The room was full of a dozen rough-hewn tables surrounded by three-legged stools.
“We got us some newcomers, Bess,” a man said. “English Jim sent them your way.”
I scanned the wood floor of the flimsy canvas building, looking for a trapdoor. I’d seen a movie in 1928 about Sydney Town and the gang known as the Sydney Ducks, the worst of the gangs that filled this section of San Francisco that would one day be called the Barbary Coast. The Ducks were hardened criminals who had escaped from the British penal colonies of Australia. The story was about one of the more infamous gang leaders among them, Sam Kendal. It was rumored that the Ducks had trapdoors in the floors of their buildings to capture unsuspecting customers. The men would be sold to ship captains to be pressed into service,and the women—I didn’t even want to think about what they did with the women they took captive. The movie had been violent and garish, highlighting the atrocities of the vicious gang that had wreaked havoc on San Francisco until a vigilante committee broke them up in 1851.
That was two years from now.
I lifted Hazel into my arms, holding her tight. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d held her on my hip, but I did now. She clung to me, and for the first time since we left Massachusetts, she seemed afraid.
Bess was young—perhaps in her early to mid-twenties—but she looked hardened by life, and her clothes were worn and simple. She was still pretty, but her eyes lacked sparkle, and her skin lacked luster.
She looked us over without emotion. I wore a simple cream-and-brown-checkered cotton dress with a brown bonnet. It wasn’t fancy or expensive, but serviceable and proper.
“The lady and her father need a place to stay,” one of the men said to Bess, a bit of awe in his face. “And the little one. English Jim thought you could put them up.”
Bess sighed. “Of course he did.” She lifted her chin at me. “You have money to pay?”
My mouth slipped open to say no, but I couldn’t bring myself to speak, so I shook my head.
She pressed her lips together in disapproval. “What about your father? What ails him?”
“Malaria,” I finally said, choking on my voice, anxious to get out of there. “We can go someplace else. Just point us in the right direc—”
“Nowhere else will take you without money.” Bess nodded at the men who held Father. “I don’t have any empty beds. You’ll have to put him on the floor upstairs.”
I stepped forward. “We can’t stay—”
“You don’t have much choice.” Bess studied me as the door to the back room opened and a little boy walked in, stopping nextto Bess. She put her hand on his shoulder without looking away. “What’s your name?”
I swallowed as dozens of eyes stared at me. “Ally Adams,” I said, trying not to sound panicked as some of the men disappeared up the stairs with Father.
“And where are you from, Miss Adams?”
“Concord, Massachusetts.” I stepped closer. “Please. We can leave. I don’t want to be an imposition.”
“It’s too late for that. You and the girl look like you’re ready to collapse. I can feed you and give you space for the night, but you’ll need to work for your keep.”
My throat tightened. What kind of work did she have in mind?
“I could use some help in the kitchen,” she said, lifting an eyebrow, as if she had read my thoughts.
In Massachusetts, I had been a teacher in Father’s school. My stepmother, Hazel’s mother, had seen to all the domestic work before she passed away. In 1929, I was a movie actress and had been since I was a child. I didn’t have any experience in a kitchen and wouldn’t even know how to help. But I couldn’t tell her that, because I had no other choice.
“The rest of you get out,” Bess said to the men, “unless you’re here to eat.”
“Come on, Bess,” said a man at the back of the group. “Miss Adams is the prettiest thing I’ve laid my eyes on in months. I’ll pay you just to look at her.”
“I don’t run that kind of business,” Bess replied. “If you’re looking for that, go on down to the Boar’s Head or the Jolly Waterman.”
There was a chorus of protests until a large man stepped out of the corner of the room, and they quieted. He was broad and bulky, and the scars on his hands and face suggested that he had seen his fair share of brawls. Half of his face drooped, as if it was paralyzed, and his eyes lacked a depth of understanding.
“Paddy will see that you men stay in line,” Bess said to the crowd. Then she motioned to me. “Come into the kitchen.”
I followed her and the little boy into a back room, still holdingHazel. The kitchen was small and warm, with a cookstove, a worktable, and various kitchen utensils. A cupboard sat against one wall, and hooks hung from the ceiling with pots and pans dangling overhead. Barrels of salt pork, flour, and sugar sat alongside bags of beans, coffee, and oats. Jars of pickled cucumbers and honey sat on a shelf with various spices. There were no windows in the room, but the thin canvas walls offered enough light.
“You and the child will sleep in here,” she said. “It won’t be safe, but it’ll be safer than sleeping upstairs with the others or out on the street. I’ll have Paddy guard the room at night.”
My eyes opened wide. I couldn’t help it. “Surely there would be a better place for my father and sister.”
