“Then you have our blessing,” Papa said.
Overwhelming joy took hold of me, and I stood to hug them—but then reality crashed upon me, and I had to fight the grief that threatened to upend my happiness.
I prayed we could find the answer I needed.
October 10, 1929
San Francisco, California
I spent a day in 1849 planning and preparing for the wedding and depositing the gold into two accounts at Wells Fargo Bank. One was for Father and Hazel in 1849, and the other was for Papa and me to withdraw in 1929. Sam had been busy working on the hotel, but we had a few minutes alone, and I told him my parents had given their blessing. I wanted to tell him what Papa had suggested, that there might be a way to stayandsave his life, but I wasn’t sure if I should give him false hope. And Papa was right. The less Sam knew about what would happen, the better.
Now, as Papa and I pulled into the San Francisco Bay area off Route 101, my heart started to pound. The city had changed so much by 1929, it was almost as if it was a different place. The hills and the bay were the same, but gone were the tents and canvas buildings, and in their place were brick, stucco, and wooden structures that had stood the test of time. Many of them were influenced by the Victorian era. The San Francisco trolleys ran up and down the streets, ringing their bells and dropping people off at various stops. Trees, flowers, and shrubs filled the city, giving it a gentler feel.
“It’s hard to believe that so much has changed, but the Wells Fargo Bank is in the same place,” I said to Papa, who was driving Peter and Julia’s borrowed Ford.
“I’m sure you’ll recognize a few similarities,” he told me. “Though some of the bay has been filled in, and several of the ships that were left at anchor during the gold rush were buried right where they remained.”
“That’s incredible.” I shook my head. “One thing that hasn’t changed is the number of people.” We stopped to let a group cross Montgomery Street. “And the amazing diversity of races and cultures.”
We had left Los Angeles at five that morning, and it had taken us almost ten hours to travel up Route 101, with several stops tostretch our legs and refill the gas tank. It had been a good time for us to catch up and reconnect. I told him more about Sam and our adventure up the Yuba River. He told me about his dreams for Bennett Studios and the next movie he wanted to make.
The only reason he had taken a day off from postproduction was because of the promise of gold. I still didn’t know how much it would be worth in 1929, but I was eager and anxious to find out.
“I left detailed instructions with the bank when I deposited the gold,” I told Papa. “I gave your name as the designated receiver and asked for an eighty-one-year lease. They were a little perplexed, but they took my gold and guaranteed that a man named Grant Bennett from Los Angeles could access the box when he came for it. I think they thought I was a little insane, but gold has a way of talking.”
Papa smiled. “I hope we don’t have any trouble getting into it.”
“I hope so, too. It’s strange to think that there are people in this city who were alive in 1849,” I mused. “Only eighty years have passed since the original 49ers came out.”
“Maybe Hazel is still living,” Papa suggested.
I started to watch the passersby with newfound interest, though she would be in her late eighties and perhaps not well enough to walk the streets.
“It’s not a good idea to look for her,” Papa said. “I know the temptation might be strong, but she doesn’t know you’re a time-crosser, and it would be too hard for her to accept.”
“I know.” I didn’t want to look for Hazel for several reasons. One was that I was afraid she might not still be alive, and it was better to think of her as I knew her in 1849.
We found a space to park the Ford and stepped onto the sidewalk. The building had been remodeled and expanded and looked very different compared to 1849, when it was one of the first brick structures in San Francisco. It had been two stories tall with a front porch and balcony overhead. Now, it was half the city block with gray columns and smooth granite blocks.
Papa opened the front door for me, and I stepped inside. Themain lobby was cool and spacious. The marble floors gleamed, and several desks were positioned throughout the room between large columns.
Papa led the way to the counter, where a male teller with a name badge that said “Stanley” greeted us with a smile. “How may I help you?”
“I would like to retrieve a safety-deposit box,” Papa said.
“Of course, sir. I’ll just need you to fill out some information and provide identification.”
He handed Papa the form, and I held my breath, hoping and praying we would be able to retrieve the box without trouble. There should have been eight gold ingots inside. Each one was about three hundred and sixty-five troy ounces, or twenty-five pounds.
After Papa filled out the information, he pulled out his driver’s license and birth certificate and set them on top of the form.
Stanley smiled congenially as he took the information back, and then his smile fell as he looked up quickly. “You’re Grant Bennett?”
“Yes.”
“Grant Bennett from Los Angeles?”
Papa glanced at me and then at Stanley and nodded. “Yes.”
