a visitor.”
“Who? Where?” Her fondest hope was that Dr. Hayward was bringing her word from the newspaper editor.
“Don’t know him,” Clara said, “but he looks mighty highfalutin for this place. He’s waitin’ in the parlor with Mrs. McNeil.”
“Oh. All right. Thank you.”
She was drying her hands on her apron as she hurried toward the front of the converted mansion. The moment she recognized her visitor her heart rejoiced. She ran to him and she threw her arms around his neck. “Uncle Will!”
He patted her on the back the way a parent wouldcomfort a weeping child. “There, there, Sara Beth. Don’t fret. I’ve come to take care of you.”
“Are we going to get to go home?”
“Yes, dear,” William Bein said. He stepped back and reached into his breast pocket to withdraw a stiff packet of papers. “Here are your tickets. I’ve arranged passage for you and the boys. You sail tomorrow morning.”
She stepped back and frowned at him. “Passage? To where? We live here.”
“Not anymore, I fear. The U.S. Marshal’s office has taken possession of your father’s workroom and the rest of the property will revert to me, as his partner, once the particulars have been worked out.”
She backed away, aghast. “No! Papa would never have left our home to anyone else.”
“Your mother would have inherited, of course, but since she’s gone, too, it all comes to me.”
When he smiled, Sara Beth noticed that the good humor did not reach his eyes. Suddenly, she was seeing the man in a different light. Gone was her kindly old uncle figure and in his place stood a ruthless businessman. A man who was pretending to be helpful while he banished orphans to goodness-knows-where.
“We will not be leaving San Francisco,” she said flatly. “Our rightful home is here and it is here wewill stay. The boys are happy and I am employed. We have no need of your charity, Mr. Bein.” Nodding, she added, “Good day, sir,” then wheeled, gathered her skirts and quickly left the room.
She heard Mrs. McNeil calling after her but dear old Uncle Will wasn’t saying a word. Little wonder. His offer had not only been unfair, it had been transparent. He wanted their land, for whatever reason, and she and her brothers were standing in the way. Well, too bad. If it took her the rest of her life she was not going to cease trying to find a legal way to reclaim her rightful home. Situated next to Turner’s store the way it was, it would make a decent boarding house or even a commercial establishment if she decided to take up dressmaking or millinery.
Truth to tell, she was far from certain that she was in the right in this instance, but something in her nature insisted that she stand firm. There had to be a point at which doing what was just triumphed over the letter of the law.
She tried to think of a scripture that would back up her conclusion and failed, although she did recall plenty about the trials of Job cited in the Old Testament.
Those thoughts and the conclusions they led to made Sara Beth shiver. A lot more could go wrongbefore the good Lord interceded to bring justice, couldn’t it?
Her biggest concern was how she was going to withstand, let alone triumph over, whatever terrible, unknown trials still awaited her.
It was late afternoon on the third day since the murders before Taylor was free to return to the orphanage. He immediately sought out Sara Beth and found her in the kitchen, as expected.
He removed his hat and greeted everyone. “Good day, ladies.”
Clara was the first to speak. Grinning, she offered up a plate of freshly baked cookies. “Afternoon, Doctor. I think I have just the thing for whatever ails you.”
“Umm. Thank you,” Taylor said, returning her smile as he accepted the cookie plate but keeping his gaze fixed on Sara Beth. “I always know just when to arrive, don’t I?”
“Pretty much,” Clara said. “Looks to me like Miss Sara Beth needs a break. Why don’t you
“Who? Where?” Her fondest hope was that Dr. Hayward was bringing her word from the newspaper editor.
“Don’t know him,” Clara said, “but he looks mighty highfalutin for this place. He’s waitin’ in the parlor with Mrs. McNeil.”
“Oh. All right. Thank you.”
She was drying her hands on her apron as she hurried toward the front of the converted mansion. The moment she recognized her visitor her heart rejoiced. She ran to him and she threw her arms around his neck. “Uncle Will!”
He patted her on the back the way a parent wouldcomfort a weeping child. “There, there, Sara Beth. Don’t fret. I’ve come to take care of you.”
“Are we going to get to go home?”
“Yes, dear,” William Bein said. He stepped back and reached into his breast pocket to withdraw a stiff packet of papers. “Here are your tickets. I’ve arranged passage for you and the boys. You sail tomorrow morning.”
She stepped back and frowned at him. “Passage? To where? We live here.”
“Not anymore, I fear. The U.S. Marshal’s office has taken possession of your father’s workroom and the rest of the property will revert to me, as his partner, once the particulars have been worked out.”
She backed away, aghast. “No! Papa would never have left our home to anyone else.”
“Your mother would have inherited, of course, but since she’s gone, too, it all comes to me.”
When he smiled, Sara Beth noticed that the good humor did not reach his eyes. Suddenly, she was seeing the man in a different light. Gone was her kindly old uncle figure and in his place stood a ruthless businessman. A man who was pretending to be helpful while he banished orphans to goodness-knows-where.
“We will not be leaving San Francisco,” she said flatly. “Our rightful home is here and it is here wewill stay. The boys are happy and I am employed. We have no need of your charity, Mr. Bein.” Nodding, she added, “Good day, sir,” then wheeled, gathered her skirts and quickly left the room.
She heard Mrs. McNeil calling after her but dear old Uncle Will wasn’t saying a word. Little wonder. His offer had not only been unfair, it had been transparent. He wanted their land, for whatever reason, and she and her brothers were standing in the way. Well, too bad. If it took her the rest of her life she was not going to cease trying to find a legal way to reclaim her rightful home. Situated next to Turner’s store the way it was, it would make a decent boarding house or even a commercial establishment if she decided to take up dressmaking or millinery.
Truth to tell, she was far from certain that she was in the right in this instance, but something in her nature insisted that she stand firm. There had to be a point at which doing what was just triumphed over the letter of the law.
She tried to think of a scripture that would back up her conclusion and failed, although she did recall plenty about the trials of Job cited in the Old Testament.
Those thoughts and the conclusions they led to made Sara Beth shiver. A lot more could go wrongbefore the good Lord interceded to bring justice, couldn’t it?
Her biggest concern was how she was going to withstand, let alone triumph over, whatever terrible, unknown trials still awaited her.
It was late afternoon on the third day since the murders before Taylor was free to return to the orphanage. He immediately sought out Sara Beth and found her in the kitchen, as expected.
He removed his hat and greeted everyone. “Good day, ladies.”
Clara was the first to speak. Grinning, she offered up a plate of freshly baked cookies. “Afternoon, Doctor. I think I have just the thing for whatever ails you.”
“Umm. Thank you,” Taylor said, returning her smile as he accepted the cookie plate but keeping his gaze fixed on Sara Beth. “I always know just when to arrive, don’t I?”
“Pretty much,” Clara said. “Looks to me like Miss Sara Beth needs a break. Why don’t you
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