Whatever illusions Abby had about wagon-train travel were given up for lost just a few days outside of St. Louis. She found the experience miserable, morning to night. If not for the scenery and the friendships she made with the other women, the whole thing would have been completely unbearable. How mother had endured such a journey to the Oregon Territory, she could not imagine. Her dainty mother could scarcely dress herself without help from a lady’s maid, let alone contend with the daily ordeals that arose from wagon travel.

Somehow the days passed, one upon the other. Abby made it through Wuthering Heights, not once, but three times. Though she found the story sobering, it helped pass the time. Just two days shy of the trading post at Fort Hall, she began to get her energy back again. Soon they would come to the fork in the road and would take the path north and west to Mama. She prayed her backside would make it.

As they pulled into town, the wagon jutted up and down, back and forth, until every joint ached.

“My teeth are coming loose.” Neville squirmed in his chair. “By the time we arrive I won’t be able to eat a thing.”

“Don’t exaggerate, Neville,” she countered. “It’s not th–that bad.”

“Hmm.” He shifted his position in the seat, finally reaching for a small pillow and shoving it underneath him. “There. Don’t know why I didn’t think of that sooner. You should do the same, Miss Abigail. You will thank me for the idea.”

She reached into her belongings and came out with a small blanket, which she folded into a pillow of sorts. She attempted to stand but a sudden dip in the trail pitched the coach to the right and she nearly toppled over. The blanket flew across the space between them, landing in Neville’s lap.

“No thank you,” he said, and then yawned. “I’m too warm already.”

Moments later the driver pulled the horses to a halt, and the wheels of the coach groaned against the gravel path in front of the outpost. Abigail startled, nearly jolted from her seat once again.

“Have we arrived?” She peered out the opening at the front of the wagon and took note of the fact that all the wagons in the company had stopped as well.

“Pretty sure we’re camping overnight,” Neville said. “The two trails diverge here, Miss Abigail, so it’ll be northwest from here on out.”

“Sounds like music to my ears.”

Neville shook his head. “No, that’s the sound of men yelling. Not sure what’s got everyone so worked up, but I’ll check.”

He climbed down from the wagon and disappeared in the direction of the wagon master, who appeared to be arguing with someone. Rather heatedly, in fact. Abby stretched her back, eager to get out of the wagon for a few hours.

The sound of voices, followed by angry shouts and what sounded like an argument, convinced her to stay put. She peeked outside to get a closer look. Neville most certainly did not look happy. He stormed back to the wagon and climbed aboard, his expression tight. “Well, this is a fine kettle of fish.”

“What happened, Neville?”

“The road to Oregon has been washed out by spring rains. Our wagon master has just received word that we can’t move forward.”

Her heart rate quickened. “What does this mean?”

“It means we turn back to St. Louis, Miss Abigail.”

“No!” She fought back tears of disappointment. “I’m not going back home, not without Mother in tow.”

“We can’t get to her, Miss Abigail.” Neville gave her a fatherly look. “We have no choice but to turn back.”

“There are always choices. Always.” She released a slow breath and closed her eyes. What would the character in her novel do at a time like this? She would forge ahead, undeterred.

Moments later, her eyes popped open. “We’re at a fork in the road, yes?”

“Yes.”

“The other road, where does it lead?”

“California, of course. San Francisco.”

She slapped her knees, more excited than ever. “Perfect. We’ll go to San Francisco and wait until the roads open. No doubt there’s a road to the Oregon Territory from there, one Mother can use to meet us.”

“San Francisco?” Neville shook his head, the fear in his expression leaving little doubt of his opinion on that matter.

“Yes. Jimmy Blodgett says it’s a fabulous town with endless possibilities. And think about it, Neville. Once I send word to Mother, she will be enticed to join us. You know how she is. She will love the idea, I assure you.”

“I can’t imagine she would want to make the trip. And who is Jimmy Blodgett, pray tell?”

“The waiter on the train. He told me wonderful stories about how beautiful it is in California, how the rivers are thick with gold, and how people come from all over the globe to experience the wonder that is California.”

“You’ll pardon my asking, but if this fellow found the rivers to be heavy with gold, then why is he working on a train?”

“Well, that’s quite another story.” She paused to think through her next words. “One that involves a father who preferred to gamble away the family fortune. But the point is, San Francisco is a bustling port town with adventurous opportunities. Mother can meet us there when the roads clear. Don’t you see? For all our hesitation about how we would get her out of Oregon, we now have our answer. We will ask her to come to San Francisco for a vacation, and she will jump at the chance. We will see new and exciting things and so will she. Then, when the dust has settled, we’ll all head back home to Philadelphia … together. The perfect solution, don’t you think?”

“Perhaps. But … San Francisco?” He shivered. “I have not prepared myself for that. I have heard stories, as well, and they are not as … picturesque … as yours. The kind of adventures I fear would involve thievery, drunkenness, shootings, and women of ill repute. Not the sort of locale I would consider safe or inviting.”

“One doesn’t plan adventures, Neville. One takes them as they come. See? This is a blessing in disguise.”

He gave her a look that shared his thoughts on the matter, then a more reflective look came over him. She knew this look well—one of resignation. “If we’re to travel to California, I will need to arrange for our travel. This will be a costly venture, Miss Abigail.”

“As all good adventures are.” She offered a hopeful smile. “Let’s look for the silver lining, shall we?”

“Humph. Don’t you mean gold lining?”

“Gold, indeed.” Endless possibilities took root and her thoughts tumbled in multiple directions at once. Suddenly she could hardly wait to get to San Francisco.

“Sam, what can I do for you?”

Sam looked up from the list in his hand as the mercantile owner called his name. Doing business with Marcus Denueve required careful attention.

“Oh, good morning, Marcus. I’ve come for our weekly supplies for the restaurant.”

“Of course. Same list as always?”

“Yes, but Cookie wants to add an extra pound of sugar and three bags of flour. She plans to do a lot of baking, I think.”

“And where is Cookie this fine morning?”

“Up to her eyeballs in pastry dough. Couldn’t come this time.” Sam didn’t want to share the rest of the story, that Cookie had sent him on their weekly grocery run so that he could see firsthand just how Marcus had taken to gouging them.

“Well, I’ll have Kennedy get your things.” Marcus paused and appeared to be thinking. “You want to take care of this month’s bill while you’re here, or should I send it at the end of the month, as usual?”

“Whatever works for you.”

“I’m always happy to be paid.” Marcus ran his fingertips along the edge of his wiry mustache. “As one business owner to another, I’m sure you understand.”

“Of course. Happy to oblige.”

The elderly store clerk, a wiry fellow named Frankie Kennedy, went to work, gathering the necessary items. Sam bided his time, looking over new merchandise. When Frankie finished, he loaded the groceries into a large crate and lifted it to the counter.

Sam snagged the bill and almost gasped aloud as he scanned the amount. Since when did Marcus charge a dollar for a dozen eggs? And why so much for flour? Was the stuff made of gold?

“Hesitating over the bill, eh?” Marcus’s words sounded from behind him and stirred Sam from his ponderings.

Sam bit back a retort as he turned to face the man. “A little shocking, if you don’t mind my saying so.”

Marcus slapped his arm around Sam’s shoulder. “Prices are going up. Can’t help that, my friend. Such is the cost of doing business in a place like San Francisco. You, of all people, should know that. Won’t be long before your father ups the prices at the inn.” He gave Sam a knowing look. “It’s bound to happen.”

Shrugging out of Marcus’s embrace, Sam tried to focus on the conversation at hand. “We’re already full-up at the inn. Don’t need the extra business.”

“All the more reason to charge more. You don’t have room to grow the building, but you still have plenty of opportunity to grow your income.” Marcus’s jaw tensed. “Take a few hints from me, my friend, or risk losing your business. There’s plenty of opportunity for growth in San Francisco if you charge accordingly. Everyone’s doing it, so the fellas will get used to it over time.”

“Prices are going up, yes, but this is far beyond what I would’ve expected.” Sam gave the bill a closer look, stunned at the itemized prices. “Why such a big jump, Marcus? Doesn’t make sense.”

“Gotta allow for a decent overhead so I can keep this place afloat.”

Keep the mercantile afloat? At these prices, the place could be painted in gold and adorned in rare jewels. Marcus was already robbing the prospectors by selling pans for ten dollars apiece instead of a quarter. And the cost of his shovels and rakes? Ridiculous. This fellow knew how to rake in a buck by taking advantage of wide-eyed miners and their families. Now he’d decided to gouge the locals too?

Instead of arguing, Sam pulled out the necessary money, slapped it on the counter, and tipped his hat. “Have a good day, Marcus.”

“Same to you … neighbor.” For whatever reason, Marcus’s words didn’t sound all that neighborly.

Not that Sam had time to think about it.

Outside the door of the mercantile, Mrs. Linden, the pastor’s wife, stood with a slip of paper in hand and a laundry bundle under her arm. She glanced up as Sam passed by.

“Oh, good morning, Samuel.” Her brow knotted as she glanced back down at the paper. “I’m sorry, I’m a little preoccupied. Almost didn’t see you there.” She shuffled the laundry bundle to her other arm, nearly dropping it in the process.

“Is everything all right, Mrs. Linden?”

“Hmm?” She folded the paper and put it in her pocket then ran her palms over her skirt. “I’m sorry. I should’ve waited to pick up my things from the laundry woman after I’d finished up at the mercantile. It’s too hard to juggle.”

“Here, let me hold that.” He took the laundry from her and gestured for her to sit on a nearby bench.

She plopped down with a thud, then shifted her gaze to him. “To be honest, I’m just perplexed by my bill from the mercantile. We’ve grown accustomed to paying higher prices here in San Francisco. Much higher, in fact.” She leaned in to whisper, “But it’s highway robbery to charge a person a dollar and fifty cents for a pair of men’s underwear. I’ve never heard of such a thing. Why, if I told Henry, he’d make me take them back. But, well …” Her cheeks flushed. “The man is in need of new things.” Her voice lowered and the heightened color on her face subsided. “Though you didn’t hear that from me, all right?”

“Of course.” Sam bit back a laugh. “Regarding the bill, we are like-minded. What Marcus is doing is wrong on every count.”

Her gaze shifted to the front window of the mercantile. “Good to know I’m not alone in my assessment. But what can be done about it?”

“Not sure. Something to pray about, I suppose. In the meantime, we all trim back on our purchases. Perhaps that will teach him a thing or two.” Sam glanced over his shoulder as a handful of prospectors headed into the store, likely to purchase supplies to carry out to the river.

“He does a good business, even without us locals.” Mrs. Linden sighed. “That’s half the problem. He doesn’t even need our money, though he’s happy to take it. But I do agree we should pray. That is our answer, for every problem.”

“Even one as big as Marcus Denueve.”

“Even one that big.” A faint glint of humor lit her eyes as she patted Sam on the arm. “Give my love to Cookie. Tell her I’ll stop by when I have a few minutes. In the meantime, you take care of yourself, Sammy.”

He smiled as the minister’s wife called him by his nickname. She must’ve picked up on that by listening to Cookie. Before he could give it further thought, Mr. Hannigan, the local barber, galloped by on a gray horse, hollering something unintelligible. Seconds later, a group of rowdies rushed the street in front of them, guns waving.

Sam stepped into the spot between Mrs. Linden and the ruffians, to protect her from harm. She paled and looked as if she might faint. Thank goodness, the men moved on, their shouts and curse words filling the air between them.

Mrs. Linden fanned herself. Sam took her arm to hold her up as she wobbled. “You know things are getting bad when the locals take to assaulting the barber. Mr. Hannigan has never hurt a soul.”

“I heard he shaved off Jedediah Tucker’s beard by mistake. Poor guy fell asleep and woke up clean as a whistle. Didn’t sit well with him, I guess.”

“Oh, I see.” She reached inside her pocket and pulled out her bill from the mercantile, which she used as a fan. “Well, that’s no reason to threaten a man’s life.”

“More to pray about, I suppose.”

“San Francisco keeps the Almighty on His toes, no doubt about that.”

Sam turned his gaze back to the street to make sure the danger had passed. “It does, at that. But He’s big enough to handle it all.”

“True. He’s remarkably big.” Mrs. Linden rested her hand on Sam’s arm. “If He could help David take down that giant, Goliath, surely He can help us here in San Francisco. Just keep a few stones in your pocket, son.”

“Stones?”

“Of course. Just a few river rocks in David’s pocket was enough to win the battle.”

Sam put his finger over his lips in playful fashion, then pulled it away. “Start talking about river rocks, and before long you’ll draw in more miners. Can we take Goliath down with something other than stones?”

“Of course, honey. Prayer. Like I said before. That’s our best weapon when it comes to doing battle.”

Sam tipped his hat as she turned to go her way. He slipped his hands into the pockets of his trousers, half expecting to come up with river rocks. Instead, he found the bill from the mercantile.

With aggravation setting in, he headed back home, to the Gold Rush Inn.