When their conversation ended, Sam helped Abby tidy up the dining hall. Then he made his way back into the kitchen, where he found her hanging up her apron. He worked up the courage to ask the question on his heart.

“I wondered if you might have some free time between now and lunch. I’m headed to the fish market and thought you might like to come along for the ride. You’ve hardly had a chance to get out of here and the ride might do you good. Open air, and all that. Might give you a chance to clear your thoughts.”

She gave a little shrug. “I guess so, if Cookie’s all right with it.”

“She seems a little out of sorts this morning, but told me to take my time. She’s feeding the fellas sandwiches for lunch and won’t need our help for a change. Perfect time to sneak away.”

“All right.” Abby pulled off her apron and hung it on a peg. “Just give me a minute to fuss with my hair. It’s a mess.”

“It’s perfect.” He took her by the hand. “And trust me, it’ll get even messier in the wagon.”

“So, you’re saying it is a mess?” Abby cocked her head as if daring him to respond.

“Not at all.” He laughed. “A fella can’t win for losing, can he?”

Moments later, he helped her up to the wagon seat. Sam was happy to have Abby to himself for a change. All morning long he’d been thinking of ways to approach her about Marcus Denueve. She needed to be warned about the man. But no point in diving into that conversation just yet. This was one river that needed to be waded into.

He glanced over and caught a glimpse of Abby’s profile. That gorgeous golden hair. That cute nose. Her stubborn chin. How they drew him in. If he dared to broach the topic on his mind, she might very well retreat, turn away from him. Then what?

“Keep your eyes on the road,” she scolded after the horses threatened to careen into a ditch. “I’d like to live to see the bay, if you please.”

He snapped to attention and nodded. “Sorry ’bout that. Have a lot on my mind.”

“If you’d like to survive to tell about it, stay focused.”

The time passed in quiet reflection before Sam finally thought of a way to engage her in conversation. “What do you think of San Francisco so far, Abby?”

“It’s not as I’d pictured, and certainly not quite the painting in my head after the conversation with Jimmy Blodgett on the train. But I’m learning my way.”

“Good.”

“Of course, I feel like I’m choking on dust half the time.”

“And the other half?”

“Is spent in a whirl, trying to ease my way through the ever-present mob of fellas trying to propose to me.”

“They’re still proposing to you?” This got him rankled, but he tried not to let it show.

She nodded. “But no worries. I’m going to keep my distance.”

“Good idea, Abby. Distance is a good thing.” Sam didn’t trust himself to say more, though he certainly wanted to. Instead, he turned his attention to playing the role of tour guide as they made their way toward the bay. He babbled on about the role French immigrants had played in shaping the town, and even pointed out several jewelry shops, silk merchants, and the like. He made note of the various banks, and lit into a discussion about how robber barons had invaded the town, their mansions gaining fame among the locals.

Finally, when he felt sure he’d bored her to tears, he told her about the latest chocolate shop in town, a new place called Ghirardelli’s.

“Sounds marvelous.” She released a contented sigh. “Nothing wins my heart like chocolate.”

“So, that’s the way to your heart then?” he asked as he slowed the horses to a more reasonable gait. He would have to keep that in mind.

“Chocolate is the way to every woman’s heart,” she countered, flashing him a bright smile.

Moments later, the sparkling waters of the bay came into view.

Abby leaned forward and put her palms to her cheeks. “Oh, Sam, it’s glorious.” She reached over and grabbed his hand. “To think I came all this way to San Francisco and stopped just short of the water. Who would have known this was just beyond? Thank you, thank you for bringing me.”

“You’re welcome.” He paused, enjoying the feel of her hand in his. “Isn’t that often how it is in life? We work so hard, get so close to God’s best, but stop short because we think we’ll never make it? It’s like taking the time to pluck the chicken but not fry it up.”

“I hadn’t thought of it that way, but I’m sure you’re right.” She rested her gaze on the water for a moment before pulling her hand back. “I just can’t believe how pretty it is. These rolling hills. That water. What a paradise. And to think, it was here all along.”

“Hardly a paradise.” He laughed. “Never heard anyone call San Francisco that, anyway.”

They fell silent and stared at the water for a couple of minutes. Then Sam clucked his tongue and stirred the horses to action. “C’mon, boys. Let’s go to market.”

Moments later they approached the fishermans’ market. Abby’s nose wrinkled as the overpowering scent of fish—both fresh and spoiled—filled the air.

“Sorry. Should’ve warned you, I guess.”

“Oh, my.” She reached for her reticule and opened it, then pulled out a hankie, which she brought to her nose.

“Guess I’m used to it,” Sam said with a shrug. “Hardly bothers me anymore.”

“I dare say it might be awhile before I grow acclimated to such an odor.” Abby coughed.

“Not as bad as plucking chickens, though, right?” He laughed.

The smile that followed from Abby brought joy to his heart. He pulled the horses to a stop and jumped down, then rounded the wagon to the other side and helped Abby down.

“Time to pick out some fish for dinner.”

“I wouldn’t know where to start.”

“Follow my lead.” He crooked his arm and gestured for her to slip her hand through. “Better stay close. Don’t want to lose you.”

The words struck him directly in the heart. Before long, he would lose her. Her parents would arrive, and they would take her back to Philadelphia. He would never see her again.

The fact that this suddenly brought so much pain caught him completely by surprise.

Abby made her way through the fish market, her arm linked with Sam’s. This place was unlike anything she’d ever seen or smelled.

“What do you think of this fellow?” Sam pointed down at a large fish. “It’s a bass.”

Abby glanced down and the creature’s beady eyes stared up at her. She swallowed hard and allowed the wave of nausea to pass over her. “The only fish I’ve ever seen are filleted and broiled, then placed on my plate.”

“Well, they have to come from somewhere. Didn’t you ever consider that?”

She turned to face him. “Sam, I must confess, there’s a lot I never thought about before. Everything in my very spoiled life has been handed to me, ready to go. Every bite of food … prepared. Every article of clothing … pressed and ready. Everything. Don’t you see? I’m utterly and completely clueless. How you ended up with such a person in your kitchen is confounding, at best. Either God has a delightful sense of humor and is playing a terrible joke on you and Cookie …” She glanced back down at the fish. “Or maybe He’s trying to teach me a lesson I won’t soon forget.”

“I suppose that’s possible.”

“I must confess, I’ve been one of those girls who grew accustomed to the finer things in life.”

“Things?”

“You know, possessions. I used to think they were important. I suppose I learned from my father. He cares a great deal about impressing others with our family’s status.”

“Ah, I see. ‘What shall it profit a man if he shall gain the whole world…’”

“Only to lose his soul.” She sighed. “Now you sound like Cookie, with a verse for every situation.”

“Hardly. I can barely remember my own name, let alone chapter and verse of every scripture.” He paused. “And just for the record, I’m not saying your father has lost his soul, so please don’t misunderstand. I don’t even know the man. That scripture just popped into my head, that’s all.”

“I don’t really know where Father stands with the Lord, if you want the honest truth of it.” Her heart quickened. “I’m not really sure about either of my parents. We attended church in Nottingham, of course. Everyone did.”

“Unlike here, where almost no one attends church.”

“True.” She paused and felt her lips curl down into a frown. “I suppose some would say that church attendance is indicative of where one stands with the Lord, but even in that—attendance, I mean—Father was a bit of a showman.”

“How so?”

“Let’s just say that his demeanor inside the church was a bit different from his actions outside. I used to love to go to church services because it was the only time I ever saw him slip his arm around Mother’s waist or speak to her with any sort of affection. At home he was rather … cold.”

“Sad.”

“Yes. And sadder still that I didn’t realize how bad things had gotten between them until I asked Neville.” Abby startled to attention. “How did we jump from talking about possessions to church attendance?”

“Natural progression, I suppose. The point is, we’re not always who we appear to be.”

Sam looked nervous as he spoke the words. When he added, “I suppose that could be said of any of us,” Abby wondered if, perhaps, he was trying to tell her something.

At that very moment, her gaze landed on something slimy looking. She extended her index finger. “Oh, my goodness! What is that?”

“Squid.” Sam laughed. “Would you like to try it?”

Bile rose in her throat and she looked away. “No, thank you.”

All around, people called out in a variety of languages. Chinese, she recognized, after spending so much time around Jin. And she felt sure the man to her right was speaking Italian. Or Spanish. But the fellow with the blond hair? She couldn’t even begin to place his language.

“That’s Bjorn,” Sam said, as if reading her mind. “We call him The Swede.”

“Ah. Swedish, then. Couldn’t make it out to save my life.”

“Don’t be too impressed with me. I only happen to know because we’ve met and I know his story.” Sam paused and appeared to lose himself in his thoughts. “They’ve all got a story, just like you and me,” he said after a moment.

“Fascinating, to think about it like that.”

“Isn’t it?” When he glanced her way, she could read the joy in his expression. “I love it when all of the languages overlap. It’s like a symphony playing a marvelous piece of music with a multiplicity of parts.”

“I’ve been to the symphony, Sam,” she countered. “It didn’t sound anything like this.”

“Speaking figuratively, of course. Picture each language as a different type of instrument.”

“If I could think clearly, I would, but it’s so loud here—and the smells are so strong—my senses are completely overwhelmed.”

She might be overwhelmed, but Abby could not deny one thing: as she watched Sam interact with the locals, as she saw him bartering over his purchases, she found herself drawn to him in a way she never had before. Sam Harris was a fine man, a respected man. And though she hadn’t planned to see him as anything other than her employer, she had to admit that something about him tugged at her heart in a way she simply could not explain.