The Doctor's Newfound Family. Valerie Hansen

      “Especially then,” the cook said, pausing to give her a motherly hug. “Now, get to washin’ them dishes so we can bank the stove and get ready for bed. I don’t know about you, but I’m plum tuckered out.”

      Turning back to the pan of sudsy water, Sara Beth gave silent thanks that Clara was such a wise woman. Now that Mama was gone she’d need friendly counsel like hers and Ella’s in order to reform her life, plan her future.

      Was it possible to decide anything this soon? she wondered absently. Not really. What she could do, however, was follow through on her idea to contact the Bulletin and see if they would champion her cause in regard to her home. They had often taken up the needs of the community and had revealed corruption in city government in spite of threats to their presses and persons. Surely, given this situation, Mr. King would take pity on her plight.

      But first he must be properly informed, she added. Her jaw muscles clenched and she nodded to affirm her decision. As soon as she had brought Josiah to her cot in the girls’ quarters and had gotten him settled for the night, she would begin to write to the newspaper.

      Such a letter would require much thought and careful expression but she was capable. Her penmanship was beautiful and her mind keen. All she’d have to do was make certain she didn’t alienate too many important people and yet stated her case in indisputable terms.

      Such a goal seemed unattainable, yet Sara Beth was resolute. She could not hope to seize control of her assets by force so she would do it by her wits.

      Finishing the dishes, she toted the heavy dishpan to the back door and threw the water onto the steps to clean them, too. At home, she might have tarried long enough to sweep the porch, but not tonight.

      Tonight she had a letter to write. A letter that might very well be the most significant missive she had ever composed.

      Taylor Hayward had been disappointed in his earlier meeting with W. T. Coleman. The man had been too secretive to please him and had beat around the bush regarding what the Vigilance Committee might be able to do in respect to the contested Reese holdings.

      “That’s up to Bein,” Coleman had insisted. “He was Reese’s partner and as such has control of the assay office.”

      “Fine. But what about the family home at the same address? Surely we can’t allow him to pitch the surviving family members out into the streets.”

      Coleman’s thin shoulders shrugged and he blanched enough that his already pale skin whitened visibly. “It’s not that simple. Not anymore. Governor Johnson is talking about putting that general, Sherman, in charge of the militia, and Mayor Van Ness agrees. If they do that, we’re in trouble.”

      “I’ve never known you to back down from a fair fight,” Taylor said.

      “I didn’t say I was backing down. I’m just telling you that it would be wiser to bide our time. All the newspapers except the Herald are already on our side.”

      “Which is to be expected since James Casey is running it and he’s as crooked as they come,” the doctor argued. “I’d heard that Casey was thrown out of the Drexel, Sather and Church building by Sherman himself over an editorial so full of lies that even a mule could have recognized its falseness.”

      “Doesn’t matter. We still have to tread softly.”

      Taylor was beside himself. He paced across the office, then wheeled to face the man he had been counting on for aid. “Suppose there’s more to it than what appears on the surface? Suppose Bein is trying to pull a fast one on the government? What then?”

      “Then the sheriff should be in charge.” Coleman raised his hands, palms out, as if prepared to physically defend himself. “I know, I know. Scannell bought the office for a whole lot more than he’ll ever earn legally. That’s common knowledge. But it doesn’t change anything. We can’t wrest control of the whole city from the hands of those criminals unless we’re sure of major citizen support. That’s all there is to it.”

      “What will it take to gain that?”

      “I don’t know,” the obviously weary and worried businessman said. “But we can’t continue this way for long. When the time is right, we will act, I promise you.”

      “What if it’s too late for the Reese children?”

      “That can’t be helped.” Coleman ran a slim finger beneath his starched collar as if his cravat were choking him. “I’m not looking forward to the bloodshed that may result.”