Soon we were at the entrance to his building. It was framed, and there was a shingled roof, but there was no siding, windows, or doors yet.
“I don’t want to borrow money to finish it,” he said as he grasped the door frame. “So I’ve been working at it slowly.”
“Wouldn’t it be easier to get a loan so you could finish it and start making money?”
“Not when the banks in San Francisco are charging fifteen percent interest.” He shook his head. “I’ve never liked banks, anyway.”
The way he said it suggested his feelings toward banks went deeper than just dislike. It sounded personal.
“Come on in.” He motioned toward the building. “I’ll show you around.”
It was a large and impressive structure, three stories tall with a generous kitchen in the back, a dining room in the front, and a commodious parlor for meetings.
“The third floor will be a men’s dormitory,” Sam said as we walked through the dining room. “But the second floor will be individual rooms for families. Right now we mostly have men in town, but one day soon families will start to arrive, and I want to be ready for them.”
The group of men who had heckled Sam walked toward the hotel, talking amongst themselves, disgust and anger on their faces as they watched us tour the building.
I glanced at Sam to see if it bothered him, but he didn’t look in their direction or show signs of being disturbed.
The men’s behavior made me wonder if Sam was the only Sydney Town man trying to break into business on Portsmouth Square.
“It’s getting late,” he said. “Let’s purchase our supplies and head back home.”
We left his building and had to pass the men who had congregated. They didn’t move aside for us but leered and jeered as we walked around them. Sam held his head high, but I could see anger in the lines beside his eyes.
Did they know he was a convicted murderer? In their opinion, he was a Sydney Duck, and that was probably all that mattered. They didn’t see the difference in one man from the other.
Was that what I was doing? Judging him harshly for the same reason?
We were quiet as we left Portsmouth Square and walked down Washington Street to Montgomery Street, turning left to head back to Sydney Town. It was less than a mile to walk, but with the hills, it felt longer. He didn’t speak about the men or try to convince me that they were wrong to say such things.
He walked with quiet dignity, though I could tell it had bothered him.
There was no question when we entered Sydney Town. Unkempt men stood on porches and in doorways, their tattered cabbage-tree hats, unique to the Sydney Ducks, sitting low over their foreheads as they watched me. Sam took a step closer, and when we had to pass a group of rowdy, drunken men, his hand rested on the small of my back again and didn’t leave.
Despite the danger, his presence was reassuring. In Portsmouth Square he might be despised, but in Sydney Town, Sam Kendal was respected.
“This is no place for you,” he said under his breath. “Or the children. When we first came in April, it was a respectable place to live, but since then, they say fourteen thousand men have arrived from Australia. Add to that the other gangs who have come and it’s now unlivable.”
We passed the Fierce Grizzly Saloon, where a live bear was kept chained next to the front door, and past dozens of brothels, where scantily clad women called out to Sam for attention. He ignored them much like he had the businessmen earlier.
“Why do so many of the men walk with such a peculiar gait?” I asked, watching a group amble down the street. “I noticed it first when I met English Jim on the dock.”
Sam was quiet for a moment, then said, “It’s from the years they spent in leg chains in the penal colony.” He stopped just outside the general store across the road from Bess’s Place and lifted the hem of his pants leg, revealing scars around his ankles. “I wore the shackles for two years. Long enough to be scarred, but not long enough to let it affect my gait.” He glanced at the group. “All it takes is a day in those shackles to change you forever.”
He was a complex man, and his story intrigued me more with each passing day. I wanted to know what Sam was like before he’d gone to Australia.
A familiar figure exited the general store, causing Sam to pause.
Cole Goodman.
Both men stared as if daring each other to make a move.
“Bess told me you were leaving for Sacramento first chance you got,” Sam said, his voice flat. “You’re a fool to join Jim’s gang.”
“He made an offer I couldn’t resist.” Cole glanced at me, his gaze hooded and hard to read. “I see you replaced Bess without trouble.”
Sam took a step toward Cole, and for a split second, I saw fear in Cole’s eyes.
