“Ah, I see.” He remained there, leaning, looking past Henry to stare out the window where sunshine streamed in. Finally he shook his head. “I suppose my fishing trip’s going to have to come to an end soon. Today, I think.”
“Yes, I thought it might,” Henry said as he reached for the topmost document in the stack. “But on the bright side, July will be over soon. Your banishment will end before you know it.”
When Asa did not respond, Henry looked up to see he’d already gone.
By lunchtime, he’d wandered out, intending to merely stroll past the Gazette. Of course he ended up inside and returned to his office with plans for another evening out with Miss Morgan. This time they might actually attend the opera. He might actually kiss her as well.
That night the music was superb, the company delightful. Helen wore the green dress again, disguised by a lovely shawl, but he would have never let on that he noticed. Most of the time they sat in silence, holding hands and trading covert glances. At the end of the evening, with James whistling an irritating rendition of “Home Sweet Home,” Henry walked Helen to the door and in a moment of stupidity, bravery, and insanity, held her in his arms and kissed her.
He expected her to slap him. He certainly deserved as much. Instead, she kissed him back, then raced inside, embarrassed. The next morning he sent flowers and a lovely dress from the mercantile that he’d been unable to resist. Pale pink—it reminded him of the color in her cheeks when he kissed her.
She kept the flowers but returned the dress along with a note stating her appreciation but explaining that she was unable to keep such a personal gift. He returned the gift to her with another note, this one explaining why he chose that particular color. Not only did she keep the dress, but she also wore it that night to the symphony along with a flower from the bouquet pinned in her hair.
By the end of the second week, they had not only attended the opera, but they’d also had two picnics, visited church together, enjoyed two evenings at the symphony, endured an afternoon’s sail on the choppy bay, and finally last night, had dinner with his mother.
That memory burned stronger than any of the others. Of course, Anna loved Helen immediately. There had been no doubt that she would.
Tomorrow he would see Helen again. He would ask her to become his wife.
Thursday, July 19, 1860
They sat at the same table in the same little room upstairs. Henry made sure every detail was perfect, even to the point of rehearsing the grand finale of the evening with the restaurant’s owner. While his plan to have the ring embedded in the apple dumpling had been nixed by both the owner and the cook, Henry did manage to talk the waiter into cooperating with his alternate plan.
Anticipating Helen’s surprise at finding an engagement ring slipped over the stem of her fork kept Henry on edge all day. By the time he and Helen arrived at the restaurant, she suspected something was in the offing. When she spied the ring, she burst into tears.
Henry dropped to one knee beside her and searched for the eloquent speech he’d memorized. It was gone. In its place, he found these words: “Helen Morgan, do me the honor of becoming my wife.”
His beloved looked at the ring, then lifted her gaze to meet his. Her eyes brimming with tears and her cheeks the color of her dress, she looked away. “It’s lovely, Henry,” she said softly. “I d–d–don’t know what to say.”
He grasped both her hands in his. “Say yes, Helen.”
For a long moment, silence fell between them. Henry felt sure his heart would burst before he heard the words that would make him the happiest man in San Francisco.
Thank You, God, for giving me Helen. Now, would You please make her say something?
“I can’t marry you, Henry.” She jumped up and ran out the door. Henry climbed to his feet and watched her go.
“That’s not exactly what I had in mind, Lord.”
Racing down the stairs and through the maze of tables in the main dining room, Henry ignored the calls of friends, constituents, and political allies. He had to find Helen. He pushed past the doors to emerge on the sidewalk, then froze in his tracks. Helen was being hurled into a buggy, which sped away down Montgomery Street. Holding the reins was an all-too-familiar man: Toothless.
Henry climbed into the saddle of the first horse he could reach and set off after the buggy. The chase led him through the city’s center, then east toward the water. At the edge of the bay, the buggy stopped abruptly by a stand of eucalyptus. Two dark-clad men spilled out, but Helen remained inside.
If something happens to Helen, Lord, I will die, too. So unless You want the both of us at Your door, please do something.
Dismounting, Henry reached beneath his jacket for the revolver. Before either man could take aim, Henry had fired off two shots. He strode past the two crumpled and groaning forms to lift a distraught Helen from the buggy. She nestled against his chest and let the tears flow.
“They said you owed them money,” she said between deep gulps for air. “They told me you took money to guarantee a win in the election and then killed Frank Bynum so you didn’t have to pay it back.”
“Shhh,” he whispered. “Those are lies. You didn’t believe them, did you?”
Helen shook her head. “No, but—”
The clatter of horses’ hooves interrupted her. A moment later, the chief of police and several of his deputies rode into sight.
“Thank the good Lord you’re here, Chief,” Henry said.
The chief reined in his horse and looked down at Henry. “Arrest the lot of ’em, boys,” he said.
A pair of deputies dismounted and headed toward Toothless and his accomplice while a third pushed Helen away to place restraints on Henry’s wrists. When Henry protested, the deputy raised his club, and the world went black.
Chapter 9
Friday, July 20, 1860
I don’t care what the police say. I know Henry’s not guilty.” Helen tried to remain calm as she sat across the desk from the chief of police, the very man who had ordered Henry’s arrest.
The chief offered a condescending smile. “I applaud your loyalty, Miss Morgan, but the facts do not lie.” He leaned back in his chair. “Those two fellows he shot worked for Frank Bynum. When their boss turned up dead, they figured they would make a little money out of the deal by trying to shake down Mr. Hill for some of the gold he’d been given.”
She focused on her hands rather than look directly at the chief. “That makes no sense. Henry already has plenty of money.”
The chief laughed. “In my line of work, I’ve learned that no one ever has enough money. Besides that, it wasn’t just the money that made him do it. You see, Henry Hill needed votes more than he needed gold. Bynum offered him the votes, sweetened the deal with the money, and then got in the way of a bullet from Henry Hill’s gun when Hill backed out of the deal.”
White-hot anger boiled just beneath the surface. How dare this man accuse Henry of such things? “That’s not true,” she said through a clenched jaw.
“Lady, I’ve got a receipt made out to one Henry Hill for the sale of a diamond pin to a jeweler in Los Angeles. Cleaning lady found it when she moved the filing cabinet in the office. The jeweler has identified the pin as an identical copy of the one missing from Frank Bynum’s body. To top things off, Henry Hall, the tavern owner we’d pegged as the gunman, was found dead in a shallow grave. Looks like he’d been there awhile, which means he couldn’t have pulled the trigger on Bynum.”
He handed her the paper, and she read it while her heart sank. A moment later, she collected her thoughts. Henry was innocent. That she knew.
“Where did you get this?”
“His partner found it in his office. Said it was behind a filing cabinet.”
“It could have been planted there.”
His face softened. “Look, I know you care about Henry. I like him, too. Trouble is, he’s a crook.”
Again her anger flared. “P–p–prove it,” she said as she rose and t
ossed the offensive document onto the desk.
The chief pushed back from the desk and stood. “Why don’t you prove he isn’t a crook?”
Helen stormed out of the police station determined to do just that. Her Henry was not mixed up with thugs and hoodlums. He was a good man. But how to prove it? She smiled and turned toward Montgomery Street and Henry’s office.
Perhaps a bit of sleuthing would turn up a clue to exonerate Henry. She took the back stairs up to the second floor and slipped inside the offices of Chambers and Hill as quietly as possible. Noises from downstairs floated up through the floor, but Helen soon found the offices to be empty. She stole past the portraits of Henry and his partner and hurried to Henry’s office to begin her search. Something, anything had to be found to prove him innocent.
“Well, what do we have here?”
Helen nearly jumped out of her skin, and her heart raced. She whirled around to find Henry’s partner, Asa Chambers, standing in the doorway. She recognized him from the portrait in the foyer.
“I’m terribly sorry. I’m Helen, Henry’s fiancée.” She cringed as she said it.
She should be his fiancée if it weren’t for her selfishness. If only she’d told him she feared she wouldn’t be the wife he needed rather than running away.
Helen pushed those thoughts aside and gave thanks that the Lord had sent help. Soon she could tell Henry everything. Soon she would ask his forgiveness and accept his offer, if it still stood. Soon perhaps she would be his fiancée.
“Henry told me you were away on holiday, Mr. Chambers.”
His smile upped a notch, but his posture tensed. “I guess you weren’t expecting me.”
“Actually, no,” she said, “but as long as you’re here, perhaps you could help me.”
She pressed past him to head for the filing cabinet in the foyer where the receipt had been found. Kneeling to open the bottom drawer, she found it stuck. She pulled hard, and the drawer flew open. An oversized book, one she recognized as an accounting ledger, slid forward with a thud. She picked it up and held it in her lap. “I’m looking for any sort of evidence that will help to prove that Henry—”
The air went out of her mid-sentence, and it took a moment to register that Asa Chambers had his hand wrapped around her throat. The ledger fell to the floor as Asa lifted her to her feet. On the opened page, she could see the names of certain prominent San Franciscans with numbers written beside them.
Contributions or bribes? She might never know, but she’d do what she could to see that Henry—and the police—found out.
“We’re both on the s–s–same side, Mr. Chambers. Why don’t you let me go so we can talk about this?”
“You should never have seen that ledger. I honestly hoped it wouldn’t come to this.” Asa began to move her toward Henry’s office. “Henry’s my friend. I worked too hard to make sure he won the race, and now look what you’ve done.”
“What I’ve done?” Helen choked off the last of the statement when Asa’s beefy arm closed around her waist.
She jabbed at him with her elbows. He only laughed.
“You weren’t the right wife for him anyway.”
Asa turned her around to face him, then slammed her back against the wall. Through the haze of pain, Helen could see the vein on the side of his forehead throb, could smell the sweet macassar oil in his hair.
His lips twisted into a scowl. “He needs someone who can be an asset to him, someone who can talk and not be an embarrassment.”
The truth. There it hung in the narrow space between them. For one brief moment in this horrendous conversation, Asa Chambers was right.
His eyes narrowed. The vein in his forehead pulsed faster.
And then she remembered Jennie’s words: “Who are we to doubt when He points us to the man He’s created for us?”
“Who are we to doubt?” she whispered as she summoned all the strength, all the fight, she could muster. A well-placed kick, and he loosened his grip; another, and he crumpled to the floor, taking her with him. Helen slid from his grasp and ran as fast as her crinolines would allow, slowing only to retrieve the ledger.
She cast a glance back to see Asa climb to his feet, then fall once more. Pausing only long enough to gauge the distance to the main stairs and Montgomery Street beyond, she ducked down the back stairs. Hanging on with one hand, the ledger tucked under her arm, Helen raced down the stairs. A few steps from the bottom, she turned to see how close her captor had come to catching her.
No one was there.
She stopped and tried to catch her breath, then started to giggle. It was irrational. Ridiculous. Yet all Helen could feel was exhilaration that she’d bested Asa Chambers. With the ledger in hand, Henry would be freed and all would be well.
Click. “Give me the ledger.”
Helen turned around slowly to face Asa Chambers. He held a revolver inches from her forehead.
“The ledger, Miss Morgan. I want it—”
A shot rang out, and his face registered surprise, then shock. A second later he crumpled in a heap at Helen’s feet. She looked beyond the wounded man to see Henry rushing toward her.
He gathered her in his arms and carried her out to his carriage. His driver looked frantic as he jumped up to open the carriage door. “What in the world happened back there, Mr. Hill? I done heard gunshots. Took all I had to keep the hosses from runnin’ off.”
Henry grasped Helen’s hand, searched her face. “Did he hurt you?”
Gulping for air, she managed to say, “No. How did you get here? Why aren’t you in jail?”
“When the chief explained the enormity of their crimes, the thugs who kidnapped you were only happy to oblige and tell the whole story.”
“Which is?”
“Which is that Asa was behind the whole thing.” Henry looked away, pained. “He sold the promise of my political influence to anyone who would pay and hired those two to make sure the payments reached him.”
Helen reached for his hand and held it tight. “But why did they come after you?”
“When the Bynum fellow asked for proof of my cooperation in the scam, Asa had none to provide. Bynum had already paid up, so he asked for his gold to be returned. So did a few other people, which put Asa in quite a financial bind.”
“But I thought he was fairly well-to-do.”
Henry shook his head. “No, his father is well-to-do. Asa is still waiting for his share of the fortune.”
“Oh.” Helen drew closer to Henry.
“Asa sent those thugs after me and ultimately after you to try to collect money to pay his debts. Bynum got impatient, and it cost him his life.” He held her against his chest, studied her for a moment, then held her tight again. “You know I love you, Helen, and I’m terribly sorry you had to be involved in this.”
“I love you, too, Henry, and a wife should be involved in her husband’s life, good or bad.”
“A wife?”
When he leaned back to look at her, she nodded. “Yes, if the offer is still good.”
“Oh yes, the offer’s most definitely still good.” He kissed her soundly, then paused and looked away. “I have to see to Asa. Regardless of what he’s done, he’s my friend. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” she said. “But please be careful.”
“I will.” He turned to his driver. “See that she stays here, James, and be on the ready. Mr. Chambers may need to be transported to the hospital.”
Wednesday, July 25, 1860
Helen leaned back in her chair and allowed her gaze to fall on the remains of their dinner. As in the two times before, Henry insisted they dine privately, with only the lead waiter, Mr. Kent, and his army of waiters as chaperones.
“Something wrong?” Henry reached for her hand and held it against his chest. “You look a bit pensive.”
Helen giggled. “Pensive? Not exactly. Overfed, perhaps.”
“You barely ate enough to feed a bird, my darling,” he said. “Don’t tell me you’re
not going to have dessert.”
“Apple dumpling?”
Henry winked. “Exactly what I had in mind.” He motioned for the waiter, who scurried off down the stairs.
Helen leaned against Henry’s shoulder and closed her eyes. The night was perfect. Almost. “How’s Asa?”
“Asa?” She felt his shoulders heave. “Asa’s healthy as a horse, but he’ll walk with a limp for a while.”
She pulled away to stare into his eyes. “You could have killed him, you know. A less understanding man might have. You did the right thing. Now it’s in the hands of the judge.”
Henry ducked his head. “I suppose.”
“Dessert is served!”
The waiter placed two steaming apple dumplings on the table before them, then retreated to his place by the stairs. A second later he hid himself behind yesterday’s copy of the Golden Gate Gazette.
While Henry dug in to his dessert, Helen weighed the fork in her hand but did not take a bite. The last time her fork had been adorned with a beautiful ring tied up in a green ribbon. How different things might have been if she’d just said yes the first time. With time to consider the situation, Henry probably had come to the conclusion that he’d do better finding a wife who was an asset to his political career instead of a hindrance.
“Do I have to finish yours, too?”
Helen looked over at Henry’s empty plate and contemplated the real threat of losing her apple dumpling to him. While he pretended to reach for her plate, she stuck her fork in and pulled out … a ring?
“Henry? What’s this?”
He dropped the fork into the pitcher of water and fished out a beautiful—and clean—engagement ring adorned with one oversized emerald and circled in diamonds. He dropped to one knee. “Helen Morgan, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
For a moment she sat stunned. Finally, she found her voice. “But, Henry, I stutter, I hate crowds, and I completely disagree with your preferences in the works of Shakespeare and Jane Austen. What sort of wife would I make for the next mayor of San Francisco?”
The Valiant Hearts Romance Collection Page 13
