All the Blue of Heaven (13 page)

           
“Exactly what I feel. A progressive city is a healthy city. We cannot allow the
uneducated majority to decide the direction we take. Voting is acceptable for
presidential campaigns, but not for the city business,” Mr. Bascomb said,
shaking an index finger toward Allie’s face.

           
She blinked, wondering what he was going on about. She hadn’t been listening in
the slightest. “Are you speaking of women or the poor? As it is, we women can
help decide city matters, and I hope ,very soon, we can vote for president.”

           
His face turned a light shade of rose. “I was speaking rather more indirectly,
about the fact the established families here should have a greater voice than
newcomers. Soon, we will all be held hostage to their needs for housing and
schools for their children. Practically every name you see in the paper,
especially the crime reported, ends in an
A
or an
I
.”

           
“So, if you’re from a respectable, wealthy family and are a woman, you agree
that we may vote?” Allie frowned, then wondered why she was even engaging Mr.
Bascomb.

           
“Yes, well, I suppose exceptions may be made. Perhaps there can be a token
voice from the female population, a symbolic casting of a vote when it is a historic
moment.”

           
“Token? Symbolic? What good would that be?” she asked.

           
He cleared his throat and looked toward the back of the driver’s head, as if
there were answers written there. “It would be beneficial for the females to
feel as if they are involved.”

           
Allie’s eyes opened wide. “To feel involved?” She knew she was repeating him,
but she had the strangest sensation that the logic had dropped out of the
conversation. “A symbolic vote would be worthless except to the men who would
use it to show how open minded they were being.”

           
Mr. Bascomb sat up straighter, if that was possible and said, “The real issue
is the large immigrant populations that are overwhelming our city. Worse than
the Negroes, they think everything can be had for the asking. They outbreed us
four to one. We shall soon be working for them and forced to learn Italian or
Polish to buy our bread.”

           
Allie felt the muscles of her face straining. She wanted to throw her parasol
in his rabbity face. “Outbreed? They are not animals.”

           
“They might as well be.” He shrugged and waved a hand. “You have not seen the
squalor in which these people choose to raise their children. It is shocking.
And they are continually asking for assistance― food, housing,
employment. Everyone must pull their own weight, I say.”

           
“But if they’re asking for a job, doesn’t it mean they want to work?”

           
“Well, I mean they are asking for better jobs. No one wants to be a servant
anymore, or muck out stables.”

           
The sun beat down on the open carriage and Allie tried to organize her
thoughts. She hardly knew where to start. In the back of her mind she knew it
was futile to argue. There are some kinds of ignorance that run too deep. “What
about Mr. Bradford. He went to the university and has a very successful
business now.”

           
“He might be the exception, and even then he was born here, wasn’t he? And his
parents only had the one child, so he wasn’t surrounded by hungry siblings
every step of the way. Very wise of them, since they wouldn’t have been able to
feed more. ”

           
Allie flinched, remembered Mrs. Bradford saying how they had wanted more, but
none had survived after Thomas. “From what I know, they did not have just one
so that they could give him everything. And I understand deep poverty, I have
seen terrible neighborhoods in San Francisco. But don’t you agree that these
families also have the right to grasp what joy they can from life? There is
wealth, and then there is the joy that comes from a loving family.” She leaned
forward, tone earnest.

           
He opened his mouth, then closed it, lips twisted up in a half smile. “I
forget, you have taken on the care of your brother Matthew’s child. It must
seem that any sacrifice is worth a child’s sticky embrace, when that is all you
have to look forward to. But after a few more months here you will see that she
is not the only prize to be had.”

           
Allie sat back as if she had been struck across the face. Janey’s bright spirit
and her contagious spark could never be reduced to a ‘sticky embrace’. She
wished she could crawl up on the driver’s perch and escape this outing. The
street was uneven in this section of town but the residents didn’t seem to
care, or slow their pace. The driver kept up a steady stream of whistles and
barks of frustration at the increasingly frequent logjams. The traffic was
thick today, as if the thunderstorm had brought out new vigor.

           
Allie tried not to think of the storm, her panic, and the conversation with
Thomas on the porch. She hoped he would be too busy to see them again until the
picnic. A week would be enough time to recover her emotions, she hoped.

           
“We will be stopping very soon. I hope you don’t mind if I attend to an errand
before we take tea with Mrs. Larson.” His tone was offhand.

           
“That is fine,” she said, wondering why he could not have attended to it on the
way to out to Bellevue.

           The
street narrowed until it was just wide enough for one carriage at a time. The
scent in the air― a mixture of roasting meat, baking bread and something
that might have been hops being turned into dark ale― reminded Allie of
San Francisco.  She glanced around, curious what sort of errand Mr. Bascomb
could have in this area. They passed a restaurant where the door flew open and
a large gentleman tossed a very drunk man into the street.

           
“And stay out until you can pay yer tab, ya layabout!” he yelled. The drunk man
crwoled very slowly along the gutter. Allie’s eyes widened with concern, but
the unwelcome patron began to sing in a warbling tone.

           
“Not even noon,” Mr. Bascomb muttered, voice filled with disgust.

           
The driver took another sharp turn and the street narrowed even further. The
sounds of a blacksmith rang out from a low building. A small group of men stood
at the corner, laughing loudly. As the carriage pulled around the turn, they
swiveled as one and watched Allie go past. Mr. Bascomb seemed oblivious of the
stares, focused on the shop ahead. The doors were large and opened wide. It was
so large it was practically a barn, and the unmistakable smell of horses wafted
toward them.

           
“Here we are,” he said as they pulled to a stop, the light carriage stuttering
against the stone gutter. Mr. Bascomb moved to leave and Allie glanced up,
surprised.

           
“You won’t send your driver to pick up the goods?” she asked.

           
“No, no. Come on out, Miss Hathaway, you’ll want to see this.” He stepped down
from the carriage and held out his hand. Allie folded her parasol and followed,
carefully jumping over the large horse dropping that was directly beneath the
step.

           
Mr. Bascomb led the way, his hand on her elbow. Allie looked with interest as
they passed into the darkened interior, and the smell of horse became nearly
overwhelming. A boy swept the rough wooden floor with a stiff broom, gathering
piles of manure into a bucket. He immediately stopped his task trotted toward
them, tipping his cap at Allie. “Hello, Mr. Bascomb. May I assist you today?”
His soft words were thickly accented.

           
“No, thank you. I am here to see your employer,” he said without meeting the
boy’s gaze. He looked over his head toward the back of the gloomy building.
“Why can’t you put in some windows? It’s so dim I can’t make out a thing.”

           
The boy frowned, clearly not understanding the criticism. He looked to an older
child walking by, arms full of bridle gear. He spoke quickly to him in a
lilting language. The other, who resembled him enough to be a brother, nodded
and answered back.

           
Allie’s eyes adjusted to the darkness. The main area of the building was open,
with five wooden stalls toward the back. Each was occupied with a very fine horse,
tall and strong. An enormous black stallion stamped and tossed its head in the
last stall, high whinny ringing out. A powerfully-built man stood to the side,
stroking the horse’s muscled neck, his face nearly touching the beast’s mane.
His white shirt was rolled up to the elbows and the neck was open. Rough work
pants ended in leather boots that looked as if they had spent a fair amount of
time striding through horse muck.

           
A man in a bowler hat hurried past with a syringe that seemed as long as
Allie’s forearm. Perhaps it was only magnified by her fear. She shivered,
thinking of the San Francisco hospital and the injections she endured there.

           
The sliding wooden doors stood open behind them and Allie turned at the sound
of hooves. Another young boy was leading a beautiful mare into the dim
interior, his fist wrapped in the rough rope tied to her bridle. His shirt was
threadbare but clean and he held his head high, clearly proud of his job. Allie
smiled at the familiar expression. Janey had the same look when she helped in
the studio.

           
An older boy, cap tilted to one side, ran over from the far corner with brushes
and bucket at the ready. He led the mare a few feet away and fastened her lead
to a dark iron ring attached to the wall. As the boys set to work, Allie found
herself wandering closer, watching intently as they began at the mare’s head
and worked their way down.

           
“Miss Hathaway, you will not want to be too close to these animals. They are
filthy,” Mr. Bascomb called after her.

           
The boys worked silently. They used quick, short brush strokes with a circular
metal comb that would have caused pain if the animal had thinner skin. As it
was, the horse half-closed her eyes and shifted lazily from foot to foot. Allie
stood close, yearning to reach out and touch the stiff bristles on the horse’s
muzzle. She had spent so many hours at the carriage house, talking to Thomas,
watching him do just as this young boy was doing. Taking a deep breath, she felt
something hard and tight around her heart began to loosen. It was an old,
familiar comfort to watch the horses being groomed. Her eyes stung with sudden
tears and her throat constricted as she thought of herself, back then. So young
and full of dreams. She thought she could do anything.

           
As if she noticed the attention, the mare turned her head and blinked at Allie,
her liquid dark eyes reflecting the dim light.

           
Allie reached out a hand, palm up, even though she had no sugar cubes. The mare
stretched out her neck, lipping along Allie’s palm, hot breath snuffling
against her glove.

           
 “Watch out! It may take a bite,” Mr. Bascomb barked from behind her.

           
Allie tried not to flinch at his tone but leaned closer to the mare’s soft
neck. The boys moved to the other side, working down the mare’s hind quarters
with swift strokes. Allie closed her eyes, breathing in the scent of warm hay
and dusty horses. The ache in her throat eased and she sighed, leaning her
forehead against the silky neck. For the sweetest moment, all the clamoring
worries were silent. There was only peace and quiet. The mare turned her head
and nuzzled Allie’s scarf, ears twitching.

           
“We really must find our friend, Mr. Bradford,” came Mr. Bascomb’s voice from
somewhere far away. Allie squeezed her eyes shut tight, willing him to leave
her be, but the words finally filtered into her consciousness.

           
She whirled to face him. “Mr. Bradford? Why would he―” And then she
understood, this errand was to Thomas’s new business. Her eyes swept the dark
interior, disoriented, trying to distinguish him from any of the other men in
work clothes and heavy boots.

         
“There he is,” said Mr. Bascomb, motioning toward the far stall.

           
Allie looked again at the pair in the last stall. Of course, she could see him
now, the dark hair and strong jaw. He turned slowly, large hands gently
smoothing the nervous horse’s mane. His lips were moving and he seemed to be
speaking to the animal, a steady stream of words. The black ears twitched
forward and back, as if the stallion was listening. Two men stood far away,
watching intently. Thomas slipped a heavy leather bridle over the horse’s head,
and fastened it to a thick, iron ring set into the stall wall.

           
The two men ventured forward and one handed Thomas a long metal instrument. He
gently pulled the head toward him, running a finger between the horse’s lips.
Allie gasped as the horse opened its mouth and Thomas inserted the metal prong,
swiftly peering into its maw. The stallion stood still, jaw cranked wide, as
Thomas crouched down and motioned for the other young man to hold up the gas
lamp. Whatever he was looking for, he found it swiftly and removed the prong
with a practiced twist of his hand.

           
“A bit of a change from dinner last week, wouldn’t you say?” Mr. Bascomb asked,
his voice thick with laughter.

Chapter
Ten

           
Allie didn’t answer. She saw the same gentleness, the familiar movements she
had seen a thousand times as he cared for her family’s horses.  Her heart
pounded like a drum. She could almost smell the grass near the carriage house, almost
hear him whistle his welcome notes as he came to feed them every morning and
evening.          

           
“No fine suits here. This is how he spends most of his days.” It was obvious
that he meant this to be very shocking. And it was, in a strange sort of way.
Allie didn’t remember his arms being as muscular or the tendons standing out in
sharp relief under his tanned skin. Her parasol dropped to the ground and the
dust flew up in a puff, little bits of straw carried on the breeze. What she
had felt blossoming in her chest during the dinner, or on the porch, was
nothing compared to the fierce feeling that clamored within her at that moment.
This was the Thomas she remembered, a man whose skill and care with these giant
beasts was nothing short of miraculous.

           
“Not a fit profession for a gentleman, not even with that fancy degree he has.”
Mr. Bascomb bent down to retrieve her parasol. He gingerly shook off the dust
and offered it back to her. She stood motionless, eyes wide, and moved to take
it from him.

           
He grinned. “He does present himself as a gentleman, and I must say your mother
encourages his deception. But now you can see for yourself what sort of man
Thomas Bradford is. Louise Lloyd has set her sights on him and she would do
well to visit this foul-smelling place, as well.  No lady will want to be
a horse doctor’s wife.”

           
Allie flinched at the girl’s name. She had guessed as much, but felt her chest
constrict with the harsh words. Louise, with her perfect skin and her flawless
face, would be a perfect match for Thomas’s rugged handsomeness. Allie’s
stomach knotted at the thought of them together. Of course Louise was right to
pursue him. It was evident the sort of man he was. The sort of man he had
always been, even at dinner. He was patient and thoughtful, but there was power
in his movements. She felt the small hairs on her arms stand up as he went
about his work oblivious to her. The odd sensation that she was looking into
the past and the future at the same time made her dizzy.

           
The two men moved toward a light chestnut mare. With the same careful steps,
Thomas went about checking the smaller animal. The two young men stepped close,
clearly more at ease with the docile mare. The young sweeper trotted across the
dusty floor, and spoke to Thomas.

           
With a start, Thomas straightened from the position he had assumed under the
mare’s mouth. His eyes flew to Allie and he glared. She started, surprised by
the unwelcome expression.

           
He handed the metal instrument to one of his assistants and strode toward them.
Rolling his sleeves down over his muscled forearms almost angrily and swiftly
buttoning the neck of his shirt, he looked far from pleased to see them. Allie
felt a thrill course through her that was only part surprise.

           
“Mr. Bascomb, Miss Hathaway,” he said, his tone curt.

           
“Hello, Mr. Bradford. I have come to retrieve the vitamins you recommended for
my horse,” said Mr. Bascomb, a wide smile on his face. He blinked repeatedly as
he spoke.

           
“You could have sent your servant just as easily,” Thomas said smoothly, his
gaze never leaving Allie’s face.

           
“Yes, well, I thought Miss Hathaway would appreciate a tour of your
enterprise.”

           
Thomas nodded, a stiff jerk of the head. “I would be honored.” He moved toward
Allie, and she thought for a moment he was going to take her arm, but then he
glanced down at the dust that coated his hand. Instead, he brushed at the dirt
and the straw, a muscle jumping in his jaw.

           
Allie took a quick breath. “If it’s any trouble, please don’t stop your
examinations on our account.” She wondered if she was using the correct word.
“What was the metal prong for, if I may ask?”

           
“I was checking oral health. And the horses will still be there when we are
done.” How handsome he was, disheveled, dark hair falling over his forehead.
She felt a blush start near the base of her neck and hurried to ask another
question.

           
“There are quite a few horses here,” she said, and bit the inside of her cheek
in frustration. What a stupid thing to say. It was a horse barn, after all.

           
He nodded, as if it were a perfectly normal observation. “Tuesdays and
Thursdays we have horses brought in all day, five at a time, for seven hours.
It’s a long day but I can make sure that the horses under my care have not
developed any issues. As you can see, we begin with the mouth, and work our way
down.”

           
“I don’t want to know what else you have to examine,” Mr. Bascomb said with a
snort. Allie wanted to roll her eyes. She wondered if he had ever moved past
the humor of a ten-year-old boy.

           
“It is preferable to some other tasks I can imagine,” Thomas said lightly,
winking ever so briefly at Allie. She suppressed a laugh, knowing he would
prefer examining a horse to having dinner with Mr. Bascomb.

           
“Your assistants seem rather young,” Mr. Bascomb said swiftly, a snide tone in
his voice. “And rather foreign.”

           
Thomas’s face was bland, but his posture stiffened. “There are two young
brothers here who are originally from Portugal. Also, one of my best assistants
and his young nephew are from Italy. They are all hard workers and willing to
put in the time to learn what is needed.”

           
“Of course, with this sort of profession, I can imagine there would not be a
surfeit of good labor available,” Mr. Bascomb said, sniffing. He surveyed the
barn with narrowed eyes, giving the young men a haughty once-over.

           
“I have been blessed with good help. As I said, the men are hard workers and
take direction,” Thomas said, his tone even.

           
“Even if they can’t understand a word you say?” Mr. Bascomb chuckled, looking
to Allie for agreement.

           
“Sometimes a willingness to understand can be the most valuable,” Allie said.
She kept her voice light but felt anger rising in her again. Was there no
redeeming quality at all in Mr. Bascomb? It was as if he worked at being as
disagreeable as possible.    

           
“Well, I have persuaded the mayor to hire only Americans for the new railway
project. It’s a shame that there are Americanmen who cannot find job because
there are so many immigrants taking their spots,” said Mr. Bascomb.

           
To Allie’s surprise, Thomas laughed out loud. The warm, deep sound sent a jolt
through her.

           
“And here I was worried about the railway project going through East Tooms. But
if he’s going to hire only American men, that project will never make it more
than a few feet. Most of the men in this city don’t want that job, with the
hard labor in the boiling hot sun. It’s dangerous, too. Only the most poor and
desperate will take it.”

           
Mr. Bascomb straightened up and glared at Thomas, his watery blue eyes blinking
rapidly. “We shall see. The plans are laid, everything has been approved.”

           
“As you said, we shall see.” He shook his head, chuckling a bit and turned his
attention to Allie. “ Now, if you wanted a tour, Miss Hathaway, I should be
quick about it.”

           
Allie was torn between wanting the workings of this enormous barn full of
bustle and energy was run, and leaving Thomas to finish his work.

           
“I would like to see, if you don’t mind terribly,” she said, shyness making her
voice softer than she’d meant it to be.

           
“I’m afraid we can’t waste any more time, Miss Hathaway. Mrs. Larson is quite
punctual. I was ten minutes late one evening and she was very displeased.”
Bascomb stepped primly over a pile of horse dung and took Allie’s arm.

           
She looked to Thomas, hoping he would see the disappointment in her eyes, but
he was already turning toward the door.

           
“The vitamins are given once daily. Have your carriage man come to me with any
questions. And please give your mother my regards,” he said to Allie.

           
“Of course,” she said, hating how subdued she sounded. A tour of his business
was the best thing that had happened all week, and it was cut short by a tea
date.

                                   
***

           
Thomas strode toward the back of the building and fairly threw the large
braided rope at the empty stall. Bascomb was a thorn in his side, an irritation
than never ended. No. Worse than irritating, Bascomb was making him angrier than
he had any right to be. The railway plans were poorly designed and a crime against
the people of East Tooms. It was clear that with enough money changing hands,
anything could happen in Chicago. Thomas leaned against the stall door for a
moment. But the railway plans weren’t the worst of it. The idea of Bascomb
squiring Allie around the city was worse. She would never marry someone like
Bascomb, no matter how rich he was. But would she marry Bascomb if he promised
to take care of Janey, too? The thought of it made him ill.

           
Seeing Allie standing in the middle of this mess of hay and horse muck had been
the best part of his week.  She looked lovely and bright, almost ethereal,
when he had first glimpsed her across the barn. She seemed to be drinking in
every detail, her eyes wide with wonder and perhaps, admiration. At least, he
hoped so. Thomas brushed at his filthy trousers and wondered if he smelled as
dirty as he felt. That was not a thought he usually entertained in the middle
of a bustling day.  The smell of the horses’ sweat and the dusty floor was
as natural as a sunny morning in July. The high barn roof kept air circulating.
The drains and gutters were sluiced with water each evening and the hay was
fresh every other day.

           
This was his calling, he was sure of it, but he wished for a moment that God
would have given him a moment’s warning. He could have at least brushed the
straw from his pants and scraped the muck from his boots.

                                   
***

           
“You must bring Jane next time,” Mrs. Larson said, in a tone that was a command
and not a suggestion. She regarded Allie steadily, her pale gray eyes narrowed
slightly. “I think it would be very good for her to meet my sons. Let me call
them in.”

           
 She reached out one elegant arm and touched a burgundy-colored bell rope
near her chair. Everything about her was elegant and graceful. Allie wondered
how many hours it took to prepare the woman of the house. Her lips were a bit
too pink for nature, her brows a bit too dark for the color of her softly
sweeping hair, gently curling tendrils left against her neck. After years in
the artist colonies of San Francisco, Allie could spot a woman who had given
Nature a helping hand. The girls used burnt matchsticks to darken their
lashes and geranium petals to stain their lips. She wondered why Mrs. Larson
felt she needed any help. She was beautiful. And wealthy. And graceful. But
something in her expression spoke of insecurity.

           
Within moments, the Larson boys shuffled in, followed by an older woman with
the tightest bun Allie had ever seen. Her back was as stiff as a poker and she
kept each small boy’s shoulder in a pincer-like grasp. They introduced
themselves very well, like miniature gentlemen in immaculate suits. She
couldn’t help noticing that each child glanced repeatedly at the older woman,
as if to gauge her approval. Allie tried to smile kindly at them, but they
avoided her gaze and when they quietly left the room, Mrs. Larson was quick to
praise their nurse.

           
“Miss Anthony was in very high demand after her last appointment ended. The
Follettes and the Ronsons were both eager to acquire her but I am pleased to
say she chose our household. She seemed to believe the boys could be trained
easily. And she was right. In a matter of weeks they display fine manners and
comport themselves with dignity. No more running through the house, shrieking
like Indians,” she said, her tone satisfied. “Your mother inquired about
etiquette lessons for Jane. I suppose we could spare Miss Anthony for a few
hours a week. I understand she has had a less than traditional upbringing.” Her
lips thinned at the last few words, her disapproval evident.

           
Allie felt her stomach clench. She knew this was a generous offer and she
should be thankful. But the thought little Janey under that stern gaze made her
ill. She couldn’t think of anything she’d like less than have to have Miss Anthony
‘train’ Janey how to be civil.

           
Allie murmured her thanks, hoping the offer would never come to fruition. Mr.
Bascomb stood suddenly and proclaimed that he must get Allie home. She felt
relief spread through her but it was chase by irritation. He acted as if she
was a small child out after dark, a weak invalid needing gentle care. Her mind
stuttered on that last thought. She
was
weak. But she didn’t want him to
know it. She had to be strong for Janey.

           
As they moved toward the large entryway, Allie felt her muscles easing in
anticipation of the fresh afternoon air. The tea had lasted what seemed like
hours. Mrs. Larson had insisted on knowing every detail of Allie’s travels, her
studio, her suitors, and the earthquake. She was exhausted by the chatter, but
more tired than she could have imagined from trying to keep her privacy intact.
She knew very well that what was said in Mrs. Larson’s parlor might as well be
proclaimed from the roof tops.