The Doctor's Newfound Family (13 page)

Sighing, she realized that was probably a correct conclusion. It was a useless fight. She was barely old enough to be listened to, even if she had been a man, and since she was only a woman she had zero chance of being taken seriously.

One more letter,
she decided. She would pen one more letter, this time to Tom King, and hope he listened half as well as his elder brother had. If she could tie her problems to those of the rest of the city, perhaps he would print what she had to say.

And this time she would not ask Taylor Hayward to deliver the letter. Nor would she trust Luke.

This time, she would take it to the editor herself, even if she had to wear a disguise and sneak in his back door to do so.

T
he temporary fortification surrounding the building on Clay Street was made up of stacks of sandbags, planks, overturned wagons and anything else the vigilantes could lay their hands on. They had even managed to appropriate a cannon and place it conspicuously at the corner near Front Street, a further demonstration of their power.

Before the buttressing was half completed it had already been nicknamed “Fort Gunnybags,” much to the amusement of its builders.

Some of the men involved had served in the California militia and had assisted Fremont during the Mexican War. It was they who had formed the vigilantes into platoons and marched them through the streets like regular troops.

Taylor Hayward didn’t choose to train with them, but he did begin to stockpile bandages and medicine in preparation for the battle he was certain would ensue, especially since W.T.’s command had been usurped by a younger, less level-headed man named Seymour.

It was he who brought the bad news. “It’s over, boys. Time to march,” Seymour shouted as he burst into the hall.

Listening, Taylor felt his blood run cold.

“Casey got off scot-free,” the excited courier explained, cursing. “They ruled with Toland that it was the use of the sponge that killed James King.”

As Taylor listened to the grumbling all around him it became clear that this was not going to be an occasion for negotiation. These men were irate. As long as they had each other for moral support there would be no reasoning with them. Nevertheless, he tried.

“It’s the law, boys. We may not like it but it’s legal.”

“Only if we stand here jabbering and don’t act,” Seymour shouted. He raised his fist and gave a rallying cry. “Justice for our brother!”

“Justice. Justice,” echoed from the walls and rattled the windows. Taylor knew better than to intercede further. Not only had he lost a great friend, San Francisco had lost a champion for true
equality. He wasn’t going to take part in a lynching but he wasn’t fool enough to stand in the way of such a volatile throng, either.

Stepping aside, he watched the members of the Vigilance Committee crowd out the door, spill into the streets and form ranks. They could very well be marching to their deaths, yet they stepped boldly. James King had tried to clean up the city with his words. These men were determined to do so with their guns. Who was to say that either way was totally wrong? Being a pacifist had certainly not done the editor any good. Yet Taylor couldn’t agree that taking the law into their own hands was right, either.

“Casey is guilty,” he reminded himself, hoping that the vigilantes would at least hold another trial. A fair one. If Coleman had still been in charge that was exactly what would have happened. Unfortunately, that man’s reluctance to wage war had been his undoing and he was now relegated to the background and being summarily ignored.

As Taylor climbed to the rooftop to gain a better vantage point, he was thankful that he had gotten Sara Beth out of the committee headquarters long before all this had come to a head. It was highly unlikely that the violence would spread beyond these few blocks near the city center and endanger
the orphanage. Once the posse felt that justice had been served, the furor would die down. At least he hoped it would. If the riots continued long enough, Sherman might have time to join with General Wool in Benecia and actually muster enough armed men to physically put down the uprising. Then more men would die needlessly.

The ranks of armed volunteers were marching up Broadway in orderly fashion, heading toward the jail. Crowds of onlookers had already gathered in the lower streets and all the way up Telegraph Hill, as if they’d known what would occur once Casey was acquitted.

To the doctor’s amazement, the scene was far less chaotic than it had been before. It was a stunning sight. The citizens may as well have been lining up to view a parade. Some waved handkerchiefs while others held bear flags of California or the Stars and Stripes.

He looked down, peering over the edge of the roof. Someone had already thrown a knotted rope across a beam that jutted from the front of the building.

It was tied in the shape of a noose.

Although Sara Beth was awed by the size of the crowd, she felt no fear. Not only was she wearing Ella’s copious cloak and hood to hide her identity,
these people were behaving in a far more orderly fashion than the previous mob had.

They were all moving along briskly, yet not pushing or acting angry. On the contrary, many looked relieved and expectant. She had heard that King’s funeral had taken place the previous Sunday, so she couldn’t imagine what would have brought all these folks into the streets at once.

Curious, she spoke to a nearby woman. “What’s going on? What’s happened?”

“There’s gonna finally be a hangin’,” the woman said, smiling. “Imagine that.”

“A hanging? Today? Did they judge Casey guilty?”

“Naw. Leastwise not in court. But our brave boys will take care of that shameful mistake.”

A knot of fear formed in Sara Beth’s stomach. That news could mean only one thing. The law had failed and the Vigilance Committee had gone into action.

Hesitating, she stepped aside to think. If she proceeded to the newspaper office at a time like this there would probably be no one there to talk to, let alone receive her letter. All the reporters and everyone else would be in the streets, watching and waiting to see what happened.

To her dismay and disappointment she, too,
wanted to watch. Perhaps it was a flaw in her character or a lack within her Christian walk, she mused. Then again, maybe she was just like everyone else. She wanted to see justice done for a change.

Looking right and left, Sara Beth realized that no one was paying the least attention to her since she’d donned that dark, worn cape and hood. Wearing it made her feel a hundred years old but she didn’t care as long as it kept her safe while she was out and about.

Did she dare proceed with the others? She sighed, undecided. The sensible thing to do would be to return to the orphanage and wait for Taylor to bring news of the hanging. Would he? She had her doubts. He had been acting so distant lately she wasn’t sure he’d bother to inform her, even if he were free to do so.

And he might need her help, she reasoned, her mind made up. If there were wounded, which there were likely to be, she could assist him as his nurse.

“He’s definitely going to need me,” Sara Beth said firmly as she stepped out and rejoined the throng. “I belong at his side.”

To her chagrin she immediately remembered the promise she had made to him. She was supposed to stay out of the city. She was bound to the orphan
age by her vows. If she didn’t go back and do as he’d told her to, he might be very angry.

She shook her head, her lips pressed into a thin line. “No. I have to go on. Taylor needs me.”

And I need to be with him,
she added silently, ruefully. She craved the doctor’s presence the way a drowning person longs for a gulp of air.

That realization shook her to the core. In the space of a few weeks he had become so much a part of her that it was impossible to banish him from her thoughts. She knew, no matter what happened, she would never be the same person she’d been before meeting him.

And in her heart of hearts she also knew that their chances of finding happiness together were slim. When the current crises were past, there would be no need for him to watch over her. And perhaps there would also be no need for her to remain at the orphanage, where she encountered him so often.

That was the saddest thing of all. Attaining her goals for herself and her brothers would mean letting go of her dreams of working with the doctor and eventually becoming a nurse—or even a full-fledged doctor. She could not hope to support a household without income. Thinking of practicing medicine had been a lovely reverie, but it was no
more than that. She knew where she ultimately belonged.

Right now, however, she was needed at the Vigilance Committee headquarters. And it was there she would go. As the Good Book said, “The cares of the day are sufficient.” She would worry about her future at a later date.

The crowd in the street parted to make way for a commandeered freight wagon containing the prisoners. James Casey had been liberated from the sheriff and was accompanied by a man named Charles Cora, another murderer who was awaiting retrial for killing a U.S. marshal.

Taylor had been praying silently that no innocent people would be injured and, as far as he could tell, his pleas had been answered.

The wagon stopped just outside the sandbagged fortifications and the guards admitted their fellows as well as the two prisoners.

He could hear shouting and could tell that there was a kangaroo court convening below. It didn’t take long for a unanimous verdict.

“Guilty. Hang ’em,” the crowd shouted.

“Where’s the doc?” someone yelled. “We need him to tell us when they’re good and dead.”

Others disagreed loudly, much to Taylor’s relief.
It was his job to save life, not take it, and he didn’t want any part of the hangings. Yes, he knew the men were guilty. And yes, he wanted justice. Desperately. He simply wasn’t willing to dish it out without official sanction.

Turning, he started down the stairs. Others met him on the landing.

“C’mon, Doc. We’re gettin’ ready.”

“I know. Are you sure about this?”

The vigilante sneered at him. “King was your friend. Don’t you care that his murderer was gonna go free?”

“Of course I care. I’d just like to see this done lawfully, that’s all. What about turning the prisoners over to the army?”

One of the men laughed and cursed, then elbowed his companion. “Let’s go. He’s got no stomach for justice.”

They’re right in this instance,
Taylor thought as he stood there and watched them hurry back outside.
I can’t believe God wants me to take a life when I’ve spent so many years trying to save them.

And speaking of saving lives, I have the orphan children to think of. They need me, too. If I’m arrested for being a part of all this, who will look after them?

Huffing, he called himself a fool as many ways
as he could think of. It wasn’t the children he was truly worried about; it was one young woman. Sara Beth Reese. She was the focus of most of his concern. He needed to stay out of trouble so he could continue to work on her behalf.

With a sigh and a nod, Taylor proceeded down the stairs. He was almost to the ground floor when he heard a commotion at the side door. One of the guards was scuffling with someone who seemed very determined to get inside.

The person was clad in a dark cloak. That alone made the hackles on the back of the doctor’s neck rise. It was a warm, sunny afternoon. People were dressed for summer weather. So why would anyone wear a cape like that unless they were bent on skulking around and causing trouble?

He hurried to assist the guards. The hood fell back. Taylor’s jaw dropped. “You!”

“I came to help,” Sara Beth said, her cheeks rosy, her eyes bright.

“Help? You need to be locked up like your brother,” Taylor said, making no attempt to hide his temper.

“Well, I’m here.” She threw off the cloak and lifted her chin with obvious pride. “If you can’t put me to work, then perhaps I should go back outside and see if I can assist someone else.”

He took her arm, led her into an anteroom where
they could talk privately and closed the door. “Do you have any idea what you’ve walked into? Do you? There’s about to be a lynching.”

“I gathered as much when I passed the men rigging the nooses. It looked as if they were planning to hang two men.”

“They are. Two murderers.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

Frustrated and so angry he could barely remain civil, Taylor stared at her. “The problem is that vigilante justice is frowned upon by the powers that be. Every one of these men can be arrested and tried for murder, and judging by the way this city has been run so far, they’re likely to be convicted.”

“Surely not all of them.”

“Why not? And by being here, you’re an accessory to their crimes.”

He saw her green eyes widen with understanding as she looked at him. “Then so are you.”

“Unfortunately, yes. I tried to talk them into waiting for martial law, but they wouldn’t listen.”

“What about your friend Mr. Coleman? Where’s he?”

“Last I heard he was still trying to regain control of his former command. I don’t hold out much hope for his success. He’s too mild-mannered.”

“What shall we do, then?”

Taylor threw up his hands and paced away from her. “How should I know? You’re the one who thinks she has all the answers.”

Sara Beth nodded. She had blundered into a terrible situation and had made things worse for Taylor—and for herself. So what should she do? What could either of them do?

“I came down the hill to take one last letter to the
Bulletin,
” she said. “Suppose you and I go try to deliver it? That way we’ll surely have witnesses that we weren’t directly involved with the hangings and you’ll still be close enough to render aid if any of your friends are hurt.”

She could tell by the expression on his handsome face that he was at least considering her idea. When he finally agreed, she was both relieved and thrilled. He had listened to her. He truly
did
value her opinion!

“I think I saw Tom King at the rear of the crowd directly across the street,” Taylor said. “If we sneak out the back and circle around, we may be able to locate him without too much difficulty.”

“And he’ll swear that you and I are innocent bystanders,” she added, encouraged.

“Hopefully. I don’t know him as well as I knew his brother, but judging by the editorials he’s been writing, he’s sympathetic to our cause.”

“I thought so, too. That’s why I decided to write
one last letter and see if I couldn’t get him to speak out on my behalf. You can understand that, can’t you?”

Taylor nodded slowly, pensively. “Yes. It’s your timing I take exception to, not your lofty goals.”