Through the Shadows: The Golden Gate Chronicles - Book 3

Half-title

Other Abingdon Press books by Karen Barnett

Other Abingdon Press books by Karen Barnett

Mistaken

The Golden Gate Chronicles

Out of the Ruins

Beyond the Ashes

Through the Shadows

Title Page

Cpyright Page

Through the Shadows

Copyright © 2016 by Karen Barnett

All rights reserved.

No part of this work may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying and recording, or by any information storage or retrieval system, except as may be expressly permitted by the 1976 Copyright Act or in writing from the publisher. Requests for permission can be addressed to Permissions, The United Methodist Publishing House, 2222 Rosa L. Parks Blvd., PO Box 280988, Nashville, TN, 37228-0988 or e-mailed to [email protected].

The persons and events portrayed in this work of fiction are the creations of the author, and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

Macro Editor: Teri Wilhelms

Published in association with the Books & Such Literary Agency.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Names: Barnett, Karen, 1969- author.

Title: Through the shadows / Karen Barnett.

Description: First edition. | Nashville : Abingdon Press, [2016] | Series:

The Golden Gate chronicles ; book 3

Identifiers: LCCN 2015037196 (print) | LCCN 2015041106 (ebook) | ISBN

9781426781452 (softcover) | ISBN 9781501816321 (e-book)

Subjects: LCSH: Man-woman relationships—Fiction. | San Francisco

(Calif.)—History—Fiction. | GSAFD: Christian fiction. | Love stories.

Classification: LCC PS3602.A77584 T48 2016 (print) | LCC PS3602.A77584

(ebook) | DDC 813/.6—dc23

LC record available at http://lccn.loc.gov/2015037196

Scripture quotations, unless noted otherwise, are from The Authorized (King James) Version. Rights in the Authorized Version in the United Kingdom are vested in the Crown. Reproduced by permission of the Crown’s patentee, Cambridge University Press.

Scripture quotation marked (NIV) is taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version®, NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.™ Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved worldwide. www.zondervan.com. The NIV and New International Version are trademarks registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office by Biblica, Inc.™

Dedication andAcknowledgments

To my two precious kids

You bless my life in unimaginable ways.

Acknowledgments

Thank you to:

•My patient family. Who else could put up with my long days and nights at the computer and my incessant talk about people who don’t really exist?

•My talented critique / prayer partners: Tammy Bowers, Heidi Gaul, Patricia Lee, Christina Nelson, and Marilyn Rhoads. As iron sharpens iron, / so one person sharpens another (Proverbs 27:17 NIV).

•Rachel Kent, my wonderful agent. Thanks for being my safety bar on this crazy publishing roller coaster ride.

•Ramona Richards, Cat Hoort, Teri Wilhelms, Pamela Clements, and everyone at Abingdon Fiction. In this challenging time, I appreciate you taking a chance on me and on this series.

•My musically gifted friend, Amy Nelke, for advising me on the secret inner life of a professional musician.

•To the kind volunteers at the Cameron House for inspiring me with several biographies of Donaldina Cameron and a personalized tour of 920.

•My dear friend, Autumn Zimmerman. Thank you for being my cheerleader and tour guide and for enduring countless questions about San Francisco and the legal world.

•The absolutely remarkable San Francisco History Facebook group. Whenever I posted a question, they had the answer. Thank you to Nick Wright, John A. Harris, Carol Tigerman, Mark Reed, and so many others!

•The Christian writing community, especially the Bookies of Books & Such Literary, Oregon Christian Writers (OCW), American Christian Fiction Writers (ACFW), and the Mount Hermon Christian Writers Conference.

Epigraph

Amazing grace! How sweet the sound

That saved a wretch like me!

I once was lost, but now am found;

Was blind, but now I see.

’Twas grace that taught my heart to fear,

And grace my fears relieved;

How precious did that grace appear

The hour I first believed!

Through many dangers, toils, and snares

I have already come;

’Tis grace hath brought me safe thus far,

And grace will lead me home.

The Lord has promised good to me,

His Word my hope secures;

He will my Shield and Portion be,

As long as life endures.

When we’ve been there ten thousand years,

Bright shining as the sun,

We’ve no less days to sing God’s praise

Than when we’d first begun.

John Newton (1779)

Chapter 1

1

Sacramento, California

June 1908

Elizabeth King held her fingers against the ivory keys, refusing to stir as the final chord faded and silence descended on the parlor. Were God ever to speak to her, she imagined it would be in the precious instant after a last note died away and before an audience responded. The moment preserved a holy space, as if the breath of divinity hung in the air.

No voice arrived today, but there was no audience either.

She ran her fingertips along the cool surface, the black and white pattern softening as her eyes blurred with tears. God wouldn’t converse with the likes of her, anyway.

After three years of intense instruction, every note conjured Tobias’s memory—his touch. Elizabeth sprang from the stool and stalked to the window, staring out at the darkening clouds. She couldn’t let her mind travel to those memories. Before she knew it, she’d be at his door.

Turn your back on me, and you’re finished. You’ll never perform again.

She’d done the right thing. So why did the shame still cling, like a vine curling around her soul?

Her mother swept into the room, a cream-colored apron tied over her flowered dress. Elizabeth—you aren’t dressed yet?

Elizabeth pulled her gaze from the window. Dressed?

Have you forgotten? Mr. McKinley is joining us for supper. I’ve been trying to get the attorney to come here from San Francisco for months.

The man’s name sent a shiver along Elizabeth’s skin, like a discordant note in the middle of a Bach concerto. Of course, she’d forgotten—if she’d remembered, she’d have left earlier. I promised Lillian I would attend the suffrage meeting with her this evening.

You attend too many of those silly political gatherings. They’ve ruined you for polite society.

Mother, you know I’ve never cared for ‘polite society.’ That’s your arena.

Your father spoiled all of you children. I thought you, being the youngest, might turn out all right. Her mother straightened one of the cushions.

A lump formed in Elizabeth’s throat. Even though she’d been young when he passed away, her father’s determination and generous nature shaped her heart. Your talent is a gift from God, Elizabeth. It brings Him glory. Not anymore.

Hurry, now. Mr. McKinley will be here soon.

No escape. Perhaps she could make excuses after supper. Elizabeth climbed the stairs to her room and dug through the wardrobe for a suitable dress. She couldn’t choose anything too nice for the cantankerous old lawyer.

Her fingers lingered on her favorite silk gown. The navy blue had gleamed under the auditorium’s electric lights as she’d curtsied to a large crowd. Elizabeth shoved it back and pulled out a russet skirt and matching vest instead. Her stage days were past. If all she had to look forward to were dull evenings in the company of stodgy attorneys, she might as well dress the part.

Her sister, Ruby, had once described Silas McKinley as being akin to a moray eel, and the image cemented itself in Elizabeth’s mind. They hadn’t seen him in over a year—not since he divulged that most of her late father’s assets had been lost in the fires following the San Francisco earthquake.

With her musical dreams crumbling about her ears and the family in financial crisis, Elizabeth needed a new direction for her life—and fast. Perhaps this evening’s suffrage meeting would give her some ideas.

***

The Sacramento streetcar glided to a stop as Charles studied the King family’s files. The case appeared straightforward, probably the reason his uncle had chosen it for Charles’s first consultation. He set his jaw and leafed through the documents for the hundredth time. He’d almost memorized them on the ferry, but good preparation prevented surprises.

A well-dressed young woman climbed up the steps, her eyes scanning the conveyance.

Only one seat remained open—next to him. Charles’s throat tightened. Why couldn’t she be an elderly spinster or even a middle-aged mother with children? His law school elocution classes had never touched on the art of conversation with young socialites. These lace-bedecked, sweet-smelling mysteries befuddled him.

Her eyes settled on the seat and she flounced his direction, gripping the rail as the streetcar shifted into motion.

He swallowed, scooting over a few inches to allow ample room for her layers of skirts.

This rain is incorrigible. She unpinned her enormous hat, and set it on her lap, running slim fingers over the sodden peacock plumes. They’re ruined. I knew it.

Was she speaking to herself or to him? He probably should refrain from pointing out the fact that birds were quite accustomed to rainfall—until you removed their plumage and sewed it to women’s hats.

She turned to face him. I’d hoped the rains would hold off until this evening. I do hate conducting excursions in poor weather.

Charles tucked the documents into his valise and withdrew today’s issue of The San Francisco Call. I believe the shower’s letting up.

He was rewarded with a dazzling smile. Apparently, he’d said the right thing—for once.

She leaned closer, her gaze drawn to the paper. Now that’s intriguing.

Charles lifted the periodical, the headlines dominated by the San Francisco graft trials. A young woman interested in politics? Could he be so lucky? Cleaning up the city seems to be one of the district attorney’s main goals. It’s shameful how much city money has been diverted to lining politicians’ pockets, especially considering how many still suffer from the 1906 quake, he offered.

The young woman wrinkled her nose. No . . . She jabbed a finger at a small column on the right-hand side. Governor Gillett’s wife is hosting a dinner party for visiting Navy Admirals. I wonder what she’ll be serving?

Charles’s stomach sank as he lowered the paper to his lap. I couldn’t hazard a guess.

I bought this hat because she wears one just like it. She tugged at the plumes. My father took me to a state dinner last month. Dreadfully boring, but it gave me an opportunity to view the season’s new styles. Her lips tipped upward, eyes shining as she pinned the ridiculous item atop her coiled hair.

Well that’s . . . something. He turned to the window, gauging how many more blocks until he reached Mrs. King’s home.

Oh, there’s my stop. Nice visiting with you. She bounced up the aisle, leaving a cloud of rose petal fragrance in her wake.

Charles shook his head. She’d taken the streetcar rather than walk four blocks? Understanding the female species might prove beyond his grasp.

Charles stepped off at the next stop, lifting the umbrella over his head to protect his new tailored suit from the drizzle. Uncle Silas had demanded Charles discard the typical Sears, Roebuck & Company sack suits he’d worn through law school. An attorney is only as respectable as his appearance suggests.

He squinted at the house on the corner and checked its address against the scrap of paper he clutched in his damp glove. Eager to get in from the storm, he hurried up the steps and rang the bell.

The door creaked open; a petite young woman stared out at him. Yes?

Not again. Charles sucked in a quick breath as her large blue eyes sent his carefully rehearsed greeting into disarray. She appeared far too young to be Dr. King’s widow. He glanced at her simple attire, which did little to obscure her trim figure. A housekeeper, perhaps? He forced his attention back to her face. Is this the King residence?

She didn’t release the knob, using the other hand to touch her hair, golden as the hills near his hometown. Yes. May I help you?

He cleared his throat, jamming the paper into his pocket. If you could let your employer know Mr. Charles McKinley from McKinley and McClintock Associates is here to speak with her, I’d be most grateful. He pushed back his black derby hat and offered a hesitant smile.

My employer? She narrowed her eyes. "Where is Mr. McKinley? I mean—the other Mr. McKinley?"

Charles tugged at his stiff collar. She seemed rather impertinent for a maid. Perhaps her beauty only went so deep. Silas McKinley is my uncle. He sent me in his stead. Now, if you could—

I’ll inform my mother you are here. The woman stepped back and swung the door wide. Please, come in out of the rain.

His stomach dropped. Your mother? He lowered the umbrella and shook it before stepping over the threshold. I thought—I thought you were a member of . . .

The staff? She curled her fingers into a fist. I’m Elizabeth King. She gestured toward a sitting room. You may wait in here. My mother will be right with you.

He placed the umbrella in the corner stand and followed her to the small room. His uncle would be mortified to hear of Charles’s gaffe. What a way to start a meeting. I beg your pardon, Miss King.

I’m afraid it’s just Mother and me this evening. Miss King’s pointed gaze reminded him of a prosecutor during cross-examination. And every evening. I’m sure your uncle has briefed you on our financial status.

Charles scrambled to recover from his misstep. Yes. Well. I apologize for my uncle’s absence, but he’s given me responsibility over your father’s estate.

The lady’s eyes widened. You must be joking.

An older woman stepped into the hall. Is Mr. McKinley here already, Elizabeth?

Mother, this is Mr. Charles McKinley. Mr. McKinley’s nephew.

Charles dried his hand on his jacket before grasping the widow’s outstretched fingers. It’s an honor to meet you, Mrs. King. My uncle speaks highly of your late husband. He told me they were friends.

Mrs. King’s eyes lit up. He has spoken of you with high regard, as well, Mr. McKinley. Top of your class at Oregon Law, I hear.

Charles swallowed, his mouth as dry as blotting paper. Second. A moment of integrity had cost him top honors, a fact his uncle ignored at will. Well—

I thought your uncle would be joining us. I hope he’s not ill.

No ma’am. He’s quite busy, as you know, and he thought I could take care of any questions regarding Mr. King’s trust.

Dr. King. The daughter corrected him.

Of course—Dr. King. Charles averted his gaze from her flashing eyes and focused on the young lady’s mother. He patted his satchel. I’ve been reviewing the papers, and I have some ideas that might be of assistance.

Mrs. King waved a dismissive hand. "First we dine, then we will talk business. Her lips curled as if she found the final word distasteful. How wonderful to have a young man at the table. It’s been some time. I only have the one son, Robert—Dr. Robert King—but he’s off and married now, living in San Francisco. Most of my daughters are married, as well. Only Elizabeth remains."

The young woman seemed to deflate at her mother’s words, a frown darting across her lovely face. Not everyone marries these days. It’s a new century. It’s no longer the disgrace it once was.

Her mother sniffed. So you say. Those suffrage meetings put outlandish ideas in your head. I never should have allowed them. She turned to Charles. Are you married, Mr. McKinley?

Um, no. I haven’t had the pleasure.

Mrs. King clicked her tongue. A bachelor attorney? You’ll need to remedy the problem posthaste if you expect to be respected in the legal profession.

Uncle Silas had said something similar just yesterday. Unfortu-nately, as today proved, every woman Charles met seemed concerned with little more than dinner parties and peacock feathers. Could he really survive a lifetime with such a companion?

The young lady gestured toward the dining room. Perhaps we should go in to supper?

Mrs. King’s brows drew together as she scrutinized her daughter. I’ll entertain Mr. McKinley while you dress, my dear.

Elizabeth King’s rigid posture seemed lost on her mother. With a huff, she turned on a heel and disappeared up the main staircase.

The tension left the room as if attached to Miss King’s backside. Charles exhaled, shaking such thoughts from his mind. How would he survive as a court attorney if one young woman could rattle him so? Lord, grant me focus.

Hetty King leaned close, her voice low. Don’t mind my Elizabeth. She’s the youngest, and I’m afraid we indulged her whims far too much.

Charles stifled a chuckle. Only a family member could burrow under one’s skin with such ease. He should know. His uncle had the same talent.

***

Elizabeth took another bite of the dry chicken, following it with a quick sip of water to wash down the stringy morsel. Her mother’s cooking always left much to be desired.

Mr. McKinley sawed at the meat with his knife. She almost felt sorry for the man. Growing up in one of San Francisco’s privileged families, he’d probably never imagined life without a housekeeper and a cook. The fine fabric of his suit suggested he was cut from the same cloth as his uncle.

Even so, the odd contrast between the softness in his brown eyes and the firmness of his jaw drew her gaze. At least he didn’t look like Silas McKinley, one mark in his favor.

She’d chosen the blue gown after all—not to impress the pretentious attorney, but rather to deflect any more of Mother’s pointed remarks. Elizabeth pushed the cooked carrots around the dish with her fork. Now that she didn’t have daily rehearsals to take up her time, she’d be at the mercy of her mother’s meddling. If she weren’t careful, Mother would see her married off to the first eligible bachelor she could sink her claws into. Elizabeth’s gaze returned to the young man sitting across the table. Unfortunately, she wasn’t marriage-worthy. Tobias had assured as much.

Mother smiled as she passed Mr. McKinley a basket of rolls. How long have you lived in San Francisco?

He accepted the container and added a piece of bread to his plate. Only a few days, actually. I grew up near Redding, but I attended law school in Oregon. My uncle recently brought me into the firm. This is my first assignment.

Your first? Tiny lines formed around her mother’s mouth.

Elizabeth twisted the napkin in her lap. I’d have thought your uncle would show more respect for us than to bring in an inexperienced attorney.

The young man glanced up, one brow cocked. I believe he meant it as a compliment. Uncle Silas would only commit your situation to a trusted family member.

Mother took a sip from her water glass, recovering her composure in less than a heartbeat. Silas worked diligently for this family for years, Elizabeth. We shouldn’t be questioning his intentions. I’m sure young Mr. McKinley will be a breath of fresh air. She patted his arm. Youth doesn’t always mean ignorance. And it comes with certain benefits. Mother smiled, her pale eyes gleaming as if she’d already convinced herself. Energy. Drive. Ambition. All of which I expect Charles, here, has in abundance. May I call you Charles?

Of course.

Leave it to Mother to side with the enemy.

An eager smile brightened his face. I’ve been looking over your files. I have some ideas to help with your new situation.

Situation. The word squeezed around Elizabeth’s heart. Our destitution, you mean? As soon as the accusation escaped her lips, a prickle crept up her cheeks. She’d never learned her mother’s gift for subtle conversation.

Elizabeth! Mother’s face pinched.

The young man frowned. I wouldn’t go so far as to say that. It’s a highly complex matter. I’m afraid you might not understand, Miss King.

Elizabeth’s mouth fell open, his condescending tone snapping her control like an overtightened piano string. I understand more than you realize, Mr. McKinley. For one thing, I know your uncle assured my father the buildings in which he invested were well-insured—he insisted there was little risk.

My uncle couldn’t have foreseen an earthquake of this—

Mr. McKinley also claimed to invest in the same properties, and yet he’s still living in one of San Francisco’s nicest homes. He doesn’t appear to have endured the same level of economic ruin. The words tumbled from her mouth faster than she could collect them.

The man’s Adam’s apple bobbed. Um, no. He—

And explain this to me. My brother, Robert, visited your uncle’s office three times during the last month and Silas McKinley refused to see him. Now he sends you here to Sacramento? The heat in her chest increased with each subsequent thought. If he believes a fast-talking, handsome man with a fine suit will somehow woo the ladies and get us to acquiesce, he’s sorely mistaken. We’re not helpless females, no matter what your uncle may have led you to believe. She stood, tossing the linen napkin onto her plate. Mother, we shouldn’t be wasting our time with him. I, for one, have an engagement this evening.

Her mother rose to her feet. Mr. McKinley is our guest. I will not have him flown at in such a manner.

The young man jumped up, a glint appearing in his eyes. I assure you, Miss King, my uncle didn’t send me to woo anyone. He paused. I believe I can help.

I think we should hear him out. Mother pressed a hand to her heart.

Elizabeth locked her gaze on the attorney. Are you afraid to conduct business with my brother, or do you think it’s too complex for a physician to understand, too?

He placed both palms on the table and leaned forward, matching her stare. Are you saying your mother is not competent to manage her affairs without a man present?

A flush climbed Elizabeth’s neck, settling under her lace collar.

He turned toward her mother. I can present my recommendations here, or we can wait until after the meal. If you’d prefer I make an appointment to speak to your son, I’d be more than happy to do so. I also have another engagement this evening, so it would be preferable to expedite my proposals without further interruptions.

Her mother nodded. Let’s retire to the parlor. Elizabeth, you may join us or not, but you will remain silent. I will not have our guest harangued further.

As they departed, Elizabeth sank back into her seat. She lifted the water glass, but her trembling hand splashed the icy water down the front of her dress, chilling her to the skin. She dabbed a napkin against the damp silk, the image of the young man’s wide brown eyes tugging at her heart. He hadn’t deserved such venom. Why must she make a mess of everything?

Her forthright manner had cost her much over the years. Add such a weakness to a stained past, and she could forget ever walking down the aisle. Elizabeth closed her eyes. Not that marriage was ever her goal . . . at least, not exactly.

Lord, help me.

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