Of course! That unusual banging noise she had heard would explain everything. Someone had crammed the wooden back of a chair from the hallway under the knob. That was what was interfering with the door’s path.
She sank back on the lower steps and just sat there, thinking. If she raised a ruckus someone would surely hear, eventually, and rescue her. Shouting was a great idea—as long as her original pursuer was truly gone.
And as long as he was as innocent as she had imagined, she added. The notion that there might be real danger lurking in a place like this would never have occurred to her a few weeks ago. Now, however, she seemed to be seeing bogeymen behind every velvet drape and inside every ward.
“That is preposterous,” Sara Beth insisted aloud. “Patently false. I am as safe here as I was in my own home.”
Shivers shot up her spine when she pictured that home and the man who now laid claim to it. Panic began to well up within her and cause her to tremble.
She grabbed the knob and shook the barred door as hard as she could. It was only then that she realized there was more shaking going on than what she was causing. San Francisco was having another earthquake.
And this one was no trifle.
Chapter Sixteen
Taylor would have called out a greeting as he entered the orphanage if he hadn’t been relatively certain mischief was afoot. Truth to tell, he hoped that that was all it was. Given the events of late, there was no telling what was actually going on inside the dark house.
He knew the floor plan by heart, making it easy for him to wend his way through the kitchen and check out the other rooms on the ground floor. Nothing seemed amiss until he rounded a corner into the hall and ran smack into someone.
Instinct made him grab for the smaller figure. “Whoa. Hold on. I’m not going to hurt you,” Taylor assured him. “What’s going on?”
“None of your business,” the boy said, struggling to free himself.
Taylor was certain he recognized that voice. “Settle down, Luke. All I want to know is why you’re up and about when everybody else seems to have gone to bed.”
“Let me go.”
“Not until you talk to me.” He hesitated, bracing himself as he felt a tremor beneath his feet. “Did the earthquakes scare you? Is that it?”
“Uh, right.”
“Where’s your sister?”
“How should I know? It’s not my job to take care of her.”
Although Taylor couldn’t see the boy’s face as more than a shadow, he could hear the contempt in his tone. “You should be thankful she doesn’t feel that way about you.”
“I don’t care. I can take care of myself.”
With that, Luke gave a quick jerk and managed to twist out of Taylor’s grip. In an instant he had ducked beneath the doctor’s outstretched arms and fled.
Something white on the floor at his feet caught Taylor’s attention. He bent and picked it up. It was an empty pillowcase.
Puzzlement quickly gave way to anger. Evidently, Luke had been planning to fill the linen bag with booty and then leave the orphanage, just as many unmanageable boys had done in the past. It took a special kind of person, a truly forgiving soul, to keep the doors of the home open to all those in need when so many took advantage of the kindness.
Troubled by his conclusions, Taylor sighed. He would have to inform the matron, of course, and then tell Sara Beth. Such painful honesty would probably do his personal cause little good, but he had no choice. If the boy was on the wrong path it was up to them all to try to turn him around.
He smiled slightly. His own youth had not exactly been misspent, but he had come close to making a few bad decisions, for which he would still be paying if a kindly church deacon had not befriended him. There was hope for Luke. Especially if they could keep him from taking that first step into a life of crime.
Fisting the pillowcase, Taylor started up the stairs. He would rouse some of the adults within the household and enlist their help in searching for Luke and trying to talk sense into him. Perhaps Mrs. McNeil would also notify Sara Beth. No matter what else occurred, Taylor was determined to follow through on his plans to speak with her. To ask her to consider him as a beau.
If he had been paying more attention to his path instead of musing about Sara Beth, he might have avoided a collision with another person galloping down the stairs.
The wiry youth crashed into Taylor’s shoulder as he bolted past, almost knocking him off his feet.
“Hey! Watch out,” the doctor shouted, wheeling and grabbing the banister.
The youth didn’t slow. Nor did he answer except to curse colorfully. Taylor didn’t recognize his voice or his stature, although there were a few residents who may have been nearly that tall. In the dark and on the stairway, it was hard to judge size accurately.
Pausing to stare after the fleeing figure, he had decided to return to the kitchen for a candle or a lamp when he noticed a faint glow coming from the upper story. Was someone else awake after all?
Light reflection moved and increased as he watched, beginning to shimmer on the walls and ceiling. It looked like the effects of a lamp, yet…
He sniffed as the air began to thicken. Smoke? His heart leaped. For a few seconds he was speechless.
Then, he recovered enough to begin to run up the stairs, two at a time.
His eyes burned and watered. The most important task was rousing the household and getting everyone out. He made a fist and started down the hall, banging on each bedroom door in turn and shouting, “Fire!”
Sara Beth had not wasted time pushing on the blocked door. Instead, she had followed the closed-in stairway with the hope of finding an alternate exit.
The abandoned servants’ quarters at the top of the stairs were stuffy. One window at the end of the narrow attic room admitted just enough moonlight to allow her to see shadows and shapes in spite of the fog.
Arms extended, she cautiously worked her way around the room, sliding her feet along the dusty floor so she wouldn’t trip. There was a table, a bedstead and a rickety ladder-back chair, which she found the hard way by almost falling over it. Other than that, the place seemed totally abandoned.
Thankfully, its small dimensions allowed her to quickly examine the wainscoted walls, looking for an exterior door. At this point she didn’t care where it led as long as it eventually brought freedom.
The moment she touched the edge of the jamb and realized she’d found what she’d sought, she reacted with thankfulness. Unshed tears welled.
She kept repeating, “Praise the Lord,” while her fingers explored the rectangular jamb. Like the entrance from which she had emerged, this portal was narrow and fitted with a brass knob.
She grabbed it. Twisted. Unfortunately, this door remained firmly in place. “No, no, no,” she whispered. “Please, Jesus, let me get out.”
Still exploring by touch, Sara Beth found that this door, unlike the one at the bottom of the stairs, did have a keyhole. To her dismay, however, there was no key in evidence.
Dropping onto her hands and knees she began to feel along the dusty floor, hoping against hope that a key had simply fallen out and was lying there waiting for her to pick it up. There was nothing but dirt.
Frustrated, she huffed in self-disgust. This was a fine kettle of fish, wasn’t it? Morning might come before anyone missed her, let alone heard her cries for help and either located the right key with which to let her out or removed the chair from the door on the floor below.
“Well, at least if I can’t get out, no one can get in this way to harm me,” she told herself, starting to worry more about the others in the mansion, especially the innocent children, and realizing that there wasn’t a thing she could do about it.
Looking for diversion, she edged carefully toward the narrow window and gazed at the city below. Normally, with the weather as foggy as this, she would not have been able to see much.
Her hand flew to her throat. Not only could she see plenty, she could tel
l that this most recent quake had done the same thing that had happened in the past. It had started fires.
She could only spot two places aglow through the thick, moist air, but there might be more. There probably were. And that meant that the volunteer fire brigades would be out in force, risking their own well-being while trying to save life and property.
Prayer was her only recourse, the only way she could hope to help. She folded her hands and closed her eyes. “Please, Father, help them. Help them all. And keep the firemen safe from harm, too.”
Her prayer then expanded to include her friends and family, especially Taylor Hayward. He would undoubtedly be out and about, too, offering care and doing all he could to ease suffering. That was the kind of man he was. Stalwart. Sacrificing. Admirable beyond words.
“And I love him, Father,” Sara Beth said aloud. “He’s ashamed of my family but I can’t help myself. I love him so much it hurts. I just don’t know how to stop myself.”
Opening her eyes, she caught a glimpse of white objects moving on the lawn below like tiny flower petals blowing in the wind. Nightshirts? Yes! Lots of them. Myriad children were scurrying around the expansive gardens and it looked as if plenty of adults were with them, shooing them hither and yon like gaggles of geese.
Had there been earthquake damage to this building, too? she wondered. It seemed sturdy enough to her. Then again, she wasn’t privy to the whole structure.
It suddenly occurred to her that this had been the answer to her prayer for the children. As long as they were awake and in the company of their caretakers, they would be safer than sleeping in their beds with a stranger prowling the halls.
And, perhaps, when all the excitement from the shaking died down, someone would miss her and start a search.
She smiled. Maybe, since God was already answering her pleas, the person who came looking for her would be Taylor Hayward! There was no one she would rather it be. She could hardly wait.
“Where are the Reese boys?” the doctor shouted. “I don’t see them.”
Mrs. McNeil pointed. “Over there. With their ward caretakers. We got everybody out safely, thanks to you.”
“What about the baby?”
“The people from the nursery are all out in the back garden. I’m sure he’s fine.”
“What about Sara Beth?”
The matron’s eyes saucered. “I don’t know. She must be here somewhere. She’s probably helping with the littlest ones. I know the staff checked each ward carefully before leaving.”
Taylor wasn’t satisfied. Until he saw the love of his life with his own eyes, he was going to keep looking. The fire was still small enough that he could reenter the orphanage if he had to. And if he could not quickly locate Sara Beth, that was exactly what he was going to do.
Running, he rounded the corner by the kitchen and ran smack into Luke. “Where’s your sister?”
The boy’s expression was unreadable.
“Answer me.” He shook Luke by the shoulders. “Tell me. Where is she?”
“I—I don’t know.”
“Where did you last see her?”
“In—in the parlor. I told you.”
“That was half an hour ago. Have you seen her since?” He gave the boy another shake. “Well?”
Luke lowered his head until his mop of hair masked his face, but Taylor could tell plenty by his body language. The boy was clearly hiding something. And as long as Sara Beth was unaccounted for, he was not going to let him get away with any subterfuge.
“Look, son, I don’t care what else you were up to tonight. Understand? I just want to make sure your sister is all right.”
“Why?”
“Because I care about her—and so should you,” Taylor said. “She’s the glue that’s holding your family together and she’s risked her life to do it.”
“Oh, really?”
“Really.” Taylor would have liked to turn the boy over his knee and give him a proper education with a hickory switch the way a few of his teachers had enlightened him when he was a child, but he didn’t have time to waste.
“So, what were you and your friend up to tonight?”
Luke cringed beneath the man’s grasp. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, you do. Who was he and what were you two planning? I found the sack where you dropped it. Was he going to make you a member of his gang if you helped him rob this place?”
His head snapped up. “How did you know?”
“Because I was young and stupid once, too. And because I think I may have recognized the fellow who ran into me right after you did. I couldn’t place him at first but now that I think about it—”
“We never took a thing,” Luke insisted.
“Only because a fire started and you had to get out with everybody else.”
Wide-eyed, the boy swiveled his neck and stared at the mansion. “Do you think Sara Beth…?”
There was a glow behind the front door and smoke was billowing from several open upstairs windows. Taylor figured the building was still salvageable, assuming one of the fire brigades arrived fairly soon.
“I don’t know,” Taylor said. “You go find Mathias and then both of you wait with Josiah. If she’s in there, I’ll find her.”
“Let me go, too.”
“And have to spend my time tracking you down again when you’re already safe out here? No way. For once in your life, do as you’re told.”
Expecting an argument, Taylor was astounded when the teary-eyed boy merely nodded and said, “Yes, sir.”
“Is she dead?”
“As good as.” The assassin held out his hand. “Where’s my money?”
“I expected you to use the loot from the orphanage to pay yourself,” Bein said, laughing wryly.
“I had to leave in a hurry. I didn’t get nothing.”
“That’s hardly my fault.”
“If you don’t pay me I’ll—”
“You’ll what? Talk? Blame me? I hardly think so. Not when the sheriff tells me you have another murder hanging over your head.” He scowled. “Did you make sure she was dead?”
“She will be. I left her trapped in a closet and set the hall outside it on fire. She’ll bake like a loaf of bread in an oven.”
“She’d better. What about all the others in that big house? What if they die, too?”
“That’s none of my concern,” the assassin said. “I don’t owe nobody there a thing. They turned me away after my ma died and my pa took off for the gold fields. Said I was too old.”
“I hope you were old enough and smart enough to handle this job.”
“I was.” He brandished the knife that he’d intended to use on Sara Beth before his plans had changed. “Now, let’s you and me talk about money.”
Chapter Seventeen
The stuffiness of the tiny upper room was growing unbearable. Sara Beth tried to open the small window. It had apparently been closed for so long that it was stuck tight, because no matter how hard she strained it wouldn’t budge.
She sighed, wishing she were down on the lawn in the fresh air with the children. Patience had never been one of her virtues, as she was being constantly reminded. She might have many pleasing traits such as kindness, forbearance, love, joy in adversity, forgiveness…
The instant she had that particular thought, she was penitent. She was not forgiving. Not the way the Good Book said she should be. She was holding a grudge against the man whom she believed had had her parents killed and she didn’t see any way to stop hating him for the horrible things he had done.
That was probably the key, she reasoned. It was all right to hate evil acts, but not to hate the person who carried them out. Sadly, she could not manage that either.
She immediately visualized William Bein. He may not have been directly responsible for Papa Robert’s and Mama’s deaths, but he had certainly taken advantage of them. And who was to say for certain that he had not been the evil force behind everything? Papa
had visited the wharf that night to speak with someone he had caught cheating. Who fit that description better than dear old Uncle William?
Taking a deep breath and releasing it as a sigh, Sara Beth was surprised to catch a whiff of a strange, acrid odor. She frowned. In the dimness of the moonlit garret she couldn’t spot any source of such a smell, yet…
She sniffed. Followed her nose. It took her to the stairwell she had climbed to gain access to the abandoned room. Continuing to inhale slowly, thoughtfully, she made up her mind.
Smoke. It was smoke she was smelling. It was drifting up the stairway and starting to infiltrate the tiny room. That was why all the children had been taken outside. The orphanage was on fire!
Heart pounding, she spun in a circle, trying to decide what to do. There was no way out that she could see. Her one best hope was probably staying as far from the flames as she could until someone rescued her.
“Only no one knows where I am,” she lamented. “No one but God.” Her eyes widened as she noted the smell of burning wood increasing.
One thing was certain. The same Heavenly Father who had given her a useful intellect would expect her to use it rather than simply sit there and become a victim of her own lack of initiative. But what could she do? And how long might it be before someone found her?
Determined to isolate herself from the acrid air as much as possible, she whipped off her petticoats and hurried down the stairs to stuff them at the base of the door. That would buy a little time. So would finding a source of breathable air.
It took her only a moment to decide to break out the stuck window. Grabbing the chair, she struck the glass with its ladder-shaped back. Once. Twice. Nothing happened.
Finally frantic enough to use her full strength, she managed to crack the heavy glass. It shattered in a starburst pattern that she was then able to break away from the frame. Leaning out, she took deep, cleansing breaths. Night air from the bay had never smelled better.
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