Josiah's Treasure

by Nancy Herriman

  Sarah shot a glance in Daniel’s direction. He was paying the driver and far enough away to not overhear. “You shouldn’t have invited him, Lottie. After today, I’m afraid we’ve only confirmed his opinion.”

  “Do not give up on him, Sarah.”

  “Oh, Lottie.” She rose up on her toes and pressed a kiss to her friend’s forehead. She wanted to have a faith as unshakable as Lottie’s. If her friend had lived Sarah’s life—had endured tragic loss, indifference, broken promises—her faith might not be so solid. Might be as fluid and evasive as rushing water slipping through one’s fingers. “I wish I truly had your optimism and didn’t merely pretend I did.”

  Lottie feigned shock. “Do not tell me you are not Miss Unflappable!”

  “I won’t. Tomorrow. At ten.” She glanced over at Anne, sitting in shadow. “You can help me decide where to place the lithograph press. Does that sound good?”

  “Yes, Miss Whittier.”

  “Do not forget Mrs. Linforth’s supper party tomorrow evening,” reminded Lottie. “She has made room in her parlor so her guests can view the samples of our artwork we plan to bring over.”

  “How could I forget?” Bone-tired as she was, a supper party and showing at the Linforths’ sounded dreadful but critical for the financial support it could bring the shop.

  Sarah retreated to the sidewalk. Daniel signaled for the driver to depart, and the carriage rolled off, Lottie’s hand waving through the open window.

  “You don’t need to see me up to the house,” Sarah said to him. Next door, Mrs. Brentwood had realized Daniel and Sarah were out on the street and had raised the blinds on her front room window. “I’ll see that Cora gets to a doctor. Thank you.”

  Ah Mong arrived to fetch the untouched picnic basket from Daniel. The boy hurried off with it.

  “I’m going to come by the shop tomorrow to check on how the two of you are doing,” said Daniel.

  Did he care? Did he truly care? Stop asking those sorts of questions, Sarah.

  She squared her shoulders, a feeble gesture of courage when she was shivering. “There is no need for you to bother.”

  “I’m not quite as insensitive as you believe I am, Miss Whittier.” He was shivering too, and his teeth chattered. “I’m also just as stubborn as you are.”

  “I already know that.”

  Sarah sprinted up the house stairs and away from his gaze before he could see the confusion sprouting in her head. She reached the front porch. Next door, Mrs. Brentwood’s blinds snapped shut. The gossip would fly today about that outrageous Miss Whittier and her unladylike young women.

  Mrs. McGinnis threw open the front door just as Sarah reached it.

  “Miss Sarah! You too?” She glanced over Sarah’s shoulder, toward the street. Sarah didn’t turn to look; she didn’t want to know if Daniel still waited on the curb.

  With a tut, the housekeeper hustled Sarah inside.

  “The trip to the park was a disaster, Mrs. McGinnis.” Sarah headed for the kitchen, where she could deposit the damp blanket. Rufus, bent tail sweeping the air, offered up an amused-sounding mewl as he slunk around the kitchen doorframe and scampered out of Sarah’s wet path.

  “I’ve put that Cora upstairs in the spare room where she canna damage the furniture with her wet clothes. But what am I to do with you?” Mrs. McGinnis grabbed Sarah’s wadded pile of underthings and released a frustrated huff. “How can it be every day now that you’re having an accident or there’s some other trouble? I’m starting to think we’ve a curse.”

  “Indeed, we do.” Sarah unwound her hair, wrung it out over the sink. “And its name is Daniel Cady.”

  Daniel’s entrance at the Occidental caused raised eyebrows and at least one upright matron to make a wide berth, scuttling across the far side of the downstairs lounge like a water strider scurrying clear of a pond ripple. Thankfully, he was no longer as wet as a pond ripple, but his one good shirt might never recover from the water muck.

  “Mr. Cady!” A man’s voice boomed across the space. Sinclair, his rotund belly leading him forward. “There you are. But what in . . . what happened to you?”

  “I went for a swim in the pond at Golden Gate Park,” Daniel replied flatly.

  “Ah. Yes. Well.” The lawyer’s movement backward was meant to be subtle but failed. “I have news for you. Shall we sit? No. I suppose not.”

  “Let’s stand aside where we’re not in the way.” Daniel strode toward an empty arrangement of chairs. One of the servers peered over nervously, probably fearful Daniel might attempt to sit and ruin the velvet covering. “Make it quick so I can get out of these clothes.”

  “Yes, well, I checked on any possible bank assets that Mr. Josiah Cady might not have reported and so far I’ve come up with nothing.” He tucked a thumb into his waistcoat pocket and leaned against the nearest chair back. “I have contacted two banks near Placerville where he might have had accounts but have not heard.”

  “All right, so he didn’t have any bank assets.”

  “None that we can locate. I have heard an interesting tale, however.” Sinclair glanced around and lowered his voice. “A rumor about a stash of gold nuggets.”

  Daniel frowned. “I’ve heard that rumor too. Hidden somewhere, maybe in the house.”

  “Ah, so you do know the particulars.”

  “Miss Whittier denies them.”

  Sinclair held his hands in front of him, palms up, and shrugged. “But she would, wouldn’t she?”

  “She might because it’s the truth.”

  “Mr. Cady, I hope you have not become charmed by the little lady. We can’t afford to be taken in by a woman’s wiles when she is an opponent in a court case.”

  “I am not being taken in.” Daniel glared at the lawyer. “I am merely saying that she denies that Josiah had a hidden stash of nuggets and I choose to believe her.”

  “Might I remind you, Mr. Cady, you were the one who asked me to look into these matters? It is in your best interest to stay detached.”

  He knew that, but his heart no longer seemed to be paying attention to his head. “Is there other news?”

  “Yes. Your Chicago attorney has notified my office that your documentation is on its way. Given that, I have taken the liberty of requesting a court date for our hearing. It shall be the Monday after Monday next. Nine days from today.”

  “Nine days.” Nine days for Sarah to prepare her supporters—and her girls—for an unpleasant outcome. Not much time.

  “As I said . . .” Sinclair tugged his waistcoat and stared down his nose. “If I obtain any more intelligence on Mr. Josiah Cady’s assets, I will certainly inform you. Otherwise, I shall see you at the hearing. My secretary will inform you of the particulars of the court time and location. Good day.”

  He strutted off, the smell of his cologne clouding the air behind him, oblivious to Daniel’s answering scowl.

  Twelve

  “I’ve brought you tea, lass,” said Mrs. McGinnis, shouldering her way through the half-closed door of the workshop. “Doing some painting on one of your miniatures?”

  “Trying to.” Sarah shifted the board so that the last of the day’s sunlight, streaming through the upstairs workshop’s bay window, fell upon the ivory oval secured to it. She had been polishing the ivory’s surface for a half hour and seemed to be working a groove into the bone rather than smoothing the grain so that the watercolors would evenly adhere. “I was hoping some work would quiet my nerves, but I can’t seem to concentrate.”

  “Och, well,” the housekeeper clucked. She set the tray on the edge of the worktable. “’Tis to be expected, given the day you’ve had. If Cora’s blubberin’ was to be understood, you fair near drowned in that pond!”

  “I hardly came close to drowning, Mrs. McGinnis.” But she could still taste the muddiness of the pond water, feel it filling her nose. Thank God for Daniel. Thank God for his firm grip closing around her arm, yanking her free of the murky depths, saving her.

  And Dani
el Cady, if she were honest with herself, was the reason she could not concentrate. Why her hand shook even though she wasn’t cold any longer. Why her gaze kept wandering to the houses across the street, to tree branches moving in the breeze. Why her thoughts kept returning to the scent of his coat, the press of his hands on her shoulders, the look of concern in his eyes. What if he did care about her, just a little? He was not like Edouard, who had overflowed with extravagant flattery and giddying charm, had been full of politeness and solicitude, some of it actually genuine. Handsome and easy to fall in love with. Instead, Daniel Cady was brusque and distant, single-minded in the pursuit of his vow, steeped in an old anger Sarah couldn’t repudiate. His heart a carefully locked box. The wrong man for any woman. Especially her.

  “Too near for comfort, lass.” Mrs. McGinnis shook her head and set out the tea things, the ping of silverware against china bringing Sarah back to the ivory beneath her hands.

  Sarah tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear and bent over it. With one last circular stroke of the pumice-filled muslin bag, the tooth of the ivory’s surface was as good as she could make it, given her state of mind. She dipped her wide camel-hair brush in water and washed the ivory until every trace of pumice dust was gone. Tomorrow, the bone would dry in the sun and bleach while she was at the shop with the girls. When she returned home, she could paint. In the uppermost corner of the workbench waited a vase of Rosa gallica roses she’d gathered from the garden. Rufus curled against its base, basking in the sun, his fur a blaze of cinnamon. Sarah paused to tickle the spot between his ears, which caused his tail to flick testily.

  Mrs. McGinnis clucked her tongue against her teeth. “That daft cat. Aye in the way.”

  Sarah smiled and laid out her brushes, the red sable for the broader strokes, the tiny black sable for the fine lines. The reds would have to be just right to capture the muted pink stripes of rose petals, the hints of coral transitioning to a burst of lemon yellow at the heart of the flowers. She selected the watercolors she would use. The carmine to mix with Indian yellow. Gamboge and cobalt to blend for the leaves. Umber and ultramarine for shading. Vermilion for brilliance.

  A freshly filled teacup and plate of cookies appeared, prodded into Sarah’s line of sight by Mrs. McGinnis. “Thank you,” Sarah said.

  “And you’re welcome. The doctor’s sent his bill ’round already, along with a note, by the way.” She extracted a piece of paper from her apron pocket, and held it at arm’s length. “He reminds us that Cora hasna suffered overmuch from her, um, adventure at the park, but she’d be best served by a day’s solid rest.” The note returned to Mrs. McGinnis’s pocket. “Bah. The girl doesna need rest. She needs someone to clap some sense into her head. Impetuous child.”

  “She’s young. She’ll learn.”

  Mrs. McGinnis briefly pursed her lips. “You’re more certain than I am, miss.”

  “Not really,” she answered honestly.

  The housekeeper chuckled and leaned over to examine the sketch Sarah had prepared on tracing paper. “You’ve another request for a miniature?”

  “This is actually a birthday present for Lottie.”

  “I do think your paintings are precious as gems. What did Mr. Josiah used to call them?” She straightened to consider. “‘Wee treasures,’ it was. Och aye, that was it.”

  Little treasures.

  Sarah tapped a fingernail against the edge of the teacup. “Mrs. McGinnis, I need to talk to you about something I heard. I didn’t want to mention it, but I suppose I should.”

  “Aye?”

  She looked up at the housekeeper. The woman had never concealed the truth from her. “Mrs. Brentwood told me yesterday,” Sarah began, unhappy that Daniel’s questioning had forced her to give merit to her neighbor’s story, “that there are rumors Josiah hid some sort of treasure in this house.”

  Mrs. McGinnis tensed. “Any stories Mrs. Brentwood has to tell are just blether, miss. You shouldna listen to her.” She toyed with the napkin she’d brought with the tea, creasing the fold even though it didn’t require fixing. “Anybody who was a prospector was believed to have brought back nuggets from the hills and hidden them away, even though most certainly did not. Folks do like to talk, though, about the successful ones like Mr. Josiah. Stories spread. You ken how that happens.”

  “So you’re saying the rumor is not true?” Sarah laid a hand upon the housekeeper’s to still her nervous motion. “I don’t care if there really is treasure or not, Mrs. McGinnis, but others believe the rumor and are spreading it. Even Daniel Cady has heard.”

  A fine web of wrinkles appeared on her forehead. “There’s no treasure or any such nonsense.”

  The housekeeper believed there was, though. Sarah could tell by how zealously she evaded Sarah’s scrutiny.

  Josiah, how did I not know? I thought you told me everything.

  Everything except the truth about Daniel and Lily and Marguerite. And now this.

  “I think you have always been honest with me, Mrs. McGinnis,” Sarah persisted. “Please tell me where Josiah’s treasure is hidden. I believe I deserve to know.”

  “Now, miss, why do you want to ken about such pish?”

  “Because we had an intruder who, I’m afraid, might return because he believes such pish.”

  “I should have told you.” Mrs. McGinnis’s shoulders drooped. “After that beast of a man came here . . . I should have told you but I didna want you to worry. Instead I’ve only gone and made it worse.”

  “So the stories are true?”

  “I canna say, truth be told. Mr. Josiah was guarding something someplace, but I don’t ken what and I don’t ken where. Or if it’s e’en in the house anymore.”

  “I searched Josiah’s bedroom. There’s nothing in there.” But his room was just one small part of the house. She would not, however, resort to tearing up floorboards or peeling wallpaper in search of hidden compartments.

  “This rumor’s not worth you fretting over, Miss Sarah. The police will find our intruder and everything will be fine. Mark my words.” Mrs. McGinnis nodded her certainty. “But thank heavens and all good sense you finally decided to borrow Mrs. Brentwood’s Remington this morn. That and trust in the Lord will keep you safe.”

  “Where have you been?” Frank asked from the dark corner of the front room, hunger and stale beer rumbling in his gut. His woman was supposed to bring him some dinner, but her hands were empty, clenched tight around air.

  She slowly closed the street door, then turned. “I’ve been busy today, but I’m here now, aren’t I?”

  He rubbed his fist with his other hand, the knuckles grinding into his opposing palm. She reminded him of his mother when she looked at him like that, full of disdain, pitying him. You’re a failure, lad. A failure.

  He’d show ’em both.

  “Did you find out if she’s gone tomorrow?” he asked.

  She didn’t answer right away, deciding to make him wait, tightening her shawl around her shoulders like she had all the time in the world. “She will be.”

  “You coulda answered me sooner, woman.” His knuckles ground, round and round. “You were willin’ enough to help me when I first came up with this plan. You ain’t gone soft on me, have you?”

  Her gaze flicked to his hands, but she was careful, oh so careful, not to show any fear. She was so good he should take her up to the Barbary Coast the next time he went and teach her how to play cards.

  “For how long?” he barked.

  “How long?”

  “You know what I mean.” Annie was being difficult and it riled him. “How long will she be gone tomorrow? And will that woman who works for her be gone too? You coulda told me she’d shriek like a banshee.”

  “I don’t know. She’ll be gone awhile. All day, I think. And they both have plans in the evening.”

  Frank grinned. “Good, good. Like to hear that. Need to work quick before anyone else gets the idea to move in on my mark, after that reporter’s pokin’ aroun
d.”

  “You’ll never get away with this,” she said, her lips flattening into a narrow line.

  “Why? You planning on telling someone?” He made certain she heard the threat in his voice.

  She was scared then. “No! I’d never tell on you. Never say anything.”

  “Good. ’Cause I don’t want to wonder about you.” He reached out to stroke her hair, catching hold of a strand before she could recoil. “You and me are going to be rich, when I’m done. Set ourselves up in a fine house on that hill. Like we’ve always wanted. Right?”

  She nodded. “Say you won’t hurt her. She’s a good woman. You don’t need to hurt anyone. Never have.”

  Her eyes turned soft and misty. He was the only one who saw this side of her. The side that cared. For him.

  The fight, the hate subsided. “I won’t have to hurt her, now, will I? I’ll sneak in on cat’s toes and she’ll never know. Look around, find the gold, and sneak back out. It’ll be over in a flash. Just like that time up on Russian Hill. Stole that pretty silver from that fellow up there and none the wiser, right? Over in a flash.”

  Frank snapped his fingers and guffawed.

  She smiled weakly and headed for the kitchen. “I’ll make us some tea now. And then you can have your dinner.”

  “By the day after tomorrow, woman, we’ll be able to have us a servant to do that for you.”

  He felt the anger return, sizzling like a rattlesnake’s tail, when she didn’t agree.

  “Are you telling me there might be an item of value hidden in your house after all?” Lottie blinked at Sarah the next morning. “And that is what the intruder was after?”

  “I’m saying there seem to be well-established rumors to that effect, but I just can’t believe them.” Sarah took her friend’s arm and together they stepped off the curb at the intersection of Kearny and California. “Josiah wouldn’t have kept that from me. Would he?”

  Lottie’s brow puckered. “I refuse to believe Mr. Cady would have misled you about anything, Sarah. He adored you like the most beloved daughter in the world.”