The Doctor's Newfound Family (5 page)

But first he must be properly informed, she added. Her jaw muscles clenched and she nodded to affirm her decision. As soon as she had brought Josiah to her cot in the girls’ quarters and had gotten him settled for the night, she would begin to write to the newspaper.

Such a letter would require much thought and careful expression but she was capable. Her penmanship was beautiful and her mind keen. All she’d have to do was make certain she didn’t alienate too many important people and yet stated her case in indisputable terms.

Such a goal seemed unattainable, yet Sara Beth was resolute. She could not hope to seize control of her assets by force so she would do it by her wits.

Finishing the dishes, she toted the heavy dishpan to the back door and threw the water onto the steps to clean them, too. At home, she might have tarried long enough to sweep the porch, but not tonight.

Tonight she had a letter to write. A letter that might very well be the most significant missive she had ever composed.

Taylor Hayward had been disappointed in his earlier meeting with W. T. Coleman. The man had been too secretive to please him and had beat around the bush regarding what the Vigilance Committee might be able to do in respect to the contested Reese holdings.

“That’s up to Bein,” Coleman had insisted. “He was Reese’s partner and as such has control of the assay office.”

“Fine. But what about the family home at the same address? Surely we can’t allow him to pitch the surviving family members out into the streets.”

Coleman’s thin shoulders shrugged and he blanched enough that his already pale skin whitened visibly. “It’s not that simple. Not anymore. Governor Johnson is talking about putting that general, Sherman, in charge of the militia, and Mayor Van Ness agrees. If they do that, we’re in trouble.”

“I’ve never known you to back down from a fair fight,” Taylor said.

“I didn’t say I was backing down. I’m just telling you that it would be wiser to bide our time. All the newspapers except the
Herald
are already on our side.”

“Which is to be expected since James Casey is running it and he’s as crooked as they come,” the
doctor argued. “I’d heard that Casey was thrown out of the Drexel, Sather and Church building by Sherman himself over an editorial so full of lies that even a mule could have recognized its falseness.”

“Doesn’t matter. We still have to tread softly.”

Taylor was beside himself. He paced across the office, then wheeled to face the man he had been counting on for aid. “Suppose there’s more to it than what appears on the surface? Suppose Bein is trying to pull a fast one on the government? What then?”

“Then the sheriff should be in charge.” Coleman raised his hands, palms out, as if prepared to physically defend himself. “I know, I know. Scannell bought the office for a whole lot more than he’ll ever earn legally. That’s common knowledge. But it doesn’t change anything. We can’t wrest control of the whole city from the hands of those criminals unless we’re sure of major citizen support. That’s all there is to it.”

“What will it take to gain that?”

“I don’t know,” the obviously weary and worried businessman said. “But we can’t continue this way for long. When the time is right, we will act, I promise you.”

“What if it’s too late for the Reese children?”

“That can’t be helped.” Coleman ran a slim
finger beneath his starched collar as if his cravat were choking him. “I’m not looking forward to the bloodshed that may result.”

“Neither am I,” Taylor said soberly. “But someone has to do something before we’re all slapped in jail or hanged for choosing the side of honor and justice.”

“This Reese incident has really gotten you fired up, hasn’t it, Doc? How did you get involved in the first place?”

“I was called to minister to the murder victims.”

“And you didn’t save them. I see. That is unfortunate. But it still doesn’t explain why you’re so adamant about the real estate.”

“There were children left homeless,” Taylor said. “I delivered them to the Ladies’ Protection and Relief Society. They don’t belong there. They belong in the house Scannell is guarding.”

“They’re better off with Mrs. McNeil. Children couldn’t manage alone, anyway.”

It was the doctor’s turn to loosen his tight collar. “There’s—there’s an older daughter to look after the little ones,” he explained. “She seems quite capable.”

“Ah.” Coleman smiled. “And pretty, too?”

“That’s beside the point.”

“On the contrary, that is exactly the point, as I
see it. You have developed some kind of connection to this young, helpless damsel and you’re expecting me and my men to assist you in impressing her.”

“Nonsense.” With a deep, settling breath, Taylor had given up, bid his friend goodbye and left the office building.

In retrospect, he had known denial of his feelings was futile. He did care for Sara Beth Reese. And he could see no good reason for that reaction. There had been and still were, many other comely women in his acquaintance, so why was this one becoming so important to him? Was it her emerald eyes or that long, reddish hair that was so appealing? He had no earthly idea.

Later that day, as he closed his own office and started home to the What Cheer House, where he rented a room, he was still troubled. There had to be more to his burgeoning interest in that young woman and her kin. They had gotten under his skin so quickly it was truly astounding. He supposed Sara Beth’s plight, having all those siblings to care for as well as herself, had touched a chord in his heart.

This was not the first time he had found himself caring too much about the welfare of his patients. According to his instructors at Massachusetts Gen
eral, becoming overly involved in the lives of others was a flaw in his character that he needed to overcome in order to do his job efficiently.

Taylor’s real problem, as he saw it, was that he didn’t want to lose that touch of compassion that made him who he was. If it interfered with his medical practice, then so be it. He was not about to chastise himself for having feelings for the suffering and downtrodden.

And those poor Reese children were that, and more. For all he knew, they were the victims of the same greed and corruption that already poisoned much of San Francisco politics. If that was the case, they would be fortunate to reclaim anything that had once, by rights, been theirs.

Taylor clenched his fists as he walked, his boots clomping hollowly on the boarded walkway, their thuds lost among the other noises of the still bustling city.

“There has to be something I can do,” he murmured in frustration.

Reaching the corner of Montgomery and Merchant streets, he paused, praying silently and then wondering if any of the churches had enough influence to help.

He glanced up and realized where he was standing. That was his answer. The
Bulletin
offices were
here. It was the perfect solution. An exposé, written by a man with the solid reputation of James King might force Coleman to call the Vigilance Committee into action. It was certainly worth a try.

A lamp flickered on the second story.

Taylor pushed through the door and took the stairs two at a time.

W
orking late by the light of a kerosene lamp in the deserted parlor, Sara Beth labored that first evening and the next to phrase everything just right. Because both paper and ink were dear at the orphans’ home, she took special care to make her first draft both concise and perfect.

Satisfied, she folded the sheet of paper several times, addressing the outside of the packet because she lacked an envelope. As soon as her morning chores were completed the next day she’d try to steal away long enough to deliver her written plea. If that wasn’t possible, she’d have to entrust it to one of the older boys and hope he carried out her orders correctly.

Rising, she lifted the lamp to light her way back
to the girls’ area. When she looked ahead, a tall shadow was falling across the marble-floored entry-way.

“Who…who is it?”

“Dr. Hayward.”

The breath whooshed out of her and she noticed that she was trembling slightly. “What are you doing here? It must be very late.”

“It is,” Taylor said, approaching and relieving her of the glass lamp. “I was passing and I saw this light, so I stopped. Why have you not retired with the rest of the staff? Did the latest earthquake bother you?”

“No. I never even felt one happen. It must not have been very strong.”

Sara Beth realized she was clutching her letter so tightly she was wrinkling it. Her first instinct was to tell the doctor everything. Then she realized that she really didn’t know him, not as a personal friend, at any rate, and should therefore be prudent.

She slid the folded paper into her apron pocket to hide it. “I simply couldn’t sleep.”

“Would you like me to give you a powder to take? It would relax you.”

“No. Thank you.” She purposely lifted her chin to emphasize her decisiveness. “You should go. It isn’t proper for us to be together like this. I don’t
want Mrs. McNeil to think I’m entertaining a gentleman in her absence.”

The doctor bowed. “Of course. I’ll go. Just let me see you to your quarters.”

Instead, Sara Beth reached for the lamp and wrested it from his grasp. “That won’t be necessary. I can take care of myself.”

“Can you?” Taylor asked. “I wonder.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Only that I wish to be of service to you, Miss Reese. I assure you, I have no ulterior motives.” He fell into step beside her as she started for the hallway. “I have already tried to assist you in getting your home back. Unfortunately, the head of the Vigilance Committee is not willing to act on your behalf.”

“I’m not surprised,” she replied.

“I was. But I had another idea and stopped by the newspaper to see if the editor wished to champion your cause.”

That brought her up short. She whirled and held the lamp high to clearly observe his expression. “Which editor? Not James Casey, I hope.”

“Of course not. He’s too involved with Scannell and the others. I visited the offices of the
Bulletin
.”

Sara Beth caught her breath. Was this the answer to her wish to have her letter safely delivered? It certainly appeared so.

“Do you know Mr. King?” she asked.

“Very well. And I think he’ll print a story about you, if you want. All you have to do is tell him everything and leave the actual preparation of the article up to him.”

Thinking, praying and rejoicing, all at the same time, she reached into her pocket and withdrew her letter. “I have already done so. Will you be so kind as to deliver these pages to him and extend my good wishes for his continued success? Papa didn’t believe what was printed in any paper but his, and I have high hopes that that loyalty was not misplaced.”

“It was not. And your trust in me is not, either,” Taylor said soberly. He took the letter and slipped it into his inside coat pocket before touching the brim of his bowler and making a slight bow. “Good night, Miss Reese.”

“Good night, Doctor. Will you try to find time to let me know how my words are received? I have done my best to explain my family’s situation.”

“I’m sure you have. I’ll take this to King’s home tonight and leave it with him. Tomorrow is my day to check the wards here so you will see me again then.”

“I look forward to it,” Sara Beth said, struggling to hold the lamp steady and nearly succeeding. She
had just placed the fates of herself and her siblings into the hands of a man she barely knew. If he delivered the letter to the editor, all would be well.

If, however, he chose to place it in the wrong hands, she could find herself in true jeopardy. There was only one way to find out and that would not happen until the publication of the story in the
Bulletin,
which would be tomorrow night at the earliest.

Until then, she would hope and pray and try to stay too busy to fret. If the doctor was not as forthright as he seemed, there was nothing she could do about it. Not now. While he had possession of her letter, he also held her fate in his hands. God willing, he would not betray her.

The nattily dressed gentleman stood back, smoking a thick cigar and leaning on his ebony-and-silver walking stick. Morning fog from the bay was thick and slightly hampered the official search of Robert Reese’s workshop. As planned, however, one of the examiners easily located the monogrammed handkerchief containing particles of gold.

Bein stayed out of the furor until it quieted down, then made his way to the sheriff. “I see they have discovered proof that my partner was a thief,” he said aside. “Tsk-tsk. How distressing. Once that
news gets out, his good name will be tainted forever.”

“What a cryin’ shame.” Scannell chuckled. “So, what do you want me to do now? Shall I relieve my men or have them continue their guard duty?”

“Wait and see what the U.S. Marshal’s office decides,” Bein said. “A lot depends on whether Harazthy gets scared or not. His smelter has been refining for me on the sly and I don’t want to ruin that deal.”

“Last I heard he was too caught up in being a grape farmer to care one way or the other.”

“True. And definitely to our advantage, Sheriff. As long as things are going so smoothly, I suspect you’ll be free to be on your way soon. In the meantime, keep the guards right where they are and wait for my orders.” He scowled at the taller man’s expression of disgust. “Don’t give me that look, not if you value your job. I have plenty of influence with the city council.”

“Hey, I was elected, fair and square,” Scannell insisted.

“You were elected, all right, but there was nothing fair about it and you know it.”

“All right, all right. I get the point.” He eyed the men who were carrying out boxes of assaying materials and records and loading them into a spring
wagon. “What about the girl? Is she going to behave herself?”

“I’m sure she will. I’ve already booked passage for all those brats and I’m on my way to the Ladies’ Protection Society right now to offer my condolences. Once they’re on a boat headed for the east coast, we’ll have nothing more to worry about.”

“I hope you’re right.”

Bein laughed. “I’m
always
right.”

Sara Beth was peeling potatoes in the kitchen when Clara tapped her on the shoulder. “You have a visitor.”

“Who? Where?” Her fondest hope was that Dr. Hayward was bringing her word from the newspaper editor.

“Don’t know him,” Clara said, “but he looks mighty highfalutin for this place. He’s waitin’ in the parlor with Mrs. McNeil.”

“Oh. All right. Thank you.”

She was drying her hands on her apron as she hurried toward the front of the converted mansion. The moment she recognized her visitor her heart rejoiced. She ran to him and she threw her arms around his neck. “Uncle Will!”

He patted her on the back the way a parent would
comfort a weeping child. “There, there, Sara Beth. Don’t fret. I’ve come to take care of you.”

“Are we going to get to go home?”

“Yes, dear,” William Bein said. He stepped back and reached into his breast pocket to withdraw a stiff packet of papers. “Here are your tickets. I’ve arranged passage for you and the boys. You sail tomorrow morning.”

She stepped back and frowned at him. “Passage? To where? We live here.”

“Not anymore, I fear. The U.S. Marshal’s office has taken possession of your father’s workroom and the rest of the property will revert to me, as his partner, once the particulars have been worked out.”

She backed away, aghast. “No! Papa would never have left our home to anyone else.”

“Your mother would have inherited, of course, but since she’s gone, too, it all comes to me.”

When he smiled, Sara Beth noticed that the good humor did not reach his eyes. Suddenly, she was seeing the man in a different light. Gone was her kindly old uncle figure and in his place stood a ruthless businessman. A man who was pretending to be helpful while he banished orphans to goodness-knows-where.

“We will not be leaving San Francisco,” she said flatly. “Our rightful home is here and it is here we
will stay. The boys are happy and I am employed. We have no need of your charity, Mr. Bein.” Nodding, she added, “Good day, sir,” then wheeled, gathered her skirts and quickly left the room.

She heard Mrs. McNeil calling after her but
dear old Uncle Will
wasn’t saying a word. Little wonder. His offer had not only been unfair, it had been transparent. He wanted their land, for whatever reason, and she and her brothers were standing in the way. Well, too bad. If it took her the rest of her life she was not going to cease trying to find a legal way to reclaim her rightful home. Situated next to Turner’s store the way it was, it would make a decent boarding house or even a commercial establishment if she decided to take up dressmaking or millinery.

Truth to tell, she was far from certain that she was in the right in this instance, but something in her nature insisted that she stand firm. There had to be a point at which doing what was just triumphed over the letter of the law.

She tried to think of a scripture that would back up her conclusion and failed, although she did recall plenty about the trials of Job cited in the Old Testament.

Those thoughts and the conclusions they led to made Sara Beth shiver. A lot more could go wrong
before the good Lord interceded to bring justice, couldn’t it?

Her biggest concern was how she was going to withstand, let alone triumph over, whatever terrible, unknown trials still awaited her.

It was late afternoon on the third day since the murders before Taylor was free to return to the orphanage. He immediately sought out Sara Beth and found her in the kitchen, as expected.

He removed his hat and greeted everyone. “Good day, ladies.”

Clara was the first to speak. Grinning, she offered up a plate of freshly baked cookies. “Afternoon, Doctor. I think I have just the thing for whatever ails you.”

“Umm. Thank you,” Taylor said, returning her smile as he accepted the cookie plate but keeping his gaze fixed on Sara Beth. “I always know just when to arrive, don’t I?”

“Pretty much,” Clara said. “Looks to me like Miss Sara Beth needs a break. Why don’t you two take these cookies into the parlor while I brew you up a pot of tea?”

“You needn’t wait on us,” Sara Beth said, blushing. “I have no desire for tea but I would like to speak to Dr. Hayward in private.”

Taylor stepped aside to give her room to precede him. Instead of going to the parlor, however, she walked out onto the veranda and raised her face to the sun.

He followed. Young children were playing a game of hoops on the lawn while older girls jumped rope to a singsong chant, providing a perfect covering noise for their conversation.

“I delivered your letter to James King,” Taylor told her.

She clasped her hands tightly together, her emerald eyes glistening. “What did he say?”

Although Taylor wanted to take her hands and offer physical comfort, he restrained himself. “The article will appear tomorrow. He didn’t have time to get it written and set into print for this evening’s edition.”

“I suppose that will have to do.”

“You seem more troubled than the last time we met,” the doctor said. “Are your brothers all right?”

“They’re fine. Even Josiah. He’s the oldest one in the nursery, but he seems happy. And Mathias and Luke are already attending school, although I suspect that Lucas will soon have to find a job to help with our keep. I just hate to see him have to grow up so fast.”

“I’ll see what I can do to delay that.” His brow
knit. There was clearly more to the young woman’s disquiet than concern for her brothers’ fates. “What else is wrong?”

“How do you know something is wrong?”

“Because of the suffering in your eyes,” Taylor said softly. “You don’t have to confide in me, but you might feel better if you chose to do so. Have you had to arrange the burials? Is that it?”

She shook her head soberly. “No. Abe sent word that he has taken care of everything already. I saw no reason to expose the boys to more trauma by making them watch the interment, and I didn’t think it was fair for me to go without them. I hope that was the right decision.”

“Absolutely. Is that all?” He saw her jaw muscles clench and her chin jut forward.

“No. The rest is so unbelievable it’s hard to fathom, let alone explain. William Bein, the man my father and mother trusted, has usurped our home and tried to ship us off to who knows where.”

“Are you certain?”

“Positive. He showed me the packet of boat tickets he’d bought.”

Laying aside his bowler and also placing the plate of cookies atop the broad stone railing that bordered the raised veranda, Taylor gave in to his instincts and grasped her hands. To his relief, she
not only allowed his touch, she seemed to welcome it. “All right. Start from the beginning and tell me everything.”

“There’s not much to tell that I truly understand,” Sara Beth said, tightening her grip on his fingers. “He and my father were partners in the assay business. Papa did the laboratory work and Uncle Will—I mean, Mr. Bein—handled the books and the safe transport of the ore.”

“That might explain his connection to the workshop, but it should not mean he owns your house, too.”