“No, I did not. The gentleman appears respectable enough, but there’s a boy sitting out in the carriage.” Bertha wrinkled her nose. “His clothes are ragged, and he looks like he hasn’t had a bath in quite some time.”
“Thank you, Bertha. I shall see for myself.” Belle smoothed her hair as she walked to the door. Her pulse raced. She paused for a deep breath. Must stay calm and collected, as if a visit from Yancy meant nothing at all. She swung the door open. There he stood, brimming with confidence, his tall, lean figure in its usual casual stance. She’d be casual, too, if it killed her. “My, my, look who’s here. Hello, Yancy.”
He returned a wide grin. “Good afternoon, Belle. I’ve brought someone you’ve been wanting to see. Come with me.”
She looked toward the street where Ronald’s brougham sat at the curb. A boy was climbing down. Tall, gangly, sandy hair…
“Luther, it’s you!” Gathering her skirts, she rushed down the walkway to the curb. Ignoring Luther’s ragged clothes that were none too clean, she threw her arms around him and hugged him tight. “It’s so good to see you. I wanted to thank you properly, but you ran off before I could.” She drew back and clasped both his arms. “Let me look at you. Where have you been? What have you been doing?”
“Not much.” Luther dipped his head modestly. “It’s good to see you again, Miss Ainsworth. Looks like you’re doing all right.”
Belle looked toward Yancy who had followed her back. “Where on earth did you find him?”
“I found him early this morning in an opium den,” Yancy offhandedly replied. “I believe the same one where you spent the night.”
“But how did you—?” Something clicked in her mind. “You deliberately went looking for him?”
“It’s a long story. Let’s say I had a hunch you’d like to see him again, so here he is.” He looked toward Mrs. Hollister’s mansion. “I don’t expect to be invited in. Let’s sit in the carriage, shall we?”
Belle reluctantly agreed. Up to that moment, she hadn’t thought beyond her delight at seeing the boy who’d saved her life. At the least, she wanted to invite him in, but how could she? If this were her own home, she wouldn’t have hesitated, but Mrs. Hollister would, at the least, disapprove of his unkempt and ragged condition, and no doubt Eugenia would be appalled. She was about to climb in the carriage when she heard, “Mr. McLeish! How nice to see you again.”
Here came Mrs. Hollister down the walkway. When she arrived, she gave Yancy an embrace and looked toward Luther. “And who is this young man?”
“This is the boy who saved my life,” Belle said.
“Well, why are you standing on the street? Come in, everyone. I’ll have Bertha serve us some tea. It’ll have to be in the back parlor, though. It seems we’re battling the wages of sin in the drawing room.”
Belle laughed to herself. Mrs. Hollister had begun to reveal a subtle sense of humor she’d kept hidden before. She seemed smarter and kinder, too. Belle wouldn’t have guessed a lady so rich and genteel would invite a child of the streets into her home, but she’d been wrong.
In the back parlor, a harried Bertha not only served them tea, she’d added delicate cucumber sandwiches. “Meant for the temperance ladies,” she grumbled. “Had to sneak ’em out or they’d have gobbled them all up and looked around for more.”
Yancy and Luther sat on the settee, Yancy looking as cool and self-possessed as always. How had he managed to find Luther in the midst of the Barbary Coast? There had to be quite a story there, and Belle was dying to know. Watching Luther, her heart welled with sympathy. Obviously he’d been taught good manners, but plain to see he was hungry, had to force himself to eat slowly and not wolf down the tiny cucumber sandwiches. At Mrs. Hollister’s insistence, he retold his story of how his parents had died, how the neighbors took him and his sisters in, and how eventually he had to run away.
Mrs. Hollister listened intently, eyes brimming with sympathy. “That’s terrible. I can’t imagine how you can live on the streets that way.”
“I do fine,” Luther answered with a shrug. “It’s my sisters I worry about. Mr. Shelton’s a mean man, and they’re afraid of him. I worry about what he’ll do to two little girls who can’t defend themselves. Like I was telling Miss Ainsworth, soon as I get a job and save some money, I’ll get my sisters out of there. I’m aiming for a home of our own.”
Mrs. Hollister scanned Luther with a critical eye. “It looks as if you could use a good meal. I want you to stay for dinner with my family tonight.”
The boy vehemently shook his head. “I couldn’t do that. Look at me. I don’t belong in a nice place like this.”
“You let me worry about that. My husband was about your size, and I’ve kept all his clothes. I’m sure we’ll find something to fit. After a nice hot bath, you’ll look fine. I think you should spend the night and Mr. McLeish can pick you up in the morning.”
“Why, that’s…that’s…” Luther clearly couldn’t find words to express his gratitude.
“It’s only for tonight, understand,” Mrs. Hollister said briskly. “And what about you, Mr. McLeish? Can you stay for dinner?”
“Sorry. My niece and nephew are expecting me, and I don’t want to disappoint them.” Yancy rose to leave. “You’re very kind to do this. Is it settled then? I’ll pick Luther up in the morning.”
Mrs. Hollister beamed from the praise. “That would be splendid.”
“I’ll see you out.” Belle walked with Yancy to the door, past the loud ladies in the drawing room who were still diligently plotting to save the city from the demon rum. Once outside, she accompanied him to the carriage. “How are Richard and Beth?” she asked.
“They’re fine. They miss you.”
His answer stabbed at her heart. “And I miss them. I can’t thank you enough for finding Luther.”
“My pleasure.”
“It couldn’t have been easy.”
“No, it wasn’t.”
Damn. He could be infuriating sometimes with his short, curt answers. “So why did you do it?”
He gazed at her, a faint light twinkling in the depths of his brown eyes. “You wanted to properly thank him, didn’t you?”
Before she could think of a reply, he spoke again. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to hound you. Have dinner with me tomorrow night.”
Her mind went spinning. She needed time to think. “I’m surprised you’re still in San Francisco. I thought you would have returned to Maine by now.”
“So did I, but I’ve been delayed.” With a self-deprecating little grin, he added, “For several reasons, including you.”
“But I’ve already said goodbye.” And will never forget the pain of it.
“I know. It’s up to you.”
Her memory of the night they made love hadn’t dimmed. That was the night she knew he was everything she could ever want in a man. She would love him forever, for his strength, kindness, humor—and the rapturous way he’d made her feel. So yes, indeed, with all her heart she wished she could accept his invitation, but she couldn’t. He was still one of the hated Yankees who marched with General Sherman through Georgia, and her family would never approve. She must use her common sense and decline. “Thank you for asking, but I must say no. Nothing has changed, really, although I much appreciate you finding Luther for me.”
He shrugged, as if not the least disappointed. “He’s a fine boy. I plan to give him some money, but it won’t be enough to get him off the streets. I’d give him a job—put him to work with Linus, but I’ll probably be leaving soon.” He climbed to the carriage seat, picked up the reins, and nodded goodbye. “See you tomorrow.”
She bit her lip in frustration as she stood at the curb and watched him drive away.
Chapter 18
Thanks to Mrs. Hollister, Luther appeared at the dining table freshly bathed and properly attired in a dark wo
ol suit and white shirt that had belonged to the late Gerald Hollister. They must have been about the same size, Belle thought, because they fit perfectly. Not only did Luther look presentable, he knew his manners. He didn’t slurp his soup, knew which fork to use, and didn’t blow his nose on his napkin. All things considered, with decent clothes and his hair combed, Luther would be acceptable at any fine dining table.
Eugenia had been taken by surprise. Busy with her temperance ladies, she hadn’t known about the guest until she sat down to dinner and her mother-in-law announced in her most cordial voice, “I want you to meet Luther Allen. He’s originally from Nebraska but now dwells in San Francisco.”
Eugenia returned her most cordial greeting. “And what part of the city do you live in, Luther?”
“The Barbary Coast, ma’am.”
“The Barbary Coast? But where…?”
“I live on the street, ma’am. Sometimes there’s an opium den where I sleep at night, or sometimes, if it’s warm enough, I wrap myself in a blanket and sleep in an alley.”
“Oh.” Momentarily silenced, Eugenia sat back in her chair, her mouth set in a tight, grim line.
Mrs. Hollister hastened to explain. “In case you’re wondering, he’ll be staying just the night. I’ve put him in Dane’s old room.”
“How nice,” Eugenia replied in an icy tone.
Malcolm smirked and remarked to no one in particular, “That’s my dear mother for you. One wonders what she’ll do next.”
Little more was said, but a prickly atmosphere hung over the rest of the meal. Malcolm’s wife sat with lips compressed, nose twitching, and a contemptuous glare that made Belle distinctly uncomfortable. At least Eugenia’s wrath wasn’t aimed at her. It was aimed at Luther, who didn’t seem to notice and was enjoying every mouthful of his Veal Marsala and French apple tart for dessert. When the meal was over and they were getting up from the table, Malcolm beckoned to his mother. “Let’s step into the drawing room, shall we? We need to talk.”
Belle spent the rest of the evening having an enjoyable conversation with Luther in the back parlor. He’d gone to bed by the time Mrs. Hollister returned from her chat with her son and daughter-in-law. “Oh, dear,” she said as she sank into her chair. She picked up her crocheting and threw it down again. “I’m so disappointed.”
“And why is that?”
“I like the boy. He doesn’t deserve all the misfortune that’s come his way. I had thought that perhaps he could stay. Maybe not upstairs, but there’s a small room over the stable that’s not being used. I could have hired him to help my stableman. He’s been claiming for years he’s overworked. I even thought we could give Luther time enough to go back to school. I can see how smart he is, and with a good education he could make something of himself, but…” She heaved another sigh. “Malcolm disapproves.”
“He does?” Belle wasn’t the least surprised.
“He went on a rant about how unsafe it is to let a boy of such low status into our home. We’d no doubt all be murdered in our sleep, he said, and of course Eugenia agrees. They were both quite horrified, actually. Malcolm accused me of trying to replace the son I lost with a worthless boy from the streets. As if anyone could replace Dane! But I thought…” She bit her lip in chagrin. “They wanted me to get rid of Luther tonight, but I talked them into waiting till Yancy comes for him in the morning.”
Anger welled within her. “Mrs. Hollister—” Careful. Belle clamped her lips shut. People said unwise things when they were angry, and she didn’t want to make this poor woman feel worse than she already did.
Her employer slumped back in defeat. “I suppose you think I have no backbone, the way I let Malcolm order me around.”
“You don’t want my opinion.”
“Yes, I do. Please go ahead.”
Belle gathered her thoughts. She wouldn’t hurt Mrs. Hollister’s feelings for the world, but the truth was best. “You told me your age once. Seventy-five, as I recall. That’s an age when a person is supposed to know all the answers and not need advice from anyone on how to run her life.”
Mrs. Hollister laughed wryly. “One would think. But of course, Malcolm means well. He’s handled my affairs for so long I don’t know what I’d do without him.”
Belle chose her words carefully. “You need a financial adviser, but does it have to be your son? I don’t want to speak out of turn, but you might consider replacing him with someone else. I can think of one person already—Mr. Leighton Canfield, vice president of the Bank of the Golden Gate. I’m sure he’d be glad to handle your finances for you, or point to someone who can. He’s a man of integrity, and he also has a heart, unlike…” Your son Malcolm. She’d caught herself just in time.
In deep thought, Mrs. Hollister gazed toward the ceiling. When she looked back, she let out a sigh. “I thank you for your advice, Belle, but it’s too late for me. They say you can’t teach an old dog new tricks, and I’m afraid that’s true. I’m too old to stand up for myself. Too old to change. Maybe too weak willed to change.”
Belle gave her a sympathetic pat on her arm. “You’re not weak willed. You’re one of the strongest women I know. Choices are hard to make sometimes. Not long ago, I, too, had to make a tough decision. I could remain in my comfortable little world in Savannah, or I could say goodbye to everything I held dear and start a new life.”
“How sad your decision didn’t work out as you’d hoped.”
“No it didn’t, but…” Mrs. Hollister’s remark set Belle to thinking. Until this moment, she hadn’t realized, but since the day she left Savannah, she’d never regretted it—never once thought she’d made a terrible mistake. Had she stayed home, she would never have experienced her trip on the transcontinental railroad where each day was an adventure and she’d seen some of the most gorgeous scenery in the world. She would never have crossed San Francisco Bay in a ferryboat on a sparkling, sunshiny day. Never have seen the sea lions sleeping on the rocks, never sat on a beach where she could almost see China across the azure blue of the Pacific. And never met Yancy McLeish, even if it didn’t work out. “I know this sounds crazy, but despite nearly getting my head blown off, and Roberto Romano, the Barbary Coast and all the bad things that happened, if I had to do it over, I wouldn’t change a thing.” She hastened to add, “But that’s just me. You’re the best judge of what’s best for you.”
“How very true,” Mrs. Hollister replied without much conviction. “I appreciate your trying to help, but I’m too set in my ways ever to change.” Wearily, she arose from her chair and said good night.
Belle got an ache in her throat as she watched her employer leave the room, a defeated sag to her shoulders. How awful to be old, dependent, and too afraid to stand up for yourself. But where will I be when I’m seventy-five? She hoped better off than Mrs. Hollister, but who knew what the future would bring? As things stood now, her fate could be even worse. At least her employer had plenty of money, whereas when she, Belle, got old, she wouldn’t have a penny. Was she destined to become just another old maid completely dependent on her family? What a horrible thought, yet judging from the way her life was going, not all that far fetched.
The next morning, Belle and her employer were having breakfast in the dining room when Luther appeared, still wearing his borrowed clothes. “Good morning,” he said and sheepishly added, “I looked for my own clothes but couldn’t find them.”
“That’s because I had them burned,” Mrs. Hollister replied. “The clothes you’re wearing are yours to keep. My husband is long since dead, so I’m sure he won’t mind.” She pointed to the marble sideboard where the cook had laid out breakfast. “Help yourself.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” Luther eagerly filled his plate and joined them. “I can’t tell you how much I’ve enjoyed my stay with you two ladies. I’ll never forget how kind you’ve been.”
Mrs. Hollister frowned with concern. “I hate
to see you go back to that awful place.”
“I’ll do fine.” Luther squared his shoulders and regarded them earnestly with his clear blue eyes. “You shouldn’t worry. There are lots of people in this world a whole lot worse off than I am.”
Belle felt bad before, but hearing Luther’s brave declaration, she felt even worse. What a shame such a bright, talented boy must return to the streets. She’d heard homeless children didn’t last long, what with diseases, poor food, and the ever-present danger of sharing the streets with cutthroats, robbers, and the lowest dregs of humanity.
Mrs. Hollister must have been thinking the same thing. She hardly touched her breakfast. Belle had never seen her looking so dejected.
Yancy arrived not long after breakfast. Bertha led him into the back parlor where they sat waiting. “Good morning, I’ve come to get Luther,” he said.
Luther greeted him with a smile. “I’m ready, Mr. McLeish.” He said his goodbyes to Belle and Mrs. Hollister, who wore an expression of dismay on her face.
Belle said, “I’ll see you off.” With a heavy heart, she followed Yancy and Luther to the street. While Luther climbed into the carriage, she thanked Yancy again. “What a kind, thoughtful thing for you to do. I won’t soon forget it.”
Yancy smiled wryly. “So have dinner with me.”
Belle opened her mouth to say no, but before she could, Mrs. Hollister burst through the front door and headed down the walkway. “Wait!” she called. When she got close, she looked up at Luther, who sat on the high seat of the carriage. “I have a job for you if you care to accept it. My stableman needs someone to help him in the carriage house. You could work and still have time to go to school. Are you interested?”
Luther squeezed his eyes shut a moment, as if giving a thankful prayer. “Yes, very interested, Mrs. Hollister.” Tears glistened in his eyes. He quickly wiped them away.
Belle and Yancy shared a smile as she wondered what on earth had caused Mrs. Hollister’s sudden change of heart. She remained at the curb as Luther followed his new employer back into the house. Looking after them, Belle said, “That dear old lady never ceases to amaze me. Her son didn’t want Luther to spend the night. It took a lot of courage to defy him. He’s a hateful, overbearing kind of man, and I’m not sure she’ll be able to hold her own against him.”
Bay City Belle Page 20
