“Lee! Are you all right?” Jefferson is blocked by two men with revolvers. Panic surges in my throat, and I bolt toward him, hands balled into fists.
The men step out of the way at once, guns lowered. Up close, I recognize their faces. I don’t remember their names, but I’m certain they used to work for my uncle. “We were just trying to keep him out of trouble, Miss Westfall,” says one. “He tried to follow Frank inside, and I thought someone might come to harm. Thought it might be the fellow without a gun.”
“Don’t do us any favors,” I say. I throw my arms around Jeff, not caring that everyone is watching, and he wraps me up in his. After a moment, I stop trembling.
When I step away, the men with guns are gone. Jefferson says, “There were two of them, or I would have forced my way inside.”
“I know. Are you all right?”
“They didn’t give me trouble, really. That one fellow was just trying to calm things down; he didn’t want anyone getting hurt. Did Frank—?”
“Frank Dilley is still a bully and a coward, but I’m fine.” As I say it, I know it to be true. Trouble is brewing, for sure and certain. But I’m breathing easier, more clearheaded. Jeff and I have been through so many troubles together, and I know we’ll find a way through the next one, even if haven’t quite put my finger on what it is yet.
“It was Jim’s idea to go in and check on you,” Jefferson says, with a nod toward Jim and Hampton. “When those fellows trained their pistols on me, he thought you might be in a pickle.”
So that’s why they dared the lion’s den. I turn and clasp Jim’s hand. It’s large and rough, warm and steady, like the man himself. “Thanks, Jim. I’m real glad to see you.”
Finally, he smiles, and the genuine warmth and welcome in that smile go straight to my heart. “Goes both ways, Miss Leah. It’s good for the soul to see you and Jefferson arrived safe. Also . . .” Jim clamps Hampton’s shoulder. “I enjoyed meeting your friend here. He told me a bit about his situation, coming west.”
“He’s done well for himself,” I say. “We’re still hoping to bring his wife out, though.”
“We can’t wait to meet Adelaide,” Becky adds.
“I have to know,” Jim says, eyes full of concern. “Your uncle Hiram . . . did he . . . is he—”
“He’s no longer a problem,” I say firmly.
“Well, that’s a blessing.”
“Where’s Tom?” says Jefferson, indicating the law office. “Did he help you with the house?”
“Not yet.” Becky says. “Nothing’s gone quite as expected.”
I glance toward the door we just exited, feeling an overwhelming urge to flee. Next time I encounter Dilley or Hardwick, I plan to be armed. All our guns are stashed in the wagon, unloaded for the journey. “Let’s discuss it elsewhere,” I say.
Becky nods. “My mother always said it’s not wise to go shopping after such an upsetting encounter, especially not for something important like a wedding dress. We’ll catch up with the others for now.”
I don’t know how that woman can think of shopping at a time like this.
“Miss Leah,” Jim says, suddenly formal. “I have a little surprise for you. I was planning to track you down in the spring, but since I’ve found you, I’ll fetch it and bring it around tomorrow.”
I’m not one for surprises, but I say, “We’d surely love to see more of you. Call on us at the Parker House hotel.”
We take our leave of Jim, promising to chat more soon.
“Can you believe it?” Jefferson says, staring after our friend. “Seeing Jim is like having a little piece of home.”
“Sure is.” If Mama and Daddy are looking down on me now, they’re smiling to see that Jim and I found each other.
We climb into the wagon for a short ride across the plaza to the Parker House. It’s the largest hotel I’ve ever seen, so wide it fills the street front from corner to corner, with a row of dormer windows all the way across the second floor. It is also, the proprietor informs us, completely full.
Becky’s big blue eyes somehow grow bigger and bluer as she tells the innkeeper about her “sweet children who are desperate for a roof over their heads after a harrowing journey through the wilderness.” He is helpless under her gaze, and he suddenly recalls that our friends stopped by earlier. He gestures through the window toward the City Hotel, a smaller structure with a garret, where he assures us we will find rooms and our friends.
The innkeep at the City Hotel is gambling in the smoky parlor with some of his customers. When we ask after our friends, he grunts in the direction of the stairway. Jefferson is taking care of the horses and wagon, so Becky, Hampton, and I tromp up the narrow staircase to the garret, following after the sound of laughing children.
Becky dashes down the hall to an open door. There’s little space in the tiny room, so Hampton and I hover in the doorway. Olive, seven years old and a hundred years curious, peppers her mother with questions, while Andy plays on the floor with clever wooden animals carved by the Major. Major Wally Craven sits on one of two canvas cots in the room, feeding something mushy and unidentifiable to Becky’s baby girl.
We met the Major on the wagon train west, and he’s been a good friend ever since Jasper amputated his leg to save his life. He’s a large, strong fellow, clever with his hands, who wears a wooden leg of his own design. Becky won’t travel anywhere without her children, and she doesn’t trust anyone but the Major to watch over them.
“The room’s barely larger than a wardrobe,” Becky says, hunching over to avoid the bare rafters. “But the children have endured worse.”
The Major shifts the baby to his shoulder and pats her on the back to burp her. “There were only two rooms available. Twenty-five dollars each per week, rent paid in advance. I took them both. Apparently a fire took out a lot of buildings last month.” He points up to the bare rafters. “They barely finished this place before they moved on to the next. We’ll have to sleep in shifts.”
“Oh, dear,” says Becky, in a tone that I’m pretty sure means This won’t do. “San Francisco has not been kind to us so far. At least Hampton got his freedom papers!”
Hampton waves them triumphantly.
I sense someone approach and turn to see Henry, clean-shaven and hair slicked neat as you please. A silk cravat hangs around his neck, a brighter blue than fashionable.
I say, “I thought you’d be out looking for a teaching job.”
“The new state constitution requires public schools,” Henry says, “but it seems no one has gotten around to building them. I was told the first school will be built in Monterey.”
“So what are you going to do?” I ask.
“Some wealthy white and Mexican families hire tutors, so I’ve set up a few meetings.”
“Poor Henry,” I say. “Sounds like you’ll have to get up early for a change.”
“No. I’ll meet them tonight.” His eyes sparkle. “In gambling dens.”
“Oh, dear,” Becky says again.
“You’re a terrible gambler,” I point out. “Even I can tell when you have a good hand.”
Henry blinks. “I’m only doing it to make connections, of course.”
Jefferson, having stabled the horses and wagon, makes his way down the hall with our bags. He drops my saddlebag on the floor with a heavy thump. “What did you pack, Lee, a bunch of rocks? Oh, hello, Henry.”
“Have you seen Tom?” Henry asks. “I hope he had better luck than I did.”
I say, “He’s interviewing for a post with Hardwick. And I have a bad feeling.” I explain everything that happened.
“You don’t have to worry about Tom,” Henry assures me.
“I wish I could be sure. He’s . . . different.”
“Working in your uncle’s mine was hard for him. He . . .” Henry hesitates, considering. “Well, he gets wound up at night and can’t sleep because of it.”
“I can understand that,” I admit.
“Tom has been hard to read lately, it’s true,” Jefferson says.
“He’s the one who should be a gambler,” the Major points out. “He has such a poker face.”
“No one should be a gambler,” Becky says.
Henry squeezes my arm. “Give Tom some time. I know he’s intently focused right now. He thinks we’ve got a better chance to practice our professions here, and the sooner we get to work, the more of a head start we’ll have on everyone else.”
I can’t help the little sigh that escapes. “Sometimes I just wish things could go back to the way they were, when it was just us, relying on each other. Looking to stake our claims and make a better life for ourselves.”
“That’s exactly what we’re doing,” Henry says. “We’re just staking a different set of claims now.”
“But if the three of you stay in San Francisco, I’m going to miss you.”
“Me too,” says little Andy from the floor. I should have realized he was listening carefully to every word. “I’ll miss you the most.”
“Then you must continue to work on your letters,” Henry says. “So we can write to each other every week.”
The stairs creak, and Jefferson says, “Hey, Tom. We were just talking about you.”
“Speculating on my prospects of future employment?” Tom asks as he strides toward us.
“Praising your immaculate presentation and good looks,” Henry says.
“Don’t let me interrupt you then,” he says dryly.
“Did Hardwick offer you a job?” I ask.
“He did.”
“Did you take it?” My voice is a lot louder than I intend.
Tom pauses. “I asked for time to consider his generous offer.”
I want to follow up, demand to know why he didn’t reject it outright, but a door to another room slams open. A large man reeking of booze and wearing only an undershirt, thrusts his bald head into the hall. “If you all want to have a confab, that’s why God invented parlors. Get yourselves downstairs and use one—some of us are trying to sleep!”
He slams the door shut again.
After a brief pause, Henry whispers. “Anyone else tempted to start a rousing chorus of ‘Used Up Man’?”
Becky can’t hide her grin as she waves us all into the tiny room, then closes the door behind us. We take seats on the cots, the two small chairs, the floor. I grab a spot beneath the single window. The rough wood of the unfinished wall makes my back itch. Jefferson squeezes in beside me, and Andrew comes over to show off his wooden animals. Jeff agrees that they are very fine animals and makes an appropriate variety of barnyard and woodland sounds, which somehow makes me want to kiss him even more than usual.
Becky drags one of the room’s two chairs to the center of the floor and sits like a queen on her throne, hands folded in her lap. “Our original plan to come to the city, get the house, and depart directly isn’t going to work,” she begins.
“I’ve got my freedom papers, but I don’t have any word on Adelaide,” Hampton adds. “The postmaster says it could be a few days or a few months until the mail comes next. It all depends on when the ships arrive. So I might have to stick around.”
“Hardwick’s going to break our agreement and cheat Glory out of its charter if he can,” I add.
This is news to some, including the Major, who frowns. “People could lose their homes,” he says.
“Once word gets out that our charter’s not coming,” Becky points out, “we’ll start having trouble with claim jumpers again. The promise of a proper town has given us a lot of protection.”
“Once California is declared a state,” Tom says, “we’ll have legal recourse. Until then, the contract gives him a loophole.”
“By then it might be too late,” I say.
Becky says, “But one thing at a time. Right now the problem I care about is my house. Tom, did you think of something?”
He shakes his head. “Hardwick wants my help with his auctions—many involving properties of dubious provenance—and he needs legal assistance managing the contracts and bills of sale to alleviate questions of legal ownership. Your house is currently stored in one of his warehouses. Working for him might give us another option for recovering it.”
Maybe that’s why Tom was so eager to hear Hardwick out—so he could help us. Henry was right; Tom would never betray us.
“What if we buy it?” I suggest. I reach out with my gold sense, assuring myself that all the money we need is right there. In my mind, my saddlebag shines brighter than a full moon.
“The auction is a week from Tuesday,” Becky says. “Staying almost two weeks in this city will cost a mother lode. And there’s no guarantee we’ll be the highest bidder.”
“Almost every item has a ‘buy now’ price,” Tom says. “I could find out the price for your house. It’s likely to cost twice as much as you’d pay for it at auction.”
“Let’s do it,” I say. “I’ll chip in. Let’s just buy it and get out of town.” And away from Hardwick and Frank Dilley and everything else that’s making me feel as tangled up as a squirrel’s nest. The wind blows outside, shaking the roof tiles. “There’s something bad here,” I say. “It’s like . . . it’s like a snake’s rattle, warning us to back off. Let’s buy the house, however much it costs, and get on our way.”
It’s a reasonable request. Everyone can see that, I’m sure.
But Becky’s frown deepens, and she raises one finger in the air.
“So let me get this straight,” she says. “My dear late husband, Mr. Joyner, already paid once in full to ship this house to California for me. Now the petty self-appointed bureaucrats of this territory want me to pay a second time to reacquire my property. And if I want it in a hurry, without the disadvantage of bidding against strangers after a costly stay away from home, then I have to pay for it a third time.”
“That’s about the size of it,” the Major grumbles.
“No!” She jabs her finger at him. “It’s wrong, and it won’t stand.”
“So what are we going to do about it?” he asks. The baby is nearly asleep on his shoulder. She has recently discovered the wonder that is her thumb, and her tiny cheek pulses with drowsy sucking.
“Have you decided to steal it back?” Tom asks, brightening.
“I can’t steal back what’s already mine,” she says. Olive, sensing the tension in the room, scoots over to lean against her mother. Becky strokes her daughter’s bright blond hair and says, “But I have a plan.”
“Sounds intriguing,” Henry says.
“Henry Meek,” she says. “How would you like to be my husband?”
“What?” Henry gulps.
“What?” the Major adds.
“She just wants someone to pose as her husband,” I say gently. “Remember? We discussed the possibility last fall in Glory.”
“I can do that,” the Major says, a little too eagerly.
Becky shakes her head. “The Joyner family is well known back in Tennessee, and it’s possible there are a few folks right here in San Francisco who are familiar with my late husband, at least distantly. Henry can pass for Andrew at a glance. But you, Wally, you’re . . .” A little smile plays at the corners of her mouth. “You’re as different as can be.”
Henry straightens. “I was quite the thespian in college,” he says. “And I would be honored to pose as your fine gentleman spouse.”
The Major does not seem convinced, but Becky brightens, saying, “Then this is what we’re going to do.”