Time of Fog and Fire

by Rhys Bowen

  In the morning the sky was overcast and heavy with the promise of rain. That would not be good news for the thousands camping out, especially those who hadn’t yet been allocated a tent. It would turn fields into seas of mud and ruin possessions folks had managed to save. On the other hand it would extinguish any fires that were still burning—so a mixed blessing. I wasn’t exactly looking forward to it myself as we had no real shelter apart from tree branches. I wondered if the army might be handing out blankets or tarpaulins anywhere and left Daniel and Liam to do some scouting on my own.

  “See if you can find out where I might locate General Funston,” Daniel called after me. “And see if there is a field hospital. You need that head of yours attended to. The dressing should be changed.”

  “I’ve needed my head attended to since the first moment I met you,” I replied. It was good to see him grin. It was even better to be able to joke again.

  I crossed the first meadow, now filled with rows of tents. Beyond it a field kitchen had been set up in a small glen and several soldiers were engaged in butchering a steer ready for the evening meal. I looked with interest. One of the soldiers caught my eye. “This fellow broke out of a slaughterhouse yard after the quake. They were stampeding through the streets, trampling people willy-nilly, until they were shot. At least he’s proving useful now.”

  I asked him about General Funston. He was a humble private, not privy to the comings and goings of a general. “He could be anywhere,” he said. “He’s been driving around all over, making sure the fire lines hold and the looters get what’s coming to them.”

  But I did learn that his own headquarters at the Presidio had held up pretty well in the quake and he’d likely be back there by nightfall. As I went to turn away I spotted a familiar face. My newspaper friend, Mr. Hicks, was standing with a photographer as the latter recorded the butchering of the steer. It took him a moment to recognize me when I called his name. I suppose I must have looked a sight with a bloody bandage around my head.

  “It’s Mrs. Sullivan,” I said. “We met at the Palace when you thought I was an opera singer.”

  “Mrs. Sullivan. Why yes. That seems like another world ago, doesn’t it? The Palace is no more, alas. And the opera house is gone, and the Examiner building too. It’s like a dead zone along Market Street. Just blackened shells and rubble. It would break your heart, I tell you.”

  “What happened to the opera singers, do you know?”

  “Ran away as fast as they could.” He had to smile. “Mr. Caruso was out of the Palace and onto the ferry to Oakland long before the fires took over. So were his friends from the Metropolitan Opera. All safely far away by now if the train lines are up and running again.”

  “Well at least you’re getting the scoop you dreamed about now, aren’t you?”

  He nodded. “As soon as the telegraph wires are up I’ve plenty of stories to send out to the world. I might even make my name. But your own story is also an interesting one. You came looking for your husband and found he had died, did you not? And now it seems as if you were hurt yourself.”

  “I was lucky to survive. A wall collapsed onto me and I was knocked out. And I’ve a fascinating story to tell, but I don’t think I’d better tell it to you now. Not until we’re safely far away.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “You intrigue me, ma’am.”

  I stared at him, wondering how far I dared go. “Tell me, Mr. Hicks. What do you know about corruption among the highest levels of city government?”

  I was surprised by his reaction. He burst into a hearty laugh. “What do I know? What does everyone know? The city fathers here are up to the elbows in corruption and graft. Mayor Schmitz, Abe Ruef, Police Chief Dinan—all as twisted as a corkscrew. And open about it too. If you want to run a business in San Francisco, you need to grease their palms to get the permit. Then more money to stay open and to have the police turn a blind eye to prostitution and gambling. They were about to be indicted, you know. There was a federal investigator sent from the president himself.”

  “You knew about that?”

  “Yes. He met a fellow newspaperman, Fremont Older, who had been leading the campaign to expose corruption in the city. Mr. Older attracted the ear of the president, who sent a man out to confirm what he had been told.”

  “And what happened to this man?” I asked.

  “Don’t know. We assumed he had returned to Washington to make his report and apparently a grand jury was to be appointed.”

  “I see.” I didn’t tell him that the man he spoke of had died at the bottom of a cliff. “What will happen now, I wonder?”

  He shrugged. “It’s my belief they’ll walk away smelling like a rose. All the papers of evidence destroyed. City Hall in ruins. Who can ever bring charges against them now?”

  I remained silent.

  “So you’ll be off home as soon as you can, I take it?” he asked.

  “I will. I can’t wait to be gone from here. It’s brought nothing but grief.”

  As I started to walk away he called after me, “It was a grand city, Mrs. Sullivan. And we’ll rebuild it bigger and better. You’ll see.”

  I kept walking until I came to a large open space, bigger than any of the other meadows. A wooden sign read The Polo Field so I presumed that sport was played on it in happier times. However now tents were also in the process of being erected here. I was offered an unoccupied tent, but turned it down, coming away with two blankets and two tin mugs. I was also directed to a place where a hospital of sorts was operating. I joined a line of walking wounded, most of them more gravely injured than I. So many people with broken bones, makeshift splints, primitive bandages. At last it was my turn and the pad was soaked away from the back of my head without too much discomfort. When the wound had been cleaned the doctor nodded. “Not too bad at all,” he said. “Just try to keep it clean and you’ll heal nicely.” He put a fresh gauze pad on it and wound a new bandage around me. When he went to throw the old one away I retrieved it from him.

  “As a souvenir of the earthquake,” I said. “I’ve nothing else to remember it by.” Actually I was thinking that two bandages around Daniel’s head would be better than one at keeping him disguised.

  As I was about to stand up the doctor asked, “Did the blow to the head knock you out?”

  “Yes, it did.”

  “Then you should be resting now. Concussion is a serious matter. Go back to your tent and lie down. Rest and sleep. That’s the best remedy. And don’t try to do too much for several days.”

  I smiled to myself as I walked away. If he could have seen me yesterday, running around like a mad thing in search of Liam. Still, I was tough. I had survived so far and I was actually feeling halfway normal again. I started back for our hiding place, hoping I would remember the way. It was indeed a huge park and I had only seen the half of it. I was passing along a line of tents when a man came out of one—a distinguished-looking man, still wearing a jacket, shirt, and tie, although the jacket was now wrinkled, dusty, and rather the worse for wear. He brushed himself down with distaste. I realized then that I recognized him.

  “Mr. Endicott,” I said, going over to him. “You won’t know me, but I am a friend of your wife’s in New York. She will be so relieved to find out you’ve survived the quake.”

  He stared at me coldly. “I think you have made a mistake, madam,” he said. “My name is Rutherford. Edwin Rutherford.”

  “I’m so sorry,” I stammered, “but you must have a double. I was at a picture show with Mr. Endicott’s wife. They showed moving pictures of San Francisco and she pointed you out to me. Or at least she pointed out someone who looked like your twin. She was surprised to see her husband in San Francisco because she expected him to be on the East Coast.”

  “I’m sorry to disappoint you,” he said. “But I am a resident of this city and have been for some time. If this woman expected her husband to be on the East Coast, then that was probably where he was.”

  “What’s
going on, Eddy?” A woman came toward us, leading two small children by the hand, a fair-haired boy of four or five and a little girl who still toddled rather than walked. She was also young, but somehow more cheap in her appearance than the man. She looked at me suspiciously.

  “This lady took me for someone else,” Mr. Rutherford said. “Understandable, I suppose, with all this chaos.”

  “A friend of mine in New York saw him on a newsreel at the movies. She pointed him out to me as her husband and was surprised to find him in San Francisco.”

  “Well, he’s my husband and these are our children,” the woman said aggressively.

  “I see that now,” I replied. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. I understand everyone on earth has a doppelgänger somewhere.” I smiled. She did not return the smile and pushed the children ahead of her into the tent.

  “I’m sorry to have troubled you.” I nodded to Mr. Rutherford and went on my way. I had reached the end of the line of tents and just entered a stand of Scotch pine trees when someone tapped me on the shoulder. I spun around.

  “Mr. Rutherford!” I exclaimed.

  He put a finger to his lips. “Listen,” he said. “You were right. I am Endicott. But Blanche doesn’t know. She has no idea I have a wife back in New York. I’ve been coming out here for several years on business and a few years ago I met Blanche and she was so young and fresh and pretty … and she gave me a son. You’ve no idea what that meant to me. As you probably know we were childless, Mrs. Endicott and I.”

  His eyes were begging for understanding. “Ours was never what you’d call a happy marriage. More a marriage of convenience, I suppose. I had made up my mind never to return to New York, and now the quake has given me the perfect solution. Mr. Endicott died in the quake. His wife will be notified. And Edwin Rutherford will go on living happily.”

  “But your poor wife,” I exclaimed. “She is worried about you.”

  “She will be relieved,” he said. “And she will be well provided for. She’ll inherit my businesses, for one thing.”

  “But what about you? How will you live?”

  “Well enough, I expect.” He smiled then. “I have been transferring assets to my new name for some time. I’ll not starve. Neither will Mrs. Endicott. She has money of her own too, you know. And I—I have found out that money isn’t everything.”

  His gaze swept over the tents. “Look at all these poor fools. Lost everything, but are they weeping? No, they are rejoicing at being alive, at being spared. And they are already talking about starting over.”

  He touched my arm. “Will you tell Rose that you met me and that I sent fond wishes the day before I perished in the quake?” His pressure on my arm increased. “Can I count on you not to tell her the truth? It would break her heart. It’s so much better this way.”

  I couldn’t think of what to say. “I’ll have to give the matter some consideration,” I said. “I will have to think about it.”

  His face hardened. “Is it money you want? I have money aplenty in East Coast bank accounts.”

  “That can hardly be accessed by a dead man,” I reminded him. “No, Mr. Endicott, I don’t want your money. I want to do what is right.”

  “I’m never returning to New York, whatever you tell her. At least let her believe that I died thinking of her. I beg this favor of you.”

  I looked at him long and hard. “I will spare her any grief that I can,” I said. And as I walked on I wasn’t sure what I would tell her. But I can tell you that my heart was full of gratitude when I returned to my own husband and son. What a terrible thing to have believed all these years that your husband was away on business when all the time he had another wife, and children that he loved. A sad situation indeed.

  I passed on information to Daniel about General Funston, wound the extra bandage around his head in spite of his protestations, and helped him rig up a primitive shelter under some big rhododendron bushes that were now in full flower. About my encounter with Mr. Endicott I kept silent.

  Thirty

  That evening I helped Daniel push the automobile out of the bushes to drive to the Presidio and find General Funston. We decided to leave before the light faded as the whole area was in darkness at night with no streetlamps, no lighted windows—not to mention roaming ruffians and soldiers, and streets still full of all kinds of hazards.

  Daniel had wanted to go alone but I insisted on coming with him. “We’ve been split up enough recently. I’m not risking it happening again,” I said. “What if more ruffians try to take the auto away from you and I’m not there to wield the crank handle? What if you’re commandeered into a work party and I don’t know what’s happened to you? Besides, I have my own story to tell General Funston. I’d like him to see if there’s still a body in the cellar of Bella Rodriguez’s house.”

  “Very well,” Daniel said with a sigh. “I suppose it makes sense not to lose each other again. And once I’ve told him what I know we’re going across the Bay to Oakland to take our chances getting on a train. I can’t wait to be safely away from here and heading home.”

  “Amen to that,” I said. I climbed into my seat and settled Liam on my lap. He was clearly excited about going for a ride. As I watched his bright little face I thought how remarkable children are. He had been taken through an earthquake, watched his nursemaid killed, been rescued by strangers—Chinese people—and then stolen by a woman who called herself his mother. And yet now he was acting as if none of this had ever happened. I found myself vowing that I would never put him in jeopardy again. When we returned to New York I would make sure our lives were safe.

  Daniel had never been to the Presidio and only knew vaguely where it lay. But we asked directions from soldiers at a roadblock and Daniel mentioned that he was on his way to a meeting with General Funston, just in case they decided that another vehicle would be more use to them at this moment. An avenue lined with more eucalyptus trees took us through a wooded area until we emerged, looking down onto a view of smooth, silvery water. The sky had cleared from its earlier promise of rain and a red sun was now sinking into a bank of white fog that lay just beyond the cliffs that guarded the entrance to the Bay. Down by the Bay was a collection of attractive buildings. The larger ones that surrounded the central open area were built in the colonial style and looked as if they would be more at home on the other coast. At the edge of the forest were white wooden houses with porches and red roofs. Apart from the central parade ground, I would not have taken it for an army base as it presented a most attractive aspect against the backdrop of forested hills, but there was no other sign of human habitation, and as we approached it down a winding road we were just in time to witness a color guard lowering the flag, then folding it and marching off.

  Daniel stopped the auto in the trees.

  “We’re not going to walk from here?” I asked.

  “Of course not. I just wanted to remove these ridiculous bandages,” he said. “I’m not seeing the general pretending to be wounded when there is nothing wrong with me.” He ripped them off and threw them into the backseat. Then he ran his hand over his hair to smooth it down before we set off again.

  A sentry stopped us at the guard post and Daniel told him he had important information that could be given to nobody but General Funston.

  “The general isn’t here,” the guard said flatly.

  “When do you expect him to return?” Daniel asked.

  “I couldn’t say. He’s needed everywhere at the moment so unless your information is of a vital nature I’d suggest you go away and come back later.”

  “I’m a senior police officer with serious charges to bring,” Daniel said. “And I plan to leave this city tomorrow if the trains are running again.”

  “You could leave the general a note.” He was still not impressed.

  “Since this information involves two murder charges as well as high-level corruption, I hardly think it would be prudent to leave the general a note, as you put it.” Daniel was
sounding testy now. “Now if you’ll let us in and direct us to the general’s quarters, we’ll be happy to wait for his return.”

  “You have no credentials. How do I know who or what you are?”

  Daniel got out of the vehicle and stood face-to-face with the soldier. “Young man, in case you haven’t noticed, there has been an earthquake. I am wearing a borrowed jacket. I saved nothing of my own, including my badge showing me to be a police captain from New York City. However if you care to send a wire across country, I’m sure they will be happy to verify who I am.”

  Daniel was a good four inches taller than the soldier and he had always had great presence. The soldier took a step backward.

  “Very well, sir. I suppose I have to take you at your word. But as to the civilians with you…”

  “Private, I am not leaving my wife and child unguarded in these circumstances. I am sure you can understand that.”

  The soldier didn’t answer but stepped aside. “The general’s house is at the top of the parade ground. One of those white houses. I just hope I don’t get an earful for letting you on base.”

  “I’ll take full responsibility,” Daniel said. “And I’ll commend you for doing your job so thoroughly.”

  He grinned at me as he got back into the automobile and we drove down into the Presidio. We crossed the parade ground where a platoon of soldiers were now marching toward one of the colonial-style buildings. Then we pulled up beside the row of houses. There seemed to have been relatively slight damage here, apart from red Mexican tiles that had fallen from roofs and the odd chimney lying beside a house as a pile of bricks. The sun had now sunk into the fog bank and the light was fading fast. Seagulls wheeled overhead and a parade of ships slipped silently out on the evening tide, toward the narrow entrance they called the Golden Gate. Tramp steamers, cargo ships, clippers in full sail—their prows cut through the silver water as they headed for the ocean beyond. They looked so small and frail from here and it was hard to picture them sailing to ports in the Orient or down to South America.