He laughed and jumped out of the car—distracting me from getting the truth out of him again.
After he opened the passenger door, he offered his hand and helped me out of the car. He glanced down at the book and frowned. “You really are serious about learning the history of San Francisco. Why are you so interested in it?”
I couldn’t tell him the truth, so I shrugged. “I like history. And I can be just as evasive as you, though I won’t try to shock you to distract you from getting the truth out of me.”
The corner of his mouth came up as he closed the door and offered his arm to walk me to the house. Despite my reservations, Spencer was growing on me. Knowing he cared about what his mother and aunt thought of him made me realize he wasn’t just a playboy. He was someone’s son and nephew.
And he was starting to become my friend.
We stepped onto the covered porch, and I opened the front door.
Our house was filled with people, and even in the entryway, though everyone was spread out around the house, it was loud.
“Grace, Lydia, and Kathryn are staying with us,” I said as I set the book on the hall table and took off my cloche cap. “Every Sunday, my parents invite Julia and her family to come over for supper. Julia has six children.”
“Six?”
“Annette is the oldest.”
“Six?” he whispered again, eyes wide.
“Ally, is that you?” Mama called from the back of the house, probably in the kitchen. She and Papa had let go of our hired girl recently, since they could no longer afford to pay her and because modern conveniences had replaced the need for live-in help. Vacuum cleaners, refrigerators, washing machines, and electric ranges had revolutionized many homes.
“Yes,” I called back. “Spencer and I ran into each other on Hollywood Boulevard, and he brought me home.”
“Spencer!” Within moments, people began to pour out of almost every room.
Lydia and Annette came from the front parlor; Mama, Grace, and Julia came out of the kitchen; Vicky appeared from the dining room, a stack of plates in her hands; and Papa left his home office, Julia’s two youngest children latched onto his legs.
“You’ll stay for supper, won’t you?” Mama asked Spencer as she took his fedora out of his hands and set it on the hall coat-tree.
“It’s good to see you again,” Grace said at the same time.
“We can make space for you.” Vicky smiled. “I’m just setting the table now.”
“Will you run some lines with me?” Lydia asked. “We’ll need to practice the scenes when Laurie and Amy come home from Europe married.”
Their comments overlapped as the little ones cheered in excitement for no reason.
I held up my hand. “Please. One at a time.”
“You’ll stay for supper, Spencer,” Mama said.
“She’s not asking,” Papa told him. “She’s telling.”
Everyone laughed, and Spencer smiled, but I could see that he was uncomfortable with all the activity and being the center of attention. It was strange to see someone so famous and confident on-screen feeling unsure of himself.
“You can help me set the table.” Vicky handed him the stack of plates, not giving him a choice. “Follow me.”
Spencer glanced at me, as if asking for permission. I shrugged and smiled, eager to have time alone with Mama and the others to ask about 1849.
As he left with Vicky, I followed Mama, Julia, and Grace back into the kitchen.
The aroma of roasting chicken permeated the air. A pile of potatoes sat on the worktable in the center, and a bowl of pea pods sat beside it. I was reminded that I had no skills in the kitchen, which would need to be remedied quickly if I was going to cook for Sam’s hotel in the morning.
But that was the least of my worries right now.
Mama, Grace, and Julia resumed their seats at the worktable as Mama asked, “Why didn’t you go with Spencer and Vicky to set the table?”
