ANSWER: Yes.

QUESTION: And during your four days at the refugee camp you didn’t hear from your husband, correct? He did not join you there?

ANSWER: No. As I said before, he was away on a business trip. He travels for a living.

QUESTION: So, to be clear, your husband left on his business trip before the earthquake and you have had no contact with him since?

ANSWER: I have not. Have you come by some new information about where he is? I think I have a right to know.

QUESTION: I believe I have come upon some new information, yes. But I’m not sure if this new intelligence aligns with what we know already. That is why I need to revisit some of the details you provided from the initial investigation into his disappearance, to see if what I’ve recently learned is consistent with the previously reported details. May we continue?

ANSWER: If this will assist you in finding my husband, then of course.

QUESTION: Thank you. Now, for the record, then, you married Martin Hocking the same day you met him, is that correct?

ANSWER: Yes.

QUESTION: And can you tell me why you did that?

ANSWER: Why I did what?

QUESTION: Married Mr. Hocking the same day you met him.

ANSWER: It is not against the law to marry someone you’ve just met, is it?

QUESTION: Indeed, it is not. I am curious, you see.

ANSWER: I married Martin because he asked me.

QUESTION: You had answered a newspaper advertisement that he’d placed in the New York Times? For a wife and mother. He had advertised that he was a widower with a young child. Do I have that right?

ANSWER: Yes.

QUESTION: And then you traveled to San Francisco from New York to marry Mr. Hocking, even though the two of you had not yet met?

ANSWER: I did.

QUESTION: Because?

ANSWER: Because, what?

QUESTION: Mrs. Hocking, are you declining to tell me why you married a man you’d only just met?

ANSWER: I am not declining, sir. I married him because I wanted to.

2

March 1905

The sun is dissolving like an enchantment as I stand at the ferry railing and look out on the San Francisco horizon. The day will end jubilant. Jubilant. This is the word I chose this morning from Da’s book of words, and I’ve been keen to use it since breakfast. My father wrote that jubilant means you feel as though you finally possess everything you’ve always wanted, you are that happy. I like the way the word rolls off my tongue when I say it. I want to believe the day will end on a jubilant note. I am counting on it.

Most of the ferry’s passengers aren’t on the deck watching the golden sun fold itself into the western rim of the sky. They are seated inside, out of the bracing wind, but I don’t want to be tucked indoors after six long days on a train.