Outrun the Moon(87)

“The day we no longer need our friends is the day we put on our wooden overcoats,” I say.

“Amen,” says Francesca.

“I don’t want to be alone,” Harry says quietly. “When my parents left me with the nuns, I thought I was going to die of loneliness.”

I nudge her side. “That was a rotten thing to do, for sure. But parents who don’t want you are parents who don’t deserve you.”

“Mercy’s right,” says Francesca. “On the bright side, you don’t have to worry about parents telling you who to marry.”

“Or parents who disappoint you,” says Elodie. “Or are disappointed by you.”

“Your father isn’t disappointed by you,” I say to Elodie.

“He will be. Once I tell him I’m planning to sell Maman’s shares of the business. She told me she would leave them to me in her will.”

“Well, don’t sell them yet. San Francisco’s not exactly a viable market right now.”

Elodie shoots me one of her piercing looks. “I’m not as dumb as you think, Mercy. Eventually, I want to use the money to do something Maman would be proud of.”

Francesca plays with the light from the lantern with her fingers. “I wish we could keep the Kitchen open longer.” She looks at all of us in turn. “We have a businesswoman, a singer, a hostess, an all-around helper, and me of course, a cook. What more could a restaurant want?”

“Dashing waiters,” Elodie suggests.

It feels good to laugh.

Katie sighs. “Tonight was the most fun I’ve had in a long time. Someone even asked Harry for an autograph.” She gives us a conspiratorial wink.

I nudge Harry, who’s blushing beside me. “When you rise to fame and fortune, and Miss Du Lac watches you sing at the fancy opera house, don’t you forget about the side of beef that put you there.”

Elodie rolls her eyes back so far, her head tilts back, and Harry giggles.

“You know what I think?” says Katie. “Our Kitchen was like Strawberry Hill. A little island away from everything.”

“Without the ghost,” adds Elodie.

I lean forward to get a look at their faces. “It’s almost as if people needed a place to do normal things again like eat, drink, and be merry.”

Harry nods. “Katie and I heard that the cannery on Folsom might be giving away their inventory if things don’t improve.”

Francesca glances down the lane at me. “Maybe Mr. Fordham and Mr. Chance could help us ‘borrow’ a stove like the one that lady had.”

“Well, we don’t have to borrow it; we could buy it.” Elodie holds up her purse. “Mercy and I each have five dollars.”

“But you might be catching a train,” I say to Katie.

She swats a moth fluttering around her head. “Gran is probably on her way here already. Headmistress Crouch thought we should get a ticket, anyway, but maybe we can change her mind. What about your folks?” she asks Francesca.

“They leave all the worrying to my brother, and he’s leaving it to Marcus, apparently. To be honest, I would rather not go home yet.”

We all look at Elodie, and she shrugs. “Far as I know, the people I’m staying with don’t know I’m coming.”

Francesca sits up straight. “So we can have another feast.”

I hold up my hand. “Hold the ponies. None of us has had a good meal since Tuesday, and we smell like smoked meat. Not to mention, we look like farmers.”

“Speak for yourself.” Elodie rolls her shoulders back. “I feel very au courant.”

While I look manly in my army getup, she manages to look rather smart with her neatly folded sleeves and pant legs. She even daisy-chained a necklace.

I study the cut on my hand from running through the burning city yesterday, still a red line but slowly knitting together. Modest as it was, putting on this feast filled some of the hole in my heart left by Jack’s and Ma’s deaths. Sure, it’s only a teaspoon of dirt in a cavity the size of Texas, but it’s a start. And that was just one dinner.

Maybe this was the kind of business I was meant for. Free dinners—with entertainment, too—where everyone is welcome: fancy folks, and plain ones, those sporting bowlers, and those who prefer black skullcaps.

The city may have been laid to waste, but our bellies still need filling. Our hearts still need cheering.

It’s not sustainable for the long-term without capital and a good fiscal plan, not to mention I’ll be on my own once the girls go home. But as Ma said, a journey of a thousand miles begins with one step. And with bossy cheeks and running feet, I will cover those thousand miles one day.

“Let’s do it,” I tell them.

“Pile on the pancakes.” Katie sticks her hand out, and one by one, we place ours on top. “Like Gran always says: ‘Teamwork makes the dream work.’”

Something blows at a dusty corner of my mind. Mrs. Lowry said the same thing. Come to think of it, she lives in Texas, too. “Did your gran ever read The Book for Business-Minded Women by Evelyn Lowry?”

Katie looks at me as if I just said I was running for president. “Read it? She wrote it.”

“Holy Nine Fruits of Mother Mary, I am her number one admirer!” I babble. “I’ve read her book at least a dozen times.”