Charles, Jr.—or little Charlie, as he was known to his doting family—coming from the nursery. Almostimmediately, his sister—four-year-old Mandy—joined her baby brother in a loud, and stridently off-key, duet.
“Oh, dear,” I said, rising from my chair. “I had better help settle Mandy while Celia feeds the baby.”
To be honest, I was relieved to have such a timely excuse for leaving the tense scene which had developed between Samuel and our father. I had long since run out of tall tales to excuse my brother's endless delays in taking his bar examinations. It was high time he dealt with the consequences of this deceit on his own.
Samuel darted me a reproachful look as I took my leave of the library. Ah, well, I thought, repressing a small twinge of guilt. As the old saying went, my dear brother had made his bed, and now he would have to sleep in it!
CHAPTER FOUR
T he following morning I arrived at my Sutter Street office to find Eddie Cooper's brougham parked at the curb outside the building. I paused to check the gold watch pinned to my shirtwaist; it was some fifteen minutes shy of eight o'clock. While it was true that the boy had agreed to meet with me this morning for his regular reading and writing lesson, he rarely if ever arrived early. I had to smile. His punctuality, I was certain, was not due to any eagerness to commence today's instruction, but to ensure that he would have time to visit my downstairs neighbor. Dear, generous Fanny. My young protégé knew all too well which side of his bread had been spread with butter.
I believe I mentioned earlier that Mrs. Goodman and her late husband had not been blessed with offspring of their own, which had come as a bitter disappointment to them both. Possessed of a warm and munificent nature, Fanny had formed an instant attachment to my young cabbie, and loved nothing better than to ply him with sweets and even a hearty dinner now and again. Her largesse made for somewhat shorter reading lessons, but I could not bring myself to complain.
Obviously, her efforts were bearing fruit. Eddie's mottled complexion appeared to have grown considerably less inflamed. Hisbone-thin body was filling out, and I could have sworn he'd grown at least one or two inches since I had first met him some ten months earlier during what I have come to refer to as the Russian Hill murders.
As expected, I found the lad happily ensconced in Fanny's cozy kitchen, located behind her ground-floor millinery shop. He was seated at the table, making a good job of dunking homemade doughnuts into a large mug of hot chocolate. At my entrance, he looked up and grinned, and I was amused to see that his mouth sported a chocolate mustache, and was liberally smeared with doughnut crumbs.
“Mornin', Miss Sarah. I got here earlier, but you wasn't in yet. Mrs. Goodman said I should wait for you in her kitchen where it was warm.”
“And while you were waiting, you thought you should sample some of her doughnuts,” I commented wryly.
I smiled as Fanny motioned me to a seat at the table. I had hardly made contact with the chair than a plate of freshly baked doughnuts sprinkled with sugar was placed in front of me, along with a cup of coffee. “If you continue feeding me like this, Fanny, I will end up as round and plump as a Christmas goose.”
“Which wouldn't do you the least bit of harm,” replied Fanny, regarding me with a critical eye. “As it is, you're hardly more than skin and bones.”
I took in Fanny's ample, grandmotherly figure and hid a smile. “Now you sound like my mother.”
Since meeting my downstairs neighbor six months ago, I'd grown inordinately fond of her. Initially, I'm ashamed to admit, I'd considered her a friendly, if somewhat ordinary, shopkeeper, little different from the dozens of other merchants whose stores lined the streets of downtown San Francisco.
I could not have been more mistaken! As part of an ongoing lesson in humility, I have learned to appreciate
“Oh, dear,” I said, rising from my chair. “I had better help settle Mandy while Celia feeds the baby.”
To be honest, I was relieved to have such a timely excuse for leaving the tense scene which had developed between Samuel and our father. I had long since run out of tall tales to excuse my brother's endless delays in taking his bar examinations. It was high time he dealt with the consequences of this deceit on his own.
Samuel darted me a reproachful look as I took my leave of the library. Ah, well, I thought, repressing a small twinge of guilt. As the old saying went, my dear brother had made his bed, and now he would have to sleep in it!
CHAPTER FOUR
T he following morning I arrived at my Sutter Street office to find Eddie Cooper's brougham parked at the curb outside the building. I paused to check the gold watch pinned to my shirtwaist; it was some fifteen minutes shy of eight o'clock. While it was true that the boy had agreed to meet with me this morning for his regular reading and writing lesson, he rarely if ever arrived early. I had to smile. His punctuality, I was certain, was not due to any eagerness to commence today's instruction, but to ensure that he would have time to visit my downstairs neighbor. Dear, generous Fanny. My young protégé knew all too well which side of his bread had been spread with butter.
I believe I mentioned earlier that Mrs. Goodman and her late husband had not been blessed with offspring of their own, which had come as a bitter disappointment to them both. Possessed of a warm and munificent nature, Fanny had formed an instant attachment to my young cabbie, and loved nothing better than to ply him with sweets and even a hearty dinner now and again. Her largesse made for somewhat shorter reading lessons, but I could not bring myself to complain.
Obviously, her efforts were bearing fruit. Eddie's mottled complexion appeared to have grown considerably less inflamed. Hisbone-thin body was filling out, and I could have sworn he'd grown at least one or two inches since I had first met him some ten months earlier during what I have come to refer to as the Russian Hill murders.
As expected, I found the lad happily ensconced in Fanny's cozy kitchen, located behind her ground-floor millinery shop. He was seated at the table, making a good job of dunking homemade doughnuts into a large mug of hot chocolate. At my entrance, he looked up and grinned, and I was amused to see that his mouth sported a chocolate mustache, and was liberally smeared with doughnut crumbs.
“Mornin', Miss Sarah. I got here earlier, but you wasn't in yet. Mrs. Goodman said I should wait for you in her kitchen where it was warm.”
“And while you were waiting, you thought you should sample some of her doughnuts,” I commented wryly.
I smiled as Fanny motioned me to a seat at the table. I had hardly made contact with the chair than a plate of freshly baked doughnuts sprinkled with sugar was placed in front of me, along with a cup of coffee. “If you continue feeding me like this, Fanny, I will end up as round and plump as a Christmas goose.”
“Which wouldn't do you the least bit of harm,” replied Fanny, regarding me with a critical eye. “As it is, you're hardly more than skin and bones.”
I took in Fanny's ample, grandmotherly figure and hid a smile. “Now you sound like my mother.”
Since meeting my downstairs neighbor six months ago, I'd grown inordinately fond of her. Initially, I'm ashamed to admit, I'd considered her a friendly, if somewhat ordinary, shopkeeper, little different from the dozens of other merchants whose stores lined the streets of downtown San Francisco.
I could not have been more mistaken! As part of an ongoing lesson in humility, I have learned to appreciate
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