the same evening he happened to be in town had been fortuitous, indeed.
He shuffled into the aisle in time to see a young woman in a dark blue dress hurry toward the back of the room. She cast a quick glance over her shoulder, eyes widening as she met his gaze.
Elizabeth King? Had she been so close this entire time? Funny, he should’ve felt those blue eyes boring holes in his spine. He shook himself and turned the opposite direction. Another encounter with the outspoken young woman would not be high on his list of desirable activities. Charles nodded at two elderly gentlemen as he eased his way toward the front.
Miss Cameron smiled and shook the hand of a portly woman dressed in yellow silk before turning toward Charles.
He cleared his throat. “Miss Cameron, it’s an honor to meet you. My name is Charles McKinley, of San Francisco. My law professor, Elmer Davis, speaks highly of your work.”
A smile spread across the missionary’s face. “Does he now? Did he tell you he volunteered as a legal advisor to the Mission back when I first arrived? I asked so many questions, he’d run when he saw me coming.”
Charles chuckled. “Professor Davis did mention you had a keen mind and a great aptitude for law.”
The youngest child came up beside Miss Cameron and took her hand.
Miss Cameron pulled the girl close to her side. “One must if they are to succeed in keeping these children safe. It is the law which protects them.”
“And in some ways, the laws have created the problem—am I right? Wouldn’t you say the Exclusion Act is partially to blame?” Charles smiled as the dark-eyed little girl stared up at him. How many stories—and secrets—those eyes contained.
“Halting immigration has made the situation more difficult. There simply aren’t enough brides to go around. But I cannot let these children pay the price of politics.”
“Of course. No woman should be forced into such work. Especially ones so young.” He forced himself to meet Miss Cameron’s steely gaze, as he couldn’t bear to look at the little girl again. “But don’t you think our efforts should be focused on changing the laws creating the issue, rather than merely treating the symptoms of the problem?”
Miss Cameron laid her hand on the child’s shoulder. “We must do both, Mr. McKinley, and I pray men like you will take up the challenge.”
Charles’s pulse quickened. “I hope to try one day. That issue, among others.”
“Then I will be certain to keep an eye on you. You should come visit our Mission Home. I can show you firsthand the work we do.”
“I’d be honored. Thank you.”
“McKinley . . .” The missionary tipped her head as she studied him. “Are you related to the late president by chance?”
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. How many times had he answered the question during his law studies? “No, I’m afraid not.”
Miss Cameron cupped her hand against the girl’s hair as the child burrowed against her side. “I should be going. I need to get the girls to bed—we’re staying with the minister’s family—and then I have business to attend to later this evening.”
“Business?” An inkling grew in the back of Charles’s mind. “Do you mean a rescue? Here in Sacramento?”
“The problem is not isolated to San Francisco, Mr. McKinley. Whenever I travel, I receive pleas from girls in the local communities. How can I refuse to render aid?” She laid one hand on her hip. “And though some would counsel me to focus on politics, I cannot refuse the call God has placed on my life. Where He leads me, I will go.”
Where He leads me . . . Charles pondered the words as he walked Miss Cameron and her young charge to the back of the room to meet the other girls. Had God placed this burning desire in his heart, as well?
***
Elizabeth lingered by a potted palm in the outer hall, nibbling at a hangnail. She’d sent Lillian home with another friend in hopes of speaking to the missionary alone. The assembly hall emptied, the shuffle of footsteps falling silent, but still Mr. McKinley monopolized Miss Cameron’s attention.
Elizabeth pressed a hand to her trembling midsection. Perhaps she should go home and think about this. Pray about it, Papa would say. Her throat tightened. If she waited, she’d lose her nerve. Her father had also encouraged them to live for God and to serve their fellow man. She’d failed on the first part; perhaps she could redeem herself in the second.
The voices grew louder as Miss Cameron and Mr. McKinley approached the doorway. Elizabeth steeled herself, her back as taut as piano wire. She stepped out of the shadows and into their path.
Mr. McKinley’s eyes widened. “Miss King—I didn’t know you were still here. Did you need something else?”
She forced herself to meet his eyes, however briefly. “I’d like a word with Miss Cameron, if she has a moment.” Elizabeth turned to the dignified woman, the missionary’s plumed hat making her appear even taller than the young attorney.
The oldest of the Chinese girls took the hands of the two smallest and led them to a nearby bench.
The lawyer gestured to Elizabeth. “Miss Cameron, allow me to present Miss Elizabeth King. She’s the daughter of one of my clients. I was . . . delighted . . . to encounter her here this evening.”
Miss Cameron took Elizabeth’s hand and shook it warmly. “A pleasure, Miss King.”
“Actually, we’ve met before.” A fluttering took up residence in Elizabeth’s stomach. “In San Francisco—last year, at my brother’s wedding.” Elizabeth spotted confusion in the woman’s eyes. “Dr. Robert King and his wife, Abby?”
Miss Cameron’s face brightened like a gas lamp turned on high. “Abby and Robert, of course! Abby is a dear friend to the Mission. I’m afraid I was unable to stay long enough to make everyone’s acquaintance that day. You’re Robert’s sister? And Ruby’s?”
“Yes.” Elizabeth swallowed, her throat as dry as day-old toast. Was she really going to do this here, in front of Silas McKinley’s nephew? She reached deep within, drawing from a well of inner strength she’d thought lost months before. “I was quite moved by your words—your stories.” She cleared her throat in a vain attempt to steady her voice, “If you were sincere about needing teachers, I’d like to offer my services.”
Mr. McKinley’s jaw dropped.
A wide smile crossed Miss Cameron’s face. “I was in earnest. Our English teacher recently left to marry one of the trustees, and we’ve been without a sewing or music instructor for far too long. What subject interests you?”
Not music. Elizabeth bit her lip. “I graduated from one of the finest schools in Sacramento, but I do not hold a teaching certificate.”
“Our girls don’t care about such formalities. What matters is the heart.”
“I took high marks in English and composition. And I’m told I sew quite well. My sister Ruby taught me everything I know. She’s the truly gifted one.”
Miss
