“Cousin,” Lucas said, clapping his hand on Robert’s shoulder. “These are the girls from Walton’s Tailor Shop in town, Miss Hannelore Schaeffer and Miss Margaret O’Brien. It appears we’ve all come out for a Sunday stroll.”
The way Lucas said their names made Hanna think of grand ladies promenading gloved and veiled, not lowly shopgirls. It brought the tug of a smile to her lips.
Robert turned to Hanna. “Good day.”
She bowed her head. “Good day, sir.”
“Forgive my cousin,” Lucas said. “Among the fairer sex, conversation does not come naturally to him. I fear he’s lost his tongue.”
Robert’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Apologies,” he said, to Margaret this time, ignoring Hanna completely. “It is not my intention to be boorish. However, I must meet a colleague in town. Lucas and I have important business to attend to.”
A heavyset man approached, a dark birthmark smudged on his cheek like a thumbprint. He gave one of the chestnut-colored horses a pat on her shiny flank. He then hoisted himself aboard the carriage with a grunt.
“Clive,” Robert said. “Bring us back to town. California Street.”
“Yes, sir,” Clive answered, taking the reins.
“Are you heading that way?” Lucas asked Hanna.
“Yes,” she said. “We will walk back.”
“But that shall take nearly an hour’s time, will it not?” Lucas asked, scrunching his brow. “Is it healthful to walk such a distance?”
Robert coughed into his hand. Hanna couldn’t quite make out his words, but they sounded very much like peasant blood.
“I believe so,” Hanna answered. “Nothing is better for the soul than fresh air.”
Lucas nodded. “Good day, then. Enjoy the remainder of your afternoon.”
Climbing aboard his carriage, Lucas tipped his hat to Hanna. “Miss Schaeffer. Miss O’Brien.”
Margaret’s cheeks colored even pinker, not so pretty this time, for she looked truly frightened, being addressed so directly.
“Good day,” Hanna said.
“He called me Miss!” Margaret grinned as she turned to walk with Hanna. “Do you think he’s gone mad?”
“Not mad, but a bit unusual perhaps.”
“And quite handsome,” Margaret said.
As Hanna strolled with Margaret along the bridge, a carriage full of ladies dressed in white rambled past, their faces obscured by large hats with black bows.
Margaret sighed. “Ach, they’re off to the races, the lucky cows. How I would love to see the horse races.”
“It would be splendid fun,” Hanna said. “A shame we cannot go.”
A ruddy-faced man tumbled out of a saloon perched at the edge of the pier. His wild eyes fixed on Hanna.
“You up for a ride, lass?” He bucked his hips in a vulgar gesture.
She flinched, her features contorting into a scowl. “Get away, you mongrel!”
The man grabbed ahold of her arm, bringing his face so close she could smell the whiskey on his breath. An angry red scar slashed across his cheek. “Yes, you are.”
Hanna pulled against his strong grip. “No! Leave me be!”
“Let go of her!” Margaret screamed.
He grinned, like a snake. “Aren’t you a pretty little trollop? You can have a ride when I’m done with her.”
Hanna spit in his face. Eyes narrowing, the man raised his hand to strike her. Bracing for the sting of his palm, Hanna cowered.
“Enough!”
Lucas drew his carriage to a stop beside Hanna. His nostrils flared as he looked down at the drunk. Robert stared at Margaret, wetting his lips as if to speak out, but his eyes widened when they alighted on the scar-faced man, as if he recognized the fellow. Before Hanna could blink, Lucas had leaped down into the street, landing on two feet spry as a cat.
“Release her at once!” Lucas cried, shoving the man, hard.
The drunk fell, freeing Hanna from his dirty fingers. She watched as the vagrant sprawled in a heap across the wooden slats of the bridge.
Unsteadily, the man rose to his feet, spitting at Lucas. “You lookin’ for a fight, you fancy piece of shite? I know a scrubber when I see one.”
Hanna’s gut told her to run. Yet her feet rooted themselves to the ground. The man pointed at her and then at Margaret. His glassy eyes hardened. “Harlots, the both of them. Every girl in this city is a whore.”
“Please, Lucas,” Hanna whispered. “Do not listen to this dangerous drunkard. Get back in your carriage.”
“Yes,” Robert said, looking down at the commotion. “Let us keep our graces.”
Lucas ignored them both, hoisting the miscreant by the collar of his soiled jacket and shaking him. “Apologize to these women. They are not trollops, you vile, disgusting creature. Apologize!”
The man struggled, wild-eyed like a captured animal. “Sorry,” he shouted, spittle flying from his mouth. “I’m sorry, ladies. Please, let me down. Don’t ’urt me.”
Lucas relaxed his grip, and the man fell to the ground. As Lucas dusted himself off, the glint of a knife in the inebriate’s pocket caught Hanna’s eye.
“Weapon!” she yelled. Unthinking, she darted forward. Slick with sweat, her palm slid against the knife handle. She managed to wrench the blade from the lowlife. Hanna pointed it at him. “Stay away!”
“Give me back my knife, you little cunt!” He lunged for Hanna, but in his drunkenness, fell against Margaret instead.
Margaret shrieked, slapping him hard. “Get off me, you shit-stack!”
Before the drunkard could retaliate, Lucas pulled back his fist and punched the man hard in the jaw.
A crowd began to gather.
“Fight!” a man yelled, gesturing to his friends. “Fight, fight!”
“No,” Hanna said, pulling Lucas by his suit jacket. “Leave him. We must run.”
Lucas appraised the crew of ruffians that had gathered. These were hardened men eager for a fight, their arms strong from a lifetime of labor. Lucas clenched his hands into fists.
Robert cracked his whip, startling the crowd. “I suggest you disperse immediately, or I’ll send for the police. I have no qualms throwing each and every one of you in prison. I’m quite well acquainted with the police chief.”
“That’s right,” Lucas said, addressing the men. “Now leave at once!”
“Wait until your fancy boy ain’t ’ere to protect you,” the drunkard yelled, his eyes darting from Margaret to Hanna. “I’ll find you girls and kill you.”
The scar-faced man spat at Hanna’s feet and then turned to dart into the thinning crowd. Hanna flung the man’s knife over the bridge railing, where it landed with a splash in the water below.
“Bloody hell, that was frightening,” Margaret whispered.
Hanna nodded, her body shaking.
“Are you all right?” Lucas asked, turning to Hanna. “When I saw that man accost you, I had to intervene.”
“Thank you, sir,” Hanna said. “You saved my life.”
He held up a hand. “Please. Call me Lucas. And you were brave enough to grab that man’s knife. So perhaps it is you who saved mine.”
“Ahem,” Robert said, looking down at them. “Now that the ruffian has left us, we must be on our way.”
“How are you getting home?” Lucas asked, turning to Hanna.
“We are walking,” Hanna replied.
“Please,” Lucas said. “Let me accompany you.” He patted the horse’s flank, looking up at Robert. “Ride on without me.”
Robert wrinkled his nose. “Suit yourself.”
As the carriage clattered away, Hanna rubbed her arms, as if to erase the gooseflesh. Margaret placed a soothing hand on Hanna’s back. “There, there. He’s gone now. And we’ve got Mr. Lucas to walk with us.”
Hanna smiled at Lucas. “Thank you.”
Lucas frowned. “We must notify the police and report this criminal. I should hate to think of him plaguing others as he endangered you today.�
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Margaret scoffed. “I don’t mean to offend, sir, but the police won’t do nothing. There’s enough sin in this city to burn the place to the ground.”
Lucas turned to Margaret. “Is that what you believe?”
“Aye,” she said, her face darkening. “The men are all drunkards, including me da. My wee brothers and sisters haven’t a crumb to eat. The police don’t give a damn about us Irish. They’d let us starve. That’s why I work at the shop.”
Lucas turned to Hanna. “Must you provide for your family as well?”
“Yes,” Hanna said. “My mother died of pneumonia, so I keep house and I work. My brother Martin is a boy of twelve, and he also works from dawn until dusk.”
Lucas hung his head. “I’m terribly sorry to hear about your mother. My little cousin Clara was also taken by disease as a child . . . consumption. She was Robert’s sister. He’s never quite been the same since she died.”
“Oh,” Hanna said, softening. “How sad.” And here she’d been about thinking about how life was not kind to those on the fringes of society. Lucas had likely grown up in a grand home with servants, cooks, governesses, and tutors attending to his every need. He would never know the pain of a hungry belly or the danger of the back alleys of the Barbary Coast. Yet death didn’t discriminate.
“It may not be of popular opinion,” Lucas said, “but I don’t agree with child labor. Should children not be allowed to play, at least for an hour or two?”
Hanna’s nails dug into her palm.
“I’d rather my little brothers and sister learn to read,” Hanna said. “For them to have more opportunities than I have had. I try my best to teach them words in English and German, but I fear they will end up working long hours in a factory.”
“Aye,” Margaret said, hanging her head. “I should like to read as well. I’ve often wondered what’s inside all those books.”
Lucas slowed to a halt. He stood on the wooden bridge next to the horse-car tracks, as ships bobbed in the ocean and gulls cawed. His eyes widened as he looked at Margaret. “You can’t read?”
Margaret winced and then shook her head. “No. Not a word.”
“Can you?” Lucas asked Hanna.
Hanna nodded. “My mother, she taught me. She was an educated woman. But I’m not so good at reading English. I haven’t time to practice.”
Lucas frowned. “How often must you work?”
“Until the mending is finished,” Hanna said.
“But it’s never finished,” Margaret cut in. “And then when I get home, bone tired, there’s the washing, the cooking, and the minding of the children.”
Hanna nodded. “Sunday is the only day we do not work in the shop. Although I’m sure Mrs. Cunningham would have us stay there if she could.”
Lucas shook his head. “And I’ve brought you my suits, creating more work for you.” He smiled. “Perhaps I should learn how to mend. What a sight that would be!”
Margaret laughed at Lucas’s joke. “Good thing you can’t, or we’d be out of a job. We’re lucky. Other girls have nothing.”
“Lucky,” Lucas murmured, his eyes wandering to Hanna. “Do you agree? Surely you must wish to have some leisure time. Can you play piano?”
Hanna chuckled. “What is the purpose? To play next to a dancing bear in one of the melodeons?”
Lucas eyed her quizzically, but Hanna could tell he was suppressing a smile. “Most ladies play piano in the parlor to entertain guests, although I must say, Hanna, you paint a rather amusing picture.”
Hanna slowed to a stop at Market Street, where they needed to part ways. She shivered, tugging her woolen shawl more tightly around her shoulders. “Thank you,” she said, “for escorting us back to town. It comforts me to know you will try to have that man arrested.”
“I must be off now,” Margaret said, watching the sun dip behind the tall brick boardinghouse buildings. “I fret the wee ones have been left alone too long.”
“Will you be safe?” Lucas asked. “I can accompany you the rest of the way.”
“Thank you.” Margaret smiled. “But I know my home streets well, and they are no place for a gentleman.”
Hanna hugged Margaret tightly. “Good night, dear friend. Get home quickly.”
“I’ll see you in the morn.”
Margaret’s red hair shone beneath her straw hat, her silhouette growing smaller as she retreated.
Hanna stood in silence with Lucas, noting how handsome yet somber he appeared in profile. He must be a kind man to forgo the comfort of Robert’s carriage to walk with Margaret and me.
“It’s time I’m on my way,” Hanna said. “The light has fallen.”
Lucas frowned. Removing his hat, he smoothed his tousled hair, his right hand reddened and swollen at the knuckles.
Hanna sucked in her breath. “Oh, Lucas. Your hand.”
His eyes met hers, sparkling under the streetlamps. “Never fear, there’s an icebox at the Merchants Exchange. It is not far from here. Though my workplace is closed at present, I have a key to my office.”
Placing his hat atop his head, he grew serious. “My concern is for you, a remarkable woman. The women I know don’t care for anything more than the newest fashions from Paris.”
Suddenly, Hanna’s arms longed to embrace him. She stemmed the urge toward improper emotion with the image of Robert sending a servant to pick up the suits after Margaret and she had mended them. Lucas was from a different world—one in which Hanna had no place. It would be best not to see him again.
The cold wind penetrated Hanna’s shawl, and she blew on stiff fingers. Gas lamps spread soft light onto the cobblestones, and horse hooves clattered past. Were Hans’s and Katja’s bellies growling? Hanna reached into her pocket, fearing she’d lost the candies she had promised them. When her hand clasped the mints, holding them tightly, she heaved a sigh of relief.
“Good-bye, Lucas,” Hanna said, her chest tightening as she turned on her heel.
“Hanna, wait!” Lucas said, looking at her differently now, as if she were someone familiar to him—dear, even. “I can call you a carriage.”
Hanna ran down Market Street without giving Lucas an answer. She and Margaret were stuck with their stations in life, like molasses to the bottom of a pan. Margaret’s father would be drunk tonight, waiting for Margaret with heavy hands and sour breath. And Hanna’s father would be drunk again as well.
But Father would not return until after the children had gone to bed. Tonight would be the same as every other night, with boiled potatoes for dinner and songs for the children. Tomorrow was another day. And Hanna would see Margaret in the morning.
Chapter 5
Sarah, Present Day
How’s your novel coming along?” Hunter asked, placing a hand on my shoulder.
I closed my Word document quickly. “Good.”
I hadn’t told him yet about my decision to stop writing it. First, my graduate advisor needed to approve my new topic, and now didn’t feel like the right time to bring up how unproductive I’d been. Hunter had given me the gift of pursuing my dream without the stress of working. And then I’d realized that writing a novel wasn’t my dream after all. It was too embarrassing to admit.
“Hey,” I said, looking over at the young, scruffy shippers Hunter had recently hired. “Are you sure you don’t need help with anything? I’ll happily pack boxes for the new orders if you want. It looks like you have a lot of them.”
Hunter shook his head. “I asked you to come hang out at my office so I could spend time with you, and so you could work on your book. You’ve already paid your dues with the masking tape, I’d say.”
I chuckled, remembering the early days of Hunter’s start-up, when he ran the business out of his apartment garage. We’d been dating for two years then, and I’d helped by taking orders, packing boxes, answering customer complaints, and writing the website copy. Nick had been kind enough to design the Have-Clothing website for free, even though Hunter offered to pay him
generously.
“Hey, man,” Nick had said to Hunter. “Anyone who cares as much as you do about treating homeless people like people can have my graphic design expertise gratis. I think it’s cool what you’re doing.”
Now I smiled, looking around at the bustling Have-Clothing office. Young guys in flannels sat at MacBooks, while girls in leggings and boots kicked a soccer ball back and forth across the hardwood floors. A blonde in a beanie swung in a hammock strung between two wooden beams, taking orders over the phone. An assortment of fixed-gear bicycles lay stacked against the exposed brick wall.
All ten of Hunter’s employees shared the same passion he did for helping the Bay Area’s homeless. Whether they were designing T-shirts, answering emails, or volunteering at local shelters, they’d come to work for my husband because they believed in making a difference. Have-Clothing was more than just a hot new start-up featured in TechCrunch—it was social entrepreneurship in the name of doing good.
Using his own money, Hunter had rented a huge space in an old brick warehouse in the Design District, one of my favorite parts of the city. Today, South of Market was headquarters to Salesforce, Square, Airbnb, Yelp, and Pinterest, but during the mid-nineteenth century, SoMa had been a burgeoning pioneer community of recent European immigrants, who worked the factories near the docks.
“Duck!” a girl shrieked as the soccer ball went flying past my head. I dodged it, moving quickly to the side. “Sorry,” she said, pushing her light hair out of her eyes. “You’re Hunter’s wife, right? I’m Niki. Hunter is, like, the coolest boss ever.”
“Yep,” I said, feeling a surge of pride. “I’m Sarah, nice to meet you.”
She smiled, shaking my hand. “Sorry for taking the ‘work hard, play hard’ motto a little too seriously. I almost hit you there.”
“Yeah,” said a bearded guy, picking up the ball and throwing it at Niki. “Let Sarah work on her book in peace or she’ll never bring us pizza again.”
“Sorry,” Niki mouthed, tucking the ball under her arm.
I shook my head. “Really, it’s no trouble. And don’t worry, my deliveries from Little Star won’t be stopping anytime soon.”
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