In Dreams Forgotten

by Tracie Peterson

  Micah dug into his bag and produced a small envelope. “Liling, I want you to release pressure on the finger when I say so. I’m going to pour this powder into the wound. It’ll help numb it. Ready?”

  She nodded.

  “Now.” Liling released her hold, and Micah quickly sprinkled the white powder into the oozing cut. “All right, hold it tight again just in case.” He set the envelope aside and motioned to Caleb to pour some brandy over his hands as well as the needle and thread.

  “Kenzie, I need you to hold very still. Hopefully the medicine will help with the pain, but it may still hurt. Caleb, you hold her shoulders down, just in case.”

  Caleb moved into place.

  “I won’t move,” Kenzie said in a whisper.

  Micah glanced for a moment into her blue eyes. That was a mistake. He looked away quickly and focused on the wound. “All right. Here we go.”

  He refused to think about the woman on the table as anything more than a patient. It wouldn’t serve him well to concern himself with feelings and emotions at this point in the battle. However, even though he’d stitched body parts hundreds of times, Micah found himself feeling a little nervous as he stuck Kenzie’s finger with the needle.

  She was as good as her word and never moved. Micah quickly stitched the finger, then wrapped it for protection. Once that was done, he repeated the entire procedure for her little finger. She never uttered a single word or protest during the entire operation, but her ashen color and clenched jaw made it clear that she was in pain.

  Micah looked at Caleb. “Give her a drink. A big one. She’s earned it, and it will help with the pain.” He could see the perspiration edging her hairline.

  “Mrs. Wong, I need a glass,” Caleb said as he opened the bottle.

  A small snifter was produced, and Caleb poured a liberal amount of brandy into the glass. That done, he went to the opposite side of the table and put one arm under Kenzie’s head.

  “Kenzie, you heard the doctor—drink,” Caleb said, holding the rim of the glass to her mouth.

  She did as instructed but gasped and sputtered as the liquid passed her lips. “I don’t . . . I don’t drink alcohol,” she said, trying to push the glass away.

  “You do today—doctor’s orders,” Micah declared. “Be a good girl.”

  She didn’t offer further protest, which told Micah that the injury and repair had exhausted her ability to fight.

  “Thank you, everyone, for your help,” he said. “This could have been much more difficult if you hadn’t been here.”

  “What now?” Caleb asked, handing the brandy bottle and empty glass to Mrs. Wong.

  “I think she needs to rest.”

  “I’ll carry her upstairs,” Caleb said. Then he shook his head. “Why don’t you carry her? I don’t want to accidentally hurt her. I’ll lead the way and open doors—turn down covers, that sort of thing.”

  Micah knew what his friend was doing, but he didn’t mind at all. He liked the idea of carrying Kenzie—even if he had to climb two flights of stairs. “Just let me put things away.”

  “I am perfectly . . . perfectly . . . able to walk.” Kenzie said, trying to sit up. She only got halfway, however, before she stopped, blinked several times, and fell back. “Give me a minute.”

  Micah laughed and shoved the last of his things into his bag. “It’s going to take more than a minute before you feel better. You’ve had a good shock to your system.” He handed his bag to Liling. “Would you please put this on the table by the front door?”

  “Of course.” She took the bag and disappeared.

  “Now, for you.” Micah picked up Kenzie with little effort. She couldn’t have weighed all that much. “All right, Caleb, lead the way.”

  Micah glanced down to find Kenzie watching him. To his surprise, she smiled in a drunken, lopsided way. “You’re very bossy,” she said, her eyebrows rising in surprise. No doubt she was starting to feel the effects of the liquor.

  Micah couldn’t help laughing. “I am. Just remember that, and we’ll get along fine.” He began climbing the narrow stairs.

  “I can be . . . bossy . . . too,” she said, closing her eyes.

  Micah smiled. “A fact I know quite well.”

  Caleb began to despair when he didn’t hear anything from Ann Whitley. He’d written to her days earlier, asking for a chance to meet with her privately. Poor Judith was nearly beside herself, and Caleb could offer her nothing.

  After Kenzie’s accident on Saturday, he had just about decided to break with social etiquette and call Mrs. Whitley directly when a card came from the Whitley mansion, instructing Caleb to come on Monday afternoon at three. The timing was perfect. Judith would be at work, which was just as well. Caleb knew she would only have wanted to accompany him, and for this first visit, he was determined to go alone. That way, if Ann’s daughter-in-law didn’t prove to be the Edith Whitley they were searching for, Judith wouldn’t have to deal with it in public.

  The Whitley mansion stood atop Nob Hill, surrounded by other well-appointed estates. This was the better part of town—the part where the likes of Spreckels, Crocker, Hopkins, and Stanford lived—men with prominent roles in California’s success. Men whose names were whispered in awe by many and cursed by others.

  Caleb parked his car and took a moment to marvel at the gleaming limestone masonry. The Beaux-Arts home sported eight white marble columns with Corinthian capitals on the main part of the two-story, hip-roofed house. The grand entryway was arched with an intricately detailed canopy molding. The two sets of floor-to-ceiling windows that graced either side of the entry were also trimmed in elaborately carved shields and swags. To each side of those, the east and west wings of the house jutted out. If one were to look down on the house from above, it would no doubt look like an I-shaped monstrosity amidst carefully groomed lawns and gardens.

  Pulling off his driving gloves, Caleb speculated at the value of such a place. Even the rather ostentatious Queen Anne brownstone Henry had left him could hardly command a sum such as this house might. Although the real estate agent who was in the process of selling Henry’s brownstone assured Caleb he would realize a hefty profit. Of course, so too would the agent.

  Not wishing to be late, Caleb left his gloves in the car and made his way to the front door. He rang the bell and waited. A few moments later, a stern-faced butler appeared.

  “May I help you?”

  Caleb presented his calling card. “I was asked to come for a three o’clock meeting with Mrs. Whitley.”

  The butler took the card and gave a nod. “Come in, please.”

  The foyer was as grand as Caleb had expected. The highly-polished marble floors were nearly as reflective as the huge gilded mirror that hung left of the front door. An ornate receiving table sat in the middle of the floor, topped with a grand bouquet of roses and lilies, while matching mahogany staircases graced either side of the room. Glancing upward, Caleb could see that the stairs swept in a curve to an open second-floor balcony.

  “May I take your hat, sir?” the butler asked. Caleb nodded and handed him his felt homburg.

  After seeing to his things, the butler asked Caleb to follow him. He led Caleb from the foyer down a long and impressive salon filled with expensive mahogany and walnut tables, stylish sofas and chairs, and a massive stone fireplace that Caleb was confident he could stand up inside. The walls of the room were trimmed out in elaborate moldings and artwork, and the floors were decorated with expensive Aubusson rugs. At the very end of the salon, the butler turned right and paused in front of two massive oak doors. He gave a light knock, then opened the ten-foot-high door on the right.

  “Madam, Mr. Coulter.” He stepped back to allow Caleb to enter the room.

  Caleb smiled and stepped into the large drawing room. Mrs. Whitley sat like a queen upon her throne, a long-haired, buff-colored cat asleep on her lap. The white-haired matriarch glanced up at him with an expression suggesting something between boredom and disdain.


  “Thank you, Ramsay, that will be all.” She waited until the butler had closed the drawing room door before speaking again. “Please be seated, Mr. Coulter.”

  He did as instructed, taking a leather wingback chair opposite her. “Thank you for having me, Mrs. Whitley. Judge Winters sends his regards.”

  She softened her expression just a bit. “You do realize that without his recommendation, I would not have agreed to see you.”

  “I presumed as much. I’m grateful for your willingness to give me a chance to explain my interest.”

  “Please do.” She didn’t move so much as a muscle, merely continued to stare at him like he was some sort of curiosity.

  “As my letter explained, I am an attorney and have a client seeking to find Edith Whitley.”

  “And who is this client?”

  “I’m not at liberty to say just yet. I thought it would be best to meet you and explain first.”

  “Then I suggest you get to it, young man.” Her brow arched slightly. “And do so quickly. I will brook no nonsense.”

  CHAPTER

  7

  Ann Whitley had dealt with all manner of people, and Mr. Coulter did not intimidate or impress. From the time she was young, living a life of ease under the roof of her politically active father, to marrying a wealthy man, Ann had commanded all those around her. Caleb Coulter would certainly offer no challenge.

  She considered the astute young man as he explained his circumstances. He was dressed fashionably and carefully groomed, two things that Ann Whitley valued above all. Breeding showed not only in the way one dressed, however, and as she listened to Mr. Coulter’s choice of words and the way he in which he held himself, she could see he had grown up among the privileged.

  “Judge Winters told me of the accident that claimed the life of your son, daughter-in-law, and granddaughter, so you might believe this a pointless search. I also realize the chances of your daughter-in-law being the same woman we seek are slim, but I felt I must start somewhere.” He smiled.

  “So this client of yours wishes to know if Edith had a sister.”

  “Yes.”

  His gaze never left her face, and Ann admired his strength. Usually people were unable to look her in the eye for long, but this young man seemed completely at ease.

  “Very well,” she said. “You may tell your client that Edith did have a sister, but I refuse to elaborate until your client agrees to meet me face-to-face.”

  “She’ll be happy to do that,” Mr. Coulter replied with a nod. “When might we come?”

  Ann knew her calendar was clear but pretended to consider the matter. “I suppose I could manage a few moments on Saturday afternoon. Let’s say at four. I’ll have tea served.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Whitley.” Caleb Coulter got to his feet. “I won’t take any more of your time.”

  Startled, her cat raised his head. Ann stroked the animal’s soft fur. “I’ll expect you on Saturday at four. Good day.”

  Caleb Coulter had no sooner left the room than Ann’s son and grandson entered to learn what they could. They were insatiable snoops.

  “Well, Mother. What was that all about?”

  She looked at her son. “I’m not entirely sure, William. He has a client who has asked after Edith and whether or not she had a sister. I’ve invited him back on Saturday for tea. He’s bringing his client then.”

  “Grandmother, do you suppose that was wise?”

  She turned to her grandson. “Bill, what I would suppose is that at your age—what is it now, twenty-three?” He nodded. “At twenty-three, I believe you would know better than to question me.”

  The blond-haired young man gave a huff and sat down with his arms folded. “Wasn’t it you who told me that a person who kept only himself for counsel was a fool?”

  Unlike her docile and easily managed son, William Whitley II was far more difficult. On one hand, Ann was pleased to see strength in the boy that his father clearly lacked. On the other, she knew he wasn’t completely under her control.

  She gave him a hard look. “Just because I find no value in your counsel doesn’t mean I refuse to seek it elsewhere.”

  Bill gave her a look that suggested he knew he wouldn’t win the argument. He finally relaxed his arms. “So who is coming to see you on Saturday?”

  “Mr. Coulter wouldn’t say. Apparently he’s been checking into Edith and her past. His client has some interest in learning the truth.”

  William sank into the chair beside his son. “What did you tell him?”

  Ann shrugged and continued to pet the cat. “That Edith had a sister. And before you ask what else was offered, don’t bother. I said nothing more, and the young man kept everything else to himself. He felt it important to wait until his client could be with me face-to-face.”

  “Do you suppose it’s Edith’s sister?” William asked. He sounded troubled—almost frightened.

  “How in the world would I know?” Ann got to her feet, cradling the cat.

  “What if it is? What if it’s . . . Lila?”

  “I suppose we shall cross that bridge when we come to it, but I will offer this: Lila knew very well where her sister lived. Furthermore, I hardly imagine she would send a lawyer to ask if Edith had a sister.”

  “But if not Lila, then . . .” He looked away, shaking his head.

  “People are always trying to claim association by blood with the wealthy,” Bill interjected. “This is probably nothing more than a scheme to bilk you out of your money, Grandmother.”

  She looked at the spoiled young man and smiled. “Well, you should know just how unsuccessful that can be.”

  Kenzie waited patiently as Micah examined her fingers. She hated that he was attentive, coming every day to see her progress. It was Friday, nearly a week after her accident, and she’d had about all of the attention she could manage.

  “Don’t you have anything better to do than come here every day to check on me?” she asked.

  He glanced up. His new growth of beard did little to conceal his grin. “Nothing at all. Nothing anywhere nearly as important as this. Nor as much fun.”

  She felt his finger trace along the side of her palm and then up the center of her little finger. “Stop that at once.”

  “Now, now, Miss Gifford, I am a physician, and I’m only checking to see that you have feeling in your extremities.”

  “I can feel everything just fine. When are you going to take out the stitches?”

  He continued holding her hand. “I believe I can remove the ones on the little finger today. The others need to stay in place another day or two.”

  She sighed. “I suppose you’ll stop by to check on my finger each day until you’re satisfied.”

  “Of course. I’m your doctor, and as such, I will be faithful to my responsibilities.”

  She rolled her eyes. “No doubt.”

  He drew out a pair of tweezers and a small pair of scissors. “Hold still.” Without giving her any further instruction, he went to work removing the three stitches. “There. See how simple that was?” He smiled and finally let go of her hand. “I’ll re-bandage your ring finger, and then you can go back to your affairs.”

  “Hardly that. You won’t let me work at the factory, and that’s where I should be.”

  “Tsk, tsk.” He wagged his index finger in disapproval. “Factories are full of dirt and grime. You might get an infection. Besides, haven’t you enjoyed your leisure time?”

  Kenzie had enjoyed being able to rise late and do very little, but she wasn’t about to admit that to Micah. Instead, she sat gritting her teeth while he reapplied a bandage to her finger.

  “There. All done. However, I have something of a favor to ask you.”

  “A favor?” She shook her head. “I don’t like the sound of that.”

  “Well, I figure you owe me, since I saved your life and all.” He grinned, and she couldn’t help but notice how his whole face lit up.

  Keep your head, Kenzie.

&n
bsp; “You hardly saved my life.”

  He put his hand on his chest and gave her a wounded look. “I’m hurt. You lost a great deal of blood, and had I not been able to stop the bleeding, you could easily have died.”

  She fought the urge to roll her eyes. “Very well. You saved my life. Thank you.”

  “But I’m not looking for thanks.” He put away the rest of his things and closed his black bag. “I’m looking for someone to accompany me to a charity ball.”

  Kenzie stood up, shaking her head vehemently. “No. I will not go to any dance with you.”

  “Can’t you dance?” he asked with a look of innocence.

  “Yes.” Her voice betrayed her exasperation. “I can dance. I just choose not to, and especially not with you.”

  He cocked his head to one side. “Why ‘especially’? Are you afraid of me? Do I hold some magical power over you so that you can’t help falling in love with me?”

  She gave a most unladylike snort. “Hardly. I have no desire to discuss this with you, Dr. Fisher. Suffice it to say, I have put balls and soirees behind me.”

  It was hard not to remember the last ball she’d attended shortly before her wedding. Arthur had been so attentive—so wonderful. He had shown her every consideration, bringing her flowers and sweeping her off in his finest carriage. They had clearly been the most envied couple at the ball, and Kenzie had never felt more beautiful.

  “You aren’t listening to me,” Micah said.

  She looked at Micah and shrugged. “I seldom do.”

  He sobered. “Do you hate me so much that you won’t even extend a simple kindness? Or are you afraid? Won’t you at least tell me why?” His words were gentle and coaxing. “After all, you’re leaving me to face the evening alone.”

  “I’m not afraid, and I’m sure with your handsome face, you’ll have no difficulty getting any number of women to accompany you.”

  He leaned back with a smug expression. “So you think I’m handsome.”

  “Oh, good grief, you do exasperate a person. You know very well you’re handsome and don’t need me to tell you so.”

  “I’m glad you think so. It helps to be mutually attracted.”