Vignette. Home.
Her tiny home was her refuge: A narrow storefront on a side street, the front serving as her shop with a kitchen in the back whose main occupant was a wood stove which the heated the upstairs through a vent in the ceiling. There was a small bathroom with a toilet across from the kitchen and it contained the only sink.
Between the storefront and the kitchen, under the staircase, she created a lush, curtained, room for her customers' private fittings. The storefront had one counter and countless shelves and drawers lining its walls. A sewing machine sat diagonally in a back corner. There was a bell on the front door.
She didn't spend much time in the upstairs room except to sleep and dress. She kept a small table in the kitchen. Or, rather, half in and half out of the kitchen, for there wasn't room to contain both it and the wood stove. There was just enough room to fit one chair at the table.
She prized her rocking chair even though it didn't look quite right in the shop where she placed it. But she felt she did her best work in it and its rocking motion gave her comfort.
The rocking chair was purchased when she and Sam first arrived in San Francisco in anticipation, presumption even, that there would be a baby. But there was never a baby; there was never even a hint of a baby.
"Just as well," she thought now. Had there been children she had no doubt she would have returned to her father's home in Ohio and would have been gladly welcomed. She could not imagine how she would have survived Out West as a single woman with little ones to feed and clothe and protect.
So she would rock and hum while she tatted and still the rocker to create the tiny even stitches which also brought her solace.
Chapter 6.
As arranged by a note delivered by a Barkley Ranch hand, Nick arrived at Emily's shop one Saturday morning with the buggy. He knocked at the door before entering, making the bell chime and announcing his arrival. He realized he had not seen her since the Bon Voyage party and thought she was more beautiful in everyday clothes than she was in shimmering silk.
She chose a black wool skirt, longer in back and forming a small train behind her (to accommodate the fashionable bustle which she rarely wore, finding it cumbersome and awkward) and underneath she had pulled on a pair of brown woolen riding breeches she brought with her from Ohio which were now a little snug. She wore a plain white cotton blouse and her waist was cinched with a black leather belt. She had her straw hat with the blue ribbon, her gloves, and a dark blue knitted shawl at the ready.
In her happy excitement to go riding, she beamed at Nick. "Good morning, Nick! Can I offer you some coffee or shall we be on our way?" Why was it so easy to talk to him?
"There's plenty of coffee at the house, let's go!" he responded, matching her mood and slapping his hand on the counter for emphasis.
He turned to go and was holding the door open for her while she hung back, tying the hat's ribbon under her chin, the shawl already on her shoulders, and the gloves tucked into her belt. She then quickened her steps to leave, making sure the sign in the window read "CLOSED."
As Nick helped her into the buggy, she asked, "Do I get to ride Blackie again?"
"Sure," he said, "unless you wanna help break in one of the mustangs."
"Hmm, "she pretended to consider, "I think I'll decline the offer, but thank you all the same."
Nick laughed as he climbed into the buggy and took the reins. There were few people out and about this early and the morning was promising a beautiful day. To Emily, all felt right in the world at that moment.
They had gone a few blocks in silent sunlight when Emily asked, "Nick? How do you break a mustang?"
He laughed and looked over at her and saw she was not joking but quite serious and was expecting a serious response.
"You wanna know how to break a mustang? He asked.
"Yes. I do."
"Are you planning on catching one for yourself?" He was smiling, teasing her.
"No," she continued, solemn and sincere, "I'm curious how you break a mustang, a wild horse. Really."
If asking about Emily's brothers at Audra's party had revealed a passion in her, asking Nick about the capture and breaking of mustangs did the same to him.
They spent most of the ride to the house with Nick explaining about the history of mustangs in California, about choosing, catching, breaking, and training them. Nick talked about the importance of being honest and building trust with the animal. Emily asked thoughtful questions as they occurred to her and responded with appreciated enthusiasm to Nick's stories of past equine conquests.
By the time they reached the stable, the morning sun was warm enough for Emily to remove the shawl and she and Nick walked side by side to the house. He held the door for her and, as she entered, she scanned the front parlor for Victoria but saw no one.
"Mother! MOTHER!" Nick shouted from where he was standing just behind Emily. She jumped at the volume and suddenness of his outburst and suppressed giggling at herself. If Nick noticed her startled reaction, he didn't acknowledge it.
Victoria strode in from the dining area wearing gaucho slacks and a gaucho hat. She ignored Nick and held her arms out to Emily, embracing her.
"Emily!"
Jarrod entered from what the family called The Gun Room, what Emily wished they would rename The Billiards Room, and welcomed her, as well.
"I understand you're off to the orchards today," he said, "Maybe teach Nick a thing or two about fruit propagation."
"I doubt that very much," Emily said.
"Well, much as I'd love to join the three of you, I have work to do on a case which I am finding stimulating, if challenging," Jarrod explained.
"Civil or criminal?" asked Emily.
"Ah! Civil," said Jarrod, adding, "I imagine you're not unaccustomed to seeing men chained to their law books."
"Indeed," she said, smiling, "I am not."
Nick cleared his throat and Victoria stepped in and took Emily by the arm, leading her into the kitchen while explaining that Heath was with the herd that day.
In the kitchen, Silas was putting wrapped food items into saddlebags.
"I thought we would enjoy a picnic while we're out," Victoria said.
Before Emily could offer a response, Victoria turned to her and asked, "You've met Silas, haven't you?"
"No, we have not been formally introduced," said Emily and she turned toward the older gentleman.
"Emily, this is Silas, an old, dear friend of the family. He works for us," Victoria said, "And Silas, this is Mrs. Emily Powell, late of Ohio and San Francisco."
"Nice to meet you, Miz Powell," Silas offered, almost shyly.
"It is a pleasure to meet you, as well, Silas," said Emily, smiling.
Just then, Nick strode into the kitchen and out the door towards the stables, announcing loudly as he passed through that they should "get going."
Victoria closed her eyes for a moment, looked at Silas, and shook her head.
"Nick?" Victoria called after him and he reappeared at the back door. "Nick, I promised Mrs. Wells I would bring her some books today and that I wouldn't be later than three o'clock." Victoria looked at Emily and explained that Mrs. Wells was one of the valley's older residents and was not able to get out much anymore. Emily accepted this as a gentle suggestion that she should offer some assistance to the woman, as well.
"Well, now, Mother, that doesn't give us much time," Nick said. "Takes an hour and a half to get there and an hour and a half back." He looked over at Emily, "May have to gallop the whole ride," and he smiled and left again.
Emily was happy to see Blackie saddled and waiting for her and greeted the mare warmly. Nick commented that Blackie seemed to know her. She didn't believe that and gave Nick a mock scowl to express it but he smiled and took her elbow to help boost up into the saddle.
"What are those?" Nick demanded, quite loudly. He had taken a wide step back and was pointing at her foot which wore the same black work boot she'd worn the last time she'd been on Blackie.
"Those are my boots," she said, not knowing what else she could say.
"Those are not riding boots!" He was certainly emphatic and Emily could not tell if he was teasing her or if he was dead serious.
"Well, " she said with great calm, "they're boots. And I ride in them. So I guess they're my riding boots." And with that she moved Blackie on to catch up with Victoria who was now out of the stable, riding her horse, Misty.
Nick rode past her to take the lead and as he did, he grumbled, "Those are not proper riding boots."
They were, in fact, the best option she had for riding. She had left her riding boots in Ohio, thrown them out, actually. Those were worn out and she didn't anticipate much opportunity for riding in San Francisco anyway. These were, however, perfectly acceptable boots and she thought Nick was silly to make such a fuss.
The three of them passed a pleasant ride in the California spring weather, mainly Victoria and Emily riding together and Nick leading the way. The trail was easy and Victoria enjoyed watching Emily's pleasure in learning about the native birds, trees, and wildflowers she saw. They took a short break by a small stream where Emily practiced pronouncing the Indian names of the places and landmarks pointed out to her.
The peach trees were in full but late bloom, some pink blossoms remaining on the branches but a full carpet of pink lay on the ground. It was beautiful.
Nick rode up beside Emily and told her what pests and diseases he looked for and how he predicted harvest.
Satisfied with the peaches, Nick led the women awhile through the orchard. Then they reached the orange grove whose trees had lost their blossoms some weeks before. Emily knew this was part of the reason she stayed in California: In Ohio, oranges were rare and dear and only for special occasions. Here, she was surrounded by thousands of oranges all around.
When they finished with the orange grove, the rode on another forty minutes or so, out of the valley floor, and up an incline, and stopped at a grassy spot beside a narrow mountain stream flowing fast and cold. There they dismounted and Victoria pulled the saddlebags from Misty. She reached inside one of them and pulled out a thin blanket which she then unrolled and spread on the ground before Emily was able to get to her and help.
Nick had disappeared into the thick woods on the other side of the stream and Victoria knelt down on the blanket and began removing and unwrapping the food for the picnic. There was chicken, bread, cheese, carrots, and a few other items.
Emily had knelt on the blanket, too, and was helping unwrap when Victoria caught her eye and nodded towards the woods, indicating Nick.
"Those must be the magic woods my brothers always talked about before they disappeared," Emily offered, deadpan.
At that, Victoria threw her head back and burst into a hearty laugh.
Nick reappeared from the woods, whistling a tune that abruptly stopped when he heard his mother laughing. He jumped across the stream and stood watching the two women.
"What did I miss?" he asked, tentatively.
"Nothing, Nick, nothing," Victoria replied as she produced three tin cups and a small bottle of wine from the depths of a saddlebag. Emily's face gave away nothing.
The meal was relaxed with talk ranging from fruit harvests to local politics to what they imagined Audra was doing at that moment.
Suddenly startled, pocket watch in hand, Victoria exclaimed, "Two fifteen! It's two fifteen! Nick, why weren't you watching the time?" She stood. Nick stood. Emily stood.
"Mother, I'm sorry, I thought – " he started.
"No matter," Victoria stated, "but I must get going. Nick, I trust you can get Emily home safely." She turned to go, then stopped and turned around to face Nick and Emily watching her in silence. "I am hoping to talk Mrs. Wells into joining us for dinner. Emily, I hope you will join us, as well." Emily simply nodded.
Victoria mounted Misty and Emily and Nick watched her canter away from them not, of course, seeing the serene smile on her face.