Josiah's Treasure (23 page)

A rare smile flitted across Anne’s face; she knew Sarah was exaggerating. “It’s only for today. Besides, the lithograph equipment is not even here yet.”

“The press will arrive tomorrow. I need you to set it up.”

“I will try to be here.” Anne flipped the hood of her cloak over her head. “Remember to be careful. Truly, be alert and on guard.”

Her tone was so earnest it raised goose bumps on Sarah’s skin. “I will.”

“Good.” Brusquely, Anne nodded and rushed off.

“She’ll never leave that man,” Cora announced from the top step of the shop staircase. “He’s nothing but trouble, and he’s dragging her down with him.”

Sarah rubbed her hands down her arms, chasing off the goose bumps. Her knuckles skimmed the cool ivory of the brooch pinned at her waist—the
Rêve d’Or
roses brooch, the one that called to mind her mother’s composure, that brought Sarah courage. She wished she had just one ounce of her mother’s pure faith. Any belief that a merciful God was watching out for her and these girls. But faith hadn’t saved her mother from the wrath of a summer storm, and bricks had proven to be mightier than the strength of flesh and bones and prayer.

Sighing, Sarah picked her apron off its hook and tied it around her waist. “I wish I understood why she lets him drag her down. I thought she was stronger and wiser than that.”
Wiser than I was.

Cora chuckled. “Miss Sarah, if you’d ever been in love with the wrong man, you’d understand why. Be thankful you never have.”

Memories and guilt pricked. Sarah nodded. And said nothing to correct Cora’s erroneous notion.

“Good afternoon, Miss Whittier.”

The man’s voice echoed from Sarah’s front porch, startling her, and she dropped the newspaper she had tucked beneath her arm.

“What are you doing here, Mr. Cady?” Her clumsiness made her blush. Or perhaps it was the sight of the face she’d so hastily, unwisely kissed yesterday. She was still making mistakes where it concerned men, and she feared she had more in common with Anne Cavendish than she would care to admit. “Didn’t Mrs. McGinnis tell you I was at the shop today?”

Daniel had brought a wicker chair from the garden and situated
it on the front porch. Porkpie hat discarded, coat off, and legs stretched out in front of him, he looked prepared to encamp for an extended period of time. Adding to the air of permanence, Rufus lay coiled beneath the chair, a ball of contented ginger fur.

“I am here to check on you.” As if sitting on Sarah’s porch was an everyday occurrence, he leisurely bent down to scratch Rufus’s head. “Have been most of the day. Mrs. McGinnis makes a fine lunch, by the way.”

“I
know
Mrs. McGinnis makes a fine lunch. I’m surprised she fed you, though.” Sarah collected the paper into an untidy pile, clutching it to her chest along with her reticule. “Where is Ah Mong?”

“Your neighbor needed him. Since I’m here, I told him he could go.”

“You told him . . . that was hardly your place, Mr. Cady.” Her heart pounded. “And I believe you already checked on me yesterday. No need to put down roots on my front porch to do so again.”

He sat up straight in the chair. “Did you think I wouldn’t care when I found out someone broke into your house last night?”

“You saw the article in this afternoon’s newspaper.” All courtesy of that wretched reporter, no doubt. If she ever saw him around the house again, she’d use Mrs. Brentwood’s pistol for more than shooting at burglars.

“I didn’t have to. I heard enough at the Occidental. No gossip too big or too small for the waiters and bellboys at that hotel.” He frowned. “This is the point where you remind me that there are no gold nuggets hidden in the house.”

“Or silver or diamonds?” she retorted, gratified by the confusion that wrinkled his forehead. “The gossip has spread far beyond the Occidental. To hear the news on the streets, you’d think I was hiding the whole of the US Treasury in this house.”

“Did you recognize the burglar?”

“I felt like I did, but . . .” Sarah shook her head. “I’m not sure. Although the police feel they know who he is and are confident they’ll catch him soon.”

“I’m mightily reassured.”

“The house and its contents are perfectly safe. Ah Mong’s brother will be here tonight along with Ah Mong. More than enough protection. Plus, I have a gun.”

Frowning, he contemplated her. “I heard about that also.”

Her face burned; she must be as red as a Morello cherry. “Listen, Mr. Cady, if you think that you need to stay here as my protector, let me assure you it’s unnecessary. As I said, I already have guards. Furthermore, we’ve hired a locksmith to install more secure locks today. The best I can afford. If you don’t mind my spending some of Josiah’s money, that is.”

“New locks or not, it’s unsafe for you with only an incompetent young boy—all right, two young boys—and a middle-aged housekeeper as guards. And though no doubt you’re also a crack shot, it might be better if you don’t have to prove your ability again.” He folded his arms and stretched his legs out farther, his boot heels striking the porch slats to emphasize his point. Rufus blinked at Sarah and turned to grooming his fur, a happy co-conspirator to Daniel’s occupation of the stoop. “So I insist on staying here.”

Had Daniel misunderstood yesterday’s impetuous kiss? Perhaps he had decided her ill-considered act of affection meant he had permission to show up at the house and claim a right to be her champion. Daniel Cady, of all people. The man who wanted to take away her inheritance.

Daniel, one eyebrow lifting into a lazy arc just like Josiah’s would, seemed to be reading her very thoughts.

“You can’t stay here,” she insisted, even if newsboys were of the opinion that Nob Hill was becoming dangerous. And even if, deep inside, the idea Daniel might want to protect her gave Sarah a thrill.

“I’m not just protecting you, Miss Whittier. I’m protecting the contents of this house, which are valuable to me.”

“Why am I not surprised?”
And why do I keep thinking he might actually have feelings for me?
“Well, my reputation is valuable to me. And you’re not doing it any good. Because if this town gets wind of the fact that an unrelated man is at my house, it could do no end of harm to my business.”

“I’m just sitting on the porch,” he said.

Sarah scooped up Rufus and scowled at Daniel. “No you’re not. You’re leaving. Right now.”

With uncanny timing, Mrs. Brentwood came out of her house. “Miss Whittier! I just had a visit from my sister, who was shocked to hear of your troubles. Terrible—Oh! Mr. Cady! I did not notice you there.” She peered at him, her lips compressing. “Looking very comfortable in your shirtsleeves, I might add.”

“Do you see?” Sarah muttered to him. “Everyone will hear about this.” Sarah turned to Mrs. Brentwood and raised her voice. “Mr. Cady was just leaving, Mrs. Brentwood. He also learned of last night’s events and was concerned about my safety.”

“Very kind of you, of course,” the woman said, tucking her chin to better survey them both. Undoubtedly concocting what she would tell her sister.
Mr. Cady is courting Miss Whittier and in the most inappropriate fashion
. . .
oh heavens, heavens.

“You must go,” Sarah hissed.

Relenting, Daniel exhaled long and loudly, sliding his feet beneath the chair to stand. He slipped his arms into his coat, his gaze never leaving her face, causing Sarah’s cheeks to heat beneath their scrutiny.

“You make me worry for you, Miss Whittier.”

“For me? Or for the contents of the house?”

He leaned in, close enough she could smell his lime shaving lotion. She thought for a moment he might reach for her hand.

“You,” he answered softly, grabbing his hat, and turned to go.

Daniel rode the cable car for the complete circuit of its line. He should simply go back to the hotel and find some amusement to while away the rest of the day. There was a chanteuse receiving rave reviews over at the Baldwin. Or he could take a carriage to overlook the Golden Gate or visit Seal Rocks. Thinking of them made him think of Sarah’s painting. And thinking of her painting made him think of her. Made him remember the softness of her lips on his skin, the scent of roses in her hair, the weight of her body in his arms when he’d pulled her from the lake. Made him afraid that this time her stubborn independence would land her in serious trouble.

So he visited the docks. Bought a sandwich off a street vendor as a quick dinner. Stopped in a coffee shop to read the newspaper and drink some of the shop owner’s blackest brew. Took the cable car back again, waiting for the sun to set. He had a plan and it didn’t involve letting a scrawny Chinese boy and his undoubtedly equally scrawny brother stand guard over Sarah without him.

The wicker chair was still where he’d left it on the porch. Ah Mong, perched cross-legged at the top of the steps with a yellow-and-red quilt tossed over his shoulders, watched him approach the house. Daniel nodded at the boy, sat down, and stretched his legs.

Ah Mong eyed him, a long, indecipherable contemplation. “Why do you sit here, Mr. Cady?”

“I’ve come to help guard Miss Whittier, Ah Mong.”

The boy’s back straightened to a flatness Daniel had only witnessed on young ladies with very stiff corsets. “Miss Whittier has me and my brother. He is out in the garden. And there are new locks on the doors.”

“New locks or not, she will do better with three of us. More eyes and ears paying attention.”

“That man sneak in the back door last night. Quiet as grass
growing. I did not hear him.” His gaze did not falter. “That will not happen again.”

“Miss Whittier agrees with you, but I’d like to be certain.”

Daniel adjusted the cushion at his back and surveyed the road. A lamplighter with his ladder was beginning to make his way down the street, gas lamps flaring to life in his wake. Across the way, a neighbor alighted from a hired carriage, glanced quizzically in their direction, and climbed the steps into his house.

Daniel settled deeper into the cushions as Mrs. McGinnis—or Sarah—touched a match to a lamp in the front parlor behind him, the light seeping through the closed slats of the blinds, striping the front porch in bands of white. The last breeze of the day rustled the leaves of a palm tree planted at the street, carried the sound of a cable car bell and the shouts of parents calling home their children for the evening. It was far quieter up here than at the Occidental, where the street sounds didn’t settle until late in the evening most nights. Much quieter than the tiny, thin-walled apartment he and his sisters shared in the heart of Chicago. Almost as quiet as the treelined boulevards that surrounded Hunt House, where the genteel clatter of landau wheels was the only noise that dared break the hush.

“It will be cold to sit here tonight, Mr. Cady, and you are not needed.” Nodding, Ah Mong folded his arms across his chest. “Your father told me to take care of Miss Whittier. I am like a good son and do it.”

Daniel turned to stare at Ah Mong. Restlessly, Daniel shifted his feet, planting them firmly beneath the chair. He had been the best of sons once, idolizing his father, the adventurer, the charmer. He had wanted to grow up to be like Josiah, to conquer the world and bring home riches to his adoring family. Up until that vision of his father proved as false as the
trompe l’oeil
wood grain Grandfather Hunt had paid an artist to paint upon his massive kitchen mantel.

Both Sarah and Ah Mong respected—actually, admired—Josiah,
though. Were willing to defend his name to his only son, or sleep on a cold and damp porch night after night to protect the woman whom Josiah had come to love like a daughter. The man did not deserve either their loyalty or their admiration. Daniel clung to that conviction, though it grew harder to hold on to. If a woman like Sarah cared about Josiah, an intelligent woman with a compassionate heart, maybe Daniel was wrong about his father.

An old prayer murmured. Daniel couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard or said the words, but they had stuck in his head.
For if you forgive men their trespasses, your heavenly Father will also forgive you.

Daniel’s throat constricted and he turned away from Ah Mong’s piercing gaze, all-seeing even on the darkened porch.
I am not ready to forgive Josiah. Father in heaven, if You’re up there listening, You know I am not ready to forgive the man who broke my mother’s heart.