We worked in silence for another moment before he asked quietly, “Then why do you look so scared, Ally?”
How could I explain that my fear had nothing to do with him? All the excuses I thought to give Sam only reminded me of things Spencer would say. Evasive, misleading, half truths. I hated when Spencer didn’t tell me what I wanted to know.
What would Sam think if I told him the truth?
“I’m not afraid of you,” I finally said as I brought the kettle and can of beans over. “I guess I’m afraid of history.”
Crouched near the ground, he laid the kindling on the patch of dirt he’d created, a frown on his handsome face. “What does that mean?”
I hesitated, remembering Father’s warning about Sam’s feelings toward me. I didn’t want to give him false hope or tell him that history said we would be married.
“I don’t know. I’m sorry, Sam.” I sighed. “Things are really complicated.”
“Between you and me?” He continued building the fire, not looking at me.
“Between my two paths.” Perhaps I couldn’t tell him aboutThe Annals of San Francisco, but there was something I could ask him. “What do you know about the night Bess died?”
He frowned. “As much as you know, I suppose.” He stopped working and finally looked up. “Why? What do you know?”
There was no harm in telling him the truth. I had to remember that. “Bess told you that if someone knowingly changed history, they would forfeit the life they changed, right?”
Understanding washed over his face like a tidal wave, and he stood straight. “She changed something, didn’t she? Why hadn’t I even considered such a thing?” He shook his head and walkedaway. “Why would she choose to leave Johnnie? She loved him more than anything on this earth.”
“I don’t know.”
“What did she change?” He turned back.
Taking a deep breath, I set the kettle and beans on a nearby rock. I didn’t want to keep anything from him. “In 1928, there was a movie made calledGold Rush!—”
“A movie?” He shook his head, frowning. “What is that?”
I paused. How did I describe a movie to a man who would only be familiar with daguerreotypes, which were an early photograph, just gaining popularity in 1849? “By 1929, there is an invention, like the daguerreotype, that captures moving images and allows you to watch the action on a screen. It tells a story, sort of like a play on a stage, but it’s imprinted on film and can be watched over and over again. That’s what my father does, and I am an actress in his movies.”
His frown did not disappear as he continued to watch me.
“There was a book written calledGoldRush!, and someone turned it into a very popular movie. The book was written by a man named—” I paused, wondering what emotions my statement would elicit from Sam—“Cole Goodman.”
Sam’s lips parted in surprise, and the scar in his eyebrow, which I hardly noticed anymore, suddenly grew tense as anger filled his face. “Goodman wrote a book?”
“He did, but the book disappeared after the night Bess died, and the movie wasn’t made. History changed, because Cole never wrote it, at least at first.”
Confusion warred with the anger on Sam’s face. “What does that mean?”
I let out a breath and realized I needed to tell him everything. “The day I arrived at your place, I immediately knew who you were because of the movie.”
“I was in this movie?”
“A character based off of you was in the movie.”
“And it was taken from Goodman’s book?”
“Yes.”
He scoffed. “I can only imagine what he would have written about me.”
“It wasn’t good,” I acknowledged as I clasped my hands. “It tells the story of Cole, who came to San Francisco as a naïve and gullible young man who was quickly enticed by the love of gold and gave in to the corruption of the city.”
“That part is true.”
