by Janet Fox
Henderson spoke again. “Hannah and Theo had no children. They moved across the bay to Sausalito, while Theo pressed his case to split the partnership and take his share of the fortune. There was a heated argument, the threat of lawyers. In the middle of all of this, round about when Nat and I were ten years old, Nat Baker’s parents died in an accident on the bay. They were on a ferry that rammed into another ferry in the fog.”
My grandparents. Mr. Henderson was talking about my grandparents, my pa’s parents. Why had I never heard any of this from Pa?
“Then Theo was killed. He was taking a shortcut through the meaner parts of San Francisco one night. He was murdered in cold blood. Knifed in the back. A Chinese man was blamed. Hanged for it. No trial, just a hanging. In the street, from a lamppost.”
David, next to me, moved a little.
“They died, and Theo died, and everything changed. Just like that.”
Henderson went on. “After Theo’s death Hannah Everts was shut out of the inheritance by my father. Theo’s sister, Phillipa, became the third partner.”
“Miss Everts!” I blurted.
“Yes, your Miss Everts. Her fiancé took pity upon poor Hannah and eloped with her. For which Phillipa suffered a keen loss. Hannah Porter Everts eloped with Edward Gale to the Montana territory. This left all the property and the gold in the hands of my father, along with Phillipa Everts, and the young, newly orphaned Nat Baker.”
Henderson shook his head. “Nat. My parents adopted him; they treated him like their own son. We were like brothers. And, well, I was happy to stay right here, but he persuaded me that we had to see the world. Guess he was more like his grandfather than he knew. We were sixteen when we left San Francisco; I came back two years later. Nat stayed behind in the greater Yellowstone.
“See the world, he’d said. But we never got farther than Montana. We fell in with some rough types. Nat’s a bit of a devil. I expect he still is, isn’t he, Kula? He liked the whole outlaw business. He thought it was exciting.” William Henderson met my eye. “Until he met your mother. That changed him.”
My mother. Henderson examined the ash at his feet, as if he could divine something important in it.
“What’s in my pa’s box, Mr. Henderson?” My hand rested on my throat, on the key that still hung by the chain round my neck. “What’s in there that will save his life?”
He laughed, a short, harsh laugh. “Nat. He lured me out into his wild world.”
I pressed the key against my breastbone. Above it, above my fingers, I still wore my mother’s cameo.
“I left Montana, I came home. Well, there’s the irony.” Here, he let his head drop. “I came home to find everything had changed.” Henderson pointed at Pa’s box sitting at Will’s feet. “I never knew it existed. That’s because it was in the hands of Ty Wong. Ty was one of the brotherhood. He’d gone east with Nat and me. Nat trusted him and gave him the box to bring back here, to keep it safe here. If I had known then that your father had what was in this box . . .”
Will dropped his head into his hands. David bit his lip.
“What?” I asked, softly, half not wanting to hear the answer.
Henderson’s eyes grew bright. “I would’ve destroyed it! My parents blamed me for running away. Me! I came home, and, out of spite, to punish their natural-born son, they had given Nat everything—he owned it all. After we’d left, they’d disowned me and sent the deeds to Nat in Montana. I was right there with him, and he never said a word. He never told me. Oh, he told Ty Wong, sure, but he never told me, me who was like a brother to him. Nat Baker owned everything that was rightfully mine.”
“But . . . your house, the business . . . How did you . . .” I trailed off. My father was a struggling outlaw; Mr. Henderson was a scion of San Francisco society.
“When my parents told me what they’d done, I was furious. How could they disown their own son? But then my father died of sudden heart failure. After that my mother was not in her right mind. So I took control of things. I paid to change the deeds and even cut Nat out of his share and left him penniless. I made it all look legal, even if it wasn’t. I didn’t know about the box then. Ty was clever, and he hid it from me. Because the papers in it? They make what I did null and void. They’re originals of my parents’ deeds. If he wants it, your father will have everything, and I’ll have nothing. So I had Wilkie get that box,” said Henderson. “And Will took the box from Wilkie and kept it safe, didn’t you, Will?”
Henderson looked at his son with something like pride; Will stared at the ash-covered floor.
“I thought it was money,” I whispered, half to myself. David’s fists were balled up tight, his jaw worked hard.
“There’s no money in that box, Kula. There’s an entire fortune,” Henderson said.
“But . . .” Desperation swallowed me. “I don’t understand how these papers can save my father. He’s going to hang, and soon. These papers, how can they change anything . . . ?”
“They can’t.”
“What?” I choked, steadied myself. “What?”
“There’s nothing in there that can save your father, Kula. And surely he knew that. When he told you to find it, he meant for it to save you.”
Chapter THIRTY-FIVE
April 22, 1906
“The Federal Troops, the members of the
Regular Police Force and all Special Police Officers
have been authorized by me to KILL any and all
persons found engaged in Looting or in the Commission of
Any Other Crime.”
—Proclamation by E.E. Schmitz,
Mayor of San Francisco, April 18, 1906
“NO.” I WOULD NOT BELIEVE THAT I’D COME ALL THIS WAY and spent all this time and still could not save my pa. “No!”
“I didn’t think he’d hang. How could I lose it all? How could I give it all up? Will . . .” Henderson turned to his son. “I couldn’t give it all up, now, could I? We’d have been broke. You would have lived like a pauper.”
Will stiffened. “This isn’t right, Father. You know it isn’t. You should have told me what you were doing . . .”
The clatter of loose brick caused us to turn.
Josiah Wilkie.
“Well, Mr. H, I think you’ve about said enough. And I’ve been here long enough to catch the best of it.” Wilkie carried a Winchester, and it was pointed at us. He lifted his lapel. On it he wore his silver star. “See, I got myself deputized here, in San Francisco. I been a marshal before and now a proper California deputy. We don’t want looters roaming through the streets, now, do we?”
David snorted. “Who in his right mind would deputize you? You’re a cold-blooded killer. You killed Min.”
Wilkie’s face worked with fury. “Min! You killed her, that’s what. She was all I had, and you as good as killed her, with your scheming and spying, you filthy Chinaboy.” Wilkie spat, and the Winchester shook; his eyes were like brass buttons fixed hard on David.
David braced, and I placed a hand on his arm.
Wilkie went on, his voice a rasp. “There’s a lawlessness all about. It’s a mess out there. I am the law.”
“We’ll see about that,” David muttered.
“It don’t matter what you think, son. I have the gun. And here I happen upon this happy little scene. Do I see an open vault? Looters to be shot on sight, that’s what I was told.”
“It’s my bank, Wilkie,” Henderson said.
He moved away from the wall, went to stand before Wilkie. Will still stood by the vault; David and I were a few feet away. It was the three of us facing the two of them, Wilkie and Henderson.
“Oh, is that right, now, Mr. H.?” Wilkie said. “That’s not what I heard. In fact, just now I think I overheard something different. I think the rightful owner of this bank would be somewhere in Montana.”
“I didn’t want him to hang,” Henderson said. “I never wanted him dead, Kula. Never wanted anyone dead.” Henderson’s eyes never left Wilkie.
“Mr. Wilkie, here, framed your father. He murdered that rancher, Black. I told him to get Nat out of the way. I didn’t ask him to kill.”
Wilkie was a killer. I’d known it all along; this just confirmed it. I said to Wilkie, “You murdered that poor man.”
He laughed. “Oh, girl, it’s all in a day’s work.”
“Just to set up my pa.”
“Well, I did get me a couple good horses. Oh, and that Black was hiding those Chinese girls of mine. Got them back, too.”
I bit my tongue, tried to settle, to control my boiling anger as best I could. “And you”—I turned to Henderson—“you put him up to it?”
Henderson said, with a touch of surprise, “Can I help it if Wilkie killed Black? Killed his woman? And Ty? Killing them was his choice. I’m sure he did it for the sport. I only asked him to take care of things.”
“Now why’d you have to go telling them every little thing?” Wilkie asked. “Mr. H., you’ve just gone and made my job so much more difficult.” Wilkie gestured around the room at David, Will, and me. “Now, you’re all a problem for me.”
Every muscle in my body tensed. Wilkie was going to kill us all.
Henderson’s mouth worked. He glanced at Will; his eyes betrayed a shift in his thinking. He smiled at Wilkie, a tight smile.
“Now, just hold on.” Henderson stepped closer to Wilkie, slipping his hand into his jacket pocket. “Let’s see if there’s anything in that box that might smooth this all over. Will, open the box.”
“No.” Will shook his head. David put himself between me and Henderson and Wilkie.
“Will,” I said, with a note of warning, “I don’t care about the box anymore. It won’t save my pa. Give it to your father.” I pulled out the chain, pulled it over my head, took the key, and bent and unlocked the box. “There. Give it to him.”
Henderson took another step closer to Wilkie. “Will, why don’t you hand the box to Mr. Wilkie?”
Wilkie smiled. “See, that’s what I like about you, Mr. H. You know how to worm your way out of a tight spot. Always have. Why, does your son know we’ve been working together for years, buying these girls over in China?” Wilkie turned to Will. “Your father provides the money, and I take care of the girls. Together, we make a tidy sum of money, don’t we now?”
Will said in a hushed voice, “Father, what’s he saying? You import art.”
“And you.” Wilkie waved his rifle at David, his lips curling. “You kept interfering with that enterprise. With your spies and such.” He lowered his voice. “You took Min from me, and I ain’t never gonna forget it.”
David moved toward Henderson. He seethed with anger, directed at Henderson. “All this time, all those children. You’re to blame. You’re the cause of all this. You were behind this—this pig—all the time. You and your greed.”
Henderson raised his hand toward David. “The girls were already slaves back in your country. Already bought and paid for. Wilkie was the middleman, and I just handled the money. And I never touched a one . . .”
David moved so fast it startled us all. He had his hands wrapped around Henderson’s throat, shoved him back against the wall.
“David!” I yelled.
Will swayed, uncertain.
Wilkie took a step back, his rifle still pointed at David.
“You disgusting . . .” David yelled as he throttled Henderson, who flailed back, unable to get purchase, unable to pry David’s hands off his throat.
“David!” I ran to him and grabbed his wrist. “No! It won’t do any good.” Even though I hated Henderson myself, I had to stop David. He loosened his grip, left Henderson sputtering.
Behind me, Wilkie raised his rifle again, cocked the mechanism. “I’m done. Time to end this little party.” We turned; Wilkie aimed his rifle straight at Will. Straight at Will’s heart.
Will lifted his hands and dropped his eyes.
“No!” Two voices spoke as one, mine and Henderson’s.
But it was my shout that drew Wilkie. He turned and leveled the gun at me. “You first, then, missy. I’ve had enough trouble from you.”
I heard the report at the same moment that I saw David lunge at me and felt David’s hands wrap my waist. He spun me away, and as I turned I saw his face, saw his expression change from determination to shock as the bullet struck him—the bullet meant for me that struck him in the middle of his back. That went right through his back into his heart.
His heart. Oh, my heart.
I must have screamed, but the rifle report echoed in my brain and damped all other noise. What happened next came back to me much later in pieces, like torn photographs, bits and pieces of image and noise. At that moment I didn’t hear Will shout or his father shout; I didn’t hear the second shot.
I fell to the floor with David. Our eyes locked, and I watched his go dull and then close, but I didn’t hear what he said. I didn’t hear it, but I read his lips as we dropped in a slow dance, his hands on my waist, his hands spinning me away, onto the floor together. I read his lips as he said it.
Kula.
David’s body cushioned my fall. He was beneath me, his right hand still on my waist, so that I landed on top of him. He was dead before he hit the floor.
I put my fingers to his lips, put my head to his chest, ripped open his jacket to his shirt; no breath, no beat. A great pool of blood spread underneath him, soaking into the dust and ash and debris that littered the floor. His shirtfront grew wet; it was my tears that soaked his shirt. I closed my eyes and laid my head on his chest, still feeling his hand on my waist, and I sobbed.
“Kula?” It was Will’s voice; I ignored it.
Henderson’s voice, next. “Is he dead?”
“They’re both dead,” Will replied. “Wilkie, too.”
Wilkie was dead, too.
It didn’t matter that Wilkie was dead. I’d never forgive him for taking David from me. I’d never forgive myself for not telling David how I truly felt.
I believed I’d never forgive this miserable city for laying my heart wide open to love and then taking all love from my life.
Chapter THIRTY- SIX
April 22, 1906
“It is at present impossible to estimate the amount
of damage to property in this city . . . Many of the
structures which from the outside show little apparent
damage, on closer examination prove to have been so badly
twisted and racked by the shock that it is feared they
will have to be torn down.”
—The Call/Chronicle/Examiner, April 19, 1906
IT WAS WILL WHO GOT ME TO MY FEET, PULLED ME away from David. Will, whose face was ashen with grief.
Will’s father stood, his head hanging, his arms limp by his sides. In one hand he held a small pistol. The Derringer that he’d pulled from his pocket and used on Wilkie.
There were papers everywhere, like feathers, drifting in lazy swirls around this shattered wreck of a room. The box lay open, upside down, papers scattered. Wilkie lay facedown in the dust.
Will left me standing above David and made to collect the papers, picking up one after another. I watched as if from a distance. I gazed on David as if from a high heaven. His was the sweetest face I’d ever seen. I fell to my knees again, beside him, stroking his cheek.
It was some time before Will went to find help. More time passed before that help came, in the form of soldiers. I stayed with David, kneeling by his side, until someone pulled a blanket over his body and someone else lifted me up and helped me through the rubble to the street.
A wagon took David and Wilkie away together. I tried to stop them from putting Wilkie’s body next to David’s.
“He’s just a Chinaman. A dead Chinaman. He don’t care who’s in the hearse next to him.”
I didn’t have the strength to slap the face of the soldier who’d said it.
Henderson confessed what had happened inside the bank right there, to the captain.
Th
e captain lifted his hat and scratched his head. “All the earthquake and fire and death and misery going on in San Francisco right now, and we can’t get away from greed and revenge and cold-blooded murder.” He shook his head. “Sad.”
Will put his hand on my arm, and I leaned into it. “My pa . . .” I whispered.
“Father, tell them. They have to get word to Montana. Free Kula’s father. Tell them.” There was something in Will’s voice; there would be no arguing with him.
“My pa’ll hang,” I said. “He’s only got days. You’ve got to get word there now.”
The officer scratched his head again and nodded. “All right, then. You all come with me.” He looked at Henderson. “I’m afraid you’re under arrest. The law’ll straighten this out one way or the other.”
Henderson’s face was cast down.
We all went to the makeshift police station, one of the remaining mansions commandeered for that purpose. They had telegraph service. I listened as the captain made his report to his senior officer, and that officer took it to the telegraph.
These troops were volunteers who’d just arrived from Montana to help in the city. The officer in charge had been garrisoned in Great Falls. He knew exactly where to send the message. Luck was with me. As much as it mattered now. Within a short time, I knew that my pa was safe, that they would not hang him, but that he’d remain in prison until the new information could be brought to the court. But in the meantime Nat Baker wouldn’t hang for the murder of Mr. Black.
Will came and told me. My pa was safe, and I wouldn’t lose him.
That was when I collapsed, my legs giving way there in the crowded room filled with milling soldiers. It was Will who caught me and carried me to a bunk. There, I turned my face to the wall and wept.
Will didn’t leave me. He sat in a chair next to me and didn’t leave me, even when his own father was taken away in handcuffs.
Hours later, a carriage took Will and me back to the tent where Phillipa Everts, Jameson, and the girls waited. I crawled onto my makeshift bed as Will explained everything to them. I had saved my father. I had lost David. Miss Everts cried out once; Mei Lien sobbed. Will’s voice droned as I drifted into exhausted sleep.