"No, I didn't think you were," Cole said with a smile. "Although an outfit like that might help keep you warm in the Yukon."
She didn't bother with correcting him. Instead she continued, "It would just be a loan, just until I get on my feet. But I'll have to find a place to live, and buy some clothes, and get a job. . .."
Why? she abruptly asked herself. Why would she have to do all those things? She wasn't planning on staying here in 1906, was she? Why couldn't she just go back up into the Diablos and find that cave again and crawl inside it? Maybe when she crawled out again, she would be back in her own time. If the cave had worked one way, why not the other?
And if it didn't, so what? Would she be any worse off than she was now?
But 'she was so tired and dirty. What harm would it do to wait a while before trying that experiment? Then too, there was a chance she would go further back in time, and that wasn't something she wanted to try.
"One thing at a time," Cole was saying as Annabel came out of her brief reverie. He pointed. "There's the Ferry House. Let's go ashore."
Annabel looked and saw a huge building on the shore with docks jutting out from it into the bay and a square clock tower rising above it. She recognized it immediately as the headquarters of the Port Commission—at least, that was what it was in the era she came from. Now, it was obviously the terminus of the ferry line.
The ferry's pilot brought the big boat to a smooth stop next to one of the docks. Annabel and Cole joined the throng of people disembarking. He linked his arm with hers as the crowd jostled them, and she didn't pull away. Instead, she found the warmth and strength of his touch comforting.
They made their way through the crowded, high-ceilinged lobby of the Ferry House, and as they emerged from the Market Street side of the building, Annabel caught her breath at the sight of a dozen or more cable cars lined up in bays along the front of the building. Rail lines stretched out and veered this way and that, and Annabel judged that a person could take a cable car to almost anywhere in the city from here. That had been the chief means of public transportation in 1906, she recalled. Even someone not steeped in the history of the city knew that.
"All right," Cole said. "I think the first thing to do is get you some more suitable clothing. I'm, uh, not an expert on women's clothing, you know, but there are some good shops downtown, I'm sure . . ."
"You're certain you don't mind helping me?"
"How can I refuse?" He held up a hand, palm out. "But I assure you, Miss Lowell, I have no, ah, improper designs."
"Of course not," she agreed. Although she might not have minded if he had.
Now that was a strange thought, she told herself. Not like her at all. But then, traveling through time had probably played with her head a bit.
Keeping his arm linked with hers, he led her toward one of the cable cars. It looked remarkably similar to the ones that tourists still rode up and down the hilly streets of the city. As they climbed aboard, the driver reached up and tugged on the brim of his black cap as he said, "Good day to you, Mr. Brady. How are you?"
"Just fine, Seth," Cole replied.
"Headin' downtown to your office?"
"Not just now. Doing a bit of shopping instead."
The driver glanced at Annabel and said, "Uh-huh."
She was beginning to dislike that reaction in people, she thought.
And what was that business about Cole going to his office? Since when did firemen have offices?
She was still pondering that as he sat her down on one of the upholstered benches, then settled himself beside her. He took off his derby and rested it on his knee. "When we get downtown, I'd better call the station and let them know I'm going to be late," he said.
"Oh, no!" Annabel exclaimed. "I'm causing you to miss your work."
Cole shook his head. "Don't worry about that. I was just thinking earlier today that the San Francisco Fire Department could get along without me." He grinned. "Now I'll have a chance to see if that's true."
"Well, if you're sure . . ."
"I'm certain."
A moment later, with a slight jerk, the cable car began moving. Annabel watched out the open sides in fascination as it carried them along Market Street. With a shock, she saw two buildings in the distance that she recognized. One of them was the St. Francis Hotel, the other the Sheraton Palace. Of course, it hadn't been a Sheraton in 1906, Annabel reminded herself. Then—or rather, now, she supposed—it was just the Palace Hotel. And it wasn't exactly the same, she recalled, because it had been destroyed by the earthquake and then rebuilt . . .
Her eyes opened wide and she froze in her seat as that word, the one word that hadn't even occurred to her until now, echoed ominously in her brain.
Earthquake.
Chapter 4