Josiah's Treasure Read Free Page A

“Up Nob Hill, sir. One of the best parts of town,” he explained when he realized Daniel didn’t recognize the name.
    “Folks are rich up there, then.”
    “Lots of them sure are. Real estate investors, businessmen . . . gold speculators. Wish I’d had the nerve to go mining.” A wistful look crossed his boyish features. “Why? The fellow owe you money?”
    “In a manner of speaking.” Thirty thousand dollars, based on Josiah’s final telegram. His father’s take of the profits from the small gold-mining company he and a partner had run. Danielkept the telegram, faded and deeply creased, in the inner pocket of his coat. Read it over and over again, a reminder of what Josiah owed Daniel and his sisters back in Chicago. Cold, hard cash. Enough to set himself up in business and build that fine house he had promised to Lily and Marguerite. Because, the Lord knew, he and his sisters weren’t looking for a father’s love anymore. “How do I get to Jones Street from here?”
    “Go north two blocks and catch the California Street cable car. That’s your best bet. Only costs a nickel and the views up there are first-rate. You can see right across the Golden Gate, you can! I take my sweetheart on the Clay Street cable line all the—”
    “Is it far?” Daniel interrupted the man’s enthusiastic praises.
    He shook his head. “Five, ten minutes at most, Mr. Cady.” “Good.”
    Without being asked, the clerk scribbled Josiah’s address on a scrap of paper and handed it to Daniel. Tucking the note in his pocket, Daniel headed downstairs and out of the hotel. At the street corner, he had a clear view of the city cloaking the sandy hills until every square inch seemed to be covered by pavement and buildings. Up there, among the jumble of dusty streets and bay-windowed houses, church spires, and telegraph poles, Josiah lived in comfort and security. Oblivious to the surprise he was about to receive.
    Daniel secured his hat on his head and stepped off the curb. Five, ten minutes at most to get to Josiah. Not long, but long enough for Daniel to decide exactly what he intended to say to him.
    “I forgive you, Father” was not on the list.

    “I did it, Mrs. McGinnis,” Sarah announced to the empty entry hall, her voice echoing off the curving staircase. Out of habit, she brushed fingertips across the solitary painting hanging above the demilune table tucked against the wall. A painting she’d done ofher family farm, a watercolor almost as wispy as her memories of the place, the gilt frame rubbing bare down to the wood where she touched it all the time. “Mrs. McGinnis!”
    Rufus, their orange tabby, jumped down from the padded chair that was his observation post on the second-floor landing, his claws tapping rapidly across the floor. Sarah stripped off her gloves and threw her hat onto the table. It bounced against the floral wallpaper along with her discarded reticule, the keys inside releasing a satisfying clink. “Mrs. McGinnis?” Sarah peered at the empty dining room, the darkened front parlor to her right.
    The housekeeper, wiping her hands on her apron, bustled through the kitchen doorway at the far end of the dining room.
    “There you are,” said Sarah.
    “
Wheesht
, lass, stop screeching, I heard you,” Mrs. McGinnis chided, shaking her head. A strand of brown hair escaped from the tidy bun at the base of her neck. “And where else would I be at this hour? Gone for a stroll?”
    Sarah smiled, patting her hair and finding more than a few strands of her own unwound. She jabbed hairpins home. “It
is
a beautiful day.”
    “And
nae
time for someone like me to enjoy it.”
    Sarah clasped the other woman’s fingers. They were gritty with flour, strong as bands of iron, chapped from lye. Warmth and support and fortitude all wrapped up in the hands of a servant.
    “I did it,” Sarah repeated. “I have the keys to the storefront and a six-month lease. On my terms.”
    The other woman’s answering grin,