Josiah's Treasure (42 page)

Phoebe blew a strand of hair out of her eyes and looked over. “I try to grab patience, Miss Sarah, but it escapes me.”

Sarah smiled. Phoebe had come so far since she’d taken over the work once meant for Anne; she was more talented and far more patient than she gave herself credit for. “You are almost there, and I know Mrs. Linforth will be pleased with the final print.”

“She would be more pleased if Anne had done it.”

“Anne is too content in Seattle to come back here and save you, Phoebe,” Sarah teased.

After more words of encouragement, Sarah stepped around the partition separating the lithograph area from the main shop,
looked around her, and felt satisfaction. The first-floor space was much smaller than the shop they’d had on Sansome and not a corner location, but this one was thirty dollars a month cheaper and good enough for Pacific Custom Design Studio. At Sarah’s request, Mr. Pomroy had helped them locate a less expensive location and had generously negotiated the favorable lease rate. Also, contrary to his worst fears, the news story about her past in Los Angeles hadn’t chased away customers. In fact, Sarah thought, the bad press had had the opposite effect. Folks were either very forgiving or insatiably curious about the “notorious Miss Whittier.” And once they were inside the shop, anyone could see the quality of the work on display.

Sweeping fingertips across her
Rêve d’Or
brooch and wishing her mother could be there to share her satisfaction, Sarah strolled through the new shop. She straightened a watercolor of the Seal Rocks she’d recently finished and hung on the wall, buffed away a miniscule smudge on one of the glass cases. Turned her attention to the girls. Cora was touching up a border of flowers on a hand-painted plate. Minnie was helping a customer review possible designs for an advertising poster and Emma, Sarah knew, was working on the accounts in her compact room at the back.

She was blessed. More blessed than she would have dreamed just two months ago. They had trusted in God and managed to find a way. Survival had required that she sell every painting and miniature she could, and she’d also needed to take on a few art students who weren’t deterred by the scandal. With the help of Mr. Samuelson’s loan and the girls’ generous offers of reduced pay—Sarah had insisted they accept some money, and soon she’d be able to increase their salaries to the amount she’d originally promised—they had definitely found a way.

The shop bell rang and Lottie swept through the opening, a sudden wind catching the robin’s-egg-blue feathers in her coordinating hat. The color was high in her cheeks and she looked, if possible, even lovelier than she had before she’d been sent to
St. Helena. She’d been allowed to return to San Francisco after the Lawsons had repeatedly asked after her, finally dropping a strong hint that their very eligible son was missing her company. Mrs. Samuelson, informed by Mr. Samuelson via telegram of this development, had put Lottie on the next train home.

“You will never believe what I discovered about the auction, Sarah,” she said, making a quick perusal of Cora’s artwork and complimenting the girl.

“You didn’t leave Gabriel outside, did you?” asked Sarah, searching through the large shop windows for the angular features of Lottie’s beau, but two easels displaying watercolors obscured her view of the sidewalk.

“He dropped me off. He had business to attend at the shipping office and could not come in.” Her eyes were bright with the thought of him. “I shall see him at supper tonight.”

Sarah felt the briefest twinge of envy over Lottie’s happiness. She was content with her life as it was, however, and wanted only the best for Daniel. He’d sent a solitary telegram three weeks after he’d left San Francisco saying he was in Chicago with his sisters and that was all. No words of affection. No more promises of return.

“I was hoping to see Gabriel,” Sarah said, focusing on matters that were under her control, “in order to thank him for kindly recommending our services to his sister-in-law. She has commissioned a lovely set of invitations—”

“Sarah!” Lottie sounded impatient. “I apologize for interrupting, but do you not want to hear what I learned about the house auction and why it never took place?”

Sarah folded her arms and tilted her head. “What did you learn, Miss Samuelson, that is so urgent for me to know?”

“The auction was not halted because there was some issue with the deed, as we had surmised,” she answered, pausing dramatically. “It never occurred because Mr. Cady contacted the real estate agent and told him to cancel it!”

“Why would he do that?”

Lottie’s brows perked and her eyes took on the most mischievous gleam. “Perhaps you should go outside and ask him.”

Sarah’s breath stuttered and she didn’t dare move for fear the moment and Lottie’s words would prove to be an illusion and the least motion would shatter them.
He is here.

“Oh!” gasped Cora, exchanging looks with Minnie.

Sarah hadn’t realized the girls had been listening. Thank goodness the customer had left and not been witness to Sarah’s befuddlement.

Minnie grinned at her. “Hurry up, Miss Sarah, before he gets away!”

Sarah fumbled with the strings of her apron, yanking it off and tossing it aside. “If he’s come all the way from Chicago, Minnie, he’s not going to get away.” He had come all the way from Chicago.

At last.

Lottie winked and held open the shop door. Sarah forced herself to walk at a sedate pace, even though she wanted to run and see for herself that Daniel was really outside and that Lottie wasn’t fooling. Fling herself into those arms she’d been dreaming of for two long months.

He was leaning against a telegraph pole, one ankle crossed over the other, a new hat cocked at a tilt upon his head. A small crate sat by his feet, but Sarah didn’t waste time pondering what was inside, when all she could do was gaze at him and let joy fill her heart.

“About time, Miss Whittier,” he said, with a smile. He was smiling. “I was starting to wonder if Miss Samuelson had forgotten to deliver my message.”

“Lottie can always be relied upon.” Sarah crossed to where he stood. As ever, he smelled of lime shaving lotion, and his eyes were as impossibly green as she remembered. For the first time she could recall, they were free of the bitterness that had once
haunted him. He had changed.

She had changed, as well.

“I must say, Mr. Cady, you continue to have the most interesting tendency to show up when you’re least expected.” She wanted to embrace him, right then and there. She would probably bring the passing traffic to a shuddering halt if she did.

“Does that mean you’re happy to see me, or unhappy?” he asked, reaching out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear, the skim of his fingertips against her temple sending a thrill through her.

“Very happy,” she replied simply.

He nodded down at the crate. “And what about this fellow?”

Just then, a protesting mewl sounded and Sarah noticed a flash of orange in the gaps between the slats. “Rufus!” Sarah cried, lifting the hinged lid. The cat jumped free of the box and into her arms. “I’d given up on you.”

“We have both returned, Sarah,” Daniel said quietly.

“Thank you.” She lifted on her toes and brushed a kiss against his cheekbone. A dark-gowned matron exiting a neighboring bank clucked disapprovingly over the display. “Where did you find the silly cat?”

“I decided to show my sisters the house yesterday, after we arrived, and he was sleeping on the porch as if he’d never left.”

Sarah twined her fingers through Rufus’s fur. “You brought your sisters?”

“Since San Francisco is where they’re going to be living from now on, I pretty well needed to.”

He’d come back and he’d come to stay. “That’s why you didn’t sell the house.”

“Lily and Marguerite need a roof for them and their substantial doll collection, and I had to find somewhere to hang a watercolor painted by a very talented local artist.” He inhaled deeply and dashed his hat from his head in order to curl the brim beneath his fingers. Another hat ruined. “Say you’ll live there with us,
Sarah. You love that house and you’ll get along with my sisters. I know you will.”

Was he asking what she thought he was asking? “I do love that house,” she said cautiously.

His fingers paused while his eyes searched her face. “If you still care about that French fellow, let me know right now before I say something stupid.”

“Edouard?”

“Do you still care for him?” he asked.

Sarah drew a hand along Rufus’s back and off the end of his tail. She’d never seen Daniel so flustered. “No, Daniel, I don’t care about Edouard at all.”

He gave a small nod, his shoulders relaxing. “Then tell me you’ll marry me. I love you. Marry me.”

Her breath caught. “Oh, Daniel.”

He lifted one eyebrow. Just as his father might. “Was that a yes, Miss Whittier?”

Shifting Rufus out of the way and without a concern about the traffic, she kissed Daniel full on the lips. Behind the shop windows, a cheer went up and Cora broke out singing an Irish tune.

“Yes, Mr. Cady,” Sarah said, laughing, and kissed him again.

“
Oui
, I have the money.” He woefully contemplated the contents of his wallet. Over the past four years, abundant charm supplemented by nine hundred dollars’ worth of gold had not gone quite as far as he had hoped.

Extracting two bills, he handed them over to the waiter standing at the exit. This restaurant hired excessively pugnacious ones, he thought, and there was really no need for the fellow to glower as he was.

“It was a most agreeable luncheon.
Merci
,” he offered, together with a smile that did nothing toward improving the waiter’s mood. The dollars had vanished into the depths of a vest pocket within
seconds of their entering the man’s grasp. Edouard desperately wished them back. The meal and the company had not turned out to be worth the expenditure of his very, very precious funds.

His company leaned against his arm as they stepped onto the sidewalk, the strong floral of her perfume washing over him, causing his nose to run. “Monsieur Marchand, thank you ever so much.”

She batted her eyelashes in what she must have imagined was coquetry. They had been together for only a few weeks, after her husband had hired Edouard to paint her portrait, but already he was bored of her giggles and flirtations. Once it had become clear which direction the money would flow—and not in his favor, aside from the measly sum he would eventually be paid for an uninspired oil rendering—he had stopped pretending he didn’t notice how unattractive she was.

There had been pretty ones, in the years since he’d hopped a steamer in San Francisco. A desperately appreciative widow in Vancouver, a delightful mademoiselle in Quebec. He had even enjoyed the company of an apple-cheeked schoolteacher in Montana whom he’d thought, albeit briefly, of honoring with the last name of Marchand. The last time he’d entertained that notion hadn’t lasted long either and had nearly led to disaster. Sweet Sarah. He did wonder what had become of her.

The woman at his side noticed his distraction and tugged, hard, on his arm. “Monsieur Marchand,” she said, coquetry dropped, her voice edged like a straight razor. He pitied her husband. “Are you taking me to the art gallery or are we going to stand here like two bumps on a log?”

He lifted a corner of his mouth, a meltingly charming smile that had never failed on a single female he had ever encountered. “
Mon chouchou
, I intend to sweep you off your pretty feet and show this town that I am escorting its loveliest lady.”

She dimpled and batted her eyelashes again. “Monsieur, how can I ever thank you?”

He had an idea and it involved an almost empty bank account, but he knew that wasn’t what she was thinking. Inside, he quailed.

“Your smiles are thanks enough,” he said, pulling her forward, hoping she hadn’t observed the despair and misery that had to have flashed across his face.

The weeks flew past, the summer departing with them, until September arrived. The month of their wedding, thought Sarah, and in this very garden, among the last blossoms of the roses, white alyssum, and violet-blue lobelia, by the marble cherub statue that Josiah had so adored.