Matthew Covington had once told him he was sure God ordained him to be the Bandit. Quinn thought it high-minded talk at the time. From out of the mist of his memory, a verse came to him. A blessing, as it were, from within. “Be confident of this very thing, that he which hath begun a good work in you will perform it until the day of Jesus Christ.”
Major Simon was staring at her. Not in the open, unabashed way that Quinn had, but in glances and gazes over the conversation he held easily with her father. Ease. It was the single strongest word Nora could use to describe Major Simon. He was at ease with himself, at ease with his position, at ease with the chaos he’d been chosen to supervise and at ease with the obvious eagerness at which the Longstreet family welcomed him into their home.
That same eagerness made Nora uneasy. Despite her “advanced” years—most of her friends had been married off by now—she had never felt pressure of any kind to wed. Her parents had always patiently expected the right man to simply present himself in a matter of time. Now, the earthquake’s brush with death had made them anxious. Not in the “imminent disaster” kind of way, but more of a “life must be accomplished as soon as possible” outlook. As if Nora had managed to beat the odds by surviving, but had best grab the elements of life—husband, children and such—quickly, before the odds caught up with her. In fact, record numbers of couples had married since the earthquake. Albert Simon, with his charm and credentials, seemed to Nora’s parents to be the perfect solution to all life’s problems. The way Mama fussed over him, one would think they’d been betrothed since childhood.
“Nora,” Mama said as if she’d been impatiently waiting for Nora to come up with the idea on her own, “why don’t you show Major Simon the garden?”
“The garden” was a stretch of the term. In truth, it was a scratched-out patch of the backyard where Mama and Aunt Julia had managed to coax a few flowers into sprouts. Aunt Julia only had a kitchen garden before the earthquake, whereas Mama had tended a variety of overflowing flower beds. Nora wasn’t sure if the new flower garden was for Mama’s comfort, or just the only way Mama could think to engage Aunt Julia’s increasingly withdrawn disposition. Either way, it struck Nora as the same intent as Quinn’s teeter-totter—a “luxury” that was, in fact, very much a survival necessity. It was a pathetic display by Mama’s former standards, but then everyone had had to redefine their standards lately, hadn’t they?
“You’ve a garden?” Nora wondered if the major’s impressed tone would survive the tour of the tiny seedling patch. She thought of Quinn’s frequent reply of “only just,” but swallowed the urge to use it.
“We’ve done what we could, given the circumstances,” Mama said, smiling at Aunt Julia. Behind Mama’s forced smile, Nora could see the hints of longing for her own garden, for her own home. Papa had begun the process of rebuilding just last week, but it would be weeks if not months before they were back in a home of their own, and Papa had decided to move them farther away from the bay. They’d be farther from Dolores Park and farther from Grace House once they left Aunt Julia’s. Nora couldn’t help but worry how Aunt Julia and Uncle Lawrence would fare, wandering around in their own freshly empty home once her family left.
Major Simon gave that grandly easy smile of his. “I’d like very much to see it.” He looked right at Nora when he said it. The directness of his gaze ought to have disturbed Papa, but instead Papa looked supremely satisfied with the major’s obvious interest. For the first time in her life, Nora felt the social expectations of a young woman’s future tighten around her. As if she were standing with her feet in a fast-moving river, facing the very real threat of being pulled out into the rapids.
Chapter Seventeen
“I find them rather eager, don’t you?” Simon surprised her when they’d closed the door behind them on the back porch. “Is there some sort of horrid fact about you they’ve yet to disclose? I can’t possibly be the first caller you’ve had.” He’d identified himself as a “caller”—knowing all that the term implied—with an unnerving confidence. As if they’d spoken of it for years instead of days, if not hours. As if there was no question how things would proceed from here. “They do seem in a hurry all of a sudden.” It seemed the most neutral thing to say.
He tucked his hands in his pockets and walked out on to the lawn toward the rows of green shoots surrounded by a makeshift fence. “Many are, you know. It’s a natural reaction to a shock such as the disaster.”
Yes, he had several years on her, but even aside from that, Major Simon looked as if nothing ever shocked him. She had a sudden vision of him standing amid the roiling army barracks, legs braced wide on the shuddering ground, timing the earthquake on his pocket watch. “Were you frightened?” she asked. “When the earthquake struck?”
He raised a dark eyebrow, stumped by her sudden change of subject. He left his inspection of the fence to look at her for a moment. “I’d not be much of an officer if I panicked in a tight spot, now would I? I must be ever the stoic and fearless Major Simon.”
Nora leaned back against one of the fat pillars that held up the porch. “I’m not at all sure I’d trust a fearless man. There are many real things in life to be afraid of. And after all, ‘fear of the Lord is the beginning of Wisdom.’”
“I leave those ponderings up to the reverend.”
“You’re not a man of faith, sir?”
“All men pray in battle, Miss Longstreet.”
Nora crossed her arms over her chest. “And that is not an answer, Major Simon.”
He looked at her for a long moment. She could see him think, see him weigh her question and analyze its intent. “That is an important question for you, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it is.”
Simon clasped his hands behind his back. “Faith, to soldiers, is a luxury. Obedience and survival are our anchors.” He returned his gaze to her. “I suppose the best answer I can give you is that I could be. Perhaps that is one of the things I might learn from you. If we were to…pursue things.”
“I could never give you faith, Major. That is something only God can do.”
“Perhaps,” he said, his smile broadening. “But there is something I know you could do.”
“And what is that?”
“You could call me Albert.” He looked around. “At least, in less formal circumstances.”
How had her parents, who never seemed to view her “spinster” circumstance with any anxiety before, suddenly become so focused on marriage? She supposed the great, awful lesson on life’s fragility they’d all had was at the root of it. It wasn’t hard to grab at happiness with both hands when even the slightest prospect of it rose. The number of marriage licenses issued since the earthquake proved there was an overwhelming, unspoken fear that destruction could happen again at any moment. That the whole world could shake and tumble off into the ocean tomorrow morning. It made some people desperate to do “what’s right.” It made other people desperate to do whatever it was they most wanted.
Calling him “Albert” should have come easily. Still, Nora found the only reply to his request she could manage was to say, “Perhaps someday.” When his face fell at her response, she added, “Soon.”
He crossed his arms over his chest, narrowing his eyes as if she had just become an objective. She could literally see him setting, as Mama would say, his cap for her. “You’ll find I’m a persistent fellow.”
Nora lay awake for hours, pondering her life’s current complexities. She’d stayed up at first to merely read more of Annette’s journal, her guilt at opening the private book overcome by the joy of just hearing her cousin’s thoughts again. Annette was gone forever this side of Heaven, but reading the diary, Nora could imagine her sitting on the edge of the bed, recounting the dramatic details of her secretive meetings. Annette’s life was such a tumult, it made her own life seem settled by comparison—even with the sudden social acceleration going on. Why were Mama and Papa suddenly eager to marry her out to a man she’d just met and a do
zen years older than she? Stability? Protection? To simplify the rebuilding of their own home and lives? Suddenly, everyone had layers that weren’t there before—Annette, Mama, Papa, Major Simon, even Reverend Bauers and Quinn—and clarity eluded her as surely as sleep did.
Quinn. She welcomed the use of his first name, clung to it, even though she’d resisted with…Albert. She tried his given name out in her thoughts, inspecting how it felt. It failed to hum in her head the way Quinn’s name had. As if the word itself had colder, sharper edges instead of the curled warmth of Quinn’s. The two men couldn’t be more different. From a sheerly practical standpoint, she had no business even considering Quinn Freeman at all. Then again, Annette had been beyond impractical in her association with Eric. And yet, it had made her desperately happy. Ready to risk all she knew and loved to make a future with such an unknown, inappropriate man. It was romantic. It churned up a vibrant sense of adventure Nora had almost lost in all the day-to-day survival of the post-earthquake city. Everything had been so very serious for so very long.
What am I to do, Lord? Nora sat back, clutching Annette’s diary tightly to her chest. Surely, You’ve spared me for some reason. Let me find Annette’s journal for some purpose. Is it fair to ask for more guidance? For some sign as to where I go from here? It was larger, even, than the two men. She was powerfully drawn to Dolores Park and its courageous occupants. The desire to help them was like a pulse in her head, making her look at every scrap of food or clothing with keen new eyes. Could this be used here? Could that be put to use there? The world, which had tucked itself neatly inside the confines of her house and social engagements, had suddenly expanded outward with connections and relationships feathering out in all directions to a variety of fascinating people. You want me to do something, Lord. I feel it. I think I’ve grasped on to it a time or two, like with Edwina or Sam, but I can’t see the whole of it.
She thought of the woman, Sister Charlotte, that Reverend Bauers had told her of the other day. The frail nun, now older than Reverend Bauers, had once been an outrageous diva of the stage. A societal maven, one of those people whose parties ended up in society pages from a grand time when Nora was young, according to the reverend. When her husband had died, Charlotte had opened up her huge estate as almost a public haven, helping just about anyone who came knocking.
Evidently, Sister Charlotte still raised eyebrows, for Mama’s nearly shot into her hair when Nora asked if she could go with Reverend Bauers to meet her. God had certainly charted a wild course for the woman—even after decades in the church, people still tittered about how any woman like that could take vows. Had Charlotte heard God crystal clear to make such risky choices? Or was she just groping her way through the fog as Nora seemed forced to do? There must be something I’m supposed to do. Some difference I’m destined to make.
Nora went to her window, wanting to see the expanse of stars. They weren’t always visible in San Francisco’s fickle climate, but the vastness of them was a comfort to Nora when she could look up and see them. Great swaths of them were visible in between patches of clouds tonight. It was as if God was reminding her they were always there, even when the clouds hid her view. It was not much as signs from Heaven went, but it would have to do. Sighing, Nora peered down into the little, optimistic garden Mama and Aunt Julia had made. It would have to do, too.
She noticed it, just before she turned to go to bed.
A small bouquet of blue flowers, tied to the post that held up one side of the makeshift fence. Larger versions, Nora realized, of the tiny buds Quinn had fastened into her repaired locket.
He’d been there.
Yes, of course some other explanation was possible, but somehow Nora’s heart was sure Quinn had left those flowers. The thought of him staring up into her window in the moonlight was so potent it stole her breath. They’d talked about how her window looked out on to that garden. She was even sure he’d caught her watching him as he removed the house column that had become the tent city’s second message post. Quinn had been here. Tonight.
She yearned to dash downstairs, throw the back door open and peer around to find him waiting on the edge of the lawn in the way he waited across the street. To find those golden eyes amidst all the blue cream of the moonlight. Surely he must be awake, waiting, imagining. It was as if she could feel him out there in the night.
Quinn slumped on to his cot with such force he was sure Ma would wake from the sound. There must be some psalm filled with ache and misery to describe his current state, but he hadn’t enough energy to recall a single verse. It’s too much, Lord, he lamented in silent prayer. There’s just me and so much need. I’ve never been so tired. So tired he’d almost been caught. The fog of his fatigue had made him sloppy, and he’d almost walked headlong into two men with guns. In that hollow gap between his mistake and his safety, he mind went straight to Nora.
I don’t want to die without kissing her. That had been his thought. There, in the dark, his longing galvanized into something almost reckless. She would know, however he could manage it, what she meant to him. He would never take a kiss that hadn’t been freely given, but if she gave him her affections he would grab at that treasure with both hands. If you grant me her heart, Lord, I could take on anything.
He walked out of that close call steeled to one purpose: letting her know.
How, exactly, does one man let a woman he can’t see know what she can only guess, in the middle of the night? Quinn looked up, as if to dare Heaven to solve this whopping riddle, and saw his answer: in the flower box above his head was a collection of blue flowers. Nora’s flowers, as he’d come to think of them.
It probably took more time, but it felt like mere seconds before he’d cut half a dozen from the flower box, pulled a handful of threads from the woven edge of the blanket, and ran all the way to Nora’s home. A smile swept across his face when he saw what Nora must have thought of as the “rose trellis”—it was merely a fence post around the tiniest of gardens. Even if it held his weight, it would have provided four feet of altitude at best—hardly enough to reach the corner window he knew opened into Nora’s room. He stood staring at the window for a while, willing her to come to it despite the lateness of the hour. Imagining what he would say, what he would do if she appeared.
It was probably God’s grace that she didn’t, for he was sure all his restraint would be lost if he saw her. Just before he left, Quinn ran his finger along one of the blooms, wishing it was Nora’s cheek he touched. She’ll know.
He repeated that thought—the half declaration, half desperate prayer that she would know his heart—as he lay on his cot. I can’t bear it if she never knows, Lord. Even if she doesn’t feel the same, I need her to know.
But she did feel the same, he was almost sure of it.
He fell asleep praying for God’s mercy to find some way through the multitude of hurdles that kept them apart.
Chapter Eighteen
By Tuesday, Nora felt time had crawled to a halt. She was grateful to have the task of doll-making, for the days seemed to lumber by, mocking her impatience. A struggle raged inside her: she needed time to assemble the dolls well, but she couldn’t get to Grace House fast enough. Nora knew the flowers were a gift from Quinn, even if her mother persisted in her belief that Major Simon left them as a token of his coveted esteem. It seemed an act of God’s kindness that Albert’s schedule kept him from a visit—Nora wasn’t at all sure what she would do when she faced him again. She had no idea how to handle his advances when she felt such an impossible and unlikely longing for Quinn Freeman.
And she did long for him. By the time she finally sat beside Reverend Bauers on his cart as it wound through the city, it had grown close to the desperate craving that Annette described in her diary—a nonstop fixation. But then again, it seemed entirely different. Annette talked of Eric’s physical characteristics, things he did that made her feel special. Nora did find Quinn exceedingly handsome, but her attraction to him ran far deeper than tha
t. It was his character, more than his eyes, that stole her breath. His thoughts, how he saw the world, how tenderly he treated Sam or Edwina. Certainly his eyes were capable of taking her breath away—even from a distance, as they often did—but it was the soul she glimpsed behind the eyes that captured her heart. He had captured her heart. No matter how appropriate her parents found Major Simon, Nora’s heart was no longer hers to give. Marriages for love did happen, but rarely. Did every woman let go of her heart in order to marry a suitable husband? It just seemed so wrong—so far from what God surely meant for His Holy Sacrament of Marriage.
“I need your help with a most peculiar problem,” Reverend Bauers remarked jovially as they turned the corner toward Grace House. “What should I do about the persistent man pacing in my study? He’s been hounding me daily regarding a certain woman. Miserable that Tuesday has taken so long in coming. I’m besieged.”
“How unfortunate,” she teased in return, delighted to know Quinn found the gap between this meeting and their last as unbearable as she had. “Tell me, Reverend, do you believe them well-suited for each other?”
“Oh, aye, I do indeed. It’s true, they are worlds apart in life, but a perfect pair in spirit. Were they any other pair, I would count the obstacles between them as insurmountable.”
Insurmountable. It was the perfect word for the sadness that overtook Nora at times when she thought of Quinn. It did seem as if the social chasm between them loomed insurmountable. Were they any other pair…She loved how Reverend Bauers had phrased it. “So, you do hold out hope for their prospects, then?”
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