eyes on her with that same intentness of their first meeting, he answered softly, “My dear, every woman is as beautiful as some man thinks she is.”
And then before she could even catch her breath, the music ended and Lieutenant Vernon came to tell her she had promised him the next dance.
Vernon, like Loren Shields, was a nice boy, such a nice boy that Kendra felt guilty because she was begrudging every minute she had to give him. She liked Vernon, and it was not his fault that she was falling in love with somebody else.
Her own thought startled her. Was she falling in love?
She danced with Lieutenant Morse, and with several other men whose names she forgot as soon as she heard them, but at last Ted managed to claim her again. By this time the room was hot and the lamps were smoking. Several of the merrymakers had been helping themselves at the table of wines and brandies in a corner, and were dancing with more enthusiasm than grace. Kendra did not care. Ted had asked the musicians to repeat the dragonfly tune, and Kendra thought any time she heard it again she would remember how Ted looked this minute, and the feel of his arms, and the skill with which he guided her among the crowded couples around them.
It was now long past midnight, and when this dance ended Alex said it was time to go home. They rode through the wild night wind, half a dozen officers riding with them. Along Dupont and Pacific Streets the groggeries were lit up, and above the wind came sounds of drunken hilarity. Kendra thought,—I’m glad I don’t have to go to all that trouble to be happy.
She was happy, happier than she had ever been. As she lay in bed that night she thought how glorious it was to be wanted. Ted did not know how she had yearned to be loved. She had not known it herself until now, when she found out what she had been missing. As she fell asleep she was thinking maybe she was fortunate not to have had any love before, because if she had, she would never have known this joy of discovery.
5
T HE NEXT DAY WAS dark and cloudy. They had slept so late that Eva said they would not go shopping, but would dine on whatever they had at home. Eva had finished her parlor curtains, and she and Mrs. Riggs began hanging them at the windows.
In the mud and fog of San Francisco, Eva was turning their bare little house into an oasis of comfort. The bedrooms now had curtains and matching bedspreads; here in the parlor there were chairs at the table and rocking chairs by the hearth, each with its cushion stuffed with Hawaiian moss. Eva made everything in bright colors. They needed color, she said, in such a gray town as this.
Kendra sat by the fire, a copy of the Star in her hand. She was pretending to study the grocery advertisements, but actually she was dreaming in the firelight, remembering last night. “You’re beautiful… Every woman is as beautiful as some man thinks she is.”
She heard a sound of horse’s hoofs. A moment later a visitor ran up the steps and pounded on the front door. Mrs. Riggs went to open it, and in came Ted, hatless and windblown, grinning proudly as he paused in the parlor doorway and held out a loosely wrapped package.
“How do you do, everybody!” he greeted them. “Mrs. Taine, I’ve brought your dinner.”
Eva stepped down from the stool she had been standing on. “Why, how kind of you, Mr. Parks!”
“I brought it now,” said Ted, “because it won’t keep. Shall I put it in the kitchen?”
Kendra had sprung to her feet. “I’ll come with you.”
They went into the kitchen and Ted laid his package on the table. With a flourish he opened the wrapping and showed her a cut from a fresh-caught salmon.
Beef was so abundant in California that few people bothered to go after anything else. Kendra exclaimed with pleasure. Coming to the door, Eva added, “This will be a real treat, Mr. Parks.”
“Glad you like it,” said Ted. He gestured toward the basin on a stand in a corner of the kitchen.
Learning to Kill: Stories