Antonia’s hand curled into a fist around the compressed ball of dough.
Inez continued, “Next time, if there is any trouble at all, you will tell me right away. If I had known about this incident on Friday, I would have made sure that you were not bothered again.” The steel in Inez’s tone made it clear that these were not empty words, but a promise.
Inez faced the stove and poured herself a cup of coffee. “Run along now. Be sure to pick up your lunch at Mrs. Nolan’s, and be careful crossing Market.”
“I’m not a baby,” said Antonia.
Inez turned and crossed her arms. “Excuse me?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Antonia muttered.
Bonnet tied under her chin, tinted glasses masking her eyes, empty lunch bucket in hand awaiting Mrs. Nolan’s sourdough sandwich and dill pickles, Antonia slung the book strap over her shoulder and headed to the stairs that would take her down and out to the street.
The door to the outside world slammed defiantly. Inez winced. She hated to be strict, but they both had to mind their Ps and Qs in San Francisco.
She carried her cup to the table, sat, cut herself a slice of bread, and buttered it, thinking. If they lived elsewhere, somewhere away from the store, it would provide them with more breathing room, less “walking on eggshells.” They were paying Mrs. Nolan for board, perhaps they should consider moving into her boardinghouse. Inez immediately rejected the notion.
Mrs. Nolan was in business precisely because Inez had provided a little added financial backing to her in return for a small percent of the profits. Inez preferred to keep her various business agreements at a distance. She had made an exception when taking lodgings above the store, where they had a modicum of privacy. Living cheek-by-jowl with Mrs. Nolan, who was a notorious gossip, they would not.
She shook her head. “Too close for comfort,” she said aloud. “Better to deal with the church bells here.”
She sifted through a small stack of paperwork she planned to take downstairs and address before the store opened at noon. Her hand hovered over a small envelope, different from the rest. It was addressed in an authoritative masculine hand to Nico’s sister Carmella, a charming young woman of twenty.
Inez knew the owner of that hand—pianist Jamie Monroe. Jamie was one of the clique of young musicians, most of them new to town, who vied for Carmella’s attention. When Carmella was not in the store, they sometimes approached Inez for advice about sheet music or where they might find a decent laundry that didn’t over-starch collars. Of course, they also hung about waiting for Nico to appear and perhaps drop a casual comment about a certain theatre looking for a steam piano player, or a particular music hall in need of a flautist to fill in for a regular. If they were really lucky, the elegant violinist—so sought after, so successful—might offer a word of advice or encouragement, or even a referral. She knew they looked up to him thinking, “Someday, that could be me!”
Of all those young men, Inez suspected Carmella favored Jamie above the rest. She couldn’t point to anything overt between them. Mostly, it was the subtle glances they exchanged, the way Carmella’s smooth olive complexion “pinked” at the mention of his name. However, Nico kept a close eye on Carmella, especially where the young men were concerned. As far as Inez knew, none of the musicians had formally declared their interest in Carmella to her brother.
The note had been slipped under the door leading to the living quarters. Jamie knew better than to slide a missive addressed to Carmella under the shop’s doors, front or back, in case Nico should spot it first.
Tapping the envelope on the table, Inez debated.
It would be unwise to become a go-between, a carrier of secret notes, even inadvertently. If Nico found out, there could be repercussions that would damage their business relationship. She could not afford that. Not now. Not after all the time and effort she had devoted to the store.
Signore Nico Donato was volatile where his sister was concerned, and well connected. His possible reactions to Antonia’s playground transgressions would be nothing compared to what he might do to them if he found out Inez had encouraged an “unapproved” relationship between Monroe and his sister. He could spread stories, damage their reputations, throw them out, and dissolve their business relationship. It was possible she and Antonia could manage on the investments Inez had made, in addition to her silent partnerships with some of the small women-run businesses in the city. But if those women suspected Inez of any improprieties or financial uncertainties…
Inez shook her head.
It was not worth the risk.
She slid the sealed note to one side on the table, determined to return it to young Mr. Monroe at the first opportunity. He would have to deliver it himself.
Young love needed to prevail without her help.
Love.
After a hesitation, Inez pulled out her silver pocket watch and set it by her coffee cup. The watch ticked, invariant, reassuring. She turned it over, opened the back, and twisted it around with one finger to view the portrait of the man wedged in the circular opening.
Reverend Sands, her paramour from Leadville, stared somberly back. Justice B. Sands, the man who won her heart, held it with infinite patience and passion throughout the long, difficult year of
