The Doctor's Newfound Family. Valerie Hansen

      “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.

      “Give him to me,” the doctor said. “I’ll handle him. You, too, Luke.” He held out his arms and took the boys from her one at a time, setting all but Josiah on the ground at his feet and offering Sara Beth his free hand.

      When she placed her smaller, icy fingers in his, he felt an unexpected pang of pity. That would never do. A proud woman like her would surely take offense if she even suspected that he was feeling sorry for her.

      She faltered once with a little stumble, causing him to reach to cup her elbow.

      “I’m fine, thank you. I can manage,” she said, righting herself and marching proudly up to the ornate front door of the stone-walled mansion. She rapped with the brass knocker and waited.

      When the door swung open and the matron saw her, she greeted her with open arms. “Oh, darlin’, I heard what happened. It’s awful. Plum awful. You come right in and make yourself at home. We’re proud to have you.”

      As Taylor watched, the stalwart young woman became a child again. Catching back a sob, she fell into Mrs. McNeil’s ample embrace. Taylor could see her shoulders shaking with silent weeping as the older woman patted her on the back. He didn’t want her to suffer, but he knew that the sooner she began to properly grieve her enormous loss, the sooner she’d recover.

      “Let’s take the boys in and get them settled,” he suggested as soon as the two women stepped apart.

      Ella wiped her eyes with the corner of her starched, white apron. “Land sakes, yes. I’m forgettin’ my manners. You come along, now,” she said to Luke and Mathias. “We’ve got gobs of other boys for you two to meet and a bunk you can share.” She glanced at Josiah in the doctor’s arms. “Do you think the littlest one will be all right in there or shall we send him to stay with the infants?”

      Before Taylor could reply, Sara Beth snatched up the baby and shook her head. Her tears were gone except for slight dampness on her cheeks. “Josiah stays with me. I won’t have him put with strangers.”

      “Of course, of course.” The matron rubbed the girl’s shoulder through her coat. “It’s been a long, trying night for all of you. We’ll talk more about making permanent arrangements later.”

      No one had to tell Taylor what Sara Beth’s reaction to that would be. He knew she’d resist before she opened her mouth.

      “There’s no need. We won’t be staying. As soon as I get my father’s business affairs settled I’ll be going back home,” she said flatly. “I did want to discuss possible employment for myself, though. Mother’s needlework was finer than mine, of course, but she was my teacher and I promise to do my very best. Is there a chance I could work for you like Mother once did, Mrs. McNeil?”

      Taylor could see that the matron was hesitant. He privately caught her eye and gave a silent, secret nod.

      To his relief, she said, “I’m sure we can find something. Perhaps part-time in the kitchen. Would that suit?”

      “Anything will do,” Sara Beth said. “If you will show me where to place Josiah while he naps, I can start immediately.”

      “Nonsense,” Ella said. “There’ll be plenty of time for that. First, we need to get all of you settled and then fed. When you’ve rested, we’ll talk further.”

      Sara Beth’s deep sigh as a result was almost a shudder. “Thank you. I am weary. And there is so much on my mind right now I can hardly think.”

      “Little wonder,” the doctor offered. “It’s been a long night for all of us. Will you be all right if I take my leave?”

      Whirling, she acted surprised that he was still there. “Of course. And thank you for looking after us.”

      “My pleasure,” he said with a slight bow. He touched the brim of his bowler and smiled at the matron, too. “Ladies. If you’ll excuse me?”

      He managed to retain the smile until he had turned away and walked back outside. There was a deeply troubling wrong to right and no time to waste. If Abe Warner had been correct in his assumption about the gold samples kept in Reese’s private assay office, it might already be too late to preserve their integrity.

      Nevertheless, he had to try. And his first stop was going to be the Coleman house. William T. Coleman was the president of the Vigilance Committee, and although their roster was kept by number rather than by name, most of the members knew whose loyalty could be counted on in an emergency.

      Taylor mounted his buggy and shouted to the horse as he snapped the reins. There was no time to waste. A helpless family was being mistreated and he was not going to stand idly by and watch it happen.

      The middle-aged gentleman arrived on Pike Street in a cabriolet pulled by a matched pair of sorrel geldings and driven by a hireling in a frock coat and top hat.

      As he disembarked in front of the two-story frame house, he grinned. This plan had come together even better than he’d anticipated. With Isabelle dead, too, there was no one left to stand in his way, no one who might know what Robert had discovered and thereby ruin his reputation. Or worse.

      He strode up the front walk and onto the porch where he was met by the sheriff and two other rough-looking men.

      “Sheriff Scannell,” the gentleman said with a slight nod. He eyed the others with undisguised loathing and didn’t offer to shake anyone’s hand, though his own hands were gloved in pearl kidskin to match his cravat. “I see you’re keeping company with the usual riffraff.”

      The sheriff laughed raucously and spit over the porch railing. “Meaning yourself, I suppose, Mr. Bein? You decide yet how you’re goin’ to explain all this?”

      Bein grinned. “As long as the losses are credited to Reese instead of to me, I won’t have anything to explain. Harazthy is so engrossed in that new vineyard of his, he barely notices what goes on around the mint.”

      “What about the Vigilance Committee? Ain’t you worried about them?”

      “Not in the least. I have it on the personal authority of Governor Johnson that Sherman is about to be made Major General of the second division of militia for San Francisco. He’ll soon take care of the vigilantes.”

      Scannell shrugged and spat again before wiping his mustache with the back of his hand. “All right. If you say so. It’s your funeral.”

      Leering cynically, William Bein snorted approval. “Not my funeral, gentlemen, my partner’s, may he rest in peace.”

      He reached into his pocket and withdrew a handkerchief folded into the shape of a packet and monogrammed with the initials R.R. “Take this and see that it’s placed in Reese’s workshop, Sheriff. Don’t make it too obvious, but be sure the gold shavings and dust are still in it when it’s found. Do I make myself clear?”

      “You think we’d steal from you?”

      “In a heartbeat, if you thought you could get away with it,” Bein answered. “Only this time you can’t. We all need