My Heart Belongs in San Francisco, California

by Janice Thompson

  “Surely you wouldn’t consider such a proposition.” The way she stressed the word proposition, Abby had to wonder if the word had double meaning.

  “I don’t think I will do it. I don’t think my skills are up to par. But what would it hurt to peek inside his new place and see that piano for myself? No harm done.”

  “Trust me, those aren’t the kind of skills Marcus is interested in.” Cookie brushed her hands on her skirt. “Anyway, it’s none of my business. Go if you like.” The flustered woman muttered something under her breath that Abby couldn’t quite make out, then turned Neville’s way. “Tell me you’re going with her. I won’t hear of her venturing into that place alone.”

  Neville blanched. “I cannot imagine going into such a place, but neither would I send her into a den of iniquity without a proper chaperone.”

  Abby did her best not to roll her eyes as his over-dramatic description of the Lucky Penny. Did everyone around here think she was a child, unable to walk into a restaurant on her own?

  “Come if you like, Neville. I won’t argue. Mr. Denueve was kind enough to extend the invitation to all of us. It’s not as if he singled me out.”

  “Sure he didn’t.” Cookie slammed another bag of flour onto the counter.

  “I will be like a ghost,” Neville said. “You won’t even see me. But I will be hovering in the background, ready to pounce, should the man so much as look at you improperly.”

  Abby doubted mightily that Neville would be discreet about his intentions. But, with her feelings in such a state, she didn’t really care what Neville or Cookie thought. She would go to that grand opening tonight and have a wonderful time.

  Sam paced the dining room, his heart in his throat. He wanted to rush upstairs, to knock on Abby’s door, and tell her not to go. Instead, he spent the time fretting and fuming.

  “Trust God, Sammy.” Cookie’s voice sounded from the open doorway. He swung around to face her. “Don’t try to fix this yourself. Isn’t that what you always tell me?”

  “Under most circumstances, yes. But this isn’t an ordinary circumstance.”

  “Because you’ve fallen for her, am I right?”

  As the words were spoken, all the fight washed right out of Samuel. He slumped down in a chair, his elbows landing on the table in front of him.

  “I can’t say I blame you, Sammy-boy. She’s a wonderful girl. If I got to pick God’s finest for you, I would’ve chosen her myself. And I understand why you want to protect her from the likes of Marcus Denueve. That man is wicked.”

  “Then why are you dead set against my intervening?”

  “You just need to move with caution, or your plan might backfire. If you’re not careful, you might drive her straight into his arms. That’s all I’m saying.”

  “I see.” He released a slow breath. “So, hang back? Do nothing?”

  “Pray. That’s all the Lord requires of you at the moment. When He gives the go-ahead, you can race across the great divide and save her from the fire-breathing dragon. In the meantime, take some assurance in the fact that Neville will be with her. He plans to keep a very close eye out.”

  “I sure hope so.”

  Sam found himself distracted by a noise at the top of the stairs. He looked up to see Abby descending, dressed in that beautiful blue dress of hers, the one that showed off her gorgeous eyes. He sprang from his seat and headed up the steps to offer her his arm.

  “Thank you, kind sir.” She released a girlish giggle. “Grateful for the help.”

  When they landed in the dining room, he reached for her hand. “Abby, you look wonderful. Prettier than a picture.”

  “Hardly. I’ve never been a beauty, even in my finest clothes, but I make do with what I’ve been given.”

  He stopped cold at her proclamation. “Are you serious?” His eyes came up to study her face. Based on her expression, she genuinely believed those words to be true.

  “I’ve never fancied myself pretty, even. To be honest, the boys back in Nottingham didn’t pay me much mind. I drew the conclusion some time ago that I wouldn’t even pretend to be something I’m not.” She appeared to lose herself in her thoughts.

  “You must be joshing me.” He stared at her, not quite sure what to make of all this. “What makes you think you’re not pretty?”

  She brushed a strand of loose hair out of her face. “The mirror?”

  “Then the mirror is lying.” He fought to control the emotion in his words. “Maybe you need to invest in a new one.”

  “Really?” She did not look convinced.

  “Really. I’m not just saying this to appease you, Abby. You’re a very beautiful woman.” He cleared his throat, the words causing a lump to rise.

  She fussed with her reticule. “In a town with only a handful of women, I suppose I look somewhat appealing.”

  “In a large city with thousands of women, you would still stand apart. The fact that you don’t see that just convinces me all the more of your inner beauty. Abby, I don’t know what fool notion has planted itself in your head, but you need to rid yourself of it immediately. You’re beautiful, inside and out. It has nothing to do with the number of women in town. If we’d met in St. Louis, if I’d seen you walking down the street in a crowd of women, I would have taken notice of you.”

  “Because of my bulbous nose, perhaps.”

  “No.” He took her hand. “There’s something about you that sets you apart. So accept the compliment. Begin to see yourself as God sees you. As I see you.”

  “Hmm.” She slipped the bag under her arm. “I will try.”

  “Remember how you dressed Les up in frills and lace, how everyone took notice of her outer beauty?”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s not like that with you. There’s no transformation necessary. And I’m not saying it was altogether necessary with her, either. Folks around here, at least those who were paying attention, always saw her charm. But in your case, it wouldn’t matter if you were wearing a dirty apron over a worn dress, your beauty would always shine through.”

  “Thank you.” When she looked his way, he couldn’t help but notice a hint of tears on her lashes.

  “I’ve made up my mind not to keep you from the grand opening, though it’s tearing me up inside.”

  “I’m a grown woman, Sam.”

  “Clearly.” His eyes swept the graceful curve of her waist. “And I’m not the only man who will notice, I assure you. So take care. That’s all I’ll say. Take care.”

  She muttered something under her breath that he couldn’t quite make out, but Sam found himself distracted by her beautiful upswept hair as she turned toward the door. Oh, how he wanted to run and grab her, to convince her not to leave.

  Instead, he planted his feet, whispered a prayer for her well-being, and watched her walk out the door.

  Abby did her best to look brave as she made her way down the sidewalk toward the Lucky Penny. Before long, Sam would see that she could fend for herself, even in a place that he and Cookie disapproved of. And what was wrong with attending the grand opening of one of San Francisco’s new eating establishments, after all? Surely half the town would be there.

  As they approached, she gave the Lucky Penny a closer look, her gaze landing on the rough-hewn facade and wooden boardwalk. The hitching posts were all in use, the horses content to rest while their masters took a meal inside. A watering trough for the horses was dry as a bone. Abby was tempted to stop and tend to the poor animals, but found herself distracted by the goings-on inside the restaurant.

  The noise level greeted her long before she walked through the double doors. She decided that half the town had shown up, after all. Judging from the sound of the voices, mostly men.

  Neville put his fingers in his ears and she could read the alarm in his eyes. “Sounds like a brawl. I say we turn back, Miss Abigail. Too risky.”

  “Don’t be silly. It’s just the crowd, Neville. Everyone is celebrating the grand opening of this fine new eating
establishment, that’s all.” Voices raised in song—and argument—barely edged out the rowdy piano music. She thought about what it would be like, to sit at that piano and entertain the guests. She could never play songs with that much gusto, even if she gave it her all.

  She brushed through the swinging doors and was greeted at the door by a couple of the older fellas, who let out a whistle as she came through. “Well, lookee here, Joe!” One of them elbowed the other. “We got us a real lady with us tonight.” He pulled off his Stetson and gave a bow. “Purty as a picture.”

  “A real lady, eh?” One of the saloon girls—a pretty blond—pushed her way past the man and approached Abby. She turned up her nose and then doubled back around to where she’d come from. “She ain’t so much.”

  Abby entered the room and looked around, overwhelmed. She’d never had all of her senses accosted at once like this. The smell of liquor hung thick in the air, as if ready to ease its way into her pores. The fellow at the piano banged out a song—if one could call it that—his forehead dripping with sweat. To her left, several of the men hollered at each other, one of them punching the other in the jaw. That, coupled with the smell of men who hadn’t bathed in many days, if not weeks, was almost more than she could bear. Would these folks consider it rude if she pinched her nose?

  Abby swayed and thought she might go down. Instead, she managed to lean against the long mahogany bar, where she did her best to catch her breath.

  “What’s your pleasure, folks?” a man behind the bar called out. “Drinks on the house tonight, thanks to our new proprietor.”

  “I’m looking for Mr. Denueve, actually,” Abby called back to the bartender. “Have you seen him?”

  “He’s around.” The edges of the man’s mustache tipped up in a smile. “Now, what can I get you?”

  “Nothing at the moment,” Neville hollered from behind her.

  “Yes, nothing at the moment,” Abby echoed. She rested the toe of her boot against the brass foot rail that encircled the base of the bar and her gaze shifted to the row of spittoons spaced along the floor. This place looked nothing like a restaurant. Along the edge of the bar, she noticed towels hanging. No telling what those were for.

  The man on the barstool next to her took a swig of his beer and used one of the towels to wipe the suds from his mustache. Ah. So that’s what they were for.

  Abby found herself completely distracted. She wanted to find Marcus, but was scared to move away from her current spot. Only when several of the men surrounded her, their whistles piercing the air, did she get the urge to bolt.

  “Who have we here?” An older woman with bright-red hair stepped into place next to Abby and ran her finger over Abby’s blue silk skirt. “Nice dress. Where’d you get it, anyhow?”

  Abby shrugged off the woman’s forward conversation and glanced around one more time in an attempt to find Marcus. A couple of other ladies—if one could call them that—pushed through the crowd and stepped into the spot in front of her. One of them grabbed Abby by the hand and gave her a spin.

  “You the new girl?”

  “Oh, well, I …” Abby didn’t know how to respond to that question.

  “Marcus said you was pretty, but he didn’t tell us you was a debutante.” The brazen woman stretched the word, bringing a laugh from the others. “Highfalutin duds you got there, honey. Not that you’ll stay dressed in ’em if you hang around here.” A high-pitched laugh followed. “Get it? Clothes don’t last long around here, less’n they’re on the floor at the foot o’ the bed.”

  Abby gripped the edge of the bar and eased her way down onto a barstool. The pianist changed tunes to something even rowdier than before. The women grabbed men and took to dancing across the floor. One of the women even hopped up on a table and did some sort of a jig, her skirt swinging this way and that. The feathers in her hair bobbed up and down, and her low-cut dress threatened to reveal far more than Abby cared to see.

  She found herself torn between wanting to watch the ladies with their satin dresses and wanting to look away.

  The blond woman, probably about Abby’s age, tapped Neville on the shoulder and hollered, “Dance with me, honey.”

  The look of panic in his eyes shared his thoughts on her suggestion. She pulled him onto the dance floor and pressed herself against him. On the opposite side of the room, one of the dancers did a cartwheel, showing off her undergarments. This led to a rousing cheer from all the men. Well, all but Neville, who looked as if he might be ill.

  Fear and anger knotted inside of Abby at the sight of all this. Surely Marcus hadn’t begun the transformation process yet. If he planned to turn this place into a restaurant, he would have to fire these women at once. Then again, maybe all of this was part of his plan. Maybe Sam and Cookie were right about him? Their concerns found root in her heart and she felt like a fool for coming.

  What had made her think this place would be acceptable? It didn’t look like any restaurant she’d ever seen before. Abby’s stomach clenched tight as she glanced around one last time for Marcus. If she didn’t find him soon, there would be no choice but to leave. Judging from the daggers coming out of Neville’s eyes as he tugged himself away from his dance partner, he was more than ready already.

  “Miss Abigail, I insist we leave at once.”

  “But I’m here to look for Mr. Denueve. He invited me to dine with him.”

  “I’d just as soon you dine with the devil himself. Any man who would own and operate such a place does not deserve to be sought out by an innocent young woman like yourself.”

  “Innocent, eh?” The blond sidled up next to Abby. “I remember when I used to be innocent too.” She slung her arm over Abby’s shoulder and laughed. “Don’t worry, honey. I’ll teach you my ways in time, and you’ll never look back. Welcome to the fold, by the way. I’m Katie. I remember what it was like to be the new girl. Wasn’t so long ago, actually.”

  The forced smile was overshadowed by pain in her eyes, and Abby was suddenly overwhelmed with sadness for the woman.

  She slipped out from under Katie’s grasp and stepped backward. “No, thank you. I’m not here to work, just to spend the evening with Marcus Denueve.”

  “Aren’t we all?” Katie laughed. Just as quickly, her expression shifted to one that could only be construed as jealousy. “You’re not his type, honey.”

  “I didn’t claim to be his type. I’m only here to discuss a business transaction.”

  “Business transaction.” The girl laughed and clasped her hands together. “That’s one way to put it.”

  “Where. Is. He?” Abby spoke through clenched teeth, the woman’s words grating on her last nerve.

  “Upstairs. With Molly.” The woman gave her a knowing look. “But I wouldn’t interrupt them right now, if I were you. You know how testy he can get when you bother him in the middle of a business transaction.” She emphasized the words, as if they were laughable.

  “I came in response to his invitation to dinner, thank you very much.”

  “Dinner? Well, why didn’t you say so? If Marcus invited you to dine with him, let me show you to a table. I’m sure he won’t be long.” These words were followed by a sarcastic laugh. “He’s quick on his feet, or off of them, if you get my meaning.”

  She led the way to a table where some men were playing some sort of card game. “Up and at ’em, fellas. This here lady needs a place to sit.”

  “We ain’t even halfway into our poker game, Katie,” one of the men responded. “Get ’er another table.”

  “Nope.” Katie grabbed the edge of the table and flipped it over, knocking the cards out of their hands. Instead of responding in anger, one of the men gave her a kiss on the cheek and another swatted her on the behind.

  “Gracious.” Abby shook her head. She wanted to bolt.

  Katie turned the table right side up and slapped it with her palm. She gestured for Abby and Neville to sit. “Now, what’s your pleasure? Rotgut?”

  “Rotgut?”


  “Tanglefoot, honey. Red Eye. Liquor, of course.”

  She’d like to give the woman a red eye, for insinuating that she was a drinker.

  “Our Tequila’s the best in the territory,” Katie added. “That’s my favorite.”

  Abby nearly gagged, just thinking about it. “Nothing, thank you. Could I see a menu, please?”

  “Menu’s on the board.” Katie gestured to a large slate overhead as she walked away. Someone had scribbled the words steak and oven fried potatoes.

  Abby turned to face Neville. “What was all that business about rotgut?”

  “Saloon owners like to stretch their profits by adding turpentine or ammonia to their whiskey.”

  “What?” She put a hand to her chest. “Are you serious?”

  He nodded. “Sometimes they even cut in some gunpowder or cayenne.”

  “For pity’s sake. And no one has died?”

  “People die all the time in San Francisco, girl.” An older woman’s voice sounded from beside her. “Ain’t no one blamed it on the Tanglefoot yet. Don’t be blamin’ the drink for the fellas round these here parts keelin’ over. They’re more likely to die from brawlin’ or from lack of bathin’.” She laughed and stuck out her hand. “Name’s Lottie. What brings you to the Lucky Penny?”

  “Just stopped in to have dinner with Mr. Denueve.”

  “Oh, I see. Guess you’re the new girl, then. Was told you’d be showing up soon. We’ve been waiting on you. You’ll be bunking with Donna Sue.”

  “Oh, I’m not … I mean, I won’t be working here. I could never do that.”

  “Why not?” The woman looked her up and down. “Oh, I get it. Prim and proper sort, eh?”

  “I suppose those words would fit, but I … I …” Abby shook her head and pushed her chair back from the table, convinced this whole thing had been a huge mistake. “I think it’s time for me to go.”

  Sam slammed the door to the restaurant and leaned against it, his head throbbing from the noise outside. “They call that a grand opening? I’m about to go deaf in both ears.”