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Thorne answered, “Yes, thanks.”
That brought a demure laugh from Charity. “I was talking to my short friend here. I’ll gladly ladle some over your potatoes, too, if you’d like.”
“I think I can handle it myself,” Thorne said with a lopsided grin. “But thank you for offering.”
“You’re quite welcome.” She began to cut the slab of roast beef on her plate, then paused. “This piece is very tender. May I give him a little of it?”
“Of course. He doesn’t like much, though. And cut it into very small bites.”
“Believe it or not, I know how to feed a child.”
“We should be doing that,” Naomi said from across the table. “If you want to send him over, he can sit on my lap and eat from my plate.”
Judging by the firm way the boy was grasping his fork and leaning his chin on the edge of the table, Thorne knew that Naomi’s suggestion was not to his liking. “He’s fine where he is. A little variety is good for him. And I promise we won’t spoil him too badly.”
“Speak for yourself, sir,” Charity gibed. “I plan to enjoy my supper companion to the utmost.”
When she smiled at the child, Thorne was astounded at how young and lovely she appeared. Her hair glistened like sunbeams on fine, golden silk and her eyes were as blue as a cloudless, equatorial, summer sky. It was as if the presence of the boy had lightened her usual burdens and given her a new lease on life. And Jacob had taken to her, as well, he noted. The two were acting as if they had always known each other.
Pensive, Thorne glanced at his brother and Naomi. Their countenance was anything but joyful by contrast. Aaron was eyeing the strangers at the table, looking ready to leap upon the first one who might pose a threat, while Naomi appeared near tears, as she had been during most of their sea journey. The one time Thorne had tried to discuss her concerns with her she had merely said that she feared for the lives of her dear ones.
He couldn’t argue with that grim conclusion. Not if Aaron’s words were to be believed. Louis Ashton had never been much of a father to either of them, nor had he been a kind, loving husband to the dear mother they shared. For that, alone, Thorne had grown to detest the man.
When Louis’s last beating had raised welts on Thorne’s sixteen-year-old shoulders, he had gone to his mother and begged her to leave the Ashton estate with him. Of course she had refused. But that was the night she had opened her heart and explained her painful past, including revealing her fears regarding the untimely demise of her first husband and her growing suspicion that Louis Ashton might have somehow been responsible.
Rather than be too specific, she had likened the tale to the biblical saga of King David and Bath-sheba with Thorne’s real father playing the part of the hapless Uriah. From there on, however, the basic facts of the story had diverged. Louis had rushed the new widow Blackwell into marriage and had gotten more than he’d bargained for a mere six months later. He’d gotten Thorne, another man’s son, and he’d never forgiven the boy for being born.
At sixteen, Thorne had wanted to take Aaron with him and run away to sea but Mother had convinced him otherwise. Once he had entered that occupation and realized what a hard life he was facing as a young seaman, he was glad he had listened to her wisdom, at least in regard to his baby brother.
Yet look at him now, Thorne thought. Everything Aaron had hoped and planned for was ruined. He had no home, no source of income and no plans for the future other than to elude any assassins Louis might send in pursuit. It was a terrible, dangerous existence that faced the little family.
Thorne had known in his heart that he could not simply abandon Aaron in San Francisco and hope that he and his loved ones eventually managed to reach Naomi’s parents in the Northern territories. Now that he thought about it in detail he knew what he had to do. Like it or not, he must accompany them. And in order to do that he had to transfer some of his business duties to underlings or risk financial disaster before he could return.
Having decided, he addressed his brother. “I know you’re in a hurry to be on your way but I will need several more days to arrange my affairs before I can travel. The telegraph only connects to a few cities close by so I shall have to handle my business mostly with personal dispatches. Nevertheless, I think I can have everything settled by next Friday. How does that sound?”
Aaron’s mouth gaped. “You’re going with us?”
“Yes. If you have no objection.”
“No, I…” He looked to his wife. “If it’s all right with Naomi.”
She merely nodded, her eyes misting.
“Good,” Thorne said. “We’ll need to keep our rooms a little longer than planned, Mrs. Montgomery. I trust that won’t be a problem?”
“Not at all,” the proprietress said cheerfully as she pushed back her chair and arose. “Save room for dessert. Our Charity baked two delicious apple pies this afternoon and I think they’re almost cool enough to serve. I’ll run and fetch ’em.”
Watching the matron scurry away, Thorne wondered how such delicate hands as Charity Beal’s could have spent much time in the kitchen, let alone have fashioned a pie worth eating. When he was served his portion and tasted it, however, he almost purred.
“Mmm, this is delicious. Are you sure Miss Beal really made it?”
The young woman bristled. “I beg your pardon? Are you insinuating that I would lie?”
Thorne couldn’t help chuckling in response. “No, ma’am. I wouldn’t dream of suggesting such a thing. I was just so impressed with your culinary prowess I was momentarily at a loss for words.”
“Ha! That will be the day,” she said. “It has been my experience that you have plenty of words for every occasion, sir, whether they are warranted or not.”
Across the table, Emory Beal broke into cackles. “Atta girl, Charity. You tell him.”
Thorne was laughing so heartily he covered his mouth with his napkin and nearly choked on his bite of pie.
When he glanced around at his fellow diners, however, he was struck by the taciturn expressions on some of the other guests’ faces. It appeared that several of the younger men were particularly upset with him, perhaps because they had their sights set on wooing Charity Beal. Not that he blamed them. If he were seeking a wife, she would certainly be worth a second look.
Later, when Emory cornered him and thanked him privately for lifting the girl’s spirits and helping to restore her gumption, he was so surprised he truly was at a loss for words. According to her father’s insinuations, Charity had been through some unspeakable experiences which had caused her to become withdrawn and often to brood.
Thorne had no idea how his presence had elevated her mood but he was nevertheless glad to hear of the improvement. He liked her. And so did Jacob, which was even more important. The poor boy had been through plenty already and their arduous journey was far from over. A little sunshine in his short life was certainly welcome and the woman who had cheerfully provided it ranked high on Thorne’s list of admirable people.
In the street outside the hotel, a small group of men had gathered to discuss the situation.
“They’re leaving in a few more days,” the tallest, youngest one said. “That means we have a little more time to plan.”
There was a murmur of agreement before their portly, red-haired leader spoke. “We won’t need much. We’ll move tonight.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“Slip this note under Ashton’s door, then leave the rest to us.” He handed a folded slip of paper to his wiry cohort and glanced at the other two burly men who were standing by waiting for their orders. “Just make sure you’re not seen when you do it.”
“I have the room just down the hall from them. Nobody will catch me. Is that all?”
“Yes.” He started away. “And if you see any of us on the street afterward, you don’t know us. Is that clear?”
“Perfectly.”
“Good. Now go back inside and try to act natural. The hardest part will be over by morning.”
Charity couldn’t sleep. After tossing and turning for what seemed like hours, she arose, pulled on a lawn wrapper and tied the sash before she peeked out the door of her room to be sure no one else was up and about. The hallway was deserted.
She quickly lit a small oil lamp and tiptoed to the stairs, intending to help herself to one of the leftover cookies in the kitchen. She paused to listen intently. There were no sounds coming from any of the rooms except for Mrs. Montgomery’s familiar, loud snoring at the far end of the hotel.
Proceeding, Charity was halfway down the staircase when she overheard muffled voices and stopped in her tracks. It sounded as if the parties involved were in the sitting room, which meant that her path to the kitchen was blocked unless she chose to dart around the newel post at the ground floor and hope her passage down the side hallway went unseen.
That idea didn’t please her one iota. Dressed in a floor-length white wrapper and carrying a lit lamp, there was no way she wouldn’t be noticed.
She was still standing there, trying to decide what to do, when one of the parties below raised his voice.
“I’m not going back with you,” he said.
A response that sounded like a growl followed.
“No,” the initial speaker replied. “It’s not open to discussion. You won’t harm me. You don’t dare. Now get out of here.”
This time, the growling voice was intelligible. “I have my orders and I aim to carry them out.”
Charity wished she were back in her room, blissfully sleeping, but curiosity held her rooted to the spot. She did have the presence of mind to dim her lamp and cup her hand loosely around the glass chimney, however.
Soon there was the reverberation of a smack, followed by a heavy thud. Her heart began to hammer. It sounded as if someone—or something—had fallen.
Furniture scraped across the bare floors. Glass broke, or perhaps it was crockery, she couldn’t tell which. There was more stomping and crashing around just before the rear door slammed.
Afraid to move, she waited and listened. All she could hear was the rapid pounding of her heart and the shallow rasping of her breath.
Above her, a second door opened and closed. Footfalls echoed hollowly on the wooden floor. She sensed another presence on the stairs.
Someone grabbed her arm before she could turn and look. She started to scream. A hand clamped over her mouth and a male voice, a familiar voice, ordered, “Hush.”
Recognizing that it was Thorne, Charity nodded and he eased his hold. Instead of trying to explain what was going on she merely pointed in the direction of the parlor.
“Shush,” Thorne hissed in her ear. “Stay here.”
Grasping the banister she watched him descend as gracefully and quietly as a cat. He crouched, then whipped around the corner and disappeared.
In moments he returned. He had tucked the tails of his nightshirt into his trousers and was pulling his braces over his shoulders. “There’s no one there now,” he assured her. “I’m sorry if I frightened you. What’s going on?”
“I don’t know.” She was trembling like a silly child, but couldn’t seem to hold the lamp still even by using two hands. “I was hungry so I came down to get a cookie. The ground floor was dark. I heard voices. It sounded like an argument.”
“Men arguing?” Thorne asked.
“Yes. Two of them, I think. There was something rather familiar about one and the other was almost too faint to hear. I thought he sounded very menacing, though. I suppose I was just nervous because I expected to be alone.”
“What did they say?”
“Nothing much. One was talking about having a job to do and the other told him he wouldn’t dare, or some such nonsense. They sounded like two schoolyard bullies.”
“Then what?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. I couldn’t see a thing from up here on the stairway. I guess there was a fight but it was over so quickly I’m not certain. I did think I heard dishes breaking just before the door slammed.”
“There is some damage in the kitchen but the place is deserted, now.” His dark eyes suddenly widened and he dashed past her to continue climbing, taking the steps two at a time.
Charity followed him straight to his brother’s room where he began to pound on the door.
“Aaron! Open up. Now.”
“Hush. You’ll wake every guest in the hotel,” Charity warned.
Instead of heeding her admonition Thorne grabbed her lamp, then kicked the door and broke the lock away from the jamb. He held the light high, illuminating a circle that encompassed most of the small room.
In the center of the glow, Charity saw Naomi sitting in bed and clutching covers that were drawn up to her neck. Beside her, the exhausted toddler barely stirred in spite of the ruckus.
“Where’s Aaron?” Thorne demanded.
“I don’t know. Someone slipped a note under our door. Aaron read it and said he had to go out.” Naomi began to sniffle. “I begged him to stay here with me but he insisted.”
“What note. Where is it?”
“I—I think he put it in his coat pocket and took it with him. Why? What’s happened?” Her breath caught. “Is, is he…”
“Dead?” Thorne muttered under his breath. “I doubt it. But I don’t think he’s in the hotel anymore, either. I strongly suspect he’s been kidnapped.”
Naomi gasped. “Are you sure?”
“Relatively. I explored the whole ground floor and he wasn’t down there. Nobody was.”
“I’ll wake Papa and send him to fetch the sheriff,” Charity said from the hallway. “We’ll search everywhere. We’ll find him.”
In her heart of hearts she hoped and prayed she was right. If Aaron remained on land there was a fair chance they would be able to locate him, especially since San Francisco was rather isolated by the surrounding hills. If he had been taken aboard one of the many vessels coming and going by sea, however, he could already be out of their reach.
It was a frightening realization. It was also the most logical escape route for anyone wanting to effect a successful kidnapping!
Chapter Three
Thorne finished dressing, pulled on his coat and joined Emory Beal as he hurried from the hotel.
“I don’t know where to start looking for the law, do you?” Thorne asked the older man.
“I’ve got a sneakin’ suspicion where the sheriff’ll be,” Emory replied. “Follow me.”
They made their way up Sacramento Street and located the lawman holding court with the mayor and half the city council in the What Cheer House saloon. A large crowd was toasting the previous day’s groundbreaking ceremonies at Presidio Hill for the soon-to-be-built municipal water system and everyone seemed to be having a wonderful time drinking and eating the free food offered at the bar. A pall of smoke hung low in the stuffy room.
Thorne was glad that Emory was with him because the older man was well-known and was therefore able to readily convince the celebrants to form a vigilance committee and join in the search for Aaron.
Leaving the saloon in the company of dozens of inebriated, raucous men, Thorne jumped up on the edge of a watering trough and grabbed a porch support post for balance while he waved and shouted to command everyone’s attention.
“There will be a large reward for my brother’s return,” he yelled, pleased to hear a responsive rumbling of excitement in the crowd. “He’s a city fellow from New York so you should be able to pick him out from amongst the prospectors and immigrants. He was wearing a brown suit and vest. His hair is lighter than mine and he’s a little shorter. He has no beard or mustache. If any of you spot him, I can be reached through the Montgomery House Hotel or the freighter Gray Feather. She’s moored close to the main pier. Let’s go, men. Time is of the essence.”
Stepping down, he started off with the others. He would have preferred to head a sober search party but under the present circumstances he figured he was fortunate to have found a group of able-bodied men awake and willing to help at this time of night.
“It’s all Chinese down that way,” Emory told him, pointing. “Your brother’d stick out like a sore thumb in that neighborhood. The sheriff said he wants us to check the wharf while he and some of the others look in the gambling and fandango houses we still have. Come the first of April, bawdy houses’ll be banned on Dupont, Jackson and Pacific. Don’t know what this city’s comin’ to.”
“All right,” Thorne said. “I probably know the waterfront as well as most of the folks who live here.”
“Been a sailor all your life?”
“In a matter of speaking.” Thorne didn’t think this was an appropriate time to mention that he had long since graduated from employee to employer. Nor was it a good idea to flaunt his wealth in a town with a reputation for lawlessness and greed, mainly thanks to the gold rush. San Francisco had come a long way from the canvas and board shacks he remembered from 1850 but it still hadn’t managed to attain anything resembling the degree of civility Aaron and Naomi were used to back in New York.
Although Thorne’s clothing bespoke a full purse, his actual worth far exceeded the external evidence. And that was the way he wanted it. He’d found out the hard way that if a man had money there was always someone eager and willing to separate him from it, one way or another. That much, he had learned from Louis Ashton.
The difference was what lay in a man’s heart, not what lined his pockets, Thorne reminded himself. He would gladly pay whatever it took to get his brother back and not miss a penny of that money. Unfortunately, if Louis’s hired thugs were responsible for the abduction, he feared that Aaron’s freedom was not going to be for sale at any price.
