Through the Shadows

by Barnett, Karen;

Elizabeth took another bite of the dry chicken, following it with a quick sip of water to wash down the stringy morsel. Her mother’s cooking always left much to be desired.

  Mr. McKinley sawed at the meat with his knife. She almost felt sorry for the man. Growing up in one of San Francisco’s privileged families, he’d probably never imagined life without a housekeeper and a cook. The fine fabric of his suit suggested he was cut from the same cloth as his uncle.

  Even so, the odd contrast between the softness in his brown eyes and the firmness of his jaw drew her gaze. At least he didn’t look like Silas McKinley, one mark in his favor.

  She’d chosen the blue gown after all—not to impress the pretentious attorney, but rather to deflect any more of Mother’s pointed remarks. Elizabeth pushed the cooked carrots around the dish with her fork. Now that she didn’t have daily rehearsals to take up her time, she’d be at the mercy of her mother’s meddling. If she weren’t careful, Mother would see her married off to the first eligible bachelor she could sink her claws into. Elizabeth’s gaze returned to the young man sitting across the table. Unfortunately, she wasn’t marriage-worthy. Tobias had assured as much.

  Mother smiled as she passed Mr. McKinley a basket of rolls. “How long have you lived in San Francisco?”

  He accepted the container and added a piece of bread to his plate. “Only a few days, actually. I grew up near Redding, but I attended law school in Oregon. My uncle recently brought me into the firm. This is my first assignment.”

  “Your first?” Tiny lines formed around her mother’s mouth.

  Elizabeth twisted the napkin in her lap. “I’d have thought your uncle would show more respect for us than to bring in an inexperienced attorney.”

  The young man glanced up, one brow cocked. “I believe he meant it as a compliment. Uncle Silas would only commit your situation to a trusted family member.”

  Mother took a sip from her water glass, recovering her composure in less than a heartbeat. “Silas worked diligently for this family for years, Elizabeth. We shouldn’t be questioning his intentions. I’m sure young Mr. McKinley will be a breath of fresh air.” She patted his arm. “Youth doesn’t always mean ignorance. And it comes with certain benefits.” Mother smiled, her pale eyes gleaming as if she’d already convinced herself. “Energy. Drive. Ambition. All of which I expect Charles, here, has in abundance. May I call you Charles?”

  “Of course.”

  Leave it to Mother to side with the enemy.

  An eager smile brightened his face. “I’ve been looking over your files. I have some ideas to help with your new situation.”

  Situation. The word squeezed around Elizabeth’s heart. “Our destitution, you mean?” As soon as the accusation escaped her lips, a prickle crept up her cheeks. She’d never learned her mother’s gift for subtle conversation.

  “Elizabeth!” Mother’s face pinched.

  The young man frowned. “I wouldn’t go so far as to say that. It’s a highly complex matter. I’m afraid you might not understand, Miss King. ”

  Elizabeth’s mouth fell open, his condescending tone snapping her control like an overtightened piano string. “I understand more than you realize, Mr. McKinley. For one thing, I know your uncle assured my father the buildings in which he invested were well-insured—he insisted there was little risk.”

  “My uncle couldn’t have foreseen an earthquake of this—”

  “Mr. McKinley also claimed to invest in the same properties, and yet he’s still living in one of San Francisco’s nicest homes. He doesn’t appear to have endured the same level of economic ruin.” The words tumbled from her mouth faster than she could collect them.

  The man’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “Um, no. He—”

  “And explain this to me. My brother, Robert, visited your uncle’s office three times during the last month and Silas McKinley refused to see him. Now he sends you here to Sacramento?” The heat in her chest increased with each subsequent thought. “If he believes a fast-talking, handsome man with a fine suit will somehow woo the ladies and get us to acquiesce, he’s sorely mistaken. We’re not helpless females, no matter what your uncle may have led you to believe.” She stood, tossing the linen napkin onto her plate. “Mother, we shouldn’t be wasting our time with him. I, for one, have an engagement this evening.”

  Her mother rose to her feet. “Mr. McKinley is our guest. I will not have him flown at in such a manner.”

  The young man jumped up, a glint appearing in his eyes. “I assure you, Miss King, my uncle didn’t send me to woo anyone.” He paused. “I believe I can help.”

  “I think we should hear him out.” Mother pressed a hand to her heart.

  Elizabeth locked her gaze on the attorney. “Are you afraid to conduct business with my brother, or do you think it’s too complex for a physician to understand, too?”

  He placed both palms on the table and leaned forward, matching her stare. “Are you saying your mother is not competent to manage her affairs without a man present?”

  A flush climbed Elizabeth’s neck, settling under her lace collar.

  He turned toward her mother. “I can present my recommendations here, or we can wait until after the meal. If you’d prefer I make an appointment to speak to your son, I’d be more than happy to do so. I also have another engagement this evening, so it would be preferable to expedite my proposals without further interruptions.”

  Her mother nodded. “Let’s retire to the parlor. Elizabeth, you may join us or not, but you will remain silent. I will not have our guest harangued further.”

  As they departed, Elizabeth sank back into her seat. She lifted the water glass, but her trembling hand splashed the icy water down the front of her dress, chilling her to the skin. She dabbed a napkin against the damp silk, the image of the young man’s wide brown eyes tugging at her heart. He hadn’t deserved such venom. Why must she make a mess of everything?

  Her forthright manner had cost her much over the years. Add such a weakness to a stained past, and she could forget ever walking down the aisle. Elizabeth closed her eyes. Not that marriage was ever her goal . . . at least, not exactly.

  Lord, help me.

  2

  Elizabeth hurried up City Hall’s marble steps after her friend. The church bells tolled, echoing down the busy street. “We’re going to be late.”

  The cascading flowers on Lillian’s hat jounced as she climbed. “If you’d met me at six like I asked, we’d have had plenty of time. Tell me more about this attorney fellow. Was he handsome?”

  “He was insufferable. A pompous, overdressed stuffed shirt—like those Brookstone Academy boys who lived to quote Sophocles and Euripides.”

  Lillian smiled. “I nearly married one of those boys, remember?”

  Elizabeth reached for the ornate brass handle, pulling open the heavy door. “Temporary blindness. You eventually came to your senses.”

  Her friend cocked a pale eyebrow as she stepped through the doorway. “And hasn’t anyone turned your head? You haven’t had time for me in months. I’d assumed some special fellow consumed all your attentions.”

  A wave of heat washed over Elizabeth, and she lifted a hand to her cheek. If anyone—even Lillian—guessed her indiscretion, she’d never survive the gossip and disgrace. This secret was between her and God, assuming she could gather the courage to speak to Him about it. Elizabeth followed her friend through the entrance, careful to keep her skirt out of the way. “I’ve decided men aren’t worth the trouble. Who’s speaking tonight?”

  A few well-dressed women stood in the marble-lined vestibule, lingering outside the door of the meeting room. The sound of children singing floated out into the hall. Elizabeth stopped in her tracks.

  “About that . . .” Lillian grasped Elizabeth’s hand and pulled her toward the assembly hall. “The orator is Miss Donaldina Cameron from San Francisco’s Presbyterian Mission Home. I heard her speak in Oakland last June.”

  “Mission? I thought this was a Stanton Club meet
ing.” Elizabeth’s skin crawled. “You didn’t tell me this was a church event.”

  “Miss Cameron works with girls rescued from slavery in Chinatown. Their stories will break your heart. Come on.” Lillian gave her a knowing glance. “You can’t even walk by a street urchin without sharing your coins.”

  Elizabeth’s feet dragged across the tile floor. She couldn’t face a missionary. Not now. But the music—and Lillian’s expectations—pulled her forward. Elizabeth smoothed a hand across her skirt, trying to ignore the perspiration dampening her palms. No one knows.

  Few openings remained in the packed room. Lillian guided her down the side aisle to a couple of empty spots near the front.

  Three Chinese girls stood on the platform, their smooth hair shining under the electric lights. Their gentle voices rose and fell to the tune of “Safe in the Arms of Jesus.” Elizabeth couldn’t resist smiling at the sight of the smallest girl—perhaps only six or seven—her embroidered red tunic making her resemble a bright peony.

  Elizabeth sidled past knees and feet, taking care not to tromp on anyone’s toes, and tucked into her seat with a sigh. A woman’s massive Gibson Girl hairstyle blocked most of Elizabeth’s view. Ridiculous. If she tips her head, she’ll fall over. Her sister Ruby often styled her red curls in such magnificent updos, but Elizabeth preferred to maintain a sleek knot at the back of her head. It seemed silly to spend hours on one’s hair when there were so many other things to do.

  The girls sang two more hymns, their voices as pure as garden wind chimes. The littlest one stepped forward, a wide smile brightening her round face. After a nod from the woman at the back of the platform, the child folded her hands and began to sing. Elizabeth leaned forward, her fingers twitching as she contemplated an arrangement on the piano.

  I’m but a stranger here, Heaven is my home;

  Earth is a desert drear, Heaven is my home;

  Danger and sorrow stand, round me on every hand;

  Heaven is my fatherland, Heaven is my home.

  Elizabeth and Lillian joined in the applause as the girls returned to their seats. Elizabeth edged a few inches to the side to get a better view of the tall, thin woman taking the podium, her hair glinting like Mother’s best silver.

  “No truer words have been sung.” A hint of a Scottish brogue colored the woman’s words. “Yoke Soo and her twin sister came to our shores at the tender age of four, but within hours the children were on the auction block. Yoke Soo began her life in America as a Mui Tsai—servant child.”

  The poor little dear. Elizabeth studied the people in front of her. Two seats down, she couldn’t help but admire a muscular set of shoulders, clad in an elegant suit. The man’s light brown hair seemed familiar. When he turned to speak to the woman on his left, Elizabeth’s breath caught in her chest. Charles McKinley? She’d assumed the young attorney would be visiting with another client, not attending a public meeting. Would she never be free of the man? Elizabeth shrank down in her seat, no longer caring whether she could see the platform.

  The woman at the podium expounded on the girl’s heartbreaking story, but the words failed to penetrate Elizabeth’s dour mood. The lady ahead of her leaned past her neighbor to whisper to Mr. McKinley. His head turned, the profile unmistakable.

  Elizabeth pressed a handkerchief to her eyes. With any luck, she wouldn’t be recognized.

  Lillian patted her sleeve. “I knew you’d be moved.”

  Elizabeth ducked as the attorney glanced back. Perhaps I should leave. She peered down the long row, but a gauntlet of legs and feet prepared to make trouble for anyone who passed. Elizabeth leaned back against the chair. Trapped.

  After a few minutes, she relaxed, turning her focus to the missionary’s stories. The images of beatings, neglect, and hard work pressed on Elizabeth’s lungs. Was she truly speaking of the little child who’d just sung like an angel?

  Miss Cameron leaned forward, her eyes scanning the audience. “As tragic as this sounds, Yoke Soo had a more daunting problem ahead. After years of servitude, her master would likely sell her again—this time to a house of ill-repute.”

  The woman with the enormous hair rose, dabbing her cheeks with a silk handkerchief. Excusing herself, she made her way down the long row of seats and slipped out to the back of the room.

  Elizabeth straightened. At last, she could see the stage. She willed Mr. McKinley to remain facing forward.

  “A kindly neighbor intervened, rescuing the child and delivering her to the Mission.” Miss Cameron’s gaze lowered, her voice growing husky. “Her sister was not as fortunate.”

  Elizabeth swallowed. These girls had suffered more than she, and yet they were innocent of their pain. Could she claim the same for herself? Unlikely.

  The missionary’s voice rose, echoing through the packed room. “This is why I plead with you, good people of Sacramento, to support the Mission’s efforts to remove these girls from the clutches of man’s carnal desires. With your help, we can bring these children out of darkness and into the light of Christ’s love.”

  Elizabeth pressed her hands into her lap, squeezing herself into as narrow a space as possible. Man’s carnal desires. The words clutched at her throat like so many tangled threads.

  A woman near the front stood. “The little ones, of course. But what of the older girls? Do you bring the prostitutes in with the young children?”

  The crowd murmured, all eyes returning to the podium.

  Miss Cameron nodded. “We are all God’s children. None have fallen so far as to be unredeemable by His love and sacrifice on the cross.”

  “What do you do with them once they’ve been rescued?” The woman persisted in her questions.

  “We see to our daughters’ needs—spiritual, physical, emotional, and intellectual. Right now one of our biggest needs is for teachers at our school. We want good women such as yourselves to come and work with our girls. Teach them English, sewing, cooking, reading, writing, and music.”

  “Music? What good is music?”

  Miss Cameron lifted a hand and gestured to the girls sitting in the front row. “You heard the children sing. Chains bind the body, but music sets the heart free.”

  As Miss Cameron continued her speech, tears stung at Elizabeth’s eyes. She stared down at her smooth, even nails, remembering the feel of the ivory beneath her fingertips. She’d hardly played in weeks. Not since she’d cast Tobias out of her life. He’d taken her heart. Her music. Would it ever return?

  She lifted her head and studied the elegant woman at the lectern. Miss Cameron leaned forward, the energy of her plea flooding through the crowd. Her stories continued, telling the tales of one girl after another.

  Elizabeth’s chest burned, like she’d swallowed an ember from the stove and it scorched its way through her. Could this make up for what she’d done?

  The speaker lifted her hands, gesturing to the audience. “What will you do to help our girls? Will you shake your heads and go back to your comfortable homes? Or will you commit yourself to the Lord’s work? He’s calling you. How will you answer?”

  A ripple coursed through Elizabeth’s body as she met the missionary’s gaze. If I do this, God, will You forgive me?

  ***

  Charles stretched his back after an hour of sitting on the wooden chair. The crowd filtered out of the room, dozens of conversations buzzing around him. He glanced toward the front where Miss Donaldina Cameron stood surrounded by well-wishers. He’d heard about her work and hoped to have the opportunity to meet her in person. Discovering her engagement in Sacramento the same evening he happened to be in town had been fortuitous, indeed.

  He shuffled into the aisle in time to see a young woman in a dark blue dress hurry toward the back of the room. She cast a quick glance over her shoulder, eyes widening as she met his gaze.

  Elizabeth King? Had she been so close this entire time? Funny, he should’ve felt those blue eyes boring holes in his spine. He shook himself and turned the opposite direction. Another
encounter with the outspoken young woman would not be high on his list of desirable activities. Charles nodded at two elderly gentlemen as he eased his way toward the front.

  Miss Cameron smiled and shook the hand of a portly woman dressed in yellow silk before turning toward Charles.

  He cleared his throat. “Miss Cameron, it’s an honor to meet you. My name is Charles McKinley, of San Francisco. My law professor, Elmer Davis, speaks highly of your work.”

  A smile spread across the missionary’s face. “Does he now? Did he tell you he volunteered as a legal advisor to the Mission back when I first arrived? I asked so many questions, he’d run when he saw me coming.”

  Charles chuckled. “Professor Davis did mention you had a keen mind and a great aptitude for law.”

  The youngest child came up beside Miss Cameron and took her hand.

  Miss Cameron pulled the girl close to her side. “One must if they are to succeed in keeping these children safe. It is the law which protects them.”

  “And in some ways, the laws have created the problem—am I right? Wouldn’t you say the Exclusion Act is partially to blame?” Charles smiled as the dark-eyed little girl stared up at him. How many stories—and secrets—those eyes contained.

  “Halting immigration has made the situation more difficult. There simply aren’t enough brides to go around. But I cannot let these children pay the price of politics.”

  “Of course. No woman should be forced into such work. Especially ones so young.” He forced himself to meet Miss Cameron’s steely gaze, as he couldn’t bear to look at the little girl again. “But don’t you think our efforts should be focused on changing the laws creating the issue, rather than merely treating the symptoms of the problem?”

  Miss Cameron laid her hand on the child’s shoulder. “We must do both, Mr. McKinley, and I pray men like you will take up the challenge.”

  Charles’s pulse quickened. “I hope to try one day. That issue, among others.”

  “Then I will be certain to keep an eye on you. You should come visit our Mission Home. I can show you firsthand the work we do.”