It was a splendid evening. He was quite handsome in his evening clothes and top hat, his thick beard more neatly trimmed than usual. (She’d overhead a woman whisper to her companion at the opera house that Sabina’s electric-blue-and-black ruffled gown was stunning and that she and John made a very attractive couple.) And he’d been a perfect gentleman, managing to remain alert during the entire performance and to not once mention business matters or money during dinner. Even the weather cooperated. The fog and drizzle of the previous few days had given way to clear skies and a significant rise in temperature. Spring had finally arrived in the city.
Most satisfying of all, though, was simply having John back safe and sound. She’d missed his company, even missed his idiosyncrasies and minor irritants. Missed him more than she cared to admit. Well, no, that wasn’t true. Why not admit it? Indeed, why not? After all, hadn’t she conceded to herself not so long ago that her time with him had wrought a profound change in her feelings toward him, that inside his crusty shell he was as kind, as considerate, as doting, as Stephen had been during their courtship and all-too-brief marriage...?
“...coffee, Sabina?”
She blinked and looked up. “Hmm?”
“I asked if you’d like more coffee?”
“Oh. No, I’ve had plenty.”
“You seem a bit... distracted. Not enjoying yourself?”
“On the contrary. I was just doing a bit of woolgathering.”
“About what?”
“Oh, this and that.” She smiled. “Let’s be on our way now, shall we?”
Outside John took her arm and led her to a waiting hansom. When they were seated inside, he leaned forward to speak to the driver, but she placed a restraining hand on his arm.
“It occurs to me,” she said in lowered tones, “that I have never been to your flat.”
He said blankly, “My flat?”
“You’ve never described it and I’m curious. I should like to see it.”
“...You would? When?”
“Now. Tonight.”
In the light from the cab’s interior lamp, John’s jaw hung agape like a puppet’s; for once he was utterly speechless. It was Sabina who had to give his Leavenworth Street address to the driver.
Authors’ Note
There was in fact a California State Woman Suffrage Convention held in San Francisco in November of 1896. Its delegates wore badges such as the one described here, and the campaign was in fact headed by Susan B. Anthony. Unfortunately, her tireless efforts and those of dedicated proponents such as Sabina and Amity Wellman were in vain. The proposed amendment to the state constitution giving women the right to vote was soundly defeated, owing in large part to the powerful Liquor Dealers League and the considerable clout the organization wielded with both Democratic and Republican politicians. It was not until 1911, thanks to a new, more widespread, more determined suffragist movement risen phoenix-like from the ashes of the 1906 earthquake, that California women were finally granted voting rights.
Steamboats were still a primary mode of transportation between San Francisco and Stockton in 1896. The Captain Weber was an actual stern-wheeler that made the daily overnight run; the descriptions herein of her route and her physical characteristics are as accurate as research can make them. Also as stated, the stern-wheeler was operated by the Union Transportation Company and owned by Sarah Gillis, widow of the original owner and an ardent member of the Stockton branch of the Woman’s Christian Temperance Union; thus, the Captain Weber and her sister boat, the Dauntless, were the only two dry packets on the San Joaquin River. There were none on the Sacramento River.
In the closing years of the century several small hamlets and enclaves did dot the islands of the delta, among them Rye and the settlement of Locke, founded by Chinese who toiled as farm laborers. Kennett’s Crossing, however, while representative of these isolated communities and their citizens, exists only in our fevered imaginations.
M.M. / B.P.