October 31, 1915

Except for the explosion, it was a great day. I netted the biggest brown trout ever in Colorado. Maybe I will catch him again. My remittance transfer from Salisbury, England, arrived last week at the bank. I put a half-dozen silver dollars in my coin purse for the Father and the afternoon ceremony. Then stuffed it in my right front trouser pocket. The bulge was conspicuous but comfortable. I dressed on the left. The weather crisp, I arrived at the Cabin Hotel early in a jovial mood. Maggie practiced a French recipe for the next banquet for a senator or congressman. The hunting crowd had mostly left. I settled down in the dining room with an old copy of The Denver Post newspaper and a cup of coffee with cream and sugar. There was no rush to start working.

I had no more than glanced at the front page when a loud puff erupted from the kitchen followed by a thud, a clang and smoke pouring out the doorway. I ran in the kitchen. Maggie stood dazed, hair asunder in several directions, one eyebrow singed and sporting a stark, white face. The oven door rested on the floor below a severely dented flour drawer. A mangled black roasting pan dangled precariously on the drawer pull. It dripped what little contents remained on the hot oven door. The drips sizzled. The formerly tight-fitting pan lid leaned against the wall and counter. The balance of the recipe was splattered on the walls, cabinets, and the right side of Maggie’s dress.

“What happen?”

“I followed the instructions, mostly.”

“What was it?”

“Baked chicken in apricots basted with brandy.”

“What instructions didn’t you follow?”

“Well, it was an older rooster, and I put the tight lid on to make it more tender,” she mumbled. “I thought a little extra brandy would help too.”

“Did you bake at the suggested temperature?”

“Yes, 450 degrees.”

“Good heavens Maggie, the alcohol vaporized, and you created a chicken time bomb.”

“Maybe I did.”

By that time, the kitchen was filled with other employees. The confusion dissipated, several offered to help clean up, and I took Maggie to her home to change clothes. Angela sat and read in the parlor. She dropped her book, ran to us asking, “Are you hurt? What were you doing?”

“No, I’m fine. I tested a new French recipe. I’m looking for a little international flair,” Maggie replied. Then with a sheepish smile and looking down at her dress she continued, “I think, I’ll call it Coq au Caboom. Do I wear it well? I’m trying to impress people you know.”

“Your eyebrows are singed,” Angela gasped. “I have eye makeup that’s close. Julius, we’ll meet you at the baptism. I’m going to clean her up.” Dismissed, I departed.

The newly built Episcopal Church on the corner of Ninth and Oak was Corina’s choice. She arranged the ceremony after the regular services, but during a bible study period, which they postponed and joined us as an audience. The donation was accepted with words of praise and the group welcomed du Bois, Maggie and Angela.

Then Nellie, Madame Ollie and JJ walked in. The tension was palpable and, of course, was Corina’s intention. Nellie opened the baptism singing When the Saints Come Marching In which charmed and relaxed the crowd. Little Julius bravely accepted the holy water to his forehead. Nellie followed with a black Southern spiritual tune laced with some ragtime. I could see some foot tapping in the pews. The Father welcomed the baby to the Kingdom of God and Nellie finished with a syncopated hymn from the Harp of Zion. Most of the congregation clapped to the rhythm and wore broad smiles for godmother, Nellie the Chanteuse.

With soulful spirit, hugs were given to everyone except JJ who stood alone. Corina ignored her husband and kissed me passionately on the lips. The gasps continued when JJ shouted, “Jesus Christ, the godparents were a limey and a mulatto.” Madame grabbed him by the arm and spirited him toward the sanctuary door. “Bitch, you railroaded me into this deal!” He whined.

“You did it with your cock,” she answered.

“I could shoot ‘em.”

“That would be your third strike and the end of you,” she growled and shoved him out the door, “Do your job!” Then she mimicked brushing the dust off her hands with a sly smile.

Corina got her public display of affection, and the gossip ran rapid.