She could barely control the joy that flooded over her as reality hit.
She wanted to give Sam Harris a kiss on those sweet lips.
Oh my.
She wanted to kiss Sam Harris.
Not here, of course. And not now. But … soon. She would kiss him soon, and he would know just how she felt about him.
“Miss Abigail, are you all right?” Jimmy looked at her, concern in his eyes.
She startled to attention. “Oh, yes.”
“You look a bit overheated.”
Abby fanned her face with her apron. “Right. We’ve been baking all morning. Now, you wanted a slice of pie, is that right?”
“I’ll get it, Abby.” Sam rested a hand on her arm and gave her a look so tender, she wanted to stop right then and there and tell him she loved him.
She never had the chance. Cookie came out of the kitchen and glanced their way. She took one look at Jimmy and rushed toward him. “Well, as I live and breathe. One of my favorite customers, back to visit.”
“Couldn’t stay away for long. Had to have some of that cherry pie.”
“You came a long way for a piece of pie.” She laughed. “Happen to have a big slice in the kitchen. Sit back down, young fella, and I’ll fetch it for you.”
“Well, I also came back to see about starting a business of my own,” he said to Cookie’s retreating back. “Not really sure how or where, but I have some … ideas….”
Jimmy laughed. “Guess I’ll tell her later.”
“Looks like it,” Abby agreed.
She glanced Sam’s way and noticed concern in his expression.
“You still look a little flushed, Abby. Maybe you should sit down.”
“No, I’ll be fine, I promise.” She reached over and gave his hand a squeeze. “Can we talk a little later? I want to tell you some things you might be interested to hear.”
“Of course.” He gripped her hand, his eyes never leaving hers.
Oh, sweet bliss! Had she ever been this happy? Had a day ever gone as well? Would her heart ever beat normally again?
“Abby? Baby girl?”
Abby turned as she heard the familiar voice.
A gasp escaped, and then one word. “Mama!”
Abby ran toward her mother and threw her arms around her neck. She couldn’t seem to stop the tears that followed.
For a couple of minutes, neither of them said a word. Abby could feel her mother’s shoulders heaving, though, and knew she was crying too. When they finally released one another, Abby stared into her mother’s face. She knew that look: bone tired. Mama was exhausted from her journey. Her faint smile held a touch of sadness.
Her mother looked older, somehow. Fine lines had developed around her gray-blue eyes and even around the edges of her lips.
She pulled off her traveling hat and sighed. “Don’t know when I’ve ever accumulated so much dust, and just look at my boots, will you? I stepped straight down into a mud puddle, first thing.”
“I did the very same thing my first day.” Abby linked arms with her mother. “Guess we have more in common than I thought.”
“Let me look at you, baby girl.” Her mother stepped back, her eyes filling with tears as she took in Abby’s uniform. “You’re a working girl now.”
“Don’t say those words too loudly in San Francisco, Mama.” Abby laughed. “Folks might just misunderstand you. I’ve met a few of those working girls, and they look a bit different from me.”
“Oh, I see.” Mama’s lips curled upward. “Guess I’d better guard what I say then.”
“Mm-hmm.” Abby got a case of the giggles and couldn’t seem to stop herself. My, but her emotions were in a state today. Crying and laughing, all at once? Seemed impossible.
Her mother yawned and placed a gloved hand over her mouth. “Gracious, I’m worn out.” She ran her palms down her gray skirt to smooth the wrinkles. “And I must look a fright. But at least I’ve arrived in one piece. Your auntie and uncle send their love. They wish they could’ve seen you.”
“I wish the same. But don’t worry about how you look, Mama. You’re lovely. Father will find you as beautiful as ever.”
Why Abby spoke those particular words, she could not say, but the wrinkles appeared in mother’s forehead again.
“Your father?” Abby’s mother blanched. “He’s coming … here?”
“Yes, Mama. Tomorrow, but please don’t fret.” She reached for her mother’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “Let’s just get you settled in. Sam has prepared a room just for you, one of the finest guest rooms. I think you’ll be very comfortable.”
“Sam?” She cocked her head. “Ah, yes. The owner’s son. I remember now, from your letter.” She yawned again. “It will be nice to have my own room. The trip was difficult, and I’m worn to a thread.”
“I understand. If you like, you can bunk with me after Father arrives.” Abby gave her mother a knowing look, a compassionate look. “But for now, I think you need your own space to rest. And a hot bath too. Cookie has thought of everything, right down to calling for Maggie O’Callahan from the laundry to come and fetch your clothes to give them a good washing.”
“Lovely. But, who’s Cookie?”
Abby slipped her arm over her mother’s shoulders. “She’s one of the dearest women in the world. You’re going to love her, Mama. You’ll love everyone here, I promise. In fact, you’ll love them so much it might be hard to tear yourself away.”
“I had that problem in Oregon too.”
At that moment Chet entered the room, whooping and hollering. “Woo-hoo! Just heard Cookie’s making cherry pie again tonight. Thought I’d come early and get myself a piece before the others show up.” He grabbed Abby and spun her around in circles. “Been practicing the minuet, Miss Abigail. What do you think? Will I win the ladies over with my dancing?”
Mama’s eyes grew wide. Chet stopped cold and stared at her. “Oh, beg pardon, ma’am. Didn’t mean to leave you out.” He grabbed Abby’s mother and whisked her around the dance floor as well, finally depositing her in a chair at Jimmy Blodgett’s table. Then Chet bounded toward the kitchen, hollering something about cherry pie.
“For pity’s sake.” Abby’s mother fanned herself with her hand. “Are all the men so forward around here?”
“Jimmy Blodgett, ma’am.” Jimmy stuck out his hand. “I’m guessin’ you’re Abby’s ma? I hear you’ve got the wanderlust. I have a case of it, myself. Not sure there’s any cure, now that I think on it.”
Abby’s mother shook his hand and then rose. “Gracious. And I’ve only been here five minutes. What’s in store over the next few days?”
“Hard to tell in San Francisco. Folks around here are very friendly.” Abby looked around, confused. “Where’s your trunk, Mama?”
“The stagecoach driver said he’d bring it around in a few minutes.”
“Fine. Let’s go meet the others and then I’ll show you to your room.” Abby led the way into the kitchen where she found Chet swallowing down a piece of pie. Sam and Jin appeared to be having a discussion about the inn. And Cookie? She and Neville seemed to be up to something in the far corner of the room.
What in the world? Were they holding hands?
Neville took a step away from Cookie as Abby’s mother entered the room. He rushed her way. “Mrs. Effingham, welcome to San Francisco. I’m so glad you made it.”
Every conversation in the room came to a grinding halt. Abby watched with a smile as Neville made introductions. She paid particular attention to the interaction between Mama and Sam, who extended his hand to welcome her.
Mama looked as if she might fall asleep at any moment. Abby sprang into action and pointed her toward the stairs. She needed to get Mama up to her room for some much-needed rest. It took a few minutes to do just that, but before long Abby was back in the kitchen, hard at work.
“Your mother is beautiful, Abby,” Cookie observed.
“Thank you.”
“Yes, now I see where
you get it from.” These words came from Sam. She swung around to face him but was too embarrassed to formulate words.
She somehow made it through the dinner hour, but couldn’t stop thinking about all the things she wanted to say to Sam. If only they could have a few quiet moments together. Perhaps after she finished the dishes.
Yes, that would certainly work. She would catch him alone and share her heart.
A short while later, Abby brushed damp hair from her soggy brow as she washed the last of the dinner dishes. Mama was still upstairs sleeping, thank goodness, and Sam was tidying up the dining hall.
As soon as she finished up in the kitchen, she would garner the courage to talk to him. Together, they would come up with a plan to save the inn. Then, tomorrow, when Father arrived, she would present him with her ideas. He would fuss, naturally, but she would talk him into letting her stay in San Francisco.
She hoped.
Abby couldn’t stop her thoughts from tumbling as she prepared the speech in her head. Should she come out and tell Sam that she wanted to stay, or just share her feelings for him and see if he asked? Should she put forth a case for saving the inn, or save that conversation for another day?
She stuck her hands back into the sudsy water and reached for the final plate, her thoughts in a whirl. Strange, how comfortable she now felt in front of a sink full of dirty dishes. Odd, to imagine her life before. She’d never so much as taken care of anything. Now she could pretty much cook a meal and clean up after it. Abby had to smile as she thought about how far she’d come.
And how she could never ever go back.
No matter what.
“Abby?”
The familiar voice jarred her to attention.
She turned her head and gasped. “Papa?” Abby dropped the dish in her hands and it landed in the soapy water, which shot up and soaked her apron. She didn’t pay it any mind. Instead, she bounded toward her father and threw her arms around his neck. “Oh, Papa!”
He hugged her long and hard, but when he backed away, pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and went to work tidying up the wet, soapy spots on his suit.
She gazed into her father’s face, as if seeing him for the first time. He seemed older, tired. Probably just from all the traveling. He’d come a long way to fetch her.
And Mama.
Oh, Mama! She was still upstairs, napping.
Abby dried her hands on her apron and tried to tidy her messy hair. “Father, I’m sorry you’ve caught me looking such a fright. We didn’t expect you until tomorrow.”
“Well, that’s a fine how-do-you-do. I thought you would be pleased to discover I had arrived early. Should I go away and come back after you’ve slept?”
“No. Not at all. It’s a wonderful surprise.” She gave him another warm hug.
After she released him, his gaze lingered on her messy hair. “Abigail Effingham, I hardly recognize you. If I’d passed you on the street, I wouldn’t have known you were my daughter. I’ve never seen you in such a state.”
She brushed her hair out of her face. “Life is different here. I’m learning to earn my keep, and this is what I look like while doing that.”
“Humph.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Your working days are behind you, sweet girl. Life is about to go back to the way it was. I’ve come to fetch you and take you home, where you belong.” He turned his attention to Neville, who entered the room, tray in hand.
“Mr. Effingham. Sir.” Neville stopped cold, as if seeing Abby’s father was something akin to seeing a ghost.
“Neville, old man. Thank you for sending for me. I’ve come to escort you home.”
“Right. Yes. Home.” Neville looked as if he might be ill.
“There’s something’s different about you.” Her father’s eyes squinted. “What have you done to yourself?”
“Well, sir, I’ve gained a few pounds. The food here is rather good. Very good, actually. And my attire is somewhat different.” He pointed to his apron.
“Perhaps, but that’s not it.” Abby’s father stared at Neville. He snapped his fingers. “I see now. You’ve shaved off the sideburns. Quite a different look for you, I’d say.”
Neville nodded, his expression growing more serious. “There are things, sir, that we do out of deep and abiding affection for those we care about.” He placed his hand on his chest, as if taking an oath of allegiance. “This is one of those things.”
Abby’s father turned to face her, confusion registering in his eyes. “Abby, you talked Neville into shaving off his sideburns?”
“No, Father. Cookie did.”
“Cookie?” Her father scratched his beard. “Neville shaved because of cookies?”
“Not cookies. Cookie.” Neville cleared his throat. “She’s … she’s …” He couldn’t seem to finish the sentence.
“Cookie works here, Father,” Abby explained. “She’s the finest woman you’d ever want to meet. Short of Mama, I mean.”
“Ah, yes. Your mother. She’s … here?”
“Yes.” Abby paused. “We have a lot to talk about, Father, but I’d like to wait until tomorrow, if you don’t mind.”
“Don’t mind a bit. I’m exhausted. Can you show me to my room, please?”
“O–of course.” She paused, her thoughts shifting to Mama. How would she handle the news that Father had arrived?
Only one way to know for sure. Abby had to go upstairs and tell her.
Sam stood in the open doorway leading to the kitchen and watched as Abby embraced her father. His heart twisted as he heard their conversation. Her father planned to take her back to Philadelphia, and from the sound of it, sooner, rather than later. She would disappear as quickly as she’d come.
And it would destroy his heart.
“Everything alright?” Cookie’s voice sounded from behind him.
He turned to face her and put his finger to his lips. She peered into the kitchen and her eyes grew wide.
“Oh. The infamous Mr. Effingham. He’s early.”
Sam nodded. “And he wants to go to his room.”
“Oh my. Does he know his wife is already here?”
“Not sure, but I wouldn’t want to be in Abby’s shoes right now.”
“You wouldn’t fit in Abby’s shoes,” Cookie countered. “Your feet are much too big. And they wouldn’t match your trousers, either, but that’s just my opinion.”
Sam fought the temptation to roll his eyes.
Abby turned and saw him standing there. Sam took a step backward as she approached with her father and made introductions. He extended his hand and said, “Mr. Effingham, sir.”
Abby’s father shook Sam’s hand. “Thanks for taking such good care of my girl, Harris.”
“You’re very welcome. It has been our pleasure to have Abby and Neville with us all these weeks.”
“Yes, our distinct pleasure.” Cookie slipped her arm around Abby’s waist and drew her close, a move Sam would’ve liked to have made himself. “She’s easy to love.”
She was. Indeed.
These thoughts wouldn’t leave him alone as Sam watched Abby lead her father up the stairs.
Abby.
Abby, who brought a breath of fresh air with her every time she entered a room. Abby, whose very presence made him want to be a better man. Would she really leave and take his heart with her? How could he bear it?
“Sammy? Are you all right?”
“Hmm?” He turned back to face Cookie and saw the concern in her eyes. “What?”
“You look as if you might be ill. Aren’t you feeling well?”
“Physically, I’m fit as a fiddle.”
“But emotionally?”
“Black plague.”
“My goodness. That bad?”
He offered a lame nod. “I’m afraid so. And short of a miracle, I might not make it.”
“My poor boy.” She rushed his way and put the back of her hand on his forehead. “Well, at least there’s no fever. I don’t think you
’ll pass anytime soon, thank goodness.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that.” He clutched his hand to his chest, feeling an odd panging sensation from deep within. “How do I keep her from going, Cookie?”
“Ah, I see. I suspected this ailment could not be cured with a tonic.”
“Hardly.” He paused. “A slice of pie might help, though.”
“Honey, a slice of pie is always the answer, at least if it’s one of my pies.” Cookie turned on her heel and headed toward the kitchen, leaving Sam in the dining hall to tend to his broken heart alone.
Abby knocked on her mother’s door and then entered, leaving Father in the hallway.
“Mama?”
Her mother stirred in the bed. “Abby, is that you?”
“Yes, Mama. I’m sorry to wake you, but Father is here.”
“Now?” Her mother sat up in bed, eyes widening. “Is it tomorrow already? Have I slept that long?”
“No, he’s early.”
“Don’t bring him in here. Please. I don’t want to see him, at least not yet. Not like this. Please tell him that we can talk tomorrow.”
“But he needs a place to sleep, Mama.”
“Your father can have my room.” Sam’s voice sounded from the hallway. “I don’t mind at all. I can bunk with my father.”
Abby swung around to face Sam, her heart in her throat. She whispered the words, “Thank you” and reached for his hand.
Sam had come to her rescue. Again.
Abby owed him so much more than a simple “Thank you.” She would somehow find a way to tell him just how much he meant to her … as soon as she could.
Sam led her father down the hallway to his room and Abby said her goodnights, then went back to check on Mama. She found her mother in the bed, sobbing.
“Mama? What’s happened?”
“Oh, Abby. I’m sorry. I didn’t expect to react this way.”
“Is it because Father is here?”
“I … I just don’t know what to do. I thought I had adequately prepared myself for seeing him, but now I’m not so certain.”
“Pray about it, Mama.” Abby gestured for her mother to lie back on the pillows. “And sleep on it. You’re exhausted right now, and no one makes good decisions when they’re exhausted.”
My Heart Belongs in San Francisco, California Page 23
