My Heart Belongs in San Francisco, California

by Janice Thompson

  Cookie entered the room from the kitchen and groaned. “I hope they’ll pipe down sooner rather than later. My blood pressure’s rising.”

  “I somehow doubt it. This is liable to go on all night.”

  Cookie swiped at her brow with the back of her hand. “Sounds like quite a party going on over there.”

  “I can’t picture Abby in the throes of it, not at all.”

  Cookie laughed. “The one I’m having the most trouble picturing is Neville. Poor guy. But he’d do anything to look after that girl.” She paused and a reflective look entered her eyes. “That’s what you do when you love someone. You travel to the ends of the earth for them, go places you never thought you’d go.”

  “Like you did for me.” Sam took her hand. “You came all the way to San Francisco, just to make sure I was taken care of.”

  “And to make sure your belly was full.” She winked at him. “Someone had to do it.”

  “Don’t know if I’ve ever told you how grateful I am, Cookie. San Francisco might not be my idea of the best place on earth, but as long as you’re here with me, it’s certainly more tolerable.” He paused. “Can’t imagine how I would’ve survived without you.”

  “That’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me, honey.” Cookie threw her arms around him and gave him a motherly hug.

  The strangest feelings came over Sam in that moment. He remembered, if for just a few seconds, what it felt like to be wrapped in his mother’s arms. To smell her perfume. To hear the sweet, calming voice of reason.

  “You all right?” Cookie pulled back and put both hands on his shoulders.

  “Yes. Thinking about Mother tonight. And thinking about what you once said about me.”

  “What did I say?”

  “That I was a perfect little boy.”

  “Ah. Yes, I remember that conversation.” She pulled her hands off his shoulders. “And I remember the boy. He grew into a man who traveled to San Francisco. Wasn’t very happy to be there, away from everything he knew and loved.”

  “True.”

  “He longed to go back home to Independence, to pick up where he left off.”

  “Yep.”

  “But I suspect that same young man is now finding his heart twisted up over a certain girl who’s also traveled the miles to land in the same spot. Am I right?”

  Sam fought the temptation to laugh. “Cookie, as much as it pains me to admit this, you’re always right.”

  “‘And ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free.’” She gave him another wink and added, “John, chapter eight, verse thirty-two.”

  As Abby tried to bolt from her table, she caught a glimpse of Marcus through the crowd. He walked down the steep wooden stairs with a woman on each arm. The buxom brunette to his right looked rather unkempt, as if she’d just tumbled out of bed. The woman to his left wore her ruffled dress off one shoulder. Something she said must have been funny, because Marcus laughed.

  Then he glanced Abby’s way and his expression shifted. He shook off the women and finished the flight of steps alone. Moments later, he arrived at her table. “Miss Effingham.”

  “Mr. Denueve.” She hardly managed the two words.

  “Glad you could come.” He spoke above the music. “What do you think of our opening night celebration?”

  She fought to come up with words that wouldn’t offend. “I’ve found it very … colorful. And loud.”

  “Indeed.” He gestured for the pianist to lower his volume. “You can see our need for a true musician, no doubt. I know I promised not to talk about it, but I would be honored if you would consider—”

  “I am not the right one for the job, I assure you.”

  “Don’t be so hasty, Abigail. I can call you Abigail, yes? Surely by now we’re old friends. Let me woo you over a lovely meal.”

  She could picture just how he would woo her. It would start with enticing her to play the piano. Later, after he’d won her confidence, he would woo her right into the same job the other gals in this place had.

  No thank you.

  “Our chef is in the kitchen, even now, preparing the most wonderful steaks you’ve ever seen.”

  “I don’t believe so, Mr. Denueve, thank you. I need to go. It’s getting late and Neville is tired.”

  “Your butler scolds you as if you were a schoolgirl?”

  “He’s more of a fatherly figure to me, you see.”

  “Hmm.” Marcus looked over his shoulder at Neville. “He needs to find a new pastime. You’re a grown woman, Abigail. Every angle shows it off. You certainly don’t need a nanny.”

  Why the words stung, she could not say, but Abby decided she’d had enough conversation for one night.

  “I’m tired, Mr. Denueve, and we’ve got an early morning tomorrow. Breakfast is served at six.”

  “Ah, yes. Always working.” He tried to slip his arm around her waist, but she pulled away. “Well, go get some beauty sleep, though you certainly don’t need it.”

  His flattering words make her sick to her stomach.

  He reached over and placed his hand on her backside. She jolted, and yanked away.

  “Skittish, eh?” He laughed. “I like a girl who makes it hard on me. Cat and mouse games are fun.”

  “See if you think this is fun, my friend.” Neville reared back, doubled his fist, and delivered an unexpected wallop to Marcus Denueve’s jaw.

  Abby gasped and her hand flew to her mouth as she saw a trickle of blood rolling down Marcus’s chin.

  “Let’s get while the gettin’s good, Miss Abigail.” Neville gestured with his head that they should leave.

  Abby turned, her hands clenched stiffly at her sides. Before she could think twice, she hiked her skirt and bolted toward the saloon door, ready to put this whole evening behind her.

  Gunshots split the night air. Sam bolted to the door of the restaurant and peered out onto the sidewalk, trying to make out the direction of the shots. If anyone had hurt Abby …

  No, he wouldn’t let himself think like that.

  Cookie joined him, skirt hiked as she ran. Her words, “Everything all r–right?” came out breathless.

  “Just up to no good, as always.”

  Cookie clucked her tongue. “Their celebrations and temper tantrums are so much alike, I can scarcely tell one from the other anymore.”

  “They’re holy terrors.” He walked back inside the restaurant and Cookie followed on his heels. “That’s my word for them, anyway.”

  “Beg pardon?” she asked.

  He turned to face her. “That’s my name for the fellas in this town. They’re holy terrors. Well, the terror part feels correct, anyway, but I’m not so sure about the holy.”

  Cookie faced him, hands on her hips. “Are we or are we not all created in God’s image?”

  “Of course.”

  “Even those men out there?” Cookie pointed to the door.

  Sam released a quiet “Humph.” He knew, of course, that all men and women were created in God’s image. But how could one go about reconciling evil with that notion?

  “Truth is, we’re all His children, clean or dirty, good behavior or bad. Makes no never-mind to the Almighty where we come from or how messy we are. When He looks down at us, He sees His children.”

  “Some more trouble than others.”

  “That’s just it. Some are more trouble, and some—like you—are pretty close to perfect.”

  “Hardly.”

  “Just like I said earlier. You were the ideal little boy and you’ve grown into a man who walks the straight and narrow. Nothing to be ashamed of there. But if you think about it, walking the straight and narrow isn’t what makes us holy.”

  “It isn’t?”

  “Nope. We’re righteous—made right—because of what He’s done, not of our own accord: ‘As it is written, There is none righteous, no, not one.’ Romans 3:10.”

  Sam had just about had enough of this conversation. “I understand, but what�
��s your point, Cookie?”

  “Just saying that good, clean living doesn’t make us holier, now does it? Not saying you should do the opposite. The point is that the only thing that sets us apart from others is that we’ve come to know and accept what God did for us when He sent His Son to die on the cross. We’ve accepted that free gift and have given our hearts to Him. But it’s still His holiness, not our own, that makes the difference. You see?”

  “Never really thought about it from that angle, I suppose.” Sam plopped down at one of the tables and went back to work on the stack of bills, including the one from the mercantile.

  “Maybe it’s time we all did. Perhaps that’s how we reach these men. We stop judging them and telling them they’re sinners bound for hell. They’ve heard enough of those sermons back home. Maybe we’re just to love them and show them a better way so they can begin to see hope in their own lives. Make sense?”

  “Not sure that’ll stand up in a pulpit, and I’m not sure I have it in me to be particularly loving to these fellas when they’re swinging guns in my face.”

  She shook her head. “I’m not saying we need to abide sin, so don’t misunderstand me. It breaks God’s heart to see folks turn their backs on Him or live in degradation. But I’m beginning to think that our just giving these fellas a list of dos and don’ts probably breaks His heart too. They can’t follow rules when their hearts haven’t been changed.”

  Her words struck a nerve and Sam mumbled his response. “I suppose.”

  “When a heart is changed, the desire to please God kicks in and off we go, living better lives. We do the right things out of obedience and love for our heavenly Father, not out of fear. Fear will only cause you to line up and walk straight for so long before you finally give up and do the wrong thing again. It’s a vicious circle.”

  Sam looked up. “You’ve given me a lot to think about, Cookie.”

  “‘For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways, and my thoughts than your thoughts.’”

  “Your thoughts are higher than mine, Cookie. Won’t argue that point.”

  She laughed. “Just quoting Isaiah 55:9. Those are the Almighty’s words, not my own, thank you very much.”

  Maybe, but Sam had to admit, Cookie’s way of thinking was far superior to his own. Where she mustered such compassion for these fellas, he could not say. But she had a heart as big as the state of California. Sam just prayed it wouldn’t get her into trouble anytime soon.

  Abby trudged along the sidewalk in the dark, her fists clutching the sides of her skirt, which she lifted a couple of inches to avoid the mud. With so much on her mind, she needed to talk, but Neville wasn’t the right person to listen to her thoughts, not the ones tumbling through her brain right now. She wanted to thank him for rushing to her rescue, but couldn’t find the words. Maybe tomorrow such a task could be accomplished, but not tonight, not with so much on her mind.

  Instead, she plowed through the front door of the Gold Rush Inn, raced past Sam, who sat at the table closest to the door, and headed straight to the kitchen, where she hoped to find Cookie. Thank goodness, Neville didn’t follow her. He plopped down next to Sam and put his head in his hands.

  As she’d suspected, the older woman was hard at work on the cinnamon rolls for tomorrow morning’s breakfast.

  Abby greeted her with the words, “I feel like such a fool,” and then leaned against the counter, tears springing to her eyes.

  “Why?” Cookie looked up from the dough and swiped her forehead with the back of her hand. “Because you fell for a man’s sweet nothings?”

  “Yes.” Abby’s cheeks grew warm. “I was warned at every turn, but fell straight into his trap, nonetheless. My judgment is not to be trusted.” The last few words came out strained, painful. The truth stung.

  “I wouldn’t say that, honey. Every woman wants to be courted, and he went out of his way to flatter and woo you to get what he wanted.”

  “He did, indeed.” She paused and thought through the chain of events. “I’m just ashamed of myself, if you want the truth. I’ve never been the silly schoolgirl sort, falling for men like Marcus Denueve. That’s not me.”

  “You’ve just learned something else about yourself, that’s all. Don’t spend too much time fretting over what’s happened, girlie. Just take what you’ve learned and move forward from here. And thank the good Lord above that you didn’t get caught in his web. This story could’ve had a far worse ending, trust me.”

  “All I’ve learned is that I’m capable of having the wool pulled over my eyes, just like any other human being.”

  “I see.” Cookie looked amused by this. “So, you’re scared to learn you’re human?”

  “I guess.”

  “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve had to learn the hard way. But God is gracious. He keeps putting me on my feet again and pointing me toward the next hurdle.”

  “I guess. But Cookie, the things I saw tonight …” She shivered. “Those people. They’re so …” Her words trailed off.

  “Opposite of what you know to be good and right?”

  Abby nodded. “That’s it, exactly. I was completely out of place. The things they do over there are just plain awful. Ungodly. Shameful.”

  “True on every count, but isn’t it wonderful—and somewhat perplexing—to remember that God loves each and every one of them as much as He loves you and me?”

  Abby shook her head, trying to imagine such a thing possible. “He has to brush a lot of dirt off first, I guess.”

  “No, sweet girl. That’s the most amazing thing about God. He loves us, even in our dirtiness. He loved us when we were kids, innocent and free from the cares of this life, and He loves us when we stumble and fall into the mud puddle. Even in the thick of it, His love sweeps over us. And if you think Marcus was good at wooing, just think about what a master the Almighty is. Even now, He’s wooing those men and women to Himself.”

  “It’s hard to believe, but I suppose you’re right. One of the girls—I think her name was Katie—looked so sad, Cookie. I could see it in her eyes. She didn’t really want to be there. It was as if she’d been trapped in a life she didn’t plan for herself.”

  “Like many feel trapped in their lives or situations, I suppose.”

  “Mother. She felt trapped in a marriage she didn’t want. And sometimes I think Sam feels trapped here, in San Francisco.”

  “He does, but I believe God is working on him, even as we speak.”

  Abby sighed. “So much pain. So much sorrow. So much … sin. Sometimes I think God must look down on us and feel like crying.”

  “Maybe, but He never gives up, even when we’re in the deepest pit.”

  “I would give up, that’s for certain.” Abby shook her head.

  Cookie brushed her hands on her apron and gestured for Abby to sit on the stool by the counter. “Here’s a question for you, honey. How far did you come in search of your mother?”

  “Far. All the way from Philadelphia to Fort Hall, where we were forced to turn off toward California.”

  “But, really, farther still. Right?” Cookie gave her a pensive look. “Didn’t your father come from England to Philadelphia, in part to pacify your mother’s desire to flee?”

  “Yes.” Abby nodded. “I guess we’ve come a great distance, covered a lot of miles, to win her back.”

  “And that’s my point.” Cookie rested her hand on Abby’s arm. “As far as you’ve come, as many miles as you’ve traveled to bring your mother back home again, God will go that far and farther still to bring His children home again, no matter how far they’ve roamed, no matter how hard their hearts. He does all of this, out of His great love for us.”

  “I never thought of it that way.”

  “He came all the way from heaven to earth—a bit farther than Philadelphia to the Oregon Territory—to woo His children home. And Abby, though it might not seem possible in our minds, these men and women here in San Francisc
o, they are His children.”

  “A rowdy lot.”

  “Definitely.” Cookie grinned. “But, what I’m saying is this: He would do it all again, cross miles and miles, just to win one of these ornery fellows back to Himself. So, as you travel the miles to find your mother, as you pray for her homecoming, her peace, her heart, just understand that the Lord has those same longings for every one of His children, male or female. And He hasn’t given up on your mama, either. He loves nothing more than restoration.”

  “Cookie, thank you.” Abby slung her arms around her friend’s neck. “Thank you for that reminder. As much as I love Mama, God loves her even more.” She paused, her thoughts on the goings-on at the saloon. “And I suppose it’s for the best that you reminded me about the men and women I saw tonight as well. Sometimes I forget they are as precious to God as we are.”

  “Every last one of them, lost sheep and all. I can picture the Almighty coming up with ways to tap these fellas on the shoulder and woo them to Himself. And He wants us to win them over with our love too. Not our judgment, but our love.”

  “Judging them is the very last thing that will work, I suppose. Mama was never won over by harsh words or criticism.”

  “Which is why we’re called to pray and not to beat them over the head with our Bibles. ‘By this shall all men know that ye are my disciples, if ye have love one to another.’ That’s John 13:35.”

  “I don’t know how you do it, Cookie. You always have the scripture I need to hear ready on your heart at a moment’s notice.”

  “It helps to memorize the verses so I can apply them to my life,” Cookie responded. “You know, honey, sometimes all these men need is the knowledge that someone is praying for them.”

  Abby nodded. “And I suppose that’s what Mama needs too.” A thought hit her all at once. “You know what, Cookie?”

  “What, honey?”

  “I haven’t been praying for Mama. I mean, I’ve prayed that she would come to her senses. I’ve prayed that God would drag her home. But I haven’t actually prayed for her peace, her security, her heart. Maybe it’s time I shifted the direction of my prayers.”