Dare to Love Again (The Heart of San Francisco Book #2): A Novel
Page 7
Casting a quick glance at the large clock over the door, she gasped. Her gaze darted to the windows at the front of the theater facing the street, where the pink glow of dusk was just beginning to bleed across the wood-planked floor. “Oh, drat, it’s getting dark!” she muttered. She quickly slipped her cashmere shawl over her shoulders and pinned her plumed hat, then retrieved her reticule and doused the lights. Letting herself out the front door, she carefully locked it behind her, nerves humming with excitement.
“Now, you won’t stay too late, will you?” Mother had asked, reluctance lacing her tone over allowing Allison to work late at all.
“Of course not, Mother, and there are plenty of taxis I can call,” Allison had assured her, although she had no intention of taking a taxi at all, not when her very first cable car ride awaited a few blocks away. A sliver of guilt prickled at misleading Mother, but she shook it off, the thrill of independence trumping any worry she might have had. Wasn’t it Mother who had encouraged her independence in the first place, insisting Allison go to college to become a teacher? She adjusted her hat with a jut of her chin, then smoothed her black gabardine skirt with sweaty hands. For goodness’ sake, she was a twenty-two-year-old working girl now, a licensed educator and a self-sufficient woman. If she wanted to take the cable car home, then by gum, she’d take the cable car home!
“If you think it’s safe for a fancy dame in diamond combs to sashay through the worst part of town to sightsee on a bloomin’ cable car, you are way too stupid to teach in a school.”
Her lips compressed. Besides, she needed to prove to herself and her family she was a responsible adult and prove her mettle to Mr. Grunt-and-Ga-roan as well. After all, this was only two measly city blocks hundreds of people walked every day of their lives, including the infamous Mr. Nick, right? And she’d bet not one of them carried a hat pin as large as hers.
Head high, she skittered down the front steps to the cobblestone street, the thrill of adventure tingling her skin. She paused to squint the length of Jackson Street, swabbed in purple shadows that deepened by the moment, then set out according to Nicholas Barone’s directions—two blocks south at Jackson and Montgomery. Adrenaline pulsed as the sounds of nighttime on the Barbary Coast grew stronger. The tinkle of steam pianos and the tinny sound of gramophone music drifted in the air along with the pungent smell of gasoline and manure. Laughter floated her way as men and women staggered out of a bar several blocks down, and she slowed her pace when vile shouts and curses erupted. A fight broke out among the group, and Allison halted, grateful she was only four houses from Miss Penny’s. A surge of gawkers spilled into the street from the bars lining her route, obviously anxious to watch the fray. She waited until the ruckus broke up, dismayed that the sky had darkened to pitch by the time it was over. Ominous streaks of purple slithered into the horizon while the noisy swarm of people slithered back into the bars.
Eyes trained straight ahead, her breathing accelerated when several shadows between the buildings seemed to move. The sporadic gas lamps offered little illumination to allay the uneasiness that now prickled her nerves.
“Oh!” Frazzled by fear, she misstepped on a crack in the sidewalk and fell down, skinning her palms while her reticule and hat flew into the cobblestone street. “Thunderation,” she muttered, dusting dirt from her shawl and her skirt as she lumbered to her feet. After hobbling to pick up her purse and hat, she was just about to pin her hat on when she froze at the faint shuffle of footfall behind her. She whirled around, her stomach plummeting at the sight of two unsavory men.
“Needin’ a bit of help, are you, sweet cheeks?” One of them offered a lazy grin, the smell of whiskey and sweat turning her stomach.
“N-no, th-thank you,” she said weakly, sweaty fingers carefully skimming the brim of her hat for the pin.
The second man grinned while he scratched the side of his bristled face, his lurid gaze traveling her body. “Now, sure you do, little missy. What kind of gentlemen would we be if we didn’t come to the aid of a damsel in distress, eh?”
Despite the chill of evening, a bead of sweat trickled beneath her high-collared blouse as Allison backed up, heart thundering. “I’m f-fine, gentlemen, truly,” she stuttered, relief flooding when she grazed the knotted head of the fourteen-karat-gold hat pin Uncle Logan had given her for Christmas. “I just need to catch the cable car, so if you’ll excuse me please—”
“Blimey, miss, we don’t mind escortin’ you none.” The first man tucked his thumbs in the tattered suspenders of his dirty shirt, rolling back on his heels while the other slowly circled her from behind. “Matter of fact, we know a shortcut, don’t we, Floyd?”
Her Irish temper surged. “If you gentlemen don’t leave me in peace by the count of three, you will sorely regret it.”
“Is that so?” the leader said with a putrid grin that churned the egg sandwich she’d eaten for dinner into bile that rose in her throat.
“Yes, sir, it is.” She thrust her jaw while her grip tightened on the pin. “One.”
Cackles shivered her spine when the men’s laughter rolled into the air. “Ooooo, help me, Pug, please,” the one man mocked from behind, “I’m askeered the hoity-toity rich gal’s gonna hurt us bad.” His eyes lighted on the reticule dangling from her wrist. “Why don’t you just toss your purse this way, darlin’, and we’ll be on our way.”
“Two.” Her fingers began to sweat, pin slick in her palm beneath the fold of her wrap.
“You ain’t too friendly, are you, darlin’?” Pug reached out to trail a grimy finger down the cashmere shawl that hugged the sleeve of her blouse.
“Three!” Heart in her throat, Allison stabbed his hand. The man’s shriek of fury and pain bit the air while she whirled to brandish the pin at the other.
“Why, you little . . .” Curse words peppered the night when Allison bolted past the wounded man, fleeing for Mercy House with her skirt hiked to her knees.
Someone ripped the shawl from her back, wrenching a cry from her throat, and she picked up speed, eyes fixed on Miss Penny’s door just a house away.
“Gotcha!” Brutal hands circled her waist like a vice, unleashing her bloodcurdling scream when the ivory busk of her corset gouged into her skin.
“Feisty little wench, ain’t she?” a voice sneered as a foul-smelling hand cut off her air.
Cries muffled, she thrashed wildly in her assailant’s arms while fear iced her skin. She heard the rip of her sleeve, and cool air rushed into the hole that gaped at her shoulder. Somehow she rammed the pin into the man’s thigh, and he dropped her with a roar of agony, tumbling her to the cobblestones with a grunt. She scrambled up, and he grabbed her again, hat pin flying when he tore hat and hairpins from her head. Curls spilled down her back while tears spilled from her eyes. “Help me, somebody, please!” she cried, pummeling the man in a frantic attempt to flee.
“Oh, no you don’t, missy.” Pug yanked her toward the alley with a fistful of curls. “Time to pay the piper.”
God, help me, please . . .
Pain seared her body as bile climbed up her throat. She kicked and slashed with unbridled anger, finally biting the noxious hand clamped over her mouth. Her scream rent the air along with the crazed howl of the man she bit, curses defiling the night as she tried to lunge away.
Ka-boom! A gunshot stilled the blood in her veins. “I suggest you vermin scatter before I do it for you.”
Three sets of eyes darted to the stoop not twenty feet away. There stood Miss Penny in an apron with a shotgun in her hands, cocked and aimed and dusted with flour.
“Get inside, old lady, this don’t concern you,” Pug growled over his shoulder. His beady eyes settled on Floyd with a sharp nod in Miss Penny’s direction. “Get the gun.”
Floyd took a step forward, and a curse hissed from his lips when bits of cobblestone exploded at his feet. He jumped back while Miss Penny cocked and reloaded in the space of a heartbeat, flour dusting both her nose and her cheeks. “Now those were w
arning shots, you snake-belly scalawags. The next two are going to nick a little more.”
“That old bat’s crazy, Pug! I ain’t stayin’ around so some old hag can drill us with holes.” Floyd backed up, hands in the air. “You’re on your own,” he shouted before hightailing it down the street to disappear around a corner.
Pug shoved Allison hard, and she stumbled to the ground with a cry. Moving toward Miss Penny, he absently rubbed the bloody hole in his hand. “Now, come on, ma’am,” he said, voice gentle, gaze hard. “You and I both know you’re not gonna shoot me . . .”
Chest heaving, Allison scanned the street for her hat pin, heart lurching when it gleamed in the lamplight just a few feet away. She snatched it up along with her shawl and hat and, not daring to breathe, tiptoed behind Pug with blood in her eyes, aiming straight for his rump.
Words Allison never heard before burned her ears when the man vaulted in the air with a screech that would have curdled his whiskey. Obscenities spewed as he kneaded his backside, mouth gaping and eyes bugging out of his head.
A deadly click drained the blood from his face.
“Now, I suggest you crawl back into whatever sewer you slithered out of, mister,” Miss Penny whispered, squinting down the flour-dusted barrel of her gun, “before the two of us put any more holes in your worthless hide.”
Carefully raising his hands, Pug slowly backed away, finally turning to limp all the way to the far end of the next block before vanishing into the crowd.
The air in Allison’s lungs whooshed out, depleting her energy while hot tears sprang to her eyes. “Oh, Miss Penny,” she sobbed, rushing into the old woman’s arms. “I was so scared!”
“There, there, Allison, it’s all ‘behind’ us now.” Her touch was gentle as she patted Alli’s back. She pulled away with a glint of tease in her eyes. “Especially Pug.”
Alli’s giggle erupted into another sob as she clung to the elderly woman.
“Goodness, child . . .” Miss Penny kneaded Alli’s shoulder. “What in heaven’s name are you doing out here alone this time of night?”
Alli sniffed, lip quivering at the enormity of danger she’d been in. “I-I w-was working late and m-meant to leave b-before it got dark, b-but I lost track of t-time.”
“Merciful heavens, you should never wait outside for your driver, especially after dusk.”
Alli pulled away. “I . . . wasn’t waiting for Hadley,” she whispered with a touch of heat in her cheeks. “I was . . . walking to the cable car.”
Two silver brows peaked high. “At Montgomery and Jackson—in the heart of Barbary?”
All Alli could do was nod, suddenly aware that Nick Barone was right—she was too stupid to teach in a school. A frail sob broke from her lips, and Miss Penny gave her a hug.
“There, there, young lady, the worst is over, so what say we calm you down with a cup of chamomile, all right?”
She nodded again, and the older woman ushered her inside, bolting the door before she steered her down the hall into the kitchen where their pet bull terrier Horatio lay asleep by the back door. His nasal snores coaxed a smile to Alli’s lips. The homey smell of fresh-baked bread calmed her as much as Miss Penny’s gentle hand on her back, steering her toward the potbelly stove. With a final quivering heave, Alli dropped into a nearby chair, clutching her shawl tightly around her. Brushing disheveled curls over Alli’s shoulder, Miss Penny gave her a gentle squeeze, then bustled over to the pantry. She dislodged the shells from the shotgun before tucking it high on a shelf.
“Goodness, Miss Penny, do you really know how to shoot?” Allison asked, fear giving way to fascination with this tiny woman whose gumption was as big as her heart.
Chuckling, Miss Penny bounded to the sink to pump water into a kettle. “You better hope so, young lady, or you wouldn’t have been the only one shaking in her boots out there.” She set the kettle on the gas stove with a wink, then pulled two cups and saucers from massive white shelves lining one wall and plopped them on the large wooden table covered with flour and a ball of dough. “My nephew is the captain of detectives for this district, you know, and we went ’round and ’round about whether I’d be allowed to stay with my girls on the edge of the worst part of town. But when I refused to leave, he bought me a shotgun and taught me to shoot, which seemed to appease him somewhat.” Her lips skewed in a wry smile. “That and the fact I agreed to let one of his best detectives rent a room.”
She retrieved cream from the icebox and set it on the table along with sugar and two spoons, her smile dimming considerably. “This is not a neighborhood for the fainthearted, my dear, especially at night.” She paused to gently cup Alli’s chin with her hand. “Promise me, Allison, that you won’t wander out alone after dark anymore.” Moisture glossed her eyes. “I shudder to think what might have happened if I hadn’t opted for a few moments alone to bake bread while Mrs. Lemp gave the younger girls their baths.”
A knot near the size of the ball of dough dipped in Alli’s throat. “I promise, Miss Penny—from now on, home before dusk.” She paused. “But surely catching the cable car during the daylight hours can’t be all that dangerous, can it?”
Miss Penny sighed while she plucked pot holders from the counter to remove a loaf of bread from the oven. “Walking the Barbary Coast alone is always a risky venture for a woman, my dear, but definitely safer during the day.” A gleam lit her eye. “Especially with a hat pin the size of yours.” Her low chuckle made Alli smile. “Old Pug won’t be sitting easy for a while.”
“Good.” A tremor rippled through Alli as she leaned toward the fire to ward off the chill of the night and the memory of the attack. Her eyes flicked up. “Miss Penny?”
“Yes, dear?”
“Would it be okay if we . . . ,” Alli gulped, “you know, kept this unfortunate incident between the two of us?”
Miss Penny turned, washing her hands at the sink before drying them with a towel. “Goodness, Allison, why? Your mother needs to be aware of the danger you were in tonight.”
“And I’ll tell her, I promise—soon. It’s just that . . .” She swallowed hard, eyes fixed on her bruised and dirty palms as they lay face up in her lap. “Mother has so much on her mind right now with the opening of the school, and she’s so excited that I’d hate to dampen it for her.” Her gaze lifted, along with her hope at the kind of independence Miss Penny had achieved as a woman in a world ruled by men. “And to be honest, Miss Penny, I long for the freedom to come and go as I please, to be able to teach young women to fend for themselves like I hope to do.” She drew in a stabilizing breath, praying Miss Penny would understand the need to survive and succeed on the Barbary Coast like so many of her students. “And I know this sounds silly, but for me, that means taking the cable car home whenever I work late instead of relying on Hadley.”
A smile tipped the edge of Miss Penny’s mouth. “It doesn’t sound silly at all,” she said softly. “I said much the same thing to my Harold once, not long after we married. I was a middle-class young woman who was fortunate enough to acquire a teaching degree, you see, and he wanted me to give it all up to be a lady of luxury.” Her smile was melancholy. “Which I did, of course, when my son was born, but I refused to give up my independence and adventurous spirit,” she said with a chuckle, “which I fear pained him a great deal.” The smile faded as her eyes trailed into a faraway stare. “But God knew it would serve me well after he and my son—”
The whistle of the teapot interrupted her reverie, and she scrambled to retrieve their tea, but Allison didn’t miss the moisture in her eyes. Mother had told her that Miss Penny lost both her husband and son to diphtheria years prior, and Allison’s respect for this resilient woman had grown even deeper. She marveled at how Miss Penny had salvaged her own life by salvaging the lives of others.
Miss Penny glanced at the clock over her sink before she poured Alli a cup of tea. “Well, it’s getting late, so we’ll need to call Hadley to pick you up while I doctor your hands.”
“Ah—perfect timing!” Miss Penny said with a bright smile, setting the kettle back on the stove. “Nicholas can see you home on the cable car.”
Oh, Lord, no, please . . . Allison’s eyelids sank closed.
The front door opened and shut, and with the final click of a lock, heavy footsteps echoed in the foyer, rousing Horatio from his sleep. The terrier’s low growl rumbled through the kitchen, merging with a deep chuckle from down the hall. “Mmm . . . I smell bread.”
And I smell trouble . . . Bracing herself with a tight tug of her shawl, Allison sat up straight in the chair, hands shaking as she took a sip of her tea.
“Oh, Horatio, hush!” Miss Penny said with a chuckle, hurrying over to welcome Nick home. “Just in the nick of time, young man, pun intended.” She perched on tiptoe and pressed a kiss to his bristled cheek while Horatio bared his teeth with another nasty snarl. “We have company.”
“Hello, Mr. Barone,” Allison managed, far fewer tremors in her tone than in the hands that quivered her cup. She forced a bright smile. “You’re working late.”
“It’s Barone, long e,” he said in a clipped tone, ignoring Horatio until the terrier toddled out of the room. “And I could say the same for you.” His eyes narrowed as they flicked to the clock and back. “Shouldn’t you be home in your mansion?”
“Now, now, Nicholas,” Miss Penny said with a pat of his hand, “be a good boy, or you’ll have the Hand of Hope School calling you Mr. Cranky Pants too.”