Chapter 19
Middle Yuba River, California
My thoughts were on Spencer as Sam and I made our way down the mountain.
Knowing that Spencer was a gangster out of Chicago changed everything I thought about him.
Why had I not realized who he really was or what his meetings had been about?
I felt foolish and na?ve—and unwilling to go with him anywhere else that might compromise my safety or reputation.
What would my parents do if they knew who he really was?
Would they call off the agreement? I couldn’t let that happen this close to the end of filming, so I would still be obligated to spend five evenings a week with him.
But those dates would be on my terms now, and more importantly, I wouldn’t let him hurt Vicky.
I had so many other questions and wanted to know how deep his involvement with the Chicago gangsters went. Had he come to California to be their liaison with Hollywood? Was he running alcohol illegally? Supplying the gambling ships?
“You’re deep in thought,” Sam said as we walked side by side down the trail, leading our pack mules by ropes.
Four hundred pounds of gold was a lot for the mules to carry, but we had separated it between the two animals, and Sam assured me they could handle the weight.
It meant that we couldn’t ride them back to Marysville.
The trek through the Sierra Nevada Mountains had been arduous while riding the mules, but on foot, it was even worse.
We tried to stick to an Indian trail. Unfortunately, in most places there was no predetermined path, and there were rocks, briars, and snakes to contend with.
“I have a lot on my mind.”
“From your other life or this one?”
“Both.”
He didn’t press for answers or demand that I explain.
Instead, he walked silently beside me. I knew he’d listen if I wanted him to, but I wasn’t sure what I could say about Spencer.
I didn’t want to let on that I had thought I had a crush on him—a word that didn’t even exist in that sense in 1849—or that Spencer had misled me and my family.
And I didn’t want to tell Sam about the kiss. I wasn’t sure why, but I felt like I had betrayed him in some way.
By noon, my back ached, my muscles burned, and my feet had blisters.
It was a cool and cloudy day, and rain threatened as wind pushed dirt against us.
I wanted to complain, but the reason we were walking was because the mules were laden with gold.
I couldn’t whine about that, nor did I want Sam to think less of me.
Part of me wanted to prove I was strong enough for this wild and untamed land.
I liked to see approval in his gaze as he watched me contend with the river and the gold and the harsh conditions.
His good opinion of me mattered more than it should.
My foot slipped on a jagged rock, and I winced, sucking in a breath at the pain from my blisters, not wanting to cry out or draw Sam’s attention.
He was leading us, but he turned, concern on his face. “Did you hurt yourself?”
“I’m fine,” I said, trying not to let the pain show in my voice or face.
“We can rest, Ally. There’s no need to push ourselves.”
“I promised you that we’d only be gone from San Francisco for three weeks, and we’ve already been gone for two. It will take us a week to get back. I don’t want to make us late.”
He pulled his animal to a stop. “I’m not concerned about getting back in time if it means that you will suffer. I’d be a month late if I had to.” He walked closer to me, the rope allowing him some leeway. “Are you in pain?”
I knew if I said yes, he’d stop and make camp. But the longer we stayed in the mountains, the longer we were at the mercy of robbers and thieves. “I’m fine. I just slipped on a rock, and it surprised me.”
He studied me as if he didn’t believe me, then shook his head. “If you’re lying to me—”
“What would you do?” I asked with a teasing smile.
He also smiled, and it caused butterflies to fill my stomach.
It wasn’t just because he was handsome, but because he was Sam.
I couldn’t describe it, but there was something about him that was unique and special.
Perhaps it was because the more I learned about him, the more I discovered that he was a man of integrity, faith, and justice.
Each time something hard was thrown at him, he didn’t let it break him.
He was more noble than anyone I’d ever met.
And when he smiled at me, when his full attention was directed solely toward me, I felt like the most important person in the world. That a man as good and honorable as Sam found something desirable in me meant more than all the accolades of screaming fans in 1929.
“I’d throw you over my shoulder and haul you out of these mountains if I found out you were lying.”
My lips twitched as I said, “I’d like to see you try.”
“Don’t tempt me, Miss Adams.”
We kept walking, and I had to force myself not to cry out in pain or let on that I was hurting. When we stopped for a quick lunch to allow the mules to eat and drink from the nearby river, I tried not to limp and sat on a fallen log as we ate our beans.
Soon we were back on the trail, and it was wide enough to walk side by side again.
Though the mountains were wild, they were also beautiful. And even though I was in pain, I still loved being there with Sam. Sometimes we spoke, and sometimes we were silent.
It was in the silence that I realized how comfortable I had become with him over the last two weeks.
We were familiar with each other’s habits, moods, and preferences.
More importantly, I’d learned about his character.
It shone through in moments of difficulty and uncertainty, just as it did during the lighthearted, easy times.
“What did you do before—” I paused, not knowing how I should word my question but deciding that being frank was the best approach—“before you were sent to Australia?”
“You mean for work?”
“Yes.”
“I was studying at the Inns of Court in London, apprenticing to become a barrister.”
His response surprised me, but it shouldn’t have. Sam was an intelligent man, and the law would suit him. “Have you thought about returning to that profession?”
He glanced at me. “Practice law in San Francisco?”
“Why not?”
Sam chuckled, but it wasn’t a mirthful sound. “Who would want me to represent them in a court of law?”
“I would.”
“A man needs to be respected to be a barrister, and the people of San Francisco see me as nothing more than a hardened criminal.”
“Because you won’t let them forget. And you won’t let yourself forget, either.”
He was quiet for a long time as we walked. Finally, he said, “It’s not something you can easily forget.”
“But it’s not even true, Sam. You’re not a criminal, and the sooner you stop identifying as one, the sooner others will see you for who you really are. There are so many people coming into San Francisco each day. They only know who you are because of who you say you are.”
“What about the others who already know?”
“They’ll soon forget or move on. Besides”—I stepped over a sharp looking rock—“your character is the most important determiner of your reputation. If you let people in, let them know the real Sam Kendal, they will have no choice but to like you and trust you.”
He walked next to me, one hand holding the lead rope and the other hanging at his side. He brushed my hand with his, and when I looked up at him, his smile lit up his face. “Do you like me?”
My traitorous heart flipped inside my chest, and my knees suddenly felt weak at the look in his eyes—and the truth in my heart. “Yes. Very much.”
“And you trust me?”
“I wouldn’t be here alone with you if I didn’t.”
His countenance lifted as if I’d just told him the best news he’d ever heard. “How beautiful upon the mountains are the feet of those who bring glad tidings of good things,” he paraphrased from the book of Isaiah.
I laughed. “If you could see my feet right now, you would know how wrong you are.”
He laughed, too, as he shook his head, but then he quieted. His hand brushed against mine again. “You are beautiful, Ally, and your words mean a lot to me.”
Pleasure ran up the length of my arm from his touch, and despite the dangerous and demanding nature of our journey, I didn’t want it to end. I loved this quiet time with him, learning new things about his past and his hopes for the future.
Vicky’s words returned to me from the day before. Was I falling for Sam Kendal? I hadn’t even let myself imagine such a thing because it had been too dangerous to think about. The Sam I had known before we left San Francisco and the Sam I knew now were two different men.
This Sam I could see myself falling for.
“I don’t know if I want to be a barrister anymore,” he said, thankfully breaking into my thoughts with a safer topic.
“I like the idea of owning my hotel and possibly other businesses.” He let his gaze wander over the mountains.
“I kind of like the idea of settling new territory, too, of building a town and watching it grow. Having a comfortable cabin in the woods, away from the busyness of the city.”
“I like that idea, too.”
His gaze found mine, and I finally accepted what Father had warned me about.
Sam was falling, too.
By the time we made camp that evening along the banks of the Yuba River, my feet were numb from the pain.
We had passed two miners heading up the mountain earlier in the day, and since I had learned that William Downie wouldn’t make his way to Downieville until October 6th, I suspected he was not one of them.
We’d been friendly but not engaging as the men had asked us where we’d been and if we knew of any good places to look for gold.