The swivel chair rocked as he sat down and opened his bag, retrieving the notes he’d written about the two rescues. He should add more background about the girls’ situation before delivering it to the judge. Looking for a pen, Charles opened the desk drawer, but a misplaced folder jammed its forward momentum. Charles frowned—he never placed files in the top section. He jerked the manila folder loose and squinted to read the name on the tab. One of the King family’s accounts? He’d put all of those in the main cabinet yesterday.
The rhythmic hammering of a nearby typewriter clattered its way into his thoughts as Charles flipped through the records—more contracts and expense sheets. Uncle Silas had insisted these documents be put away. How had one ended up in his desk? A whisper of doubt ribboned its way through his chest. Glancing toward Spencer’s office, Charles jammed the papers into the folder and tucked it under his arm. How low would the man stoop to discredit him?
Charles opened the long company drawers and thumbed through the folders, searching for William King’s name. After three times through the contents, he straightened, tension coiling around his throat. There were dozens of reasons why the main body of paperwork could be missing from the collection. He lifted his gaze and scanned the busy office. Perhaps someone had need of them.
“The case is dead.” Uncle’s words whispered in his brain.
Charles tucked away the remaining file under his jacket. If the King family’s information had gone missing, he didn’t want to lose the one surviving piece of evidence.
23
Elizabeth sat in Abby and Robert’s light-filled kitchen, the pressures of the past week melting from her shoulders as she listened to Abby talk about their new home.
“The ads kept referring to Parkside as the sunny slope of the Sunset District, but I think I’ve seen more fog and wind than I ever did while living with Gerald and Ruby.” Abby held a watering can over a row of plants in the small window above the sink.
“It’s lovely, though. You’re practically living in the country.”
“New homes are going up all around us, but there’s still a dairy farm at the end of the street. I always say good morning to the cows when I walk to the streetcar stop.”
Elizabeth laughed. Of course, her sister-in-law talked to cows. Abby’s sweet disposition and love of nature showed in everything she did. “Then it’s the perfect place for you, isn’t it?”
“I’ve planted a few fruit trees in the backyard, but I’m not sure how well they’ll do in the sandy soil. I do love the fresh air off the ocean, though. Robert thinks I’m silly for saying so, but I don’t think the air in the city is as healthy.”
Elizabeth gazed out the window to the spacious backyard. It would be the perfect place to raise children, if Robert and Abby were ever blessed. A lump grew in her throat. God certainly wouldn’t keep this from them, would He? “How often do you get into the city?”
“Not as much as I’d like. I’ve joined an improvement organization and we’re trying to accomplish some things before the neighborhood gets too built up. We’re planning for schools and parks and such. Maybe a library.”
“Parks? The whole place looks like a park to me.” She lifted her cup. After weeks of drinking tea at the Mission, the coffee’s rich fragrance was a treat.
Abby wrinkled her nose, making her freckles dance. “You should see the planning maps. This area will look just like the rest of the city in a few years.”
“The poor cows.”
Robert entered through the back door, a grin lighting his face. “There are my girls.”
Abby jumped to her feet, welcoming her husband with a quick kiss. “I thought you were at the hospital all day.”
“So did I.” He pulled off his hat and hung it on a hook by the door. “But the director cancelled the afternoon meeting, and Dr. Lawrence had everything else under control. I hope you two don’t mind me crashing in on your day.”
“Not at all.” Abby beamed. “It’s nice you can see Elizabeth before she heads back.”
Robert took the seat across from Elizabeth. “I wish I could give you a ride home. We’re still saving for an automobile.”
“I don’t mind riding the streetcar. It’s a lovely trip.”
“Why don’t you spend the night? You could go back in the morning.”
Elizabeth bit her lip. Donaldina had asked her and Kum Yong to call on a Chinatown family this evening. Their daughter had run away to the Mission to avoid a marriage proposal, and Donaldina hoped to convince the parents they had other options. “I need to get back.”
Robert smiled as he accepted the cup of coffee Abby set in front of him. He turned to Elizabeth. “How is the teaching? Are you able to get through to those girls at all?”
Those girls. Elizabeth bristled. “It’s going very well. They’re fast learners and hard workers.”
Abby sat next to Robert. “Elizabeth is teaching piano, now, too. She says one of her little students is quite the prodigy.”
“Yoke Soo can play almost anything she hears, and she composes, too.” Elizabeth wrung her fingers under the table. Robert’s countenance had darkened upon first mention of the Mission Home. “I hope you’ll come to the musicale on Friday. You really should hear her play.”
He shook his head. “I don’t think so. I’ve got patients to see.”
Abby’s brows drew low. “Robert, Elizabeth is performing, also. I’ve yet to hear her play in concert.”
Elizabeth’s stomach tightened. “What is it about my work that bothers you so much?” She shook her head. “Papa treated patients of all races. Why do you feel differently?”
He took a sip of the coffee, his focus fixed on the dark brew. “I don’t turn away Chinese patients.”
Abby frowned. “You don’t spout many of the harsh things others say, but your demeanor suggests you disapprove. And you’ve dissuaded me from visiting with Kum Yong.”
“You two are going to team up against me, aren’t you?”
Elizabeth reached across the table to touch her brother’s wrist. “Whatever it is, I’d like to know.”
“As would I.” Abby grasped her locket, sliding it along the chain.
He sighed and raked a hand through his hair. “Back in medical school, I volunteered for projects that took us into Chinatown. We’d offer free treatments for the children. We even saw girls from the brothels.” His lips rolled together, and he closed his eyes for a moment. “I saw more cases of syphilis than I cared to count.” He pressed fingers against the bridge of his nose. “But that was before we encountered our first case of the plague.”
Elizabeth scooted back a few inches from the table. “Plague? Bubonic plague?”
He nodded. “There had been some cases earlier in the year, and the health officials put Chinatown on quarantine. No one was allowed in or out.”
“Is there no treatment?”
“There’s an antitoxin, but it’s only effective in the early hours after infection. The Chinese were so fearful of the doctors who were trying to help, they hid the patients away.” Robert ran fingers through his hair. “I held a young girl as she died. She’d spent a year in the cribs. When she sickened, they carried her out into the gutter and left her there—like one of the plague rats that crawled out into the street to die. She was too far gone by the time we got to her.” He gripped his cup and drew it close. “The girl actually had appendicitis, not plague. Had she been treated, she might have survived. But she was no more than an animal to them. Less than that, even. She was rubbish. Twelve-year-old rubbish.”
A tiny cry of dismay sounded from Abby. She dropped her forehead to Robert’s shoulder.
“I know they acted out of fear.” He swallowed, his voice cracking. “But if I’d just seen some compassion in their eyes for this girl . . .”
Elizabeth’s throat squeezed. “Those girls are the ones we’re trying to save.”
His eyes darkened. “You save one, they bring in two more. I’ve been to Angel Island where they process
the immigrants coming in on the ships. The women know the questions—they know what to say. They show their papers and walk straight into the lions’ den. That’s where it needs to stop. Don’t allow any more girls in.” He lifted his hands. “Don’t let the Chinese in at all. They don’t care about each other. They don’t care about us. Why should we care for them?”
Abby squeezed his arm. “Because God asked us to, Robert. ‘Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.’ Who are ‘the least’ if not the strangers we take in to our shores, the sick you treat in the hospital, and the children cared for at the Mission?”
“They don’t even know God, Abby.”
“Some do. And how will they learn, unless they see Him through our actions? We were strangers, but Christ took us in. Don’t you believe He means for us to do the same?”
Robert sat back, his jaw slackening. After a long moment, he drew Abby into an embrace. “You’re right, of course.”
Tears blurred Elizabeth’s vision. God must have tailor-made Abby as the perfect complement to Robert’s bullheaded ways. Is it the same with Charles and me?
Abby placed her palm against Robert’s cheek. “I wish you’d explained earlier.”
“I didn’t want to spoil your image of Kum Yong and her people.”
Elizabeth set her cup on the table. “Come to the concert, Robert. It might give you an opportunity to see the Chinese in a new light. If you could understand how the girls care for each other, and how they love God, it might open your heart to what could be.”
He ran a hand down his wife’s back. “We’ll be there.”
***
Charles sprawled on the bed, the overpowering odor of fresh bread wafting into his apartment from the cafe below. The first week or two, he’d loved waking up to the fragrance. Now it turned his stomach and saturated his clothes. He leaned over and lit the small lamp on the nightstand.
Cold sweat clung to his chest, the specter-filled images of his dreams refusing to be banished by the light. Whispers of missing case documents, misrepresented figures, and vanishing money haunted him . . . and somewhere in the back of his mind—Elizabeth. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes. The details faded, but a helpless disquietude remained.
Lowering his feet to the floor, Charles wandered over to the coat rack and retrieved the file from his bag. Uncle Silas had told him to leave the case alone, but something didn’t seem right.
He flipped open the folder and ran his finger down one of the contracts. Both William King and Uncle Silas had invested in the building. Nothing stood out in the paperwork to suggest anything out of place in the transaction. He flipped through the pages, his hand stilling on the last sheet. Uncle Silas had sold his portion of the investment on April 16, 1906, completely divesting himself of the property. Two days before the disaster? How fortunate.
Charles’s stomach knotted. His uncle boasted good instincts for business decisions, but this seemed oddly prophetic. He scanned the figures. Uncle Silas walked away from the building with thousands of dollars, days before it crumbled to the ground.
He flipped to the next page, focusing on the lines of text. What unlucky soul bought him out? The man must be incensed at his uncle’s good fortune. Charles’s gaze locked on a familiar name.
The estate of William King, M.D.
Charles lowered the papers, a weight settling into the depths of his belly.
***
The courthouse was quiet this morning, as if the powers-that-be had decided to begin the weekend a day early. Judge Simpson completed the guardianship forms in record time, waving Charles out the door with hardly a civil word.
Drawing on the chain of his pocket watch, Charles glanced at the time. Donaldina had offered a standing lunch invitation at the Mission, and he’d been able to claim it twice in the past week. The unusual food had been disconcerting to him at first, but after a few meals he’d grown to appreciate it. And the company couldn’t be surpassed.
His mind wandered back to the morning’s discovery, his throat tightening at the thought. As best as he could decipher, Uncle Silas had done no wrong. He’d just been lucky. His shoulders sank an inch. Too lucky. How would Elizabeth react if Charles’s uncle was somehow responsible for her family’s destitution? He had to keep it secret until he had more information.
Lord, this could change everything.
It took him twenty minutes to reach the Mission. The girls had grown accustomed to his presence, so Kum Yong waved him through to the dining room. The sounds of piano flowed through the front hall, calling him forward. He moved toward the sound, bracing one arm against the doorframe between the hall and the large dining room.
This time it wasn’t Yoke Soo at the old instrument, but the young teacher he’d grown to admire.
He laid his head on the frame, letting the strains of “Amazing Grace” wash over him. He could almost hear his mother singing at the kitchen washbasin.
Elizabeth moved with the song, leaning in toward the piano, eyes closed. Her fingers spread across the keyboard, adding harmonies and counter melodies as effortlessly as a bird taking to the sky. The song built, chords upon chords, until Charles’s lungs felt like they’d burst from his chest.
A single bobbled note brought her to a halt. With a frown, she reapproached the section, working through it in a new way. After repeating the same segment several times, she continued, the music flowing like water down a mountain stream, bouncing and trickling over stones and creating something ethereal in its transitory existence.
As she played the final chord, Elizabeth held her position, her face glowing with a serene beauty he’d never experienced.
The reverberations faded and Charles straightened, his applause shattering the momentary silence. “That was extraordinary. Inspired.”
She jerked her gaze up to meet his, the sedate expression vanishing in an instant. “I didn’t know you were standing there.” Her brow wrinkled.
“I couldn’t help it. I hardly dared breathe, listening to you play.”
Elizabeth closed the hymnal. “It was just a little hymn, not a Bach fugue.”
He approached from behind, placing both hands on her shoulders. “Little hymn? It’s my favorite.”
“It was my Papa’s, too.” She sighed, leaning her head back against his chest to gaze up at him. “He always asked for it.”
“Then it must be special to you, too.”
She stood. “I hadn’t played it since he passed away. Not until a few weeks ago.”
Charles glanced around to make sure they were alone before taking her hand. “Why so long? Was it painful to remember him?”
“Somewhat.” She dropped her gaze, even as she pressed her palm against his. “But more because my teacher didn’t approve of church music.”
“His loss.” Charles tugged her a step closer. Private moments were a rarity in the Mission House. He wanted her as near as she dared. “Now you can rediscover old favorites.”
Her lips curved upward. “And new favorites.”
Charles stepped back as two girls entered from the kitchen with armloads of plates. He turned his eyes back to Elizabeth. “Will you play it at the musicale?”
“I thought I’d play it in my father’s memory. Ruby and Robert will both be in attendance. I’m sure they’ll remember.”
“The hymn is quite fitting for the Mission’s work, as well.”
She tipped her head. “You’re right. ‘I once was lost, but now am found.’ ” Elizabeth turned her gaze on the girls setting the tables.
“And penned by a former slave trader.”
Her eyes widened. “Truly?”
“Didn’t you know?”
“As I said, I haven’t played the hymn since I was a child. I—I’ve barely stepped foot in church since my father died.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Don’t tell Donaldina.”
Something squeezed in his chest. “Why did you feel drawn to this work if you’re not a believer?�
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“I didn’t say I didn’t believe. I just . . .” She shrugged. “Life grew hectic. I focused on lessons and Tob—” Her face darkened. “. . . And piano.”
A knot formed in his stomach. He’d seen the expression before—when she insisted she wasn’t the woman for him. “You must feel God’s love at work in this place.”
Her face softened. “Every single day. And that’s what I want to be a part of.”
As the students returned to the kitchen, he leaned down and kissed her cheek, wishing he dared for more. “And so you are. I have some papers to deliver to Donaldina. May I join you for lunch?”
She nodded, a shy smile dancing across her dainty face.
Warmth rushed over him, and he squeezed her talented fingers in response. A quick visit to Donaldina’s office, and he’d be back at Elizabeth’s side. He pushed down the silly schoolboy emotions threatening to consume him. He was here to work, not bask in a woman’s presence. Help me remember, Father.
Donaldina glanced up from her desk as he entered. “Mr. McKinley. How are you this fine day?”
He grinned. “Call me Charles, please. As I’ve learned over the past months in this city, Mr. McKinley is my esteemed uncle.”
Donaldina rose from her seat. “My Scottish father was an imposing shadow in which to live, as well.” She eyed the papers in his hand. “Do you have something for me?”
He extended his arm, laying the records on her desk. “The guardianship records for your two newest wards. The judge didn’t even blink.”
“They usually don’t, unless someone contests the claim. We’ve been fortunate since Tien Gum.”
“About that . . .” Charles hated to bring the specter of bad news.
“Oh, dear. This looks like something I should hear sitting down.” She waved him to the little seating area by the window. Claiming her usual chair, Donaldina folded her hands in her lap. “What have you heard?”
“Her owners—for the lack of a better term—claim you are holding her captive against her will.”
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