Zipping my down jacket up to my chin, I welcomed its warmth. It was black, and I’d worn an orange scarf to show my team colors, along with my Giants baseball cap. My heart went out to the tourists who didn’t know how to layer, huddled together shivering and wishing they hadn’t worn shorts in May.
Pardoning myself as I squeezed past a row of people, I beamed, recognizing Hunter with his ball cap slung low over his eyes. Completely transfixed by the game, he mouthed instructions to Buster Posey, as if the catcher could hear him. Who knows, maybe he could? We were right behind the batting cage.
I put my hand on Hunter’s shoulder. His head snapped around, then his eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled. “Babe! You made it!” He was on his feet, enveloping me in a bear hug that made me feel like I was his favorite person in the world.
Throwing my arms around his waist, I breathed in the piney scent of his cologne. “Did I miss much? Are we winning?”
Hunter hugged me tighter. “Fourth inning. We’re up by two. Man, you missed an epic home run by Pence! But don’t worry, he’ll score another.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because,” Hunter said, kissing my forehead, “now I’ve got my lucky charm by my side.”
“You’re so cheesy,” I teased, gazing up at him. But secretly I loved how affectionate Hunter was with me in public. His kindness and his honesty made me want to open myself up more, even though it hurt.
As we sipped bottles of Anchor Steam, munched on sandwiches from Crazy Crab’z, and snuggled against each other, I relaxed. My emerald ring sparkled under the stadium lights, and I gazed into the stone as if into a crystal ball. Meeting Hunter had changed the course of my life for the better. Who would I have been without him?
“Whoo!” the crowd roared, the sound puncturing my thoughts. “It’s another homer!” Hunter yelled, tugging me to my feet. My beer sloshed onto my sneakers, but I didn’t care. I whooped and hollered along with my husband and the other bundled-up fans, our cheeks flushed from the wind, watching as Posey rounded the bases.
Honestly, I didn’t even care if the Giants won or lost. What mattered was being here, in this moment, with the man I’d chosen to spend my life with. It had been silly of me to worry that Hunter would be angry with me for no longer working on my novel. He trusted me and understood my heart was with this new story—the story of Hannelore and Margaret. In spite of his parents’ strange reaction, at least I had my husband’s support.
“Did you see that?” Hunter said, his hazel eyes sparkling like a kid’s on Christmas. “We’re up another run!”
“I love you,” I said, throwing my arms around him.
Hunter pressed his nose against mine. “And I love you more each day.”
For once, the crowd didn’t cause my panic to rise. Right there in the midst of thousands, I kissed Hunter as if we were the only two people in the world.
“Learn anything helpful from visiting that apartment yesterday?” Jen asked, slipping into her leather jacket. Red blotches bloomed on her cheeks, and she seemed distracted, like something wasn’t quite right.
“Nope,” I said, looking around my former magazine office with a pang of nostalgia. A few employees typed away at their MacBooks while the familiar hum of the copy machine buzzed in the distance. The building was nearly empty now, past six P.M.. Normally Jen would be chatting my ear off, complaining about work or gushing about Mark, the guy she was dating, but tonight she was surprisingly quiet.
My eyes settled on my former desk, now occupied by someone else.
“You miss being a reporter, don’t you?” Jen said. Her smile didn’t reach her eyes.
“I do,” I said, looking around the room. “I told Hunter I’m not working on my novel anymore. Narrative nonfiction is where my heart is. I emailed a woman whose family owned the Tavern back in the 1800s. Hopefully she’ll have a lead.”
A deep voice boomed down the corridor, causing Jen to flinch.
“I’m done with this whole East Bay versus San Francisco debate,” the voice said, footsteps coming closer. “Oakland has no culture. I mean, come on.”
I whipped my head around. A blond man, over six feet tall, ran a hand through his tousled hair as he strode into the room on long legs. He wore expensive-looking dark jeans, leather shoes, and a checkered button-down shirt.
My skin prickled with an instant dislike. His blue eyes met mine and he raised an eyebrow, as if in recognition, though we’d never met before. Then a smile spread across his face, showing off his huge white teeth. He exuded confidence, like someone who’d often been told he was handsome. Luckily, I wasn’t into overgrown frat boys.
“Well, hello,” he said, extending a giant hand. “You must be the infamous Sarah Havensworth. You’re just as pretty as your photo.”
My cheeks prickled. “Thanks. And you are?”
He squeezed my hand a little too tightly. “James Bradley. Editor in chief. I’ve read a few of your pieces. Very . . . how do I put this? Sensational.”
“Excuse me?”
James dropped his hand and then placed it heavily on Jen’s shoulder. She recoiled, as if a tarantula had touched her.
“We don’t focus on the poor prostitutes of Chinatown or the elderly Mexican residents being pushed out of their homes anymore.” James grinned at Jen. “I’m afraid Ms. Chang here has tried taking a page out of your book. She’s always pitching me some crazy feminist story idea. But she’ll be covering Disrupt SF in September.”
“The tech conference?” I asked, my eyes narrowing. “But that’s not Jen’s area of interest.”
“It is now,” James said, locking his gaze on mine. “Our content needs to be pushing the needle. We live in a cutting-edge city. I want articles on tech and on hot start-ups. We’re done with San Francisco history fluff pieces.”
I clenched my hands into fists, my nails biting into my palm. Jen looked like she was about to cry. Who the hell did this guy think he was?
“It’s not fluff,” I said, wrestling down my anger. “I think our city’s past is as important as its future.”
“A nice notion,” James said, releasing his grip from Jen’s shoulder. “But now that I’m in charge, Pulse of the City is moving forward, not backward.” He sneered at me. “Jen tells me you’re working on a novel. You know, less than one percent of books get traditionally published. Do you have an agent?”
“Not yet,” I said, glowering at him.
“Good luck,” he replied, with a taunting look in his eye. “I’ve got to run, but you girls have fun tonight. It was a pleasure meeting you, Sarah.”
I clenched my jaw as he walked away. Jen had warned me James was difficult to work with, but I hadn’t been prepared for this.
“What a prick,” I muttered under my breath.
Jen’s lip began to tremble.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, taking Jen’s hand. The office was empty now, quiet except for the sob that escaped Jen’s mouth. Her shoulders shook, and tears streamed down her cheeks. I pulled her into a hug, but her eyes darted to the door where James had exited, and she quickly wiped her cheeks with her jacket sleeve.
“It’s bad, Sarah.”
“What is it?” I asked, my voice dropping to a whisper. “Is it James?”
She nodded. “Today he told me that all his ex-girlfriends are Asian, and how I look like the one he never got over. Except that I’m hotter than she was.”
I wrinkled my nose. “What? That’s totally inappropriate.”
“I know. It made me so angry. I’m not some submissive China doll he can boss around, here to cater to his yellow fever. I feel really uncomfortable around him.”
I swallowed. “Did he say anything else?”
Jen was silent. Then she exhaled. Freeing herself from my hug, she looked at me with hurt in her eyes.
“He told me that he only dates Asians because we fuck better than other women.”
“That’s disgusting,” I said, heat rushing to my head. “Jen, this isn�
�t okay. You have to report him to HR. Have you told anyone?”
She shook her head. “Only you. Besides, we were alone in the office when he said it, so no one else heard him.”
“It’s harassment,” I said, my voice rising. In the five minutes I’d spent with James, he’d commented on my looks, belittled my writing, and treated me in an incredibly demeaning way. I could only imagine how bad things would get for Jen . . . perhaps even dangerous, if she didn’t do anything. My stomach curdled.
“I don’t want to be alone with him,” Jen said, pulling her jacket more tightly around her. “I know I should quit and interview at another magazine, but I’m in the middle of moving, and I can’t risk losing my job right now.”
“You won’t lose it,” I said. “You’re telling the truth. I can go with you when you report him. I was here to witness his behavior.”
Another tear trickled down Jen’s cheek. “It hurts, you know? Asian women are practically invisible in the media and in pop culture, and yet there’s this ridiculous stereotype that we’re better in bed than other women.”
“Report him,” I said loudly, just as James appeared around the corner.
Jen sucked in her breath and quickly wiped her tear-stained cheeks. My heart started to beat faster. Had he heard us?
“Hey, ladies,” James said, his cold eyes meeting mine. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything. I forgot the keys to my Lexus.”
We sat in silence while James walked over to his desk. His fingers curled around his key fob, a menacing fist.
He looked at me, breaking into a charming smile. “Gosh, I’m so forgetful. Anyways, I didn’t mean to make the outlook appear grim when I talked about the slim chances of getting an agent. I’m sure you’ll get one soon.”
His eyes twinkled, and he gave a friendly wave. “See you.”
My heart sunk into the pit of my stomach. James had turned on his nice-guy charm with the flip of a switch. There was no doubt he would contest any charges Jen brought against him. But underneath his handsome exterior, I could sense something dark lurking there. And I wouldn’t rest until I knew that Jen was safe.
Chapter 12
Hanna, 1876
The white mansion loomed before Hanna like something out of a storybook. As she suspected, it perched high on a hill overlooking the city. The spire reminded Hanna of castles she had seen in Bavaria. Nearly four stories tall, it appeared to belong to nobility. How would it feel to have so much land, like a king looking down on his kingdom?
“Is it a castle?” Katja asked.
“Are you a prince?” Hans turned to Lucas and bounced on the carriage seat, barely able to contain his excitement.
Lucas chuckled. “No, children. It’s not a castle and I am not a prince.”
Katja’s bottom lip protruded.
“Or maybe he only pretends he is not a prince,” Hanna said with a wink.
Katja smiled at Lucas. “You a prince.”
Even Martin’s lips tugged into a smile, though Hanna could tell from his furrowed brow that he was as nervous as she. The carriage came to a halt and the horses whinnied, swishing their long black tails.
“Here,” Lucas said to Katja. “Let me help you down.”
Katja squealed in delight as Lucas lifted her from the carriage before setting her gently on the ground. At first the children had been hesitant when the strange man in a top hat arrived at the boardinghouse. But now they had warmed to Lucas, especially after he’d produced coins from behind Hans’s and Katja’s ears—coins he let them keep.
Martin stepped down from the carriage and dusted off his dirty trousers. Hanna had done her best to mend the holes. But they were poor and it showed.
“Let’s go, shall we?” Lucas asked.
Following Lucas up the long staircase leading to the grand entrance, Hanna’s stomach tightened. Lucas rapped his knuckles on the wood. Hanna stood behind him, admiring the beautiful bay windows, very fashionable for a modern home.
A girl about Hanna’s age opened the door. She wore a maid’s uniform and tucked her dark hair beneath a white cap. When her eyes met Hanna’s, the maid frowned.
“Hello, Frances,” Lucas said, stepping inside the foyer. He gestured to Hanna. “This is Miss Hannelore Schaeffer. And these are her siblings, Martin, Hans, and Katja.”
“Good day,” Frances said, dropping into a curtsy.
“Good day,” Hanna replied, bowing her head. Perhaps she should have curtsied as well. Martin removed his tattered cap and stared at the interior of the house. Light spilled in from the windows onto the floor of the parlor. The wood had such rich and varied colors that it reminded Hanna of a rainbow trout Martin had caught while fishing.
Frances shut the door, eyeing Hanna suspiciously.
Removing his hat, Lucas spoke. “Frances, could you please fetch Mother and Father? Inform them we have guests. Also, kindly ask Gertrude to run a hot bath and to ready two of the rooms. Our guests shall be staying the night.”
Frances’s dark eyes grew to the size of saucers. Hanna half expected her to protest, but Frances composed herself. “Yes, sir.”
Hans ran into the sitting room and trailed his fingers along the velvet cushion of an upholstered gentleman’s chair.
“Feel it, Hanna!” he cried. “It’s soft like a kitty cat.”
“Hans, no!” Hanna admonished, darting over and holding his tiny, dirt-caked hands in hers. “It’s not our home. We cannot touch the nice things.”
Lucas looked at Hanna with a smile. “Nonsense. I wish for you to feel welcome here. You may touch whatever you like.” He bent down to eye level with Hans. “I broke a very nice vase once. I was playing stickball in the sitting room.”
Hans giggled, covering his mouth.
Lucas whispered, “I was a boy too. And sometimes I behaved poorly. If you do something naughty, I won’t tell.” He ruffled Hans’s hair, and a surge of warmth shot through Hanna, as if she stood in a pool of sunlight.
Footsteps echoed off the walls in the foyer. Hanna turned just in time to see figures emerge on the level above. A tall man with graying hair descended the grand staircase, his woolen waistcoat and trousers snug against his portly frame. Behind him trailed a woman with a large sapphire brooch fastened at her neck, bedecked in a floor-length royal blue gown. Even at her age, she remained quite beautiful.
Hanna looked down at the floor, too petrified to speak. When she looked up again, she saw a lovely blonde, who wore an exquisite pink gown with a low bodice and three-quarter-length sleeves. The blond woman appeared to be slightly younger than Lucas. Behind her came Frances, wearing an expression as glum as ever.
Standing straight as a pole, Hanna hoped to do a proper curtsy. The man, whom she presumed to be Lucas’s father, peered at her over his spectacles. Under the light of the gas lamps, his gray eyes glinted. Bushy sideburns covered most of his face, but Hanna discerned a frown. He looked at her as if she were a specimen in the zoo.
The patriarch cleared his throat. “Son, what have we here?”
When his stern gaze passed over Martin, Hans, and Katja, they cowered in the corner like frightened mice.
Mr. Havensworth shook his head. “Lucas, you know my policy that our staff shall not bring their children to our home. They detract from one’s work ethic.” He rubbed his head, turning to his wife. “Elizabeth, have you acquired a new maid?”
Lucas’s mother pursed her lips. “No, indeed I have not.”
Hanna’s cheeks burned. When she looked at Lucas, his face had also reddened, but he held his jaw firm.
Before Lucas could speak, Mrs. Havensworth glared at Frances, as if the maid had conspired to bring Hanna inside. “Did you know about this?”
Frances shook her head. “No, ma’am. First I heard of it.”
Lucas let out a deep breath. “Mother. The woman before you is not a servant. She is a friend of mine, Miss Hannelore Schaeffer. I ask that you please allow her to stay the night in one of our guest bedrooms.”
Mr
. Havensworth’s mouth fell open, and Mrs. Havensworth’s face went completely white. Hanna wished to slip out the door, as if she had never been seen.
Taking advantage of the silence, Lucas nodded at Hanna. “These are my parents, Mr. William Havensworth and Mrs. Elizabeth Havensworth.”
Hanna curtsied as she had seen Frances do. “Pleased to meet you.”
Mrs. Elizabeth gasped, as if she might faint. Mr. Havensworth made a noise like he had choked on a piece of mutton. He glared at Hanna. “This woman brings her children into our home? Is she unmarried? Son, I forbid it. This is unacceptable!”
“They are not my children, sir,” Hanna stammered. “They are my younger siblings. And no, I am not yet married, sir.”
A little bit of color returned to Mrs. Havensworth’s cheeks. The young blonde, who had been standing behind her parents, stepped forward. She smiled at Hanna and dropped into a curtsy. “Hello,” she said, standing again. “I am Mrs. Georgina Havensworth Chapman. It is very nice to meet you, Hannelore.”
Georgina’s small act of kindness felt like a welcome ray of sunshine. “Pleased to meet you,” Hanna said, finding her voice. She lifted the hem of her skirt and leaned forward, while bending her knees, a poor imitation of what Georgina had done.
Lucas grinned. “Georgina is my younger sister. She lives here with her husband, Charles, and their small children, Annabelle and Marcus.”
Georgina kneeled down, smiling at Katja and Hans. “Why hello, dears! My own son and daughter are about your age. What are your names?”
Hans stared dumbly at Georgina. Katja, however, smiled at her. “My name’s Katja. I am two. You very pretty.”
Georgina laughed, patting Katja on the head. “What a darling girl.”
Hanna placed a hand on Hans’s shoulder to help him feel more at ease. “This is my brother Hans,” Hanna said. “He is four.” She nodded to the corner. “And that is my brother Martin. He is twelve.”
Martin held his cap so tightly his knuckles had gone white. Hanna ached to reach for his hand. Like her, Martin knew they had no place in this home.
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