would likely sell her again—this time to a house of ill-repute.”
The woman with the enormous hair rose, dabbing her cheeks with a silk handkerchief. Excusing herself, she made her way down the long row of seats and slipped out to the back of the room.
Elizabeth straightened. At last, she could see the stage. She willed Mr. McKinley to remain facing forward.
“A kindly neighbor intervened, rescuing the child and delivering her to the Mission.” Miss Cameron’s gaze lowered, her voice growing husky. “Her sister was not as fortunate.”
Elizabeth swallowed. These girls had suffered more than she, and yet they were innocent of their pain. Could she claim the same for herself? Unlikely.
The missionary’s voice rose, echoing through the packed room. “This is why I plead with you, good people of Sacramento, to support the Mission’s efforts to remove these girls from the clutches of man’s carnal desires. With your help, we can bring these children out of darkness and into the light of Christ’s love.”
Elizabeth pressed her hands into her lap, squeezing herself into as narrow a space as possible. Man’s carnal desires. The words clutched at her throat like so many tangled threads.
A woman near the front stood. “The little ones, of course. But what of the older girls? Do you bring the prostitutes in with the young children?”
The crowd murmured, all eyes returning to the podium.
Miss Cameron nodded. “We are all God’s children. None have fallen so far as to be unredeemable by His love and sacrifice on the cross.”
“What do you do with them once they’ve been rescued?” The woman persisted in her questions.
“We see to our daughters’ needs—spiritual, physical, emotional, and intellectual. Right now one of our biggest needs is for teachers at our school. We want good women such as yourselves to come and work with our girls. Teach them English, sewing, cooking, reading, writing, and music.”
“Music? What good is music?”
Miss Cameron lifted a hand and gestured to the girls sitting in the front row. “You heard the children sing. Chains bind the body, but music sets the heart free.”
As Miss Cameron continued her speech, tears stung at Elizabeth’s eyes. She stared down at her smooth, even nails, remembering the feel of the ivory beneath her fingertips. She’d hardly played in weeks. Not since she’d cast Tobias out of her life. He’d taken her heart. Her music. Would it ever return?
She lifted her head and studied the elegant woman at the lectern. Miss Cameron leaned forward, the energy of her plea flooding through the crowd. Her stories continued, telling the tales of one girl after another.
Elizabeth’s chest burned, like she’d swallowed an ember from the stove and it scorched its way through her. Could this make up for what she’d done?
The speaker lifted her hands, gesturing to the audience. “What will you do to help our girls? Will you shake your heads and go back to your comfortable homes? Or will you commit yourself to the Lord’s work? He’s calling you. How will you answer?”
A ripple coursed through Elizabeth’s body as she met the missionary’s gaze. If I do this, God, will You forgive me?
***
Charles stretched his back after an hour of sitting on the wooden chair. The crowd filtered out of the room, dozens of conversations buzzing around him. He glanced toward the front where Miss Donaldina Cameron stood surrounded by well-wishers. He’d heard about her work and hoped to have the opportunity to meet her in person. Discovering her engagement in Sacramento the same evening he happened to be in town had been fortuitous, indeed.
He shuffled into the aisle in time to see a young woman in a dark blue dress hurry toward the back of the room. She cast a quick glance over her shoulder, eyes widening as she met his gaze.
Elizabeth King? Had she been so close this entire time? Funny, he should’ve felt those blue eyes boring holes in his spine. He shook himself and turned the opposite direction. Another encounter with the outspoken young woman would not be high on his list of desirable activities. Charles nodded at two elderly gentlemen as he eased his way toward the front.
Miss Cameron smiled and shook the hand of a portly woman dressed in yellow silk before turning toward Charles.
He cleared his throat. “Miss Cameron, it’s an honor to meet you. My name is Charles McKinley, of San Francisco. My law professor, Elmer Davis, speaks highly of your work.”
A smile spread across the missionary’s face. “Does he now? Did he tell you he volunteered as a legal advisor to the Mission back when I first arrived? I asked so many questions, he’d run when he saw me coming.”
Charles chuckled. “Professor Davis did mention you had a keen mind and a great aptitude for law.”
The youngest child came up beside Miss Cameron and took her hand.
Miss Cameron pulled the girl close to her side. “One must if they are to succeed in keeping these children safe. It is the law which protects them.”
“And in some ways, the laws have created the problem—am I right? Wouldn’t you say the Exclusion Act is partially to blame?” Charles smiled as the dark-eyed little girl stared up at him. How many stories—and secrets—those eyes contained.
“Halting immigration has made the situation more difficult. There simply aren’t enough brides to go around. But I cannot let these children pay the price of politics.”
“Of course. No woman should be forced into such work. Especially ones so young.” He forced himself to meet Miss Cameron’s steely gaze, as he couldn’t bear to look at the little girl again. “But don’t you think our efforts should be focused on changing the laws creating the issue, rather than merely treating the symptoms of the problem?”
Miss Cameron laid her hand on the child’s shoulder. “We must do both, Mr. McKinley, and I pray men like you will take up the challenge.”
Charles’s pulse quickened. “I hope to try one day. That issue, among others.”
“Then I will be certain to keep an eye on you. You should come visit our Mission Home. I can show you firsthand the work we do.”
“I’d be honored. Thank you.”
“McKinley . . .” The missionary tipped her head as she studied him. “Are you related to the late president by chance?”
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. How many times had he answered the question during his law studies? “No, I’m afraid not.”
Miss Cameron cupped her hand against the girl’s hair as the child burrowed against her side. “I should be going. I need to get the girls to bed—we’re staying with the minister’s family—and then I have business to attend to later this evening.”
“Business?” An inkling grew in the back of Charles’s mind. “Do you mean a rescue? Here in Sacramento?”
“The problem is not isolated to San Francisco, Mr. McKinley. Whenever I travel, I receive pleas from girls in the local communities. How can I refuse to render aid?” She laid one hand on her hip. “And though some would counsel me to focus on politics, I cannot refuse the call God has placed on my life. Where He leads me, I will go.”
Where He leads me . . . Charles pondered the words as he walked Miss Cameron and her young charge to the back of the room to meet the other girls. Had God placed this burning desire in his heart, as well?
***
Elizabeth lingered by a potted palm in the outer hall, nibbling at a hangnail. She’d sent Lillian home with another friend in hopes of speaking to the missionary alone. The assembly hall emptied, the shuffle of footsteps falling silent, but still Mr. McKinley monopolized Miss Cameron’s attention.
Elizabeth pressed