She’d no sooner gotten the words out than a man on the sidewalk punched another in the jaw. The second man went toppling backward, hitting a pole and then falling into the street.
“See what I mean?” Cookie walked over and shut the front door. “Love thy neighbor.”
“Indeed.” Abby brushed loose hairs out of her face. “Is it always like this?”
“Usually.”
“Why are they so angry?”
“They’re not. They’re bored. And intoxicated.”
“I’ve been bored before. I didn’t take it out on my neighbor’s face.”
“You’re a young woman with a proper upbringing. A few of these fellas are angry over legal matters—who owns what claim, that sort of thing. They’re all just entrepreneurs at heart, I guess.” Cookie paused. “Now eat your breakfast, then wait a spell before leaving. Don’t want you to get caught up in the fray.”
Cookie disappeared into the kitchen. Abby glanced around the room in search of Sam Harris. She located him at last, deep in conversation with the minister and his wife.
To her right, Neville cleared his throat. “Miss, I feel sure all of this would bring your father to his knees, and that is precisely why I have written to him to apprise him of our current … situation.”
“You wrote to Father?” Abby sat up straight and gave him a pensive look. “But I already sent him a message myself, the morning after we arrived. Remember?”
“Yes. My note has a slightly different tone. There is only so long a person can walk through the valley of the shadow before sensing impending doom.”
“Such drama.” She fought the temptation to roll her eyes. “And so much for learning to be content, Neville. Honestly.”
He snapped his napkin and placed it in his lap. “You will forgive me in time, no doubt. And for the record, I’m quite content with the note I sent your father, so there you go.”
“But I asked you not to alarm him.” Abby felt her lips curl down in a frown. “I thought I could trust you.”
“Trust me?” His eyes narrowed. “Trust me? Miss Abigail, I’ve proven myself trustworthy to your family since your parents acquired my services when they moved to Nottingham. I’ve known you since you toddled around the estate in nappies. I was there when you fell out of a tree at age six and I bandaged your knee myself. And did I not protect you from that villainous Morrison girl when you were fourteen?”
“Well, yes.”
“Then you must trust me when I say that writing your father was for your good. And mine too. I cannot abide this town much longer.”
A couple of patrons entered the restaurant. Through the open door, the sound of a racket in the street drew Abby’s attention. From where she was sitting, she could see the two men still going at it. One of the fellows, who no doubt was liquored up from the night before, punched the other in the jaw. This sent the second man reeling backward into the barbershop sign. The barber barreled out of his shop, waving his razor in the direction of the man who’d fallen, only to have the first man punch him in the jaw as well.
Sam rushed over and shut the door then looked her way with a shrug. Likely he felt he was doing her a favor, shutting out the outside world.
Much like Neville was doing by contacting her father.
Did everyone in town think she was a child in need of care?
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think we’d stumbled upon a stage play, a comedy of errors. Only, these actors are real, or as close to real as one can get in a place like this.” She suppressed a sigh as she turned to face Neville. “I’m sorry you felt it necessary to contact Father, but I feel sure he will respond reasonably. As long as he doesn’t send a posse after us, I think we’ll recover nicely from our visit to San Francisco.”
“If I know your father as well as I think I do, he will come himself.”
“Are you saying he would venture all the way to California to fetch me when he wouldn’t go to the Oregon Territory to fetch Mother? Where’s the sense in that?”
“He’s a smart man. Your father will surely realize that your mother will join you. This will propel him, I feel sure. And think about it, Miss Abigail. When your mother arrives, you will have two for the price of one, both parents in one place.”
Why, of course. It was the only thing that made sense. Both parents in San Francisco? She could almost picture it now.
“And as soon as your father realizes you and your mother are here together, he will sweep you up and carry you both back home to the safety and comfort of a lovely place called Philadelphia.”
“I thought you hated Philadelphia, Neville. Didn’t you tell me, just a few days back, that you wanted to go back to Nottingham?”
“Miss Abigail, if I must choose between San Francisco and Philadelphia, I will go with Philadelphia every time. Now, don’t fret. Your parents will come and this nightmare will end.”
“It’s not a nightmare at all. More like an entertaining dream. I find it very fascinating.” She watched through the window as the local sheriff strode into the middle of the street to break up the ongoing fight. “If not a bit messy.” A forced smile followed.
“Whatever you say, Miss Abigail. Stiff upper lip, then. Hold steady till troops arrive.”
“It sounds like I’m not the one who needs to hold steady.”
“Maybe the Good Lord brought you here. Ever think of that?” Cookie’s voice sounded from behind them and Abby turned to discover the woman holding a tray filled with plates of steaming food. “If you read the Good Book, you’ll see that lots of folks were sent to places they didn’t really want to be. Take Moses, for instance. And Joseph. All of ’em, stuck in foreign lands.” She set their plates down in front of them, somehow managing to hold onto the tray in the process. Abby marveled at her skill. The woman could cook, serve, and carry on a decent conversation, all at the same time.
“This is a foreign land, all right.” Neville pursed his lips. “But don’t romanticize this situation, Miss Cookie.”
“Miss Cookie?” She laughed. “Honey, if you can’t call me Cookie, plain and simple, then use my real name.”
“All right, Cookie-Plain-and-Simple. And by the way, you’ve forgotten my tea.”
“It’s coming to a boil on the stove, so hold your horses. And guard your words, please.” She looked for a moment as if she might want to slug Neville, if not for the tray in her hand. “The name’s Helga, by the way. But what were we talking about, again?”
“You were chastising me, Helga.” Neville dabbed at his lips with his napkin. “Insofar as I can recall.”
“No such thing. Just reminding you that God uses every road we travel to teach us lessons, so keep your eyes open. Maybe He’s got a thing or two to share with you both on this journey out west.”
“Humph. I’d sooner not learn any more lessons, if you please, and certainly not in this crowd. Send me back to the quiet life and I’ll be happy as a lark.”
“Not much for crowds, eh?” Cookie pursed her lips. “I’ll admit, the chaos that comes with such a large influx of people can be a bit overwhelming.”
“To say the least.” Neville reached for his fork and tapped his egg’s shell.
“Not sure any of the locals were prepared for the crowd, either,” Cookie said. “Imagine throwing a party and inviting twenty guests. Twenty-five thousand show up.”
“Gracious.” Abby picked up a piece of her bacon and took a nibble. Mmm.
“From what I understand, that’s what it’s been like in the San Francisco area and beyond. The influx overwhelmed all the locals the first few years after gold was discovered. There weren’t enough beds, enough tools for panning. There wasn’t even enough food, which is why they put me to work.”
“You didn’t come to open a restaurant?” Neville asked.
“Me?” Cookie laughed. “I came to feed Mr. Harris and young Sammy. That’s all. I pictured myself in a fine two-story house, much like the one in Independence. I’d spend my days tending to t
he two of them, not hundreds more, to boot.”
“What a shock that must have been.” Abby set down her slice of bacon and wiped her greasy fingers on her napkin.
“Let’s just say I never like to see a man go hungry, and leave it at that. The first month I was here I saw fellas who’d give their right arm for a homemade biscuit. I didn’t know much, but I knew how to make biscuits.” Her lips curled up in a smile. “I don’t mind saying, I made quite a killing on those biscuits, enough to sock away some funds for a rainy day.”
Abby wasn’t sure which stunned her more, the idea that Cookie had been willing to come all this way just to tend to Sam and Mr. Harris’s needs or that she’d found a way to earn a lucrative career doing something she loved.
“Fellas came from all over town to buy.” Her face lit in a delightful smile. “One offered me ten dollars for two biscuits with homemade gravy.”
“Ten dollars?” Neville almost choked on his egg.
Cookie’s eyes sparkled. “I turned him down, of course. But these poor fellas had empty bellies, and I certainly knew what to do about that. So, I filled ’em. Started with biscuits and gravy, then I added flapjacks. Before long, Mr. Harris decided I should open the restaurant. After six months or so, he built on rooms and turned the place into the Gold Rush Inn.”
“So, that’s how this place came to be.” Abby grabbed her fork and speared her egg. “All started with a biscuit.”
“Yes’m. Started with a small dining hall and kitchen. Now look where we are.” Cookie swung her arms wide to show off the place. “I’ve got a full-service kitchen and hundreds of hungry men who flood this place, day and night. And I’m doing my best to keep up with ’em, but I’m no spring chicken. Some days I long for simpler times.” She paused. “Then I think of the potential to reach some of these fellas for the Lord, and all the aches and pains are worth it.”
“I’m rather flabbergasted by the sheer number of men in this town, if you want the truth of it.”
“I was too, at first. In fact, I think everyone in the territory was floored to see such a rapid influx of fellas, and from all over the world too.”
“No doubt.”
“Have you ever heard the expression ‘too big for yer britches’?” Cookie asked.
“It’s not a phrase we use in England, but I am familiar, yes.” Abby dabbed her lips with her napkin. “Why do you ask?”
“San Francisco is too big for her britches. And you know what happens when things grow too fast.”
“What’s that?”
“Seams start popping. Threads burst. It’s awkward and uncomfortable. That’s what’s happened here. Too many people, not enough places to put them. Too much gold, not enough places to invest or spend. Too many single men, not enough wives to calm them down. I believe you can see the dilemma. San Francisco’s pants are popping at the seams.”
“Fascinating picture, indeed.”
“Yes, and I’ve barely scratched the surface of how tough it’s been, if you want the truth of it. Half these fellas lived in tents the first year or two. Now that banker fella’s put up shanties to house them. Terrible places.” Cookie’s nose wrinkled. “Wouldn’t put my dog in one of ’em.”
“Gracious.”
“I suppose it was to be expected. Just four years ago San Francisco was a sleepy town of five hundred. Look at us now! Over twenty-five thousand folks. We’re about to bust a gut.” She paused. “I’m trying to get to a point here.” Cookie stretched her back and her brows grew together in an agonized expression. “This is all too much for me, even with Jin’s help. I can’t go on like this or my poor old body will break down.” She gave Abby a pleading look. “I need help from someone young. Strong. Capable.”
Abby’s heart quickened. “Why are you looking at me?”
“Because you’re young. Strong. Capable.”
“In the kitchen? Truly you don’t know me, or you would know that I could never—”
“Not just the kitchen, but the dining hall as well. Waiting tables. I need all the help I can get. Wouldn’t turn down a soul who offered.” Cookie’s gaze shifted to Neville, who flinched. “Room and board, of course, and a small salary to boot. I would make sure you were both comfortable, well-fed, and taken care of. I’ll even throw in free laundry, if you’re interested. Maggie O’Callahan is our washerwoman. She’s a peach.”
“There’s not enough clean laundry in the state of California to entice me.” Neville shook his head. “Waiting tables? Have things come to that? We’ve only been here a few days, after all, and I feel sure, Miss Abigail, that your father would frown on the idea.”
“Did Sam put this notion into your head?” Abby asked.
A hint of mischief played in Cookie’s twinkling eyes. “He might have mentioned it, yes, but I’m in agreement. It just makes sense, if you plan to stick around, I mean.” Her lips curled up in an impish smile. “And I sure do hope you’re gonna stick around. I’ve gotten rather used to you two.” Her gaze turned to Neville. “Even if you refuse to drink my coffee.”
“We do plan to stay awhile.” Abby paused before saying more. After thinking it through, she looked Neville’s way. “There may be some sense to her request, Neville. We can’t go on sitting in an expensive hotel, waiting on Mother to arrive. It’s a ridiculous waste of funds when we could be sleeping here, at the Gold Rush Inn, for free.”
Neville nodded. “I wholeheartedly agree. Being in San Francisco is a ridiculous waste of funds, which is exactly why I feel we should book the coach to return to St. Louis. Just say the word and I’m on my way to the depot.”
Strong feelings arose inside of Abby. She shook her head, determined. “I’m waiting for Mother. I won’t go back without her. She will come, as soon as the roads are clear. I know she will. And, as you said, Father will likely join us too. This is an adventure, Neville, remember?”
Neville’s downcast expression conveyed his feelings.
From outside a shout rang out, followed by gunfire. Horse’s hooves pounded the street and more shots filled the air.
Sam jumped up from his spot at Reverend Linden’s table and raced to the door. He spared a glance their way as he passed by. “Abby, get under the table. Cookie, you too.” His voice carried a frantic edge to it.
“What?” Abby’s heart skipped a beat. “Why?”
He gave her a “Don’t question me” look, and she dove under the table. Cookie took a bit longer, her wider girth a bit harder to maneuver to the ground. She somehow managed to hold onto the tray all the while.
“Never pictured myself having breakfast under a table,” Neville said as he eased into the spot next to Cookie. “What kind of foolishness is this?”
“‘For where envying and strife is, there is confusion and every evil work.’” Cookie set the tray down. “Third chapter of James, verse sixteen.”
“You can say that twice and mean it,” Neville countered.
Abby half-expected Cookie to repeat the scripture, but she did not. As more shots rang out, Abby began to perspire. Neville looked as if he might be ill. Cookie, on the other hand, didn’t look any the worse for wear. In fact, she looked downright relaxed.
“I’m making vegetable soup for lunch. Already got it on the stove, simmering. Homemade cornbread too.”
“Haven’t had a good vegetable soup in ages,” Neville observed, and then took a bite of the bacon he’d somehow managed to hang onto. “And cornbread will be a novelty.”
“You’ll never settle for less once you’ve tasted mine. Man shall not live by bread alone, unless it’s Cookie’s cornbread.” She gave Neville a wink and his cheeks flushed.
This led to a detailed discussion about the seasonings she used in her cooking, which almost served to distract Abby from the brawl going on in the street.
After some time, the noise subsided. Sam lifted the tablecloth and peered down at them. “All right, the danger has passed. You can come out now.”
Abby stared up into his concerned face, not quit
e convinced. “Are you sure?”
“Very. Those fellas headed on down the road with the sheriff on their tail. Don’t think they’ll have the courage to turn around.”
Abby crawled out and accepted Sam’s assistance to stand. “Gracious.” She smoothed her skirt and contended with the shiver that wriggled its way down her spine. “That was certainly unexpected.”
“Not around here.” His gaze swept over her. “Are you all right?”
“I suppose so.” She glanced at Neville, stunned to see his disheveled appearance as he rose in one fluid motion from his spot under the table. “Neville?”
“Hmm?” He raked his fingers through his thinning hair.
“You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”
“We don’t get a lot of shootings in Philadelphia, Miss Abigail. It will take me some time to acclimate.” He helped Cookie to her feet, even wrestling the tray out of her hands.
After she reached a standing position, Cookie slapped him on the back. “Acclimate. Now that’s a two-dollar word if I ever heard one. Ain’t a lot of acclimating round here. We mostly just get used to things and don’t let ’em affect us anymore.”
“As I said … acclimate.”
“Is that the same thing as learning to be content, Neville?” Abby asked.
“‘Not that I speak in respect of want: for I have learned, in whatsoever state I am, therewith to be content.’” Cookie clasped her hands together. “One of my favorites. Philippians four, verse eleven.”
Neville grunted. “Take me into that kitchen of yours, Miss Cookie-Plain-and-Simple, and let me see what you’ve got simmering in there.”
From the look on his face, something was simmering inside of Neville too. Abby felt sure of it. Perhaps the family butler was—what was the word he’d used, again? Ah yes, acclimating.
You all right, Sammy?” Cookie’s words roused Sam from his thoughts as he stared out the restaurant’s large glass-paned window to watch the sun dip in the sky to the west.
“Yes.” He glanced her way. “Just thinking about how fascinating it is that we used to watch this very same sunset from our porch in Independence.”
My Heart Belongs in San Francisco, California Page 6
