The little man’s shoulders sagged in defeat. Not noticing Angel in the corner, he spoke to the air. “Well, that does it, Lord. I’m out of business.” He walked to the front door, flipped the sign over and put his forehead against the wall.
Angel felt sorry for him. She knew what it was like to be down on her luck. “Should I leave?” she asked quietly. He turned, blushing beet red.
“I didn’t know you was there. You want a biscuit and some beans?”
“Please.”
He disappeared momentarily. When he returned he set a dish down in front of her and backed off. The biscuit was hard as stone, and the beans were burned. Frowning, she looked up at him. “Coffee?” he asked and poured her some in a mug. It was so strong, Angel grimaced.
“Mister, you need a new cook,” she said with a dry smile, setting the mug down and pushing the plate aside.
“You asking for employment?”
Her eyes shot wide open. “Me?”
He took note of her surprise and looked her over again. “I guess not.”
She felt the heat coming up into her face. Did her past show that clearly? Was it emblazoned on her forehead for the whole world to see? Had knowing Michael a year made no difference in her at all?
Her back stiffened. “As a matter of fact, I was looking for work.” She gave a short laugh. “And though I’m far from the greatest cook in the world, I think I can do better than this.” She winced at the congealing mass of greasy beans on her plate.
“In that case, you’re hired!” He slammed the coffeepot down and stuck his hand out before she could utter a word. “My name’s Virgil Harper, ma’am.”
She was trying to take in the fact that she had work and that it had fallen right into her lap like a ripe plum from heaven. How had it come about? One minute she was frantic about what she was going to do to make a living; the next she was employed by a banty-rooster. “Hold on,” she said, putting a hand up. “I’ll need to find a place to live first. I may not even stay in San Francisco.”
“You don’t need to look for nothing, lady. You can have the cook’s quarters as soon as he moves his things out, and he’s packing right now. Your room is next to mine above the kitchen. Real cozy. Good bed, chest of drawers.”
Her eyes narrowed. She should have known there was a catch.
“It’s got a good lock on the door,” he said. “You can check it out first if you like. Can you fix pies? We get a lot of requests for pie.”
She could scarcely catch her breath he was going so fast. “How much will this room cost me?”
“Nothing,” he said, genuinely surprised. “Comes with the job. Now what about the pies? Can you bake or not?”
“Yes, I can bake bread and pies,” she said. Elizabeth and Miriam had taught her everything they knew. “If you can get me flour, apples, berries—”
Harper threw his head back and his hands in the air. “Lord Jesus, I love you!” He spun around and stamped his feet up and down. “I love you! I love you!”
Angel stared at him, jumping around like a grasshopper, and wondered if the poor man had gone completely off his rocker. He saw her staring and laughed. “I’ve been down on my knees all week wondering what I was going to do. You know what that drunk did? He relieved himself in the soup and served it all day Monday. He told me that night. I thought I’d be hanging from a post by morning, and he just laughed and said he was seasoning the broth. I won’t even tell you what he did this morning.”
She looked down at the bowl in front of her. “Did he do anything to the beans?”
“Nothing that I know about.”
“Why don’t I feel reassured?”
“Come on in the kitchen, and I’ll show you what I got on hand in the way of supplies, and you can see what you can do with them. What do I call you, ma’am? I didn’t even think to ask.”
“Hosea,” she said. “Mrs. Hosea.”
Michael sank the ax deeply into the log. It went straight through and imbedded in the block. He gave it a hard tug and freed the blade again. He set up another log and split it with one swing. Over and over, he did the same thing until sections piled up around the block. He kicked them aside and set up another log. He swung again, harder than before, and the ax sliced clean through, bouncing off the block this time and narrowly missing his leg.
Shaking, Michael dropped the ax and sank to his knees. Sweat was pouring into his eyes. He wiped it away with the back of his arm. He heard something. Squinting into the sun, he saw John sitting on his horse watching him. Michael hadn’t even heard him ride up. “How long you been there?” he asked, chest heaving.
“Couple of minutes.”
Michael tried to get to his feet but couldn’t. As soon as he had stopped the frenzied labor, all his strength had left him. He sank back again and leaned against the block. Glancing up, he gave John a wry smile. “Didn’t hear you arrive. What brings you by?”
John rested his forearms on the pommel. “You got enough wood there for two winters.”
“Bring a wagon over and take what you want.”
The saddle creaked as John dismounted. He came and hunkered down before Michael. “Why don’t you go after her?”
Michael raked a shaking hand back through his hair. “Leave it be, John.” He didn’t feel like talking.
“Just swallow your pride and get on your horse and go look for her. I’ll watch over your place.”
“It’s got nothing to do with pride.”
“Then what’s stopping you?”
Michael leaned his head back and took a deep breath. “Good sense.”
John frowned. “Then it’s like Paul said.”
Michael looked at him. “What did Paul say?”
“Nothing much,” John hedged. “Michael, women are emotional. Sometimes they do stupid things—”
“She thought this out. It wasn’t an impulse.”
“How do you know that?”
Michael raked his hand into his hair. How many times had he gone over the things she had done and said that last night. He could still see her slender body in the moonlight, her pale hair floating about her. He shut his eyes. “I just know.”
“Miriam blames herself for all this. She won’t tell us why she thinks that, but she’s mightily convinced of it.”
“It’s got nothing to do with her. You tell her that for me.”
“I have. She tried to get Paul to go find Amanda for you and bring her back.”
Michael could well guess the outcome of that conversation. At least Paul had been sensitive enough over the last weeks to not come by and gloat. “Paul never liked Angel.”
“Angel?” John said blankly.
“Mara, Amanda, Tirzah.…” Michael’s voice cracked. He held his head. “Jesus,” he said hoarsely. “Jesus.” Angel. She never even trusted him enough to tell him her real name. Or had he been thinking of her as Angel all along without even knowing it? Was that why she left him again? Oh, God, was that why you wanted me to let her go?
John Altman felt helpless before the younger man’s grief. He couldn’t even imagine his life without Elizabeth. He had seen how much Michael loved Amanda, and Miriam swore Amanda loved him. He put his hand on Michael’s shoulder. “Maybe she’ll come back on her own.” His words sounded hollow. Michael didn’t even look up. “What can I do to help you get through this?”
“Nothing,” Michael said. How many times had Angel said that very thing. Nothing. Had she felt as though her guts were being ripped out? Had the pain been so immense that even mentioning it made it worse? How many times had he probed her wounds, just as John was doing now? Trying to help and only drawing more blood.
“I’ll come back tomorrow,” John said.
Miriam came instead.
She sat with him beneath the willow tree and said nothing. He could hear her mind working, the question hanging in the air: Why won’t you do something! But she didn’t ask. She dug in her pocket and held something out for him. His stomach dropped when he saw his
mother’s wedding ring in the palm of her hand.
“Take it,” she said.
He did. “Where did you find it?” he asked hoarsely.
Miriam’s eyes filled. “She gave it to me before getting in the coach. I forgot to give it back to you the first day. Then I was… embarrassed.”
He made a fist around it. “Thanks.” He didn’t ask her anything.
“Have you changed your mind, Michael? Are you going to try and find her?”
He looked at her steadily. “No, Miriam, and don’t ask me again.”
Miriam didn’t stay long after that. She had said all she could the day Amanda left him and she had not persuaded him then.
Michael knew all the possible motives for Amanda’s desertion. But beyond that, beyond comprehension, he knew God’s will was working. “Why this way?” he cried out in anguish. “Why did you tell me to love her if you were only going to take her away from me?”
He raged at God and grieved for his wife. He stopped reading his Bible. He stopped praying. He turned inside himself seeking answers. He found none. And he dreamed, dark, confusing dreams with forces that were closing in on him.
The still, quiet voice didn’t speak to him anymore, not for weeks and months. God was silent and hidden, his purpose a mystery. Life became such a barren wasteland that Michael couldn’t bear it anymore, and he cried out.
“Why have you forsaken me?”
Beloved, I am always with you, even to the end of time.
Michael slowed his frenetic work and sought solace in God’s word. I don’t understand anything anymore, Lord. Losing her is like losing half of myself. She loved me. I know she did. Why did you drive her from me?
The answer came to him slowly, with the changing of the seasons.
You shall have no other gods before me.
That couldn’t be right.
Michael’s anger grew. “When have I worshiped anyone but you?” He raged again. “I’ve followed you all my life. I’ve never put anyone before you.” Hands fisted, he wept. “I love her, but I never made her my god.”
In the calm that followed his angry torrent of words, Michael heard—and finally understood.
You became hers.
Angel stood in the middle of the night-shrouded street and watched Harper’s Cafe burning. Everything she had worked for over the past six months was burning with it. All she had left was the worn gingham dress she was wearing and the stained apron that covered it.
There had been so little warning. Virgil had burst into the kitchen yelling there was a fire. She didn’t even have time to ask questions as he pulled her outside. Two buildings were burning a few doors away. Then a breeze came up and swept the fire right down through the remaining buildings on the block.
People were running helter-skelter, some in panic, some shouting directions, others gathering and passing water buckets frantically in an attempt to contain the fire, but it was no use. Ash and smoke filled the air, and the flames leapt higher, bright orange against the darkening evening sky.
Helpless, Angel watched the cafe collapse in an explosion of sparks and flame. Virgil wept. Business had been going well. Though their menu was limited, what they offered was excellent, and word had spread quickly.
Angel sat down on a barrel someone had rolled from a building. Men had pulled everything they could drag or carry from their buildings. The street was stacked with goods, furniture, sacks. Why hadn’t she thought to do the same? She hadn’t even thought to run upstairs and pack her things. She could have stuffed everything she had into her carpetbag and made it out in time.
When the fire reached the end of the street, it stopped. The breeze died down, and so did the excitement. Up and down the street people stood in despair, looking at the blaze consuming what remained of their dreams. Virgil sat on the ground, his head in his hands. Depression settled over Angel like a cold, wet blanket. Now what was she going to do? She looked around and saw that others were in the same situation she was. What would Michael do if he were here? She knew he would never give in to despair, and he would do something for these people. But what could she do? One woman, destitute herself. One thing she knew she couldn’t do was stand by and watch Virgil sobbing in the street.
She sat down beside him in the dirt. “As soon as the fire dies, we’ll dig through what’s left and see if there’s anything that can be salvaged.”
“What’s the use? I ain’t got enough money to rebuild,” he sobbed.
She put her arm around his shoulders. “The land is worth something. Maybe you can get a loan on it and start again with that.”
They slept against a pile of packs using borrowed blankets. At dawn, they dug through the ash and rubble. Choking on soot, Angel found cast iron pots and pans. The stove could still be used. The utensils were melted, but many of the dishes were intact. A good scrubbing would make them usable.
Face covered with ash, her throat raw from breathing it, Angel rested. She was hungry and tired. Every muscle in her body ached, but at least Virgil was feeling more hopeful, even though he had not yet found them a place to stay. The hotels in the area were already full with paying customers and unlikely to give space in a lobby to those who couldn’t. The thought of sleeping in the street with the cold bay mists was daunting, but she supposed things could be worse. Someone had given them a couple more blankets.
They worked to clear away the charred wood. Angel collected shards of glass from shattered windows in a bucket, dumping it in a pile to be carted away later. Virgil was pale with exhaustion. “I guess we’ll have to camp right here until I can get the money to rebuild the place. The priest has room at the church if you want to stay there. Some of the others are going.”
“No, thanks,” she said. She would sleep in the mud before she went to a church for help.
Virgil nodded toward some men standing in line outside a building across the street. “Father Patrick set up a soup kitchen over there. Go get yourself something to eat.”
“I’m not hungry,” she lied. She wasn’t going to ask a priest for anything.
But she desperately needed a drink of water. A few barrels had been put out for drinking. She wanted to wash her face, but the only other water available was in a trough. Sighing, she decided it was probably cleaner than she was. Bending over it, she cupped her hands and washed her face. The water felt refreshing.
“Hello, Angel. It’s been a long, long time.”
Her heart stopped. She had to be imagining that deep voice. She raised her head slowly, heart pounding, her face dripping wet.
Duke stood before her, his mouth curved in a deadly smile.
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
I will fear no evil,
for Thou art with me.
PSALM 23 : 4
Duke’s mocking gaze swept Angel’s soiled gingham dress, his mouth curving into a sardonic smile. “I’ve seen you look better, my dear.”
She froze at the sight of him. When he came close and touched her, she felt faint.
“It would seem no matter how far you run, you can’t get away from me, can you?” He looked down over her. “You’ve grown into quite a beautiful woman beneath all that soot.” He looked around at the burned-out buildings. “Were you working in one of these miserable little hovels?”
When he looked at her again, Angel found her voice. “I was a cook for Harper’s Cafe.” Her stomach was quivering.
“A cook? You?” He laughed. “Oh, that’s rich, my dear. What was your specialty?” As he spoke, he looked over the men working in the burned-out buildings. “I worried about you. I was afraid you would end up with another weakling like Johnny.” His eyes came to rest on Virgil digging through the rubble. “And you ended up with a little rodent instead.”
She recognized that dark look and knew it boded no good for Virgil, who had shown her nothing but kindness. Her palms were sweating, but she had to take his attention off the little man who had helped her. “Surely you didn’t
come all the way to California just to find me. You, with so many important things to do.”
“Look around you, my dear. There’s a fortune to be made here.” His smile was taunting. “I came to take my share.”
Virgil saw them and came toward them. Her look didn’t warn him away. Quite the contrary, he came all the more quickly. He looked Duke up and down and glanced at her in concern. “You all right, ma’am? This man bothering you?”
What did the poor fool think he could do about it? “I’m fine, Virgil.”
Duke gave him a cold smile. “Aren’t you going to introduce us, my dear?”
She did so. Virgil had clearly heard the name before and looked stunned. “You know this man?”
“Angel and I are very old and dear friends.”
Virgil looked at her, and she felt the need to say something more, to try to explain. But there was little she could say. “We were acquainted in New York. A long time ago.”
“Not all that long ago,” Duke said, his tone possessive.
“Don’t you own that place across the square?” Virgil asked. “The big one?”
“Indeed,” Duke drawled, amused. “Have you frequented my tables?”
“I haven’t been able to afford it,” Virgil said dryly.
“Shall we go, Angel?” Duke said, his hand tightening beneath her elbow.
“Go?” Virgil looked at her. “Go where?”
“I don’t think that’s any of your business,” Duke said warningly.
Virgil drew himself up to his full five feet. “It is if she don’t want to go with you.”
Duke laughed.
Angel was surprised and touched that Virgil would willingly defend her, even against a man like Duke, who could plainly destroy him without much effort. “I—” She felt Duke’s fingers bite into her arm and was afraid what he would do to Virgil if she even hesitated to go with him. “I’m sorry, Virgil.” The poor little man looked so confused and hurt. He looked at her, and she felt she had betrayed him, too, by not being truthful from the beginning. Did she really think she could have a different life? What right had she?