“Are we down to pennies?” Amelia demanded.
“We’re down to dimes. But don’t worry. I’m waiting to hear from a banker I know in New York.”
“Is there no chance your father would help now?” She was more than aware of the father-son estrangement, but as a prominent member of the powerful Committee of Fifty, the senior Thayer was on a first-name basis with every banker in San Francisco.
Amelia could see tension take hold around J.D.’s jaws. “My father and I haven’t seen eye-to-eye since I was fifteen. He’s probably the last person from whom I can expect help, Amelia.”
“Well, what about your mother? Isn’t she an heiress of some sort? Surely, after all your misfortune, she’d extend a helping hand to her son?”
“My mother has probably never paid for anything directly in her life. Her entire estate is managed by my father.”
“Rather like the problem that faced my mother and me,” she reminded him. She didn’t wait for his reaction before she asked, “Well, what about your late grandfather? He left you no bequest? My mother once told me that he was one of the wealthiest miners to emerge from the Comstock Lode.”
J.D. pursed his lips and was slow to answer. Finally, he said, “Grandfather Reims drowned in the bay when I was a teenager.”
Amelia was immediately contrite. “Oh, I’m so sorry, J.D. Did he die sailing? The bay can be so treacherous in a small craft.”
“No. He fell from a ferry. Some say he jumped. Others wondered if he were pushed. I was underage when he died so his estate automatically went to my mother, which of course, meant that it was under my father’s control—and still is.”
“No wonder you have so few options,” she murmured.
“
We
have so few options,” he reminded her. “You signed on for this adventure, remember, so it would seem we’re full partners in this folly, my dear Amelia.”
In that instant of camaraderie, she wished they
could
be trustworthy allies instead of former adversaries, forced by necessity to cooperate. But of course, in truth, that’s just what they were. J.D. Thayer might be a handsome specimen, and a very charming one—and Amelia frankly admitted to herself she found him devilishly attractive—but the Lord only knew what he had done to achieve his current tenure at the Bay View. She reminded herself that the only reasons she’d been thrown together with J.D. in such unlikely fashion were fate and circumstances.
Even so, as on the night she’d help rescue him from Chinatown, for the briefest moment, they both seemed utterly in tune with each other’s thoughts. She locked gazes with J.D. across the kitchen table and it seemed to her that they perfectly understood the odds against their enterprise and their mutual commitment to do whatever was necessary to succeed. It made her wonder what kind of relationship might have developed had they met again as adults in Paris, or on an ocean liner, or on her transcontinental train ride across America—and not in the basement where her grandfather had once had his office.
Put the genie back in the bottle, Amelia,
she admonished herself.
How could it be that one kiss and a look exchanged on top of a half-finished building—and now these recent moments of complete understanding—had uncorked such a potent force?
She turned toward the door. “I’ll just be getting back to work,” she said, and exited the office.
That evening, her employer was noticeably silent as Shou Shou served their evening meal on mismatched plates. Amelia caught J.D. gazing at her soberly.
For her part, she concentrated on the rice and fish. Two planks of wood resting upon sawhorses served as their communal dining table, and their seating consisted of mismatched chairs and wooden boxes they’d scavenged in the neighborhood. After dinner, J.D. assisted Amelia and Foo in the nightly chore of filling the kerosene lanterns used by the Chinese laborers to light the lot next door. Amelia touched a match to the wick of the first of twenty lanterns.
“I think we should leave the remaining piles of rubbish on the Pacific Street side where they are for now and employ Loy’s men to finish digging the second cistern,” she proposed. “I think it’s prudent to get it operational as soon as possible. We can clean up the last of the trash at the end of the project when we’re ready to landscape the terraced garden.”
“That sounds fine,” J.D. agreed, “because we definitely need to have plenty of water in case of fire. I believe I have finally learned
that
lesson.”
Loy’s latest crew would work all night, hopefully finishing this difficult job before daybreak. Exhausted by the long day she’d had, Amelia poured herself a cup of chamomile tea and sank into a kitchen chair.
“I take out lanterns too?” asked little Foo.
“Yes, please.” The boy’s grasp of English was improving each day, as was his confidence. Even though he was by far the youngest of her helpers, he eagerly took on any task she requested of him.
Amelia relaxed while J.D., Loy, Shou Shou, and Foo ferried the lanterns outside. She knew by the clatter and clang of shovels and picks that the night crew had arrived and immediately gotten down to work.
She must have dozed off, for she nearly jumped out of her chair when J.D. burst into the kitchen, followed by a group of Chinese laborers chattering in Cantonese while transporting an old chest as if it were a coffin.
“Look what we found!” J.D.’s customary sobriety was transformed into boyish glee. “Buried in the backyard of the old woman’s place. The crew had barely begun to dig down beside the old well when they struck this.” He pointed at the trunk that still had clods of dirt clinging to its sides. “I told them to bring it in here. God knows what that harridan was doing with it the day she took a shot at you.”
“I know exactly what she was doing with it.” Amelia ignored J.D.’s enthusiasm as she rose from her chair to address Loy. “If you’ve dug down that deep, your men need to continue at least ten more feet. Be sure to tell them to shore up the sides with the lumber stacked on the ground out there. We don’t want any cave-ins.” She reached for her shawl. “In fact, I should go out there and keep an eye on things.”
“They’re doing fine,” J.D. assured her. He gestured toward the battered trunk that now stood in the middle of the kitchen’s concrete floor. “Let’s see what we’ve got.”
“A dead dog is what you’ve got,” she said, as Loy and his group of workers trooped outside. “And it probably smells to high heaven.”
J.D. paused, crowbar in hand. “A dog?”
“I saw the old woman burying it. The poor animal was killed in the big aftershock on the morning of the quake. Her Chinese manservant carried the creature around from the side of the house and they stashed it in the trunk. When I stepped forward to offer them a ride to the Presidio in your motorcar, that’s when she pulled out the revolver and took aim. Don’t you remember about all that?”
“Angus related your near miss, but I was out of my mind with pain from my cracked ribs when we came back to fetch you. But are you telling me you survived the earthquake and then nearly got shot by a crazed old lady burying her
dog
?” He turned to the trunk and added, “Well, let’s see what else she was protecting. It’s been a year. The dog is probably mummified by now.”
“Mummy or not, I don’t want to see it,” Amelia declared, thinking, suddenly, about poor old Barbary, killed in the second fire. “I’m going to bed.”
By this time, J.D. had pried the rusty fastenings open and was lifting the heavy cover. Sure enough, a bulky bundle wrapped in a blanket was obviously the dog. J.D. bent over the trunk and began to lift out the corpse.
“Good
night
,” Amelia said firmly, turning to leave the kitchen. A second later, behind her, she hear J.D. swift intake of breath.
“Well, well…” he said, “will you take a look at
this
!”
Chapter 26
Amelia turned around as J.D. placed the bundle on the floor. Heaps of ornamental silver and metal strong boxes peeped below the trunk’s edge.
“Oh glory…” J.D. said gleefully.
She sped to J.D.’s side. “So Angus was right!
That’s
why she shot at me. She thought I would try to steal her valuables!”
The newspapers had been filled with stories of homeowners returning to their burned residences and digging up the trunks they’d buried in advance of the fire sweeping up Nob Hill. For many San Franciscans, the collections of precious worldly goods they’d sequestered below ground had provided them with the means of starting over.
She peered into the trunk as J.D. lifted out a set of magnificent silver candlesticks and a large, polished wooden box filled with twenty-four place settings of sterling silver flatware. Then he glanced down at the dog’s body wrapped in the blanket. “I’ll just take this outside.”
“An excellent idea.”
A minute later J.D. appeared at the kitchen door. “I put the poor thing behind the construction shed and will ask Franco to have one of his men bury it in the morning.”
“I thank you for that,” Amelia said, wrinkling her nose.
“Don’t worry. I think the fire took care of the odor. It just smelled musty. Open the jewelry cases,” he directed, pointing to a stack of tooled leather boxes with T
IFFANY
and G
UMPS
stamped in gold.
Her fingers trembled as she flipped the catch on a flat box encased in burgundy leather. “J.D?” she said faintly. An array of gems winked at her from its velvet lining. “I think I’ve just found something that will pay the wages of Loy and his men, plus Franco Pigati and his entire crew for weeks.
Look!
”
Even in the diffused kerosene lamplight, the ruby and diamond necklace shone like stars in a night sky. The next box contained a diamond and emerald bracelet and matching pin. A black velvet pouch held five smaller leather boxes, each housing platinum rings with large diamonds, sapphires, and other precious stones in their settings. One velvet pouch contained a handful of unset gemstones, mostly emeralds and diamonds, whose value Amelia couldn’t begin to estimate.
J.D. breathed a long whistle when she placed them in his hands. “Now, isn’t
this
nice?”
Amelia snatched the lantern from the table and held it over the trunk. Lining the bottom were layers of gold and silver bars reaching half way up the sides.
“Hot damn…” she whispered, an echo of Henry Bradshaw’s favorite exclamation when excited or upset. “That’s more than you found in your safe, isn’t it?”
“Much more. And how much do you suppose
this
will fetch?” J.D. assumed his full height and held a lady’s pearl-handled revolver by one finger.
Amelia put a palm out. “Hand that over, thank you.”
Laughing, J.D. shook his head. “Not so fast!”
“Absolutely!” she insisted. “Since the old woman nearly killed me with it, I’m the one who should keep it under my mattress for protection.” She eyed the astonishing booty with growing excitement. “It certainly looks like I might need it.”
“The gun’s even got a velvet-lined box of its own, chocked full of ammunition.”
“How ladylike.” Then she broke into a smile. “Just think! We don’t
need
bankers, J.D.! We don’t need help from your family. And you certainly don’t have to go gambling to raise money to pay for the building of this hotel, if that was your plan-of-last-resort.”
“I’m not at all convinced I should let you have this gun,” he teased. And instead of handing her the small weapon, he placed it on the makeshift kitchen table. Then, without warning, he enfolded her in a bear hug. “Can you believe this?” He kept hold of her and tilted his head back to smile at her. “Who could have imagined such luck?”
Meeting his glance, she replied gaily, “I’d say we’ve just been presented with a very large, very fortuitous way of paying for continuing construction.” Before he could kiss her, as she sensed he clearly intended, she stepped out of the circle of his arms. An awful thought had just occurred to her. “Are you sure that you can claim all this as yours?”
“O ye of little faith!” He grabbed her around the shoulders for a second squeeze. “Of
course
this belongs to us! I own the lot back there, free and clear. The lawyer for the estate told me the old woman and her houseboy died in the fire and she had no heirs. The lot and everything on it—or under it—now belong to
me
, and it should just about cover the cost of making the Bay View the most elegant small hotel that San Francisco has ever seen! As far as opening our doors April eighteenth, we may not beat the Fairmont, but no one will hold a candle to us as far as our beautiful appointments.”
“Yes, yes,
yes
!” Amelia cried, finally allowing herself to be caught up in his excitement. J.D. swung her around in his arms several times and then they broke apart and danced an impromptu jig in front of the rust-incrusted iron stove. She pointed to the treasure trove. “God knows how much all this is worth, J.D. Calm my racing heart, will you please, and let’s put everything in Grandfather’s safe, right
now
.”
“Another excellent idea. We’re just full of them tonight, aren’t we?” and before she could draw away, he bussed her on the nose.
Amelia had never seen J.D. so lighthearted. His rather forbidding dark looks had been transformed by a wide grin and a continuing cackle as he surveyed his treasures.
“I’m serious,” she insisted. “Let’s get this booty into the safe this minute! But first, I’m putting the pistol and the ammunition under my mattress.”
She swiftly stowed the weaponry in her bedroom and returned to the kitchen to pile the jewelry boxes in her arms. J.D. walked over to the sideboard. He removed two drinking glasses, and placed them inside a silver champagne bucket he’d pulled out of their neighbor’s trunk. “Do you know what else I keep in that safe at the end of the hall?” he asked with a smirk.
“A lot of nothing, probably,” she retorted, watching him drag the fusty trunk down the corridor that led to his basement office. “Until two seconds ago, you were practically out of jack, Jack! Don’t bother denying it.”
“Amelia, you are far too pessimistic for your young years,” he said over his shoulder. “This should teach you to believe in Lady Luck. Now follow me, my dear, and step lively.”
***
J.D. placed the heavy silverware on the raw cement floor in his office and spun the new tumblers on his repaired stronghold. When the combination clicked into place, he heaved open the heavy door. Inside, the walk-in safe was empty, save for an accordion file of legal papers, two small silver bars, and a bottle of champagne.
“You bought sparkling wine when you were nearly stone broke?” she marveled.
“You never know when you might need some bubbly for a celebration.”
She hugged the stack of jewelry cases to her chest. “Well, these certainly are cause for one. It’s an absolute miracle. No, it’s
a trunk full
of miracles!”
“Hand them over, Miss Architect.”
Smiling, she obeyed and watched with childish delight as he stored the slim leather boxes and velvet pouch plump with loose gemstones alongside the rest of the cache. Next he stacked the gold and silver bars to one side and put the polished wooden box with the sterling silver flatware on top, along with other pieces of household silver. Champagne bottle in hand, he slammed the door shut and spun the tumblers. He indicated she should take the chair facing his desk, then popped the cork and poured them each a glass of sparkling wine.
“To the Bay View,” J.D. said, raising his glass and grinning.
“To the Bay View,” Amelia echoed more somberly, wondering, suddenly, what her grandfather would think of toasting her family’s hotel with the man who had managed to wrest it from her stewardship by means of an auspicious poker match. Nevertheless, she clinked glasses and drank in silence for a few minutes. Immediately, she felt a rush of warmth, taking it as a sign of how tired she was if only a few sips of champagne could have such an instant effect.
“J.D.?”
He took a draught of wine and looked at her expectantly. “What?”
“Why did you come back for my father and me in the Winton the day of the quake?”
J.D. took a drink from his glass and set in on the desk. Surprisingly, he didn’t ask her reasons for bringing up the unexpected subject at this late hour. “I gave you my word I’d return with help.”
“But you’d gotten safely to the Presidio and you were badly injured. Why didn’t you just direct Angus to find us?”
“I might have burned in the fire if you hadn’t helped me out of that place as you did. I figured if someone saves your life, you owe him. Or in this case—her. I wanted to be sure you escaped that inferno.”
Amelia remembered Angus saying something similar about being indebted when he and J.D. fought in the Battle of San Juan Hill.
“But I’d said all those angry things to you on the day I got back from France,” she persisted, “and you knew perfectly well that I blamed you for my father even being at the all-night poker games and also when the quake struck and—”
“You’d just been through a horrible ordeal yourself, making your way down nine stories in that ruined building, so I made some allowances for that. And besides, you’d offered to help me that terrible morning, even though I’d taken over your family’s hotel and beaten you in court. You’re a decent woman, Amelia. Not too many people like that in this world. I wanted to make certain you got to safety that day.”
“Hmm…” She took another sip of her wine. Gazing at him over her glass, she said, “You know, I’ve kept those three cards that my father had in his hand when I found him in the rubble.”
J.D. paused, his glass half way to his lips. “Really?”
“Yes. An ace, queen, and ten of diamonds. The ones he said were part of the royal flush he claimed he drew just as the quake hit.”
“Yes, I remember your telling me that at the Presidio. But you never found a jack or king of diamonds, did you?”
“No. I couldn’t see any trace of them in all that wreckage.”
“Hmm.”
“Tell me again what you saw of his hand… just before the first jolt?”
He drew pensive. “At five-thirteen that morning, with the world turning upside down, I don’t think I saw anything very clearly, Amelia.”
“I expect not,” she murmured.
He set down his glass. “All hell broke loose just as your father was playing his hand.”
…All hell broke loose…
Those had been Henry Bradshaw’s exact words describing the same instant. At least J.D. hadn’t called her father an out-and-out liar, which
she
certainly had done to her father’s face more than once in her life.
A few more moments of silence bloomed between them. Then J.D. said, “We’d better not let Loy and Shou Shou and the others see that dead dog.”
“I don’t want to see it either.” She allowed him to pour her a second glass. “Makes me think of poor Barbary.”
J.D. shot her an odd look. “It made me think of him too, poor fellow. He was a wonderful dog. Your grandfather raised him well.” Then he added, “The Chinese are superstitious about exhuming the dead, you know. They’ll only dig up remains if they’re sending them to China for reburial. Ancestor worship and all that, plus I don’t think we want word of buried treasure getting around. It’s still a pretty unsafe place around here.”
Amelia nodded, wondering if J.D. was also thinking about Ling Lee, buried in tons of rubble, her broken body never to be sent to her homeland for burial.
“Well, first thing tomorrow morning,” she said, “when none of the workers are on the site, I suggest that
we
bury the unfortunate creature in the backyard with full military honors. The dog deserves that for guarding all that booty for a year.”
J.D. smiled faintly. “A twenty-one-gun salute, at the very least.”
“And I’m also going to dedicate a memorial rose garden in his honor—and to Barbary’s.”
J.D. leaned back in his chair, a melancholy cast to his gaze. “To placate the dogs’ ancestors?”
“No, as a shrine of gratitude. It’s only right. What we’ve found tonight gives the Bay View a new lease on life.”
“You’re right. I had exactly fifty-two dollars worth of silver left in that safe.”
Amelia slowly shook her head. “James Diaz Thayer, you are a worse gambler than my father ever was.”
“’Fraid not. I always do my gambling stone-cold sober.”
“And that makes a difference?”
“Oh, yes indeed.” J.D. reached across the desk and gently seized her chin between his fingers. “I believe you
will
create a shrine in honor of those dogs,” he said, and then, before Amelia had any notion of his intentions, he leaned across the desk and kissed her.