Josiah's Treasure (31 page)

The cart passed without incident and Anne’s pulse resumed its normal beat. She paused, listened to the noises of evening descending, a mother’s raised voice sounding through an open window, the laughter of children in a nearby yard, tussling over a basin of soapy water. Sounds that made her lonely and so weary. She had to find Emma. She had no idea what she’d do if she had to spend another night on the street. She had lost Frank, maybe for good . . . Anne shuddered. She wouldn’t think about what had happened. Wouldn’t think about the canal, the stench of the water, the sound of the heavy splash, because she couldn’t be certain. But if he had drowned, she wasn’t sorry.
Heavenly Father, forgive me, but I’m not sorry.

A break in the sidewalk planks tripped her.

“Anne, pay attention.” Looking around to see if anyone noticed and finding the street empty, she pulled in three quick breaths to steady her nerves. “Now remember. Remember.”

And there, at last, she noticed a small, discreet sign three doors down.
Rooms to Let.
That had to be the place, the fancy dentil trim beneath the roofline familiar.

It took considerable resolve to keep from dashing up the stairs and pounding on the front door like a hoyden. Mustering what dignity she had remaining, she rang the bell.

An olive-skinned woman dressed in head-to-toe widow’s weeds answered, the light from an uncovered gas tap in the hall behind casting her in shadows. Her assessment of Anne was quick and uncomplimentary. There’d been no chance to wash and she was filthy and bruised, her dress torn. She’d fallen more than once, ripping the material that had snagged on her boot heel.

“Good evening,” said Anne. “I realize it’s late, but I saw your sign.”

The woman blinked. “You have the money for a room?”

The few dollars Mr. Cady had given her were stashed with her other meager possessions at Mrs. Hill’s. She had nothing but the clothes she wore. “I am actually wondering if a Miss Emma Schulte lives here. I must speak with her.”

“Emma Schulte.” Her lips flattened into a narrow line.

Was she mistaken? Was this the wrong house? Anne glanced over her shoulder at the street and the hill and the city beyond. Where would she go if it was? She just couldn’t be certain about Frank.

Dearest heavenly Father, help me.

The woman exhaled and opened the door wide, a wash of yellow light spilling onto the stoop. “If you’re Anne Cavendish, she’s been expecting you.”

It was a long ride back to the hotel for a man with troubled thoughts and a repentant heart. He’d wanted to kiss her. More than wanted, actually—he’d been set and determined to kiss her. Kiss her until she blushed for a reason other than surprise or embarrassment or whatever it was that always made her blush. Blush until he made her tingle and sigh and never want to leave the circle of his arms. Kiss her until she murmured his name with longing, instead of annoyance or dismay. Give her neighbors more to talk about than just rumors of gold nuggets and stories in the newspaper.

“Well, Daniel Cady, you didn’t kiss her, though, did you?” he muttered, flipping up his coat collar against the fog fingering along the roads, chasing him into downtown.

He’d let the parlor light and the briefest hesitation on Sarah’s part scare him off. Make him remember that they were on opposite sides of a battle with no possible winner.

“I
am
a coward, Miss Samuelson,” he said, his breath puffing clouds into the damp air.

He’d been on one road, the path that led him to retaliation for so long, he couldn’t find a way off it, couldn’t see a sign that showed him another way to go. He’d give Sarah that thousand dollars whether she wanted it or not, but he didn’t feel generous any longer. The amount was a pittance carved out of the estate she’d once claimed, and she would recognize the offer for what it was—an appeasement, a salve to his guilt. So much less than what a woman like her deserved.

“Thank goodness she came to you.” The next morning, Sarah stood with Emma in the tiny boardinghouse parlor—not much bigger or brighter than a kitchen pantry—overwhelming relief making her words rushed and her breathing quick. That morning, she and Mrs. McGinnis had almost been too tired to answer the knock on their front door or open it to the scruffy little boy standing on the porch with a note in one grimy fist. “How is she?”

“Scared.” Emma’s nose wrinkled. “Cleaner than she was last night. Hungry.”

“But unhurt . . .”

“
Ja
.” The expression on her smooth, broad face suggested “unhurt” could be interpreted many different ways. “I suppose.”

“Take me to her, please.”

Under the vigilant scrutiny of the landlady, inky-black as a crow in her heavy bombazine, Sarah and Emma ascended the creaking stairs to the second floor. The room Emma rented looked to be one of five and was on the north side of the house, the cheapest side where the rooms would be dismal in the depths of winter. Emma knocked, a series of raps that Sarah presumed was some type of signal. From within, Phoebe in her lilting accent invited her to enter.

The room was as small as Sarah had anticipated and spare of furniture, but clean. Crowding the rag rug–covered floor was an iron-framed bed with a trundle bed tucked beneath. On the opposite wall stood a scarred oak chest of drawers topped by a mirror, the silvering starting to oxidize and darken. Hooks served to hold dresses and capes and hats. Alongside the bed were a modest table and one lone chair, which Phoebe occupied.

She stood when Sarah entered. “Miss Sarah,” she whispered and glanced at the bed. Beneath what Sarah had presumed was a rumpled pile of blankets and quilts lay Anne, fast asleep.

“I hate to disturb her . . .”
when she looks so exhausted, her face so thin and bruised.

“She will not thank us, I think, if we do not wake her to greet you.”

Anne stirred, roused by their voices. Her eyes—had they always been that deep-set?—opened. Spotting Sarah, she struggled to sit upright. “Miss Whittier.”

“Phoebe,” Emma beckoned. “We leave them alone together.”

The two girls left, softly closing the door behind them.

Sarah took Phoebe’s chair. She stripped off her gloves and clasped Anne’s nearest hand. It was so cold. And surprisingly coarse, as if she spent a great deal of time with her hands in soap water, the work she must do at that saloon. She had never held Anne’s hand before to realize this. The girl had never let her. But should she have tried?

Sarah stroked her thumb across Anne’s skin, hoping to warm it. “I can’t tell you how happy I am to see that you’re all right.”

“I am alive.” Anne’s voice was weak. “Emma and Phoebe have been good to me.”

“Miss Samuelson and the others have all been worried sick. When Mrs. Hill brought me the news that Frank had found you out on the street, might have harmed you—”

“He didn’t.” Anne’s fingers clenched Sarah’s. “He didn’t catch up to me.”

“But where . . . what happened?”

Blanching, she evaded Sarah’s gaze. “I would rather not talk about it. Or him. He is best forgotten.”

“Of course.” Something horrible had occurred. In her head, Sarah ticked off possibilities, all of them awful.

“I just need to leave town,” Anne said in a firm voice. “Quickly.”

“I have money for you.” Sarah reached into her reticule, pulled out ten dollars of the thirty-five she’d earned from Daniel’s purchase of the Seal Rocks painting, and tucked the bills beneath the metal candlestick on the bedside table. He would be relieved to know Anne was safe.

“You don’t need to give me that much,” Anne protested.

“Yes I do. You don’t have any money, do you? No. Also, Mrs. McGinnis and I anticipated that you’d want to get out of San Francisco.”
Finally.
“And she has come up with a solution. This morning, she’s going to telegraph her sister in Seattle, who runs a boardinghouse like this one, about taking you in. Mrs. McGinnis is confident she will. There is a steamer leaving tomorrow. I’ll get a ticket for passage as soon as I leave here. Mrs. McGinnis will accompany you on it as far as Portland, where she had plans to visit her niece who is due to have a baby.”

Anne sank into the pillows, any argument about not accepting charity spent. Her concession was as sure a sign as any how desperate she’d become. “I have always thought you were generous, Miss Whittier. Thank you.”

“I try to do my best for all of you, Anne.” Sarah wished she could gather her into her arms, but even now, Anne wouldn’t welcome the embrace. Laying Anne’s black braid across her shoulder, Sarah rearranged the pillows beneath her head. “I wish you had let me help you leave San Francisco when Mr. Cady and I offered. I also wish you had told me about Frank earlier, about how bad it was with him.” Despite her suspicions, Sarah had chosen to not interfere with this proud young woman’s life, hoping
Anne would come to her.
Like a daughter to me, or a sister.

“Mr. Cady was right, that day,” Anne said, too exhausted to shrink from Sarah’s ministrations. “Frank would have only tried to hurt me sooner, if he thought you might take me away from him. I didn’t think I could take the risk.”

“You deserved better than that man.”

“He wasn’t always so bad. Not at first.” She peered at Sarah through her long eyelashes. For a moment, Sarah thought Anne wanted to tell her something, but the moment passed. “As I said, he is best forgotten.”

“And I know you will.”

Anne lifted her brows and observed Sarah. “You say that with all the confidence of a woman who has never had to forget her past.”

Sarah felt a pressure beneath her ribs, as if the truth was confined in the cage of her chest and trying to break free.
Edouard.
Would she ever forget him? Would Anne really ever forget Frank? “I can imagine.”

“You’re too good, Miss Whittier, too decent to comprehend the life I’ve lived.”

“I’m simply doing what’s right, Anne. Don’t confuse my actions for virtue.” She stood, eager to be quit of the room and Anne’s perceptive regard. “You need rest. I’ll see you in the morning. Be prepared to leave early. The ship departs at ten.” Sarah headed for the door.

“Thank you again, Miss Whittier.” Anne smiled, a sight that was precious and rare, as rare as diamonds or rubies. Or gold nuggets. “I was right to send for you. God answered my prayer.” She sounded astonished, but no more than Sarah would be in her place. “Through you.”

Impossible.
God would never work through her. “You’re not completely out of harm’s way yet, Anne.”

“I’m close enough.”

Sarah bit her lip to stop the tears that threatened to fall and
fled. By the time she reached the ground floor, her heart was ready to burst.

“I’ve got the story, Mr. Cady.” Archibald Jackson winked and bounced on his toes. “And won’t you be interested to hear what I’ve discovered.”

Daniel was acutely aware they had attracted the attention of the usual crowd collected behind the hotel’s ground floor windows, men with their feet propped on tables, women in striped day dresses, whispering behind their hands about the parade of humanity one could observe on the sidewalks of San Francisco. The shabby creatures one saw, who poked their fingers into the chests of their betters.