by Jane Toombs
The evening before Micah was due home, John's tutor, a young man named Howard James, who was staying at Hallow House, sought out Alicia in the kitchen, where she was discussing the week's menu with the new cook, Lois.
"I hate to bother you, ma'am," he said, "but I happened to venture up to the floor where the towers are and I smelled smoke up there, though I couldn't ascertain where it came from."
Alicia's heart seemed to stop. "The black door!" she cried and rushed upstairs to her room, retrieved her brass key and ran to the third floor staircase where she found Howard waiting for her with a pail of water he'd gotten from the kitchen sink.
Out of breath by the time she reached the landing, she handed the key to him and pointed to the black door. Setting down the pail, he unlocked and opened the door. Smoke roiled out.
"Oh, my God!" he cried. Grabbing the pail, he disappeared into the room.
By the time she got there he was sloshing water over Celia's smoldering body.
Chapter 7
Alicia, sitting quietly with her needlework in a corner of the Hallow House library, watched her two grandsons stride into the room without so much as a glance at her. It was hard to believe they were already grown men when not so long ago they were still little boys. Where had the years gone?
So many of those she'd loved were dead, only John and Vincent still remaining. Along with the two old ladies, of course. Adele and Theola were ageless. She'd barely recovered from Celia's death when, two years later, Micah had died after being thrown from a horse. Alicia tried her best to be everything to the boys they'd left her to raise and, looking at them now, she smiled. What handsome and capable young men they'd turned out to be. She had no need to worry about them.
John had taken over the management of the family business, a business that had grown far beyond her comprehension. Though there'd never been any lack of money at Hallow House, she understood now that there was far more than they would ever need.
She was startled into attention when Vincent flung a newspaper onto the desk and glared at his brother, saying angrily, "How can you see those headlines and argue about my enlisting?"
Enlisting? She knew there was a war going on in Europe, but what did that have to do with Vincent?
John, without bothering to glance at the paper, said, "We all know Germany's invaded Belgium, but that's not our war. Why should you want to fight for France?"
Alicia spoke up. "Yes, Vincent, why?"
Both turned to stare at her.
"Grandmother," Vincent said, smiling at her, "I hadn't realized you were in here. No need to get upset, it's just another notion of mine."
Alicia nodded. How like Vincent. He did tend to come up with inappropriate notions from time to time, but he was a fine young man, all the same.
"Cook was looking for you when I came in," he told her. "Something about tonight's roast."
"Oh, dear, we shall have to change butchers if the meat isn't satisfactory again." Rising, she gathered up her needlework and made her way from the library, muttering about the unreliability of tradesmen today.
John, looking at his brother, said, "You made that up."
Putting a hand over his heart, Vincent struck a pose. "I swear I didn't. But now that Grandmother's out of the way, we can get down to brass tacks. Why must you always go into this big-brother-knows-best routine?"
John shrugged. "Maybe because I think I do." From the time they'd been little, it seemed he was always playing big brother, trying to keep Vincent safe. Not that he was over-protective. The problem lay with Vince's hare-brained escapades.
"Two years ago you argued with me about my taking flying lessons," Vincent said. "I didn't kill myself then and I won't now. Don't you understand that my reason for enlisting in the Lafayette Escadrille is not to fight for France, but to fight against what the Germans are doing?"
"I'll admit it's rotten, but I see it as Europe's problem, not ours. Not yours." .
Vince grinned at him. "Afraid if you get a hero for a brother, Delores won't give you a second glance?"
"Damn it, I'm worried about your neck."
"Why? Guys like me are born to be hanged, so I'm perfectly safe up there in the sky. Besides, the old U S of A is going to be in this war sooner or later."
"That's not what President Wilson says."
"Those Ivory Tower types don't know which end is up. I'm going, brother of mine, so we may as well part friends."
"Grandma'll skin me alive if I don't talk you out of it. Think how she's going to feel if you enlist."
Vincent sighed. "I know she means well, but that sort of love and concern winds up being suffocating. Which reminds me. No matter which one of us wins the beauteous and capricious Delores, Grandma is not going to be any too pleased. Delores is definitely not one of her favorites."
"With you off in the skies over France, I'd say you were out of the running."
"Unless I can convince Delores I'm the one before I leave."
John grinned at him. "Not a chance."
Actually, he wasn't any too sure. Delores was damn good at keeping them both dangling and both guessing. She had the two of them wound tightly around her little finger and he resented it. But one look from those flashing dark eyes and he couldn't escape.
And Vince was right--grandmother didn't approve.
"That Borden girl's a flirt," she'd said more than once. "She always will be. Whoever gets her will regret the day he put the ring on her finger, mark my words."
John had known from the beginning that he'd never be able to talk his brother out of joining the Lafayette Escadrille. He also knew they badly needed pilots and so they'd grab Vince like a shot. So he had the going-away party planned at the St. Francis Hotel in San Francisco, even before the word came of his brother's acceptance.
Everyone was there except family. They'd have their own private farewell at Hallow House. Delores, unbelievably gorgeous in white, outshone every other woman. She kissed him on the cheek and then hooked her arm in Vince's.
"How come no red tonight?" Vince asked her. "I thought red was your trademark color."
She slanted John a sidelong glance that made his toenails curl. "Don't you think white shows my true personality?"
Vince laughed. "In a pig's eye." Then he whirled her way into a dance.
When she danced with John later, she cuddled close and said, "I think it's mean of Vincent to fly away. He's one of my very favorite men."
That was Delores--talking about one man while driving another one wild with her enticing ways. John hated how she deliberately made him jealous, but couldn't seem to help getting that way.
"If you'd lived in earlier times," he told her, "you'd have men fighting duels over you."
She smiled. "That'd be so very romantic. Would you be one of them?"
"I don't know," he answered honestly.
Delores pouted and left him to dance with someone else. Later he saw her kissing Vince in a secluded corner and the evening was damn near ruined for him.
When the party wound down, John looked around for Delores, but she was nowhere in sight. Vince was, though--he had his arm around Delores' cousin, Marie Naughton, whispering in her ear.
John decided he'd be damned before he'd ask either of them who Delores had gone off with. Actually, he'd met Marie first and had been mildly attracted to her--until he got his first look at Delores.
Vince had his own car, so John left him with Marie and stalked out to his car in a foul mood. He found he had no need to have the Cord brought up because it was sitting at the entrance with the valet still behind the wheel.
When he got closer he saw he was wrong--Delores sat on the driver's side.
"Hey, mister," she called in her throaty voice, "need a ride?"
For one lucid moment he realized that's exactly what she was taking him on--a ride. On her terms, where and when she pleased, with no regard for how he might feel.
Then he slid into the car and she was in his arms. Surrounded by her intoxicati
ng scent, with her warm, soft lips under his, all reasoning power left him.
Ten months later, with Vincent off to fight the Hun, Delores and John were married. At the altar, slipping the ring onto her finger, his grandmother's words came back to him. He banished them, certain he was never going to be sorry Delores wore his ring.
***
The Armistice was signed on November 11, 1918 and Vincent came home in time be at the christening for John and Delores' twins, Sergei and Samara.
"That boy looks just like his Grandfather Boris," Grandma Alicia told John. "He's going to be a handful."
When she died quietly in her sleep before the year was out, John was glad she'd lived long enough to see his children.
Grandma Alicia had been right about Delores, though. Once a flirt always a flirt. John didn't like it much, but he had the satisfaction of knowing Delores was his wife and no one else's. For what that was worth.
Chapter 8
Standing in the Director of Nurses office, Vera Morgan leaned her head against the window frame as she waited, looking across the roofs of the rain-soaked city. She could barely make out the gold Greek cross of St. Alexander’s over on Van Ness. In clear weather the green dome of the church was visible from this window, the dome her father used to call Byzantine.
"Adds an Eastern note to the skyline," he'd said. "Downtown San Francisco is the world's happiest conglomeration of architectural styles."
Vera sighed. Her doctor father had been dead over a year now and she still missed him acutely. She didn't think he'd be resting easily if he knew she was in nurse's training here at St. Sergius.
"Why should nurses have to act like I'm God?" he'd said. "This is 1934, not the Dark Ages. Women have the vote, they don't have to pretend to be brainless any longer. You take care to be yourself, Vera. I'd never consent to you going into nursing--you're no man's handmaiden."
After he'd been buried, though, she'd discovered there was almost no money left. When Sister Mathilde had offered her the chance to became a nurse, with free room and board during her training, she'd had no choice but to gratefully accept.
Vera had been in this room often when her father was alive because it was here where she'd waited, when she was younger, while her father took care of his St. Sergius patients.
Why had Sister Mathilde called her in today? As far as Vera knew, she hadn't broken any rules lately. Sister was a stickler for protocol: Rise when the doctor enters, allow the doctor to precede you at all times, never address the doctor with familiarity.
The last was sometimes difficult since many of the attending physicians at the hospital had been her father's colleagues and remembered her, called her Vera and, once in awhile, even put a fatherly arm around her, making Sister frown. Yet the Director of Nurses had never formally reprimanded her.
"Vera."
Sister Mathilde had come into the room silently, as always, and Vera turned quickly from the window.
"Please sit down," Sister said.
Vera obeyed, folding her hands in her lap, glancing across the carved oak desk at Sister's smooth, ageless face and noticing that her fingers toyed with a pencil. It was so unlike Sister to show any sign of nervousness that Vera shifted uneasily in her chair.
"Do you like nursing?" Sister Mathilde asked.
Taken aback, Vera stammered, "Why, I--yes, I think so. At least most parts of nursing."
"I realize this was not your choice for a profession," Sister went on. "Still, you've tried your best and are doing well."
"I'd always planned to keep house for my father," Vera said. "I'd never thought about a career."
"His early death was as loss to us as well as to you. No other doctor gave as freely of his time to St. Sergius. We miss him."
In Vera's eyes, her father had exhausted himself trying to run his practice and offer free care for indigent patients as well. But that was what he felt he had to do, what he wanted to do. By living as he had, he'd left her something more important than money--a sense of the worth of a human being.
"I've asked you to come to my office to discuss a matter of some importance to you," Sister said. "I know you must look ahead with misgivings--two more years until your training is complete."
In two years all my street clothes will be worn out, Vera thought ruefully. Already they're sadly out of fashion. Thank heaven the hospital supplies my uniforms.
"When I heard of this position, I thought of you immediately," Sister said.
"Position?" Vera asked in surprise.
For the first time Sister Mathilde's eyes focused on Vera instead of staring over her head. "Your hair is coming down," she said.
Vera attempted to pin up the strands of hair that had worked loose from the braids she wore coiled above each ear, in defiance of the current fashion.
"Your mother's hair was the same strawberry blond," Sister Mathilde told her. "Ah, God took her so young, hardly more than a child, as you are now."
"I'm twenty," Vera reminded her. "I didn't realize you knew my mother."
"We were children together. I see her again when I look at you, your hair a little untidy as hers often was, the same strong cheekbones. Only your eyes are different. You have your father's eyes, blue and uncompromising. He was a fine man, a good doctor." Sister Mathilde sighed.
When she said nothing more, Vera finally asked, "Is something the matter?"
"I've been praying that God has led me to choose the right course for you. When I first spoke to John Gregory on the telephone, I told him there was no one I could send. But, before I hung up, I thought of you." Sister leaned forward. "Would you like to take a position as a nurse outside of St. Sergius, away from San Francisco?"
We both know my training isn't finished, Vera thought, puzzled. "Would I be qualified?"
"You've finished the part of your training essential to this position."
"Then yes, I'd like to go." Vera spoke quickly, before she could have doubts. St. Sergius was her only home now. She had no family and her friends had all drifted away. Taking this job would mean leaving, but it would also mean money. She'd be self-supporting.
"I've know John Gregory for many years. And poor Delores, too, of course." Sister passed a hand over her eyes. "If only I could be sure...."
Vera waited, perplexed. She'd never seen Sister so distressed and uncertain.
"If only you weren't so young," Sister said. "Still, you are capable beyond your years. The situation at Hallow House is this: John Gregory's wife, Delores, died in a tragic accident. Two of their children are in their teens, but there is also a six-month-old daughter, who needs a nurse. You've had your newborn and pediatric training--do you think you can care for a sickly baby?"
Vera smiled for the first time. "Oh, I'd enjoy taking a job like that. I love babies. What's wrong with her?"
"Mr. Gregory didn't specify, he merely said he needed a permanent nurse in residence."
"Where is his residence?" Vera asked.
“Hallow House is an old mansion built back in the last century. It's located in the foothills of the Sierras somewhere along the San Joaquin Valley and is somewhat isolated. I understand the nearest town is twenty-five miles away."
"I won't mind the isolation," Vera said eagerly, excited now. Mountains, an old mansion--it sounded romantic to her. She'd be taking care of a baby she could cuddle and cherish and would be earning her own way. "When would I be leaving?"
"As soon as possible. Mr. Gregory sent me a schedule of train times. You'll travel from Oakland to a town called Tulare by train, where he'll have you met at the railroad station. The only way to get to the estate is by private automobile."
"How much is the train ticket?" Vera asked in dismay. She had no more than fifty cents to her name.
"Oh, I'm sorry, child." Sister opened a desk drawer and handed her an envelope. "Mr. Gregory sent fifty dollars for traveling expenses as well as a one-way ticket." She smiled. "I suggest you stock up on necessities before you leave. You'll be a long way from stores
at Hallow House."
As Vera started to leave, Sister Mathilde said, "There's one piece of advice I must give you. Pay no attention to myths and legends. Or superstitions. Hallow House has more than its share, I'm afraid. Remember the Lord is with you always."
Vera nodded, but she puzzled over the warning for a time before forgetting about it in her excitement over heading for a new life at Hallow House.
Two days later, Vera took the ferry across the bay to Oakland, standing at the rail in the chill November breeze to watch the men at work on the partially completed Bay Bridge. It was unlikely she'd be back when they opened the bridge to traffic next year. Would she ever come back?
By the time Vera Morgan's train pulled into Tulare in the late afternoon, a gray fog had settled into the San Joaquin Valley, shutting off any glimpse of the town or its surroundings. The porter carried Vera's bags to the station platform and she carefully counted out twenty cents, following Sister Mathilde's recommendation to tip a dime a bag.
"Thank you, Miss," the porter said, smiling. "Hope you had a pleasant journey."
Vera smiled back at him, her smile fading as she turned toward the depot. She was truly committed now, there was no turning back. At first the opportunity had seemed like an answered prayer, a silver lining in the dark cloud of misery hanging over her since her father's death. Now that she drew closer to Hallow House, though, her father's words echoed and reechoed in her mind.
"Be careful what you pray for, Vera. Answered prayers can destroy you."
The other passengers who'd left the train at Tulare disappeared one by one into the fog with those who'd come to meet them. The train gave a warning whistle and puffed away southward. Vera carried her two bags inside the station where a tall thin man stood talking to another man wearing a visor. Could the thin man be John Gregory? Vera approached hesitantly.
The man with the visor spotted her. "Are you the young lady Mr. Gregory was to pick up?" he asked.
