“That seems hard,” I said.
“I don’t know why it should be harder than believing the sun is still in the sky even when we can’t see it,” she answered. Then a look of thoughtful sadness came over her face briefly. “But it is hard sometimes, Corrie, you’re right. And it can be a very painful lesson, learning to say Alleluia to God in trying circumstances.”
She said nothing more, and I looked out the window at the passing landscape again. One thing I was sure thankful for was Mrs. Parrish. She treated me like a grown-up and never seemed to mind my questions. I was learning so much about life and God from her.
“It won’t be much longer now, Corrie,” said Mrs. Parrish after a bit. “We’ll be to Richmond in two or three hours. We’ll stop there to take on some more passengers, and then it’s across the bay to the great city!”
San Francisco! I could still hardly believe it! It’s more than I would have dreamed or hoped for a year earlier, to see the big ocean that went all the way to China!
Mrs. Parrish then tried to explain to me about San Francisco Bay—she said it was shaped like a huge, tall, skinny ear—with towns and harbors all around it where ships came in, and with San Francisco itself sitting on a little piece of land on the other side. “It’s the bay that makes it possible for the ships to come in to the city from the Pacific,” she said, “but it also makes getting to and from the city kind of difficult if you’re not coming by boat.”
I couldn’t really get a picture of it in my mind, but she said I’d understand when we reached the pier in Richmond and could look out across the bay to see the opening into the Pacific where the ships go through, and see San Francisco on the peninsula, she called it, just to the left.
We finally did get to Richmond in the early afternoon, where we docked for about an hour. But we couldn’t see San Francisco at all. There was fog so thick we could hardly see the water in front of us, although I could hear it slapping up against the wood of the pier and the rocks on shore. And when we started moving out across the bay, going slowly through the fog, it was an eerie feeling.
The chilly fog was full of the smell of water and fish, and I could imagine we were sailing out to sea to unknown places. Even though Mrs. Parrish pointed to me through the fog to show me where San Francisco was on the other side, something in me wanted to make the adventure all the bigger by thinking that the captain of the boat might miss the city and go sailing out through “the gate,” as they called the opening, right out into the Pacific!
It was cold standing out there on the deck in the fog, and after a while Mrs. Parrish said she wanted to go inside. But I didn’t want to miss a thing, so I stayed outside by myself, leaning over the railing looking down into the water as the boat plowed a furrow through it, then glancing up again at the mists blowing about. Every once in a while a portion of something in the distance would appear, whether the shore or another boat I couldn’t tell, and then would fade back into the depths of the white-gray cloud we were going through.
I was gazing again down into the water, deep green with white from the boat splashing through it, when suddenly off to our left the mist broke apart, and through the middle of it, as if I was looking through a tunnel of light, I saw the shore and the buildings of the city scattered about the hills of San Francisco.
I stared in wonder. It was like a vision from God, and as far as I could tell I was the only one who could see it, for all about the boat and the water the misty fog still swirled to and fro. But right at the place where I stood, a bright window through it looked in upon the city. It was there all the time, just where Mrs. Parrish had pointed. I thought immediately of the conversation we’d had earlier about the sun being behind the clouds even when you couldn’t see it.
Then just as suddenly, as if God swept a giant curtain over the window He had opened briefly for me, the fog filled up the space again, and I couldn’t see past the end of the boat’s front. But still I stared, wondering if I had dreamed the whole sight.
I never forgot that moment. And sometimes when I can’t see what’s ahead, I remind myself of Mrs. Parrish pointing through the fog telling me where the city was, and think that maybe sometimes God’s telling me the same thing, that He knows what’s up ahead even though I can’t see it, that He’s steering the ship and knows where it’s going. And I think that if I’m paying attention, maybe He’ll give me a little sight through the fog to help me trust Him even when I can’t see where He’s taking me.
Chapter 8
San Francisco!
There is no way to describe our three days in the great city of San Francisco! I wish I knew more of what Uncle Nick calls “them fifty-cent words.” Maybe then I could give a better idea.
The fog seemed attracted to the water, because as soon as we got away from where our steamer landed, the sun started peeking through hole after hole. Before long, everything was shining in the bright afternoon sunlight.
We took a horse-drawn cab from the pier to the hotel, and on the way Mrs. Parrish pointed out many of the sights. She even had the cabman take a short detour up a steep hill so I could look down on the city from the top. She showed me where some of San Francisco’s newspapers were, where the Star began on Clay Street, and down by the waterfront where the California’s offices were located.
She pointed out a bookshop—“That’s where I go whenever I’m here to see if I can find something for you,” she said. “We’ll visit it later”—and a dressmaker’s shop, which she also said we’d visit.
Everywhere there was building going on. Mrs. Parrish said San Francisco was growing faster than any city in the country. Although our hotel must have been half a mile or more up the hill, we could see and hear the workers all day long and half into the night working on the huge Montgomery Block. Mrs. Parrish said there had never been anything so big or so elegant built anywhere in California. It was four stories tall and the walls were three feet thick. It was so huge there were going to be offices in it, a big hotel, restaurants, saloons, and all sorts of places. Mrs. Parrish said when it was done it was sure to be the center of San Francisco’s business and social life.
I had never seen so many Chinese people as I saw in San Francisco, come to help with the construction. The cab driver told us that hundreds of these Chinese men worked eighteen-hour days hauling big numbered blocks of granite for the new Parrott’s bank building. I can hardly believe it myself, but he said every piece of granite came from China—along with the men to put them up—and they all had to go in a certain place. It was a four-story building too, but there were so many workmen it was done in just a few months.
Usually when she came to San Francisco, Mrs. Parrish said she stayed at a boardinghouse. But this was a special occasion, she said, and she intended to treat me first class. I wasn’t prepared for all the sights that met my eyes when we pulled up in front and then went inside the Oriental Hotel, a fine new building on Hyde Street.
The foyer was carpeted in a rich red and black carpet. There was a chandelier overhead and velvet chairs and couches all around in the lobby. It was the kind of place I’d only imagined in cities like Paris, France!
A man in a red coat took our luggage right away. Mrs. Parrish spoke with the clerk at the front desk, while I just stood on that thick carpet and kept staring all about me, probably with my mouth hanging open and my eyes full of country-girl wonder!
“Must be your first time in the city,” came a voice into the middle of my musing.
“What?” I said, looking around.
“First-timer, eh?” he said again. “I figured—I can always tell.”
I saw a boy, around my own age, maybe a little older, standing looking at me. He wasn’t much bigger than I was, and since he was slender, I couldn’t really tell his age. He looked young, but he sounded so sure of himself and confident that he must have been seventeen or eighteen, though he only looked fifteen. His voice was high-pitched. His eyes were as blue as the night, and looked somewhat mischievous. He wore a dirty, gray ha
t that was tilted to the right. Out from under it stiff blond curls fell onto his forehead.
“Yes, it is,” I answered, finally getting hold of my wits.
“Yeah, I knew it. Being in the newspaper business, you see, I got a nose for people.” Now he was starting to sound cocky, and I had the feeling he was looking down on me. But then I noticed the bundle of newspapers he was carrying under his arm and thought maybe he deserved another chance.
“You work for a newspaper?” I said, probably a little too eagerly.
“That’s right.”
“What do you do? You’re not a reporter . . . a writer?” I asked.
“I do whatever they tell me,” he answered. “I’m what they call in the business a jack of all trades. So, yeah, I’ve done a little reporting in my time—” The superior slant of his mouth crept back. “You see, my editor, he knows that a fella like me, out on the streets, is likely to pick up better stories than them desk reporters.”
“I’d like to write for a newspaper some day,” I said.
“Where you from?”
“Miracle Springs.”
His first response was a great laugh. “Boy, are you from the sticks! You ain’t gonna do no newspaper writing there! Ha, ha, ha!”
“What do you mean?” I said back, my face getting red. “We have a newspaper there.”
“You mean ol’ Singleton’s rag! Ha, ha! It ain’t nothing but an advertising sheet—mining tools, mail-order brides, spent claims, and worn out jackasses! We cover real news stories here in the city. You must have just lit fresh from the overland trail! So, what are you doing in San Francisco?”
Even as he asked the question he was still smiling that patronizing smile of his, and I didn’t know whether to be hurt or mad.
“We’re just—that is, I came with that lady over there,” I glanced to where Mrs. Parrish was just finishing up with the clerk.
“Well, sounds to me like the two of you could do with a guide while you’re here, and I know this city like the back of my hand. Robert T. O’Flaridy is the name! And besides newspapering, I offer my services to out-of-town young damsels such as yourself to keep them out of distress! My rates are most reasonable, and I—”
He was interrupted, just as Mrs. Parrish walked up, by the desk clerk’s irritated-sounding voice calling out from behind the desk.
“Robin O’Flaridy, what are you doing accosting my guests again!”
Robin—that fit him better than his fancy “Robert T.”—flashed a big grin, sheepish, but with a dash of cunning in it too.
“Just trying to make a living, Mr. Barnes,” he answered, throwing a wink in our direction.
“Well, your job is not to bother our people, as I’ve told you fifty times, but to deliver those newspapers. If you can’t do that properly, you may well lose that job, too!”
“Okay, okay!” He tipped his cap toward us. “It was a pleasure meeting you ladies. Remember, I’m the best guide in this city.”
He deposited the bundle of papers on the desk and made a hasty exit.
“I apologize for the annoyance, ma’am,” the clerk said.
“No trouble at all, Mr. Barnes,” replied Mrs. Parrish. “Perhaps if he is as good a guide as he says, we might consider engaging his services.”
“Believe me, ma’am, the boy is all wind. All he does is deliver papers to a few of the large hotels in town, and he tells everyone he’s a reporter.”
“He doesn’t write for the paper?” I said.
“Write! Did he tell you that? Ha, that’s a good one! He’s nothing but a confidence man in the making. No, ma’am, if you employed him as a guide, you’d have to chain your pocketbook to your arm. Nobody even knows where the boy lives. He’s always on the streets looking for some likely target to fleece, and an hour or two a day he delivers papers and pretends to be the senior editor’s right hand man! No, I’ve seen him mixing with some bad customers, and wouldn’t want you associating with him.”
“Well, I appreciate your candid advice, Mr. Barnes,” said Mrs. Parrish. “But surely, the boy could be trusted. If you hire him—”
“I don’t hire him, ma’am. If I had my way, I’d never see him setting foot in my lobby again. No, he’s the newspaper’s doing, and I’m stuck with him. But the paper isn’t the only outfit he runs errands for, if you get my meaning,” he added with a look of significance. “And like I say, some of the other types he hangs around aren’t the sort a lady like you wants to have anything to do with.”
With plenty to think about, we followed the man with the red jacket up to our room. I didn’t realize it, but I must have been so tuckered out that I fell asleep in my clothes almost the minute I lay down on the beautiful soft bed.
Mrs. Parrish had a short nap, too, but when I woke she was sitting at the dressing table fixing her hair. She suggested that if I felt rested enough, we get a little something to eat and then see more of the city. We still had most of the afternoon ahead of us, and her meetings didn’t start until the next day. She didn’t have to ask me twice! I jumped up and washed my face and was ready in a twinkling.
Mrs. Parrish hired us a carriage, but she didn’t need a guide. She knew the city as well as any native, or any guide like that O’Flaridy boy said he was. First she took us up onto Telegraph Hill to see the windmill, and then clear across town to the point overlooking the “Gate,” where we could see the Pacific and the opening of the bay on the other side. It was beautiful when the fog still clinging to the water would lift or part. It was pretty windy, though the sun was shining warm. What you could see of the water was so blue, just like the sky, and when the sun was just right, even the patches of fog swirling around here and there could be pretty. I thought San Francisco was about as grand a place for a city to sit as anywhere in the world!
Wherever we went in the city we saw different sights—fancy business men, Chinese workmen, fishing boats of all sizes, and big ships from all over the world. On the waterfront I heard many strange languages being spoken. And of course, there were lots of saloons with rough-looking men coming in and out of them.
I guess it was what you would call “colorful,” but Mrs. Parrish said that lots of terrible things happened around there. They even called one stretch of the waterfront the “Barbary Coast,” after the pirate coast of North Africa. She said that there were bad men and women in those saloons and boardinghouses, and I have to admit I didn’t like the looks of the ladies who came out of them, dressed in bright colors with painted faces and red lips, sometimes hanging on to men in fine clothes with ruffled lace shirts. Those men had a different look than the businessmen you saw around the Montgomery Building. And after our day’s outing when she took me to see the city, I was glad when we got away from there.
Just as we were climbing into our cab, while Mrs. Parrish was telling the driver where to go, I glanced back for one last look at the waterfront, with its saloons and people and the fishing boats and bay behind it. My mind was on the whole panorama of blue sky, clouds, the pretty expanse of water, but my eyes fell instead on a figure just at that moment stumbling out of one of the buildings nearest to where we sat.
My mouth fell open in disbelief. It couldn’t be! And just as quickly as I saw him, I turned my head away. Even if it was, I didn’t want to see that face a second time. I never wanted to see it again!
I stared down at the floor of the cab, afraid to say anything to Mrs. Parrish. Yet, somehow I sensed that, drunk as he was, the man had seen my face too, and was even now walking uncertainly toward us.
What a relief when at last the cabman shouted to his horse and I felt the cab lurch into motion. I didn’t look back. I never wanted to see the Barbary Coast again!
I kept quiet most of the way back to the hotel. I wanted to tell Mrs. Parrish, but something inside me couldn’t. I was afraid, flooded by so many unpleasant memories so unexpectedly, and I just wanted to try to forget. By the time we got back to the hotel, we were talking again and I tried to put the incident behind me and out
of my mind.
I’ll never forget that evening as long as I live!
When we got back to the middle of the city, it was late in the afternoon and the wind coming in off the ocean was pretty chilly, but some shops were still open. Before we returned to the hotel, the carriage stopped in front of the dressmaker’s shop Mrs. Parrish had pointed out earlier.
She told the cabman to wait, then took me inside and said she was going to buy me a new dress. After all she’d already done for me, I could hardly bear thinking of her doing even more!
But she insisted, and said, “Corrie, you have to let me do this for myself, for the pleasure it will give me! I doubt I’m ever going to know the joy of having a daughter of my own, and you’re just about the closest to one I’m likely to get.”
As she spoke her eyes started to get big and shiny from the tears filling them, as she sometimes does when a conversation gets real personal, and I knew I couldn’t argue with her. I couldn’t help thinking about Rev. Rutledge, and I was about to say something about maybe her getting to have a daughter of her own after they were married. Whether she had an inkling of what I was thinking, I don’t know, but before a word got out of my mouth, she put a finger softly to my lips to silence me.
“You’re like a daughter to me in many ways, Corrie. I’m so thankful to God for you! Sometimes I think maybe it’s even more special to have a friend like you I can think of as a daughter in the Lord, than to have a daughter of my own flesh. Because in you I’m always reminded of God’s love and goodness and grace. Now, let’s have some fun, and find you a bright, pretty new dress—and maybe even a bonnet to go with it!”
Daughter of Grace Page 5
