California Romance

by Colleen L. Reece

  “We will. I’ll see you at home later,” Edward called as they trotted away.

  Ellie hurried inside, glad to get out of the penetrating moisture that threatened to soak through her heavy cloak. She greeted her teacher and the lesson began. Partway through, however, a message came. Her instructor read it and blanched.

  “I have to leave, Miss Sterling. A dear friend has taken ill and needs me.”

  “It’s all right,” Ellie assured him. “I can wait here. The Stanhope carriage will come for me at the regular time.”

  He looked dubious but apologized again and left.

  Ellie busied herself with straightening piles of music that lay askew, but soon tired of the task. Why stay in this empty studio when it was less than a mile from home? She had time to walk and be there long before the driver left to pick her up.

  Once outside, she hesitated. “Don’t be foolish,” she told herself. “You can’t get lost between here and Nob Hill.” Ellie pulled the hood of her cloak over her hair, clutched its voluminous folds around her body against the encroaching cold, and confidently started up the street.

  All too soon, the fog thickened. It changed to a drizzle. Its eerie drip-drip added to the chilling atmosphere. Ellie increased her pace, anxious to get out of the murk that swallowed up the street signs. A few blocks farther on, she murmured, “Better to wait in the studio than in this pea soup.” She shivered with cold and turned to retrace her steps. Her foot slipped on a pebble. Ellie tried to regain her balance, but fell, hitting her head on the cobblestone street.

  Dizzy and disoriented, Ellie staggered to her feet and rubbed her throbbing head. She tried to remember whether she should be walking up the hill or down. Did it really matter? If she kept walking, she’d get somewhere. Yet each uncertain step brought new fear. Where was she?

  She rounded a corner. Dim lights flickered through the fog curtain. Thank goodness! Light meant help lay just ahead. Ellie broke into a run. More lights appeared, still faint, but enough to show alleys on both sides of the street. Stairs led to second and third stories. Dark, shadowy forms huddled in gaping doorways. Muffled voices speaking a language Ellie didn’t understand floated through the fog.

  She stopped short and peered through the gloom at a brightly colored banner with strange black symbols. Her heart hammered with fear. Confused by the fog, she had stumbled into Chinatown—the last place she should be alone with night coming on.

  Yellow slave traders. The scourge of San Francisco. Opium dens. Children of Darkness. Many good people in Chinatown, but a stain on the city.

  Ellie’s stomach lurched. She turned to flee, but a heavy hand caught her by the shoulder. A disembodied voice gloated, “I’ve got you now. ’Tis about time.”

  Ellie tried to wrench free. She could not. She tried to scream. Only a squeak came out of her constricted throat, so muffled by the fog no one except her captor would ever hear her. Dear God, why didn’t I stay at the studio where I belonged?

  Chapter 20

  The grip on Ellie’s shoulder tightened. The fog-hoarsened voice ordered, “Don’t try to fly, little birdie. You and your kind are for belongin’ in the paddy wagon, not on the streets.”

  Your kind? Paddy wagon? What did he mean? Ellie twisted around and peered into her captor’s face. She sagged with relief. Enough light shone on brass buttons marching down the burly figure’s chest to identify him. A policeman. The biggest, most forbidding policeman she’d ever seen. Surely he’d get her out of her predicament and back to the Stanhopes!

  A none-too-gentle shake brought doubt hard on the heels of Ellie’s relief. “Is it the cat’s got your tongue?”

  Ellie’s mind churned. Icy fear licked at her veins. Her body shook. What if this policeman with the iron grip was a devil in disguise? One of the police officers the Chinese smugglers bribed to wink at their dark deeds? Terror turned Ellie legs to overcooked spaghetti. Only the firm hold on her shoulder kept her from tumbling to the wet cobblestone street.

  The policeman leaned down until his broad, scowling face was level with Ellie’s. He gave a muffled exclamation and released her, but caught her with both hands when she stumbled and nearly fell. “Miss Sterling? Faith and mercy, why are you for bein’ in such a place?”

  The rich Irish voice dispelled fear, but Ellie tried twice before she could give a disjointed explanation. “The fog. I lost my way. Thank God you’re here!”

  “I’ll also be for thankin’ God. Beggin’ your pardon, but with the hood over your head and you bein’ out on such a night I mistook you for…uh—” He broke off.

  Ellie wrinkled her forehead. “How did you recognize me?”

  The policeman’s brogue deepened. “Thanks to the Chronicle, everyone’s for knowin’ the Sierra Songbird. Come along, colleen. You’re safe with Clancy. I’ll for shure be havin’ you home shortly.”

  Ellie had to run to keep up with her rescuer’s long strides that gobbled up the distance between Chinatown and Nob Hill. When Clancy delivered her to the Stanhope mansion, she impulsively said, “I didn’t know there were Irish guardian angels, but you were mine tonight.”

  Clancy’s laugh rang out, warming Ellie in spite of the chill night. “I’ve niver been called an angel before, but I’m glad ’twas me who found you.” He scowled and became the grim policeman who had frightened her. “Don’t you be for runnin’ around alone at night, mavourneen. There are spalpeens in this city who would delight in clipping our songbird’s wings, cagin’ her, and holdin’ her for ransom.”

  Ellie shuddered at his warning. “I promise.” She held out her hand, and Clancy engulfed it in his. “Will you come in?” she invited when the door swung open and Edward stepped out. She could see Mr. and Mrs. Stanhope standing in the hall behind him.

  Clancy shook his head. “I’m on duty.” He raised his voice and called, “She’s for bein’ safe,” then respectfully touched his hat and vanished into the fog.

  “Ellie? Where have you been? Why was that policeman with you?” Edward took her arm and led her into the hall. The heavy door closed behind them. Light from the chandelier in the great hall streamed down, a welcome contrast to the dark, miserable night lurking outside the mansion. It showed the worry lines etched in the three faces turned toward her.

  Suddenly aware of her disheveled appearance, Ellie sensed her nerves starting to unravel. If she related the Chinatown incident now she’d be forced to run the gauntlet of horrified questions and relive her terror. She couldn’t handle it. Ellie bit her lips to hide their trembling. “My instructor had to leave early. I started to walk home but lost my way. A policeman found me and brought me home. Please excuse me. I need a hot bath and dry clothes.” She slid out of her sodden cloak and handed it to Maria, who had come into the hall with a concerned look on her pretty face.

  “Go draw a bath for Miss Ellie,” Mrs. Stanhope told the maid.

  “Sí.” Maria disappeared with the cloak. By the time Ellie slowly trudged upstairs, the Mexican girl had already poured a generous amount of fragrant bath salts in the claw-footed tub and stood waiting to take away Ellie’s wet clothing when she shed it.

  “Gracias,” Ellie told her.

  Maria’s eyes sparkled with fun. “Senorita, you look more like a robin with its feathers ruffled from a windstorm than our songbird!”

  “I feel that way, too.” Ellie yawned.

  “Do not fall asleep in the bath,” Maria warned. “Senora Stanhope says dinner will not be served until you come. Senor Marvin Stanhope is to be a guest.”

  She whisked away, leaving Ellie to luxuriate in the scented water.

  Ellie felt tempted to ask for dinner in her room but reconsidered. Ever since arriving in San Francisco, she’d been eager to meet Charles’s brother—who defied Stanhope expectations by serving down-and-outs at his Rescue Mission.

  Ellie finished her bath and towel-dried her hair until it curled under against the nape of her neck. She slipped into the pale blue dimity dress Maria had laid out for her and fastened
the ribbons on her flat slippers. Her heart quickened to double time. What would the man Joshua admired so deeply think of her? Had Josh mentioned her to his uncle? If so, would the street missionary find her worthy of his beloved nephew?

  One look into Marvin Stanhope’s keen gray eyes set Ellie’s doubts at rest. He bore a strong resemblance to the other Stanhope men. Ellie immediately felt at home with him and delighted when placed beside him at the glittering dining room table. He plied her with questions about Joshua.

  Ellie clasped her hands and spoke more freely than she had felt comfortable doing except to Josh’s father. She tingled with excitement. “He is wonderful,” she said, aware of Marvin’s keen interest and the way Mrs. Stanhope and Edward leaned forward to hear. “If it hadn’t been for Joshua, a mountain lion would have killed my brother, Tim.”

  Mrs. Stanhope’s silver fork crashed to her fine china plate. Her face paled, and she stared at Ellie. “A mountain lion! Why haven’t you told me about that?”

  Ellie wished she had bitten her tongue instead of blurting out the news in an attempt to show how splendid Joshua was. “I–I’m sorry. I knew it would worry you.”

  Mrs. Stanhope’s voice rose a full octave. “What happened?”

  “A rifle shot wounded the lion. It came toward Tim and Joshua. Tim’s rifle misfired and knocked the lion down. The rifle landed at Josh’s feet. He grabbed it and knocked the beast senseless. The other men came and killed it.”

  Mrs. Stanhope raised a handkerchief to her lips with trembling hands. “I knew no good would come of my son going to Madera.” She whirled toward her brother-in-law. “This wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t lured Joshua to your mission when he was only a boy.”

  “Settle down, Mother. Uncle Marvin didn’t send Josh to Madera. God did.” Edward spoke gently, and his father nodded in agreement.

  Edward’s unexpected defense of his brother caught Ellie by surprise. She wouldn’t have expected him to admit that God was responsible for Joshua’s choice. Was the prodigal twin softening toward spiritual things? Please, Lord, let it be so. I can hardly wait to write and tell Josh what Edward said.

  Some of the color returned to Mrs. Stanhope’s face. She beckoned to Maria, who gaped in the background. “You may serve dessert now.”

  When the maid left the room, Ellie said, “You can all be proud of Joshua. He’s doing a great deal of good under difficult circumstances.”

  Mrs. Stanhope bridled. “Why should my son be experiencing difficult circumstances after all he gave up here?”

  For the second time, Ellie regretted speaking before weighing her words as she’d been doing since coming to San Francisco. Her heart sank. “Some of the board members disagree with his methods.”

  Edward chortled. “That’s nothing new. I remember hearing of trouble in the ranks of Bayview Christian a time or two over Josh’s…uh…sometimes unorthodox means of getting his message across.” Not giving his mother a chance to answer, he immediately turned back to his uncle. “How are things at the mission?”

  Ellie gave a secret sigh of relief and drank in every word of their guest’s reply. But when he turned to her and said, “Miss Sterling, would you consider coming to the Rescue Mission and singing?” the hush that fell over the diners left her paralyzed. Edward’s mouth fell open. His father’s eyes twinkled. And Mrs. Stanhope looked as if she’d been turned to stone. Why didn’t someone say something to break the shocked silence?

  Ellie thought of her Chinatown ordeal. The Rescue Mission was located in one of the worst parts of San Francisco. Panic sent perspiration crawling down Ellie’s body. How could she deliberately go to a place so filled with danger and sin? Something terrible might happen to her.

  “Trust Me.”

  Ellie swallowed hard and took a deep, unsteady breath. When she released it and spoke, her words came out in a whisper. “I will go.”

  “No!” Edward leaped to his feet, overturning his chair. It crashed to the costly carpet with a muffled thud. Fury mottled his face. “Are you insane? I won’t hear of it. It isn’t safe.” He glared at his uncle. “How dare you make such a suggestion? Unspeakable things happen down there.”

  His uncle softly replied, “Psalm 118 says, ‘The Lord is on my side; I will not fear: what can man do unto me?’ Ellie will be perfectly safe. You can deliver her in a closed carriage with a bodyguard if you wish. Once inside the mission, every man there will fight to defend her should the need arise, which it won’t.” The zeal in the man’s eyes made him look more like Joshua than ever. “Edward, Letitia, think. Who needs the Sierra Songbird more? Those who already know the way, the truth, and the life? Or the lost sheep?”

  A glorious light crept into Charles Stanhope’s face. “I will personally take Ellie to the mission.” He raised a commanding hand when his wife started to protest. “The subject is closed. Marvin is right. Ellie can do more good with her songs and stories down there than we may ever know.” He smiled at Maria, who had brought a silver tray holding frozen pudding to the table. “I suggest we finish our dinner and prevail on our songbird to favor us with a number.”

  To Ellie’s surprise, Mrs. Stanhope and Edward subsided, but the storm clouds hanging heavy in their faces showed they didn’t consider the matter settled. Ellie did. She had given her word.

  Weary beyond belief from the day’s events, Ellie found herself wound tightly after their guest left. Her brain raced like a caged squirrel. Beryl. The Chronicle article. Chinatown. Marvin Stanhope’s plea. Knowing she would not sleep until she rid herself of the memories, Ellie snatched writing materials and wrote a letter to Tim, a letter in which she poured out all her wrought-up feelings.

  At last she slept. The next morning, the hastily written missive began its journey to the Diamond S.

  Chapter 21

  A few days later, Edward stalked into the breakfast room where Ellie was having a solitary meal. He flung a copy of the San Francisco Chronicle on the table in front of Ellie. “Read this,” he thundered. “How did that meddlesome reporter get wind of it?”

  Ellie glanced down:

  SIERRA SONGBIRD TO PERFORM AT RESCUE MISSION

  The latest news about Ellianna Sterling, who has captured the hearts of San Franciscans with her incredible voice and sweet personality, is indeed shocking. Miss Sterling plans to visit one of the meanest streets in our city and sing at the Rescue Mission. The mission, which offers ‘soup, soap, and salva- tion,’ is operated by Marvin Stanhope, long considered eccentric for turning his back on society in favor of a life of service.

  An unnamed source confirms that what began as a rumor is now fact. When asked why she would even consider such an outrageous venture the Sierra Songbird replied, “Jesus went to the lost sheep. Should I do less?”

  This reporter is torn between applauding the young lady’s courage and dashing to her rescue like a knight in the days of old.

  “How can the reporter know this?” Ellie cried. “Who is his unnamed source?” She fixed an accusing stare on Edward. “The only person I told how I felt was you!”

  The anger in Edward’s face changed to chagrin. He clutched his head in both hands. “I was so upset about your going to the mission that I blurted it out to Beryl. Ellie, I am so sorry.”

  Appetite gone, Ellie pushed back from the table and slumped in her chair. “This must be her revenge for the speculation about us.”

  Edward dropped into a chair next to her. “It’s more than speculation, Ellie. I’ve broken with Beryl for good. She blames you.” A corner of his mouth lifted in a lopsided smile. “It really is your fault, you know. No man in his right mind would marry a woman like Beryl when there are girls like you in the world.”

  “Stop.” She raised her hands in mute appeal. “You know how I feel about Joshua.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” Edward cocked one eyebrow and became his usual fun-loving self. “If good ol’ Josh were anyone but my twin, I’d fall in love with you. He is, and I won’t.” A scowl replaced Edward’s t
easing expression. He folded his arms across his chest and added, “I can’t say the same for the present pastor of Bayview Christian. Watch your step, Miss Sterling, or you’ll be Mrs. Michael Yates in spite of yourself. He’s determined to get to the top. What better way to achieve success than with the Sierra Songbird as his wife?”

  Ellie didn’t say so, but Edward’s evaluation matched her opinion of Michael. He never lost an opportunity to praise her and send languishing looks her way. Suddenly lighthearted by Edward’s promise not to fall in love with her, she brushed aside the thought of Michael, clasped her hands, and gave a mock sigh. “Oh, to be loved for myself alone, not just to help fulfill someone’s ambitions.”

  Edward twirled an imaginary mustache in the best stage villain tradition. “Beware, my pretty. Greed and ambition lurk in the hearts of men.”

  Ellie laughed at his nonsense. “Are we practicing this morning as usual?”

  Edward abandoned his dastardly role. “Of course. You want to sing your best for the derelicts as well as for society—unless I can talk you out of going to the mission.”

  “You can’t.”

  “I know. You, young lady, are a very determined person.”

  A few hours later, Ellie had need of every ounce of determination she could muster. Maria appeared at her open door. Her dark eyes sparkled. “You have a visitor. Senor Yates is waiting in the library. Senora Stanhope says you are to come at once.”

  “Bother!” Ellie laid down her Bible. “Just when I thought I’d have time to study.”

  The Mexican girl came closer. “You read about Jesús, sí?”

  “Sí.” Ellie smiled at her. “Jesus is my best friend.”

  Maria touched the silver cross she wore. “I love Jesús, too. But I think Senor Yates wants to be more than a best friend.” She clapped one hand over her mouth and left before Ellie could reply.

  Unnerved by Maria’s comment, Ellie reluctantly went down the curving stairway. Singing at Bayview Christian meant working closely with the Reverend Michael Yates. She’d known for some time he saw her as a means to an end, and it troubled her. If he’d come to declare his intentions to marry her, how could she turn him down without incurring his wrath? She entered the room lined with rare editions and fine paintings and chose a chair rather than the settee in order to distance herself from her uninvited guest.