Thus armed, Sabina then commenced a forceful promotional campaign. If he didn’t seize the opportunity to close out his pursuit of Lonesome Jack Vereen and Nevada Ned and maintain his unblemished record, he would never forgive himself. He was, after all, the most accomplished detective in the western United States. Hadn’t he said more than once that he prided himself on never giving up on an investigation when there was so much as a remote chance of success?
Once this baited hook was firmly set, she dwelt on the virtues of ocean travel by steamship — first-class accommodations, sumptuous cuisine, a restful atmosphere conducive to passionate interludes. And, bolstered by a pamphlet she had found somewhere, she enumerated the virtues of the Hawaiian Islands and Honolulu, Crossroads of the Pacific. Lauded by such luminaries as Robert Louis Stevenson and Mark Twain, who called them “the loveliest fleet of islands anchored in any ocean,” they were a virtual paradise where lush vegetation grew in aromatic profusion, the sky was a soft blue, balmy trade winds wafted gently over white sand beaches, sun-browned Polynesian girls performed native dances clad in little more than grass skirts and flower leis. Could he justify denying himself the pleasure of a once-in-a-lifetime experience? Could he justify denying her that same pleasure merely because it would cost a few hundred dollars they could easily afford?
No, he couldn’t. And so he weakened and gave in. And not as reluctantly as he might have, after due consideration.
Both of them were going to Hawaii.
3
Sabina
They sailed Saturday noon on the Oceanic steamship Alameda.
Sabina had taken care of most of the necessary preparations. She bought their tickets at the company’s office on Market Street, having chosen passage on the Alameda over one of the Matson Company steamers because of its size — it was a relatively new three-thousand-ton iron ship with accommodations for one hundred first-class, second-class, and steerage passengers. She withdrew from the agency’s account at the Miner’s Bank what she judged to be enough cash to last them for the duration — more than ever-thrifty John would have taken if she’d left the task up to him. She obtained and packed steamer and wardrobe trunks with appropriate lightweight summer clothing, then arranged to have them transported to the Oceanic Steamship Company wharf at the foot of Steuart and Folsom streets. She spent half a day preparing Elizabeth Petrie, the highly competent former police matron, for her duties during their temporary absence. She also notified her erstwhile cousin Callie French (who was delighted at the news) and a handful of other close friends of their plans.
John, meanwhile, did little other than inform their half-dozen major clients and Whit Slattery and two other part-time male employees. But she didn’t mind. She was, after all, more organized and detail-oriented than he, and more excited at the prospect of the trip. Not that he lacked enthusiasm — once committed, he allowed as how he was looking forward to it. Of course that was because of the opportunity to close out the Anderson case; he didn’t share her absorption in the voyage and the mystique of the Hawaiian Islands. But he would once they were under way and if his quest for the two swindlers went as well as she hoped it would after their arrival.
The morning was overcast but dry when she and John arrived at the Oceanic wharf shortly before eleven o’clock — a good omen after more than a week of rain, drizzle, and thick fog. Freight wagons, baggage vans, hansom cabs, and other passenger equipage packed the wharfside. Stevedores and winch operators outnumbered arriving passengers by five to one, busily loading all sorts of crates, boxes, sacks, and drums onto the cargo decks; like all the other ships on the Hawaii and Far East runs, the Alameda was mainly a transporter of mail and essential trade goods. A scattering of porters trundled passenger baggage up an aft gangplank, while passengers boarded on a forward one. A babel of voices joined with the squeal of winches and the deep-throated bellows of bay foghorns to create a constant din.
Once they alighted from the cab, John took her arm and steered her through the mass of humanity to the forward gangplank. She fancied that they made a particularly attractive couple, John in his Chesterfield, pearl-gray suit, and Panama hat, she in a hooded green and white wool cape and a traveling bonnet trimmed with crushed silk ribbons. He was a ruggedly handsome man, John Frederick — broad shoulders, piercing brown eyes, his full beard neatly trimmed at her insistence. A fine catch, as more than one of her women friends had said to her. And a good husband in every way; the past six months had exceeded her marital expectations. Their future together was bright — if only he would learn to be less reckless in his investigative pursuits. Stephen had made her a widow by engaging in a rash confrontation with bandits near Denver; she could not bear to lose John, too, to an act of violence....
She put that morbid thought out of her head as they boarded the steamer. Days of restful pleasure lay ahead — a grand adventure no matter what the outcome of the search for the two grifters. She was determined that they both enjoy it to the fullest.
A steward directed them to their cabin on A deck amidships. It was spacious and well appointed, as comfortable as a room in a fashionable hotel. It had electric lights, fan, and bell signals to their steward’s quarters, as well as easy access to several bathrooms. The steamer’s other first-class passenger attractions — dining saloon, music room, library and reading room, smoking rooms and ladies’ lounge — were also on this deck.
Rather than remain in the cabin prior to sailing, they went out on deck to stand at the railing with a handful of other passengers willing to brave the cold wind off the bay. They had been there five minutes or so when a comely woman about Sabina’s age stepped up to the rail beside her.
She wore a plaid cape, a white woolen scarf, a small black hat over ash-blond curls; striking white jade pendant earrings complemented the coppery tone of her skin. She leaned forward to scan the crowded wharfside below, caught someone’s eye and waved enthusiastically. John had noticed her, too, and was appraising her in typical male fashion. This led Sabina to nudge him sharply with her elbow. He winked at her in return.
The last of the cargo was soon loaded; the deck throbbed with the beat of the engines. Promptly at noon the gangplanks were raised and secured, and several blasts of the ship’s horn heralded their imminent departure. When a pilot boat began to ease the Alameda away from the wharf, the woman wearing the jade earrings straightened after one last wave and turned so abruptly from the rail that she bumped into Sabina.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” she said.
“Quite all right. No harm done.”
“I really should be more careful.” Her face was flushed with more than just the cold; the gleam of excitement in her eyes — large brown eyes, the pupils as round as chocolate drops — attested to that. “It’s just that I’m happy to be going home.”
“You live in Hawaii then?” Sabina asked, smiling.
“In Honolulu, yes. The Waikiki district.” Her answering smile was bright and warm. “You’re visiting, are you?”
“Yes. My husband and I.”
“Have you been to the Islands before?”
“No, we haven’t.”
“I envy you the pleasure of seeing them for the first time. Well, I must run, my husband will be waiting for me. Oh, I’m Margaret Pritchard, by the way. Mrs. Lyman Pritchard.”
“We’re Sabina and John Quincannon.”
Mrs. Pritchard said “How do you do?” to John, who bowed in return. Then she asked Sabina, “Are you traveling first-class?”