Chapter 2

San Diego, 1880

Marguerite went about her old habits - selling her miniatures on the docks and in the market. She never again painted as she had for Molly, and she did not try, doing her best to push that experience to the back of her mind. Her little nest egg grew slowly, but surely.

Roughly six weeks later, she was approached by a young woman accompanied by two children. The woman’s elegant attire spoke of money, her long-legged gait spoke of someone accustomed to riding horses: money and horses - Marguerite pegged her as belonging to one of the wealthy ranches that dotted California. The children were a puzzle - they were ten or twelve years old and the woman seemed no older than twenty-four or -five. The boy was dark-haired and -eyed, the girl redheaded and fair, both contrasting with the young woman’s golden curls and large blue eyes.

The woman turned to the two children, handing them her shopping basket and a list. “You two go do the shopping while I speak with this lady,” she said, indicating Marguerite. “I’ve written down what things should cost, so don’t let anyone cheat you.”

“No, Miss Rory,” the boy said, grinning, “we won’t.”

The woman smiled at them, then turned to Marguerite, offering her hand. “Miss Dumas?”

“Yes?” Marguerite said, taking it.

“I’m Aurora Palmer. You painted a miniature for my brother’s fiancée, Molly Holt, a few weeks ago. Do you remember?”

Marguerite felt no surprise - she had been half expecting that shoe to drop, and here it was. “Yes, I remember. Is everything satisfactory?”

“Oh, yes,” Aurora smiled. “My brother has sent me with another commission, if you’re interested.”

“I’m always interested,” Marguerite replied. “What does he have in mind?”

“Do you paint portraits? I mean, full-size portraits?”

“Not for several years,” Marguerite said. “But yes, I have, of course.” Her heart began to pound, and she unconsciously put her hand to her chest.

“Clay simply adored the miniature of Molly, and he would like you to paint their wedding portrait, if you’re available.”

“He’s seen it already?” Marguerite asked, wondering why she picked at the inconsequential.

“Molly was so pleased with it, she couldn’t wait to give it to him,” Aurora explained. “Would you come to dinner, and we can discuss the terms? We’re staying at my family’s beach cottage. I’m not the world’s best cook, but I promise not to poison you.”

Marguerite smiled. “Of course you won’t. I’d be happy to come.”

“Good.” Aurora gave her directions and the time, then rejoined the children who had finished their shopping.

Marguerite contemplated. It seemed that the God she no longer loved was conspiring to send her to a place she had no desire to go. She pressed her lips together in a grim smile. God wanted to trifle with her, after all this time, did He? She dared Him to try.

She would take that commission, if it was at all profitable, and she was sure it would be. Let God do His worst - she was ready for Him.


She put on her best dress and pinned her best hat atop her carefully coiffed hair. The Palmer cottage was a mere mile or so from her rooming house, so she walked the distance, her chin lifted defiantly.

Aurora Palmer stood on the porch, barefoot, attired in rolled-up denim trousers and a pink shirt knotted at the waist. “Hello,” she greeted Marguerite with a smile. She cupped her hands around her mouth and called loudly, “John! Emily! Time to come in!” She took in Marguerite’s attire. “I suppose we’d better dress for dinner.”

“No, don’t bother,” Marguerite said as the children ran along the beach toward the cottage. “You’re on holiday. Don’t dress up for me, Miss Palmer.”

“Not holiday, exactly,” Aurora said, “and call me ‘Rory’ - everyone does. I should have thought of it before - it’s been so long since we had company, except for the family. But if you don’t mind - we won’t be here much longer and I want the children to enjoy what time we have left.”

“Of course, don’t give it another thought,” Marguerite said as the children arrived.

“Say ‘hello’ to Miss Dumas,” Rory commanded, "then wash up at the pump and come in to dinner.”

“Hello,” the children said cheerily as they headed around the cottage to the pump at the back.

“Come on in,” Rory said, opening the door for Marguerite. She slid her feet into a pair of slippers, then led Marguerite into a small parlor. “Please, sit down. Would you like a drink? Tea, perhaps? We have ice if you’d like it cold.”

Ice tea sounded refreshing after her warm walk. “Yes, please, that would be lovely.” Marguerite took the opportunity to gaze around the parlor as Rory went to fetch the tea - three doors opened off the room, two at the back, evidently the bedrooms, and the door that Rory had vanished through, obviously the kitchen. The room was well and comfortably furnished - clean, if not altogether tidy. Books, papers and drawings lay scattered about in a welcoming tumble. Certainly a room for living in.

Rory returned with two glasses of tea on an enameled tray. Marguerite heard the two children laughing and splashing at the pump. “Nice children,” she remarked, taking her glass and sipping it. “Yours?”

Rory laughed. “Heavens, no! I’m not nearly old enough. They belong to the orphanage where Molly works.”

Marguerite raised her eyebrows. “Oh, I didn’t know.”

“She didn't tell you?”

“We didn't discuss it,” Marguerite said. “We didn't really have that much time to talk.”

Rory nodded understanding. “There was a scarlet fever outbreak there a few months ago. My mother and brothers went to help with the nursing, but I couldn't, as I've never had scarlet fever. I had to stay home and run things at our ranch,” she said with a sigh.

“Which I'm sure your family greatly appreciated,” Marguerite said.

“I guess,” Rory said, “but I wanted to do something to help, so when it was over, I offered to bring Em and John, who were the sickest, down here to complete their recovery.”

“They certainly seem healthy now,” Marguerite observed.

Rory smiled. “They are. The doctor says we can go home as soon as it's warm enough back in Modesto, so we should be leaving in two or three weeks. It's been fun, but it will be good to get back home.”

Emily and John tumbled in the door then, laughing and still damp from the pump. “Don't want to go home!” John chimed, catching Rory's last remark.

“I do,” Emily said. “I miss all my friends. I'm glad we came, but I'll be glad to get home, too.”
John frowned at this. “Ah, well, I guess you're right. As long as we don't have to go right away.”

“Which we don't,” Rory said, standing. She led the way into the kitchen, where the meal was spread out on the table. “It's just some cold steamed crab and salad - it's too hot for hot food, if you don't mind.”

“Sounds perfect,” Marguerite said.

“I caught the crab,” John said proudly.

“Found it in a tide pool,” Emily corrected.

“I still had to catch it, didn't I?” John said defiantly.

“Yes, you did,” Rory said, “and we all appreciate it. Marguerite, if you'll sit here, next to me,” Rory indicated, “and Emily, would you please say grace.”

Marguerite bowed her head along with everyone else, although she certainly did not pray.

The food was good, simple and refreshing, and decidedly not poisonous. After dinner, Rory dismissed the children to play on the beach. “Only until sunset,” she warned, “then you have to come in and finish your lessons. And don't turn your back on the ocean.”

“You say that every time,” John complained good-naturedly. “We remember.”

“See that you do,” Rory smiled. She turned to Marguerite. “It's a nice evening to sit on the porch and watch the sunset, if you'd like.”

“All right,” Marguerite agreed, following her out to the porch and seating herself in the proffered rocking chair while Rory sat on the porch rail, stretching out her long legs in front of her.

“Well,” Rory said, “Down to business, I guess. The wedding is the first of June. How long will it take you to paint a portrait?”

“Depends on the size, and the subject,.”

“Well, of course it will include both my brother and Molly,” Rory said. “Clay thought it should be about three feet by four.”

“No animals or props?” Marguerite asked. “He doesn't have a favorite dog he wants included?”

Rory laughed. “No, why?”

Marguerite shrugged. “Some people do. In that case, four to six weeks ought to do.”

Rory nodded. “It's the middle of March now, so if you go up the middle of April, that should give you enough time. That should also give you enough time to buy supplies and finish up whatever projects you have here. That reminds me - wait just a moment.” She hopped down off the rail and went into the cottage, returning in a few moments carrying a small reticule. “Clay wanted me to give you an advance to buy supplies with.” She shook out a few coins and offered them to Marguerite. “Is a hundred dollars enough to start?”

Much more than enough. Marguerite's eyes grew wide but she was too stunned to do anything but nod. Rory handed her five twenty-dollar gold pieces, the coins weighing heavy in her hand. She had never earned so much at once.

“Now as to your price,” Rory said, “Clay said I could go as high as five hundred.”

Marguerite laughed nervously. “You're a very poor negotiator to give away your bargaining position like that,” she observed.

Rory shrugged. “We have plenty of money; it's never been our way to short shrift people.”

“It's a wonder you do have so much, then.”

“Well, the West was completely open when my parents came here,” Rory said. “They had to fight for what they earned, but they didn't do it by abusing people. Father always thought the way to get the best workers was to offer the best wages, and he was right. 'You get back what you give away,' he always said, and I've never known him to be wrong about that.” She grew sober for a moment. “At least, not until he was killed.”

“How?” Marguerite asked quietly.

“You don't know?” Rory asked. “I thought everyone around here knew how Barclay Palmer died.”

“I'm not from here,” Marguerite said.

Rory shook her head. “No, of course you aren't. Forgive me. Well,” she shifted uncomfortably, “in addition to our family businesses, Father was elected to the State Senate a couple of years before he died. He was working on legislation to rein in the railroads, as well as to end child labor and grant equal rights to the Chinese workers. He was gunned down on the street in Sacramento - his killer has never been caught, but it's obvious that it was a political murder.”

“I'm so sorry,” Marguerite said, her stomach clenching.

“Thank you,” Rory said. “It's been five years and it still seems fresh, sometimes.” She shook her head. “But back to you - will five hundred be enough?”

“Yes,” Marguerite said. She paused, then said sincerely, “I'll certainly try to make it worth that much to you.”

“I'm certain you will. Molly showed me the miniature - it was quite a work of art. If you can do the same on a larger scale, we'll all be very happy.”

The sun was beginning to set, so the children returned from their explorations. Rory excused herself for a moment to settle them to the day's schoolwork, returning a few moments later carrying a pair of leather-bound journals. She lit a lamp that hung beside the porch rail. “Would you mind giving me your artistic opinion about something?” she asked.

“Not at all,” Marguerite replied, prepared to flatter this wealthy patron for all she was worth. She opened the first journal, but sat nonplussed for a moment, unable to tell just what she was looking at.

“It's a sea anemone,” Rory supplied. “I've been drawing the tide pools. It's not very good, is it?”

The drawing now resolved itself, and Marguerite turned the pages, filled with similar drawings of anemones, limpets, crabs and other creatures she had seen but did not know the names of. Many of the pages had notes alongside the drawings, written in a pretty feminine hand.

“No, actually, they're rather good. You might want to take some drawing instruction, but you certainly have ability,” Marguerite said sincerely.

“There's a Natural History Society here in San Diego,” Rory said. “I've been to a few meetings, and a couple of the young men there have taught me and helped me with my observations.”

Marguerite glanced at the girl's golden head and sweet face and smiled to herself.

Rory swept her arm out toward the ocean. “I'm so drawn to that,” she explained. “There's so much about it we don't know; we're barely dabbling at the edges of it at the moment.”

Marguerite considered her with more seriousness now. “You're saying you want to be a scientist?”

Rory nodded. “I haven't been to college yet. I've been waiting until I knew what I wanted.” She hugged the journals closer. “I'll have to talk to my family about it first, of course, when I get home.”

“Will they make difficulties for you?”

Rory shook her head. “Of course not. Both my parents were big supporters of education. My mother has founded three schools. It's just that - “ she gazed out over the ocean, “well, I've been rather spoiled. I'm afraid they might not take me seriously.”

“I would have said you were completely unspoiled,” Marguerite said.

Rory laughed. “Thank you. I've grown up a lot the few months I've been down here, I think. Taking care of the children has been fun, but it's also been a big responsibility. I'm the youngest, you see. The younger of my two brothers is ten years older than I am, and I'm the only girl. Father, especially, doted on me.” Her eyes clouded for a moment. “But I know what I want to do with my life now. I'm sure they'll support me once I convince them I'm serious.”

“If it's what you love, then of course you should pursue it. With all your heart,” Marguerite said, well aware of the hypocrisy of her words.

“Thank you,” Rory said. “I shall. Oh dear, I've kept you past dark. Would you like me to see you home?”.

“No need, you'd only have to come back in the dark, too. I'm used to these streets. I'll be all right.”

“All right, then,” Rory said, not arguing. She handed Marguerite a small slip of paper and shook her hand. “Here's Clay's address in case you need to telegraph him directly. Do pay us another call when you have the chance.”

Marguerite nodded and said, “I will,” but as she walked away she knew that she would not.