“Let’s go,” Nick urged. “We’ve got to keep going.”
“It’s too crowded,” Annie said crossly as they stood on the edge of Union Square. “Where can we sit?”
“I don’t know, but let’s find a place soon,” her mother said, breathing heavily. “My side is throbbing.”
Nick scanned the wide square, searching for an empty spot. “Let’s go near the statue in the center. We’ll have a good view of downtown from there.”
Slowly they picked their way through the crowd. Some people had already spread blankets on the grass, as if they meant to stay the night. Others stood quietly beside toy wagons filled with pots and pans or baby buggies piled with household goods. Almost everyone, Nick noticed, faced downtown, toward Market Street, watching the fire’s slow, steady progress.
Annie’s mother sank onto an abandoned trunk with a heavy sigh. “Let’s hope we’ll be safe for the night here. I don’t believe I can take another step.”
Annie nestled beside her and patted her hand. Shakespeare planted himself on Annie’s feet and put his head in her lap.
Nick offered Mrs. Sheridan a drink of water from the jug. Annie pointed upward. “Nick, did you know that the lady on top of that tall marble column is called Victoria?”
Mrs. Sheridan smiled, almost for the first time. “Actually, Little Big Eyes, the statue is called Victory, not Victoria. It commemorates a victorious battle in the Spanish-American War.”
“Oh, I remember you told me about that war,” Annie said. “It began in 1898, the year I was born. I don’t much like that I was born in the same year as a war, but at least it was a very short war. Isn’t that right, Mama?”
“Yes, only a few months. But don’t go on so, Annie. I expect Nicholas doesn’t care about the Spanish-American War at this moment,” Mrs. Sheridan said. “Except we hope this statue will bring good luck—and victory over the fire.”
Nick turned away and scanned the crowd. All at once, a feeling of panic swept over him. He was just a kid from the fields. He didn’t know as much as an eight-year-old. And he especially didn’t know what to do next.
Mrs. Sheridan shouldn’t count on him. He wasn’t the right one to lead them out of danger. He turned to face her. “I…I don’t know….”
“Don’t worry, Nicholas, Annie and I will be fine right here,” Mrs. Sheridan interrupted him softly. “I’m sure you’ll be able to find someone to help us.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Nick pulled his cap down low and set off.
Nick decided to see what he could find out just by listening. Ahead, a small group was gathered around one tall man. As Nick moved closer, he could see that the man’s face was streaked with soot. A cut above his left eye oozed blood.
“What happened?” Nick asked the man beside him.
“He’s just come from the Palace Hotel.”
“All the clerks and bellboys were out on the fire escapes with hoses,” Nick heard the man say. “Fires were coming our way from two directions, west and south, so we tried to soak those sides of the hotel. The heat was something awful.”
Someone handed the man a jug of water. He paused and threw his head back to gulp it.
Nick pushed closer. “Did you save it?”
The man drew his hand across his eyes. “For a while I thought we could. But then the city fire department tapped the hydrant in front of the hotel—for another fire. That took our last hope. And when another building nearby on Jessie Street went up in flames…”
“The whole downtown will be gone by tomorrow,” another man said. “The Hearst Building at Third and Market started blazing at noon. The Call Building’s on fire now, too.”
Nick turned away. At this rate, how long would it take the fire to reach Union Square?
Nick made for a man who stood on the corner with a horse and small cart. “Excuse me, sir, but I’m trying to get a sick woman and her child to safety. Could you take them?”
“Got a hundred bucks?” the man asked, pushing back the cap on his head.
“A hundred dollars?” Nick glanced to where Annie and her mother sat. Mr. Pat’s inkwells in the bag at Annie’s feet were surely worth more than that. Maybe this man would take them in exchange for a ride. But no. Nick couldn’t do that. The inkwells belonged to Mr. Pat. And Nick had promised to keep his treasures safe.
“Don’t have a cent, do you, kid? I’m sorry to hear it. Disaster like this, it’s the poor who suffer the most. Just like this morning at the Valencia Street Hotel.” The man turned away, spat, and then shook his head. “Crushed or burned, that’s how they’ll write this one in the history books.”
Nick tried again. “But if you give this lady a ride, you’ll be helping someone to survive.”
“Wish I could, kid. But I gotta look out for myself, don’t I?” The man’s voice was flat, his face rigid and stern. “Otherwise it’ll be me and mine under the rubble or burned to ashes in one of those tenements south of the Slot.”
Nick walked quickly away. He clenched his fists and jammed them into his pockets. And then he felt the single coin still left there. He had carried it a long time. It seemed like so much and yet so little all at the same time.
Nick let out a long breath. He knew it was pointless to be angry at the man with the wagon. Nick had known folks just as hard. Mr. Hank. Even, sometimes, Pa.
There was that time when Nick was seven. He’d been pulling up cotton stalks when one hit his right eye. Nick remembered how he’d screamed in pain. His eye had filled with blood and he’d run back to the shack, crying.
“John, we should take this boy to the doctor,” Gran had said to Pa that night as they sat eating beans. She’d washed out Nick’s eye and bandaged it, but it still throbbed.
Pa finished chewing. “You doctored him fine, looks like.”
“It’s his eye,” Gran countered. “We can’t take a chance on the boy’s eye.”
Nick could remember sitting there, waiting for Pa’s answer. But it never came. His father had simply shrugged, picked up his coffee mug, and drained it dry.
Nick stood alone, unsure what to do next. Suddenly he spotted a face he recognized.
He crept closer to get a better view, making sure to keep out of plain sight. Yes, there was that great bear of a police officer, the one who’d chased him all the way to Chinatown. Bushy Brows was standing right in the middle of Union Square, talking to a family, his hands waving here and there.
Nick bit his lip. The man might be able to help. But could he take a chance and ask? The policeman wouldn’t remember him, not with all the chaos and confusion of the earthquake and fire. Or would he?
Nick glanced down at his clothes. Well, even with the soot and dirt, at least his shirt and pants were new. Not his hat, though. Gran had gotten it for him for his birthday last year, just before Mr. Greene had evicted them from their sharecropper’s shack.
Mr. Pat had offered to buy him a new one the day they went shopping, but Nick had hesitated. “This one is good enough.”
“Sentimental value, eh? I don’t suppose you want to tell me about it. Well, all in good time. By all means, keep your cap. Though I do believe with that mop of yours, you’ll need a cut soon.”
“A cut?”
“We’ll have to see how things go, but if all is well upon my return, I would certainly say a haircut is in order,” Mr. Pat had told him. “I myself go to a very good barber on the edge of Chinatown, whom I highly recommend.”
If all is well… But there would be no haircuts in Chinatown for a long time. If it wasn’t already destroyed, Chinatown would soon be gone.
Nick felt a tug on his shirt.
“Nick, who are you hiding from?” Annie stood with her hands on her hips.
“I…I’m not…,” sputtered Nick.
Annie stood on tiptoes. “I know. I bet it’s that policeman! I had a feeling deep inside that you were a crook, Nicholas Dray,” she went on, sounding more like her old self. “Even though you were brave enough to fetch Daddy’s picture
and my doll. Did you steal a silver spoon from the Palace Hotel?”
“No! I never even saw the inside of the Palace.” Nick stooped to tie his shoe.
“Well, then, what? I can tell you don’t want him to see you,” Annie said. She fingered the bump on her forehead gingerly. “Maybe Mama and I shouldn’t trust you.”
Trust. Well, Nick thought, why should she trust him? He certainly hadn’t been a good friend right after the earthquake. If Annie had been knocked unconscious for much longer, she and her mother might have been trapped in that building.
“Annie, I didn’t do anything,” Nick protested. “Bushy Brows over there thought I stole an orange and chased me. I had to run. I didn’t want to get sent back to an orphanage. I hated it there.”
Annie frowned. “And?”
“And what?”
“And did you take the orange?”
Nick hesitated. He wasn’t sure why it mattered so much, but he wanted her to believe him. “No, not that time. But…but getting here from Texas, when I was on my own…sometimes I did steal oranges or whatever I could get.”
Annie waved her hand as if the other oranges didn’t matter. “If you were innocent, you have nothing to fear. Ask him for help now.”
Nick hesitated. He took off his cap to scratch his head.
“You’re afraid,” Annie announced.
Before Nick could stick his cap back on, she’d grabbed his hand and, pulling hard, dragged him to stand before the policeman.
“Excuse me, Officer Bushy Brows,” she announced in a loud voice, “we came to ask for help.”
The officer’s giant red brows looked wilder than ever. His face was streaked with sweat. In one hand, he held the same black club he’d pointed at Nick.
“Bushy Brows, eh?” he repeated. He looked at Nick and narrowed his eyes. “Wait a minute, I remember that head of hair. You’re that thief who got away from me the other day.” He paused for a moment and glanced out over the city. “The other day! Seems a lifetime ago.”
“Nick didn’t take that orange, sir. He has given me his word on it,” Annie declared. She stepped closer to the officer and fixed him with her large bright eyes. “Nick’s a hero, actually. He saved Mama and me this morning. So you have to help us.”
Bushy Brows stared back at Annie. He cocked his head, as if trying to figure out what was different about her eyes. “Help you? Little girl, even if I wanted to, I can’t help anyone right now.”
Nick cleared his throat. “Sir, Annie’s mother can’t walk very well. She…she’s expecting a baby, and she’s injured. We need a wagon or an ambulance.”
Bushy Brows shook his head. “I haven’t seen a horse-drawn ambulance for hours. Folks with carts are asking a hundred dollars or more to haul a load. Everyone’s walking.”
Nick glanced toward downtown. “Do you think we’ll be safe here for the night?”
“I wouldn’t count on it.” Bushy Brows knitted his eyebrows together. “If I were you, I’d head across Van Ness Avenue to Golden Gate Park.”
“How far to Golden Gate Park?”
The police officer shrugged. “I dunno. Maybe two, three miles.”
“Three miles.” Nick’s heart sank. “Isn’t there anything closer?”
“You might be fine on Nob Hill for the night, but I can’t guarantee it.” Bushy Brows pointed to a large building nearby. “See that? The St. Francis Hotel there is twelve stories. One of my buddies in the fire department tells me it’ll be gutted by morning.”
He turned away to answer another question. Nick and Annie stared at each other.
“That’s our answer, then,” Nick said. “But I don’t think your mother can walk all night to Golden Gate Park. So let’s go to Nob Hill now and hope we’ll be safe there until morning.”
As they set out across the square, they heard the police officer call out, “Hey, kid. Here’s a warning for you: don’t steal anything else. The soldiers patrolling the streets have orders to shoot looters.”
“I didn’t…,” Nick began. Then he stopped. It was pointless to argue. “All right, I won’t. Thank you, sir.”
Mrs. Sheridan nodded grimly when Nick told her what they’d discovered. He helped her up and then called to Shakespeare.
“Time to go, Shake.” Nick reached down to pat the dog’s silky back. “Hullo, you’re trembling. It’s all right, boy.”
Shakespeare got to his feet but whined, his tail wagging weakly. Nick knelt beside him and spoke into one soft, floppy ear. Shake buried his tawny muzzle in Nick’s shirt. “I know. It’s smoky and loud and getting dark. And we keep getting farther and farther away from home.”
Shake lifted his head and licked Nick’s cheek. “You gotta trust me now, boy,” Nick said softly. “We can’t stay here. We have to keep moving.”
MARCH OF THE FLAMES
“Annie, be careful with the bag of inkwells. Don’t let them touch the sidewalk or the glass ones will break,” Nick warned. “Do you want me to carry it?”
“No, I’m strong enough! It’s just so steep on this hill. It’s like we’re walking straight up into the air,” Annie panted. “Are you all right, Mama?”
Annie’s mother stopped and nodded, too winded to speak.
They kept on, moving slowly, one step at a time. Once in a while, Nick could hear Annie’s mother catch her breath in pain. But he didn’t see her cry as she struggled up the steep streets. It was only later, as they huddled in the empty doorway of a Nob Hill mansion on California Street, that he noticed her tear-streaked face.
“I’m so sorry, ma’am. It must hurt a lot.” Nick wished that the door would open and someone would invite them in to spend the night on a real bed. But the house was dark.
Mrs. Sheridan rested her back against a tall white column and shook her head. “It’s not only that. I just can’t believe the city is being destroyed like this. So many people…losing loved ones, homes, businesses, everything they have.”
“We lost our home, too, Mama,” said Annie. Nick watched her peel one of Tommy’s oranges. Had Tommy been able to drag his trunk up steep Nob Hill? Nick had kept watch for his friend all day. But he didn’t really expect to find him in all the confusion and chaos.
“Yes, we lost our home, but we have each other, Little Big Eyes,” Annie’s mother said softly, reaching over to brush away some ashes that clung to Annie’s hair.
“And Daddy, and my new brother or sister,” Annie reminded her. “Someday, maybe we’ll all live together in a house like this one.”
Annie looked up at the dark windows. “I bet they have a piano, and real china dishes, and beautiful woven rugs, all gold and red.” She pointed to the bag of inkwells at her feet. “I wonder if the gentleman and the lady each has a desk to write letters on, with one of Mr. Pat’s pretty inkwells on it.”
“It looks like the owners have already left to go someplace safe,” said Nick, patting Shakespeare to keep him from trembling. Shake had seemed more nervous the farther away they got from Jackson Street. “I’d fight to save this house if it was mine. I wouldn’t leave it.”
“Well, Nick, I believe you would leave if you had to. But perhaps the fire won’t march this far. Maybe it will spare Nob Hill’s beautiful homes.” Mrs. Sheridan closed her eyes.
But what will stop it? Nick couldn’t help thinking. The firemen didn’t have the water they needed. And the dynamite didn’t seem to be working, either.
Shake pushed his nose into Nick’s lap. “You want scratches, do you, boy? You’re still trembling a little. It will be all right.”
Shake wagged his tail weakly. He got to his feet, his nails clicking on the stone steps.
“No, don’t go anywhere, Shake. We’re staying here tonight. Come settle down,” Nick called him back. It took a long time before Shake heaved himself down beside Nick with a long sigh.
Nick fought hard to stay awake and keep watch. Try as he might, he couldn’t keep his eyes open. Sometime later, in the middle of the night, Nick thought he heard shouts. He
might have been dreaming; he couldn’t be sure. But later he remembered hearing the words “Union Square. St. Francis Hotel.”
When Nick did wake up, it took him a long time to realize where he was. A strange red glow lit the sky. He squinted. Was that the sun? For a moment he half expected to hear Gran’s voice. Daybreak, Nicholas. Time to pick.
But then the ash and smoke in the air made him cough. Gray curtains of smoke blotted out the small red sun. Nick rubbed his eyes, still heavy with sleep. He felt bruised and sore and a little confused. Maybe that’s why it took him a few minutes to notice what he should have seen right away.
They were in worse danger than ever. The fire hadn’t stopped in the night but had kept on, devouring one building after another. Nick remembered the voices he’d heard. Probably they were real. The fire must have swept over Union Square and attacked the St. Francis Hotel. Now it was creeping up to attack the mansions on Nob Hill.
“It’s chasing us the way Bushy Brows chased me,” Nick said to himself. Even from where he sat, he could see red glowing flames licking at the roof of a three-story mansion a block away. Soldiers began to shout at other people huddled in doorways to get moving before the march of the fire.
Nick shivered and rubbed his hip. The stone step was cold and uncomfortable. All night he’d felt the warmth of the big golden dog curled beside him. But now his side felt chilled.
And that’s when it hit him: Shakespeare wasn’t there.
Nick jumped to his feet, scrambled off the steps, and scanned the street in all directions. Shakespeare wasn’t in sight. And suddenly Nick guessed what had happened.
Shake must have gotten scared in the night. And he’d headed straight for home.
Mr. Pat had said that Shake knew his way from just about anywhere in the city. Probably, Nick thought, Shake had been in this neighborhood before with Mr. Pat. Nick imagined Mr. Pat and his “faithful canine companion” delivering a crystal inkwell to a rich lady in one of these mansions—maybe the one that was burning right now. Yes, Shakespeare would know how to get home.
Into the Firestorm Page 9
