Josiah's Treasure (16 page)

He seized the forgotten picnic basket, secured his coat, shoved his hat on his head, and marched up the embankment.

I will not care.

If he said it often enough, he might actually believe it.

She was numb. Not just her skin, cold and prickled from the pond water. But numb inside too.
Maybe I am a fool. Maybe I am making a mistake with these girls.

Sarah drew the picnic blanket tight about her arms and glanced over at Lottie, seated across from her in the carriage Daniel had hired to take them home. Her friend’s brow puckered, just a trifle, and Sarah nodded. Again. Yes, she was fine. Yes, she would survive. And yes, she was humiliated over the entire episode. Lord help Cora if Sarah ever came to suspect the girl had fallen into that pond on purpose.

Satisfied with Sarah’s response, Lottie looked away and returned to buffing Cora’s arms and hands. Rather roughly, if Sarah considered the movements. Perhaps she was suspecting the girl too.

Thankfully, at least, Daniel had taken a seat outside and she didn’t have to see the questions or recriminations in his eyes. It had been easy to be sharp with him when he’d challenged her efforts to rescue Cora. But now . . .
Don’t be silly. You’d do nothing different now than then, no matter what Mr. Daniel Cady thinks.

The carriage drew to a stop and Daniel appeared at the door. Sarah turned her face and stared at Anne, seated across from her. The girl’s expression was as blank as an unmarked slate, but Sarah could read it and what it had to say. Men, even ones who acted heroically, were not to be trusted. Given Sarah’s limited, but richly painful, experience with them, she might agree.

“Miss Samuelson.” Daniel extended his hand and it crossed into Sarah’s view. His coat was damp from his soaked shirt, and a bead of water dripped off his cuff and landed on her foot. “Are you departing here?”

“No, Mr. Cady. I will see the other girls home. But perhaps you can help Cora out of the carriage.”

“Certainly,” he replied obligingly, though Sarah suspected he’d had quite enough of the girl. All of her talk about Cora
being talented and hardworking was invalidated by what might have been a bit of silliness gone horribly bad. She had banked her future on a willful girl like Cora Gallagher, and Daniel was right to question her sense.

“Cora, go on up to the house,” she said. “Tell Mrs. McGinnis to give you my old gardening dress to change into, then I’ll take you to the doctor’s.”

Cora nodded and quietly exited the carriage with Daniel’s assistance.

“I shall see the two of you tomorrow at the shop. Ten o’clock sharp,” Sarah said to Anne and Minnie. She gathered her bundle of underclothes into her arms. “Anne, please inform Phoebe and Emma. We have more cleaning to do.”

They nodded, not comprehending how tenuous their futures and that of the art studio really were.

“Good.” She would not give up her dream of the shop without a fight. Her backers had promised her enough funds to get through several months, and perhaps Daniel would fail to convince the probate judge to award him all of Josiah’s estate. They might survive despite his vow.

Perhaps pigs could fly too.

Sarah grasped the edge of the carriage doorframe and pulled herself through the opening. Daniel waited at the foot of the folding steps. His expression revealed nothing.

“Miss Whittier,” he said, offering assistance.

With a hasty shake of her head, Sarah refused. Boosting her heavy, soaked skirts, she climbed down unaided. She wouldn’t have him think her helpless. Ever.

Daniel returned to the front of the carriage to retrieve the picnic basket. At the house, Ah Mong had rushed down the stairs to help Cora.

Sarah shut the carriage door with a firm click. Lottie lowered the window and leaned through.

“Will you join us tomorrow?” Sarah asked.

“I intend to. I shall not let this silly sore ankle stop me.” She wrinkled her forehead. “Will you be all right?”

“Once I’m out of these clothes and have some hot tea, I’ll be fine.”

Lottie’s warm fingers closed over Sarah’s, resting on the window frame. “That is not what I meant.”

Sarah shot a glance in Daniel’s direction. He was paying the driver and far enough away to not overhear. “You shouldn’t have invited him, Lottie. After today, I’m afraid we’ve only confirmed his opinion.”

“Do not give up on him, Sarah.”

“Oh, Lottie.” She rose up on her toes and pressed a kiss to her friend’s forehead. She wanted to have a faith as unshakable as Lottie’s. If her friend had lived Sarah’s life—had endured tragic loss, indifference, broken promises—her faith might not be so solid. Might be as fluid and evasive as rushing water slipping through one’s fingers. “I wish I truly had your optimism and didn’t merely pretend I did.”

Lottie feigned shock. “Do not tell me you are not Miss Unflappable!”

“I won’t. Tomorrow. At ten.” She glanced over at Anne, sitting in shadow. “You can help me decide where to place the lithograph press. Does that sound good?”

“Yes, Miss Whittier.”

“Do not forget Mrs. Linforth’s supper party tomorrow evening,” reminded Lottie. “She has made room in her parlor so her guests can view the samples of our artwork we plan to bring over.”

“How could I forget?” Bone-tired as she was, a supper party and showing at the Linforths’ sounded dreadful but critical for the financial support it could bring the shop.

Sarah retreated to the sidewalk. Daniel signaled for the driver to depart, and the carriage rolled off, Lottie’s hand waving through the open window.

“You don’t need to see me up to the house,” Sarah said to him. Next door, Mrs. Brentwood had realized Daniel and Sarah were out on the street and had raised the blinds on her front room window. “I’ll see that Cora gets to a doctor. Thank you.”

Ah Mong arrived to fetch the untouched picnic basket from Daniel. The boy hurried off with it.

“I’m going to come by the shop tomorrow to check on how the two of you are doing,” said Daniel.

Did he care? Did he truly care?
Stop asking those sorts of questions, Sarah.

She squared her shoulders, a feeble gesture of courage when she was shivering. “There is no need for you to bother.”

“I’m not quite as insensitive as you believe I am, Miss Whittier.” He was shivering too, and his teeth chattered. “I’m also just as stubborn as you are.”

“I already know that.”

Sarah sprinted up the house stairs and away from his gaze before he could see the confusion sprouting in her head. She reached the front porch. Next door, Mrs. Brentwood’s blinds snapped shut. The gossip would fly today about that outrageous Miss Whittier and her unladylike young women.

Mrs. McGinnis threw open the front door just as Sarah reached it.

“Miss Sarah! You too?” She glanced over Sarah’s shoulder, toward the street. Sarah didn’t turn to look; she didn’t want to know if Daniel still waited on the curb.

With a tut, the housekeeper hustled Sarah inside.

“The trip to the park was a disaster, Mrs. McGinnis.” Sarah headed for the kitchen, where she could deposit the damp blanket. Rufus, bent tail sweeping the air, offered up an amused-sounding mewl as he slunk around the kitchen doorframe and scampered out of Sarah’s wet path.

“I’ve put that Cora upstairs in the spare room where she canna damage the furniture with her wet clothes. But what am I to
do with you?” Mrs. McGinnis grabbed Sarah’s wadded pile of underthings and released a frustrated huff. “How can it be every day now that you’re having an accident or there’s some other trouble? I’m starting to think we’ve a curse.”

“Indeed, we do.” Sarah unwound her hair, wrung it out over the sink. “And its name is Daniel Cady.”

Daniel’s entrance at the Occidental caused raised eyebrows and at least one upright matron to make a wide berth, scuttling across the far side of the downstairs lounge like a water strider scurrying clear of a pond ripple. Thankfully, he was no longer as wet as a pond ripple, but his one good shirt might never recover from the water muck.

“Mr. Cady!” A man’s voice boomed across the space. Sinclair, his rotund belly leading him forward. “There you are. But what in . . . what happened to you?”

“I went for a swim in the pond at Golden Gate Park,” Daniel replied flatly.

“Ah. Yes. Well.” The lawyer’s movement backward was meant to be subtle but failed. “I have news for you. Shall we sit? No. I suppose not.”

“Let’s stand aside where we’re not in the way.” Daniel strode toward an empty arrangement of chairs. One of the servers peered over nervously, probably fearful Daniel might attempt to sit and ruin the velvet covering. “Make it quick so I can get out of these clothes.”

“Yes, well, I checked on any possible bank assets that Mr. Josiah Cady might not have reported and so far I’ve come up with nothing.” He tucked a thumb into his waistcoat pocket and leaned against the nearest chair back. “I have contacted two banks near Placerville where he might have had accounts but have not heard.”

“All right, so he didn’t have any bank assets.”

“None that we can locate. I have heard an interesting tale, however.” Sinclair glanced around and lowered his voice. “A rumor about a stash of gold nuggets.”

Daniel frowned. “I’ve heard that rumor too. Hidden somewhere, maybe in the house.”

“Ah, so you do know the particulars.”

“Miss Whittier denies them.”

Sinclair held his hands in front of him, palms up, and shrugged. “But she would, wouldn’t she?”

“She might because it’s the truth.”

“Mr. Cady, I hope you have not become charmed by the little lady. We can’t afford to be taken in by a woman’s wiles when she is an opponent in a court case.”

“I am not being taken in.” Daniel glared at the lawyer. “I am merely saying that she denies that Josiah had a hidden stash of nuggets and I choose to believe her.”

“Might I remind you, Mr. Cady, you were the one who asked me to look into these matters? It is in your best interest to stay detached.”

He knew that, but his heart no longer seemed to be paying attention to his head. “Is there other news?”

“Yes. Your Chicago attorney has notified my office that your documentation is on its way. Given that, I have taken the liberty of requesting a court date for our hearing. It shall be the Monday after Monday next. Nine days from today.”

“Nine days.” Nine days for Sarah to prepare her supporters—and her girls—for an unpleasant outcome. Not much time.

“As I said . . .” Sinclair tugged his waistcoat and stared down his nose. “If I obtain any more intelligence on Mr. Josiah Cady’s assets, I will certainly inform you. Otherwise, I shall see you at the hearing. My secretary will inform you of the particulars of the court time and location. Good day.”

He strutted off, the smell of his cologne clouding the air behind him, oblivious to Daniel’s answering scowl.

“I
’ve brought you tea, lass,” said Mrs. McGinnis, shouldering her way through the half-closed door of the workshop. “Doing some painting on one of your miniatures?”

“Trying to.” Sarah shifted the board so that the last of the day’s sunlight, streaming through the upstairs workshop’s bay window, fell upon the ivory oval secured to it. She had been polishing the ivory’s surface for a half hour and seemed to be working a groove into the bone rather than smoothing the grain so that the watercolors would evenly adhere. “I was hoping some work would quiet my nerves, but I can’t seem to concentrate.”

“
Och
, well,” the housekeeper clucked. She set the tray on the edge of the worktable. “’Tis to be expected, given the day you’ve had. If Cora’s blubberin’ was to be understood, you fair near drowned in that pond!”

“I hardly came close to drowning, Mrs. McGinnis.” But she could still taste the muddiness of the pond water, feel it filling her nose. Thank God for Daniel. Thank God for his firm grip closing around her arm, yanking her free of the murky depths, saving her.

And Daniel Cady, if she were honest with herself, was the reason she could not concentrate. Why her hand shook even though she wasn’t cold any longer. Why her gaze kept wandering to the houses across the street, to tree branches moving in the breeze. Why her thoughts kept returning to the scent of his coat, the press of his hands on her shoulders, the look of concern in
his eyes. What if he did care about her, just a little? He was not like Edouard, who had overflowed with extravagant flattery and giddying charm, had been full of politeness and solicitude, some of it actually genuine. Handsome and easy to fall in love with. Instead, Daniel Cady was brusque and distant, single-minded in the pursuit of his vow, steeped in an old anger Sarah couldn’t repudiate. His heart a carefully locked box. The wrong man for any woman. Especially her.