Gold Mountain (4 page)

When I left the house, found a cab, and gave the driver my destination, I turned into the quintessential country mouse come to the city. My father’s medical clinic was located in Tung Chow, not an especially prepossessing city, but as a teacher I had spent a great deal of time at the Presbyterian Home for Girls in Pekin and thought I was accustomed to the sights and sounds of a large city. Turning onto Market Street, however, I caught sight of some of San Francisco’s extraordinary buildings and realized that nothing in Pekin could have prepared me for this particular city. Yesterday I had been busy chatting with my sister and reacquainting myself with my brother-in-law so I had not spent any time observing my surroundings. Alone and without distraction on this trip, I could only look out the carriage window with my mouth hanging open in admiring astonishment. What a wonder of a city with its broad streets filled with the chaos of pedestrians, cable cars, hand carts, horse cars, and even a few automobiles! I hoped Johanna had had a chance to see some of San Francisco on her hasty way to the train station and hoped even more that her new home of Chicago would be kind to her. I would write once she had a chance to settle in and we could compare cities.

We curved onto Third Street, passing through the reek of slaughter houses, and leisurely moved south. I could see the broad expanse of the Bay and knew from the sights and sounds that I was nearing my destination. Frankly, my surroundings didn’t look all that bad, despite Martin’s dire warning. The area teemed with both street and foot traffic, congested and noisy and filled with a variety of people coming and going, but it held nothing ominous or threatening.

I thought the cabbie intended to drive us straight into the Bay, but he pulled up before we were dunked and called out, “Here’s the Broadway Dock then. You want I should wait?” He had a broad, bald head and an engaging grin. Irish from the lilt of his speech.

I eyed the alley’s incline before replying, “Please, if you don’t mind. I won’t be very long.”

Hearing my answer made him ask, “You’re not Irish then, are you?” apparently surprised I didn’t have a brogue to match his.

“Not a drop, despite the hair,” I answered, laughing. “But you’re not the first person to think I should be.”

“Imagine not.” He eyed my hair with such admiration that from a self-conscious reflex I reached up to reposition my hat. “No disrespect meant, miss,” he added, noticing my discomfort and suddenly embarrassed himself.

“No disrespect taken.” I took a few steps up the alley, then turned back to ask, “What’s your name?”

“Casey.”

“Well, Casey, you remember this red hair. I’m new to the city and looking for the office of the Pandora Transport Company. If I’m not back in a reasonable time, I could be lost. Do you know if this is the right alley? ”

“It is. You greet that Jake Pandora for me. Tell him it were Casey’s cab that brought you. You’ll be safe enough.”

I couldn’t tell if my safety was guaranteed because I would be talking to Jake Pandora or because I had arrived with Casey. Either way, Martin’s fears for my well-being seemed to be handled.

Despite its impressive name, The Pandora Transport Company was nothing but a small storefront, flanked by a liquor distributor on one side and a small beer garden on the other. Those bookends made me smile. Mr. Pandora certainly had no excuse for being thirsty. When I stepped inside, I saw a young man—fifteen at the very oldest—sitting at a tall wooden desk. He had an open metal box next to him and a stack of papers next to that. I watched him take a paper from the top of the stack, read it, make a note in an open ledger book on his desk, place the paper in the safety box, then reach for the next paper. He had his method of operation down to a
t
and didn’t notice me until I cleared my throat.

“Mr. Pandora?”

I startled the poor fellow so much that he inadvertently knocked the box off the table, causing him to pronounce one very coarse phrase as he grabbed for—and missed—the box, which clattered onto the floor. The contents of the box fluttered down to the floor like so many large, paper snowflakes. Even in the dim interior I could see the young man’s face color. The words he’d just spoken with vehemence and precision weren’t usually used publicly or in polite society. Because I didn’t miss much, hadn’t even as a child, and had spent considerable time on ships and around sailors besides, I recognized the colorful phrase and didn’t bother acting shocked.

“Beg your pardon, ma’am.” He was apologizing for his language. “Didn’t see you there.”

“I should apologize for sneaking up on you,” I replied, feeling bad about his obvious embarrassment. His cheeks were suffused with such a deep crimson color, I thought blood might start spurting out of his pores at any moment, a mental picture with enough recent memories to make me uncomfortable. I needed to move the conversation along. “Are you Mr. Pandora?”

Behind me a male voice spoke. “No. There’s no Mister about him. He’s just Eddie. I’m Jake Pandora.”

I turned around to face the speaker, who stood behind me in the open doorway, and found myself facing the most beautiful man I had ever seen. Nothing effete or feminine about him but beautiful in the classical sense, golden olive skin, black hair curling against a perfectly shaped head, straight nose, full, firm mouth, and dark brown eyes. He could have been a Michelangelo statue come to life. Of medium height with a muscled build and a face that was flawless. Conscious that I was staring, I stepped back and dropped my gaze but not before I saw a glimmer of understanding in those deep, dark eyes. No doubt he had experienced such a reaction from a woman before. A female would have to be dead not to appreciate—even envy—the perfection of his appearance. Then I immediately thought
poor man
and wondered if stares—even stares as appreciative as mine—grew tiresome after a while.

Prodding me to speak, the man repeated, “I’m Jake Pandora. The only Mister Pandora in San Francisco as far as I know. What can I do for you?” His slightly amused tone brought me to my senses.

“It’s about your steamer.”

“I have several steamers, Miss. Which steamer would that be, exactly?”

Any residual good humor I felt from his aesthetic attraction rapidly disappeared under the impatient, slightly patronizing tone I heard in his voice. Too bad, I thought, that his manners were not as appealing as his face.

“The one that docked yesterday morning, Mr. Pandora. It had the numeral two painted on the side, right after the name of your company. Does that help?”

I saw him take in my appearance, my outdated dress and unbecoming hat, and recognized the exact moment he decided I was not there on any business that would put money in his pocket.

“Yes, ma’am. It does help. What about it?”

“You carried a passenger I recognized and I’m trying to find her. I thought you might be able to tell me where she’s staying.”

Jake Pandora stepped farther inside the small office and tossed a coin to the young man at the table. “Eddie, go find lunch while I talk to this lady.” When the young man left, Pandora motioned to the chair. “You can sit down if you’d like.”

“I don’t need to sit. This shouldn’t take very long.”

“I agree since I carry freight, not passengers.”

“You carried passengers yesterday.”

“No, ma’am, I didn’t.”

“Yes, sir, you did.” I mimicked his tone and inflection. “A group of young Chinese girls got off your number two steamer and I recognized one of them. I’d like to find her.”

“I don’t carry passengers,” he repeated as if I hadn’t spoken, “and even if I did, I wouldn’t be dealing in that trade.”

“I saw a girl I knew when I lived in China. Her name is Mae Tao. I recognized her and I believe she recognized me. I want to find her.”

That I ignored his previous declaration with the same glib assurance he had used to disregard my words added a short-tempered irritation to his tone as he spoke.

“You may have seen someone you recognized on the dock yesterday and she may have been a Chinese girl, but she didn’t get off any of my steamers.”

“I have made mistakes in my life that I deeply regret, Mr. Pandora, but in this instance I am not mistaken.” I spoke the final words through teeth that had begun to clench of their own volition and paused to take a relaxing breath before continuing so my words would come out sounding reasonable instead of hysterical or threatening. “If you fear I will report you to the authorities for illegally transporting Chinese, please be assured that I have no intention of doing so. I only want to find Mae Tao. Your business, while deplorable, remains your business.”

“Yes, it does remain my business. Thank you for stating the obvious. Now I repeat, Miss—”

“Hudson,” I supplied. “Miss Dinah Hudson. And yes, before you say it, I’m fresh off a boat myself, but I assure you I am not mistaken in this particular circumstance.”

“Now I repeat, Miss Hudson,” he continued, “no girls, Chinese or otherwise, got off any of my boats at anytime, yesterday or last month or last year.” He stepped to the side, giving me a clear path to the door. “I don’t traffic in females. Never have. Never will. Now if that’s all, I need to be going.”

You
really need to be going, he meant, and I glared at him, recognizing that I was at an impasse and resenting the helpless, frustrated way his words and attitude made me feel. Familiar emotions, the same I had experienced trapped inside a city for eight weeks, held against my will and furious at the stupidity of violence all around me and the ignorance and prejudice shown on both sides of the conflict. I attribute my unacceptable exit from the office of the Pandora Transport Company to that unpleasant miasma of memory.

Walking past Jake Pandora, I stopped directly in front of him, much too close for courtesy or propriety, and placed my right forefinger against his chest. He wore a common costume of the docks, collarless shirt and informal dark coat and pants, and I tapped my finger—hard—against his collarbone that showed just above his shirt. From his expression, he was clearly taken aback by my gesture and physical proximity and more than a little angry at my continued defiance.

“And I repeat, Mr. Pandora: I am not mistaken in this particular circumstance. I will find Mae Tao and if she has come to any harm, I will make sure you are held personally responsible for it to the fullest extent of the law. The fullest.” I repeated the words with undisguised relish. “You would be making a serious mistake to underestimate my determination when I know I’m right.” I tapped his chest methodically as I spoke, giving one final, forceful jab as I concluded. “If your memory suddenly returns, you can send a note to Grove Street, where I’m staying with my sister and brother-in-law, the Shandlings.”

Aware that he had retreated into the shadow of the doorway and stood watching me, I stepped into the alley and strolled away at a pace to indicate I didn’t have a care in the world, out for a leisurely and recreational excursion and in no hurry whatsoever. Inside, however, my heart was thumping a mile a minute and I was as furious as I had been in a long time.

When I climbed into the waiting cab, Casey took one look at my face and with typical Irish intuition, bit off the start of the question he had been about to ask.

Beautiful on the outside he might be, I thought on the ride home, still fuming over the conversation, but Mr. Pandora had secrets that made him—at least in my eyes—as repulsive as any monster. I understood exactly what he had meant by the words “that trade,” and I was very afraid for my little Mae Tao.

Chapter Three

M
y temper had cooled by the time Ruth greeted me at her front door, and when she asked, “Well?” expectantly, I was able to respond calmly.

“No luck, I’m afraid. Mr. Pandora said he carried freight, not people, and I must have been mistaken.”

“Well, there you are, then,” Ruth responded cheerfully. “Martin was right. You probably saw one of the locals who bore a resemblance to your Mae Tao.”

“Perhaps,” I agreed vaguely and moved the conversation onto safer ground. “Are you still up to an afternoon of shopping?”

“Are my eyes still blue?” my sister retorted, and we shared a laugh before she went to find her purse and gloves. The Hudson sisters, as different as night and day in some areas, had always shared a mutual fondness for pretty fabric and big hats.

I intended to find Mae Tao, regardless of any opposition, but I had no idea how or to whom to turn. Ruth’s earlier observation that I had been in California for only a few hours was obviously correct and I knew it would take time to put together a plan, so I pushed my nagging worry for the little Chinese girl into a back corner of my mind and spent the afternoon among the merchants of San Francisco.

Without ever discussing the matter between us, my jaunt to the Pandora Transport Company didn’t come up in either Ruth’s or my conversation with Martin that evening. He arrived home in time for a late supper, told us about his day, and asked about ours. When we mentioned our time spent looking at fabric and dress patterns, he smiled.

“You should each get something new. Mr. Gallagher has asked me to be part of the bank’s presence at the city’s summer cotillion, and he specifically asked me to bring Dinah along. She seems to have taken on celebrity status.”

Ruth flushed at the implied question mark at the end of Martin’s sentence and quickly admitted, “I saw Mrs. Gallagher about a week ago when I was shopping and told her about Dinah’s visit. I’m not going to apologize for being proud of my sister, Martin. Dinah endured God only knows what horrors and emerged as a heroine in my eyes.”