would bring good fortune to the Cynthia simply struck her as absurd.

  “Oh Loren,” she exclaimed, “you don’t believe any such thing, do you?”

  Loren answered soberly. “Kendra, I’m talking about what Captain Pollock believes. I’ve known him to turn down a passenger and sail with an empty stateroom, because he didn’t think the passenger was the sort his ship would app
rove of. And now that he’s got the Cynthia he’s stricter than ever.”

  As she was still perplexed, Loren tried to explain.

  To Pollock, he said, a vessel was a living creation. Of course, like people, vessels differed in their worth. Many a dirty old whaler deserved nothing better than grease-buckets and sailors from the waterfront dives. But if a captain should treat a proud ship like some wastrel of the seas, this would be like forcing a fine woman into—into shame, Loren said modestly. She would never forgive you.

  Pollock gave his ships the respect they deserved and they rewarded him. This was what he believed and he made no secret of it. If other seamen laughed at him he pointed to his record.

  “And the odd part of it is,” said Loren, “he’s not a bit like that ashore. In port he likes to take a few drinks, drop a few dollars at a gambling spot, meet girls, have a good time. There’s a gambling parlor in Honolulu where he goes often. Folks say he admires the hostess.”

  Kendra felt a twinge of amused astonishment. On shipboard Captain Pollock was so lordly and austere; she wished she could see how he acted around that girl in the gambling parlor. Loren was saying,

  “But he wouldn’t have her on the Cynthia. He believes a girl like that would offend the ship, and the ship would punish him.”

  Loren thought a moment and went on.

  Though fond of women’s company ashore, Pollock was not married nor had he ever been known to have a serious love affair. “All his life,” said Loren, “he’s loved nothing but ships. All his life he’s been dreaming of the perfect ship. And now, I guess he’s got her.”

  Kendra nodded gravely. But with a wise crinkle in his pink cheeks, Loren said,

  “You still want to laugh, don’t you? Well, maybe you’re right. But I told you because I don’t want you to be scared about doubling the Horn. Captain Pollock knows he can do it, but having you on board makes him extra sure. That’s a real help, Kendra.”

  Kendra looked at him straight. She said, “I’m not scared any more, Loren.”

  This was true. Whether because of Loren’s talk or the captain’s assurance, she was no longer scared. Through the rest of the day she listened to the screech of ropes and crackle of sails and the men shouting above the wind. It all reminded her that these men were strong and skillful, and Captain Pollock, though he might have a few strange ideas, was a master who knew his business. For this, and not because he had a virgin on board, the Cynthia would reward him.

  And she did. That evening, not long before midnight, Kendra heard a bang as of a hatch closing hard. Captain Pollock came into the cabin, bringing a gust of air and the smell of the sea. The captain’s nose was red as a strawberry, his coat dripped and his boots squashed as he walked. But his blue eyes were joyful and there was a warmth like a glow around him. He paused, giving himself a shake like a wet dog. Bunker Anderson called to him above the resounding sea.

  “Well, captain, so we’re in the Pacific now?”

  Pollock nodded. Half buried in his salt-crusted beard was a smile of triumph. He had done this before and his smile said he had no doubt he would do it again, but every time the battle was hard and the victory good. Without speaking, he glanced around at them all as if assuring them he was glad to have them on board. As his eyes came to Kendra they paused. The pause was a mere point of time, but it was a piercing point. She felt it all over.

  Then Pollock turned and went to his own stateroom. The job was done. The captain could rest.

  —It is true, Kendra thought. He does believe my being here was a help. Because I’m pure like the Cynthia.

  She remembered the ship’s figurehead, the goddess crowned with the crescent moon. For the first time she realized that the ship’s name, Cynthia, was an old Greek name for the moon goddess, ever young, ever virgin.

  —Absurd, thought Kendra.

  But somehow, it all made her feel uneasy.

  The ship sailed up the west coast of South America. Every day the sun grew warmer as she drew nearer the port of Valparaiso, where she would stop for food and water. Two weeks above the Horn she came into harbor.

  When you approached Valparaiso by sea the first thing you saw was a hill, so steep that the street was cut like a letter Z across the front of it. There on the Z you saw two houses, one on the lower arm of the zigzag and one on the upper. White houses with red tile roofs, they caught the sun and shone like two lights from the cliffside.

  But they were houses where girls received sailors on shore leave, and no nice woman had ever noticed them. Bess Anderson had warned Eva; and Eva, tactful as ever, had warned Kendra. Kendra dutifully said, “Yes, mother.” She felt like saying “Rats!” In talk-fests at school she had heard of such places but she had never thought she would see any. But since the two houses were right there in front of her, why pretend she did not see them? She felt like a fool.

  The waterfront was crowded with the native population, gay in their bright clothes and bangles. Also waiting on the wharf was a group of Yankee traders and their wives, many of them friends of Bess and Bunker Anderson. These traders lived here all the year round, and rushed to meet any vessel flying their flag. One couple asked the Andersons to be their guests, while another, Mr. and Mrs. Carlow, invited Eva and Kendra. With her usual grace Eva accepted.

  It was a pleasant visit. They picked peaches and grapes in the courtyard, took carriage drives through the foreign streets, and met other Americans in town. And not once did anybody mention the two white houses on the hill.

  They were in port four days. As the ship sailed out of the harbor Kendra stood by the rail and looked again at the two white houses. She wondered what sort of girls lived in those houses. Girls taught by mothers who were themselves in the trade? Or had they—any of them—been properly brought up?

  Nice girls did get into trouble sometimes. More than once Kendra’s schoolmates had brought back scandalous stories from their vacations. “…and she belongs to a good family, my dear!”

  Kendra had read novels about such “unfortunates.” In a book the girl would die—usually she pined away, though sometimes she jumped off a bridge. Kendra did not believe that in life they got out of the way so conveniently.

  She wondered what became of them.

  From here they sailed directly for San Francisco. Because of the way the winds blew, ships bound for San Francisco often went first to Honolulu, but the Cynthia would not, as she was bringing supplies for the California troops. She would go to Honolulu later, then on to trade in the ports of China.

  New Year’s day, 1848, was fair. Before long they were in the tropics, and now they sailed under a sun so fierce that the boards of the deck were sometimes too hot to be touched. Early in February Loren told Kendra they were coming close to San Francisco Bay.

  He said frankly that the settlement on the bay was nothing but a scraggly village. The native Californios had named the spot Yerba Buena—good herb—for a plant that grew there, from which they brewed a medicine. But most of the people in town were Yankees and they found this hard to pronounce, so generally they called the town by the same name as the bay, San Francisco.

  Loren and Kendra were sitting at the table in the cabin. He went on,

  “The town’s not much, but the bay is splendid. Look.”

  He had laid his hands flat on the table, his fingers overlapping, his thumbs pointing at each other.

  “Suppose my hands were the California coast,” he said. “My thumbs would be two peninsulas. The little space between the tips of my thumbs is the entrance to the bay. And on the inside of my right thumb, looking east across the bay to the mainland, there is San Francisco.”

  Kendra was surprised to learn that San Francisco faced east. A Pacific port, she thought it ought to face the Pacific Ocean. Loren laughed and said this was what most folks thought, but it didn’t.

  Two weeks later the Cynthia sailed into the bay and dropped anchor. Her voyage from New York had taken a hundred and thirty-two days.

  This was remarkably f
ast. The average time for such a voyage was a hundred and sixty days. But no ship of Captain Pollock’s had ever been average, and his beautiful Cynthia had outdone all the rest. Kendra wondered if he really thought this was because the Cynthia had carried a pure young maiden.

  Anyway, the voyage was done. On a murky day in February, 1848, Kendra had her first look at San Francisco.

  3

  LOREN HAD SAID THE bay was splendid, she did not know why. All she could see was a lot of restless gray water, and streaks of fog like an army of ghosts marching past.

  It was about ten o’clock in the morning. Kendra was on deck waiting to go ashore—a long way, for the water in front of San Francisco was so shallow that no seagoing vessel could come within a mile of town. The air was damp, the wind blowing hard.

  She was alone. Alex had come out earlier, in a boat bringing the army quartermaster to confer with Captain Pollock about the stores the ship had brought. On deck Alex had shaken hands with Kendra, and greeted Eva with an affectionate kiss as if she had been away for the weekend. He genuinely loved her, but he would have died before showing it in front of other people. Alex was forty-five years old, handsome in a dark romantic way, the sort of man who looks well in a uniform. Kendra took about ten minutes to classify him as a high-minded bore.

  As soon as the tide turned, Alex and Eva went ashore in the army boat, leaving Kendra to come in on the ship’s boat with Bunker and Bess. Loren had gone below with Captain Pollock, but he had left his field-glass with Kendra so she could look around.

  Kendra put the glass to her eyes. She saw two other seagoing vessels, a brig called the Eagle, which Loren had said came from China, and a smaller brig called the Euphemia, which she learned later was just in from Monterey. Close to shore were several little launches, which he had told her plied between the town and the ranch country. The fog was clearing, and a watery sun was pushing through, so she raised the glass to look at the land.