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Page 14.

Not long into autumn, May Wyllie stood forebodingly before the bathroom door in her mother’s house. Her face radiated worry. She knocked again, and whispered: “Lizzie?”

The door opened, revealing her sister, who stood with her hands folded before her as if in penance, shaking her head. Her eyes were full of anguish. May raised her hands to her face in horror. Her poor sister! Not again! A tear ran down each of Lizzie’s cheeks—the first of many.

Arm in arm, the sisters took the first of many walks to counter the numbing shock that overtook Lizzie. Mother didn’t know yet, but you couldn’t hide something like this from her for long.

The streets of the city became barren as summer turned into autumn, and the two sisters went for forlorn walks, thinking of ways to find money to help their mother and keep up the household. Lizzie was much in despair over John’s on again, off again attentions. Sometimes it seemed as if he were going to leave his wife and children, and at other times it seemed he was abandoning Lizzie. May could only comfort Lizzie and warn her of any further contact with their former boss.

“The game has changed now, Lizzie.”

“I know, I know, I have been a fool again. But I still hope.”

“You hope what?”

“That he will leave her for me. I’m younger and far prettier, for one thing. And I am willing to work.”

“You’re carrying his child. You won’t work with a little one depending on you to be there every second.”

“I couldn’t bear to give it up again,” Lizzie said with tears springing forth. “I would rather die.”

Leaves whirled around the young women’s long dresses as they walked along gray and industrial streets.

As the days grew shorter, lights stayed on in houses and lingered into the early evenings.

The very air looked gray and sad, foreboding and gloomy.

Everything had a hard, mean look, even the gleaming surfaces of a black carriage pulled by a single horse. An old man smoking a pipe sat on top, in a torn wool coat. The coach lights glimmered faintly in little brass lanterns with red glass windows as the carriage clip-clopped out of sight. It reminded Lizzie of a last, fading glimmer of hope.

Kate Morgan walked along a country lane in Michigan, having crossed the country by train. She was relieved to be away from the Transcontinental Railroads on which she and Tom had shared such mischief.

It was early fall, and there was still a little green in the trees, but the light was sad and beautiful, and many of the leaves had dried into the colors of apples—bright yellows and somber reds and purples.

She arrived at a brick mansion with ivied walls and a magnificent front.

Walking around the back, she came to a servants’ entrance and knocked. A pretty young woman in maid’s uniform came to the door. “Yes?”

Kate said: “I’m looking for Charlotte Barnard.”

Charlotte Barnard said: “That’s me.”

Kate said: “My name is Lucy Crawford. I just came from San Francisco.”

Charlotte Barnard looked horrified. “Is it something I done?”

Kate said: “No, no, I came to give you this.” She handed over a love note. “Emily says she waited a time, then burned them all—but she forgot that one.”

Charlotte snatched the love note and stared at it open-mouthed. “Oh my God. I thought I was done with this. Now I’ll burn this one and it’s all behind me.”

Kate said: “Charlotte, I can’t stay long because I am taking a position in Detroit, and have to show up there tomorrow. Apparently, Mr. Spreckels got in hot water with his old lady over a little fling with you.”

Charlotte Barnard cried: “My new employer must hear nothing about it. Nothing! Or I’m ruined!”

Kate said: “Hush, dear. There won’t be a word. Does Spreckels know where to find you?”

“Oh God, I hope not.”

Kate said: “Wonderful. I’m a bit curious. Such a wealthy man. What was he like?”

Charlotte looked furtively around. She seemed nervous, but eager to learn what she could from Kate, just as Kate was eager to learn from her about Spreckels. “Why do you want to know?”

Kate said: “Just nosey as the dickens.”

Charlotte Barnard grinned: “I have a little time. Would you like to come in for tea?”

“I’ve been walking for a few hours, and I could use something hot.”

Charlotte Barnard said: “We have hot soup in the kitchen. And bread. Come on in, and I’ll give you a mouthful and an earful. All the gossip. They are an interesting family. Now about John Spreckels...”