The Daughter's Walk - Jane Kirkpatrick [82]
“Never fear, Clara,” Franklin said. “I may call you Clara, may I?” I nodded. “Good. You must never fear that what my women set their hearts on will come to be. One always wants to be on the side of their kind souls. If they’re with you, I’m sure I will be.”
Louise said, “Coffee now? Black?”
He jumped up to help her in the kitchen, behaving like a revered nephew to aging aunts rather than like the contracted employee he was. This was all a new world to me, and I wondered at Olea’s comment about porous borders. It seemed to me that Franklin was warm water to their sieves.
Franklin carried the tray of sandbakkels Louise had made especially for this meeting. “So,” Franklin said, “are we related? Doré isn’t all that common a name. It’s French in origin.”
“I was under the impression it was as common as flies,” I said.
He shrugged. “More in the provinces than here.”
“There are Dorés in Spokane, at least there were. Clover Doré attended the same business school as I, but I … had a different name then. Where is your family from?”
“Connecticut,” Franklin said. “Not all that far from Quebec. My father was a trapper there, my mother from the States.”
“And you met Miss Ammundsen and Miss Gubner how?” I asked.
“In the guild,” he said. “The furriers’ union. They saw potential in me and made me the man I am today.”
I hadn’t thought women were allowed in the union unless they were widows of furriers.
“Well, they and John Stone.”
Stillness followed. Louise halted, stared at Olea, who rose. “You’ve forgotten my sugar, Louise.” She left the room.
“No, I didn’t,” Louise called after her. “It’s right here.” She pointed to the tray, then whispered, “Franklin, really, you mustn’t.”
“I’d forgotten how sensitive Olea is about Stone,” Franklin said, his voice low. “I hadn’t intended to. Clara here asked—”
“It’s all right,” Olea said, returning. “One day I’ll fill Clara in. But for now, I suspect we ought to let Clara tell us what she wants to share with us. She waited until you could hear it.”
Franklin turned his deep brown eyes on me once again. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, moved closer to the edge of the settee. No one in my family or anywhere had ever looked so interested in something I had to say. I wasn’t sure I deserved such attention. After all, I was a novice in the business world and wasn’t certain I hungered enough to make my idea work.
But it was time to give life a try—a well-studied, investigated, and prepared-for try, of course. A Doré never did anything foolish.
THIRTY-THREE
Out of the Trap
I’ve spent a fair amount of time learning about the business,” I told them. “I have great admiration for the way you’ve all conducted your affairs. You’re honest and aboveboard. You use mostly cash, and when you’ve had to make advances, you’ve had assets to cover them. You’re cautious but take informed risks. And you’re generous. I see the donations you make to charities and church.”
“We believe in passing on our good fortune,” Olea said.
“Yes, I’ve been the beneficiary of that.” I didn’t know how much Franklin knew or needed to know. I cleared my throat. “However, I believe your operations miss an important part of the fur market. Franklin spends most of his time making purchases at auction houses, then ensuring that the pelts reach the European dressers and are manufactured into those beautiful coats. He mostly goes to auctions in the East. The West Coast goes largely unnoticed.”
“Nothing much has changed from when earlier trappers shipped goods back from the West, or sent them to the Orient by ship,” Franklin said. “The population of buyers is here, in the East. Always has been. Astor hoped to establish a good West Coast market that would save time getting goods to the Orient. And of course, Hudson’s Bay and the Northwest Company have done well out there. But Hudson’s Bay is king in New York too.”
“But what about pelts from the West? Why not trap on our own land and sell to Seattle?”
Both women looked at each other.
“You ought to be interested in the fashion