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“Then where are they to get their education?”

He shrugged as if not caring. “I’m sure their folks can come up with something. It’s unseemly for my children to have to sit in the classroom with them. Let them build a school of their own. It’s being done in other places around the country.”

Natalie’s father Lyman tried reasoning. “Clyde, there are only three of their children in our schools.”

“All in my daughter’s classroom,” he tossed back angrily. “How would you like it if it were Natalie?”

“She wouldn’t care, nor would her mother or I.”

Wendell Barnum, Swain’s brother-­in-­law, spoke up. “Other states are keeping Coloreds out of their schools and I think we should follow suit.”

“And I don’t,” Rhine countered.

“Neither do I,” said Patrick McFarland. McFarland was a saloon owner, too, and although he didn’t openly encourage Colored patronage he didn’t openly bar them either. However, being Irish, he knew how it felt to have the boot of bigotry on his neck.

Swain huffed, “I say we vote.”

The six men at the table turned to council president, Daniel Watson. Watson, a reasonable man, said, “You don’t have the votes, Clyde. Let’s move on.”

“But!”

“Let’s move on. I could maybe support a look at your proposal if there were hundreds of Colored children, but not for three.”

Swain’s face twisted with anger and he sat back forcefully against his chair.

The next order of business was of particular interest to both Rhine and McFarland. A newly formed group of woman who’d organized to rid the city of vice wanted a permit to hold a march.

McFarland asked, “Do we have to grant them a permit?”

Watson said, “Since my wife is one of the organizers. Yes.”

Rhine was torn between amusement and ire. The last thing any of the saloon owners wanted was a gaggle of women kneeling in prayer in front of their establishments or taking up axes in their misguided efforts to “clean up” the city.

Watson said, “They’ll be marching two weeks from today. I’ve told my wife—­any damage to buildings will get them arrested.”

Rhine was thankful for that at least. It was bad enough that some of the other business owners in the city wanted to raise the taxes on the vice establishments, as the saloons, bordellos, shooting galleries, and dice palaces had come to be called. So far the council had not seen fit to put the proposals to a vote, but now he was having to deal with a bunch do-­gooder ladies as well. He wasn’t pleased with this newest assault on his livelihood, and hoped Natalie wouldn’t be among those marching.

With nothing else pressing on the agenda, the meeting adjourned a few minutes later. Rhine ignored Swain’s angry glare, said good-­bye to everyone else and left the room. Although he would be meeting Natalie for dinner, the urge to see how Eddy was faring was stronger, bedeviling him since getting off the train, so instead of driving to the Union like he was supposed to do, he turned the Rockaway towards Sylvia’s boardinghouse.

Eddy was out in back of Sylvia’s scaling the fish she planned to serve to the boarders for dinner when Rhine Fontaine’s carriage pulled up. Every effort she’d made to keep him out of mind suddenly dissolved and she fought to keep her features schooled.

When he reached her, he inclined his head politely. “MissCarmichael.”

His green eyes were even more arresting than she remembered and her heart thumped madly. “Mr.Fontaine. How are you?” she asked lightly.

“I’m well. Thought I’d stop by and see how you were getting along.”

“I’m fine. Up and around as you can see. How was San Francisco?” To maintain the distance she needed from his tempting presence, she began filleting the fish she’d already scaled.

“Good. I spent time with my brother and his wife and saw to some business matters. Are you settling in?”

“I am.”

“Sylvie treating you well?”

“Yes. She’s a wonderful woman.” Eddy hoped he’d only stopped by to make good on his pledge to check up on her and would leave directly. “How’s Mr.Dade?” she asked.

“Ornery as ever. He sends his regards.”

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