Page 32 of Blowing Off Steam

“Right,” said Calliope with finality. “Drop it over the rail over in Steamboat Slough. I mean, where’d these bodies come from, anyway? They must be someone’s relatives.”

Rushy said, “I think they came from the morgue, but that’s beside the point.”

“The Chinese don’t have a morgue,” Field said.

Rushy continued, “Either way we’re taking risks, Field. Racing or not racing, burials at sea or whatnot. We’re taking big risks. If we suddenly stop racing, that alone might look mighty suspicious.”

“Speaking of Celestials,” Calliope said, with a brighter expression to her voice. “I was thinking, captains. I could use some help in the galley. At least a couple of new texas-tenders, someone to serve cocktails in the saloon and also help serve dinners, set tables, wash dishes. Having someone to prepare the food, chop up vegetables and suchlike, would also be a big help. Someone with horse sense.”

Field regarded her thoughtfully. “That’s probably true. Maurice can’t do everything himself, and the few texas-tenders we have are worthless jacklegs.”

Rushy was glad to change the subject and would gladly help Calliope since she had just stuck up for him. “Sure. It’d make sense to get more help here in San Francisco, though. Who were you planning on hiring? Some Spaniards?”

“No…” Calliope spoke with some uncertainty now and wouldn’t look anyone directly in the eye. She looked out to the tiny bird-covered island of Alcatraz. “I was thinking of hiring some Celestial gals.”

“Celestial gals?” Rushy thought. “That would be very neighborly of you, Calliope, seeing as how we do business with them. One problem. Most, if not all, of those womenfolk are treated like prisoners. What riceman is going to let his wife work on an American boat?”

Calliope twirled a tendril of hair around her finger. “Well. I was thinking more like ricemen…ricewomen gals who are here without husbands, who are working near Fay Chie Hong alley. Remember, Field? On our way back from Kwok Lee’s, we stopped in an alley—”

“I sure do,” said Field with a mixture of pride and shame.

Rushy’s interest was piqued. “This alley. Is it by any chance the alley of the hookers? How are you going to get them out of there without a hundred ricemen chasing you down Clay Street with their swords?”

“I’ve thought about that,” said Calliope. “Maybe approach them at night and bring them here in darkness. Obviously, I’ll only take qualified women who want to come.”

Rushy knew they didn’t need the additional attention that stealing Chinese hookers would bring, but since Calliope had stuck up for him on the subject of racing, he had to help her achieve her altruistic goal. She wanted to help some downtrodden hookers raise their station in life, and that was admirable. “All right, maybe on our next trip. We don’t have time today. We’ve got to get everything in tip-top shape for this race. Goddamned Clive Bixby isn’t going to best us.”

Field smirked. “Boilers blow up and be damned, right, Rushy?”

“Right. Calliope, did you get all of those raisins and apples you needed for those mincemeat pies?”

Calliope opened her mouth to reply, but a baffling incident took place then. Around the corner of the hold came Sam Brannan, hearty and hale as always, actually whistling a happy tune. Field instantly stood in front of Calliope as though to hide her, and Brannan greeted the captains.

“Trueworthy! Wakeman! I was wondering if you could grant me a favor. I’ve got a special guest on this upriver run, and I wondered if you could give me a better stateroom. See, this special guest—” Brannan gasped. “Catalina?”

No one moved. Rushy was the first to speak. “Who in Sam Hill is Catalina?”

Brannan smiled widely, holding out his hands. “Catalina! We’ve been looking for you all week long! What happened to you? Why’d you leave?”

Calliope stepped out from behind Field, smoothing down her chef’s apron. “I don’t know who this Catalina person is, Mr.— ”

Brannan cut right to the chase. His face displayed happiness at finding “Catalina,” but this immediately changed to rage when he faced the two captains. “Sirs! You must know you’ve stolen my best girl, as I did try and find her for you that day you broke the speed record in Sacramento.”

Field frowned. “No one has stolen anyone, Mr. Brannan. Calliope came to us of her own free will—”

Brannan blustered ahead. “I’ll have you know you have caused me untold financial grief and lost revenue. Why, I’ve had men go down the street when they hear we’ve lost Catalina.”

Rushy and Calliope shared smug grins, but Field was livid. “That’s none of our concern, Brannan. She’s neither an indentured servant nor a slave to you and can come and go of her own free will. Or are you proposing that you own her?”

“Of course not! That would be preposterous! I’m simply saying you owe me for lost revenue. Normally, one would pay the current employer to steal an employee away from their contract, and Catalina and I had a contract.”

“Oh, yes?” said Calliope. “What contract? Where?”

“It was a verbal, implied contract,” huffed Brannan. “I took you in when you were hiding from those Salt Lake Saints. I made you everything you are. You’d be dead if it weren’t for me, Mrs. Catalina Rowland!”

“Mormons?” Rushy gasped.

Calliope pointed at Brannan’s boots. “Now, listen here, Mr. Sam Brannan. I would’ve found work without you. You don’t own Sacramento. Enos Fouratt wanted me on his floating palace, and Barnes and Starr wanted me at their hotels.”