He was quiet for a long time as we walked. Finally, he said, “It’s not something you can easily forget.”
“But it’s not even true, Sam. You’re not a criminal, and the sooner you stop identifying as one, the sooner others will see you for who you really are. There are so many people coming into SanFrancisco each day. They only know who you are because of who you say you are.”
“What about the others who already know?”
“They’ll soon forget or move on. Besides”—I stepped over a sharp looking rock—“your character is the most important determiner of your reputation. If you let people in, let them know the real Sam Kendal, they will have no choice but to like you and trust you.”
He walked next to me, one hand holding the lead rope and the other hanging at his side. He brushed my hand with his, and when I looked up at him, his smile lit up his face. “Do you like me?”
My traitorous heart flipped inside my chest, and my knees suddenly felt weak at the look in his eyes—and the truth in my heart. “Yes. Very much.”
“And you trust me?”
“I wouldn’t be here alone with you if I didn’t.”
His countenance lifted as if I’d just told him the best news he’d ever heard. “How beautiful upon the mountains are the feet of those who bring glad tidings of good things,” he paraphrased from the book of Isaiah.
I laughed. “If you could see my feet right now, you would know how wrong you are.”
He laughed, too, as he shook his head, but then he quieted. His hand brushed against mine again. “You are beautiful, Ally, and your words mean a lot to me.”
Pleasure ran up the length of my arm from his touch, and despite the dangerous and demanding nature of our journey, I didn’t want it to end. I loved this quiet time with him, learning new things about his past and his hopes for the future.
Vicky’s words returned to me from the day before.Was I falling for Sam Kendal?I hadn’t even let myself imagine such a thing because it had been too dangerous to think about. The Sam I had known before we left San Francisco and the Sam I knew now were two different men.
This Sam I could see myself falling for.
“I don’t know if I want to be a barrister anymore,” he said, thankfully breaking into my thoughts with a safer topic. “I like the idea of owning my hotel and possibly other businesses.” He let his gaze wander over the mountains. “I kind of like the idea of settling new territory, too, of building a town and watching it grow. Having a comfortable cabin in the woods, away from the busyness of the city.”
“I like that idea, too.”
His gaze found mine, and I finally accepted what Father had warned me about.
Sam was falling, too.
By the time we made camp that evening along the banks of the Yuba River, my feet were numb from the pain. We had passed two miners heading up the mountain earlier in the day, and since I had learned that William Downie wouldn’t make his way to Downieville until October 6th, I suspected he was not one of them. We’d been friendly but not engaging as the men had asked us where we’d been and if we knew of any good places to look for gold.
The entire time we talked to them, all I could think about was the gold in the saddlebags. Because we needed the room for the nuggets, we were carrying our bedrolls and other sundry items on our backs. Did the miners suspect our reason for not putting the things in the saddlebags?
If they did, they didn’t act suspicious. But knowing that they were on the trail and that there could be others made me nervous. Every noise or movement brought my head up and made my heart pound. What would stop someone from killing us in our sleep and taking our gold?
Sam and I worked quietly as we set up camp for the evening. He removed the heavy saddlebags and hid them in a nearby thicket, out of sight from anyone who might come upon us. He tied the mules nearby so they might warn us if anyone approached the gold.
The sun had set behind the horizon, and the cloud cover made it feel darker than it should have been. The temperature had fallen significantly, and the ominous sky portended rain, but for now we were dry. I worked on building a fire and gathering supplies for our meal. I’d become adept at making hasty pudding, and we had a few cans of baked beans left. As I worked, I tried not to pay attention to my feet. I hated to think what they looked like and suspected that several blisters had broken open and were bleeding. We had one more day on the trail before we arrived in Marysville, and then we could take the ferry back to San Francisco.
I could handle one more day with blisters.
But the thought of it brought unwanted tears to my eyes. How much more painful would they be tomorrow?
“What’s wrong?” Sam asked as he left the mules and joined me near the fire.
I swiped at the tears and set a kettle with water over the flames to boil. “Nothing.”
He put his hands on my arms to stop me as I moved past him. “It’s not nothing, Ally.”
I didn’t dare look into his eyes, especially with his hands on me, knowing I would lose all ability to reason if I did. “My feet are a little sore, but I’ll be fine.”
“What do you mean, they’re sore?”
