The Braxtons of Miracle Springs by Michael Phillips Read Free Book Online

throughout the three days we were together, Laughing Waters had told me how nervous she had been about going with us. It was no secret that Indians were not very highly thought of in white society, and I had seen her glancing around from time to time, wondering if passersby were staring at her. But with Christopher, Zack, and Tad close by—all three tall, strong, and confident young men—I didn’t feel nervous in the least.
    Besides all that, San Francisco was such a mixed pot of nationalities that Laughing Waters blended in with all the rest.
    When we met Christopher, Zack, and Tad an hour later, Zack had a package under his arm. It was all wrapped up in brown paper, but I knew well enough what it was.
    I could see that Tad was a little quieter than he had been, but no one said anything about it.
    I sure wasn’t going to bring up the subject of guns again.

Chapter 10 What Mr. Kemble Had Been Up To
    It had been a wonderful day!
    We’d seen so much and gone all over the city and by late afternoon were nearly exhausted.
    I didn’t know exactly what Mr. Kemble had intended to do when we’d left him earlier in the day, but we were back at his office at five to find out. From the smile on his face that greeted us, I knew he must have been successful at whatever his scheme was.
    â€œAre you ready?” he said enthusiastically.
    â€œReady,” I repeated, “but you still haven’t told us where we’re going.”
    â€œI thought we decided on it earlier—we’re going to Mammy Pleasant’s place for dinner!”
    The three men in our party gave a cheer.
    â€œHow did you manage it?” I asked.
    â€œNever mind,” interrupted Mr. Kemble. “All I had to say was that Corrie Belle Hollister—excuse me, I mean Corrie Braxton, though I did have to tell her your maiden name so she would know who I was referring to—in any case, all I had to say was that you and your family would be accompanying me, and Mammy Pleasant immediately invited us all to have dinner at her place . . . as her personal guests.”
    â€œMy wife—the famous newswoman!” said Christopher.
    â€œI am no such thing!” I protested.
    â€œOh, but you are, Corrie,” added Mr. Kemble. “I could never have secured such an invitation just for myself—but the mention of your name, and that was all it took. Shall we be off?” he added, glancing around first at Christopher, then at the others.
    We walked back out to the street, where Mr. Kemble hailed a horse-drawn carriage big enough for all seven of us. As we climbed inside, I was thinking there must be more to the story than he had told us—something about his tone as he explained made me suspicious. But I didn’t say anything. On the way I found out the rest of the story.
    â€œActually,” Mr. Kemble said as we bounced slowly along in the carriage, “there is one thing I’m going to have to ask you to do in exchange for this dinner, Corrie.”
    â€œI thought so!” I said.
    â€œA minor request,” smiled Mr. Kemble. “I knew you’d be happy to do it in order to treat your family to the best meal in San Francisco.”
    â€œDo I have any choice?” I asked, pretending to be annoyed. I looked over at Christopher and smiled.
    â€œNot really—not if we want Mammy Pleasant to let us in.”
    â€œWhat is it I have to do?”
    â€œThe very thing you enjoy more than anything.”
    I looked questioningly at Mr. Kemble.
    â€œI told Mammy that you were the best woman newspaper writer in all California and maybe in the whole country, for all I know. I told her that you were just like her—not afraid to stand up for what you think is right. So I said that if she’d serve us dinner, you’d write an article about her boardinghouse and the fine table she serves and that I’d print it in the Alta . There, you see, nothing to