Mara’s mind was racing. “But why did the Williams’ family sell their land to the new owners?”
Patrick’s face grew dark as he stepped closer. “Oh, Mara, that’s the worst part of this story. I’m afraid to even tell you this.”
“But you must.”
“All right, but you have to promise me something, Mara. You must never be alone with him again.”
“Why, Patrick? What are you not telling me?”
He took a deep breath and continued. “At the start of the famine, just when things were beginning to unravel, there was a young couple in town that were planning to get married. Katie and Daniel were their names. There was talk that James had his eyes set on the young girl, but she rebuffed him. On the day of their wedding,” he paused, “there was a terrible accident.”
“What kind of accident?” A searing pain gripped her stomach.
The bride and groom were found dead. Daniel had been shot outside the church. The bullet went right through the heart. Katie was discovered near the woods, between two cliffs at the seashore. She was face down in the water when they spotted her. The sheriff said she’d been strangled.”
Mara took in a deep breath, her veins suddenly felt like they were filled with ice water. “What did she look like?”
“Why?”
“Please, just tell me.”
“Alright,” he said, his face bent with confusion. “Well, she was quite lovely, petite and fair like you, and she had long red curls. It’s strange, but there is a resemblance between you two. I never noticed it before.”
Mara sucked in her breath, and suddenly felt dizzy.
The image of the young bride running through a scarlet forest swam before her eyes. It was impossible, but somehow she knew she’d dreamed of Katie’s murder. A blanket of gray clouded her vision. Mara started to swoon, and Patrick grabbed her before she hit the floor.
“Mara, are you all right,” he cried, hugging her to his chest.
She opened her eyes slowly, looking around the room in confusion. “What happened?”
“I think you fainted, love. Are you alright?”
“I think so. It’s just that my dream…it was so real.”
“What dream, Mara?”
“I had a terrible dream the other night. There was a bride in a crimson forest. She was running for her life, and then she was pushed under the icy waves…” she trailed off, overcome with emotion. “Did they catch the murderer?”
“Let’s get you some fresh air, maybe a cool drink. You look white as a ghost.”
“Please just tell me! Did they catch him?”
“No, that’s the thing…there were rumors.”
“What kind of rumors?”
“There was a lot of talk suggesting that James had murdered the girl.” Patrick’s voice seemed like it was coming from a distance, a sickening feeling washed over her.
“Why wasn’t he arrested?”
“That’s the thing,” his eyes grew dark, his fists clenched. “His family had so much power in town. There was talk, but even the sheriff was afraid to pursue it. The pressure must have finally gotten to the Williams’ family, because one day they’d all disappeared along with their son. Nobody’s heard from them since…not until today, that is.”
“I’m going to mention this to the city’s sheriff, Paul Carpenter. He’s a good man, a friend of mine. I don’t know if there’s anything he can do about it, but at least it’s a start. So listen, darlin’, I mentioned earlier that I’m going to be sparring and fighting in matches for the next couple of weeks. I hope you don’t mind, but I’m going to ask Jenjie to check in on you while I’m gone. He’ll make sure that the landlord’s not bothering you. There’s a big match coming up. I just need to win a few more fights to qualify. I’ll make enough money so you won’t have to worry about Mr. Williams.”
“But I can’t ask you to do that. I couldn’t take your money.”
“What if it was our money?”
“What do you mean?”
With a solemn face, Patrick went down on one knee. “I wanted to do this right and with a beautiful ring…everything you deserve, but seeing that things are happening so fast, I don’t want to wait. I love you, Mara. I realize that we’ve only known each other for just a short time, but I fell in love with you the moment I saw you in the alley, clenching your little hatpin. You’re the most amazing woman I’ve ever met, so spirited and passionate. You’re smart as a whip, too, and so very lovely. I know I don’t deserve you, but I’m going to ask you anyway. Would you do me the honor of being my wife?”
Mara was overwhelmed with emotion. Tears of joy spilled down her face as she gazed into his loving eyes.
“Oh, Patrick, I love you, too. I was afraid that your feelings had changed after last night.”
“Never, darlin’. I was just mad at myself for being so thoughtless. I didn’t want you to imagine that I had the wrong intentions,” He smiled. “I was afraid that you’d think less of me.” His face suddenly lit up and he laughed, “Walking you back to your room last night was the hardest thing I’ve done in my life!”
“It wasn’t that easy for me, either.” She blushed.
His eyes glimmered when he realized the passion they shared. He drew her tight against him and looked deep into her eyes.
“So, it’s a yes, my love?”
“Yes!” He picked her up as if she weighed nothing, swinging her around the room in a circle. They laughed as he twirled her around the gallery.
“I’m afraid, I don’t have your ring yet, but maybe it’s best we keep this to ourselves just for now,” he said thoughtfully. “Maybe it should be a secret engagement until this boxing mess is over. The fighting that I’m doing doesn’t always attract the most wholesome people. You see, there’s a lot of gambling involved and money at stake. I’d rather not bring you into the limelight until after the fights are over. I have to keep you safe, my love, and then we can announce our engagement to the world. I’ll shout it from the rooftops,” he said, covering her with kisses.
Chapter 11
After holding each other for what seemed like forever, they reluctantly got back to work. Patrick busied himself repairing the walls and ceiling. It was hard labor, but he embraced it eagerly, knowing they were working together toward their future. They stole glances at one another throughout the morning. At noontime, Mara took Patrick by his hand and led him out to the paddock. Her easel was set up next to the open window. She looked for the best angle of lighting and made sure Patrick and Sammy were comfortable before going back to her canvas.
Her eyes traveled over his face and body. He looked back with a soft smile, the afternoon light shining in his dark eyes. Golden highlights radiated around his pupils. She dipped the brush into the oil paint and the droplets clung for a moment in suspended animation. A hand moved gracefully over the canvas, releasing the first colorful dot onto a sea of white. Her mind traveled to a different realm, and she joined in spirit with every human being whomever dared to take that first stroke, and she knew the risks; she was willing to pay the price, because wasn’t that what the heart longed for? Whether it be by writing, painting, or music—one only needs to find the strength of courage to walk along the creative path, to search for one’s higher self, and maybe, for just a moment, to gaze into the eyes of God.
While she painted his features, his essence poured out to her, and she eased every last drop onto the canvas. She channeled his spirit and bridged an even deeper sense of intimacy between them. Mara worked for over an hour in deep concentration, until they heard voices calling from outside the paddock walls. Betty and Joshua were standing on the sidewalk, a large basket set between them.
“Hi! We thought we’d drop by with some lunch. We’re taking a break from work. Thought you might like to join us.”
They looked at one another and smiled. “That’s very thoughtful.” Their friends walked around the gallery, complimenting them on their progress. Mara wanted to share the engagement news, bu
t figured it would be best to wait. After lunch, they went back to work, and the hours flew by unnoticed. They hitched Sammy to the surrey in the fading light. Once seated, Mara leaned her head against Patrick’s broad shoulder. Autumn light washed over the two lovers, painting them a golden silhouette.
* * * *
Over the next couple of weeks, Patrick and Mara kept to their daily routine. Sammy pulled their cart to and from the gallery. They worked diligently, and the building began showing improvement within the first few days. Once the walls and ceilings were repaired, Mara helped with painting. She chose a pistachio green for the accent walls, and an eggnog hue she applied to the surrounding surfaces. Their excitement grew as they finished the final restorations. Mara placed an ad in the local paper, requesting artists to drop by with their work.
Patrick continued to fight in the evenings, and his bruises advertised his winnings. There were many challenges along the way, but they worked together to try to solve them. Before long, the gallery was close to completion. On their final day of restoration, Patrick took a detour, turning towards the Pacific Heights neighborhood.
“Mara, there’s a little something I want to show you.” She recognized the area, as it was just a few blocks from Chinatown. They turned down a busy road, opening up to several vacant lots, but at the end of the street was a house rising from the earth. It was a grand estate, dramatic in its architectural design.
Patrick parked the cart and helped Mara climb down to the sidewalk. They watched as several men worked along the suspended scaffolding.
“This is one of those Painted Ladies I was telling you about. Jenjie and I are planning to start building them when we have enough money. What do you think?”
Mara looked at the building. A shower of turrets and towers rose towards the heavens. Stained glass panels were set in arched windows. The glass glittered and appeared to have been sprinkled with stardust.
“Oh, my. Can you imagine what it would be like to live in one?”
He was quiet for a moment before answering. “Could you see yourself living in a house like this?” “Oh, yes. It’s so romantic, like a fairytale. I just love it! With a bit of paint color to brighten the outside, it would be exquisite.” She looked over at the trees along the sidewalk. “Like those lovely maples,” she said, pointing with her gloved hand, and as she said this, the wind picked up, scattering handfuls of colorful leaves around their feet. “Yes, I think a house like this should definitely be painted with fall colors. She should be a proper autumn lady!”
“That’s beautiful, Mara. Always the imaginative one,” he said. “One of the many things I love about you, lass. Autumn Lady,” he whispered.
Their peaceful musings were interrupted by high-pitched screams from down the street. Suddenly, everyone was running to see what was happening. Carriages and pedestrians blocked the road. They looked at one another alarmed, before climbing into their cart. The crowd was gathered around a horse and carriage a couple of blocks away. Women were screaming, hands covering their faces. Mara glimpsed an elderly woman making the sign of the cross.
As they got closer, Mara gasped. In the middle of the street was a deceased man lying in a pool of blood, his wagon had overturned, apparently crushing him. There were shattered wooden boxes everywhere. Bottles were rolling, the odor of whisky in the air. Looking up, Mara noticed the steep road and quickly realized that the wagon must have lost control. She wondered why the driver was transporting such a heavy load in such a small wagon. His injured horse was on the ground. Her sorrel coat was covered in blood and sweat. She labored to breathe, tongue rolling out in the dirt.
“I think that’s the same cab driver that gave me a ride from The Embarcadero.”
Patrick looked closer and nodded. “I believe you’re right, my dear.” He quickly blessed himself. “I remember the red mare. What a shame.” He looked down at the bony ribcage and the track of scars along her flanks. She appeared even thinner than before.
“I wonder what happened to the black gelding.” As they watched with heavy hearts, a gentleman made his way over and stood beside them. He took off his hat, and appeared to be praying.
“This is a tragedy, to be sure,” he said in a deep Scottish accent.
They looked up, nodding in agreement.
“The poor creature, and just look at the ribs sticking out from under her coat. There’s a better way to haul cargo around San Francisco. I’ve been working on some ideas in the Sacramento Valley. We’ve been using a pulley system for transporting freight, but I can see that something needs to be done here in San Francisco,” he said passionately.
Patrick turned to him, “What do you mean, sir?”
“Let me introduce myself. The name’s Andrew Hallidie. I’m an engineer by trade. I was just saying that there’s better ways to get passengers and cargo up these steep hills. I’ve been working on something called a trolley car. It’s a cable railway system. It’ll take the burden off these poor animals. Horses shouldn’t have to haul passengers and cargo up these dangerous hills. This new system will eventually make the horse-drawn trolleys obsolete.”
“Why that’s amazing, sir. I do hope you’re successful,” Mara said, eyes widening.
“I’ll make a promise to you, lass. God willing, some day in the near future, they’ll be streetcars going up and down these hills. One day you’ll look out your window and see railway cars carrying passengers and cargo just like these horse-drawn carts and trolleys.”
Mara smiled in wonder. A sudden movement caught her eye, and she looked back at the carriage. The mare labored to get to her feet. She struggled with her legs outstretched, straining to stand up. She managed weakly to get upright, and stood trembling in the thick fog. Mara walked over, reaching her hand up, and gently caressed the sweat-soaked coat. Although she appeared to be suffering, the mare nuzzled Mara’s shoulder, letting out a contented snort. Her eyes closed while Mara continued to stroke her.
“Oh, Patrick, she’s back on her feet!”
“Yes, dear, it’s a good sign, but she’s lost a lot of blood. I think it’s going to be touch and go from here.”
A few moments later, a large trailer pulled through the crowd. There were black letters written on its side reading, San Francisco Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals.
Three men in white uniforms walked over. One circled around the mare accessing her injuries. A second placed a halter over her head. The third felt around for broken bones, seemingly satisfied, they led the horse up the ramp, and into the back of the covered trailer.
“Where are you taking her, sir?”
“We’re going to have a veterinarian take a look at her injuries. If she makes it, the mare will be put up for adoption, but we’ll make sure the new owner takes proper care of the poor girl. Looks like she’s been through enough already.”
Mara’s eyes softened with relief and she looked up at Patrick. He smiled down at her and they walked back to their cart.
“Oh, I hope she makes it, Patrick, the poor thing,” she sighed.
“Maybe, we should say a little prayer for her. It couldn’t hurt.”
They went back to the gallery to finish the final repairs. Mara was expecting visitors by Friday. She was hoping to find some suitable paintings to add to her collection. By noon, they took a break, and she worked on the finishing touches of her painting.
* * * *
Around the same time, a visitor arrived at The Levy Boarding House. The home was empty except for one young woman sitting alone in the parlor. Jane Darby looked out the window, hearing a loud knocking at the door.
A gentleman stood on the porch. He took off his hat as she opened the door. She noticed a streak of white cutting through his blond hair.
“Madame, I was wondering if Miss Mara McClain might be at home. I just visited the gallery and she wasn’t there. I thought perhaps she might have come back to the boarding house?”
A wry smile crept over her face and she batted her eyelashes at the
gentleman caller. She looked down, noticing that he was holding a box of chocolates and flowers.
Her mind began to race, and she wondered if this older man, and a rich looking one at that, might be interested in Mara. Anger burned in her chest. Was everyone in San Francisco in love with this girl?
“Won’t you please come in? I have some information concerning Mara McClain that you may find rather interesting.”
He stopped and looked at Jane Darby for a moment, his gaze traveling over her voluptuous curves.
“Alright then. I have a few minutes.”
“Could I offer you some tea?”
“Yes, tea sounds lovely.”
She led him back to the kitchen, smiling coyly and proceeded to serve him.
“I’m Jane Darby, and may I ask your name, sir?”
“Of course, young lady, I’m James Williams, but you can call me James, if you like,” he said with a thin smile, his eyes focused on her chest.
“Mr. Williams, I hope you don’t mind me mentioning that your accent is quite eloquent. I’ve never met anyone from…is it England?”
“Yes, it is,” he replied, his eyes traveling over her figure. She smiled demurely, with an engaging tilt of the head.
After pouring his tea. She took a seat, and let out a deep sigh. “Now, I’ve never been one to gossip, Mr. Williams, but you seem like such a nice gentleman. I feel that’s it’s my Christian duty to tell you the truth.”
His eyebrows rose, and he reached out and took her hand. “Dear, what’s bothering your charming little head? Why don’t you tell me all about it?”
She leaned back, daintily taking a sip of tea. “Well, it just so happens that Miss McClain is not a very nice young lady, no sir.”
“Oh, really now. How is she not nice?” He asked with his brows knitting together, hands folded under his chin, leaning forward in his chair.
“Well, to begin with, she and that Patrick, I mean Mr. Deane, they can’t seem to keep their hands off each other.” Her eyes widened.
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