Rescuing the Heiress Page 15

  “Do we have enough food?” Tess asked, glancing at the older children. “If not, I can go home and get more from Mary.”

  “There’s plenty,” Annie said. “You should rest. You worked too hard yesterday.”

  “I can’t argue with that,” Tess said with a smile as she raised both arms over her head and tried to stretch some of the pain out of her muscles. “I am definitely not used to doing that much physical labor.”

  “I’d fetch you a cup of coffee but I don’t want to stop tending the baby,” Rose said. “Maybe Annie…?”

  “Nonsense. I’m certainly capable of doing things like that myself.” Tess tossed her head to swing her long hair back over her shoulders and leaned carefully over the fire to reach the pot. It wasn’t familiar. “Where did you get this, anyway?”

  “Scavenged it, right out in the street over there,” Annie said proudly. “You’d be amazed at how much stuff is being thrown away as people head for the ferry. The streets are lined with piles of precious things.”

  “That was very smart of you,” Tess said. “I was all over town yesterday and it never occurred to me to pick up a thing.”

  “It’s not like I was looting,” the maid insisted, coloring. “The pot and these cups were just lying there, abandoned on the ground. I rinsed them down by the lake before I brought them to Mama.”

  “And we’re all glad you did.”

  Settling down and sipping her hot coffee, Tess gave thanks for many things, including the baby’s health. The only clue anyone had to the child’s name or family was of the tiny locket she wore and the approximate location in which she’d been found. It was hard to make out the faces in the pictures but Tess had high hopes those images would nevertheless help identify the child’s surviving relatives and return her to what was left of her family once a proper system for doing so had been established. The same was true of the older children, although they were capable of giving their names so there would be no doubt.

  Calling to Annie, she asked, “Is there anything I can do to help either of you?”

  Since both women were quick to assure her there was not, Tess decided to try to make herself presentable, just in case Michael had a chance to return before reporting for fire duty.

  She reached into the carpet bag for her hairbrush and felt its smooth tortoiseshell handle. At the same time her fingertips brushed the journal she’d grabbed on a whim. It had been wise to preserve it because it had belonged to her late mother, she assured herself, handling the slim volume as if it were a precious relic and wishing she’d thought to rescue the family Bible as well.

  Should she untie the narrow pink satin ribbon and read her mother’s private musings? Tess wondered. Surely, there was no reason not to. Not now. Not when Mama was gone to glory.

  Tess cradled the book in her arms, pressing it against her chest, her heart. In the midst of this crisis she wished mightily that her mother was still beside her, still able to offer comfort and counsel. Since she was not, however, perhaps she had left behind some wise words which would help at a time like this.

  Seating herself atop a pile of folded blankets, Tess untied the ribbon clasp and opened the book, laying it across her lap to peruse while she worked the tangles out of her long hair at the same time.

  Mama’s early years seemed pretty mundane, Tess noted, leafing through them quickly. Then as her mother adjusted to marriage and tried to please her husband, the mood subtly changed.

  The rhythmic movement of the hairbrush stilled. Tess stared at the page she had just turned.

  I have had a lovely baby girl, she read. My Gerald is upset, of course, but he’ll soften toward her eventually. I know he will. And I have promised that we shall try again for the son he covets so.

  Tess knew she shouldn’t have been surprised to read such a plain truth because she had often heard her father say practically the same thing, yet it hurt to read that Mama had agonized over it, too.

  There was more to follow, special mentions of Tess’s babyhood accomplishments and her ensuing youth. The pages were filled with love and appreciation for her daughter but continued to lament the fact that there had been no additional son.

  Flipping to the back of the book, Tess swept aside the blank pages until she reached one of the final entries.

  I fear I shall not go to heaven, her mother wrote. I harbor too much unforgiveness in my heart. I want to love my husband the way I used to but I cannot. I have tried to bear the son he wants and have failed him. Now it is too late. May God forgive me.

  Through her tears, Tess read one more line, its words directing her to turn the page. There, she saw a notation addressed to her!

  My darling Tess, I hope you may someday see this. Don’t weep for me. Weep for your father. He is a bitter, unhappy man and surely will remain so for as long as he lives. You were my best and only joy and I always loved you dearly. I pray that you will find the happiness I missed and that you will live the life of your dreams, not try to mold yourself to anyone else’s desires.

  Follow your heart. Read the scriptures as I taught you. And remember that I loved you more than life itself. It was signed, Your loving Mama.

  A tear dropped, dampening the paper and causing the ink to start to bleed.

  Tess quickly closed the book and dabbed at her eyes. “Poor Mama. And poor Papa, too,” she added, realizing how her parents’ lives had been at hopeless odds for so many years.

  In retrospect she ached for her mother. Yet she could also see how that attitude of daily martyrdom might have caused her father to withdraw. Papa liked his world well-ordered. Within his control. Managed to the hilt. To have a wife who was not only ill but clearly disappointed in her entire existence when there wasn’t a thing he could do about it must have driven him to distraction.

  Sighing, Tess got to her feet and slipped the journal back into her carpet bag with the hairbrush. She tugged at the hem of the jacket of her wool dress and smoothed the outfit over her hips, dusting the skirt with her hands and shaking out the hem.

  When this turmoil was past and they were back at home, she’d talk to her father, she vowed, and let him know she understood why he’d always seemed so gruff. That might not change anything between them but she felt beholden to try.

  Beginning to smile wistfully, she looked out at the crowd and thought of Michael. There was no sign of him or of the team and wagon this morning so she assumed he had already reported to Chief Walters. That was the most likely scenario, although she couldn’t help hoping he was currently on his way to the park with one last load of refugees, instead.

  No matter what, Tess vowed to be ready. She ran her fingers over her hair to smooth it carefully, then once again patted at her dusty skirt.

  She couldn’t imagine anything else, now or ever, that would mean more to her than catching sight of Michael Mahoney and she wanted him to be just as pleased when he saw her even if she hadn’t been able to change her clothing or have her long hair properly dressed.

  She smiled, remembering the way he’d threaded his fingers through her loose tresses when he’d kissed her. Truth to tell, if there was the slightest chance he’d repeat that loving act she might never, ever, pile her hair atop her head again.

  The sun shone bloodred as it began to peek through the smoke-filled atmosphere and add another kind of glow to the eastern sky. Michael had checked Union Square the night before and had seen nothing to indicate it would be a usable gathering place. Therefore, he planned to report to the ferry terminal. He had time for only one more task before he went on duty.

  Walters’s and Dougherty’s decision to hold some able-bodied men in reserve made sense; he just kept wishing his station hadn’t been destroyed in the initial earthquake so he and the others of his company could have gone to work immediately.

  In the next hour or so, Michael intended to make certain his mother was safe no matter what. Judging by the position of the rising sun, it was still early, though the haze and smoke made it impossible to be certai
n of the time.

  A strong wind had arisen at daybreak, made worse by the circular updraft the fires themselves were generating. Flames rose in death-dealing tornados, bearing millions of hot embers aloft then showering them over the roofs and other remains of previously unscathed buildings.

  His jaw clenched. Crumbled relics of total destruction lay everywhere and buried among them many poor souls who had been unable to save themselves. Those were people he and his fellows should have been able to rescue. Somehow. That was what they’d trained for, stood ready for. Who could have imagined that the fire brigades would fall victim to so much devastation before they had a chance to even act?

  The view from Nob Hill, once he reached it, was also disturbing. Michael called out to his mother as he stopped the team outside the mansion and was relieved when she burst out and ran straight into his arms.

  “Oh, God be praised,” Mary keened. “I didn’t know what to do. The fire…”

  “You’re still safe here, at least for the time being. But I want you to pack up so I can take you down to the park to stay with Tess and the others.”

  “Why? Surely the firemen will stop this soon.”

  Michael shook his head slowly, considering the carnage he’d just passed. “I don’t know when. None of us do. Mayor Schmitz has ordered blocks of buildings close to the fires blown to bits instead of trying to cut a firebreak farther away. That system doesn’t seem to be working.”

  Mary gazed up at him, tears welling. “I promised Mister Gerald I’d stay and watch the house even if all the other servants left.”

  “Have you seen hide nor hair of him?”

  “Nobody’s been here since yesterday. Mr. Clark swore he was going to look after the money at his bank no matter what.”

  “That figures.” Michael glanced up at the shimmering half disk of light peeking over Mount Diablo. “I have about an hour, by my reckoning, before I have to report to the ferry terminal. Go get your things and load all the food you can carry into sacks or pillowcases while I see if there’s a decent horse left for you to ride.” He gestured at the team. “These animals have done more than enough.”

  “But…”

  Michael stood firm. “No buts, Ma. There’s no time to argue.”

  As Mary turned away she paused long enough to ask, “Is Miss Tess all right? And our Annie and her ma?”

  “They’re fine. Now hurry.”

  It hadn’t taken his mother’s mention of Tess to bring her to Michael’s mind. She’d never left his thoughts, his prayers. The aura of her natural beauty and her tender smile would dwell with him, in his heart and mind, for ever and always.

  And, God willing, he’d see her once more, at Golden Gate Park this very morning.

  Tess was pacing and beginning to get terribly anxious when a slim dirt-dusted young man burst through the passing crowd and accosted her.

  “Miss Clark!”

  She frowned, puzzled, before recognizing him as a messenger boy her father had often employed. “Jimmy?”

  “Aye. It’s me.” He snatched his soft tweed cap off his head and clutched it in grimy fingers.

  “Did Papa send you?”

  “No, ma’am. I come myself. He told us all to go away but he won’t leave.”

  Tess touched his arm through the sleeve of his sooty shirt. “Is fire threatening the bank?”

  The boy shook his head, his tousled hair scattering bits of ash and dirt. “Worse. It’s the dynamite. A soldier said they was gonna blow up the whole block and we should clear out, but Mr. Clark, he won’t budge.”

  Eyes wide, Tess scanned the distance. Smoke hid details of the city so well it was impossible to tell how close the danger might already be to her father.

  “All right, Jimmy. You’ve done your duty. Now either go find your family, if you can, or stay here with us. Rose and Annie will give you something to eat and drink.”

  The youth looked worried. “Yes, ma’am. Thank you, Miss Clark.” He squinted up at her. “You gonna go talk some sense into your papa?”

  “If I can,” Tess said. She pulled a shawl around her and stood tall, shoulders pinned back by determination. “Tell the others where I’ve gone. As soon as I’ve seen Father I’ll come right back, one way or the other.”

  She heard him answer, “Yes, ma’am,” as she strode off. It would have pleased her mightily to have Michael’s moral and physical support at this moment but since he was probably already working, as he should be, she’d handle Papa alone.

  Michael would be proud of her for taking initiative, she reasoned, and once she’d joined her father she’d also have the opportunity to convince him he truly was loved by poor Mama and also by the daughter he had never fully accepted.

  That was one of the main reasons Tess felt she must make the trek to the bank. The Lord had used the journal to show her what she needed to do and say with regard to her father. If she tarried she might never get the chance to make things right between them.

  Less than half an hour had passed when Michael arrived at Golden Gate Park with his mother. He’d asked a man with a pocket watch for the correct time and had been relieved to learn he was running ahead of schedule. That pleased him no end because it meant he’d be able to steal a few minutes of precious time with Tess before he had to leave her again.

  Helping Mary dismount and shepherding her to the lean-to Annie had strung up from a bedsheet, he started to unload the sacks of provisions they’d had tied behind the saddle, handing them to the older children while he watched the women share mutual hugs and weep for joy.

  The unloading completed, he placed the final bag on the ground and frowned. “Where’s Tess?”

  “She—she’s gone,” Annie said, clearly upset. “I would of stopped her if I’d known what she was planning. She was gone by the time the boy told me.”

  “Gone? Where? What boy?” Michael knew his tone was harsh and demanding but he didn’t have time waste.

  “To Mister Gerald’s bank,” the maid said. “A messenger told her the army was going to blow it up. She went to fetch her papa.”

  “Into that?” Michael swept his arm in a gesture that encompassed the destruction outside the park. “What was she thinking?”

  Annie’s compassionate tears and soft, sobbing reply failed to reach his ears or touch his heart. Turning on his heel, he mounted the fresh horse and made sure the pistol in his belt was secure. Then he yanked the reins to spin the horse in a tight circle, aimed it toward the gate and kicked it. Hard.

  By his calculations he had little time left in which to locate Tess and see that she returned to the park, with or without the idiotically stubborn father who had caused her to leave the place of sanctuary.

  “That’s a laugh,” Michael muttered in self-disgust. “Gerald Clark’s hardheadedness can’t hold a candle to his daughter’s.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Panting and coughing, Tess wiped her smarting eyes in a futile attempt to stop them from burning. She blinked rapidly, hardly believing what lay before her. The street was not only eerily deserted by every single citizen, there wasn’t an armed guard or a soldier apparent, either.

  The only nearby action seemed to be taking place directly in front of Papa’s bank. A familiar-looking figure was loading bulging canvas sacks into the back of what looked like a greengrocer’s wagon and covering them with loose hay.

  She approached with a frown. “Phineas?”

  He didn’t even deign to glance her way. “What do you want?”

  “My father,” Tess said. She looked in the direction of the bank’s double doors, half expecting to see her predictable papa lugging more sacks of money toward the wagon. There was no one else in sight.

  “Where is he?” Tess asked.

  “How should I know? When I got back from running errands for him he was gone.” Snorting in obvious derision, Phineas began to cough and wheeze. “This smoke’s about to kill us all. I suggest you leave.”

  “Not until I find my father.”


  “Have it your way,” the younger banker said snidely. “Just stay out of my way.”

  “What are you doing?”

  The look he shot her was clearly derisive and demeaning. “I should think that would be obvious, even to you. I’m preserving your family fortune for you while your dear father runs away to save his own skin.”

  Hardly, Tess thought, perusing her surroundings in more detail and immediately spotting proof she was right. Papa would never have left without taking the fancy new automobile that was parked thirty feet away. There were not enough of those expensive contraptions around for her to be mistaken, particularly since he’d had it painted a deep maroon instead of settling for the usual black color.

  Realizing that Phineas had been lying, she saw no reason to stand around and argue, particularly since she’d left the park in such a hurry she’d forgotten to bring one of Papa’s pistols along.

  Tess quickly gathered her dusty skirts and lifted them so she could more easily scale the piles of building stone and decorative carving that had fallen from the façade of the once-impressive building.

  The bank’s mahogany-framed doors, with gilded lettering on their glass inserts, were standing ajar. She stepped through the portal and stared, hardly able to believe her eyes.

  Plaster had fallen from the ceiling and pieces of it were scattered across the previously highly polished marble floor of the lobby. More white flecks also dusted the bars enclosing the now-empty teller cages, making them look as if a snowstorm had recently occurred inside the bank.

  “Papa?” Tess cupped her hands around her mouth and called again, louder. “Papa, where are you?”

  Suddenly, the fine hairs on the back of her neck prick-led and her skin began to crawl.

  In an instant she knew why. A sinister voice vibrated in the stillness. “I told you he left. You should have listened to me.”

  Shivers shot up and down her spine. She held her breath. Phineas was standing directly behind her, so close his breath was palpable. His presence was not only frightening, it was clearly menacing.