Unsettled Spirits (29 page)

After rehearsal, I asked Lucy where she and her Albert were going on their honeymoon.

"Oh, Daisy," Lucy said, clutching my arm, "he's taking me to San Francisco! I've always wanted to go to San Francisco."

"How fun! I've always wanted to visit San Francisco, too." Maybe Sam and I could go there on our honeymoon. If we ever had one.

"Me, too. I can't wait to ride on one of those cable cars. And I want to see Chinatown and the harbor, and that chocolate-company place. What's it called?"

"Chocolate?" My ears perked up, and my mouth started to water, but I didn't have an idea what Lucy was talking about.

"Some Italian fellow bought an entire city block in San Francisco in the eighteen-fifties. You know, during the Gold Rush. He began a confectionery factory. Albert says his company makes the best chocolate in the United States. He thinks Belgian chocolates are the absolute best, but I wouldn't know about that."

"No. I wouldn't either." Especially these days, when poor Belgium was still trying to recover from being mercilessly banged about by the Germans during the way. Frankly, I wondered how Mr. Zollinger knew so much about Belgian chocolates, but I didn't ask.

"But Albert says that after Europe settles down a bit more, we might be able to take a trip to Belgium and Switzerland. His heritage is Swiss, you know. Albert says Switzerland makes excellent chocolates, too."

"And clocks and watches," I said.

"Yes. Those too. I have to admit I'm more interested in the chocolates, though."

I laughed. "I am, too. But you say there's an Italian chocolate factory in San Francisco?"

"Yes. Albert says it's the best."

Albert says
seemed to be the precursor of every sentence Lucy spoke in those days. I didn't mind, though.

"Really?" Hmm. I wondered if Sam knew about this. "I don't think I've ever heard of an Italian chocolate-maker in San Francisco before. Can you remember his name?"

Lucy's brow wrinkled for a second, and then she burst out, "Ghirardelli! That's the name. I think there's even a place called Ghirardelli Square, where you can get chocolates and stuff."

I put a hand on Lucy's shoulder. "You're going to have a wonderful time, Lucy. I'm so happy for you. And for Mr. Zollinger, too. He's got a peach in you, and I hope he knows it."

"Thank you, Daisy."

We hugged each other, each of us sniffling a bit. Sentimental fools. But we couldn't help ourselves.

I'd driven to choir rehearsal because the night was cold and dark. Rehearsals got out at nine p.m., and Ma and Pa didn't like me walking home that late. Even though the church was only a few blocks from our house and I didn't mind walking, I also didn't mind not walking, and that night I was particularly happy to have the Chevrolet. I was also happy to see Sam's Hudson parked on the street in front of our house when I got home. I pulled into the driveway and entered the house via the side porch. I wanted to ask him about... Rats. I'd already forgotten the chocolate man's name.

Spike greeted me with joy and wags. Pa and Sam were sitting at the dining room table chatting and both glanced at me when I entered the room.

"Hey, Pa. Hey, Sam. What are you doing here?"

"Good to see you, too, Daisy," said Sam with immense irony.

"I didn't mean that the way it sounded. I actually wanted to ask you something."

"Good rehearsal, sweetie?" asked Pa, attempting to adjust the conversational flow so as to avoid an argument between Sam and me. Good old Pa. He was a great guy.

"Yes, it went really well. Lucy was so excited she couldn't sit still, but I love the anthem for Sunday. The rehearsal for her wedding is tomorrow night, you know."

"I know," said Pa, smiling at me.

I guess some of Lucy's enthusiasm must have rubbed off on me, because I was a little twitchy with excitement myself. "Oh, Sam! Lucy and Mr. Zollinger are going to San Francisco for their honeymoon, and they're going to visit some chocolate-guy's confectionery store. I guess there's an entire segment of San Francisco named after him."

"Domingo Ghirardelli," Sam said.

"That's it!"

"He changed his name. His real name is Domenico Ghirardelli. He changed Domenico to the Spanish Domingo."

I plunked myself down on a chair, removed my gloves and hat and plopped them onto the table. "Jeez, you'd think he'd change his last name to something pronounceable instead of his first name. I mean, Domenico is as easy to pronounce as Domingo, but Ghirardelli is just weird."

"For you. For an Italian, it isn't," said Sam. Oddly enough, he was smiling rather than frowning as he said it.

"I guess. Anyhow, I suppose anything's better than Gumm." I glanced at my father, feeling guilty. Again. "Sorry, Pa, but we really do have a laughable last name. I got teased all the time in school."

"I know, sweetie. I did, too."

"I went to school in New York City," said Sam. "Everybody had strange last names. The folks who got teased the most, though, were the Irish."

"Really? Why was that?"

With a shrug, Sam said, "Beats me. I guess the Irish came over in droves during the potato famine, and everyone was mad at them for taking other people's jobs. Same thing happened in San Francisco. And then there were the Chinese. They had problems, too."

I thought about that. "We human beings aren't very nice to each other, are we?"

"Not as a rule," agreed Sam. "The Irish in New York also had a bad reputation as far as drunkenness, crime and thuggery were concerned."

"Thuggery?" I liked that word, but I think Sam just made it up.

"You know what I mean. There were a lot of corrupt Irish cops in the force during the last part of the last century." He shrugged. "Probably still are."

"That's discouraging." Some of the elation I'd absorbed from Lucy abated. "Are you going to Lucy's wedding with us, Sam?"

"Am I invited?"

"Everyone from the church is invited. Since you've taken to going to church with us on Sundays, that includes you."

"Well, then, sure. Why not?"

"Why not, indeed? If you come to the reception afterwards in Fellowship Hall, you'll get a good meal, too."

"Then I'll definitely attend. That means I'll get a good meal on Saturday and Sunday, too, as long as nobody commits any crimes I have to investigate." He appeared guilty at once. "If I'm invited to Sunday dinner here, I mean."

"You know you are," said Pa, grinning at the two of us, as if he thought we were just so adorable he could hardly stand it.

I wished he wouldn't do that. I mean, yes, Sam and I were engaged, but Pa didn't know that. Nobody knew it except Sam and me. I patted the juju I wore under my dress and thought maybe I should wear Sam's ring around my neck, too. On a chain, I mean, not the woven fabric string Mrs. Jackson had created for my juju.

Evidently Sam had thought the same thing, because when we walked out to his automobile, he reached into his pocket and withdrew a little packet. "Here. I got this for you. If you ever decided to put my ring—or Billy's, for that matter—on a chain around your neck, here's a little gold-link chain for it."

"Thank you, Sam! I was just thinking I should do that."

"Which?"

I glanced up from the golden chain I'd just unwrapped to his face. "What do you mean, which?"

"Which ring will you wear on the chain?"

"Oh." At once I thought I'd
never
take off Billy's ring from my finger. I didn't want to tell Sam that. So I said, "Well..."

"You'll wear my ring on the chain," said Sam before I could.

"Um... Yes. I think so. Just until I can get used to being engaged to you. You know, for a little while. Until—"

"Never mind explaining. I understand. It
will
be ten years, won't it?"

"I... I don't know, Sam. I'm sorry. I just... I don't know."

He could tell I was becoming emotional, so he wrapped his arms around me.

"It's all right, Daisy. I really do understand. I've had two years longer to recover from Margaret's death than you've had to recover from Billy's. If you ever can recover from losing a beloved mate."

I sniffled. "Yes. If you ever can." I recalled the conversation Sam and I had with Robert Browning at Mijares and felt sorry for all of us.

Sam left then, and I wandered back into the house in a much less buoyant mood than I'd entered from choir practice several minutes earlier.

Why was life so complicated?

Don't bother trying to answe. I'm sure you don't know, either.

However, that evening, I reached into my underwear drawer and carefully picked up the box holding the ring Sam's father had designed and Sam had given to me. I slipped it onto the golden chain and clasped it around my neck. I clutched it as I went to sleep that night.

Chapter 24

I didn't sleep awfully well that night. I guess Lucy's wedding and Sam's disappointment that I couldn't yet let myself wear his engagement ring sort of kept me tossing and turning. Spike finally got sick of my twitching and jumped down from the bed to sleep on the rug. Sorry, Spike.

In spite of my tiredness on Friday, that evening's wedding rehearsal went well. I could tell both Lucy and Mr. Zollinger were madly in love with each other, and that made me happy.

Lucy had asked an operatically inclined couple, Connie and Max Van der Linden, who'd staged
The Mikado
at our church not long back, to sing at the wedding. Connie had fully recovered from an ordeal visited upon her by another couple, not so nice, that had tried to slowly poison her. But that's another story entirely. Connie and Max both had gorgeous voices, and they sang "The Voice That Breathed O'er Eden" so beautifully, I think everyone at the rehearsal had to wipe away tears. What a beautiful song. I almost envied Lucy. Her wedding was going to be spectacular.

Billy and I had married in haste, so to speak. Not that we hadn't had a nice church wedding, but our wedding hadn't been expensive and smothered in flowers and stuff. Billy'd worn his brand-new army uniform, and I'd worn a gown I'd made myself. Our wedding had been pretty, but it was not nearly as elaborate as Lucy's was going to be. Not that it matters.

A wedding supper was then held at the Spinks' home, and I attended it along with all the other bridesmaids and groomsmen, Pastor Smith, the Van der Lindens, Mr. Hostetter, and our organist, Mrs. Fleming. Connie and I had a nice chat about another operetta the duo aimed to stage. I told her I'd enjoyed being Katisha in
The Mikado
, but she'd have to drug and hog-tie me before I'd sing in another one of their productions. She laughed.

Little did she know. I meant it. That darned operetta had nearly killed me. It
had
killed a couple of other people. I'd come to the conclusion that my unimaginative mother had been right when she'd told me she thought theater people were a bad lot. Not that Connie and Max were, but a whole bunch of the rest of them were. Look at Fatty Arbuckle. Look at William Desmond Taylor. Look at Wallace Reid. Look at... Oh, bother the rest of them. But there are examples galore, and my one experience had dampened any slight enthusiasm I'd once had for performing onstage.

The rehearsal supper was simple enough: deviled eggs, sausage rolls, little sandwiches, a fruit plate, a vegetable plate, etc. It was nice, and Connie and Max agreed to sing some more while I played the piano. We might have become slightly rowdy, but not very. Everyone laughed when we played and sang "The Cat Came Back."