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Chapter Six
Upstairs in what had been Blanchard’s bedroom, Kent eyed the sorry cards in his hands and fought to keep his disgust from showing. Across the table, Rhine smiled. Kent sighed. He hated playing poker with Rhine mainly because that smile meant he either had the best cards in the house or a handful of nothing like Kent, but there was no way of telling which. The other two players, rancher Howard Lane and Cal Grissom, the hotel’s horse wrangler, had already tossed in their hands. That left Kent and Rhine. Kent assessed Rhine, hoping to find any flaw in the ivory face that might give away what he actually held, but it was the same elusive flaw Kent had been searching for unsuccessfully since he began playing poker with Rhine at the age of fifteen back in Virginia City. Cursing inwardly, Kent threw his hand in, too. Grinning, Rhine showed his humble pair of threes and slid the large stack of chips over to the small mountain already in place in front of him.
“I hate you, old man,” Kent groused, chuckling.
“Rich old man, to you,” Rhine countered, and the other men in the smoke-filled room laughed.
Kent pushed back his chair. “I’m leaving before you take my new Stetson.”
“Smart man.” Rhine then called out, “Next!”
Hoping the new pigeons fared better than he had, Rhine left the room to get some food.
Kent had been to a host of wakes in his time. Many were solemn and others so raucous the only thing missing were nymphes du pavé. Blanchard’s was somewhere in between. There was plenty of good food, lots of drink, and a houseful of men and women talking, laughing, and raising glasses to the man inside the wooden coffin resting on sawhorses by the window in the front parlor.
The noise grew louder as he descended the stairs. There seemed to be even more people squeezed into the house than when they arrived if that was possible. He was searching the crowd for Portia when Regan appeared at his side.
“If you’re looking for my sister, she’s outside with Eddy and the other married hens.”
“How’d you know I was looking for Portia?”
“Who else would it be?”
He studied her amidst the press of bodies, the buzz of voices, and the occasional loud cackle of laughter.
“Just be patient with her,” Regan advised. “Being raised the way we were has left her somewhat mixed-up inside.”
“And what about you?” he asked gently.
“I’m mixed up, too, but I’m not afraid of myself the way Portia is sometimes.”
Her honesty made him go still. “Thank you for the advice.”
She shrugged. “You’re welcome. I told her you’re going to make her garters catch fire. She’s choosing not to believe me.”
Kent threw back his head and laughed. Regan was destined to give some man a run for his money in the future, too. He hoped to be around to watch.
“See you later,” she said before disappearing into the crowd.
Kent made his way to the buffet and thought about what Regan had revealed. He didn’t really understand what she’d meant about Portia being afraid of herself sometimes. He knew about their mother and that she’d mailed her young daughters to Eddy in Virginia City unaccompanied. Admittedly he and his father had locked horns while he was growing up. Having lost his mother during his birth, Kent spent a lot of time being resentful because Oliver’s profession kept him away from home more than he wanted, but he’d never treated Kent as less than his son—nor had he ever sent him away. That Portia’s mother had must have been painful. Was Portia’s cast-iron demeanor something she used to protect her still-fragile feelings? Had she and her sister heard from their mother? Kent found this all very interesting and it further stoked his need to learn more about her. With his plate now filled, he made his way through the pandemonium and headed for the door so he could get some fresh air and find Portia.
Portia was glad to be outside with Eddy and her friends and not in the madness going on inside Mr.Blanchard’s ranch house. Like some of the other people attending they were seated on blankets spread out on the ground beneath a small stand of ponderosa pines. Portia enjoyed her aunt Eddy’s friends because they were all forward-thinking women and did what they could to uplift the race with their volunteer work in the community and their support of women’s suffrage. At the moment they were discussing a women’s convention being held in San Francisco in a few weeks and the prospect of them all attending.
“So are we decided?” Eddy asked.
Everyone nodded except Mamie Cordell, the wife of the African Methodist Episcopal pastor and the mother of Portia’s suitor James. “I’ll have to see if my Bertram will let me go,” she confessed. “You know he’s not a forward-thinking man sometimes.”
Eunice Forth, Mamie’s sister, groaned, “Oh my goodness, Mamie, I told you twenty years ago not to marry that man.”
Julia Lane, said, “So did I.”
“I thought he’d change.”
“Into who, Fred Douglass?” her sister asked. “Even with all his personal scandals, Fred the Great supports women’s suffrage.”
Suffrage for women continued to be one of the most widely discussed topics on the nation’s agenda. More and more women of the race were jumping on the bandwagon even as some White women were doing their best to keep their darker sisters away from their conventions. In response, the Colored women were sponsoring their own conferences and the gathering being held in San Francisco would be one.
Apparently knowing she was losing her battle, Mamie said, “I’m changing the subject. Portia, when are you going to give my son, James, the time of day?”
