Inez ducked under the lines of drying pillowcases, towels, shirts, sheets, and ladies unmentionables and nodded a greeting to Molly, who looked up from where she stood, bent over a sheet on a long table, another substantial iron in hand. A counter to her left held a pile of wrinkled sheets. A counter on her right contained a stack of folded bed linens, neatly pressed and creased. She lifted the iron and examined the sheet in front of her. Half of it had surrendered its crinkles, forming a smooth ivory plane. She straightened her hunched shoulders, tucked a strand of faded red hair behind her ear, and said, “Morning to you, Mrs. Stannert.”
“And good morning to you,” said Inez before Bessie peremptorily swept her away, to show her the back room, with its shiny new copper pots, and stainless-steel tub, and two stoves. This room had new brick walls on three sides. A single wood wall remained. “One more wall to go,” said Bessie proudly, “and we’ll be able to work on the rest of the ironing and drying room out front.”
“What about your living quarters?” asked Inez. She knew they occupied a small set of rooms behind the laundry.
“That will be last, if at all.” said Bessie. “The laundry first, so we won’t get fined again. If not for you, we would have been thrown into the street. Two hundred dollars!”
Inez nodded. A city ordinance dictated that laundries not made of bricks were subject to fines up to a thousand dollars. Although Chinese laundries were the main target, that did not stop a local policeman from fining the Mays two hundred dollars for conducting their washing business in a frame building, even as the charred portion was still smoking.
“You have done as I suggested?” asked Inez.
“We pay the scum every week. He hasn’t done but wink and look the other way, as you said he would.” She spat on the floor and ground the phlegm into the board with a savage foot.
Inez nodded. She had figured that, just as in Leadville, paying a small “tax” to the local law would guarantee they would look the other way as the building underwent its transformation from planks to bricks.
“Patrick will be working on it this afternoon when the bricklayer arrives,” added Bessie.
“Miss May, I am willing to advance you for more professional help. That would free Patrick for other chores,” said Inez.
Bessie shook her head. “He has time for both. And he’s learning a useful trade where the color of his skin won’t matter a lick.”
“But his music—”
Bessie bristled, and Inez knew she’d strayed onto a sore topic. “If left to himself, he would play the piano day and night. We didn’t mind that he takes lessons from you on the occasional morning before deliveries, but now he’s after us to let him work at that place next door. It’s that old no-good drunken Irishman who runs the place, leading him on to play for pennies, when he could be learning a trade to make a decent living! I don’t like it. And I like it even less that we are living here by the wharves, where he goes walking after dark. Oh, he thinks I don’t know, but I do. It’s a good way to get oneself killed.” Her mouth tightened in disapproval. “We all agreed. Even Patrick. He’s going to be a bricklayer.”
Somehow, Inez doubted that Patrick had much to say about it. If Bessie had made up her mind he would be a bricklayer, her sister Molly would have agreed and that had probably been the end of the conversation.
The back door opened and Patrick entered, a bulging bag over one shoulder.
“More sheets from Mr. Henderson?” asked Bessie. At his nod, she pointed to a table laden with two similar bags. “Put them there. He should change his flea-ridden linens more often. You can tell him I said so.”
Something Bessie had said set the gears turning in Inez’s mind. “Thank you for the tour,” she said. “You are all doing admirably. Let me know if you need more materials or, as I said, an extra set of hands to finish the work. Patrick, would you walk me out? I’d like to talk to you for a minute.”
Patrick set down the bundle and turned to his diminutive aunt.
She waved a dismissal. “Go, boy. But don’t dilly-dally once Mrs. Stannert is through with you.”
Outside the building, Inez said, “Let’s walk a little.” She wanted to put some distance between them and the laundry, just to be sure they weren’t overheard. They crossed the street and began strolling past the warehouses and receiving buildings. Inez said, “Being a bricklayer is a noble profession, but you have a talent. I’d like to see you get a chance to use it.”
He looked down at his hands, turning them this way and that. “If I could convince Aunt Bessie that there’s a living in it for someone like me, she might change her mind.”
“I could perhaps help you find a position somewhere. At least, I could ask around.” She scrutinized him. There was something about the way he glanced over at the saloon. Something furtive and guilty. “Your Aunt Bessie mentioned the establishment next door. You’ve been offered a position?”
“Uh.” He was blushing.
She ventured a guess. “You are working there now?”
He caved. “Just an hour here or there. Late at night, when the regular pianist has to leave early. And only sometimes.” He sounded desperate, pleading. “It’s the only way I can practice. And Mr. Henderson, he don’t mind the color of my skin. When he asked if I wanted to play more hours, I said sure.”
“Your mother and aunt don’t know?” Inez was astonished that the seemingly transparent young man could be so devious.
“I go for long walks at night.” He hung his head. “I just don’t tell them that I go to Henderson’s first.”
“The place is
