Yoke Soo shook her head. “I’m not good enough.”
Elizabeth squelched a laugh before it escaped from her mouth. “Who told you that?”
“Mrs. Woolsey, the piano teacher. I like to play what I hear in my head. She wants me to play the book.”
A shiver raced across Elizabeth’s skin. “You played ‘Amazing Grace.’ Isn’t it in the hymnal?”
“Not the way I hear it.”
Which explained its beauty. “You have a lot of natural talent, Yoke Soo. It’s a gift from God. Your instructor is helping you develop your skills so you can be even better.”
The girl’s lip curled. “I don’t want to play like . . .” Yoke Soo glanced behind her, as if fearing the woman might sneak out of the shadows. “Mrs. Woolsey’s songs have no life.” She shrugged her narrow shoulders.
“When is your next lesson?”
“Tomorrow morning.” She looked down at her fingers. “She’ll be mad, again. I can’t play the hymn like she wants.”
“Which one?”
Yoke Soo pulled the hymnal from the rack and gestured at one of the pages.
Elizabeth chewed her lip and glanced at the chipped keys. “Come here.” She sat at the piano. “They’ll be setting up for dinner soon, but I can play through it for you at least once.”
Yoke Soo’s face brightened. “You play?”
Elizabeth tucked her skirts under her as she perched on the stool. “Our secret, yes?”
The child nodded, pressing her lips closed.
Elizabeth leaned forward to see the notes in the dim light. Her hands stumbled over the fingerings at first, but as her muscles warmed up, the music flowed.
Yoke Soo stared into the distance as she listened, not bothering to watch Elizabeth’s fingers.
Elizabeth pushed through even as a hole opened in the pit of her stomach. Why had she given this up? Hadn’t Tobias stolen enough from her?
When she reached the end of the song, Elizabeth dabbed her wrist across her eyes and turned to Yoke Soo. “Do you want me to play it again?”
The child smiled. “No.” She stood next to Elizabeth, placed her hands on the keys, and repeated the song verbatim.
Elizabeth’s breath caught in her chest. “You . . . you’ve never played it before?”
“Never right.” She beamed. “Miss Woolsey will be happy.”
Elizabeth shook her head, slowly. “I’m impressed.”
The girl dropped her gaze to the keyboard. “I hope she will be.”
15
The restaurant’s chandeliers spilled light down onto the well-heeled guests as waiters bustled from table to table delivering local delicacies and pouring fine wines. Charles ran a quick hand over the front of his suit jacket, finally thankful for his uncle’s gift. He’d never have dared enter such an establishment in his normal clothes.
Uncle Silas passed a folded bill to the maître d´, his hushed voice obscured by the din of the lunch crowd.
The heady scent of roasted quail permeated the atmosphere, and Charles’s mouth watered. If he’d learned one thing during his weeks in the city, it was that San Franciscans knew how to eat. He hadn’t expected this lunch invitation from his uncle, but he certainly wasn’t going to argue with the man. After scraping together a few bachelor meals at home, or visiting the cafe down the street from the office—he wouldn’t complain if his uncle offered to buy a sandwich in the park.
They followed the tuxedoed gentleman to a table in a quiet corner with a good view of the square below. Charles’s uncle took the first seat. “How are you settling in?”
Charles held his breath for a moment. Not well, but he knew what his uncle wanted to hear. “Fine, sir. Splendid. I’m honored to be working with Mr. Spencer.”
“Spencer’s a firm taskmaster, I’m aware. But you needed a little discipline, and I knew he could provide it.” Uncle Silas reached for his water glass.
Charles shifted in his chair. How long before he could have a conversation with his uncle without feeling like a petulant two-year-old? Perhaps never. “Yes, sir.”
His uncle folded both arms across his chest. “You know I have big hopes for you, but it won’t come without a price. First, we need to polish your image a bit—no one need know you came from simple folk. Act like the man you want to be, not the man you were raised to be.”
Charles managed a nod. Or the man he wants me to be? “I must confess, I’m a little stymied about the insurance cases. If you don’t mind me saying, it seems like we’re only defending those property owners who could easily afford to replace their losses—and Spencer argued a case for an insurance company, as well. It feels like a conflict of interest.”
“Spencer works the cases he’s given, like every other attorney at the firm. We’re a business. We work for the clients.” His uncle’s voice deepened.
“What happens to potential clients who can’t necessarily afford our fees?”
“If they can’t afford to pay, they’re not potential clients. We don’t take on charity cases.”
“What if it’s a case you believe in?” Or a client you can’t keep out of your thoughts?
Uncle Silas dragged knobby fingers through his whiskers. “I’ve supported a few causes for the sake of the city.” He laid both hands on the tablecloth. “I know you think I’m a curmudgeonly old man with a nose for money, but it’s not true. If I only concerned myself with amassing a fortune, I’d be one of those railroad barons up on Nob Hill. San Francisco will be the Paris of the West when I’m done with it. But that requires capital and influence. We’ve got to clean up the neighborhoods, make them safe for decent families and businesses.” He shook his head. “Look at it now. Streets filled with rubbish, crawling with rats. Shoddy buildings going up piecemeal after the quake.” Uncle Silas picked up the menu. “The fires provided a clean slate. I refuse to let ’em slap the buildings up willy-nilly with no sense of civic pride.”
Charles took a sip of water. “I respect that, but maybe if we assisted those in need—”
“We’d have a city of beggars and pickpockets. You need to wise up, Charles. The only people capable of rebuilding this city are the businessmen, the politicians, the railroads. It’s time to shed the image of the grizzled prospectors and embrace our future.” He narrowed his eyes. “And you could be an integral part in it.”
Charles’s pulse accelerated. Leading the city into the future? No more bowing to the likes of Spencer? “I’d relish the opportunity.”
“Then start imagining your future as a man of influence, not a servant to every lowlife that rolls out of the gutter.” He lifted a brow. “Or every arrogant attorney determined to place you under his thumb.”
A shiver trickled down Charles’s spine. Spencer had been a test.
Uncle Silas leaned forward, pinning Charles in his gaze. “This afternoon, you’ll practice as such.”
“This afternoon?” Charles frowned, his mind racing through the day’s schedule. He’d expected to be sorting files all afternoon, and likely most of the evening, too.
An unfamiliar voice boomed from behind him. “Silas—there you are!”
A smile crossed Uncle Silas’s face as he rose. “Governor, right on time, as always.”
Charles sprang to his feet, sending several pieces of silverware skittering across the table along with any sensible thoughts.
His uncle stepped forward, as if unaware of Charles’s gaffe. “James, may I present my nephew, Mr. Charles McKinley?” He shot Charles a pointed look. “Charles—Governor James Gillett.”
The tall man extended a hand toward Charles. “Mr. McKinley. Your uncle has told me much about you.”
Charles’s mouth went dry as he gripped the governor’s hand. “It’s an honor, sir.” He had the feeling he’d be repeating that phrase many times in the months to come.
***
Elizabeth pressed the book to her chest as she listened from the kitchen door. The sounds of Yoke Soo’s playing echoed from the dining room. The simple arra
ngement blossomed the second time through, the notes weaving together into a tapestry much richer than what was set out in the hymnal.
“Stop.” The teacher’s voice snapped, her harsh tone carrying out to the kitchen. “What are you doing? That’s not what’s written.”
“It’s how it should be written.”
“Don’t give me any of your impudence. You’re hopeless. Begin again, and only play what’s on the page.”
Elizabeth sighed. She hadn’t done Yoke Soo any favors by demonstrating the song for her. She peeked around the corner.
Yoke Soo’s head hung low. She reached for the keys.
“Sit up, child. You can’t play like that.” The matron poked the girl’s spine with a wooden pointer.
Jerking upright, Yoke Soo pursed her lips and began to play. She held to the arrangement for a few bars, but a countermelody sneaked in at the midpoint.
The rod snapped down onto her fingers, sending a discordant jumble of notes jarring the morning air. Yoke Soo yelped, drawing her hands to her lap.
Elizabeth’s heart jumped, her breath catching in her chest.
“If you play it like that again, I’ll close the lid over your knuckles. Now read the notes.”
A pounding rhythm arose in Elizabeth’s ears. She jumped forward. “Excuse me—”
The teacher spun around. “We’re in the middle of a lesson.”
Hurrying forward to Yoke Soo’s side, Elizabeth stepped between the pair. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but I certainly wouldn’t call it teaching.”
Yoke Soo hopped up from the stool and hid behind Elizabeth’s back.
Mrs. Woolsey’s eyes shot wide. “Who are you to tell me my job?”
“I can’t believe Miss Cameron would authorize this sort of instruct—no, I can’t call it that. You’re bullying this child.”
“She’s playing dumb to make me look the fool.” The woman’s lips pinched, a myriad of tiny wrinkles forming around them.
“I think you’re doing fine all by yourself.” Elizabeth turned to Yoke Soo. “You’re done here, sweetheart. Go on in the kitchen and see if cook has any toast left from breakfast.”
The piano teacher drew up to her full height with a huff. “I’ll be speaking to Miss Cameron about this.”
Elizabeth folded her arms. “Please do.”
***
“Haven’t these children been through enough?” Elizabeth stood in front of Donaldina’s desk, her voice quavering with tension. “They should feel safe here. I can’t believe you’d allow such methods.”
Donaldina swung around, eyes sparking. “I don’t allow it. I believe these girls have survived enough abuse in their young lives.” She sunk into her chair. “When Mrs. Woolsey told me what she’d done, I dismissed her on the spot.”
Elizabeth’s breath caught. “You did?”
“But now we’re faced with the task of replacing her. It takes a certain type of individual.”
Elizabeth sank into the seat near the window, her mind drawing back to the weeks after her father’s death. Piano had been her lifeline, grief finding an outlet through her fingers. Some of these girls would need the same. She squeezed her hands into fists, burying them in her lap. “Let me teach it, then.”
Donaldina’s brows drew together. “You play?”
A lead weight lay on Elizabeth’s chest. The time had come to cast it off. She stood, her knees rubbery. “I’ll show you.”
The dining room tables were set for lunch, the mingled scents of ginger and garlic flavoring the warm air. Elizabeth sat at the piano, her heart pounding. Other than playing for Yoke Soo last night, she’d avoided the Mission piano like it was tainted. Just the feel of the woodwork brought a shiver to her skin, as if Tobias stood just behind her shoulder. She closed her eyes, banishing his memory. I’ve given enough of myself to you. You can’t have this, too.
Without opening her eyes, she touched the ivory keys, their cool smoothness a treat to her fingertips. With a deep breath, she launched into the first phrase of her favorite Brahms sonata. The notes curled and danced in the quiet dining room. This sturdy upright was nothing in comparison to a concert grand, but the sounds fed Elizabeth’s hungering soul.
Her muscles recalled every pattern and variation. Elizabeth bent forward, leaning into the keys.
After a few moments, she forgot Donaldina listened. The music poured forth, the trickle becoming a stream and then a torrent. For months it had been held behind a dam of her own making. The sounds carried Elizabeth along, her foot finding the pedal.
She drew out the ending, not wanting the music to fade. Striking the final notes, she held her breath, listening to the tones diminish. Silence followed, rich with unspoken words. Gooseflesh climbed her arms. I’d forgotten. How could I forget? A squeal woke Elizabeth from her trance.
Yoke Soo flung herself against Elizabeth’s side. The room teemed with girls, all of them clapping.
Donaldina smiled. “You’re a woman of secrets, Elizabeth King.” She turned to address the children. “What do you think, ladies? Should Miss King be our new music teacher?”
The students cheered.
Elizabeth cuddled Yoke Soo to her chest, the little girl’s warmth driving away the chill. A woman of secrets.
16
Charles turned in front of the cheval glass as the Chinese tailor pulled and tugged at the jacket.
“Much better, yes?” The man bobbed his head, a braided queue dancing along his back. “I give you more room here.” He gestured to Charles’s shoulders and then to his arms. “And here.”
Charles nodded, brushing a loose thread from his sleeve. “I appreciate your fine work.”
Lim Sang folded both arms, tucking his hands into his sleeves. “It is an honor to serve.”
A bell jingled as the door swung open, a familiar figure crossing the threshold.
Charles straightened. He hadn’t seen Miss King since the episode at her sister’s house.
Lim Sang hurried to greet her. “Miss King, welcome. How is everything at the Mission Home?”
“Everyone is fine, but I’m in need of more of your nice thread.” Elizabeth held up a fabric swatch. “We’re making new seat cushions, and I don’t have anything to match this. I knew you could help me.”
Accepting the swatch from her hand, the man smiled. “I think I have just the thing. If you’ll excuse me for a moment, Mr. McKinley?” He bobbed his head at Charles before ducking behind the counter.
Elizabeth raised a brow. “I’m surprised to see you here. I didn’t know you frequented Chinatown shops.”
“His work came highly recommended.” And cheap. Charles ran a hand down his lapel. After weeks of feeling like a hog-tied calf, the new fit was welcome relief. “How is the teaching coming?”
The young woman averted her eyes. “It’s been a learning experience, but the girls are eager pupils.” She moved over to the window, where the storekeeper displayed an array of fabrics. Her simple dress seemed a sharp contrast to the gown she’d worn the night they met.
She could wear a flour sack and still catch every man’s eye. His heartbeat doubled its pace. There had to be a way to see more of her, even though he couldn’t serve at the Mission. “I haven’t had much of an opportunity to explore the city since I arrived. Lim Sang was just telling me of a lovely Japanese garden in Golden Gate Park. I don’t suppose you get out much, either.”
Elizabeth lifted her gaze. “No, but I visited the tea garden when I came for my brother’s wedding. It’s beautiful.”
“Oh.” So no need to invite her, then. “If you say I should, then . . . I will.” He closed his mouth lest he stammer something else.
“I don’t imagine you have a lot of free time.”
“No, but I’d like to see something besides the office and the courtroom.” And he’d love to see it with her. “Visiting your sister’s home last week was a treat.”
She smiled. “I hope Robert and I weren’t too hard on you.”
&
nbsp; “Not at all. I expected worse, actually—something along the line of tar and feathers, especially once you saw the accounting of your father’s estate.”
She ran a gloved hand across a bolt of silk on the worktable. “You can’t be blamed. You didn’t cause the earthquake, after all.”
“No, I’m innocent of one offense, at least.”
“And you didn’t make my father invest in those buildings.”
“True.”
She nodded, lifting her shoulders in a slight shrug. “I guess I have no evidence against you then, do I, Counselor?”
“But it will take more to redeem me in your eyes.”
She blinked twice, her lips pursing. “Why do you care how I view you?”
A quiver ran through his gut. “I’d like for us to be friends.” He glanced around the shop, glad the owner had not yet returned. “I spend all day around lawyers.” He tried not to make a face. “You wouldn’t believe what a boring lot they are.”
“Present company excluded, I suppose.” A mischievous glint brightened her eyes.
“If you say so.” He took a step closer. The tailor would return any moment and his opportunity would pass. “I enjoyed conversing with you at your sister’s home—before we quarreled. You’re unique, Elizabeth.”
She squinted at him. “Is that a compliment or an insult?”
He chuckled, the tension easing from his chest. “A compliment.” Time to wade into deeper waters. “I respect the work you’re doing, and I wish I could be more involved. I hope you know that.” He shook his head. “But for the time being, I’m at my uncle’s mercy. I can’t stay in the city without his support.”
Her gaze softened. “I suppose I understand. Perhaps when you’ve achieved some status, you’ll be able to follow your dreams.”
“That’s my hope.” If only she realized how quickly his dreams were changing to include her.
Lim Sang returned, a small wooden box clutched under his arm. “So sorry to keep you waiting. My back room is sadly disorganized.” He laid the box on the table and opened the lid. Digging through it, he retrieved three spools and set them in front of Elizabeth. “What do you think of these?”
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