Chapter Forty-Nine

Maris didn't respond to Ruthie's declaration except with an "Oh" as they entered the house.

Ruthie searched her mind for words if Maris asked her questions. She hated her impulsiveness and the way she blurted things out. Vincent had said it was part of her charm but today she felt as if it was a curse.

Ruthie's powder room and dressing room were large and inviting. An oversized vanity, a mahogany jewelry chest, shoe and hat racks—a bay window with a seat, marble and brass fixtures, a separate water closet, an oversized copper tub—and an extensive closet of fine dresses.

She grinned, "Vincent spoils me terribly."

Maris laughed, "He does—what a wonderful place to ready yourself. And that stained glass, extraordinary!"

She admired the shades of blue waves surrounding a large white and gold sea shell. She noticed an entwined V and R in the border.

"The artist is close to here. Friend of ours. Jarrod has purchased pieces for both of his wives, I mean for their homes from him." with awkwardness.

"Have you met Elisabeth? Or was it Frances?" she asked innocently.

"Elisabeth, yes. She is very kind and proper. Frances no—-he wouldn't have introduced us in that season of life. You see, I met him after Beth's murder, a year later. He was investigating Frisco Rose's murder. We began, uh, as friends. He brought me here and we became business partners. Vincent bought him out and I made a profit the first year. Honest, hard work." Ruthie rambled.

Maria looked confused trying to piece together the missing parts of the story.

Ruthie pulled out a green dressing gown, "Try this Maris. It's a bit snug on me. We can knot up the hem."

The memory of Audra's dress after the derailment crossed her mind. "That knotted-up skirt and Nick's wool socks were the beginning of my life."

She walked behind the screen. Ruthie was waiting for her soiled dress.

"I will take it downstairs to wash out."

She was glad Ruthie walked out for several reasons. The lack of a proper corset being the most evident. She looked at her bruised ribs in the full-length mirror. And—-Ruthie's cryptic references—and David. She couldn't feel any emotions but overwhelming curiosity.

"There is nothing: no love, no friendship, no hate, just curiosity about the father of my son—-"

"Nick adores the couple, family friends. He trusts them with our secrets. What would Alice do? I know the answer. Yes, I know—- Just ask—-"

She walked out and walked around the room. She stopped at a section of the closet that was like multi-colored plumage. Vibrant colors interspersed with creamy pastel peignoirs, negligees, and robes.

"She has to have twenty or so of these soft silks—" as she appreciated them, "such a fairy garden of colors."

Ruthie came in to Maris admiring the nightclothes.

"Vincent spoils me. He usually brings me one home from his trips or our travels."

"He buys ladies undergarments?" with shock.

Ruthie chuckled, "I betcha Nick will too."

Maris colored again thinking of him unpacking hers the night before. The visual warmed her and she quivered.

"You see that tub? Had it brought straight from San Francisco. We get those oils and salts from traders all over the world. Vincent still owns some percentage of ships. After a long day and the children are in bed—-"

"Oh my," when she realized what Ruthie was implying. She immediately changed the subject to a topic she wasn't sure she wanted answers for.

"How did you meet the Barkleys?"

"Everyone in Stockton knew them. The four most handsome men in the state. They never noticed girls like me—-until they did. Miz Barkley witnessed my friend's murder. Frisco Rose. Jarrod started investigating the crime. We girls were mighty proud of that. Usually, nobody cares about working girls. He was in a dark place after his wife was murdered. We started seeing each other—-exclusive. But I didn't fit in his world. We both knew it. Frances did. Anyhows we became business partners up here and I met Vincent. All's well with us."

The story was starting to fit together for Maris and she looked at Ruthie with kind eyes.

"You know my friend Frisco Rose's killer was a boy whose whole life was ahead of him. She did him wrong. After the boy is caught and he dies—at the hands of his judge Pa. Sad when his father kills his pride and joy. You know how that is."

Maris' face registered shock at the implication. Surely Ruthie didn't mean what it sounded like.

"Ruthie? How did you know David?" She barely whispered.

"Well—are you sure you want to know? He was no Nick Barkley if you know what I mean. You got one of the best in the whole wide world."

She weakly smiled and took an intake of air, "That I am sure of. I have heard stories."

They sat down together on the velvet settee.

"Maris, I have been on my own since I was thirteen. Mama died, and relatives took me in. Started having to earn my own way. I made it when I was sixteen or so to San Francisco. Got taken in by a decent madam. Not as nice as Annie in Stockton but decent for a kid new to the business. Kept me safe and off the streets. Dressed me up pretty and fed me well."

Maris looked as if she would throw up.

"She had me work the party boats in the harbor. Gambling, booze, good food. Girls."

"David?"

"Yep. He was a regular. I remember him well. He used to fight with his father and come in angry. Does that sound right?"

"Yes," she barely whispered.

Ruthie put her arm around Maris, "Honey, he gave you your son and that's what counts. Nick Barkley is ten times the man he was. Maybe a hundred."

"Thank you, Ruthie. I do appreciate the blessing of Nick—with all my heart. One more question, how did he die?"

Ruthie cocked her head in surprise.

"You don't know."

She shook her head no.

"Fight with his father. Old man followed him one night. They fought and David was so drunk. Went overboard according to Frisco Rose. She got paid to leave town as did many of the workers. I joined her a few months later in Stockton."

"I am going to be sick. Excuse me."