I slowly lowered into the chair, but my back was stiff.
“Look.” He leaned forward. “I know you don’t like my lifestyle, but I can’t say that I like yours either. It seems so boring and a waste of time to sit at home every night and knit.”
“I don’t knit.”
“All I’m saying is that if we have to spend so much time together, you have to meet me halfway.”
“A speakeasy is not halfway.”
“You don’t have to drink. The waiter is bringing that milkshake and burger down here.”
“What about your promise to me?” I asked, crossing my arms. “You said you wouldn’t touch alcohol.”
“Who said I am? I brought you down here to get away from the fans, stay warm and dry, and get something to eat. I don’t see how it’s any different down here than upstairs. Just a little more comfortable.” He nodded at the band and the dancers. “And more entertaining.”
Spencer was right. The room was comfortable, no one was paying attention to us, and the music was enjoyable.
“Fine,” I said, “but as soon as we’re done eating, I’d like to go home.”
He winked. “You got it.”
I hoped I didn’t regret staying. But I had a feeling Spencer Hayes was going to make me regret a lot.
7
September 1, 1849
San Francisco, California
I had never, in all my life, been at a funeral like Bess Kendal’s. As I stood in the front room with Hazel at my side, we watched countless men enter the room, wait in line, and then pay their respects to Bess, who was laid out on two sawhorses and several wooden planks. It was the best we could do, and I realized quickly it didn’t matter to these men.
My thoughts had been on Spencer earlier that morning and our time at the speakeasy. It had been a surprisingly pleasant evening in his company, despite our surroundings. He was easy to like, and the conversation had flowed freely.
Now, however, I was consumed with 1849 again.
The room was silent except for the shuffling of feet, the soft murmured prayers, and the occasional sniffle from those who tried valiantly to hold back their tears. A queen in a palace could not have been more revered or loved. Yet, death was such a commonplace thing in California. It wasn’t the first of these funerals, nor would it be the last.
A group of women entered the room, and I put my hand on Hazel’s shoulder out of instinct. They were clad in expensive clothing, though the décolletage was dangerously low and their faceswere painted with makeup. In 1929, makeup was just starting to become widely accepted, but in 1849, only actresses and women of the night applied cosmetics.
The men stepped aside in deference to the night workers. But when the women saw me, they paused.
The leader of the five was older than the others. Under her makeup, expensive clothing, and the air of importance she tried to exude, I saw her shame.
Sam stood nearest the door, with Johnnie at his side, greeting people as they entered, while I stood on the opposite side of the room, closest to the kitchen. The line had stopped moving as the women waited for my response to their arrival. Did they think I would insist they leave? It wasn’t my place to turn them away, nor would I do such a thing. Everyone who cared about Bess had a right to be there.
“Go on, Sadie,” Sam said to the leader. “There are others waiting.”
Sadie kept her eyes on me as she lifted her chin and approached Bess.
Sam caught my gaze, the scar on his eyebrow especially intimidating today with grief lining his face. Was he watching to see how I would respond to the prostitutes? In Massachusetts, especially in a small town like Concord, if a woman of ill repute entered a room, a proper young lady would excuse herself and would not return to the room, or the building.
But we weren’t in Massachusetts, and I had never turned my back on anyone. I didn’t know how Sadie and her friends had entered this lifestyle or what kept them there. I had a feeling that if they’d been given a choice, they wouldn’t be prostitutes. I had no right to judge them.
I lowered my eyes, wanting to be anywhere but here.
In both paths, I was forced to face the immorality of life head-on without much choice. It was a lot easier to pretend it didn’t exist when I’d been cocooned inside our home in Concord, surrounded by moralists and transcendentalists who sought to transcend the material world and better understand the spiritual. Even in 1929Hollywood, at the height of the Jazz Age and the progressive ideas that had reshaped culture, my parents had worked hard to shelter me from the worst.
But here, and last night with Spencer, I’d had to face the world in which I lived. It reminded me that all of us were human, and we had choices to make. I’d been admonished all my life to liveinthe world but not beofthe world. To attain to a higher standard, not only for my safety and health, but to honor God’s best plan for me. It wasn’t always easy, but after seeing the consequences of people’s actions, both good and bad, I knew it was necessary.
