Was Spencer free from his obligation to the feds now? Hopefully he could put his past behind him and move on.
But would he?
I didn’t want to worry about Spencer anymore. I needed tofocus on Sam and learn whether history had changed. I scanned the shelf several times and then looked on the adjoining shelf, butThe Annals of San Franciscowas nowhere to be found. Perhaps it hadn’t been shelved properly.
Returning to the circulation desk, I smiled at Miss Clampett. “Could you tell me where I might findThe Annalsof San Francisco? I borrowed the copy about two months ago and returned it, but I can’t seem to find it.”
“Of course. Let me just take a look to see if it was checked out.”
I waited as she looked through the index file.
“Here it is.” She smiled and turned back to me. “Seems that the book is suddenly very popular. No one checked it out for years, and now it’s been checked out twice in the past two months.”
Frowning, I tried to look at the index card she held. “Do you know who checked it out?”
Miss Clampett pulled the card back. “I’m sorry. I can’t share patron information with you. What I can say is that it’s overdue and should have been returned last week. When it comes back, I’ll send you a notification. Will that do?”
“I really need to know something from the book. Do you have any other histories of San Francisco?”
“Yes, of course.” She led me back to the shelf I had already looked at and handed me three books.
I took them to a nearby table and spent over an hour digging through them. They listed a great fire on November 3rd, but there was nothing about Sam or me. It did state that the fire was attributed to the Sydney Ducks and that a vigilante committee had hanged four of them.
There would still be a fire, but would it kill Sam and me?
I put the books back on the shelf and returned to Miss Clampett. “Are you sure you can’t tell me who borrowedThe Annals of San Francisco?”
“I’m afraid not. But I will be sending them a notice to let them know the book is overdue.”
Disappointment filled my heart, but I nodded. Although I wantedto know if Sam and I were still supposed to die on November 3rd, I had a bit of time. Surely the book would be returned in the next four weeks. “Thank you. If you could get word to me as soon as it’s back, I would appreciate it.”
“Of course.”
I left the library feeling deflated and more uncertain than before.
The only other way I might know how Sam died was if I looked up his death record in San Francisco, but that would mean another ten-hour drive or sending a letter to the public records department in San Francisco and waiting several weeks for them to respond.
If the book didn’t show up soon, I would have to do something.
October 29, 1929
Hollywood, California
Over two weeks had passed since the night of the fire and my trip to the library. I checked back often, but the book had not been returned, and I was nowhere closer to getting answers. Lydia had asked Hope if she knew whether I would lose my second path if I forfeited the first, but she didn’t know, either. She had visited with family and sent letters to others who were not close at hand, but we had heard nothing promising. No one knew.
Sam had finally agreed to use the gold we’d brought back from Downieville, and work had resumed on the San Francisco Hotel as Father and I ran Bess’s Place. As Sam’s wife, there was a newfound respect for me among the customers who came to eat and sleep, but Father kept a close eye on me and the children by day, and Sam and Paddy watched over us at night.
Though life had been busy and the days were long, I cherished the precious time Sam and I had in the evenings. He had hung a partition in the room we shared with the children, and for an hour or so each night, it was just the two of us. Nothing and noone else mattered. We did not discuss what might happen on my birthday, but it was never far from our minds.
In 1929, we were only two days away from the premiere ofLittle Women, and the cast had been called together for one last publicity photoshoot. Papa had been quiet all week, and whenever I tried to ask him about his mood, he would change the subject.
A photographer fromFilm Dailywas taking pictures of the cast as they lounged on the set after production. All of us were in our casual street clothes as we waited for Spencer, who was an hour late. I hadn’t seen him for over three weeks, though the gossip magazines were still filling their columns with news of our breakup. Spencer’s reputation had improved, for which I was grateful, and it seemed that our fake relationship had done what Mr. Mayer hoped. Even with speculation buzzing about why we broke up, people still spoke highly of Spencer again.
“Ally.” Our producer, Cal, approached me. “There’s someone here to see you.”
Frowning, I turned away from the actress who had played Marmee. “Who is it?”
Cal leaned forward and whispered in my ear, “It’s L.B. Mayer.” My lips parted in surprise. “He’s in the conference room and asked to speak to you alone.”
