‘When you go with Chauncey tomorrow, be sure to buy yourself a riding habit, all right?’
Jules pulled her cloak more closely about her. ‘I’ve never had a riding habit,’ she said. ‘In royal blue,’ Saint said firmly. ‘Now,
sweetheart, what is that damned bird over there on that sand dune?’
‘That, I believe.,’ said Jules with great concentration, ‘is a snowy plover. And that one,’ she said, excitement and fun in her
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voice as she pointed to another bird, ‘just might be a wandering tattler.’
He grinned over at her. ‘I know quite a few wandering tattlers, and they all speak English. You wouldn’t be making that up, now, would you?’
‘No, sir. I love the name, don’t you? I’ve really never seen one in the flesh- and-fe athers before, but it does look like a bird in one of my books.’
‘Books?’ he asked. ‘I don’t recall seeing any.’
She was silent for a long moment, saying finally, ‘I have two of them. They’re in Lahaina in my father’s house. I had hidden them under my bed and forgot about them in all the … excitement.’
‘Tomorrow,’ he said, ‘or the day after, we will replace them for you. Also any more books you want. My library is rather meager.’ He saw that she would argue with him, and added quickly, ‘If you see a small plant, maybe it’s a yerba buena, which is, just in case you don’t know something I do, the original name of San Francisco.’
Jules nodded, knowing his intent, and said in a forced gay voice, ‘I will look. And perhaps we’ll see a Bonaparte gull.’
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‘Now, Dan Brewer is my husband Del’s partner at the bank,’ Chauncey was saying to Jules. ‘We’re trying to find him a wife, but the pickings here in San Francisco are still quite slim. Another gentleman you’ll meet is Tony Dawson, part-owner of the Alta Califomia, another one of those bachelors. You recall that young lady I introduced you to before lunch? The one who treated me like I had the plague, and looked right through you?’
At Jules’s nod, Chauncey continued, ‘Well, my dear, that is our own lovely Penelope Stevenson. A more snobbish, gossiping, ill-humored female you’ll never meet. Her mother looks like a ship under full sail and her father, Bunker … well, he’s jovial enough, I guess. Ah, there’s Lucas with the carriage. I must get home to feed Alexandra now. Would you like to come with me?’
But Jules had just spotted a small bookstore, and remembering Michael’s promise, said, ‘No, I think I’ll browse a bit more.’ She pointed to the bookstore across Kearny Street.
‘That’s Mr. jointer’s shop. You’ll like him.
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Very well, Jules, I’ll see you Thursday evening. It was such fun, and you’ll look exquisite in all your new clothes.’
Jules thanked her once again, her hand not too steady as she thought about the awful amount of money she’d spent at Monsieur David’s.
‘Give my love to Saint.’
Jules watched Lucas, a pirate of a fellow if Jules had ever seen one, help Chauncey Saxton into the open carriage. He was, Chauncey had told her, married to her longtime maid, friend, and housekeeper, Mary. ‘And therein lies a story!’ she’d said, shaken her head, and laughed.
Jules waited on the sidewalk, waving her hand until the carriage was swallowed up in the incredible traffic along Kearny Street.
She gathered up her skirt and began to weave her way among drays, beer wagons, lumber wagons, and myriad types of men, who all stared at her to the point of embarrassment. She remembered Chauncey’s words. ‘There are so many lonely men. We have more and more women and families moving here all the time, but still so many men have no one. For the most part, you needn’t worry, they’re quite respectful.’ And they seemed to be, she saw.
I’ll just see what Mr. Jointer has in stock,
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Jules told herself. I won’t buy anything, not today. She had reached the shop when she chanced to look up. Her body went rigid. Jameson Wilkes was striding toward her, looking every inch the successful businessman in a dark gray suit. Jules grabbed for the doorknob, but it didn’t turn. She looked blankly at the small sign in the window: ‘Closed until 2:00.’ Oh God, what was she to do?