He was right. If this one had to be the last, at least we had ended with our best.
Mama caught a glimpse of me, and she lifted her hand to wave me over, a sad smile on her face. “Come, Ally. Let’s make the most of tonight.”
As I took her hand, I was thankful that I was spending my last day in 1929 surrounded by my family, watching a movie we had made together. It was exactly how I wanted to remember all of them.
Tomorrow, I would wake up in 1849 and never return here.
I just prayed that I wouldn’t lose 1849, too.
27
November 2, 1849
San Francisco, California
The sounds of the gambling hall next door woke me up early the next morning. Sam had already left our bed, which wasn’t unusual for him. He often got up earlier than me to start the fire and put the pot of coffee on to boil.
As I lay in the dim room, my thoughts were a mess of emotions, both good and bad. I had said good-bye to my family the night before, knowing I would never wake up in 1929 again. And even though I had been prepared for this moment, it was still a strange reality to know that I would become like everyone else, going to sleep and waking up in the same time and place.
Mama spoke as if I would have a long and happy life in San Francisco and wouldn’t even entertain the idea that I might not survive past today. She asked me to write a journal that I would one day leave to the San Francisco Historical Society so she could know all about my life here. It felt like a tangible link to my family, almost like writing letters to relatives back East. Only, I wouldn’t receive replies.
I let the tears trail down my cheeks, hoping I wouldn’t wake Hazel or Johnnie, who were asleep on the floor. The pain of losingmy other family was gut-wrenching, as I knew it would be, but a ribbon of hope wound through the grief. I had known I was leaving, so it wasn’t as devastating as it might have been if I hadn’t been given the choice, though it still hurt. It would take a long time for the edge of pain to wear away, and I needed to give myself the grace to mourn.
I’m not sure how long I cried. But as the sun started to brighten the room, I suddenly realized that I couldn’t hear Sam getting the coffee ready.
Concern tightened my chest, and I got out of bed to look for him.
He wasn’t in the kitchen.
Johnnie’s slate was on the table, and there was a message in Sam’s handwriting.
Happy birthday, my love. Meet me at the hotel when you wake up.
I quickly dressed, and when Paddy entered the kitchen as he usually did, I told him where I was going and left the note for Father to see. They would make sure the children were cared for while I was gone.
The sun was now up, and San Francisco was bustling with activity. My heart continued to pound as I walked down Montgomery Street and turned on to Clay to climb the impossibly steep hill. I hadn’t breathed a word to Sam about seeing Bess, and he didn’t know that I was going to stay in 1849.
There was so much I wanted to tell him.
I just wished I wasn’t so worried about the fire andThe Annals of San Francisco. There was still going to be a fire. The other books I’d read hadn’t changed.
I wasn’t sure why Bess had asked me to trust her, but I had risked everything to stay here.
Portsmouth Square was not as busy as it would be later in the day, though there were a few people doing business as I crestedthe hill and had my first look at the new San Francisco Hotel. The gold had allowed Sam to build it in record time with the help of several laborers, and it was bigger and better than before.
I stood for a moment, marveling at how much they had accomplished in three weeks. The wooden building was three stories tall with a covered front porch, real glass windows, and a sign that proudly declared theSan Francisco Hotelhanging above the porch roof.
Nervous excitement filled my stomach as I crossed the square and opened the front door.
The inside was just as beautiful as the outside. A large front dining room had wooden floors, plaster walls, and tables and chairs that Sam had commissioned from the furniture maker. To the left was a staircase that led up to the second floor, and at the back of the dining room was a door that probably led into the kitchen.
It opened, and Sam entered the room, a sad smile on his face when he saw me. In his hand was a tiny orange kitten with white feet. “Happy birthday.”
I laughed and rushed across the room to enter his embrace.
“Do you like it?” he asked as I wrapped my arms around him.
“The hotel or the kitten?”
