My Heart Belongs in San Francisco, California

by Janice Thompson

  “Keep your eyes on the road,” she scolded after the horses threatened to careen into a ditch. “I’d like to live to see the bay, if you please.”

  He snapped to attention and nodded. “Sorry ’bout that. Have a lot on my mind.”

  “If you’d like to survive to tell about it, stay focused.”

  The time passed in quiet reflection before Sam finally thought of a way to engage her in conversation. “What do you think of San Francisco so far, Abby?”

  “It’s not as I’d pictured, and certainly not quite the painting in my head after the conversation with Jimmy Blodgett on the train. But I’m learning my way.”

  “Good.”

  “Of course, I feel like I’m choking on dust half the time.”

  “And the other half?”

  “Is spent in a whirl, trying to ease my way through the ever-present mob of fellas trying to propose to me.”

  “They’re still proposing to you?” This got him rankled, but he tried not to let it show.

  She nodded. “But no worries. I’m going to keep my distance.”

  “Good idea, Abby. Distance is a good thing.” Sam didn’t trust himself to say more, though he certainly wanted to. Instead, he turned his attention to playing the role of tour guide as they made their way toward the bay. He babbled on about the role French immigrants had played in shaping the town, and even pointed out several jewelry shops, silk merchants, and the like. He made note of the various banks, and lit into a discussion about how robber barons had invaded the town, their mansions gaining fame among the locals.

  Finally, when he felt sure he’d bored her to tears, he told her about the latest chocolate shop in town, a new place called Ghirardelli’s.

  “Sounds marvelous.” She released a contented sigh. “Nothing wins my heart like chocolate.”

  “So, that’s the way to your heart then?” he asked as he slowed the horses to a more reasonable gait. He would have to keep that in mind.

  “Chocolate is the way to every woman’s heart,” she countered, flashing him a bright smile.

  Moments later, the sparkling waters of the bay came into view.

  Abby leaned forward and put her palms to her cheeks. “Oh, Sam, it’s glorious.” She reached over and grabbed his hand. “To think I came all this way to San Francisco and stopped just short of the water. Who would have known this was just beyond? Thank you, thank you for bringing me.”

  “You’re welcome.” He paused, enjoying the feel of her hand in his. “Isn’t that often how it is in life? We work so hard, get so close to God’s best, but stop short because we think we’ll never make it? It’s like taking the time to pluck the chicken but not fry it up.”

  “I hadn’t thought of it that way, but I’m sure you’re right.” She rested her gaze on the water for a moment before pulling her hand back. “I just can’t believe how pretty it is. These rolling hills. That water. What a paradise. And to think, it was here all along.”

  “Hardly a paradise.” He laughed. “Never heard anyone call San Francisco that, anyway.”

  They fell silent and stared at the water for a couple of minutes. Then Sam clucked his tongue and stirred the horses to action. “C’mon, boys. Let’s go to market.”

  Moments later they approached the fishermans’ market. Abby’s nose wrinkled as the overpowering scent of fish—both fresh and spoiled—filled the air.

  “Sorry. Should’ve warned you, I guess.”

  “Oh, my.” She reached for her reticule and opened it, then pulled out a hankie, which she brought to her nose.

  “Guess I’m used to it,” Sam said with a shrug. “Hardly bothers me anymore.”

  “I dare say it might be awhile before I grow acclimated to such an odor.” Abby coughed.

  “Not as bad as plucking chickens, though, right?” He laughed.

  The smile that followed from Abby brought joy to his heart. He pulled the horses to a stop and jumped down, then rounded the wagon to the other side and helped Abby down.

  “Time to pick out some fish for dinner.”

  “I wouldn’t know where to start.”

  “Follow my lead.” He crooked his arm and gestured for her to slip her hand through. “Better stay close. Don’t want to lose you.”

  The words struck him directly in the heart. Before long, he would lose her. Her parents would arrive, and they would take her back to Philadelphia. He would never see her again.

  The fact that this suddenly brought so much pain caught him completely by surprise.

  Abby made her way through the fish market, her arm linked with Sam’s. This place was unlike anything she’d ever seen or smelled.

  “What do you think of this fellow?” Sam pointed down at a large fish. “It’s a bass.”

  Abby glanced down and the creature’s beady eyes stared up at her. She swallowed hard and allowed the wave of nausea to pass over her. “The only fish I’ve ever seen are filleted and broiled, then placed on my plate.”

  “Well, they have to come from somewhere. Didn’t you ever consider that?”

  She turned to face him. “Sam, I must confess, there’s a lot I never thought about before. Everything in my very spoiled life has been handed to me, ready to go. Every bite of food … prepared. Every article of clothing … pressed and ready. Everything. Don’t you see? I’m utterly and completely clueless. How you ended up with such a person in your kitchen is confounding, at best. Either God has a delightful sense of humor and is playing a terrible joke on you and Cookie …” She glanced back down at the fish. “Or maybe He’s trying to teach me a lesson I won’t soon forget.”

  “I suppose that’s possible.”

  “I must confess, I’ve been one of those girls who grew accustomed to the finer things in life.”

  “Things?”

  “You know, possessions. I used to think they were important. I suppose I learned from my father. He cares a great deal about impressing others with our family’s status.”

  “Ah, I see. ‘What shall it profit a man if he shall gain the whole world…’”

  “Only to lose his soul.” She sighed. “Now you sound like Cookie, with a verse for every situation.”

  “Hardly. I can barely remember my own name, let alone chapter and verse of every scripture.” He paused. “And just for the record, I’m not saying your father has lost his soul, so please don’t misunderstand. I don’t even know the man. That scripture just popped into my head, that’s all.”

  “I don’t really know where Father stands with the Lord, if you want the honest truth of it.” Her heart quickened. “I’m not really sure about either of my parents. We attended church in Nottingham, of course. Everyone did.”

  “Unlike here, where almost no one attends church.”

  “True.” She paused and felt her lips curl down into a frown. “I suppose some would say that church attendance is indicative of where one stands with the Lord, but even in that—attendance, I mean—Father was a bit of a showman.”

  “How so?”

  “Let’s just say that his demeanor inside the church was a bit different from his actions outside. I used to love to go to church services because it was the only time I ever saw him slip his arm around Mother’s waist or speak to her with any sort of affection. At home he was rather … cold.”

  “Sad.”

  “Yes. And sadder still that I didn’t realize how bad things had gotten between them until I asked Neville.” Abby startled to attention. “How did we jump from talking about possessions to church attendance?”

  “Natural progression, I suppose. The point is, we’re not always who we appear to be.”

  Sam looked nervous as he spoke the words. When he added, “I suppose that could be said of any of us,” Abby wondered if, perhaps, he was trying to tell her something.

  At that very moment, her gaze landed on something slimy looking. She extended her index finger. “Oh, my goodness! What is that?”

  “Squid.” Sam laughed. “Would you like to try it?” />
  Bile rose in her throat and she looked away. “No, thank you.”

  All around, people called out in a variety of languages. Chinese, she recognized, after spending so much time around Jin. And she felt sure the man to her right was speaking Italian. Or Spanish. But the fellow with the blond hair? She couldn’t even begin to place his language.

  “That’s Bjorn,” Sam said, as if reading her mind. “We call him The Swede.”

  “Ah. Swedish, then. Couldn’t make it out to save my life.”

  “Don’t be too impressed with me. I only happen to know because we’ve met and I know his story.” Sam paused and appeared to lose himself in his thoughts. “They’ve all got a story, just like you and me,” he said after a moment.

  “Fascinating, to think about it like that.”

  “Isn’t it?” When he glanced her way, she could read the joy in his expression. “I love it when all of the languages overlap. It’s like a symphony playing a marvelous piece of music with a multiplicity of parts.”

  “I’ve been to the symphony, Sam,” she countered. “It didn’t sound anything like this.”

  “Speaking figuratively, of course. Picture each language as a different type of instrument.”

  “If I could think clearly, I would, but it’s so loud here—and the smells are so strong—my senses are completely overwhelmed.”

  She might be overwhelmed, but Abby could not deny one thing: as she watched Sam interact with the locals, as she saw him bartering over his purchases, she found herself drawn to him in a way she never had before. Sam Harris was a fine man, a respected man. And though she hadn’t planned to see him as anything other than her employer, she had to admit that something about him tugged at her heart in a way she simply could not explain.

  Abby enjoyed her visit to the fish market, in spite of the smells. Most of all, she enjoyed the fact that she could, for once, completely relax. No urgent matters awaited her. No dishes to wash. No tables to wait. No guests to avoid. Here, with Sam at her side, she could simply … be.

  “You’ve gone quiet on me,” he observed. “Getting weary?”

  “Not at all.” She smiled. “I’m enjoying myself so much.”

  “Glad to hear it. Would you like to make a little stop on the way back? There’s an overlook I’d love to show you, one with a beautiful view of the bay.”

  “Sounds marvelous. Are you sure Cookie won’t mind?”

  “This is my usual fish market day, so she’s accustomed to me being away awhile. Stop fretting, Abby. She won’t scold you.” He gave her a little wink that set her heart to fluttering. Playfulness sparkled in his eyes as he added, “And if she tries, I’ll fire her. How about that?”

  “I’m trying to picture the Gold Rush Inn without Cookie. Such a task is impossible.”

  He laughed. “True. And I could never let her go. She’s been like a mother to me, ever since mine passed away.”

  Abby’s heart went out to him in that moment. She’d never thought to ask him about his mother before. “I’m so sorry. When did you lose her?”

  “Two and a half years ago, just before we left St. Louis. In fact, I’m convinced her death was what prompted Father to come west. He couldn’t abide the idea of living in the same house he had shared with her. His heart was too broken, I think.”

  “That makes sense. Sometimes a building will carry memories so strong you can’t shake them.”

  “You sound as if you understand.”

  “I do. My memories of our home in Nottingham are precious to me. I miss that house so much. I’ve smiled and pretended to like Philadelphia too, but it’s not home to me. I’ve never adjusted, no matter how hard I’ve tried.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  The most magnificent view appeared in front of them as he turned the wagon to the right. Abby couldn’t help but gasp. “Oh, it’s wonderful, Sam. Breathtaking.”

  “This is my favorite place in all of San Francisco.” His eyes took on a faraway look as he pulled the horses to a halt. “Sometimes I come here just to think.”

  “I can see why.” Her gaze shifted back to the water—that glorious, magnificent water. “Now, this is a place I could become accustomed to.” Her thoughts shifted back to the conversation. “I’m not saying Philadelphia isn’t lovely. There are some scenic spots there too. But I just can’t seem to get used to it.” She allowed her thoughts to still as she took in the waters of the bay, twinkling under the midmorning sunlight. “But this? This might just be enough to win me over.”

  “Then I will bring you here every day.”

  His words caught her by surprise. She looked his way, heat creeping to her cheeks.

  Just as quickly, her thoughts contorted. She thought of Mother, all the way up in Oregon Territory. How many beautiful sights had her mother seen … without her? Without Father? How many breathtaking overlooks? How many fish markets? How many railroad stations?

  “Have I lost you again?”

  She shivered, a little chill suddenly gripping her.

  “It’s the breeze off of the bay.” He pulled off his jacket and draped it over her shoulders. “This should help.”

  “Thank you.” Thinking about Mama caused tears to cover her lashes. Sam handed her a handkerchief. “Please tell me those are tears of joy, not sadness.”

  “Just missing Mama, I guess. I can’t tell you how long it’s been since she went away. Six months? Seven? I’ve truly lost count. I honestly don’t know how a mother can go away like that and leave her child behind. Do you?”

  She turned to face him, but the somber look on his face reminded her at once of his own situation, his personal grief.

  “Oh, Sam, please forgive me.” She clasped her hands to her chest as full realization set in. “I told you, I’m a spoiled, selfish girl. I’m rambling on about my mama, and you’ve lost yours. Terribly insensitive of me.”

  “There’s nothing to forgive. And you feel the loss of your mother keenly. I can see that every time you mention her.”

  “Yes, but my situation in no way compares to yours. I can’t even picture what my life would be like if I lost Mother forever. My heart does go out to you. I just want you to know that.”

  “Thank you. There are some losses you learn to bear, but there are others that leave a hole you realize will never be filled.”

  “I can’t even imagine.” She rested her hand on his arm. “Still, my mother’s wanderlust hardly compares to a loss like yours.”

  “Your mama’s absent from your life and you are hurting.” He gave Abby a compassionate look. “Anyone can see that.”

  Abby’s eyes filled with tears, and she felt free to broach the conversation once again. “I just don’t understand her selfishness, Sam. I don’t. She puts her personal wants and wishes above, well, everything and everyone. Whenever she feels like flitting off on another adventure, there she goes, with not a care or a thought to how it will affect me.” A lone tear slipped down Abby’s cheek.

  Sam slipped his arm over her shoulder and she leaned into him, feeling more secure.

  “I suppose I’m grieving the mother that I wish I had,” she said. “Not the one I actually have. The type of mother who would agonize over parting with a child. A mother who would weep and wail at the very idea of such a lengthy separation. That’s the kind of mother every child deserves, not one who leaves without so much as a good-bye.”

  “She didn’t even say good-bye?”

  “Well, hardly a good-bye, anyway. Her bags were packed and in the foyer before I even knew she planned to leave. That was my first clue. Neville loaded them into the cab and off she went, headed for the train station.”

  “But surely she writes.”

  “To tell of her adventures, sure. And to ask Father to send money. And yes, there’s occasionally a little note for me, something meant to remind me that she’s still alive and well. But nothing of a personal nature. And certainly no emotional apologies for leaving or any letters stained with tears. Nothing al
ong those lines. Maybe I’ve been a fool to keep expecting those sorts of notes from her.”

  “Not foolish at all. And her behavior is certainly outside the norm. But God can change her heart. We need to pray that He does so—in His own time and His own way.”

  “Yes.” Abby paused and decided to shift the conversation a bit. “I feel your mother was different from mine.” Her eyes sought out Sam’s. “Tell me about her. What was your mother like, Sam?”

  Sam hated to respond, especially after hearing the painful description of her mother. But Abby looked as if she really wanted to know, so he told her.

  “She was … remarkable. Very much the kind of mother you would expect. Doting. Loved to play silly games. We played hide-and-seek in the house when I was a boy.” He paused as the sting of tears took him by surprise. “Sometimes I still look for her. I wonder if maybe she’s just hiding behind the library door or in the pantry.”

  “We do have that in common, as well.” Abby released a little sigh. “Many times I’ve thought I heard Mama’s voice, only to realize it was someone else. And I can’t tell you how many times I thought I recognized her in a crowd—usually from behind—a woman in a hat like hers or something like that.”

  His heart quickened and he could barely speak above the lump that rose in his throat. “Same here.”

  Abby’s expression shifted to chagrin. “There I go, changing the conversation back to myself again. See how selfish I am?” She sighed, and Sam found himself captivated by the curve of her face, the downward turn of her beautiful lips. Even when sad, Abby Effingham was exquisite.

  “I’m looking forward to the day when we’re reunited in heaven.” Sam turned his attention to the vast waters below. “Everything will be remedied there. In the meantime, it brings a certain degree of comfort to realize she’s not suffering. There’s no more pain or sorrow for her.”

  “A lovely thought.”

  “Father has changed so much, though. I think the grief has turned him into someone folks back home wouldn’t even recognize anymore.”

  “Maybe, but how wonderful, to have loved like that. My parents are cordial, at best. When Mama’s home, I mean.”