Instead of answering, she closed her eyes. “What must you think of me?”
He could almost hear Professor Davis’s lecture about loaded questions. Charles considered his options. “I think you’re frightened. I think . . .” Her lowered head reminded him of his sister, Josephine, the night she’d shown up at the door with blood on her hands. Scenarios raced through his mind, each one more daunting than the last. “I—I’m guessing you’ve been hurt before.” He braved a step forward. “Look, I’ve seen you wet and covered in silt. I’ve seen you laugh, cry, and be angry as a cornered cat. Nothing about you will shock me or drive me away.”
“You don’t know.” She leaned on the wooden post.
He rubbed his jaw, the pain in her stance tearing at him. What could he say to earn her trust? “I told you what happened with my sister.”
“Not all of it. You said she was hurt by someone and the courts failed her.”
He drew a deep breath. The story rarely strayed far from his mind, even though he’d spent years trying to bury it. “Her husband used to beat her—torture her, really. I’ve never met a more cruel or arrogant man. Once, after nearly killing her, he left to feed the stock. She believed he’d finish the job when he returned.” He fell silent, the discussion punching holes in the protective wall he’d built around his memories.
Elizabeth’s eyes widened. “What happened?”
“She took the shotgun from over the door and waited.” A lump rose in his throat, choking his words. “As soon as he came through the door, Josephine shot him through the chest.”
Elizabeth covered her mouth with trembling fingers.
Charles forced his hands back into his pockets. Every time she made that face, his instinct screamed for him to take her into his arms. “As I said, I don’t think there’s anything you could say that would shock me at this point.”
She lowered her eyes, gripping the post. “Where is she now? Your sister.”
“The state mental hospital in Ukiah. Uncle Silas succeeded in moving her there, out of the prison system.”
“Do you ever see her?”
“Once a year.” He blew out a long breath, fixing her in his gaze. “So you see, I understand people have scars. But I’d love it if you could trust me.”
She stood silent at his side for a long moment. “I’ll try.”
Charles’s heart leaped upward in his chest. He locked his elbows rather than risk spooking her again.
A smile softened her face. “Now are we going to climb this silly-looking bridge?” She gestured to the odd bridge arching over the goldfish pond like a massive barrel sitting on its side. “I’m afraid it might require mountain climbing equipment.”
“I think we should.” He lifted his chin. “Why not? We’ve already conquered some pretty steep hills today.”
***
Charles spread the files on the table, a tremor racing through his gut. His first day in court as a lead attorney, and Spencer issued him a case a monkey couldn’t lose. So why did he feel like a child starting kindergarten?
“All rise.” The bailiff’s voice echoed through the room. Few were present to answer the order, the public finding little of interest in the dry financial case.
Charles stood in a swift motion, his leg bumping the table and sending several forms scattering to the floor.
William Smythe, the defense attorney, cast a raised brow at Charles.
“Judge C. P. Percival, presiding.” The bailiff droned the words as if he’d repeated them countless times during his career.
The judge claimed his seat and shuffled his own set of papers with little emotion. Glancing down his nose over a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles, he studied the room in similar fashion. He nodded to Smythe before turning his gaze on Charles. “New here, are you?”
Charles forced himself to take a breath. “Yes, sir.”
Judge Percival glanced down at his notes. “McKinley. Of McKinley and McClintock.” He lifted his gaze, deep grooves forming on either side of his mouth. “Impressive bloodline.”
His stomach lurched at the official’s condescending tone. “Yes, sir.”
“It won’t get you any special treatment here.”
“I don’t expect any, sir.”
The judge adjusted his glasses, tapping a pen against the desk. “The case looks straightforward. In my experience, these sorts of minor disputes are resolved in short order. We should be out in time for lunch.”
The judge took a sip of water before launching into the perfunctory reading of the case notes, his voice echoing through the cavernous room.
Charles glanced down at the table, sliding the pages from side to side with one finger. Several were missing. His pulse accelerated. As the judge continued speaking, Charles flipped open his briefcase. No other files remained, except for the King family’s which he’d practically committed to memory at this point.
Judge Percival glanced up from the sheet, staring over the edge at Charles. “Mr. McKinley, is there a problem?”
How many times had he endured this nightmare during law school? Any moment now, he’d wake up in a cold sweat. Charles rose to his feet without removing his gaze from the tabletop. Willing the forms to appear didn’t seem to be effective. “Sir, I seem to be missing a few of the key documents.”
Silence fell over the courtroom, pressing down on Charles like a vise.
The judge yanked off his spectacles. “Do you often show up to court unprepared, Mr. McKinley?”
“No, sir. Never, sir.” The hairs lifted on the back of his neck. Those records had been complete when he left the office this morning. He’d checked them twice.
“Do you need a short recess?”
Charles bent down and sorted through his belongings while panic clambered up his throat. “I’m not—not sure, Your Honor.” He peered under the table. One paper rested on the wood floor. He scooped it up and added it to the stack, but it failed to explain the others.
Mr. Smythe chuckled. “Might check your pockets, son.”
No matter the ridiculous nature of the insult, Charles patted his coat pockets with no luck. Had he forgotten them at the office? Heaven forbid he left any on the streetcar. He shook his head to scatter the panicked thoughts crowding his brain like pigeons chasing breadcrumbs.
“Mr. McKinley?” The judge’s voice graveled from the bench.
“I—sir—Your Honor . . .” Charles laid both palms on the table, focusing his eyes on the stack of pages. The files were here. And now they’re not.
The defense attorney blew a noisy exhale. “Your Honor, if opposing counsel is choosing to stall in order to bring confusion—”
“I’m not stalling.” Charles shot the man a glare. “I just need a moment to collect my thoughts.”
The smug expression on the man’s face chilled Charles’s heart. The plaintiff’s case was so simple a first-year law student could argue it. And yet, the defense attorney reclined like a bored child in a church pew.
Turning, Charles studied the gallery.
Spencer sat in the back row, arms folded across his chest, his ever-present smirk growing larger by the second.
Charles spun forward to face to the judge. “Your honor, may I request a moment to speak with my associate?”
The man grunted, waving his fingers in dismissal. “Be quick.”
Charles charged down the aisle, wrestling his emotions into check. “What have you done?”
“Using me to cover for your own incompetence, McKinley? A desperate act.” Spencer’s eyes narrowed to slits as he leaned forward. “You aren’t worthy to carry the McKinley name. It won’t take long for the partners to arrive at the same conclusion.”
“Where are the missing documents?” Charles balled his fists to prevent himself from grabbing the man’s shirtfront. Or better yet, his throat.
An oily smile spread across the attorney’s face. He gripped his knees, dropping his voice to a whisper. “Perhaps you should ask Smythe.”
Acid crawled up C
harles’s throat. The image of the lawyers shaking hands after the insurance agreement flickered through his memory. Charles straightened and faced the front of the courtroom.
Smythe pressed his fingers together like a tent in front of his mouth, an unmistakable gleam in his eye.
“You—you gave him the files?” Charles swung back to the senior attorney. “Is it worth losing a case just to ruin me?”
Spencer’s brows lowered over his small eyes. “Don’t throw around accusations you can’t substantiate.” He shrugged. “Besides, even if I had—I’m not the one losing a case.”
“It’s our firm’s case. We’re on the same team.”
“There’s no team. There’s you and me.” Spencer pinned him with a glare. “I thought you’d figured it out.”
Charles strode to the bench, pushing down the anger brewing in his belly and focusing his mind. “I’m ready to proceed, Your Honor. Thank you for your indulgence.”
“My indulgence is limited, Mr. McKinley. Let’s have no more interruptions.”
“No, sir. There won’t be.”
***
Elizabeth stood at the door and smiled at each departing student. “Good work today, Qui N’gun. Your shirt is really coming along, Ah Cheng.” She couldn’t help darting glances at Ruby, gathering loose fabric scraps for the class bag.
Unspoken questions glinted in her sister’s pale eyes. Ruby would want to know what had happened with Charles, and what Elizabeth hoped for the future. The truth was Elizabeth had the same questions—and a startling lack of answers. Her stomach grew queasy at the thought. She’d been honest with Charles about her feelings, but she could never be honest about her past. How long could she keep it secret?
Ruby lifted a castoff piece of pink silk. “This material is lovely. Wherever did you find it?”
As the room emptied, Elizabeth returned to the sewing tables. “One of our donors brought several bolts last time she was here. I believe it was left over from their dressmaker’s shop. She loaned us an extra machine, too. We’re very fortunate.” Elizabeth tucked away a forgotten spool of thread. “She’s paying some of the older girls for piecework. It’s a wonderful opportunity.”
“You’ve done well.” Ruby retrieved a scrap from the floor under the last table. “I’d never have believed you’d give up piano to teach sewing.”
“I’m still playing. Wait until you hear Yoke Soo at the musicale. She’s so tiny, it’s difficult to believe how accomplished she’s become. She could have an astounding future on the stage.”
“Children are like blank slates waiting to be filled. You’re teaching them not just piano and sewing skills, but that God loves them and has a special plan for their lives. Can you imagine if we stepped back and let God write on our slate instead of filling it with our own mistakes?”
Elizabeth sorted through the paper patterns and added them to the drawer. “It’s not like you’ve made so many mistakes. Your slate is filled with good things. Two men you’ve loved. The patients you’ve helped. Your work in the refugee camps.”
Ruby wandered over to the window and gazed down at the city. “I’ve had my share of blunders. Mostly because I try to control everything myself.” She sighed. “I still worry after Gerald’s heart condition and the threat of the cancer returning.”
“That’s hardly a sin. In fact, I think it would be abnormal if you didn’t worry.”
“Perhaps, but God has called me to trust Him—no matter the outcome. It might not be robbery or murder, but it’s still turning my back on His love.”
“Many of us have worse marks on our pasts. Mine would make you look like an angel.” Elizabeth snapped her mouth shut, the careless words hanging in the air between them.
Ruby’s brow rose. “What does that mean?”
“Nothing. Never mind.”
Ruby pulled out two of the chairs. “You’ve been speaking in riddles ever since you arrived in the city. I think you want to tell me, but you’re finding it difficult.” She ran her fingers along the table’s edge. “Does it have to do with why you gave up your concert career?”
“I can’t, Ruby. I just can’t.” Elizabeth ran a hand along her throat, fighting the choking sensation.
“I know you’re running from something—or someone.” Ruby’s gaze softened. “You didn’t sacrifice your dreams, you flung them away.”
Elizabeth blinked hard to prevent the tears threatening to dissolve her. When had her sister grown so perceptive? She crossed the room to stare out the window.
“It’s as if someone stole your affections and you haven’t recovered.” Her sister’s words cut through the quiet classroom.
Elizabeth pressed fingertips to her closed lids before the tears spilled over. “He didn’t steal them. I gave them freely.”
Ruby stood, closing the space between them in a breath. “Who was it?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“I suppose it doesn’t matter.” She wrapped her arms around Elizabeth. “What happened? He spurned you for another?”
Elizabeth shook her head, swallowing hard. “No, that’s why I left Sacramento. I had to get away from him.”
“Is he dangerous?”
“No.” Elizabeth’s knees weakened. She wanted nothing more than to fall into Ruby’s arms. As the secret crumbled away, so did her strength. “He’s . . . he’s married.”
20
Charles dragged himself off the busy street and into the Flood Building. The trial had gone from bad to worse, the missing documents giving Smythe the ammunition he needed to demand a dismissal. Judge Percival seemed more than happy to bang the gavel and send them all home. The day’s failures settled in Charles’s gut like a lead weight.
Clemmons grinned as he folded back the lift’s accordion gate. “Good to see you, Mr. McKinley. How’s the day treating you, sir?”
The operator’s effusive greeting grated against his last nerve. “Eugene, tell me—how do you manage to be so lively, day after day? Don’t you ever get tired of all life’s ups and downs?”
“Ups and downs are my life.” He chuckled. “Actually, I’m a blessed man, sir. Can’t complain. Steady job, loving wife, a bouncing baby boy, and a faithful God.”
Some of the tension melted from Charles’s shoulders. “A baby? New one?”
“Yes, sir. Two weeks, now. Thank you for asking.” He inclined his head. “Healthy and loud, if you know what I mean.”
“I can imagine. You’re a lucky man.”
“Yes, I am. Career ups and downs—they don’t matter none. It’s all about loving the people God gives you.” Eugene slowed the car as it approached the ninth floor.
“I appreciate your wisdom.”
“Ha! I don’t imagine I have much to speak of, but I appreciate the conversation. Most folks don’t take the time.”
Charles stepped out, gazing back at the wiry man. “Perhaps not. And as you say—it’s the ones God gives you who count.”
Eugene tipped his hat as he closed the gate.
Charles’s footsteps lightened as he hurried down the hall. As had become his habit, he touched the stenciled names on the window before pushing through the door and heading for his desk. He called a greeting to Henry and waved to a few others as he maneuvered through the rows.
More cases waited in his future. Losing one because of a dishonest coworker wouldn’t derail him for long. Let Spencer think he held the upper hand. The man also went home to a cold, lonely house each night.
Charles thought back over his trip to the Tea Garden with Elizabeth last week. She’d confessed feelings for him—perhaps not a pledge of undying love, but definitely a step in the right direction. He set his briefcase on the desk and plopped into the chair with a sigh.
Henry appeared, one eyebrow cocked. “I didn’t expect you to be looking so pleased with yourself. Spencer called from the courthouse, and your uncle looks like he’s been sucking lemons.”
“I’m not surprised. The case was an unmitigated disaster.”
Charles lowered his voice. “I stumbled into Spencer’s trap—but you didn’t hear this from me. I’ll find a discreet way to counter his actions.”
Henry perched on the corner of the desk. “Let me know how I can help. I’ve got a few axes to grind with the fellow, myself.”
“Perhaps we can put our heads together later.” Charles glanced toward the rear of the office. “Assuming I survive the rest of the day.”
One of the law clerks appeared at Charles’s desk. “Mr. McKinley would like to see you, Mr. . . . um . . . Mr. McKinley.” Red splotches dotted the man’s cheeks.
Henry rapped the tabletop with his knuckles. “And here it comes. Good luck.”
“I’d like one day where I didn’t get called in for a scolding.” Charles straightened his tie. Heading to his uncle’s office, he rehearsed responses. What’s one case, Uncle? Missing documents? Could happen to anyone.
Uncle Silas glanced up from the stack of files, pen clutched in his right hand. “Charles—have a seat.” He returned his focus to the paperwork, scratching his signature on several typed forms.
Charles drew up the now-familiar wooden chair, readying himself for the impending dressing-down.
His uncle pressed the blotter over each signature. He added the neat pile to the box on the desk’s corner and folded his knobby hands over the green desk pad.
Charles held his breath, resisting the urge to jump into excuses before the tirade ensued. His uncle’s silence disturbed Charles more than the lectures. Was the man considering all the money he’d wasted on his nephew’s schooling?
“Charles. I know why you went into law.” Uncle Silas rubbed a hand across his brow.
He’s going to fire me. The hairs on the back of his neck stood to attention.
The man’s eyes softened. He propped elbows on the desktop, folding his fingers into a steeple before his mouth. “You were only ten when your sister murdered her husband.”
Coils twisted around Charles’s windpipe choking off his voice. “She defended herself.” He scooted to the edge of his seat. “You know that. You represented her.”
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