Chapter 8 #2
I paused on the sidewalk, not wanting to pass in front of him.
The person he spoke to looked familiar, and then I realized it was George Cryer, the recent mayor of Los Angeles.
Rumor had it he was influenced by Kent Kane Parrot, a wealthy lawyer who illegally controlled the Los Angeles Police Department and was linked to bootlegging, gambling, and brothels.
It was also said that Mr. Cryer was part of the corrupted Committee, a group of powerful men who oversaw those vices and worked hard to keep federal agents out of Los Angeles.
Spencer shook Mr. Cryer’s hand—and saw me standing there.
His eyebrows came up in surprise. “Ally. What are you doing here?”
If I hadn’t been so shaken up by the information I’d just learned, I would have been more concerned about seeing Spencer with Mayor Cryer. “I was at the library and looking for a cab so I can go home.”
“There’s no need to find a cab. I’ll take you.”
“I don’t want to bother you.” I glanced at his companions, who were all watching me. “It looks like you’re busy.”
“Our meeting just ended.” He nodded at the men and made no move to introduce us as he stepped away from them. “Come on. I’m parked this way.”
They didn’t seem offended at his lack of manners and turned away from us in a tight group, talking.
“Why were you meeting with Mayor Cryer?” I asked.
He took my hand, much like he had the night he brought me to the speakeasy, and led me down the street.
When I looked at our hands with a raised eyebrow, he shrugged and said, “We need to make this relationship look believable, don’t we?
Look over there. A group of tourists have already seen us together.
This is exactly what we want. Besides”—he winked—“I like holding your hand.”
My head believed he was holding my hand for publicity’s sake, but my heart tried to make me think otherwise. And my rational brain realized he’d distracted me from the question I’d asked.
It didn’t take long for us to pull up to my house on Westmoreland Place Road.
Spencer looked out the front window of his Rolls-Royce. A gentle smile warmed his eyes. “You grew up here?”
The vine-covered walls of the house gave it a cottagey look, and the sprawling lawn was green and inviting. “I’ve lived here most of my life.”
“You never moved out?”
“I lived in an apartment with a few other girls for a couple of years, but finances haven’t been good lately.”
“Yeah, L. B. told me all about it. Said your father is on the brink of bankruptcy.”
I didn’t like people talking about Papa that way, but it was the truth and there was no reason to deny it. I noticed an envelope at my feet, so I decided to change the subject.
Leaning down and picking it up, I saw that it was addressed to Mr. Herbert Leeds—his real name—from Mrs. Herbert Leeds, in Chicago, Illinois.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know I was stepping on this.” I handed it to him, but before I let go, I asked, “Is Mrs. Herbert Leeds your wife?”
He gave me a look. “My mother.”
“Oh.”
“She and my aunt, Sherry, write me once a week. I’m sure Aunt Sherry’s letter is in here, too.”
“That’s sweet.”
He sighed and put the envelope in the glove compartment. “Not when they’re disappointed in my life decisions and questioning me about the rumors.”
He hadn’t talked about the scandal between him, Fanny, and Mabel, and I hadn’t asked.
Would he tell me now? Although I wanted to go inside and talk to my parents about what I had learned in The Annals of San Francisco, part of me wanted to talk to Spencer, too.
This was the first time he seemed to let his walls down.
“What happened that night with Fanny and Mabel?”
“Come on.” He closed the glove compartment and opened his car door. “I don’t want your parents thinking we’re sitting out here necking.”
“Spencer Hayes!”
He laughed and jumped out of the car—distracting me from getting the truth out of him again.
After he opened the passenger door, he offered his hand and helped me out of the car. He glanced down at the book and frowned. “You really are serious about learning the history of San Francisco. Why are you so interested in it?”
I couldn’t tell him the truth, so I shrugged. “I like history. And I can be just as evasive as you, though I won’t try to shock you to distract you from getting the truth out of me.”
The corner of his mouth came up as he closed the door and offered his arm to walk me to the house. Despite my reservations, Spencer was growing on me. Knowing he cared about what his mother and aunt thought of him made me realize he wasn’t just a playboy. He was someone’s son and nephew.
And he was starting to become my friend.
We stepped onto the covered porch, and I opened the front door.
Our house was filled with people, and even in the entryway, though everyone was spread out around the house, it was loud.
“Grace, Lydia, and Kathryn are staying with us,” I said as I set the book on the hall table and took off my cloche cap. “Every Sunday, my parents invite Julia and her family to come over for supper. Julia has six children.”
“Six?”
“Annette is the oldest.”
“Six?” he whispered again, eyes wide.
“Ally, is that you?” Mama called from the back of the house, probably in the kitchen.
She and Papa had let go of our hired girl recently, since they could no longer afford to pay her and because modern conveniences had replaced the need for live-in help.
Vacuum cleaners, refrigerators, washing machines, and electric ranges had revolutionized many homes.
“Yes,” I called back. “Spencer and I ran into each other on Hollywood Boulevard, and he brought me home.”
“Spencer!” Within moments, people began to pour out of almost every room.
Lydia and Annette came from the front parlor; Mama, Grace, and Julia came out of the kitchen; Vicky appeared from the dining room, a stack of plates in her hands; and Papa left his home office, Julia’s two youngest children latched onto his legs.
“You’ll stay for supper, won’t you?” Mama asked Spencer as she took his fedora out of his hands and set it on the hall coat-tree.
“It’s good to see you again,” Grace said at the same time.
“We can make space for you.” Vicky smiled. “I’m just setting the table now.”
“Will you run some lines with me?” Lydia asked. “We’ll need to practice the scenes when Laurie and Amy come home from Europe married.”
Their comments overlapped as the little ones cheered in excitement for no reason.
I held up my hand. “Please. One at a time.”
“You’ll stay for supper, Spencer,” Mama said.
“She’s not asking,” Papa told him. “She’s telling.”
Everyone laughed, and Spencer smiled, but I could see that he was uncomfortable with all the activity and being the center of attention. It was strange to see someone so famous and confident on-screen feeling unsure of himself.
“You can help me set the table.” Vicky handed him the stack of plates, not giving him a choice. “Follow me.”
Spencer glanced at me, as if asking for permission. I shrugged and smiled, eager to have time alone with Mama and the others to ask about 1849.
As he left with Vicky, I followed Mama, Julia, and Grace back into the kitchen.
The aroma of roasting chicken permeated the air. A pile of potatoes sat on the worktable in the center, and a bowl of pea pods sat beside it. I was reminded that I had no skills in the kitchen, which would need to be remedied quickly if I was going to cook for Sam’s hotel in the morning.
But that was the least of my worries right now.
Mama, Grace, and Julia resumed their seats at the worktable as Mama asked, “Why didn’t you go with Spencer and Vicky to set the table?”
“I need to talk to you.”
She frowned at the sound of my voice. “Do we need privacy?”
“No. I would like Grace and Julia’s advice, too.”
Julia wasn’t a time-crosser, but she’d heard us talking about it for years. Grace had been a time-crosser, and both of her daughters were time-crossers. They had a wealth of wisdom for me to draw upon, and I would need it now more than ever.
“Start peeling potatoes,” Mama said, handing me a paring knife. “Our minds work better when our hands are busy.”
I took the knife and picked up a potato, but I was too distracted to peel.
“What’s wrong?” Grace asked.
“Does it have something to do with that book you brought in?” Disapproval was on Mama’s face. “It looked like a history book, Ally. Did you go looking for answers?”
“I had to. Bess Kendal changed history, and I want to know why and how. I also wanted to learn more about Sam Kendal, because I’m living and working in his business, and he told me yesterday that he was convicted of killing his brother.”
All three women stopped working and stared at me.
“Did you learn anything helpful from the book?” Julia asked.
“No.”
“What did it say, Ally?” Mama prodded. “You have our attention—and my concern.”
I took a deep breath. “It says that Sam will be killed in a fire on November 3rd and that his wife will die with him. His wife named Ally.”
None of them moved as they continued to stare at me.
“What?” Mama set down her knife and potato.
“Somehow, unless there is another Ally I don’t know about, I am supposed to become his wife in two months and die in a horrible fire with him.” I shook my head. “That can’t possibly be true. I can’t let that happen.”
They were all silent until Grace spoke. “When I lived in 1692, I learned that I was going to accuse my sister, Hope, of witchcraft during the Salem Witch Trials. I knew it couldn’t possibly be true, and I wasn’t going to let it happen, but then a series of events took place and Hope was the one who forced me to accuse her.
I thought history would play out one way, but it completely took me by surprise and played out the other. ”
“What does that mean?” I asked.
“It means that, one, you shouldn’t go looking for answers, because it will do no good.
” Grace’s face was filled with compassion.
“And, two, even if you know what history says, you don’t have all the information.
Only God knows how it will play out, Ally.
You can try to manipulate His plans, but it will only cause more trouble. ”
“So I’m supposed to marry a convicted murderer and allow myself to die in a horrible fire?” My voice had risen a notch, and my pulse was thrumming. “That seems ludicrous. I can’t let that happen.”
“Then you’ll need to forfeit your time there and change history,” Mama said in a matter-of-fact tone.
“What about Father and Hazel? And now I have Bess’s son to care for.”
“You’ll need to come up with a plan to help them before you leave.” Mama picked up her potato again and started to peel. “And pray that your father can care for Hazel. It’s really the only option.”
“I’ll need every possible day to make sure that happens.”
“Then don’t change history sooner than you need to,” Julia advised. “Wait until the very last day.”
“What about marrying Sam Kendal?” Horror filled me at the thought of it. “If that’s supposed to happen before November 3rd, how can I stop it?”
All three women looked at a loss.
“I don’t know,” Mama admitted. “But surely that’s something you can control.
You don’t know when or how it will happen, but you still have free will, Ally.
God won’t force you to marry a horrible man.
Wait and see how things play out. I’m sure He’ll make a way for you and things will make sense after a while. ”
I wasn’t sure I believed her—but I had no other choice.