Abby began to sing a familiar melody: “La-de-da-de-da-de-da-de-da, La-de-da, La-de-da.” Then she repeated the phrase and clapped her hands together. “Let’s dance, folks!” She gestured for Sam to join in.
He took Les as his partner and gave a deep bow in gentlemanly fashion. The other fellas followed suit, some dancing with imaginary partners.
Les took to the idea with ease, even smiling demurely, which almost caused him to stop cold. He’d never seen an expression like that on her face, not once. Still, he’d better get to it, or Abby would have his head.
In spite of his best attempts, Sam moved awkwardly about the room, stepping on Les’s toes a few times as he attempted the minuet. She didn’t appear to be much smoother on the dance floor, but Sam could see that she was genuinely trying.
Interesting, to see Les like this, so dolled up. She didn’t look like one of those porcelain dolls, covered in powder and paint. No, Lesley looked perfectly natural, even lovely.
Lovely.
He would never have used that word to describe Les before. Something about the way she held herself in this beautiful dress caused him to rethink his former opinion of her, though.
On the other side of the room, Jin leaned against the wall, watching. Either he didn’t care to participate or couldn’t abide the idea of dancing with an imaginary partner. Sam didn’t blame him one little bit. In fact, if all of this didn’t mean so much to Abby, he would’ve bolted out the door ages ago. Instead, he circled the room with his partner, determined not to make a fool of himself in the process.
On the morning after the etiquette lesson, Abby had a letter from her father. She read it quickly, then pressed it into the waistband of her apron.
Neville hovered nearby, a concerned look on his face. “Well?”
“He says we have much to discuss, but he’s coming. I’m to look for him the second Saturday in July.” She spoke the word “July” again, as if to reassure herself. “Just two and a half weeks.”
“When does your mother arrive?”
“I received her letter just the other day. She’s arriving that same week, just one day before him, in fact. Should I let him know, or just surprise him?”
Neville apparently had to sit down before giving an answer to that question. After a moment he said, “Perhaps it’s more important to let your father know than your mother. If she’s aware he will be here, she might not come at all.”
Abby took a seat, confused by his words. “Do you really think it would change her mind? Are things that bad with my parents, Neville?”
He released a slow breath. “Things between them are bad, Miss Abigail. Yes. And worse than I’ve let on. Not that it’s any of my business, mind you. I shouldn’t be telling you any of this.”
“You will tell me … this, and all there is to know.” The poor fellow looked as if he’d been placed before a firing squad. “Now, talk.”
Neville got off to a rough start, but managed to get out enough to clue her in. Mother’s trek to the Oregon Territory served a dual purpose, it seemed: to satisfy her wanderlust and to get her away from a marriage she no longer desired, one she had attempted to end on more than one occasion.
“How could I not know this?” Abby asked. “She was unhappy, yes. Unsettled, even. But ready to leave the marriage?”
“Consider her plight, Miss Abigail. Married at a young age to a man many years her senior. Bound together by stern British parents who saw their union as advantageous to both families.”
“An arranged marriage? Is that what you’re saying?”
“Not in so many words, but I always felt your father got the longer end of the stick. He acquired a wife with excellent credentials and—pardon my saying so—her family’s financial backing for his business ventures as well. In many ways, he would not be the man he is today without her connections.”
“I see.” Abby was unable to comprehend the height and depth of this conversation. It tore at her heart in ways she could not explain. “And Mother got…?”
“The finest daughter anyone could ask for.” He rested his hand on her arm. “She never minced any words about that.”
Why this got Abby rankled, she could not say. Perhaps it had something to do with Father, or maybe it was that Mother never stayed around long enough to get to know her daughter very well.
“She gained a child, yes, but surely her affections for Father grew over time. I saw them together. They were … cordial.”
“Cordial.” Neville nodded. “That would be the correct word, yes. But cordial won’t stand the test of time. Only love will do that.”
“If she doesn’t love him, she won’t stay put. And clearly her love for me isn’t enough to hold her in one place, either. I fear we’ve lost her forever.” A lump rose in Abby’s throat, but she pushed it away.
“I cannot see inside the heart of another human being, so who am I to judge such things? I can only say that, from all outward appearances, she does not appear to be happy. Neither does she seem to want to work toward a common end. So I’m not altogether sure I would let her know that he will be here when she arrives. This is just my humble opinion, Miss Abigail.”
“I see.”
She did. Clearly. For the first time in forever, she truly saw the situation for what it was, and her heart nearly broke in two.
“Neville, how did you come to work for my father?” she asked after pushing back the lump in her throat.
“Me, miss?” His nose wrinkled, and for a moment she wondered if he would answer the question. When he did speak, his words were quieter than she’d expected. “I wasn’t much older than yourself. My parents passed away in a house fire.”
“Oh, Neville! I had no idea.”
“Not something I talk about much, I suppose, but I was unsettled, to say the least.” He paused and gestured with his head toward the window. “Not unlike many of these young rowdies, I guess you’d say. I fell off the narrow path. Couldn’t seem to find my way back.”
“You, Neville?” Abby could hardly believe it. The straight-laced butler had a shady past? “Truly?”
“It’s not something I’m proud of, nor do I recommend it. I spent quite a few years in shady living, and then I happened upon a young man—a rather forthright, hardworking young man—who saw something in me.”
“This is a remarkable story. So, Father hired you?”
“After a bit of cleaning up on my end, yes.”
“I wish I’d known.” Somehow this put the situation with her father in a slightly different light.
Unfortunately, she didn’t have much time to think about it. Lesley arrived for breakfast wearing a simple skirt and blouse with her hair pulled up in ladylike fashion. Several of the local men—the ones who had not had the privilege of seeing her the night prior—were beside themselves. An older fellow with a wiry mustache rushed to pull out her chair, but Neville managed to shoo him out of the way and took care of it himself.
“Thank you, kind sir,” she said as she took a seat.
Abby looked on with a smile. Well, until Cookie put her back to work waiting tables. Then she rushed from place to place, filling coffee cups, scooping scrambled eggs onto plates, and offering slices of bacon.
Just when she thought she’d scooped her last eggs, Marcus Denueve entered the restaurant, hat in hand. Abby couldn’t help but smile when she saw the handsome man. Just as quickly, she remembered that he’d missed out on last night’s class. She decided to give him a talking to.
“I know, I know.” He sat at a table near the door, a look of chagrin on his face. “I failed to support you last night. I do hope you will forgive me. It simply couldn’t be avoided.”
“What happened?”
“We’ve got the big grand opening at the Lucky Penny this Friday night, remember? I’ve worked hours on end to whip the place into shape. Stayed late into the night last night to make sure the painters did their job.”
“Oh, I see.” She relaxed and poured coffee into the cup on his
table. “Well, you’re forgiven, then.”
“Thank you. I knew you’d understand. You’ve got such a sweet heart, Miss Effingham.” He spoke her name with such tenderness that flutters skittered across her stomach like butterflies taking flight.
“I’ve talked our piano player into staying for the first couple weeks, but he’s dead set on leaving after that.” Marcus gave her a pouting look. “Hoping someone will change her mind and consider the job. Money’s good and she wouldn’t have to be on her feet all day.”
“I just don’t know that I could,” Abby said. “My skills aren’t up to par.”
“How will you know unless you try?” He reached to put his hand on hers. “Maybe this is your time to shine, not to wash dishes or serve tables.”
“Hmm.” She paused to think through his words as she headed back to the kitchen to fetch his plate. While playing piano at the restaurant didn’t sound like an ideal setup, she couldn’t deny the fact that cooking and waiting tables was taking a toll on her.
She returned to his table and set his plate down. He dove in, then looked up with a smile. “I must admit, your cooking skills are winning me over.”
“Cookie made the eggs and bacon today. I’m just serving.”
“There’s no such thing as just serving. You have a servant’s heart, Abigail Effingham. I saw it that very first day at the mercantile. You’re a beautiful person, inside and out.”
She hardly knew what to do with such flattery except offer a hushed, “Thank you.”
At the next table over, Les sat with her eyes affixed to Marcus and Abby. Was she trying to give Abby some sort of signal, or simply being nosy? Before Abby could give it much thought, Neville approached and engaged Les in conversation. Abby breathed a sigh of relief.
Mr. Denueve continued on, oblivious to Abby’s ponderings. “I believe you’ve been brought here, to San Francisco, for such a time as this—to tame the wild beasts and to lift weary spirits.”
Abby’s heart wanted to burst into song. “My goodness, that’s a Bible verse, Mr. Denueve. Straight from the book of Esther. She was sent to her people ‘for such a time as this,’ and her obedience won the heart of the king. She saved her people in the end. Do you know the story?”
“No, but …” He eased his chair a little closer to hers. “The Almighty does work in mysterious ways, or so I’ve been told. Shall I call you Queen Esther?”
She felt her cheeks grow warm at his nearness. He reached to take her hand and gave it a squeeze.
“I’m no queen,” she replied.
“A princess, then,” he said, his eyes filled with sweetness. “One who deserves to be treated as such.”
“I … I don’t know about that. And trust me, my parents are coming soon—mid-July—and will whisk me off to Philadelphia before you know it.”
“Don’t go. Please. This town is in need of saving, Miss Esther. Give some thought to making San Francisco your home. I think you will learn to like it here, if you just give us—it—a chance.” The smile that followed from Mr. Denueve lit the room and lifted her spirits. In that moment, a world of possibilities swept over her. She could almost picture herself staying in San Francisco, teaching lessons. Why, sure. Instead of waiting tables, she would open a school, an etiquette school. Surely the Lord was preparing her for that, even now.
“I will pray about it.”
“Good. And promise you’ll come to the grand opening at the Lucky Penny on Friday night?” His words stirred her to attention. “You will be my special dinner guest.”
“You’re asking me to dine with you at the new restaurant?”
“I am. But not just you. Bring your friends. It will be a night no one will forget. Free food and drink for all to celebrate the grand opening. You will love the cuisine, I promise. C’est magnifique!”
“I … I’ll think about it.”
“I won’t pressure you about the piano playing, if that’s what you’re worried about. Just come and have a good time. You need a night off.” He squeezed her hand, and she realized for the first time he must’ve been holding it for some time.
As she refilled coffee cups around the room, Abby kept a watchful eye on Neville, who hovered close to Lesley. After some time, a thought took root in her mind. She rushed to the kitchen to share it with the only person who could be trusted with such a thing.
She found her friend scraping plates. Abby blurted out her name before she could stop herself. “Cookie!”
The woman turned to face her, eyes widening. “Are you all right, Abby? You’re flushed.”
“Yes, I’ve just had a revelation.”
“Revelation? Do tell.” Cookie continued to scrape and stack plates. “But while you’re at it, let’s get going on these dishes.”
Abby walked to the sink, talking all the while. “I’ve figured it out, Cookie. I thought Les had a crush on Sam.”
“Sam?” Cookie looked astounded. “Our Sam?”
“Yes, but I was wrong. I can see now that it’s not Sam that Les is interested in at all.”
“No?” Cookie’s brow wrinkled. “Then who?”
“I’ll show you who. Follow me.” Abby brushed her hands on her apron and walked to the door leading to the dining room. Once there, she opened it, and pointed to the table where Neville sat across from Lesley.
Cookie’s eyes widened. “Ridiculous.” She closed the door with a thud. “I refuse to believe such a thing.”
“I know what you’re thinking.”
“Hardly.”
“He’s double her age. I’ll give you that. But don’t they look natural together?”
“They do not.” Cookie huffed back to the dirty plates. “She’s most certainly not his type, and that’s all I have to say on that matter.”
“I’ve never given a moment’s thought to Neville having a type,” Abby admitted. “In all the years I’ve known him. But now I can see that he was looking for a strong, confident woman, one who’s not afraid to be herself, regardless of what others think.”
Cookie’s brow knitted. “Well, if he has a type—which I’ll give you, most men do—she’s not it.”
She turned on her heel and stormed out of the kitchen, muttering under her breath.
Abby didn’t have time to ponder her friend’s strange reaction. She was far too busy thinking about all the things she wanted to say to Lesley, when she got the chance. And, my oh my, did she suddenly have a lot to say.
Sam looked on as Abby made her way into the kitchen. He followed and put on an apron.
“About to bake some pies?” she asked as she glanced his way.
“Nope. About to do some dishes. With everyone else gone, I figured you could use the help.”
“Thanks.” She stuck her hands in the water and grimaced. “Ugh. It’s gone cold. That’s what I get for spending so much time gabbing with Lesley.”
“Saw you two talking. Everything okay?”
“Mm-hmm.”
Funny, she didn’t sound okay.
“I’ll start the kettle, then.” He walked over to the stove and began the process of heating up some water to add to the sink.
“I had a letter from Father. He’s coming in a few weeks.”
Ah, so that was it. “It will be nice to meet him,” Sam said after a moment’s pause.
“Mother is coming at the same time.”
“Perfect coincidence.”
“I doubt it’s a coincidence.” She spun around to face him. “And trust me, it should prove to be anything but pleasant.”
He walked over and put his hand on her arm. “Abby, I hate to see you distraught. How can I help?”
She paused, and tears filled her eyes. “Pray that my mother learns to love again? Pray that broken relationships will be mended?”
“I don’t know how to do much,” Sam said, his words chosen carefully. “But I do know how to pray. So I will set my mind to doing just that.”
And while he was at it, he would pray for the woman standing before hi
m at this very moment. Judging from the somber look on her face, she could certainly use it.
When their conversation ended, Sam helped Abby tidy up the dining hall. Then he made his way back into the kitchen, where he found her hanging up her apron. He worked up the courage to ask the question on his heart.
“I wondered if you might have some free time between now and lunch. I’m headed to the fish market and thought you might like to come along for the ride. You’ve hardly had a chance to get out of here and the ride might do you good. Open air, and all that. Might give you a chance to clear your thoughts.”
She gave a little shrug. “I guess so, if Cookie’s all right with it.”
“She seems a little out of sorts this morning, but told me to take my time. She’s feeding the fellas sandwiches for lunch and won’t need our help for a change. Perfect time to sneak away.”
“All right.” Abby pulled off her apron and hung it on a peg. “Just give me a minute to fuss with my hair. It’s a mess.”
“It’s perfect.” He took her by the hand. “And trust me, it’ll get even messier in the wagon.”
“So, you’re saying it is a mess?” Abby cocked her head as if daring him to respond.
“Not at all.” He laughed. “A fella can’t win for losing, can he?”
Moments later, he helped her up to the wagon seat. Sam was happy to have Abby to himself for a change. All morning long he’d been thinking of ways to approach her about Marcus Denueve. She needed to be warned about the man. But no point in diving into that conversation just yet. This was one river that needed to be waded into.
He glanced over and caught a glimpse of Abby’s profile. That gorgeous golden hair. That cute nose. Her stubborn chin. How they drew him in. If he dared to broach the topic on his mind, she might very well retreat, turn away from him. Then what?
My Heart Belongs in San Francisco, California Page 16