Gold Mountain (21 page)

“I’m not asking for me. It’s for Ruth, and even more, it’s for my brother-in-law Martin. They have taken that child into their hearts. Honestly, when I think of some of Martin’s comments about the Chinese and how he resisted allowing Suey Wah into his home at all, the change is nothing short of a miracle. My sister is the kindest, most patient woman I know. She’s going to make a wonderful mother and since she’s going to be a mother anyway, why not mother two instead of one? I know you warned all of us not to get too attached to Suey, but we—they—have and the damage is done. The child couldn’t ask for a happier, more loving home, and I know they’ll make sure she has the same opportunities available to their own children. What could you find for Suey Wah that could possibly be more advantageous for her?”

“I can find a place where she will be safe, Dinah, something you cannot guarantee but should take into consideration. You know better than anyone the threatening activity Suey Wah’s presence has generated.” I couldn’t argue with her statement of the facts as we knew them at the time and I didn’t try, but something in my expression made Donaldina concede, “I’ll think about it, Dinah, if only to be sure I’m not overreacting to the situation.”

I was content with her promise, thanked her, and that night told Ruth and Martin that there might be hope for Suey Wah’s adoption into our family. “Miss Cameron is worried on Suey Wah’s behalf,” I explained. “She takes her responsibility for the girls very seriously and we can’t fault her for that.”

My sister stood to kiss me lightly on the cheek. “No one is faulting Miss Cameron for anything, Dinah. I know we all have the same objective, just different ways of reaching it. And thank you. You’re my very favorite sister.”

I laughed at that. “I’m your only sister, too, coincidentally, so I won’t let your admiration go to my head. And shouldn’t you be getting ready for bed? Women in your condition need their rest.”

Ruth was so obviously blooming in health and spirits—and waistline—that it was her turn to laugh. “Nonsense. I’m going to finish your gown tonight, which means only one more fitting, for which I know we are both grateful. I know you are many good things, but a good mannequin is not one of them. Come along and let’s get it over with. In case you’ve forgotten, the cotillion is this weekend and unless you want to attend pinned instead of stitched, I need your complete cooperation tonight.” To Martin, she added, “If you hear Dinah screaming, it will only be her impatient bad temper you hear. Just ignore her.”

“No problem whatsoever,” Martin said, reaching for his pipe, and I knew from his tone that the idea of ignoring me was something he contemplated with a certain degree of wistful anticipation. “I’m teaching Suey Wah chess. We’ll stay out of your way, won’t we, Suey Wah?”

The girl gave Martin a smile and I marveled at the affection I caught in the look they shared. For Suey Way, here was a man who held no fear or threat, only love and trust, and for Martin— well, the man who had once pronounced that “if you’ve seen one Celestial, you’ve seen them all,” had discovered that individuality and character and personality were as conspicuous among the Chinese as they were among Californians. Progress on two fronts, I thought with satisfaction.

Ruth fussed over my dress for the rest of the evening, pinning and basting, repinning and basting until I truly did want to scream.

“There!” she exclaimed. “I’m done! Now stop all the wiggling and whining, Dinah. Have you always been this impatient?” Without waiting for an answer, she began to slide the dress down over my hips to the floor. “You’re going to be the most beautiful woman there this Saturday. Mark my words. You will take people’s breath away.”

“I suppose you mean that as an encouragement, but I find the prospect of an evening gala unnerving and would prefer to blend in with the crowd.”

“Would you say that if your Colin was going to be there?”

“He’s not
my
Colin and yes, I think even then. I really don’t want anyone to make a fuss over me, Ruthie. I’m not being falsely modest. I truly dread the idea of people treating me as if I’m something special or a heroine of any kind.”

As Ruth handed me my robe, she observed, “You’re serious about that, aren’t you?”

“Very.”

“But why? No one means any disrespect by the attention and what you endured really was extraordinary. It’s natural for people to admire someone who was caught up in a difficult situation and somehow managed to acquit herself with faith and courage. Those are godly virtues. There’s nothing wrong with expressing—or accepting—admiration for commendable behavior.”

I wanted to tell Ruth what those weeks trapped in Pekin had really been like, wanted to strip away the glamour and the exotic excitement that the newspapers had apparently attributed to the experience and explain why the idea of anyone holding me up for admiration was almost unbearable for me to contemplate, but I didn’t have the way or the words to express myself.

After a silence, Ruth said gently, “I’ll do my best to keep any attention to a minimum, Dinah, because I can see that the idea distresses you. I’m sorry I didn’t know that before I commented about you to Mrs. Gallagher, but I’m afraid it’s too late to change people’s expectations now. Many of San Francisco’s finest want to meet you, and you’ll have to handle the attention in a mature and gracious way.”

“I can’t recall that anyone has ever put the words mature and gracious and my name all in the same sentence before,” I muttered, “so I don’t think your expectations are very reasonable.” I caught her glance and despite my serious intention I started to laugh. “But I promise I’ll do my best not to run shrieking from the room.”

“That’s the spirit,” Ruth replied, laughing, too. “I knew I could count on my favorite sister.”

The dresses my sister had worked on so hard for so many days were a credit both to her skill as a seamstress and to her unerring eye for style. She’d always had the flair, even as a little girl, and when we stood facing each other dressed in our cotillion finery we both had compliments for the other.

“You look wonderful,” I told Ruth. “That pale rose is perfect with your complexion and the overskirt is perfect to hide your—” I stopped, deciding I had probably already gone too far for tact, but with her usual sunny disposition, Ruth just laughed.

“My expanding mid-section you mean? Yes, that was the intention, although now that I see it on, I realize the only way to hide this waistline would be to attend wrapped in a blanket. Unfortunately, Martin frowned at the idea, so this dress was the best I could do. Anyway, I don’t mind if I look like an expectant mother. That’s what I am, and I don’t want people to think I’m anything but thrilled about it.” In a rare moment of self-doubt, she added, “It is proper that I’m attending, isn’t it, even in my rather advanced and obvious condition?”

“It’s 1901, not 1801,” I replied, “and good old Queen Victoria with all her notions about propriety is gone. Of course, you should attend. Don’t be silly. And anyway, the way you’ve designed that dress, no one would guess a thing.”

Ruth reached to rearrange the long rows of pearls draped around my neck. “Those are a nice touch, Dinah. I remember your eighteenth birthday when you received them. What do you think about your dress?” I turned to look at myself in the long mirror.

“I think you did a beautiful job, as usual, but I wonder if it suits me exactly.”

“I knew you’d say that. You’re a striking woman, Dinah, but in a unique way.”

“Is that what they call damning with faint praise?”

“No, no, no. Look at you. You look exactly like the Gibson girl pictures in any of the magazines except you don’t.”

“That clears it up then. Thank you.” Ruth gave another little laugh.

“I just mean—” Ruth paused for thought. “Your figure is wonderful, small in the right places and, well, not small, in the right places, and your face is attractive, but there’s a character about it that makes it different, makes it better than beautiful. You look like a real woman, Dinah, not like someone’s idealized picture despite the Gibson Girl similarities. Anyway, the dark blue satin is perfect for you.”

“Don’t you think it shows a little bit too much of me?” I stared in the mirror at the expanse of skin that I was not used to sharing with the public. “Shouldn’t I have something on my shoulders and did you mean for these little pieces of whatever they are to drape along my arm like they do?”

“You’d never have gone out in public wearing the gown if I’d followed the pattern exactly. You look completely proper. Sort of.”

“And if Father saw me wearing this, would he let me out in public?”

The question made my sister pause for a moment. When her mental justification was complete, she answered, “Father isn’t here so you’ll just have to trust my judgment. Now grab your wrap and meet us downstairs. Martin has been pacing impatiently by the front door for the last hour.” I didn’t miss the fact that Ruth never answered the original question.

I had viewed the Palace Hotel from the street on several occasions, but nothing prepared me for the spectacular and glamorous details of a close-up inspection. All of us, even Martin, held our collective breaths when the carriage Mr. Gallagher sent to claim us pulled off of New Montgomery Street and lined up behind at least ten other carriages waiting in the hotel’s Grand Court to unload their passengers.

“It sits on over two acres,” Martin whispered in an awed voice, “and the foundation walls are twelve feet thick. It’s the largest hotel in the world.”

When we stepped out of the carriage, we were greeted by music played by a small orchestra situated across from the hotel entrance. Two well-dressed men held open the doors and a third attaché ushered us forward with a courtly gesture.

“You’re with the Gallagher party,” he stated with an assurance that suggested someone had stamped the name on our foreheads without our knowledge. “Follow me, please. Mr. and Mrs. Gallagher are expecting you.” Ruth took Martin’s arm and with me following slightly behind, we moved through the spacious central court. I tried very hard to act like I belonged there, but it took all my will-power to keep from staring upward and open-mouthed at the six stories looming above us. The huge hall we entered was already filled with people, some standing engaged in conversation and others seated at tables. Large, marble double-pillars outlined the space and wall sconces threw light everywhere, reflecting off the china and glassware on the tables and twinkling from the abundance of jewels worn by the women that moved elegantly about the room. It seemed we had stepped into a sky full of rainbow-colored stars. The effect was dazzling, breath-taking.

“Ah, Shandling.” A man separated himself from a group of men standing by one table and stepped toward us with his hand outstretched. “Good to see you.”

“Hello, sir,” Martin responded, taking the man’s hand. Mr. Gallagher, I guessed from Martin’s respectful tone and was eventually proved right. Ralph Gallagher. A sleek, dark, panther-like man, shorter and slimmer than Martin but somehow unquestionably more powerful. A man smooth in his speech and cool in his demeanor. He reached toward a woman and brought her forward to stand next to him.

“This is my wife, Irene,” he told Martin. “I believe our wives have met.”

“Yes, we know each other,” Irene Gallagher said, as smooth and cool as her husband. Perversely, the characteristics I found tolerable, even evocative, in him seemed objectionable in her. I disliked Irene Gallagher immediately and through the evening nothing occurred to make me change my opinion, though I was honest enough to realize that my feelings may have reflected my general state of mind more than her character. The woman gave Ruth a cursory greeting and turned toward me, eyes alight.

“And this must be the brave Miss Hudson.” At her words, Ruth threw me a quick, worried, pleading look.

“Yes, I’m Dinah Hudson,” I replied with what I hoped was a pleasant smile. “How do you do, Mrs. Gallagher? I’ve heard so much about you from Ruth.”

“Not nearly as much as I’ve heard about you. Such a brave young woman! So remarkable! I’m sure I’d never have comported myself with the same degree of courage and ingenuity. You were in the papers, you know.”

So this is how it’s going to be, I thought with a touch of despair, but answered easily, “No, I didn’t know, but sideshow freaks and scoundrels make the papers, too, so I’m not sure I should be grateful for the attention.”

Irene Gallagher gave me the same startled but appraising look she would have used if I’d suddenly begun to babble in tongues before she decided to laugh. “Well, your coverage was all good, believe me. Come and sit down and tell me all about it.”

Not
all
about it, I thought, continuing my reactionary mental monologue, you don’t want to know
all
about it. You would find the particulars both repulsive and monotonous and hardly appropriate for refined conversation around the dining table of a grand ballroom. The details would dim and disappoint the bright curiosity in your eyes, would make your silk shrivel and your feathers fade.

I sat down as bidden and at the last minute Ruth intervened herself between Mrs. Gallagher and me, taking the chair meant for me and nudging me gently to her other side. Irene Gallagher was not happy about the move but too well-bred to say anything. Under the table Ruth found my hand and gave it a hard squeeze; I don’t think I ever loved my sister more than I did at that moment.