She turned to discover the handsome young man who had come to her rescue in the street the day before, the same fellow she’d seen at the Gold Rush Inn last night. Abby couldn’t see past the specks of gold in those beautiful green eyes. He raked his fingers through his blond wavy hair and shook his head. “You’ll be taking your life into your hands if you do.”
Abby certainly didn’t want to risk danger to fetch Neville, but what choice did she have, save the obvious one of standing here, staring into the most handsome face in town?
Sam couldn’t believe his luck as he clamped eyes on the beautiful young woman dressed in blue. After yesterday’s episode with the men, he had wondered about her well-being. He’d taken note of her at the restaurant last night, of course. He’d seen the way she’d downed that cherry pie. But to find her here, at a barbershop? Seemed a bit odd.
“As I said, I wouldn’t go in there, Miss …”
“Abby. Er, Abigail Effingham.” She seemed to stumble over her own name.
“If there’s someone inside you need, I’ll be happy to fetch him for you.”
“Oh, I don’t need anyone to be fetched, exactly. I just wanted to let Neville know that I’m out here, waiting for him.”
“I’ll be happy to share that information. Just stay put, and if any of those men come around, don’t talk to them.”
She looked aghast at this notion. Her gloved hand flew to cover her mouth, then she pulled it away. “They will find me unsociable.”
“It’s best if they find you unapproachable, and that’s a different thing altogether.”
“Hmm.”
He pointed to the bench in front of the shop, and she sat like an obedient child. Then Samuel went inside to fetch Neville, whom he found sleeping in the chair underneath a hot towel. Unwilling to disturb the fellow, he walked back outside to join Miss Abigail. Perhaps this was a stroke of fate.
“Won’t be much longer,” he said as he took a seat next to her on the bench.
“Ah. Well then, I’ll wait.”
“And I’ll wait with you, if you don’t mind. Can’t abide the thought of leaving you alone.”
“Neville asked you to do that, no doubt.”
“Not at all.” Sam cleared his throat. “But your saying that he might convinces me that he cares a great deal about your well-being. He’s not your father, then?”
“He’s my family’s butler. His caring can be a bit … stifling.”
“I’m not sure we’ve been properly introduced.” Sam extended his hand. “I’m Samuel Harris. My father owns the Gold Rush Inn.” He gestured with his head to their family-run business across the street. “I believe you had dinner with us last night.”
“Best cherry pie I’ve ever eaten in my life.”
“That’s Cookie for you. She’s top notch.”
The young woman clasped her hands together with obvious zeal. “She’s renowned. I heard about her in Missouri, you see.”
“You heard about Cookie in Missouri?” This caught him by surprise. “Really?”
“A waiter on our train. Do you know a Jimmy Blodgett?” She shifted her bundle to the bench.
“Name sounds familiar.”
“He lived here a few years back. Came with his father. Now he works for the railroad. But, apparently, Cookie’s good home cooking made quite an impression on him. He sang her praises. Loudly.”
“Well, go figure. I’m from Missouri myself.”
“I could have placed you, based on your speech.” The young woman folded her hands and placed them in her lap in ladylike fashion.
“Really?”
“Yes, but you have the western drawl down, as well. Fascinating mix.”
“Drawl?”
“Ever so slight.” A smile softened her lips. “Have I offended you?”
“Not in the least.” He found all of this intriguing, in fact.
“You seem well acclimated.”
“Acclimated?” He laughed. “You have no idea how hard I’ve worked not to be acclimated to this area. I’m the opposite of most everyone you see here—a fellow with a solid upbringing. No rowdy, raucous free-for-alls. No gambling. No drinking. Born and raised with the same neighbors, same church folks on Sundays.”
“Rather out of your element, then.”
Her words had a lilt, an unusual accent, one he couldn’t quite place.
“Say that again.”
She repeated the phrase: “Rather out of your element, then.”
He did his best not to repeat the words aloud. “Sounds so different when you say it. Where are you from?”
“England, of course. Nottingham, by way of London.”
“I wish I had your gift for picking up on speech patterns. Couldn’t quite figure it out.”
“I’m still speaking English, you know.”
“A different version than the English I grew up with in Independence.”
“But English, all the same.”
The air hung thick between them and Samuel couldn’t tell if he had offended her or not. “Can you teach me to sound like that?” he asked after a moment.
Abby cocked her head. “Now I know you’re making fun of me.”
“I’m not. The Gold Rush Inn could stand a bit of refinement. Let’s start with my speech. You turn me into a proper gentleman, and we’ll attract a finer crowd.”
“I’ve no need to change you. Why, I barely even know you.” She flattened her palms against her skirt.
“You can’t picture me in a fine suit with slicked-back hair?”
Her cheeks flushed as she looked at him. “I can picture it.”
“Then teach me your ways and I shall be your willing pupil.” He did his best to sound formal. “Our patrons will thank you.”
Her gaze traveled to the Gold Rush Inn with its chipped paint and crumbling exterior. “I doubt your patrons will care, one way or the other. You’ll pardon my saying so, at least I hope you will, but if I had stumbled across an inn with the words ‘gold rush’ in the name, I might have anticipated something altogether different.”
“Oh?” Sam gazed at the inn and tried to see it through her eyes. “How so?”
A thoughtful look passed over her. “Well, the word gold brings to mind refinement. Beauty. Elegance.”
He snorted. “Around here, the word gold brings to mind mining, Levis, icy river waters, and panning.”
“I see.” Her nose wrinkled, and for the first time he noticed a splattering of freckles. “Nevertheless, an inn with such a name might be a little more …”
“Fancy?”
“Tidy. If you’ll forgive me for stating the obvious.”
Sam gave the building a closer look. “I’ll admit, she could use a bit of a fix-up, but Father hasn’t had time for that. He’s been too busy taking care of the bills associated with the running of such a place.” And what bills they were, especially the ones from Marcus Denueve.
“Folks always say you can’t judge a book by its cover—or in this case, an inn by its exterior—but I disagree. Folks do judge by outward appearance, whether we like to admit it or not.”
“Not the fellas around here, I assure you. As long as they have a pillow to rest their head and a hot meal, they are happy.”
She gave him an incredulous look. “But aren’t you trying to attract a new crowd, perhaps bring in the type of people who wouldn’t ordinarily frequent such a place?”
“Such a place?” Surely she didn’t mean to trample on his toes, but the words stung.
At once her expression softened. “I’m sorry. I’m just saying that you could bring in a high-end clientele if you put a lovely facade on the front of the building.”
“We’re not lacking for business, if that’s your implication. We rarely have a room to spare, trust me. I’m not looking for new—what did you call it, again? Clientele?”
“Yes.” Abby gave the building another look. “Forgive me. I’ve overstepped.” She turned his way with an apologetic look. “I tend to do that. I su
ppose you could call me a fixer.”
“No harm done. And for the record, I was just joking when I asked you to teach me how to speak. I don’t need a facade, and neither does our building. The men around here could care less about formalities. They’re looking for serviceable, not fancy.”
“Then they will appreciate the handkerchiefs at the general store.”
“Beg your pardon?”
“Nothing.” She shook her head. “I must agree that the people here are different, but I find them fascinating.”
“Half these men come in here wide-eyed, filled with wonder and hope. The other half have watched the rivers play out. They’re regretting the money they’ve wasted over the past couple of years and the gold nuggets they’ve thrown around like pieces of dirt. Wishing they had it all back.”
“Big money, big problems.” Abigail released a sigh. “That’s what my father always says.”
“Your father is right.” Samuel gave her a tender glance. “Sounds like a good man.”
“He is. Just a little … preoccupied.”
“With business?”
“Yes. As are many men, I suppose. But Father would have been better served to pay more attention to the goings-on at home. Maybe then Mother wouldn’t have …” Her words drifted off and her cheeks blazed red. “I’m sorry. I’ve said too much.”
“Folks always say I’m the kind of fella you can talk to about pretty much anything. And as for what you’ve said, it’s a good reminder to keep things in balance, I suppose. I’ve watched my father do the same thing. I dare say he will have many regrets at the end of his days, having chosen the love of money over the love of family.”
“Precisely.”
She gave him a sympathetic glance, and in that moment, he felt they probably had more in common than he’d imagined.
“Our fathers are not the only men to set their sights on money.” She turned back toward the barbershop window, appearing more anxious than before.
“The town is full of such men. Ever heard the phrase ‘chain reaction’?”
“Of course.”
“Well, that’s what’s happened here. That first nugget was found, and word got out. Next thing you know, folks started trickling in. Then they came like a flood. Then, before we knew it, we were drowning in people from all over the world.”
“I’ve never seen such a mix of cultures before, though Jimmy told me to expect it.” She pointed to a group of men walking by. “Chinese?”
“By the thousands.”
“They’ve come such a long way to seek their fortune. I do hope they find what they’re looking for.”
“They have families to feed back home. A trip—however hazardous—to the Land of Opportunity, and they can care for their families’ needs for a lifetime. Most have set up shop and earn their gold that way, not from the rivers.”
“Wise.”
“We’ve got fellas from Central America too. And Germany. Name your country and it’s represented here. San Francisco has become a melting pot of cultures.”
“Fascinating.”
“One fellow tried to pay me in foreign coins. I had to turn him down. You’ll find lots of languages here, but only one common currency.”
“The dollar bill?” she asked.
“Gold nuggets. Don’t be surprised if the fellas tip in gold. But beware fool’s gold. It’ll get you every time.”
“My goodness. Well, speaking of gold, I’ve found the prices here to be rather …”
“Shocking?”
“To say the least. I’m stunned. I’m not sure how long we’ll be staying at the Ivory Tower.” She released a sigh and he could read the disappointment in her eyes.
“I’m afraid we’re all full up at the Gold Rush Inn, unless you happen to be looking for a job. I’ve got a room waiting for our new cook’s assistant.”
“Job?” Those beautiful blue eyes widened.
“Yep. You interested?”
“Oh, no, I …” She looked stunned by the very suggestion, and he was sorry he’d brought it up.
“How long are you planning to stay?”
“Until the roads open up to Oregon Territory.”
“You’ve got a few weeks then. Spring thaws always wash ’em out until at least June.”
“I see.” She paused and appeared to lose herself to her thoughts. “What sort of position did you say you’re wanting to fill?” she asked after a few moments of silence. “I’m not saying I’m interested, but in case I stumble across someone who is.”
“I need someone to help out Cookie in the kitchen and to help me wait tables. Ever done anything like that before?”
She shook her head.
“Never too late to start. You’d catch on quick.”
“Doubtful, but I will keep it in mind.” She jerked to her feet and grabbed her bundle. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’ll be on my way to the hotel. I’m suddenly exhausted.”
“What about your butler?”
“If you don’t mind, please tell him I’ve gone on ahead.” Abigail turned on her heel and headed down the road toward the Ivory Tower.
The decision to stay on in San Francisco was an easy one, at least to Abby’s way of thinking. Neville didn’t appear convinced, and all the less whenever they had to venture outdoors, where the local men caroused the days away. Abby got used to the jeers and even the marriage proposals, and learned to ignore them as she made her way back and forth to the various shops and the restaurant.
One thing troubled her, though. The dwindling finances were a bit of an issue. She could always appeal to Father’s good nature, of course. He wouldn’t leave her hanging. She knew that in her heart of hearts. He would spring for more time at the Ivory Tower, but she couldn’t really justify spending that kind of money, just for a bed to sleep in.
After a full week in town, Abby and Neville settled into a routine that included daily meals at the Gold Rush Inn. On the first Friday in June, they made their trek to the restaurant for breakfast. Along the way, several men hollered their affections, one pausing to bow the knee while he hollered, “Marry me, honey!”
Abby responded with the words, “I’ll have to think about it,” to which Neville slapped himself on the forehead.
They settled in at the restaurant and Cookie approached their table, coffeepot in hand. She filled Abby’s cup and offered a welcoming smile. Then she turned Neville’s way.
“I know, I know. Tea, not coffee. I’ll have to set the kettle on to boil, so it’ll be a few minutes.”
“Good tea is worth waiting for.”
“Glad you think my tea is good.” She gave him a little wink and his cheeks turned red.
“I wouldn’t go that far, but it’s a sure sight better than coffee.”
“Then you haven’t tried my coffee.” The cook gave him a knowing look. “You’d be singing a different tune altogether.”
“Nevertheless, tea it will be.” Neville gave her a knowing look.
“Certainly. Tea for the faint of heart.” Her right eyebrow elevated. “Now, bacon or sausage, folks?”
“Mmm. Bacon,” Abby responded.
“And you like your eggs sunny side up, if I recall.”
“You’re really good, Cookie.” She gave the woman an admiring look.
“Thanks.” The friendly cook gave her a little wink and then turned to face Neville. “Don’t tell me. Two slices of bacon, crisp, and one egg, poached.”
“Please and thank you.”
Cookie shifted the coffeepot to her other hand. “Knew I’d get it right. Don’t get many orders for poached eggs around here. Now, how are you two managing? Things going well?”
Abby placed her napkin on her lap and smoothed it with her palms. “In one week’s time, I’ve received four proposals of marriage, one indecent offer that I dare not repeat aloud, and a plea from one of the miners to encourage all of my unmarried friends to move to San Francisco at their earliest possible convenience.”
“Oh my.”
“Indeed.” Abby sighed. “These offers are coming at me so fast they’re making my head spin. And to think, we’ve only been in town seven days. I could be happily married by now.”
Neville’s nose wrinkled. “Your father would be appalled at the very idea of that.”
“No doubt. Though I dare say he would be rather proud of me for forging ahead undeterred.”
“Sounds like a reasonable fellow.” Cookie gave her a nod. “But I still say keep your distance. These fellas are too brave for their own good.”
“Oh?”
“I’ve seen some of ’em win or lose their shirts—and by shirts, I mean their whole fortune—in a matter of minutes.”
“By gambling?”
“Yes, and don’t even ask how they spend their money outside of the gambling halls.” She gestured with her head toward a woman in a dark-green silk dress just outside the open door of the restaurant. “Let’s just say these farm boys from the Midwest have made other discoveries than merely gold.”
“Oh, I see.” Abby did her best not to gasp aloud as she witnessed a young woman walk right up to a fellow and plant a kiss on his cheek, right there in front of everyone.
Abby felt her cheeks grow warm. “Gracious.” She fanned herself.
Cookie shook her head. “It’s all around you here. You can either close your eyes to it or use it as an opportunity to pray. Me? I’ve been on my knees for nigh on two years now, giving the Almighty my suggestions for how to fix this.”
“And yet …” Abby didn’t complete her sentence. Instead, she found herself captivated by a familiar handsome man who passed by the front door of the restaurant.
“Keep your distance from that one,” Cookie whispered. “Marcus Denueve. Owner of the general store.”
“Oh, right. I met him my second day in town. He’s a rare gentleman in this town. And so handsome.”
“Yes, well, handsome is as handsome does, so they say.”
“What do you mean?” Abby asked.
“Let’s just say men in California do things they would never think of doing elsewhere,” Cookie said ominously. “Shameful things. Dangerous things. But I dare say they would be better off living within the confines of a few biblical rules, starting with ‘Love thy neighbor as thyself.’”
My Heart Belongs in San Francisco, California Page 5
