Bay City Belle

by Shirley Kennedy

  He wrapped his arms tight around her. “You don’t have to go home tomorrow, do you?”

  At this point, she wouldn’t leave San Francisco if they paid her. She still had her pride, though, and would give him the most honest answer she could. If only her heart were speaking, her answer would be, Marry me, Yancy McLeish. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. But he hadn’t said he loved her, let alone proposed, and until he did, she wasn’t about to make a fool of herself. “I’ll stay another day or two. I think the children will be pleased, and I don’t believe Bernice would mind, do you?”

  He hoisted himself up on one elbow and looked down at her. “Actually I own the house now, so to hell with what Bernice thinks. And, yes, I wouldn’t mind in the least if you stay a few extra days.” He bent his head and covered her forehead and cheek with kisses. “Not in the least.”

  “So it’s settled then.” She pulled away from him and swung her legs from the bed. “It’s practically dawn. I’d better get back to my room before the servants get up.”

  She blew him a kiss. He blew one back. Her heart welling with happiness, she pulled on the white lace peignoir and slipped back to her room. Yancy loved her. He hadn’t said so yet, but she knew. When she reached her room, she fell into bed and wrapped her arms around the pillow. Tomorrow she’d write another letter to her family. Better yet, she’d send a telegram to Savannah. She’d confess to hitting a little glitch, but things were working out after all, much better than expected.

  * * * *

  The next morning, Belle woke up to a whole new world. Was it only yesterday she was dreading the I-told-you-sos she’d receive when she returned to Savannah? What a difference a night made. She’d assumed she was doomed to spinsterhood, paying for her disaster with Robert for the rest of her life, but was she wrong? Could it be she’d found a man she was mad about, and, if she wasn’t mistaken last night, a man who was mad about her? Mrs. Yancy McLeish. She liked the sound of it, liked everything about him. Loved everything about him. They might have to resolve a few minor problems, such as where they would live, but when two people loved each other, all things were possible. She could think of nothing that could ever keep them apart.

  She didn’t see Yancy until she got to the breakfast table and found him already there with the children, both of them bright eyed and cheerful. It was plain to see that yesterday’s outing had done them a world of good.

  “Good morning, Belle.” Yancy’s dark eyes brimmed with such love and tenderness she knew she hadn’t been mistaken about last night.

  “Good morning to you all.” Happiness engulfed her as she slid into her a place. “It’s going to be a lovely day.”

  Richard spoke up. “Uncle Yancy’s going to the bank this morning.”

  “Something about Ronald’s affairs,” Yancy said quickly. “Shouldn’t take long.”

  Yancy had mentioned the will, and that his brother had left him the house. Such a matter definitely should not be discussed in front of the children, especially when Bernice had to be involved. Belle addressed Richard and Beth. “We’ll find something to do while your uncle’s gone. Maybe a game?” She grimaced in good humor. “As long as it isn’t chess. I used to play with my brothers, but they always beat me, and I finally gave up.”

  “I’ve a better idea,” Richard said. “While Uncle Yancy’s gone, I’ll show you some things that belonged to my father.”

  “I’d love to see them.”

  After Yancy left, Richard led Belle to the library where he opened a desk drawer and pulled out a strange-looking object that partly looked like a pair of binoculars, but as for the rest, she was mystified. “It’s a stereoscope.” Richard laid it carefully on the desktop. “There’s a lens for each eye. Then this handle sticks out, and you clip a picture at the end of it. It’s really two pictures exactly the same, but when you look through the lenses, you see only one, but it’s three-dimensional and looks really real.”

  She picked up the device and examined it curiously. “How clever. Do you have any pictures I could look at?”

  “Father had all sorts of them. A lot are of Uncle Yancy when he was in the army.”

  “Then I’d very much like to see them.”

  Richard pulled a box filled with pictures from one of the shelves and began to sort through. “Did you know he served under General Sherman? He was on Sherman’s march to the sea. That’s when they took Atlanta.” From the box, he pulled a long, rectangular picture which was actually two identical pictures side by side. He clipped them in place in the stereoscope. “Here he is with General Sherman himself. Take a look.”

  A sickening knot began to form in Belle’s stomach. She didn’t want to look, but it would hurt Richard’s feelings if she didn’t. She took the device and held it to her eyes. She had to focus carefully, but when she did, how remarkable. The two men standing by a horse looked so real she could reach out and touch them. One, obviously the general, wore a long frock coat with fringed epaulets, a gold sash, and two rows of brass buttons down the front. The other—tall, dressed in an officer’s uniform but without all the gold—was Yancy McLeish. He was smiling. The general was smiling.

  “That was the day the general gave my uncle the Distinguished Service Medal.” Pride filled Richard’s voice as he continued, “He was a hero, not only in the Battle of Atlanta but the Battle of Savannah, too.”

  “He fought in the Battle of Savannah?”

  “Oh, yes, I’ll show you.” Richard took another double picture from the box and fitted it into the stereoscope. “Here’s Uncle Yancy on the way to Savannah. See the men in the background? They’re celebrating because they’d just dug up some railroad tracks, heated ’em up, and wrapped ’em around a tree. Did you know they called them Sherman’s Neckties?” He handed the device to her. “Here, Miss Ainsworth, take a look. Uncle Yancy doesn’t like to talk about it, so I’d wager you didn’t know what a hero he was.”

  “Thank you, Richard.” Shock had caused her words to wedge in her throat, but somehow she’d got them out. She didn’t want to look, but this boy had suffered enough and she wouldn’t hurt his feelings for the world. She pressed the stereoscope to her eyes. There stood Yancy in his Union Army uniform, and in the blurry background, a group of soldiers were in the midst of wrapping a railing around a tree. That picture could have been taken on the same day Bridger came home on a one-day leave. She’d never seen him cry before, but that day he did. “It’s over, Belle,” he’d said through choked tears. “The whole countryside is in ruins. People starving. All our food and livestock stolen. They even dug up the railroad tracks....” He could not go on. She’d joined in his tears. Father, Gregory, Jeremy, all of them dead now, and it had all been for nothing.

  The next day, Bridger went back to the battle, lost his arm, and sustained the wound from which he’d never recover.

  Richard stared at her with concern. “Is something wrong? You look strange.”

  She forced her lips into a smile. “Nothing’s wrong. I’m feeling a little light-headed. I’d like to see all your father’s pictures, but right now I’d better go lie down.”

  She turned, discovering her knees had gone weak. With a determined effort, she managed to walk from the library without gripping the furniture for support. Holding tight to the bannister, she climbed the stairs to her room. With a moan, she collapsed on the bed on her back, an arm flung over her eyes. So Yancy was one of them. She’d known he’d been in the Union Army but had never asked what he did, where he fought. She’d been a coward not to ask, and that was because she’d known in her heart she could never forgive a man who fought against her father and her brothers, who’d helped ruin the land she loved.

  But now that she knew…

  How could she forgive him? How could she marry him? How could she bring him home to meet her friends and family? The bitter anguish of defeat still lived in the heart of every Southerner. She could
only imagine the reaction when she announced, “Meet my new husband, one of those Yankees who fought with General Sherman and brought death and destruction to Savannah.”

  Belle groaned aloud. No way out. She must have nothing more to do with Yancy McLeish. She must pack her valise and flee, as she’d done with Roberto. Not a good idea, though. For one thing, she had no money, so she’d be penniless on the streets again, a fate worse than death, as far as she was concerned. For another, running away had been a spineless thing to do, even though she’d feared Roberto’s wrath, and rightfully so. Yancy wouldn’t harm her. He’d been nothing but kind to her and deserved an explanation. So she would not take the coward’s way out this time. She still loved Yancy McLeish. That would never change. Facing him, telling him she was leaving and never wanted to see him again would be the hardest thing she ever had to do. She’d do it, though. She had no choice.

  Numb from the shock, she waited for Yancy to return home.

  Chapter 16

  Yancy wasn’t fond of banks and dealt with them only when he had to. Today was different. Sitting in Mr. Canfield’s office, he’d learned from Ronald’s attorney, Mr. Frederick Bartlett, the details of his inheritance. His brother had left him a considerable amount of money, most of it invested in stocks and bonds that Mr. Bartlett claimed would reward him with “top-notch returns” and give him “a more than comfortable living for the rest of his life.” Yancy would also receive the house, furnishings, and all the carriages. The children were well provided for with trust funds. “As is Mrs. McLeish,” Mr. Bartlett added with a fleeting expression of distaste. “When everything’s settled, your brother’s investments will be transferred to your name. I understand you’ll be leaving San Francisco? In that case, I can deposit the dividends to your bank in Maine, if that’s what you prefer. Also, if you decide to sell the house, I can help you with that, too. Just let me know what you want to do.”

  Only days ago, Yancy would have gone along with the solicitor’s suggestions. Deposit the money in his bank. Sell the house. Get out of San Francisco and head for home. Belle had changed all that. How had he been so lucky? He wasn’t sure what love was, but if it meant wanting to share his life with her, take care of her, be the father of her children, then love it was. So much remained unsettled, but nothing so difficult that he and Belle couldn’t work it out together. That settled it. When he got home, he’d ask her to marry him. “Hold off on that, Mr. Bartlett. My plans have changed.”

  “Not a problem. I know Leighton Canfield has offered you a position with the bank. Are you interested?”

  No, he was not interested in working in a bank nor would he ever be. As for staying in San Francisco, he must talk to Belle. He had no idea where they’d live. All that mattered was they’d be together. “I’ll let you know, sir, soon as I know.”

  With a lift to his step, Yancy left the bank. Funny, he never expected to feel such happiness again. If he’d thought about it at all, the most he’d hoped for was to live in peace in his cabin by the lake until the day he died. It would be a lonely life but free of the inevitable problems that arose when he dealt with his fellow human beings. Except the Indians, of course, and that was because they didn’t talk much and left him alone.

  But now that he had Belle? He’d never felt like dancing a jig, but if he hadn’t been standing in front of the Bank of the Golden Gate for the world to see, he might have done so. He could hardly wait to get home.

  * * * *

  The first thing Yancy saw when he opened the front door was Belle’s valise sitting in the entryway. Why was it there? Before he could think of a reason, she appeared, looking as if she was dressed to go out. He gave her a smile and was about to hold out his arms when something about the expression on her face made him pause. “Is something wrong?”

  “We need to talk. Let’s go to the library.”

  This was not the warm and loving woman who’d shared his bed last night. Judging from her grim expression, this was a woman in the throes of some kind of a crisis. Wordlessly he followed.

  Once they were inside the library, she shut the door and faced him. Misery filled her eyes. She had to gulp for air before she spoke. “I’m leaving.”

  It was like she’d punched him in the stomach. For several shocked seconds he stared at her. “What do you mean, you’re leaving?”

  “Just what I said. I’m leaving today. Now. I only stayed because I wanted to tell you in person and not sneak out like I did Roberto.”

  The pain hit so hard he had to close his eyes a moment to collect himself. “Well, I’m certainly grateful for that,” he said, not suppressing a touch of sarcasm. “And would you mind telling me why?”

  “You’re angry and I don’t blame you, especially after last night. This is hard.” A tremor touched her lips. She was pale.

  He could see she was struggling, but he needed to know. “Just tell me, Belle. You owe me that much.”

  “Of course I do.” She drew herself up and took in a deep breath. “This morning Richard showed me some pictures. Poor child, he had no way of knowing how shocked I’d be. There you were with General Sherman, the two of you smiling. In the next, you were at the Battle of Savannah twisting railroad tracks around a tree. Seeing those pictures brought back more pain than you can ever imagine. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “You knew I fought in the Union Army.”

  “Yes, I knew, and it’s all my fault. I didn’t ask what you did in the army because I didn’t want to know. But now that I do…” She heaved a despairing sigh. “You’re a Yankee. You destroyed Atlanta. At least you spared Savannah, but you starved us, killed us, and broke our hearts all the same. My friends, my family, they’d never accept you. I’d be an outcast if I married you, even though…”

  Straight-faced, he’d listened, forcing himself to hear her out without a protest. “Even though what?”

  “Even though last night was wonderful, and I’ll never forget it.”

  “I love you, Belle. Today I was going to ask you to marry me.”

  “Please, stop.” Her voice was shaking. “I can’t take any more. Just let me go.”

  He would honor her request. He’d never been one to beg and plead, and he wouldn’t start now. “Where will you go?”

  “Do you remember Mrs. Hollister from the train?”

  “How could I forget?”

  “She’ll take me in, I think.”

  “How will you get there?”

  “I was hoping Linus would drive me.”

  “Of course. Do you have any money?” He knew she didn’t.

  “I don’t have a penny.”

  “We can’t have that.” He pulled out his wallet and extracted three twenty-dollar notes. “Here, take these, more if you like.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Take them for God’s sake. It’s a loan. What if Mrs. Hollister won’t take you in? Do you want to be out walking the streets again?”

  She carefully plucked one of the notes from his hand. “Twenty dollars is plenty. Put the rest away. I’ll pay you back.”

  “Are you sure you want to leave? Perhaps if we talked—”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Fine, then. If you’re ready to leave, I’ll go tell Linus.”

  She lifted her chin. “I’m ready.”

  “Goodbye, Belle.” He turned and walked away, frozen in shock. He’d learned to be hard and tough in the army, and that training had served him well. Otherwise, he couldn’t have managed to hide the raw hurt that welled inside him. She would never know how deeply she’d wounded him.

  He’d get over it, though. Go back to Maine. Forget Belle Ainsworth ever existed.

  * * * *

  “Linus, are you sure you have the right address?”

  Linus pulled the carriage to a stop. “This is it, the corner of Powell and California. We’re on Nob Hill, Miss Ainsworth, whe
re all the rich people live.” He nodded toward an elaborate, four-story home up the street. “That’s Leland Stanford’s house.”

  Belle had known Mrs. Hollister was well off but never dreamed she lived in a house such as the one before her. Built in Victorian style, it had steep roofs and all sorts of towers and turrets, each decorated with fancy gingerbread trim. At least three stories high, it didn’t compare with the fancy mansion up the street, but even so, it must have been built by someone very wealthy indeed. Painted a gloomy dark grey, it looked more forbidding than inviting. Had she made a mistake? Maybe she should have taken more than a mere twenty dollars from Yancy. If she had, she would have had enough for a hotel tonight, and tomorrow she could have bought a ticket for home. But pride had prevented her from making what probably would have been a wiser decision. Now here she was, a stranger come to beg for help from a crotchety old lady she hardly knew, and who could very well not even let her into the house, despite what she’d said. Too late now. “Please wait, Linus. I’m not sure I’ll stay.”

  Belle climbed from the carriage. Her feet dragging, she walked up the steps to the leaded glass front door. She pressed the doorbell and heard a jangling ring inside. The door swung open. A stout, middle-aged woman in a maid’s uniform peered out. “Yes? You wanted something?”

  “My name is Belle Ainsworth. I’m a friend of Mrs. Hollister, and I’d like to see her.”

  The maid eyed her suspiciously. “A friend?”

  “I met her on the train.”

  “Wait here.”

  Belle stood waiting, already wondering where she’d go next.

  Time passed. Nothing happened. She was about to leave when a delighted voice called, “Belle? Is that really you?” Mrs. Hollister appeared in the doorway, actually smiling. “How nice to see you. Please, do come in.”