“No hurry.” He smiled sadly as he walked out.
Paddy left the kitchen through the back door, and a minute later I heard him chopping wood. Sam took a seat at the table again and held out his arms for Johnnie, who left Hazel’s side and climbed into his lap.
I motioned for Hazel to pick up the pallet and blankets on the floor, which she did without a fuss, then finished cracking the eggs into the bowl.
Thirty minutes later, after we’d finished our eggs and Hazel was helping me clean up the mess I’d made, the doctor returned to the kitchen.
“Mr. Adams is your father, miss?” he asked me.
“Yes.” I turned to him, wiping my hands on my apron, my heart in my throat. “Will he live?”
“Only God knows our future,” the doctor said. “But I think with proper rest and care, he will recover. His heart has been weakened, so I don’t believe he’ll ever return to full strength. He says he was a schoolmaster in Massachusetts?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t see why he couldn’t return to that profession at some point if he’d like. There aren’t a lot of children in San Francisco at the moment, but more people are coming every day. By the time he is recovered, we might be ready for a school.”
“How long will that be?”
“It could be weeks or months. There’s no way of knowing.”
“What about gold mining?”
The doctor pressed his lips together and shook his head. “It’s a tough profession for the heartiest among us. I’ve seen young, healthy men return from the goldfields, broken, defeated, and near death from the difficulties they endured. Disease, accidents, and harsh weather, not to mention the physical labor it takes to mine gold is not for the faint of heart. Your father will be fortunate if he can stand for an hour or two at the front of a classroom each day.” His face held compassion as he put his hand on my forearm and squeezed gently. “I’m sorry, Miss Adams, if that was his plan. I don’t believe it’s possible anymore.”
I nodded, though his words felt like one of the massive anchors holding the abandoned ships at bay in the harbor. What would we do now? How would I ensure Father and Hazel had the financial means to survive if I left in November on my twenty-fifth birthday? This was the doctor’s best guess, but we couldn’t be certain Father would be able to open a school and teach. If he wasn’t, Hazel would need to care for him, and the thought of a six-year-oldgirl practically on her own in San Francisco was ludicrous. I could never leave her like that.
Which meant, if I couldn’t ensure she was cared for, I would have no choice but to stay in 1849. The thought of never seeing my family and friends in 1929 again filled me with such despair, I wanted to weep. Now more than ever, I realized the need to finishLittle Womenin record time. If I was forced to leave them, I would leave them with one last chance to save Bennett Studios.
But I wasn’t giving up on 1849. There had to be a way to provide for Father and Hazel.
Sam rose to say good-bye to the doctor, putting Johnnie on his feet.
After the older man left, Sam met my gaze. “I’m sorry about your father.”
I was close to tears, so I simply nodded and turned back to the dishes.
He stepped up to help me, and we worked in silence together. When we were done, it was time to care for Bess.
Leaving Hazel in the kitchen with Sam and Johnnie, I entered the room. I wasn’t unfamiliar with death, having lost both my mother and stepmother from this path; and our life in Massachusetts had been marked by the loss of people both young and old. Thankfully, modern medicine in 1929 had come a long way to prevent deaths that were far too common in 1849.
But what had killed Bess?
She lay on her back in the bed with the covers drawn up to her chin. Her brown hair was unbound, and she was in a threadbare nightgown.
The hooks on the wall revealed that she only had two dresses, so I chose the nicer one for her to wear.
It wasn’t an easy task, but she was small and thin, and I was able to dress her. Sweat dripped from my brow as I turned her body to button the back of her gown. Her hair parted—and my breath caught as I staggered backward.
Just above her hairline, right where mine sat, Bess had the mark of a time-crosser.
My mind spun with the revelation, then everything inside of me stilled.
History had changed, and then Bess had died in her sleep.
She hadn’t been caught in a fire, which meant that Sam hadn’t started it and wouldn’t be hanged for the crime. And there wouldn’t be a movie made about it in 1928, which explained Spencer’s comments and Mama’s lack of knowledge.
Had Bess knowingly changed history to prevent her husband from being executed—and forfeited her life in 1849 because of it?
