had been questioned from the beginning, and ballot boxes with false bottoms had been written about in the evening Bulletin. Its publisher, Mr. James King, had been crusading against corruption in San Francisco for months and had even withstood threats on his life in order to continue to print the truth.
“That’s what I’ll do,” Sara Beth murmured, elated by her idea. “As soon as I have a chance, I’ll pen a letter to the newspaper and ask for information about my parents’ murders.”
Would Mr. King print such a thing? Oh, yes. He was an honorable gentleman who stood firm against the riffraff and evildoers who lurked among the good people of the city. He would gladly print her missive. And then perhaps she’d see her parents avenged.
Thoughts of allies and admirable men brought Dr. Hayward to mind once again. Not only did he cut a fine figure, there had been benevolence and caring in his gaze. As soon as she was able, she planned to somehow repay his kindnesses. Until then, she would simply take each moment, each hour, each day, one at a time.
To sensibly contemplate the future, when her heart was breaking and her mind awhirl, was more than difficult. It was impossible.
The sun was rising and the city was coming to life as Taylor drove slowly down crowded Sacramento Street and past the What Cheer House. Hotels had proliferated in San Francisco until there were nearly sixty, although none quite as accommodating as the one R. B. Woodward ran, especially if a fellow wanted a warm, clean bath and a decent meal.
Freight wagons and vendors made up the bulk of the traffic to and from the docks. This was not the best time of day to be trying to squeeze a flimsy doctor’s buggy through the main streets, wide though they were, so Taylor headed for the livery stable to leave his rig and complete his errands on foot.
There were times, like now, when he almost wished he were back studying at Massachusetts General Hospital. He had been happiest while learning his trade, always eager to follow successful medical men on their rounds and observe the latest techniques. Everyone agreed that the best teaching hospitals were in Germany but given the state of his purse, such a trip was impossible. Someday, perhaps, he’d manage to travel overseas to study. In the meantime, his place was right here in San Francisco.
“Helping Miss Reese,” he added with conviction. He had not been in time to save her parents, but he was going to assist her in every way possible. It was the least he could do.
Leaving his horse and buggy, he made his way along the boarded walk to the Plaza on Portsmouth Square and passed the Hall of Records. As soon as he’d talked to Coleman he’d come back here and see if he could find out who owned the house in which Sara Beth and her family had lived. If, as the sheriff had claimed, it belonged to the government, then he didn’t see how she’d ever win it back.
The thought of that sweet, innocent young woman having to take up permanent residence at the orphanage cut him to the quick. Yes, it was well-run. And, yes, it was useful as a temporary shelter. But that was where his approval ended. The place was too cramped, too crowded, and that meant that chances of sickness rose appreciably, especially when summer miasma engulfed the city.
He wasn’t sure he believed the experts who claimed that the air itself caused illness, but he did know from experience that the more children who were housed together, the greater the chances that they would catch whatever diseases their companions suffered from. That was a given. And as long as the Reese children and their sister resided with the other orphans, they would be in mortal danger.
The day sped past. Sara Beth saw to it that her brothers were settled in the boys’ dormitory and had gone with their fellows to afternoon classes at a nearby school. This new life seemed to suit them a lot better than it did her and Josiah. The little boy had fussed most of the day, wearing her patience thin until she had finally agreed to let him be taken to spend the daylight hours with the other babies under the age of three.
Their parting had brought tears to her eyes, especially when he had begun to sob and reach for her. “No, you need to go with Mrs. McNeil,” Sara Beth had said firmly. “Sister has work to do and I can’t do it if I’m toting you around.” She’d patted his damp cheek in parting. “Be a good boy, now. I’ll pick you up after I finish my evening chores. I promise.”
Now, up to her elbows in dishwater, she started to yearn for her former life, then stopped herself. “Don’t,” she said softly. “That’s gone. Over. You have to make do. Mama did and you can, too.”
“That’s the spirit,” Clara said as she added more soiled tin plates to the stack by the sink. “Never give up and you’ll be much happier. I know I am.”
“Have you worked here long?” Sara Beth asked.
“Since my Charlie passed on. Cholera got him right after we arrived. We was goin’ to start a little restaurant and get our share of the gold dust the honest way.” She sighed, her ample chest rising and falling noticeably with the effort. “I figure at least this way, my skills in the kitchen aren’t going to waste.”
“I wish I were talented in some special way,” Sara Beth said. “Mama had been training me to keep a nice house, just as she did. Beyond that I know very little.”
“You can read and write, can’t you?”
“Yes. Of course. As a matter of fact, there is a letter I plan to pen as soon as I have a spare moment. Do you know where I can find paper and ink?”
“Ella can give you whatever you need,” Clara said with a smile. “I swan, that woman could make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear.”
“She is amazing, isn’t she? I don’t know what I’d have done if she hadn’t let me stay.”
“What about your parents? Are they both gone?”
Sara Beth nodded solemnly. “Yes. I shall have to pay to have them buried and I haven’t a cent.”
“There’s plenty of paupers’ graves in Yerba Buena Cemetery. That’s where my Charlie is laid to rest. The only thing that bothers me is not having a headstone. Practically no one does, so I guess that makes us all equal, rich and poor.”
“I suppose so. Mr. Warner has promised to make the arrangements for me.”
“Old Abe Warner? Then let him. He may live like poor folks but that saloon of his has to be rakin’ in the gold dust by the bucketful. How’d you come to know him, a fine lady like you?”
That question amused Sara Beth. “Mama loved his menagerie. We used to take our constitutionals down by the waterfront and we’d often stop to feed the monkeys or those beautiful big birds he kept. I even saw a bear there once.”
“I reckon he needs all those critters to clean up the garbage. From the looks of his place, he could use a few more, too.” She chuckled, then added, “That’s better. I know you could smile if you tried.”
“I hate to. I mean, it seems wrong, somehow. My family has been decimated and we’re in such dire straits we may never recover, yet part of me feels a sense of joy.”
“That’s the Lord tellin’ you He’s got the answers,” Clara offered. “They may be a while in comin’ and may not be the ones you asked for, but He’ll look after his children. I’ve been sure of that ever since I walked through these doors and found my own place of refuge.”
“Do you think it’s ungrateful of me
