Chapter 9
San Francisco, California
The noise from the nearby gambling halls and saloons on Montgomery Street never quieted.
Whether it was midnight, four in the morning, or one in the afternoon, the sound permeated the canvas walls of Bess’s Place.
In the darkness, it felt louder, and when I opened my eyes the next morning before the sun had risen over California, it was especially raucous.
Thankfully the sound didn’t seem to bother Father, who snored in the large bed, or Hazel and Johnnie, who slept peacefully, still holding hands.
I yawned and quickly dressed in the dim room, conscious of the thin walls separating me from the dangerous outside world.
It was still early, though I wasn’t sure how early.
I couldn’t keep sleeping with everything I’d learned in 1929.
And today, the hotel and restaurant would be in full service again, which meant I would be feeding dozens of men this morning.
I shuddered to think about how that was going to happen.
The food wouldn’t be fancy, that much I knew.
But the first thing I needed was a sponge bath, which I took care of in the small confines of the shared space.
There was a water pitcher and a washcloth, which I used quickly, and a small mirror.
Though it was dim, I could see my reflection enough to pin up my hair.
I hadn’t had the opportunity to clean myself properly since we’d arrived in San Francisco, and though I longed to wash my hair and put on fresh undergarments, this was better than nothing.
I would need to wash our clothes today and give Father and the children a bath, as well.
My to-do list was growing faster by the second, and I had so many questions about accomplishing it.
Johnnie would be little help, and Paddy could answer some questions, but it would take a lot of his energy to communicate with me.
I hated to tire him out with talking, since I could see it was hard for him.
Which left Sam.
I couldn’t even begin to imagine how I’d face him now that I knew we were supposed to be married.
And there was the matter of finding Cole Goodman.
I wasn’t sure what answers he could give me, but I needed to know what Bess had changed and how it had altered things for me.
I was certain my name would not be by Sam’s in The Annals of San Francisco if she hadn’t changed history.
Quietly, I slipped out of the bedroom and stepped into the dark kitchen, almost tripping over Sam, lying on a pallet near the door.
I had to stifle a cry of surprise and step around him.
He stirred and sat up, glancing at me as he did. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, and though the room was shadowed, I could see his muscles ripple with the movement—and the scars that were slashed across his back.
Who had done that to him?
He was a strong and handsome man, but the life he’d led before coming to San Francisco must have been fraught with pain and difficulties.
Compassion wound its way around my heart, though I had to remind myself that he’d spent time in a penal colony for a heinous crime and that he’d probably received the scars from a lashing.
If he had committed a murder, why wasn’t he still at the penal colony?
It left me wondering what else he was capable of doing.
He reached for his shirt. “I didn’t realize you’d be up this early.”
I crossed the room to put a little space between us. “I couldn’t sleep. And I didn’t know you’d be in the kitchen. I—I thought you slept somewhere else.”
“I slept in the shed out back to give Bess—” He paused, as if remembering all over again that she was gone now. “It’s safer for you and the children if I sleep in here.”
He started to put his shirt on. I realized I was staring, so I turned toward the cookstove, though I had no idea what to do with myself.
The silence felt awkward, so I asked, “Where does Paddy sleep?”
“Upstairs with the men to keep things under control. And to make sure no one brings a—” He cleared his throat. “It’s a men’s-only establishment, if you know what I mean.”
“Ah.”
I could hear Sam moving around, probably pulling on his boots and tucking his shirt into his trousers as I stood motionless next to the stove. I was still at a loss for what to do with myself, and the sooner he knew the truth about my cooking abilities—or lack of abilities—the better. “Mr. Kendal—”
“Call me Sam.”
“Oh.” I wasn’t sure how I felt about calling him by his given name. It felt too personal. History might claim we’d be married, but I was determined to keep things as professional as possible.
His footsteps sounded behind me, and I turned, hoping he was dressed, but he’d come so close, I had to press against the cold cookstove.
At least he was clothed.
“I want to apologize for last night.” His British accent was thick, and his voice was low, remorseful. “It’s been a difficult couple of days, and I let my emotions get the better of me. I should never have told you about my past the way I did.”
“Oh,” I said again. I couldn’t help it. I hadn’t expected him to apologize.
Or stand so close.
I held my breath as he reached behind me and grabbed a box of matches off the stove.
“Despite what you must think, I’m not a dangerous man.” His brown eyes were filled with regret as he took a step back. “I don’t want you to be afraid of me.”
My instinct was to tell him I wasn’t—to put his mind at ease—but it wouldn’t be true. I was very afraid of him.
I nodded to acknowledge that I understood, then cleared my throat as I looked down at my hands. “I must tell you—I don’t know how to cook.”
He was quiet for so long, I looked up at his face again. And found he was smiling.
The transformation left me breathless. It made him look like a different person.
“That will be a problem,” he said.
“I—I can learn, though,” I added quickly, trying not to let him upend me. “I’m smart and capable.”
“I’m sure you are.” His smile still warmed his face as he studied me.
It did strange things inside me, so I frowned and pulled back a little more. “What is so funny?”
“Most women know how to cook.”
I lifted my chin. “I’m highly educated. I was a teacher before we came here. Just because I don’t know how to cook doesn’t make me less of a woman.”
“It definitely does not.” His grin broadened. “What I mean is, you’ve had two lives to learn, no? And you didn’t bother in either one? You must really not like it.”
I finally understood the humor he saw in the situation. “I had no need in my other life, either. I really don’t know if I’d enjoy it.”
His smile softened, but there was still humor in his gaze. “You don’t have to eat in the other time you live in?”
“Of course I do, but we had a live-in servant while I was growing up and now my mother does most of the cooking. I’m usually not home until late.”
“When is your other time?” He moved around me to the kindling box and took out some sticks.
I glanced at the bedroom door, and he must have noticed, because he asked, “Don’t they know?”
“No,” I said quietly. “My time-crossing parents are in my other path. I’ve never had a reason to tell Father or Hazel. I’d prefer if you don’t mention it around them. I think it would worry them unnecessarily.”
He nodded and then began to build a fire in the cookstove.
“But it’s in 1929,” I told him in a low voice. “I live in Los Angeles, actually.”
His eyebrows came up as he struck a match. “I imagine it’s quite different in 1929.”
“Very different, though I don’t really know what Los Angeles is like here. In 1929, there are over a million people living there.”
The astonishment on his face made me chuckle. I couldn’t help it. It was fun to talk to someone about my other path.
“I wish I had asked Bess about—what do you call it? Time-crossing?”
“Yes.”
“It would be nice to know where she is right now.”
I nibbled my bottom lip as I watched him start the fire.
I wanted to ask him about Cole and what Bess might have done to change history, but my gut told me to wait.
Despite my reservations, I was enjoying this conversation with Sam, and I didn’t want to ruin it with Cole’s name.
Instead, I said, “It surprises me that you aren’t skeptical about it. ”
“She explained a lot about it to me and proved it by telling me about things that would happen before they did. That’s how I knew she came from a different time in the future.
” His countenance changed as he said, “She never lied to me about anything. I would have trusted her if she had told me she went to the moon.”
It was clear he had loved Bess, though I wasn’t sure if it had been a romantic or brotherly love.
There was a noise in the other room, and then Hazel’s muffled voice filtered into the kitchen as she spoke to Johnnie.
“I’ll teach you how to cook.” He rose from the stove and wiped his hands together.
“I’m not as good as Bess was, but I know how to make biscuits and flapjacks.
I can fry bacon and eggs, and I even know how to make sourdough bread.
My customers aren’t picky.” His smile returned, and he looked younger than before.
“As long as they have a pretty woman to look at, they’ll be happy. ”
My cheeks warmed from his compliment as the fire inside the stove crackled and heat began to radiate off the metal.
“Thank you.”
He nodded once and then said, “I’ll fetch some water. Paddy should be in here soon, and he likes his coffee.”
After Sam left the kitchen, I stood by the cookstove for a heartbeat, wondering at our easy conversation—and what else I would learn about this enigmatic man.