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here next Sabbath—’’ he paused, a suggestion of a smile flitting across his face— ‘‘if, in the meantime, I hear of no new diggin’s.’’
    Rachel’s jaw slackened and she almost forgot to bow her head for the closing prayer. After the service, all waited for the preacher to step outside. The men closest to Rachel and Lissa introduced themselves, asking where the girls were from. Fortunately, no one asked for their hand in marriage.
    As the crowd dispersed outside, the greater portion headed to Mr. Parker’s hotel, the rest to the Bella Union saloon.
    Rachel’s eyes widened. Surely the gaming establishments were closed on Sundays. But no, a tinkling piano tune picked up where the hymns had left off, wafting from nearby canvas walls and reaching ears that moments before had been receiving the Word of God.
    From the school yard, Rachel watched men enter Johnnie’s hall with enthusiasm and pouches full of gold, while one stumbled out with an empty bottle of liquor and, most likely, an empty soul to match.
    Swallowing her disappointment, she lifted her skirt and moved to greet the preacher. Men bowed and tipped their hats as she and her siblings passed.
    ‘‘Good morning, Reverend,’’ she offered.
    He turned, a smile lighting his face. ‘‘Well, now, what have we here?’’
    ‘‘If I may present myself and my family to you, sir?’’
    ‘‘Of course, of course.’’
    She made the proper introductions and spoke of her wish to meet other women in town.
    ‘‘I’m afraid there aren’t any, my dear. Now, I know of a few here and there that have passed through town with their husbands before going up to the mines, but I couldn’t tell you where they eventually ended up settling.’’
    Before she could question him further, a stir within the square distracted her. She caught her breath as three ladies in exquisitely made gowns and fashionable headdresses made their way across the Plaza.
    Every man they passed bowed and stopped to speak with them in respectful tones. Rachel’s heart sang. Women. Oh, praise be .
    She met Lissa’s delighted expression and quickly turned back to Reverend Taylor. ‘‘Why, sir, there are some now. Would you be so kind as to introduce us?’’
    The reverend drew up his lips. ‘‘Miss Van Buren, those particular, uh, ladies, are not of a, uh, respectable nature. I suggest you just head on home.’’
    Rachel blinked and returned her attention to the women in question. Their outdoor gowns were at the very height of fashion, well within the confines of propriety. Skirts and bodices were flounced and trimmed—one with lace, one with velvet, the third with pearls.
    Their ensembles were modest and in excellent taste. Their flowered and puffed headdresses came straight from pictures Rachel had seen in Godey’s Lady’s Book .
    She could not imagine that the men would treat them with such respect and deference if they were indeed women of ill repute. No, she had seen for herself what those women looked like. Loud colors. Spangled shawls. Loose camisoles.
    The reverend must be mistaken. She opened her mouth to say as much when one of the women caught Lissa’s eye and thoroughly perused her. Lissa curtsied.
    Clearly amused, the woman raised an eyebrow and whispered something to her friends. The group turned toward the two sisters.
    Rachel felt her back straighten. The calculated and proprietary gleam incorporated into the women’s eyes set her heart to pounding.
    ‘‘Lissa,’’ she said quietly. ‘‘Come.’’
    Lissa didn’t move, clearly captivated with the fetching picture the finely attired women made.
    Rachel touched her arm. ‘‘Come on. We must depart from here.’’
    Lissa turned. ‘‘But look at them. Why, they look as if they came straight from the tea parlors of home.’’
    Rachel threaded her fingers through Lissa’s.
    The reverend cleared his throat. ‘‘That is one thing you must become used to here in California. Dress does not make the man—