The Doctor's Newfound Family

The steady, rhythmic echo of the horse’s hooves on the cobblestone and brick-paved streets provided a soothing tempo until they had proceeded far enough from the busiest areas of the city to encounter hard-packed dirt dotted with muddy potholes.

To Sara Beth’s relief, all the younger children had nodded off before the doctor’s buggy had reached the portion of Pike Street where their home stood.

“This is it,” she said, stifling a sigh and pointing. “That two-story, gray clapboard with the double porches. You can let us off in front.”

As the doctor climbed down to hitch his horse to a cast-iron ring, he paused. Tensing, he held up his hand to stop her instead of continuing around to help her disembark. “Wait. Stay there.”

“Why? What’s wrong?”

“I think I see someone on your porch.”

“That’s silly. There can’t be. Why would anyone…?” Peering at the house, she realized he was right. There was someone on her front porch. And another man on the upstairs porch that mirrored the structure at ground level. Judging by their shadowy forms, both men were carrying rifles.

Sara Beth remained in the buggy as she cupped her hands around her mouth and called out, “Who are you? What do you want?”

The gunman on the lower porch stepped off and started along the boarded walkway toward her. There was no mistaking the menace in his movements. She might have assumed she was overreacting but the buggy horse also seemed nervous, almost unseating her when it suddenly lurched backward to the end of its tether and stamped its hooves.

The man paused halfway to the street and struck a stalwart pose, his boots planted solidly apart, his rifle spanning his chest. “This house is off-limits,” he said. “Sheriff’s orders.”

“But that’s impossible. I live here,” Sara Beth insisted.

“Not any more you don’t. This property is sealed. No one can come or go,” the guard replied.

“That’s ridiculous. My father, Robert Reese, is the owner.” The gunman’s cynical chuckle chilled her to the bone.

“That’s what you think, little lady. I have it on good authority that this property belongs to the U.S. government now.”

“Who told you that? Who sent you?”

“I get my orders from Sheriff Scannell, like I said.”

Sara Beth was not about to concede defeat. “Where did he get that authority?”

“From Judge Norton, I reckon.”

The doctor had gotten back into his buggy and was again taking up the reins when Sara Beth noticed him. “What are you doing? I’m not going anywhere. This is my home and I intend to claim it.”

“Over their objection?” he asked. “I think that would be more than unwise, miss. I think it would be suicide.”

“I’m not afraid of them, even if you are.”

“Very noble, I’m sure. However, I have only a pistol and you are armed with a knitting needle. How do you propose we overwhelm at least two men with rifles and sidearms?”

“I don’t know.” Her voice rose. “They’re in the wrong. We can’t simply give in to such unfairness.”

“We can retreat to fight another day,” he said. “Hang on.” He gave the lines a snap and the horse took off smartly, pushing Sara Beth back against the padded seat in spite of her efforts to lean forward.

She bit her lower lip and fought a swelling feeling of exasperation and powerlessness. This couldn’t be happening! Everything she and her family owned was locked up in that house. She didn’t even have a hairbrush or a change of clothing for herself or for the boys.

The doctor slowed the horse’s pace when they were several blocks away. “Where to?” he asked.

“What?” She blinked rapidly to quell her tears of frustration.

“I can’t very well take you home with me and I don’t think the Cobweb Palace is a fit place, either. Do you have friends or family you could stay with until we get this mess sorted out?”

She noted his use of the pronoun “we,” but chose to ignore the implication. “I have no family in San Francisco and Mother’s friends are mostly affiliated with the Ladies’ Protection and Relief Society.”

Sighing, she said, “I had hoped to delay this decision, but I suppose I have no choice. We shall have to go straight to their orphan asylum. Do you know where it’s located?”

She was relieved when he told her that he did. However, when he added, “I’ve had the sad duty of treating some of those poor little ones,” her spirits plummeted. She and her brothers were now on a totally different social stratum, weren’t they? In a matter of hours they had gone from being part of a middle-class family to being destitute, just like the dirty street urchins who begged along the piers and alleys down by the wharf.

Raising her chin and closing her eyes, Sara Beth vowed that as long as she had breath in her body, her remaining family would never have to beg. She would work somewhere, do something that generated an honest living, no matter how meager, God willing.

And, please Lord, show me how to get our house and belongings back, too, she prayed silently. She didn’t know how she’d manage to accomplish that, but she would not give up trying, no matter what.

There was no need to hurry the horse along once they were in the clear, Taylor concluded. It was nearly morning. Although the city would soon be bustling with its usual daytime activities, there was probably at least an hour more before the keepers of the orphanage would rise and begin to prepare the first meal of the day.

Mulling over the plight of his passengers made him so angry he could barely contain his ire. It was fraud and abuses of the law such as these that had brought about the formation of the Vigilance Committee in the first place. The ballot boxes had been rigged, the honest votes nullified by internal corruption and the offices such as judge and sheriff sold to the highest bidders. Little wonder someone in power had had no trouble getting quick control of the Reese home and laboratory.

His own father and grandfather would have been astounded to hear of the despotism rampant in the city. Reform was urgently needed. And as far as he was concerned, men like him were charged, by their own innate sense of honor, to rise up and facilitate a change.

That was why he had joined the Vigilance Committee and why he was still an active member of the widespread secret society. He might not have been able to help Miss Sara Beth immediately, but he would help her. Someone was going to pay for turning her and her little brothers out into the night. He was going to see to it.

The horse ambled along the Montgomery block of hotels and up Sacramento Street past the four-story brick Rail Road House, a hotel that boasted accommodations for up to two hundred persons at one time, clean bedding and fresh water. The little figure of a locomotive atop its weather vane was said to anticipate San Francisco’s eventual joining with the rest of the States by rail.

Taylor glanced at Sara Beth as he guided his horse up California Street and onto the sweeping, tree-lined drive that led to the orphanage. The building had been, and still was, a palatial private home, although living quarters for the host family were separate from the housing for the orphans and live-in staff. Ella McNeil, the matron, watched over her charges and managed the house with an iron hand. Unlike the Reese children, many of the other orphans had been living on the streets, unsupervised, for months or even years and were therefore in dire need of discipline and moral guidance.

“Miss?” Taylor said quietly. “We’re here.”

Sara Beth opened her eyes and nodded. “I know. I haven’t been asleep.”

“Would you like me to come in with you?”

“Yes, if you don’t mind. I can manage Josiah, but I can’t carry them all. And the older boys may be upset when they realize where we are.”

“I understand.”

He climbed down and circled the buggy to assist her.

She passed him Josiah, then gently woke Mathias and Luke. “We need to get out here, boys.”

Mathias rubbed his fists over his eyes and yawned. “Are we home?”

“Not exactly,” Sara Beth said. “We’ll be staying here for a bit while we get Papa’s affairs settled.”

Luke leaned past him to look. “What are we doing here? Where are we?”

“I wanna go home,” Mathias began to wail.