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A few moments later she entered Mr.Rossetti’s store. She knew from talking with him on a previous visit that the middle-aged Spaniard’s roots in the city went back to the days before the town was established, and that his first store had been nothing more than a tent on the side of Mount Davidson. Two years after the big 1859 Comstock strike, he’d built a permanent store to serve the influx of people and the growing town.
“Ah, the lovely Senorita Carmichael. How are you on this fine morning?”
“I am well, sir. And you and your family?”
“We are doing very well.”
Mr.Rossetti was short, with a bulbous nose, and had a bright engaging smile that could light up the night. She explained about the auction. “Can you donate something people can bid on?”
He thought for a moment. “What about a washing wringer?”
Eddy’s jaw dropped. “Really?”
He led her over to the area of the store where he kept washtubs, soaps, and other laundry items, and there was a wringer set atop a crate. It was designed to be attached by screws to the side of a washtub, and by turning the handle, wet wash was fed between two tubes covered with India rubber. It was by far the best item the auction would offer so far. “Are you sure, Mr.Rossetti?” The devices weren’t terribly expensive but they weren’t cheap either.
“Yes. Very. A few years ago Sister Mary took in a little Mexican girl when the other orphanage turned her away. That little girl is now my daughter, Felicidad. And like her name, she has brought my wife and I nothing but happiness.”
The emotion in his voice touched Eddy’s heart.
“I wish I had more to give than just a wringer.”
Eddy was so moved by the story it took her a moment to find her voice. “Thank you for your generosity, sir.”
“You’re welcome. My wife and I pray for Sister Mary and the orphans every night. She is a saint in our eyes. Now, come. The oranges arrived yesterday.”
He led her past the dry goods, miners’ equipment, and three ice cream churns for sale, to another area of the large store that held his perishables like cabbage, celery, cucumbers, and corn. Most of the vegetables came from the local farmers but the fruit came via trains from California. Eddy saw the large display of oranges and smiled. “May I buy a dozen or so?”
“You may buy two dozen if you like, there are more than enough.”
“Thank you, Mr.Rossetti.”
“You’re welcome. Let me get back to my other customers. I’ll drive the wringer over to the orphanage tomorrow.”
Eddy thanked him again and still brimming with happiness at his generosity, opened the cloth sack she’d brought along and spent some time finding just the right candidates to purchase for her marmalade. She needed them to be fresh, fragrant, and firm.
“Good morning, MissCarmichael.”
The familiar baritone voice of Rhine Fontaine caught her so by surprise, she dropped the two oranges in her hand and they rolled away. Chastising herself for being rattled, she waited while he bent and retrieved them. Wearing a knowing look, he held them out for her to take, which she did but was careful not to let her flesh brush his. “Good morning, Mr.Fontaine. How are you?”
“I’m well, and you?”
“I’m well, also.” Ignoring his veiled amusement, she turned back to the crates of oranges.
He asked, “Are you planning on using those to lure away more of my customers?”
She smiled. “I’m making marmalade for Sylvia and the boarders.”
“You make marmalade?” he asked with the same wondrous tone Sylvia had.
“I do. Usually from peaches, but when Mr. Rossetti told me he had oranges coming in, I wanted to treat Sylvia as my way of thanking her for being so kind.” Eddy saw some of the other customers eyeing them. “I need to finish my shopping.”
“And I get no reward for finding you in the desert?” he asked, seemingly deaf to her hint to end their conversation.
“You have my thanks of course.” A few short feet away, Eddy saw the frown on the face of a woman ostensibly picking out strawberries. She was obviously eavesdropping. “People are watching us,” she whispered. “Go away.”
“We’re just discussing oranges.”
“Scat.”
