Читать книгу Through the Shadows - Karen Barnett - Страница 9

Chapter 2

2

Elizabeth hurried up City Hall’s marble steps after her friend. The church bells tolled, echoing down the busy street. “We’re going to be late.”

The cascading flowers on Lillian’s hat jounced as she climbed. “If you’d met me at six like I asked, we’d have had plenty of time. Tell me more about this attorney fellow. Was he handsome?”

“He was insufferable. A pompous, overdressed stuffed shirt—like those Brookstone Academy boys who lived to quote Sophocles and Euripides.”

Lillian smiled. “I nearly married one of those boys, remember?”

Elizabeth reached for the ornate brass handle, pulling open the heavy door. “Temporary blindness. You eventually came to your senses.”

Her friend cocked a pale eyebrow as she stepped through the doorway. “And hasn’t anyone turned your head? You haven’t had time for me in months. I’d assumed some special fellow consumed all your attentions.”

A wave of heat washed over Elizabeth, and she lifted a hand to her cheek. If anyone—even Lillian—guessed her indiscretion, she’d never survive the gossip and disgrace. This secret was between her and God, assuming she could gather the courage to speak to Him about it. Elizabeth followed her friend through the entrance, careful to keep her skirt out of the way. “I’ve decided men aren’t worth the trouble. Who’s speaking tonight?”

A few well-dressed women stood in the marble-lined vestibule, lingering outside the door of the meeting room. The sound of children singing floated out into the hall. Elizabeth stopped in her tracks.

“About that . . .” Lillian grasped Elizabeth’s hand and pulled her toward the assembly hall. “The orator is Miss Donaldina Cameron from San Francisco’s Presbyterian Mission Home. I heard her speak in Oakland last June.”

“Mission? I thought this was a Stanton Club meeting.” Elizabeth’s skin crawled. “You didn’t tell me this was a church event.”

“Miss Cameron works with girls rescued from slavery in Chinatown. Their stories will break your heart. Come on.” Lillian gave her a knowing glance. “You can’t even walk by a street urchin without sharing your coins.”

Elizabeth’s feet dragged across the tile floor. She couldn’t face a missionary. Not now. But the music—and Lillian’s expectations—pulled her forward. Elizabeth smoothed a hand across her skirt, trying to ignore the perspiration dampening her palms. No one knows.

Few openings remained in the packed room. Lillian guided her down the side aisle to a couple of empty spots near the front.

Three Chinese girls stood on the platform, their smooth hair shining under the electric lights. Their gentle voices rose and fell to the tune of “Safe in the Arms of Jesus.” Elizabeth couldn’t resist smiling at the sight of the smallest girl—perhaps only six or seven—her embroidered red tunic making her resemble a bright peony.

Elizabeth sidled past knees and feet, taking care not to tromp on anyone’s toes, and tucked into her seat with a sigh. A woman’s massive Gibson Girl hairstyle blocked most of Elizabeth’s view. Ridiculous. If she tips her head, she’ll fall over. Her sister Ruby often styled her red curls in such magnificent updos, but Elizabeth preferred to maintain a sleek knot at the back of her head. It seemed silly to spend hours on one’s hair when there were so many other things to do.

The girls sang two more hymns, their voices as pure as garden wind chimes. The littlest one stepped forward, a wide smile brightening her round face. After a nod from the woman at the back of the platform, the child folded her hands and began to sing. Elizabeth leaned forward, her fingers twitching as she contemplated an arrangement on the piano.

I’m but a stranger here, Heaven is my home;

Earth is a desert drear, Heaven is my home;

Danger and sorrow stand, round me on every hand;

Heaven is my fatherland, Heaven is my home.

Elizabeth and Lillian joined in the applause as the girls returned to their seats. Elizabeth edged a few inches to the side to get a better view of the tall, thin woman taking the podium, her hair glinting like Mother’s best silver.

“No truer words have been sung.” A hint of a Scottish brogue colored the woman’s words. “Yoke Soo and her twin sister came to our shores at the tender age of four, but within hours the children were on the auction block. Yoke Soo began her life in America as a Mui Tsai—servant child.”

The poor little dear. Elizabeth studied the people in front of her. Two seats down, she couldn’t help but admire a muscular set of shoulders, clad in an elegant suit. The man’s light brown hair seemed familiar. When he turned to speak to the woman on his left, Elizabeth’s breath caught in her chest. Charles McKinley? She’d assumed the young attorney would be visiting with another client, not attending a public meeting. Would she never be free of the man? Elizabeth shrank down in her seat, no longer caring whether she could see the platform.

The woman at the podium expounded on the girl’s heartbreaking story, but the words failed to penetrate Elizabeth’s dour mood. The lady ahead of her leaned past her neighbor to whisper to Mr. McKinley. His head turned, the profile unmistakable.

Elizabeth pressed a handkerchief to her eyes. With any luck, she wouldn’t be recognized.

Lillian patted her sleeve. “I knew you’d be moved.”

Elizabeth ducked as the attorney glanced back. Perhaps I should leave. She peered down the long row, but a gauntlet of legs and feet prepared to make trouble for anyone who passed. Elizabeth leaned back against the chair. Trapped.

After a few minutes, she relaxed, turning her focus to the missionary’s stories. The images of beatings, neglect, and hard work pressed on Elizabeth’s lungs. Was she truly speaking of the little child who’d just sung like an angel?

Miss Cameron leaned forward, her eyes scanning the audience. “As tragic as this sounds, Yoke Soo had a more daunting problem ahead. After years of servitude, her master would likely sell her again—this time to a house of ill-repute.”

The woman with the enormous hair rose, dabbing her cheeks with a silk handkerchief. Excusing herself, she made her way down the long row of seats and slipped out to the back of the room.

Elizabeth straightened. At last, she could see the stage. She willed Mr. McKinley to remain facing forward.

“A kindly neighbor intervened, rescuing the child and delivering her to the Mission.” Miss Cameron’s gaze lowered, her voice growing husky. “Her sister was not as fortunate.”

Elizabeth swallowed. These girls had suffered more than she, and yet they were innocent of their pain. Could she claim the same for herself? Unlikely.

The missionary’s voice rose, echoing through the packed room. “This is why I plead with you, good people of Sacramento, to support the Mission’s efforts to remove these girls from the clutches of man’s carnal desires. With your help, we can bring these children out of darkness and into the light of Christ’s love.”

Elizabeth pressed her hands into her lap, squeezing herself into as narrow a space as possible. Man’s carnal desires. The words clutched at her throat like so many tangled threads.

A woman near the front stood. “The little ones, of course. But what of the older girls? Do you bring the prostitutes in with the young children?”

The crowd murmured, all eyes returning to the podium.

Miss Cameron nodded. “We are all God’s children. None have fallen so far as to be unredeemable by His love and sacrifice on the cross.”

“What do you do with them once they’ve been rescued?” The woman persisted in her questions.

“We see to our daughters’ needs—spiritual, physical, emotional, and intellectual. Right now one of our biggest needs is for teachers at our school. We want good women such as yourselves to come and work with our girls. Teach them English, sewing, cooking, reading, writing, and music.”

“Music? What good is music?”

Miss Cameron lifted a hand and gestured to the girls sitting in the front row. “You heard the children sing. Chains bind the body, but music sets the heart free.”

As Miss Cameron continued her speech, tears stung at Elizabeth’s eyes. She stared down at her smooth, even nails, remembering the feel of the ivory beneath her fingertips. She’d hardly played in weeks. Not since she’d cast Tobias out of her life. He’d taken her heart. Her music. Would it ever return?

She lifted her head and studied the elegant woman at the lectern. Miss Cameron leaned forward, the energy of her plea flooding through the crowd. Her stories continued, telling the tales of one girl after another.

Elizabeth’s chest burned, like she’d swallowed an ember from the stove and it scorched its way through her. Could this make up for what she’d done?

The speaker lifted her hands, gesturing to the audience. “What will you do to help our girls? Will you shake your heads and go back to your comfortable homes? Or will you commit yourself to the Lord’s work? He’s calling you. How will you answer?”

A ripple coursed through Elizabeth’s body as she met the missionary’s gaze. If I do this, God, will You forgive me?

***

Charles stretched his back after an hour of sitting on the wooden chair. The crowd filtered out of the room, dozens of conversations buzzing around him. He glanced toward the front where Miss Donaldina Cameron stood surrounded by well-wishers. He’d heard about her work and hoped to have the opportunity to meet her in person. Discovering her engagement in Sacramento the same evening he happened to be in town had been fortuitous, indeed.

He shuffled into the aisle in time to see a young woman in a dark blue dress hurry toward the back of the room. She cast a quick glance over her shoulder, eyes widening as she met his gaze.

Elizabeth King? Had she been so close this entire time? Funny, he should’ve felt those blue eyes boring holes in his spine. He shook himself and turned the opposite direction. Another encounter with the outspoken young woman would not be high on his list of desirable activities. Charles nodded at two elderly gentlemen as he eased his way toward the front.

Miss Cameron smiled and shook the hand of a portly woman dressed in yellow silk before turning toward Charles.

He cleared his throat. “Miss Cameron, it’s an honor to meet you. My name is Charles McKinley, of San Francisco. My law professor, Elmer Davis, speaks highly of your work.”

A smile spread across the missionary’s face. “Does he now? Did he tell you he volunteered as a legal advisor to the Mission back when I first arrived? I asked so many questions, he’d run when he saw me coming.”

Charles chuckled. “Professor Davis did mention you had a keen mind and a great aptitude for law.”

The youngest child came up beside Miss Cameron and took her hand.

Miss Cameron pulled the girl close to her side. “One must if they are to succeed in keeping these children safe. It is the law which protects them.”

“And in some ways, the laws have created the problem—am I right? Wouldn’t you say the Exclusion Act is partially to blame?” Charles smiled as the dark-eyed little girl stared up at him. How many stories—and secrets—those eyes contained.

“Halting immigration has made the situation more difficult. There simply aren’t enough brides to go around. But I cannot let these children pay the price of politics.”

“Of course. No woman should be forced into such work. Especially ones so young.” He forced himself to meet Miss Cameron’s steely gaze, as he couldn’t bear to look at the little girl again. “But don’t you think our efforts should be focused on changing the laws creating the issue, rather than merely treating the symptoms of the problem?”

Miss Cameron laid her hand on the child’s shoulder. “We must do both, Mr. McKinley, and I pray men like you will take up the challenge.”

Charles’s pulse quickened. “I hope to try one day. That issue, among others.”

“Then I will be certain to keep an eye on you. You should come visit our Mission Home. I can show you firsthand the work we do.”

“I’d be honored. Thank you.”

“McKinley . . .” The missionary tipped her head as she studied him. “Are you related to the late president by chance?”

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. How many times had he answered the question during his law studies? “No, I’m afraid not.”

Miss Cameron cupped her hand against the girl’s hair as the child burrowed against her side. “I should be going. I need to get the girls to bed—we’re staying with the minister’s family—and then I have business to attend to later this evening.”

“Business?” An inkling grew in the back of Charles’s mind. “Do you mean a rescue? Here in Sacramento?”

“The problem is not isolated to San Francisco, Mr. McKinley. Whenever I travel, I receive pleas from girls in the local communities. How can I refuse to render aid?” She laid one hand on her hip. “And though some would counsel me to focus on politics, I cannot refuse the call God has placed on my life. Where He leads me, I will go.”

Where He leads me . . . Charles pondered the words as he walked Miss Cameron and her young charge to the back of the room to meet the other girls. Had God placed this burning desire in his heart, as well?

***

Elizabeth lingered by a potted palm in the outer hall, nibbling at a hangnail. She’d sent Lillian home with another friend in hopes of speaking to the missionary alone. The assembly hall emptied, the shuffle of footsteps falling silent, but still Mr. McKinley monopolized Miss Cameron’s attention.

Elizabeth pressed a hand to her trembling midsection. Perhaps she should go home and think about this. Pray about it, Papa would say. Her throat tightened. If she waited, she’d lose her nerve. Her father had also encouraged them to live for God and to serve their fellow man. She’d failed on the first part; perhaps she could redeem herself in the second.

The voices grew louder as Miss Cameron and Mr. McKinley approached the doorway. Elizabeth steeled herself, her back as taut as piano wire. She stepped out of the shadows and into their path.

Mr. McKinley’s eyes widened. “Miss King—I didn’t know you were still here. Did you need something else?”

She forced herself to meet his eyes, however briefly. “I’d like a word with Miss Cameron, if she has a moment.” Elizabeth turned to the dignified woman, the missionary’s plumed hat making her appear even taller than the young attorney.

The oldest of the Chinese girls took the hands of the two smallest and led them to a nearby bench.

The lawyer gestured to Elizabeth. “Miss Cameron, allow me to present Miss Elizabeth King. She’s the daughter of one of my clients. I was . . . delighted . . . to encounter her here this evening.”

Miss Cameron took Elizabeth’s hand and shook it warmly. “A pleasure, Miss King.”

“Actually, we’ve met before.” A fluttering took up residence in Elizabeth’s stomach. “In San Francisco—last year, at my brother’s wedding.” Elizabeth spotted confusion in the woman’s eyes. “Dr. Robert King and his wife, Abby?”

Miss Cameron’s face brightened like a gas lamp turned on high. “Abby and Robert, of course! Abby is a dear friend to the Mission. I’m afraid I was unable to stay long enough to make everyone’s acquaintance that day. You’re Robert’s sister? And Ruby’s?”

“Yes.” Elizabeth swallowed, her throat as dry as day-old toast. Was she really going to do this here, in front of Silas McKinley’s nephew? She reached deep within, drawing from a well of inner strength she’d thought lost months before. “I was quite moved by your words—your stories.” She cleared her throat in a vain attempt to steady her voice, “If you were sincere about needing teachers, I’d like to offer my services.”

Mr. McKinley’s jaw dropped.

A wide smile crossed Miss Cameron’s face. “I was in earnest. Our English teacher recently left to marry one of the trustees, and we’ve been without a sewing or music instructor for far too long. What subject interests you?”

Not music. Elizabeth bit her lip. “I graduated from one of the finest schools in Sacramento, but I do not hold a teaching certificate.”

“Our girls don’t care about such formalities. What matters is the heart.”

“I took high marks in English and composition. And I’m told I sew quite well. My sister Ruby taught me everything I know. She’s the truly gifted one.”

Miss Cameron touched the lace trimming Elizabeth’s sleeve. “Did you make this? It’s exquisite.”

Elizabeth glanced down at her dress, the blue silk gleaming under the light. “Yes. I make all of my own clothes.”

Miss Cameron lowered her satchel to the floor. “What of your family? Would they object to your leaving Sacramento, Miss King? And are you . . . attached to anyone here?” The missionary glanced between her and Mr. McKinley. “Pardon me for being indiscreet, but I do not wish to hire another teacher only to lose her in a few months.”

Mr. McKinley stepped back, as if Miss Cameron’s implication caught him off guard.

A sour taste rushed into Elizabeth’s mouth. “No. I am not attached.” Most certainly not to this cretin. “And I am the youngest of seven children. All of my siblings are grown and married with families of their own. My mother is quite busy with charity fundraisers, and I believe she would be relieved to see me otherwise occupied. As you already know, two of my siblings reside in San Francisco, so I am familiar with the city.”

“And your father?”

A shade dropped over Elizabeth’s heart. “He passed when I was young. But he taught me the importance of doing good and putting others’ needs before my own.” If only she’d clung to that. She set her jaw. I’ll make you proud yet, Papa.

Mr. McKinley nodded. “Miss King’s father was a well-respected physician. I’m told he often donated his time to help the city’s underprivileged.”

“It seems he passed a legacy to his children.” Miss Cameron’s brows rose as she focused on Elizabeth. “Your brother treated one of my girls after she had a mishap with a cable car, even though his hospital refuses Chinese patients.” She adjusted her hat, resetting the pearl-topped pin holding it in place. “It appears the Mission may have more reasons to be indebted to the King family in the near future.”

Elizabeth’s spirits lifted like a leaf swirled on an updraft. “I can come?”

“I’ll need to speak to the board, but I don’t expect any objections. How soon could you start?”

Elizabeth dug her fingers into the folds of her skirt to keep from clapping her hands like a child. “As soon as you have need of me.”