“Fine.” He sounded hurt. “Whatever you need, Sara. Goodnight.”
Sara stared at her phone. He had hung up! The David she knew was patient, kind, and easygoing. He was her rock. Even-keeled. When did he get hormonal? Was going out for a coffee really such a big deal? Irritated, she got up and headed for the shower. She remembered her mother telling her that the secret to a long-lasting relationship was to never go to bed while still angry at each other. Well, she was angry, and she suspected David was too. In fact, this could very well have been their first fight.
Just like the yoga class, the shower had minimal effect on her turbulent state of mind. Her mom had given sound advice, but life did not always follow such a plan. Although her parents had supposedly never gone to bed angry, in the end, they died in the midst of an argument. Given the chance, she wondered what her mom would have had to say about that.
Chapter 3
It was early in the morning when Sara woke up, soaked in sweat, from another nightmare. Bright lights had been shining in her face, calling her from far away: Sara, Sara, wake up! She had wanted to wake up—so badly—but it had been hard. Breathing had been hard. And painful.
Shaky, she got out of bed, groaning as she stood up. That yoga class had left her with some mean muscle aches. “Thanks, Sid,” she said, making an ugly face. After locating some leftover coffee beans in the freezer, she fixed herself a tolerable brew. The coffee maker was old and clunky compared to the fancy espresso machine David had in his apartment, but she made it work.
The argument with David from last night played through her head. Maybe she should call… But no, he had practically hung up on her! With a stubborn shove, she pushed her phone away. Let him stew for a bit. He deserved to.
In all the turmoil she had completely forgotten to check her email last night. Maybe Jean had responded. She quickly retrieved her laptop and to her excitement she found Jean had kept her promise. There were three attachments.
First, she clicked on the attachment called Alice—the sister of her great-great-grandmother Julia—and cursed softly. The document was filled with neat, but cramped handwriting. Deciphering the thin, small cursive writing would be no easy task. She generously enlarged the document and started reading.
San Francisco
March 1900
My Dear Theresa,
I hope my letter finds you all well and in good spirits. How are John and the two boys? And how are you? I hope you have recovered from your chest cold and are back in your usual strong health.
We are getting on as best we can. The loss of a child is such a heavy burden to carry. After the passing of our precious baby boy last year, we have so been hoping for another. God willing, we will have another chance, and I pray daily for this to happen. Our three girls are a blessing indeed, but a boy would—especially for William—make the family complete.
Ah, family! This brings me to another matter we need to discuss: Julia. No doubt our sister has been a stupid girl, marrying that adventurer with no prospects to speak of, when she could have married any suitable man in the city. With her beauty, and growing up in a city like Washington, D.C., there was no end to the possibilities, if only she had used her head. I still blame Father—or rather, his poor health at the time—interfering with his judgment. I know Edward’s circumstances were initially most excellent, but after his family lost their fortune, the engagement between him and Julia should have ended. It was a poor match. But she always was the stubborn one. Well, I for one am glad I used both my head and my heart in marriage.
I assume you have heard from her, but if not, let me tell you what happened. Edward, the worthless fellow, has taken off. It is rumored he left with another woman, also married. Shameless! He left Julia and little Frederick, and her with another child on the way. Baby George arrived just a few months ago. Fortunately, they are all well. She is resourceful, our Julia, that much is certain.
Let us hope the boys do not take after their father. Julia is destitute, of course, and stuck in that wretched, desolate village somewhere up north in the mountains. I imagine one of us will have to take her in. Since we live closer and are fortunate enough to have sufficient means to provide for her and the boys, I am suggesting she come to us, which is what I said when I wrote her. She could help out with the girls. William is doing well for himself and our house has ample space. I would consider it our duty to make sure these boys do not grow up wild. Maybe this way we can be of some influence on them. I will arrange for their travel, assuming you agree.
My three girls send you their love. Mary and Helena are such sweet and talented girls. Eleonore is a bit temperamental, even at this age. I try to keep my patience; after all, she lost her other half. She may feel his absence as keenly as I do.
My dear Theresa, I look forward to hearing from you, as always.
With love,
Alice
Sara rubbed her eyes; Alice’s penmanship left much to be desired. She wondered how Theresa had ever managed to read this letter without a computer to assist her. Still, it was very interesting. Alice had mentioned a “wretched, desolate village in the mountains,” the coincidence of which did not escape Sara. It was Dunnhill, the same place she had just come from. She knew her great-grandfather George had been born there—how strange to think this letter was written around that time. Poor Julia, Sara thought. What a time to live as a single mom...
It sounded like Julia had married without the entire family’s blessing—Alice, or perhaps both her sisters, had not approved of Edward. Edward, who initially was wealthy, but then went bankrupt. Maybe that was why Julia and Edward had moved from the East Coast to Dunnhill—mining for gold could have seemed like a quick way to make a buck. The Pacific coast was the land of opportunity back then. Nonetheless it seemed quite a daring move to Sara, who did not think she could ever be that bold.
Eager to read more, she opened the second attachment: Julia’s first letter. Immediately her screen filled up with bold, elegant handwriting. This one would be a whole lot easier to read, she thought with relief. An actual letter from her great-great-grandmother! She quickly scanned the words.
San Francisco
June 1900
My Dear Theresa,
First, we have arrived safely in San Francisco. Do not worry about the boys or me; we are fine! I am very grateful to Alice and William for offering a helping hand in our less than fortunate situation.
You asked me for news, so I will tell you how we are faring here. San Francisco is quite a different place from Washington, D.C., I must say. It is a bustling city, very exciting indeed. The Paris of the West. Would you know, there have been reports of the plague here recently? So far, it has been confined to Chinatown, which has been quarantined. William says there is nothing to worry about here on Nob Hill. I hope he is right.
The house is beautiful. William is doing well for himself. I am glad Alice seems happy. She is still struggling with grief over the loss of their poor baby boy, I can tell. She refuses to hold little George. He is such a good baby. I try to keep him quiet, because his crying upsets her. Alice’s girls are delightful, Theresa—you would love them. I feel so blessed to be able to spend time with them. The youngest, Eleonore, is only fifteen months old, but a busy girl! She has our mother’s looks—red hair and deep-blue eyes.
Frederick is adjusting well, but he misses his father, as do I. I don’t care what you or Alice may think about Edward; in my memories, he will always be the love of my life, and a good man. There, I will stop now; I will not bore you with my inner struggles, since both you and Alice did warn me, as did Father. All that is left for me now are my boys, and I will take care of them as well as I can.
With love,
Julia
Sara sighed wistfully. Her great-great-grandmother had not stopped loving her husband, despite everything. Julia sounded wonderful; if only she could have known her. What a time to live in, though. A shudder ran through her body as she thought of the plague. The past seemed like a different planet.
She moved on to the third attachment, Julia’s second letter.
San Francisco
November 1900
My Dear Theresa,
I hope my letter finds you and the family well. Let me bring you some good news. Alice is with child again. She is delighted, as are we all. I know they are hoping for a boy. The loss of their first baby boy was so harsh on her. I sometimes think she blames Eleonore, although the poor child had nothing to do with it, of course, other than being his twin sister. They are so delicate the first year; every cough frightens me.
Eleonore is such a wonderful child, so kind, and with an incredibly cheerful disposition. But she does tend to run into trouble at times; she is my little mischievous one! The other girls are much better behaved. I am sure that, if they should have another boy, things would improve.
We have settled in well here in San Francisco. Alice and William try hard to make us feel at home. The city is vibrant and just a little bit scandalous! I must say I like it. Some parts are not so savory, however, and it is best to avoid them. William is very busy with work and stays out many nights. It is probably better that way, although it seems like such a long time ago now when I confided in you about those regrettable words that passed between him and me.
Alice seems not to mind him being gone often and spends most of her time attending luncheons and other social gatherings. I spend most of my time with the girls and my boys, which is what I enjoy best.
With love,
Julia
And that was it. No more letters to read. Reluctantly Sara closed the attachment. Good news for Alice and William, then. It would be interesting to find out if they ever had that little boy. What a pity there weren't more letters; she was dying to find out what happened to Julia and Alice. The three sisters had lived in incredible times, with so many changes happening. Great discoveries had been made—electricity, and the invention of the telephone. But even so, women struggled for the most basic rights, and inequality was rampant. Life was very different then, and yet Julia did not seem too different from Sara herself.
She finished her coffee, while pondering what life would have been like in the early 1900s. The old coffee beans did a mediocre job at making the haziness retreat from her brain. The city was beckoning, as was the thought of breakfast. Craving more caffeine, she went into the Peet’s across the street. As she stood in line, scrolling on her phone, a voice close to her said, “You know, smartphones really prevent people from having meaningful social interactions with each other. Like the face-to-face kind.”
Sara looked up, recognizing the accent. It was Sid, who was apparently not in possession of a coffee maker and seemed to have just rolled out of bed, man-bun and all. “What can I say,” she said, keeping the surprise out of her voice, “I’m a product of my time. Are you stalking me?”
“No. I needed coffee.” He rubbed his eyes.
“Ah.”
“But now,” he said, looking like he’d just had a Eureka moment, “if you have nothing going on today, we could hang out together!”
“Someone save me! You are stalking me,” Sara said, exasperated.
“No, I wasn’t, I promise. Just here for coffee. But it’s Saturday. I don’t have to work. I could show you the city.”
“I know the city. I used to live here, remember?”
“True. Maybe you can show me the city?” His smile was irresistible.
“You are impossible.” Sara shook her head.
Sid looked sideways, pouting his lips. “I believe there’s a compliment in there somewhere?” He nudged her. “You’re going to love it. I’m fun to hang out with.”
“Right. And humble too. Shouldn’t you get dressed first?”
He actually looked offended. “I am dressed. This is my weekend attire. It’s your turn, by the way.” He pointed to the counter.
While ordering, Sara wondered how the hell she had gotten suckered into spending the day with a guy who looked like he was dressed in his PJs. Annoyed with herself, she ordered a big blueberry muffin to take the edge off. At least she couldn’t talk while eating.
Sid grimaced at the muffin. Shaking his head, he said, “I can feel my arteries clogging up just looking at it.”
“My arteries are fine. I think.” Sara shrugged, took a big bite, and replied with a muffled, “I’m hungry.”
“Well, you’re lucky, I guess. It doesn’t seem to affect you much.” Sid blatantly looked her up and down.
“Really? Get a hold of yourself, will you?” Sara frowned, wiping her mouth with her sleeve. “It’s my Scandinavian genes. My father was six foot four and skinny as a rail. He was Swedish.” Her eyes stung, and she quickly looked away.
If Sid noticed it, he didn’t let on. He collected his coffee and together they wandered back outside. “Swedish, huh? You look Swedish, sort of.”
This was true. With her blond hair, tall frame, and blue eyes, Sara looked the stereotype. Truth be told, she would rather have looked more like her mother, who was petite, with red hair and tiny freckles, and born with the grace of a professional ballerina. Instead, Sara was lanky like her father, with the same lack of control over her lower extremities.
“Do you speak the language?” Sid asked.
“We spent some summers there, while my grandparents were still alive. But I was very young, and my mom never learned to speak it properly. My parents mostly conversed in English. I know some words…”
“Pity. Swedish is kind of sexy.” Sid grinned at Sara’s eye roll. “I grew up in San Diego, mostly. We lived in Hong Kong and Singapore for some years, and I do speak fluent Mandarin. But I spent most summers in England, with my mum’s family. And every Christmas in Ohio, with my dad’s.”
Quite the childhood, Sara thought. He’d been all over. “Those places are pretty different from each other, I’d imagine. Which one do you prefer? Hong Kong, England, or Ohio?”
“San Diego,” Sid said dryly.
Sara laughed in spite of herself. Sid wasn’t so bad, really.
They walked down to Chrissy Field. In the distance, the red Golden Gate Bridge stood out against the blue sky. A faint whiff of salt penetrated the air, brought in on a mild breeze from the bay. Despite the early hour, there were already many people around—running, biking, walking their dogs, or otherwise enjoying the stretch of wetland within the city. It was one of Sara’s favorite spots to hang out—a place of quiet reflection, without being too quiet. Sounds of the slushing water, screaming seagulls, barking dogs, and muffled voices carried on the wind. She took a deep breath, enjoying the peace.
“Whoa! Watch out!” Sid roughly pulled her toward him.
“What the—” she yelled, angry at Sid for disturbing her morning bliss and making her spill her coffee. A group of bicyclists whizzed by. Engrossed in her surroundings, she had failed to pay attention to the “On your left!” shouted from behind. “Oh. Thank you, I guess,” she said, a little flummoxed.
“Don’t mention it—I just saved your life, that’s all.”
“Whatever. For your information, I’ve never managed to actually kill myself, despite many accidental attempts over the years, so I’m pretty sure I would’ve survived this one as well.”
“That’s reassuring.” He pointed to a bench near the water. “Let’s sit down. That way I don’t have to worry about you hurting yourself, and I can actually enjoy the last bit of my coffee.”
Sara snorted, but followed him to the bench.
“I was thinking we could visit the Museum of Modern Art. But it’s up to you. What do you want to do today?” Sid asked.
Sara thought about that, briefly contemplating what it would be like to date a man who liked museums. But she wasn’t in the mood for discussing art. “I was wondering,” she said, “if there’s an old cemetery we can visit. Like from the turn of the century—I mean early 1900s.”
“That sounds… interesting. I don’t think I’ve ever had a girl ask me to go visit a cemetery as a date.”
�
�This is not a date. I have a boyfriend, remember?”
“So you mentioned. I haven’t seen him show up yet, though. Have you told him you’re hanging out with me?”
“I told him we had coffee,” Sara said defiantly. “And he trusts me.”
“Does he? He must be very confident. I wouldn’t let a guy—who’s obviously interested in my girlfriend—hang out with her without letting him know I’m watching him. And I would wonder,” he said, waggling his eyebrows up and down, “why my girlfriend would want to hang out with another guy—again, a guy who’s obviously interested in her.”
Sara blushed. “It’s none of your business, really. Besides, I have no one else to hang out with. Can we get back to the cemetery?”
Sid rolled his eyes. “Sure, I love talking about dead people.”
She elbowed him, hard. “I’m looking for my great-great-grandmother. Her grave, I mean. Supposedly she died in 1906. I found some letters she wrote, and now I’m curious to learn more.”
“1906. There’s a year for you. Did she die in the earthquake? If that’s the case, I don’t know if you’ll find a grave.”
“I don’t know how she died. What did they do with the bodies?”
“Don’t know. But I do know there’s no cemetery like the one you’re looking for here in San Francisco.”
“Huh?”
“Yep. The San Franciscans decided at some point that they didn’t want any more cemeteries within their city borders, and the existing ones were getting full. So, get this: they moved them in the early 1900s. To Colma.”
Sara tried to ignore Sid’s smug look. “Colma? Where’s that?”
“South, just past Daly City.” His voice dropped to a spooky whisper. “They call it the City of Souls.”
“Oh, stop it.” Despite having made light of it, she made a mental note not to visit Colma—ever. That would lead to nothing but trouble.
“There’s also a cemetery in Oakland,” said Sid. “Never been there. But it’s old.”
“And how did you become a cemetery expert?”
A Dose of Deadly Intentions Page 3