Josiah's Treasure

by Nancy Herriman

  “He never told me about Daniel and his sisters,” Sarah pointed out.

  “There has to be a reasonable explanation for that omission.”

  “If you can think of one, let me know.” They hurried past a corner barker hawking the amazing curative properties of Glenn’s Sulfur Soap—the man’s patter good enough to draw a small crowd, even at this hour of the morning—and pushed up the road toward Sansome Street and the shop. “I just wish I could be sure there is no treasure.”

  “Worrying about that rumor does you no good, Sarah. You have far more important matters to concern you,” Lottie said.

  “Such as whether or not I should tell the girls that the shop could be in trouble?”

  “That and the fact I might not be able to help as much as I hoped.” She glanced sideways at Sarah. “Mama was not happy when I got home yesterday afternoon. She says I am spending too much time with the women we have employed, women who are rough-and-tumble and expected to cause the sort of trouble they have.”

  Sarah halted in the middle of the sidewalk, forcing a black-suited businessman in an enormous top hat to dodge the sudden obstacle she presented. “I can’t run the studio without you.”

  “I did not say I would not help at all, Sarah. I merely said Mama wants me to spend more time at home. Entertaining.” She sighed. “Letting her acquaintances assess me as bride material over coffee and cakes is actually what she intends. I cannot snare a husband if I am at our studio all day. In fact, she told Mrs. Linforth to cancel tonight’s gathering because we are to attend a supper at the Lawsons’. They have an eligible son, it appears.”

  “No supper or showing at the Linforths’?” Sarah felt her plans tattering at the edges like shoddily woven muslin coming undone. “After I managed to convince myself how worthwhile it would be?”

  “I am sorry. Mama is acting ridiculous.”

  “I need you and she knows that.”

  “The situation is only temporary.” Another businessman muttered unhappily as he skirted them. Lottie gathered Sarah’s arm in hers and encouraged her to move on. “Once Mama is over her pique about my little accident, she will change her mind about my involvement with the shop. You shall see. But for now, her sympathy for our cause has run a trifle thin.”

  “We had none of these troubles before Daniel Cady arrived in town. I can’t wait until he goes back to Chicago.” Taking his questions, and the confounding way he made her feel, two thousand miles away.

  Lottie’s sideways glance held a world of implications. “I wonder if he will go back.”

  “He most certainly will, Lottie. He has assured me repeatedly.”

  “I saw the way he looked at you after he had pulled you from the pond, Sarah. He was genuinely worried about you.”

  A blush heated Sarah’s cheeks. She wouldn’t respond to that sort of speculation; she’d wasted enough time herself wondering whether he was worried.

  Therefore, she changed the subject. “Look,” Sarah said when they caught sight of the storefront. “The girls are here already.”

  “Oh, Sarah.”

  “I am not going to talk about Daniel Cady and the way he may or may not look at me. You’ve said yourself I have other matters to concern me.”

  She surged ahead of Lottie, scanning the cluster of girls waiting outside the locked front door. Minnie had her nose pressed to the window glass, her hands cupping the sides of her face to see inside. Emma was talking with Phoebe near the curb. But Anne was nowhere in sight, and she was never late.

  “Where is Anne? She said she’d be here today.” Sarah searched the streets for any sign of the girl. “This isn’t like her.”

  “Yesterday, when the carriage dropped Anne at her house . . .” Lottie paused on the word. Anne’s ramshackle rooms tacked onto the side of a saloon like a wart on a knuckle barely qualified as a “house.” “When she stepped down, I thought I heard her assure Minnie she would be here this morning. I do not understand why she is not.”

  “I don’t either and that’s what worries me.”

  “Perhaps she will show up later,” Lottie said hopefully.

  “Minnie, did Anne say she’d be late?” Sarah asked.

  Minnie peered over from the shop window. “She didn’t say much yesterday, Miss Sarah. She’s been in a strange mood for the past couple of days, if you ask me.” She waved at the shop door, an impatient flip of her fingers. “Can we go in and see? Cora told me how swell it is and I want to prove to myself it’s real!”

  Sarah fished the keys from her reticule, unable to shake the feeling that Anne was somehow in trouble.

  “Let’s go in. But keep an eye out for Anne, all right?” Unlocking the shop door, she ushered the girls inside. Before she followed them inside, Sarah peered down the road one more time, but no tall girl in a dark dress appeared.

  Lottie patted her arm as she passed. “She shall be fine, Sarah. Anne Cavendish is as tough as they come.”

  “I know.” Too tough. Too unwilling to let anyone know if she had problems. How could she help Anne if the girl hardly spoke to anyone?

  Sarah removed her hat and gloves. “Minnie, there are brooms and dustpans in the rear room. Take them upstairs. That’s where we’ll be working today. Phoebe, take that bucket and draw some water for washing. Emma, can you throw open the blinds?”

  The girls hustled to their assigned tasks, eager to start work and turn the page on a new phase of their lives. Sarah watched them, hoping against hope today’s efforts weren’t just more wasted energy. But she hadn’t pursued financial backing like a bloodhound, and she hadn’t promised Ambrose Pomroy she would succeed, simply to fold under the threat Daniel Cady posed.

  Sarah claimed one of the brooms. Behind her, the blind slats rose up the window with a clatter.

  “Miss Sarah,” Emma called out, “there is a man on the sidewalk looking in the window.”

  Sarah turned to see. With a tight smile, Ambrose Pomroy tipped his hat and headed for the front door.

  Emma looked over her shoulder. “Who is he?”

  “Our landlord, and I wonder why he’s here,” said Sarah. She could come up with a number of reasons, none of them good.

  Thirteen

  “Mr. Cady! Mr. Cady!” A man in an ill-fitting suit sprang up from one of the lounge room chairs, setting it to teetering. Balding and as thickset as a boxer, he didn’t look like someone Daniel wanted to be hailed by after yesterday’s mishap at the park and the sleepless night that had followed. He kept reliving the sight of Sarah sinking beneath the water until the image was branded onto his brain. She might have drowned. All that pluck and intelligence and noble zeal gone in an instant. The idea had left him in no mood to talk to a stranger.

  So Daniel kept moving, heading toward the front door.

  “Mr. Cady.” Grabbing up his felt derby, the man shoved aside two hotel guests angling for prime seats in front of the street window. Almost upending the cups of coffee they carried, he tossed off an apology and caught up to Daniel. “Mr. Cady, I’d like to talk to you.”

  “I’m busy and don’t have time to talk to strangers.” He didn’t look like anyone Sinclair might send over. He was far too scruffy.

  “Then if you’re looking for an introduction, I’m Archibald Jackson.” Shorter by a half foot, he grinned up at Daniel as if they were meant to be the best of friends. “I work for the San Francisco Chronicle.”

  “I definitely don’t have time to talk to a reporter.” Daniel started walking faster, past a group of men trailing aromatic cigarillo smoke in their wake. One caught Daniel’s eye and smirked over the reporter, jogging to keep abreast of Daniel.

  Archibald Jackson was either used to being smirked at or didn’t much care, because he didn’t slow down a beat. “If you don’t talk to me, then I might not get the story straight, Mr. Cady. And you might not like that.”

  Daniel halted. “What story?”

  “It’s come to my attention that you’re the long-lost son of Josiah Cady.” He punctuated
the statement with a crisp jerk of his head and another grin. He smiled too much. “Yes it has. I’ve got good friends in well-connected places, you see.” His gaze darted about, as if one of those good friends might be standing nearby in the hotel lounge.

  “So what if I am?”

  The reporter pursed his lips and considered him. “Know anything about gold nuggets he might have brought with him to San Francisco?”

  Daniel dug a heel into the thick pile of the Occidental’s Turkish rugs and started walking again. “I’ve heard that rumor. I don’t think it’s worth wasting ink on, Mr. Jackson.”

  “Wait, wait, wait, Mr. Cady.” He snagged Daniel’s sleeve. “Just tell me if I’ve got this part right. That he made his find in the Black Hills. With a partner by the name of Thayer.”

  Had that been Josiah’s partner’s name? He couldn’t recall one way or the other. “Maybe.”

  “Maybe yes or maybe no?” Jackson pressed.

  “Listen, Mr. Jackson, I’ve got business to attend to and certainly don’t have time to stand around and talk with you. So if you don’t mind . . .” He didn’t care if the man minded or not. He was headed out to see Sarah and it made no difference what this shiny-headed reporter thought.

  “You’ll be hearing from me again, Mr. Cady! I’m as hard to shake as a bulldog with a bone! Yesiree!” Jackson called after Daniel’s retreating back as he strode through the door and onto the street. “And give my best to Miss Whittier!”

  Daniel wouldn’t give the fellow the satisfaction of reacting, but the question dogged him all the way to Sansome Street as to how Jackson had guessed where he was headed.

  “What might we do for you today, Mr. Pomroy?” Sarah asked after she’d introduced the girls and sent them all out of the room. She suspected Minnie lurked just around the corner in the back room, eavesdropping. If Cora were here today instead of recuperating, she’d be right at Minnie’s side.

  He already knew Lottie socially through her parents and made polite inquiries into their health before returning his attention to Sarah. “I had business with another tenant down the street, Miss Whittier, and I thought I’d stop in to see how you were faring.”

  “It’s our second day of work in the shop. We have a great deal to accomplish yet,” Sarah supplied when she noticed his gaze slip past her to examine the pile of stripped wallpaper curled in the corner, the forlorn stain on the ceiling. “But we can manage. None of us is afraid of labor.”

  Lottie’s hasty glance in Sarah’s direction suggested she was wondering what Mr. Pomroy wanted also. “Our equipment and cabinets should be arriving in a few days. You will be able to see then, Mr. Pomroy, how the business will function much more clearly than is visible today. You will be pleased, I am certain.”

  His polite smile twitched his mustache. “I suspect I will, Miss Samuelson, but I’ve recently heard some news that has me concerned about this shop’s future.”

  “What have you heard exactly?” Sarah asked, unhappily anticipating his response.

  “That a Mr. Daniel Cady arrived in town a few days ago. A son Josiah never told me about. I presumed all his children were deceased, as he once told me.” Mr. Pomroy looked disappointed in the friend he’d trusted.

  “Josiah said the same to me.” As expected, his visit was about Daniel. These days, her whole life seemed to revolve around him, the irksome center of a maelstrom. “I was just as surprised by his arrival as you are.”

  He regarded her soberly. “He’s going to claim Josiah’s assets, I gather.”

  Minnie didn’t stifle her gasp quickly enough to keep Sarah from hearing it. “You know I have been promised sufficient funds to pay the rent per our agreement, Mr. Pomroy, if that’s what you’re concerned about. Granted, it won’t be as easy to cover all my expenses as I’d originally planned, but you and your partners won’t be affected by whatever Mr. Cady does.” Had she been persuasive? Did Mr. Pomroy look convinced?

  “Do your backers know about him?”

  “I don’t know if they’ve heard yet,” Sarah answered, her forced optimism fading. Lottie moved to her side, a bastion of strength.

  Mr. Pomroy's gaze softened with pity. “While I was learning about Mr. Daniel Cady’s arrival in town, I also was informed that a hearing contesting Josiah’s will has been set for the Monday after next in Judge Doran’s chambers.”

  So soon. Daniel was moving fast. “I hadn’t heard.”

  “I am sorry, then, to be the one to tell you.”

  “I don’t intend to change my plans, Mr. Pomroy. My girls still need me, and the outcome of Mr. Cady’s case has yet to be decided.”

  “I suppose we shall see what transpires. In the meantime, I’ll try to allay my partners’ concerns.” He considered them both. “The rest is up to you two ladies.”

  Lottie smiled as serenely as the Madonna statue outside the neighborhood Catholic church. “You do not need to worry, Mr. Pomroy. The shop will be fine.”

  “I worry all the time, Miss Samuelson. It comes with the job.” He tipped his hat and reached for the door. “Good day to you both.”

  Minnie shot through the doorway to the back room before the overhead bell could stop jingling. “Miss Sarah, is it true?” she asked breathlessly. “Is Mr. Cady going to take what Mr. Josiah left you?”

  Sarah clutched Minnie’s hands and peered at her and the other girls, who had joined her in the center of the room. Phoebe looked confused. Emma’s body had gone rigid, as if readying herself for potential upheaval.

  “I will not let him ruin anything for us. We will be fine. Our backers are still standing by us,” she said, whether or not it remained true. “What’s more, we’ll soon have plenty of customers buying all your wonderful work.”

  “Absolutely, girls,” Lottie reassured them. “Do not be concerned.”

  “And if I have to share a room with one of you because I lose the house . . .” Sarah’s words snagged in her throat. The house. She didn’t want to lose the house. Her home. “Then that is what I will do. Trust me. Everything will be all right.”

  “We know you’d sell the clothes off your back for us, Miss Sarah. We’ll never doubt you.” Minnie’s eyes glinted. “But when it comes to Mr. Cady, I promise I’m going to have choice words for him when he stops by today!”

  Daniel turned onto Sansome Street, his frown chasing off a boot-black on the corner looking for some business. The reporter had left him in a foul mood. What was he after? That story about Josiah’s gold nuggets was becoming a bigger nuisance by the day. Already, a prowler had been poking around the house because of the rumor. Sarah could be in serious danger if Jackson insisted on spreading the tale.

  I’m worried about her because she matters to me. I’ve let her get under my skin and matter to me . . .

  Lost in thought, he almost collided with a young woman standing in the middle of the sidewalk. Right across the street from Sarah’s custom design studio.

  Daniel tapped the brim of his hat. “Sorry. I didn’t notice you standing there,” he said, peering at her familiar face.

  “It’s all right.” Her long fingers clutched a ragged shawl around her neck, close under her chin. “I shouldn’t be here.”

  Daniel finally recognized her. He should have right away because of the bruises. A fresh purple one, on her jaw right above the edge of her shawl, joined the fading yellow bruise he’d noticed yesterday. “Miss Cavendish, is it? Anne Cavendish?”

  She looked gaunt and tired. And frightened. “I need to be going, Mr. Cady. Don’t tell Miss Whittier I was here. I shouldn’t be. There would be questions and I can’t explain. I thought I could, but I was wrong.”

  “If there’s something the matter, she’ll want to help you.”

  His comment seemed to alarm her more. “I know. Good day.”

  She rushed off, bumping into a man exiting the pianoforte maker's shop next door.

  “Hey!” the man yelled, annoyed.

  Daniel moved to follow her but stopped, letting her slip out
of reach; Anne Cavendish wasn’t the sort of woman who appreciated a man’s interference. Within seconds, he lost sight of her.

  “Shouldn’t let women like that around here,” the man from the shop muttered, brushing at his sleeve. “They should stay in their own neighborhoods with their own kind.”

  “She works across the street,” Daniel snapped. “This is her neighborhood.”

  The man scoffed and strode off.

  Riled by his attitude, Daniel waited for a horsecar to pass and dashed across the roadway. He turned the studio’s door handle and stepped inside, the bell alerting Sarah, who was alone in the main room and had been sweeping.

  “Mr. Cady.” It was sort of a greeting, but with the span of Sarah’s work dress stretched tight across her plank-flat shoulders, taut as the upright column of her neck, and a broom gripped in her hands like a weapon, he couldn’t be certain.

  “Good morning to you as well, Miss Whittier,” he answered, just as stiffly.

  She seemed to perceive the abruptness of her attitude, although she was usually abrupt with him. “We’ve had a visit from my landlord, Mr. Pomroy,” she explained. “He came here to talk about you.”

  “Ah.”

  “He’s worried I won’t be able to pay my rent, now that you’ve mysteriously come back from the dead to claim Josiah’s estate.” She considered him as she leaned against the broom. “Mr. Pomroy didn’t know about you either, Mr. Cady, and he was one of Josiah’s closest friends in this town.”

  “Just goes to prove what it meant to be a friend of Josiah.” Not much.

  Sarah returned to sweeping, the whisk of bristles against planking punctuating her words. “Apparently so.”

  Miss Samuelson appeared from a back room, a girl Daniel hadn’t met before on her heels. “I thought I heard your voice, Mr. Cady. Sarah said you would stop in today.”

  Her words were polite but her typically friendly manner was absent. The girl with her stared at him like he was a mangy dog accidentally let in the front door.

  “This is Mr. Cady?” The hint of a rough German accent had the effect of enhancing the scorn in the young woman’s voice.