Through the Shadows

  “I’m sorry to hear that. How is the little girl?”

  “Ah Cheng? She was just the first. We have three girls down with measles, now. And Miss Cameron is fighting pneumonia.”

  His chest tightened. “Pneumonia? She seemed fine two days ago.”

  Kum Yong shook her head. “She’d not felt well for a while, but Lo Mo is very good at hiding it.”

  “Everyone else is well?” He couldn’t bring himself to say Elizabeth’s name.

  The young woman tightened her lips and gazed at him. “Yes. Tired and worried, but yes.”

  Her meaning struck him squarely in the chest. “Do you think she’ll see me?”

  “Miss Cameron?”

  “Elizabeth.” He might as well get this over with, though his instincts wanted nothing more than to back out the door and hop a ferry across the bay. Holding on to a thread of hope seemed preferable to facing the truth.

  “I’ll tell her you’re here. Why don’t you wait in Donaldina’s office?”

  The office seemed dark and cold without its usual occupant, the fragrance of tea still lingering in the air. Please, Lord. His mind remained too scattered to pull together a decent prayer. “Please” would have to do. He set his briefcase by the door and walked to the window, pulling back the curtains.

  “I sewed those.” Elizabeth’s voice floated in from the doorway.

  He turned, his heart seizing at the sight. Studying the dark circles around her eyes and the wisps of honey-blonde hair trailing about her ears, he had to fight not to jump forward and embrace her.

  Elizabeth walked over to the corner and clicked on a floor lamp. “I’m surprised to see you.”

  The words cut through him. “Did you really think I’d just walk away?”

  “You should.” The guarded look in her eyes reminded him of his sister on the day of her sentencing.

  “I’d like to know the truth.” He gestured to the tiny sitting area.

  Elizabeth crushed both arms to her chest, shoulders rounding. “I’m not sure you do, but I’ll answer any questions you have.” She crossed the floor and took a seat in the chair nearest the door.

  Sucking in a deep breath, he pulled Donaldina’s usual chair back a few inches and sat. “I heard what that woman said—Mrs. Carver. She claimed . . .” He couldn’t bring himself to say it.

  “She claimed I enticed her husband into an affair. That I wasn’t worthy to be a teacher because I’m morally incompetent.”

  “Yes.” He leaned forward. “Tell me it’s untrue.”

  “Which part?”

  His stomach dropped. “You’re not on the witness stand, Elizabeth. Talk to me. Tell me what I want to hear.”

  “You want me to say she lied? None of it is true?” Her gaze flickered.

  “I want you to tell me the truth.”

  “I told you the truth months ago. You wouldn’t hear it.” Her eyes glistened, as if tears threatened to spill over her lower lids. “I told you I wasn’t the woman for you.”

  “Elizabeth . . .” He sat back in the chair, propping his elbow against the armrest.

  “Yes, I had an affair with him. Is that what you wish to know?”

  The truth gouged a mortal wound. All will and purpose emptied out of him, like sand falling to the bottom of an hourglass. “Why?”

  “Does it matter?” Her voice strained. “I’m guilty. The board casts me out tomorrow. You can go do your good deeds, earn your political accolades, and never have to face me again. But know this . . .” Elizabeth stood, her hands shaking. “I didn’t seduce him. Not that it excuses my behavior in any way.”

  His throat felt thick. “Were there others?”

  She swayed on her feet, eyes widening. “How can you even ask me such a question?”

  “I’m struggling to accept what you’ve already confessed to me. How do I know what you’re capable of?”

  Her complexion faded until her skin resembled dusty porcelain. “There were no others.” The words barely crossed the space between them. Tears spilled down her cheeks, but she didn’t bother to wipe them away. “I came here to escape what I’d become, to redeem myself in God’s eyes and in my own. I’ve failed at both. And adding your disappointment on top is more than I can bear. I’m sorry, but I will not beg your forgiveness. I’m not worthy of it.” She turned like a spool and dashed out the door, the breeze sending several papers fluttering from the top of Donaldina’s desk.

  Charles fell back in the chair, the truth clawing at his throat.

  Guilty.

  29

  The pungent aromas of George’s shop carried Elizabeth back to her first visit to Chinatown several months earlier. To think, she’d been worried to walk the streets, imagining every person as a potential threat. The scents of licorice root and ginger brought a calm she hadn’t experienced in days. The board would meet tomorrow and Elizabeth had already moved most of her things to her trunk in anticipation. Though Donaldina insisted, even in her feverish state, that Elizabeth be offered grace—the board was responsible for the final decision. The girls needed a teacher they could look up to, not one who’d fallen headlong into sin.

  George popped out from the back room. “Miss King. So happy you come to my shop. I’m still celebrating my little Yoke Soo’s success. Such a little firecracker, that one.”

  Elizabeth’s throat tightened. How she’d miss her students. “She performed beautifully. You must be so proud.”

  “Like a papa.” He shrugged. “I’ve got little hope of children in my life. I hope it’s not wrong to imagine she is my own.”

  “You rescued her. I think you’re right to claim her as a daughter.” Elizabeth swallowed, wishing she didn’t need to deliver bad news. “George, I came to ask for some of your marvelous remedies.”

  His brow furrowed. “Ah Cheng is still sick?”

  “Not just Ah Cheng, I’m afraid. Yoke Soo and Ah Lon, also.”

  He grasped the edge of the counter. “How bad is it?”

  “The girls will be fine. My brother-in-law, Dr. Larkspur, saw them yesterday. He didn’t think any of their cases were severe. But Miss Cameron has come down with pneumonia.”

  “My mother always said, ‘Misfortune does not walk alone.’ ” George rubbed his chin. “I suppose the doctor left medicine?”

  “Yes, and the girls are improving. But Donaldina prefers your herbs. She thought you might have something to help with the cough.”

  “I have just the thing.” George walked down a row of boxes near the counter until he found the ones he wanted. He measured the dried roots into two paper bags. “Astragalus and pleurisy root. Mrs. Lee will know how to prepare them.”

  Elizabeth took the packets from his hand. “Thank you. And I’ll let you know if things worsen with Yoke Soo, but I think she’ll be up and around in a few weeks.”

  He bowed his head. “Let me know if there’s anything else I can do.”

  Elizabeth turned to leave, but George’s voice stopped her before she reached the door. He came out from behind the counter. “How are the other teachers? Is everyone else well?” A tiny crease formed between his brows.

  “Yes, indeed.” Elizabeth leaned close and touched his sleeve. “Kum Yong will be happy you asked.”

  Hurrying down the busy street, Elizabeth pressed the parcels to her chest. Robert had telephoned earlier saying he’d come by today to check on the patients. She’d survived the awkward moment, the conversation bringing a measure of peace as well. Everyone knew her secret. There would be no more hiding. She’d lost Charles, and likely her job, but life would continue in some form.

  She paused before crossing the narrow street, a large wagon pulled by draft horses rattling past. A Chinese man stood on the opposite sidewalk, his dark eyes riveted on Elizabeth. A prickle crept across her arms. She turned and continued on the same path instead of crossing.

  He followed, a black derby pulled low over his forehead and a shirtlike jacket hanging loose over his thin frame.

  Elizabeth ducke
d into a florist shop, her pulse racing. This is ridiculous. Just because a man looks at you, doesn’t mean he wishes you ill. She handed a few coins to the old woman at the counter and chose a dripping bouquet from one of the pails. The girls had enjoyed receiving Charles’s flowers at the concert. Maybe another bunch would cheer those who were sick.

  Pushing her way outside, she added the blossoms to her basket and turned toward home. Three steps later, the dour-faced man stepped out of the alley to her left, jostling her elbow. “You Mission girl?”

  Elizabeth took a step back, her breath catching in her chest. “Yes.”

  “Need help. Come.”

  “If you could accompany me back to the—”

  “No time. You must come now.” Grooves formed in his forehead, his eyes earnest.

  Her heart softened. “What’s wrong?”

  “Mui Tsai.” The man’s voice quavered.

  A child slave. Elizabeth chewed her lip. Donaldina forbid them from going on rescues alone, though she’d been known to do it herself. But now, with Donaldina sick and Kum Yong busy caring for everyone—who would be able to go but her? And it wasn’t as if she was raiding a brothel. “I don’t know. Maybe I should go get help.”

  “No time—dying.”

  The image of Yoke Soo, Ah Cheng, and the other little ones swam before her eyes. Elizabeth gripped her basket and nodded. “All right. Show me.”

  ***

  The busy office provided the hum of activity Charles needed to relax. Put her out of your mind. He adjusted the lamp on his desk, trying to throw more light on the stack of files. Spencer went to court tomorrow, and Charles was determined to provide a little extra content for the case. His pen scratched along the notepad, the ink blotting as fast as he could write.

  He rubbed stained fingers against his weary jaw. Every time his thoughts went astray—back to Elizabeth—his teeth clenched. How could she give herself to a man like Carver, but act like Charles was a cad for simply touching her hand? He’d never have dreamed of asking for such favors. Well, perhaps he’d dreamed . . . but certainly not more than that.

  His chest ached, as if his heart had forgotten how to keep rhythm without her.

  Her confession changed everything. She wasn’t the woman she claimed to be. The Elizabeth King he’d fallen in love with didn’t actually exist. A woman of great compassion, intelligence, beauty, strength—and interested in him? He should have known.

  It didn’t matter if she hadn’t enticed the man. She hadn’t turned Carver away, either. Charles lifted his arm, splotches of ink soaking through his sleeve.

  Yanking open the drawer, Charles dug for an extra sheet of blotting paper. Illegible notes would be useless, and he had no desire to write them out again. His hand bumped into something jammed in the rear of the drawer. Bending down, he peered into the dark recesses. He slid the manila envelope out and lifted it into the circle of light. Another one?

  A message was clipped to the top—take another look. He tore it off, glancing at the names written underneath.

  McKinley/King ’06.

  Charles lifted his gaze and scanned the busy office. No one paid him any attention.

  He emptied the papers onto the desk and thumbed through the pages. He’d seen this all before. Why bother going over it again? And who wanted him to?

  Near the back of the stack, he stumbled over a series of dog-eared sales receipts. Skimming down the lines, he frowned. More building investments Uncle Silas had dumped days before the quake? Sold to—he sucked in a breath—the estate of William King. Sweat dampened his palms.

  If these forms were correct, it appeared Uncle Silas transferred the bulk of his investments to the King family mere days before disaster. He’d pocketed the cash, leaving Dr. King’s heirs responsible for the doomed buildings.

  It made no sense. He couldn’t have foretold the earthquake, especially the scope of the disaster. Had he needed to secure a cash flow for another activity? Under normal circumstances, he’d find another buyer, not place it all in the estate’s name.

  A throbbing ache settled behind Charles’s eyes. He glanced across the room to where Henry sat beside a leaning tower of law books. Charles walked over to the coffeepot and filled a tall mug. Tucking the records under one arm, he carried the cup over to his friend’s desk and placed it in front of him.

  Henry swiped the back of his hand across his lower lip. “Attorneys don’t get coffee for clerks, it’s supposed to be the other way around. I’d think you’d have figured that out by now.”

  Perching on the edge of the desk, Charles spread the documents on the blotter. “Explain these to me.”

  Henry adjusted his spectacles and scanned the forms. “This isn’t right.”

  Charles lowered his voice. “Why would my uncle dump so many investments just days before the earthquake? He’s not a prophet. No one saw this coming.”

  Henry ran his finger down the rows of numbers. “And he took a huge loss. From the looks of these figures, the King estate didn’t have the necessary funds to cover all of this. Look here—” He took a pencil and lightly marked one of the figures. “In this case, he transferred the King’s portion of an investment to himself. See the address?”

  “Outside the fire zone.”

  “Right.”

  Charles’s stomach churned. “No one could be that lucky. What happened? Did he get a divine message or something?”

  Henry pulled off his glasses, the muscle over his jaw twitching. “Maybe that’s exactly what he wants you to think.”

  ***

  Elizabeth trembled as she followed the stranger through the shadowy hall, keeping an eye on the braided queue hanging down the center of his spine. The cloying scent of opium drifted through the silent house. She slowed, letting him get further ahead. “I think . . . I think I should go back.”

  He turned and gazed at her with dark eyes before disappearing into a room on the right.

  What was she thinking? Elizabeth edged back. Robert would be arriving at the Mission any minute. She could run back and get him. “I’ll—I’ll return with help.” The words echoed around the empty apartment.

  An elderly woman appeared behind her, dressed in emerald-colored silk. She poked a finger into the small of Elizabeth’s back. “Keep going. Almost there.” She smiled, several teeth missing from her upper jaw.

  “I made a mistake. I should—”

  Before she could finish her statement, her escort reappeared. He grabbed her arm, yanking her off-balance. “Come.” He dragged her into the dark room and shut the door.

  Elizabeth stumbled, dropping to one knee on the wooden floor. “What are you doing?”

  Two more men grasped her from either side, lifting her off her feet and forcing her into a chair. One stooped behind her and bound her wrists.

  “Jesus woman.” A familiar man hissed in her face, his hot breath filling her nostrils. He held a small gun in his shaking hand.

  Elizabeth’s stomach wrenched. Tien Gum’s captor—the one from the rooftop.

  “You will pay for my property.”

  30

  Charles stood before the cheval glass and tugged at the tuxedo’s lapels. “Is it supposed to be so tight?”

  The Hasting’s tailor sighed for the third time. “Evening wear is not worn for comfort. I’ve already adjusted the seams twice.” He swiped a small brush across Charles’s back. “This is not a sack suit, Mr. McKinley. It is designed to give you an air of sophistication, as if personal comfort is the furthest thing from your mind.” He adjusted the long mirror on its hinge for a better angle. “And frankly, if you think this is uncomfortable, you should see what the ladies will be wearing.”

  The image of Elizabeth in her midnight blue gown flooded his thoughts. The idea of a political future without her at his side had lost its appeal. “I suppose you’re right. It’s only one evening.” The first of many, if his uncle had any say in it. After spending the morning poring over his uncle’s financial records, the idea made him i
ll. “I’m told a top hat would be the only appropriate head wear.”

  “I’ve taken the liberty of having three set out for your perusal.” He gestured to a nearby counter, a row of smart-looking hats beckoning.

  “I’m not on the ranch anymore, am I?”

  “Certainly not.” The tailor scoffed. “We don’t sell cowboy duds in here. Only the finest in men’s fashions.”

  A frustrating itch had developed between Charles’s shoulders. “You choose. I’ve never worn one. How would I know the difference?”

  The man made a guttural sound in his throat and reached for the nearest hat. He placed it on Charles’s head, standing on his toes to reach. With a few adjustments, he made a face and pulled it off. “Seems your head is as large as the rest of you. I’ll have to retrieve another size. Just a moment.”

  Charles tried to cross his arms, but the fabric tugged across his back. He’d chosen the tuxedo yesterday, but he’d hoped the tailor could make it wearable. He felt like a child trying to fit into last year’s school clothes.

  “Mr. McKinley?”

  A young saleslady motioned to him. “There’s a telephone call for you, sir.”

  “For me?” Charles lifted his shoulders and tried to settle the jacket more comfortably before following her to a corner office. He took the receiver from the hook. “This is Charles McKinley.”

  “Charles, it’s Robert King. Your office told me where to reach you.”

  Charles ran a finger under the stiff collar, suddenly unable to draw a decent breath. Robert? “How can I help you?”

  “I need to know if you’ve seen Elizabeth.”

  “We spoke yesterday.” The memory of the heartrending conversation still dragged at his heels.

  “You haven’t seen her today?”

  The uncertainty in Robert’s voice made him pause. “No. Why do you ask?”

  “I’m at the Mission. Kum Yong says Elizabeth went on an errand to Chinatown hours ago and hasn’t returned.”

  “Perhaps she stopped for lunch.”

  “By herself?”

  His stomach turned. “No.” Charles pressed fingers against his temples. He was due at the banquet in two hours. “I’ll be right there.”