by Lyn Cote
Free to voice his passion at last, Linc gripped her shoulders. “That’s why I must write. God has called me to shout for justice for the helpless. This is why I came to San Francisco. People must understand this. It’s bad enough for the men and even the women—but what about the children, the babies?”
She gazed into his eyes. “I’d like to meet the man who owns this disgusting place. And tell him just what I think of him.”
Chapter 11
In one of her new “journalist” outfits, a severe, brown gabardine suit, Cecy sat behind the imposing oak desk in her father’s office, a room in her house that she’d previously avoided, awaiting her business advisor. After she’d called his office for three days, he’d finally returned her call. Miss LaRoux’s question remained—how rich was she? And why was Mr. Edmonds avoiding her?
And who owned sardine canneries near Monterey? That day, she’d come home, stripped off her clothing, told her maid to burn them, then she’d scrubbed herself clean with a brush. If the heartless factory owner didn’t change the filthy conditions there, she’d expose him in Linc’s journal. For the first time in her life, she found herself passionately concerned about something besides music.
Her butler said, “Miss Jackson, your business advisor.”
In a starched white shirt and black suit, Mr. Edmonds marched in. “What’s this all about? I’m a busy man.”
She smiled, but kept him standing, reminding him he worked for her. “What is the extent of my wealth?”
He bristled like his stiff, broomlike mustache. “Your father left you and your mother secure. Business is too weighty a subject for a woman.”
“I want a detailed list of my stocks, property, and where all my cash is deposited.” She waited, serenely composed like photographs of Queen Victoria.
A red flush crawled up his neck. “You don’t need to get your nose into my business—”
“Now, why are you behaving as though you don’t want to give me information about my own finances?” She gave him a narrow look.
“I have nothing to hide.” The red flush suffused his bulbous face now.
“When may I expect to receive a complete accounting from you?”
“Next Monday.”
“Fine. Oh, another matter, would you look into who owns sardine canneries north of Monterey?”
He looked as though he were about to ask her why, then changed his mind. “If you wish.”
“Until Monday, then.”
He left.
I did it. I’m taking charge of my life. She stood. Thinking about finances had not been a part of her life before. Rays of light were piercing the darkness in her life. Millie Anderson would come forward soon and she might, at last, have more answers about the past. In the hall, Cecy met her mother.
“Cecilia, what did Edmonds say?”
Cecy stroked the silky kitten her mother carried everywhere over her arm. Cecy lowered her voice, “Is there any specific concern you have about our finances that I should know about?”
For once, her mother didn’t look away when asked a direct question. “Cecilia, money is power and freedom. Men know that. That’s why they keep it from us. Never forget that.”
The words nearly brought tears to Cecy’s eyes. It was the very first real exchange of ideas with her mother. “I won’t forget. I’m going to see Linc now.”
Her mother’s face brightened. “Please invite Susan and Meg to tea again.”
“I will.” Cecy felt heartened by her mother’s cheerier expression. For the past few days, she’d seemed depressed again.
Her mother looked into her eyes. “Have you had any answer to your advertisement about Millie Anderson?”
“Not yet. Linc says these things take time.”
“You’ll be home this evening, won’t you?”
“No, I’ve made arrangements to attend The Mikado with friends, followed by dinner.”
A shadow of concern clouded her mother’s face.
“Linc will be my escort. Don’t worry.” Cecy smiled.
The lady turned to join the nurse. “Just remember a lady must guard her reputation jealously.”
Cecy winced at this blow. Everyone had agreed to protect her mother by remaining silent about the scandal. “Don’t worry about me, Mother.” I’ve already lost my reputation, thanks to Hunt.
“Miss Cecilia.” Meg opened the red front door and grinned. Cecy stepped inside, warmed by the child’s welcome. Meg frowned. “Del left without asking permission.”
“Good day, Miss Jackson.” Susan had walked up behind Meg. “I’m sorry but Meg can’t miss her study time.”
“But Del’s not here,” Meg grumbled.
“That’s Del’s problem.” Susan turned Meg by the shoulders toward the dining room.
Linc came jogging down the walnut stairs. “Cecilia, I’m sorry I have to go out now.”
“I’ll come along.” Cecy smiled her challenge. “My car’s right outside.”
Linc hesitated on the bottom step, resting a hand on the curved balustrade. Linc gave the deepest frown she’d ever seen on his face. “Older called me. He saw Del at the Barbary Coast.”
He opened the door to show her out. “You can’t—”
“I’m driving.” She marched out to her shiny green car, past the pink azaleas along the drive.
“I can’t let you drive to the Barbary Coast. Your reputation—”
“Is quite ruined already.” She positioned her driving goggles.
He put his hands on his hips, flaring both sides of his drab driving coat, then got in. “Go! I haven’t time to argue with you.”
Triumphantly, she secured her veil and headed down to the waterfront, the notorious Barbary Coast. A rush of forbidden excitement coursed through Cecy. Whispered phrases about Mickey Finns, Shanghai-ed sailors, opium dens, and ladies of easy virtue flitted through her mind. But by daylight, the Barbary Coast disappointed her. Derelict buildings, scruffy-looking men with black hats pulled low, slatternly women in bright garish dresses, and sneaky-looking mongrels slunk in and out of alleyways. “This isn’t where Del should be.”
“Del’s been confused since our move here.” Linc looked at her as though testing her. “He can’t understand why his color makes him count for less in the eyes of the world.”
Before she could answer, she glimpsed Del and stomped on the brake. “Del!”
A large group of black boys milled around at the head of a dark alleyway with Del at the center. Linc leaped out of the car. “Del!” The boys ran away headlong into the shadows. His buff-colored coat flaring behind him, Linc chased after them.
Cecy sped around the corner to head them off at the other end. Ahead, the first boy in tattered denim overalls broke out of the alley. She surged forward to cut off the runaways. A couple thudded against her car door; all yowled in shock.
Linc sprinted ahead and grabbed Del by the shoulder. Without a word, he yanked Del to the car, unceremoniously tossed him in next to Cecy, and then got in.
“Hey! You can’t grab him!” A few boys threw stones at the car.
Cecy pressed on the gas. Why would a boy so loved want to run away to the company of young toughs?
“I don’t want to go home,” Del blustered, almost in tears, pushing against Linc.
Linc pressed Del back into the seat. “You’re going home.”
Cecy tried to soothe the boy. “Del, you’re worrying your grandmother. Why?”
The boy wrapped his arms around himself and stared at his feet.
“Answer us,” Linc demanded.
On the drive home, both the sulky boy and Linc sat silent and gloomy. She’d barely stopped at their side door when Del vaulted over the seat and darted down the drive.
Linc jumped out of the car. “Del!”
Cecy watched Del disappear from sight. “Shall we go after him?”
Linc looked skyward. “God, I don’t know what to do. He’s so gifted musically. So much potential to waste. But You’ll have to make the d
ifference. I can’t.”
Linc stood there as though he actually expected to receive an answer from God. Discomfited, Cecy didn’t know where to look.
“Cecilia, you’re still set on going to the operetta tonight?” He looked and sounded grim.
She eyed him warily. “I can go without you—”
“No. I’ll pick you up about seven.”
Not knowing what she should say, she drove away.
Gripped by powerlessness, Linc stood a long time in the empty drive, dead-sure Del was on his way back to the Barbary Coast. The same helplessness he’d felt when Virginia died filled him. He’d failed Del. “God,” he whispered, “I can’t see my way. Help me.”
Cecy’s smile began to pinch at the corners of her mouth. In the darkened Tivoli Opera House around her sat Linc, Miss LaRoux, Bierce, and McEwen. The Mikado made everyone else laugh, but flashes of Madame Butterfly and that first earth tremor bobbed in her memory. Finally, the maroon velvet curtains swung closed; its gold tassels swaying; she nearly sighed aloud with relief.
Linc glanced at her. “You said you’d made a reservation at the Palace restaurant?”
She nodded. Outside, she wanted to ask him about Del, but Miss LaRoux, McEwen, and Bierce occupied the rear seat of the Pierce Arrow. The chic Palm Garden Restaurant at the grand Palace Hotel was the crown jewel of the downtown with its glass dome and six tiered stories opened onto the palmed court.
At their table, Cecy nodded to the head waiter. Pink Chablis, the first of seven wines for the various courses, flowed into their glasses. Cecy sipped the piquant wine. When she’d attempted to scale the heights of society, she’d needed a clear head. Now as the scandalous redhead, she could let this wine take away the worries about her mother, and troubling memories of the helpless babies at the cannery. By the light of the many electric chandeliers, she admired Linc’s good looks. He was different, special. His clear blue eyes looked out on the world, seeing the truth without flinching.
Everyone laughed. Not hearing the joke, she forced a chuckle to fit in. Why did Linc keep frowning at her so?
When the waiter came to fill Cecilia’s glass of champagne too soon, Linc waved the man away. After doing this twice, the waiter held back until Cecilia demanded her glass filled.
Not wanting to cause a public argument, he hid his worry. Certain families were prone to certain sins. Her mother had ended up in a sanitarium with delirium tremens. Dear God, how can I stop this from happening to Cecilia?
The evening finally ended near two A.M. Gripping her elbow, Linc guided Cecilia out to his Pierce Arrow in the cool night breeze. Her exaggerated gestures, giggles, and missteps broadcast her condition. Eager to go home, he parked outside Cecilia’s mansion and escorted her to the door.
“Why are there so many lights on?” Cecilia bumped into Linc.
He steadied her. “Perhaps your staff decided to wait up for you.”
“Mother…Mother might be ill.” He helped her mount the steps. The butler opened the door. “What’s wrong?” Cecilia asked.
Linc blinked, adjusting to the bright lights in the large foyer.
“Cecy!” A warm, female voice rang out. “Cecy, my precious!”
Cecilia looked up, mouth wide.
Linc watched a gray-haired woman of generous proportions envelop Cecilia in her arms.
Cecilia gasped, “Nana. Oh, Nana.”
Chapter 12
Cecy’s heart leaped. She buried her tearful face against Nana’s ample bosom, recognizing Nana’s sweet scent.
“My sweet Cecy, my precious…” Nana’s soft words, spoken only a breath away from Cecy’s ear, fell like a dew of blessing.
Finally, Linc’s voice filtered through the warm cocoon of Nana’s embrace. “Let’s move to the library; it’s more comfortable.”
Wiping her face with her hands, Cecy drew Nana away to the sofa. Her mother took the wing-back chair. Linc sat beside Cecy. A fire warmed the room.
“I knew you’d be happy.” Her mother’s smile embraced Cecy.
Linc quietly introduced himself. “Did you read our ad?”
“I’d just returned to my room at the boardinghouse and my landlady pointed it out to me. I couldn’t believe you remembered me after all the years.”
“I had forgotten, but…” How could Cecy explain how Meg’s reciting the Twenty-third Psalm had brought Nana back to mind?
Nana squeezed Cecy’s hand. “I’ve often prayed for you, Cecy. I suppose I should call you Miss Cecilia now—”
“Call me Cecy.” Now Cecy knew where she’d gotten her secret name for herself she’d never shared with anyone else. But why hadn’t she remembered this woman who’d named her that, loved her so? Her mother’s presence stopped her from asking. Would Nana answer her or hesitate to stir up the murky past?
Nana edged forward on her seat. “I should be leaving.”
Cecy caught her by the arm. “Mother has a nurse, but she needs a companion. Will you come live with us?”
Nana’s smile burst over her face. “If you really want me.”
Cecy experienced a joy like reaching the high note of a difficult aria.
Florence asked, “Can you stay tonight?”
“I must.” Millie chuckled. “I’ve stayed away too late to go home without disturbing my poor landlady.”
Linc stood up. “Then I am the one who must leave.”
Glad to have a moment with him, Cecy rose. “I’ll walk you to the door.” Away from the others, Cecy murmured, “Linc, I…how could I have forgotten Nana all these years?”
He gave her his arm. “Perhaps being separated from her was too painful for you to bear.”
“A person can’t control her own memory like that.” Cecy tightened her grip on his sleeve.
He tugged her closer. “I had a conversation with my stepfather once about his experiences as a Union army surgeon. He said often soldiers would forget the circumstances of their wounding. His explanation was they couldn’t bear to remember.”
They’d reached the entry hall. He picked up his black top hat and white silk scarf.
She yearned to slip her arms around his neck and kiss him. Breathing in his scent of warm autumn spices, she could almost feel his lips coaxing hers. She resisted. After their good-nights, Cecy closed the door after him. She turned to go back to Nana, Mother, wondering why, how this man—out of all the others—had the power to move her.
Linc had put in a heavy day’s work at his newly furnished office. Nearing the waterfront, Linc parked under a streetlight, then caught the trolley that descended to the Barbary Coast. Only a fool would leave a car unattended on Battery Street after dark. At the breakfast table, Susan’s hands had rattled her cup. Kang had burned the toast. Meg had refused to eat. And Linc knew he was the one who had to find Del. I’ve lost Virginia, Father. Please don’t let me lose Del, too.
Cecy’s new friends deemed rubbing shoulders with the habitués of the Coast daring fun. They let themselves be fooled by the frantic laughter, garish colors, and the loud ragtime. But Linc heard tubercular coughing, saw the dawning of syphilitic madness in dilated eyes, the sunken sadness of those bound to opium. Sin gave pleasure for a season, but it was an exceedingly short season on the Coast.
Clutching his walking stick, he stepped off the trolley. Night fell. Rats screeched down dark alleys. Ragtime burst from the doorway of the first saloon where Linc looked for Del. He wasn’t at the Blue Moon or the Last Chance or the Golden Slipper. Linc found him at Oscar’s, playing jaunty ragtime with a drummer and horn player in a three-piece band. In the dim light, Linc slipped along the wall until he was near the band and sat down at a table. The syncopated music gave the cheap saloon atmosphere a cheerfulness it lacked on its own. Ordering a beer he didn’t plan to drink, Linc waited, motionless, until Del glanced his way.
The boy froze, except for his fingers, which somehow kept up the beat. The drummer and horn player looked at Linc with edgy curiosity. The song ended. The drummer stood up signaling a break
. Del glared at Linc. “Why’d you come here? I’m not—”
The drummer cuffed Del, silencing him. “Okay, mister, who are you?”
The man’s touch had been light, fatherly. Rising, Linc offered the man his hand. “I’m Linc Wagstaff. I’m Del’s guardian.”
“I’m Long Jack and that’s Freddie,” the tall horn player said indignantly. “Your boy said he was an orphan.”
“He is, but his grandmother lives in my home and cares for my daughter, Meg.” Linc spoke to Del, “Your grandmother’s so worried she can’t eat.”
Del hung his head. The drummer, Freddie, shook the boy by the shoulder. “I don’t like it when people lie to me, boy.”
Del reared his shoulder. “I hate it there.”
Freddie shook his large-knuckled finger in Del’s face. “If this man was mean to you, you’d be scared, not mad.”
Linc smiled at the man’s simple wisdom.
The drummer solemnly considered Linc. “Can he stay till the night’s through? We need him or we don’t get paid.”
Linc debated with himself. “I’d enjoy listening.” He sat back down. He paid the waiter for another beer and offered the two glasses to the musicians. They nodded their thanks. A few sips and the “strutting” melody enlivened the dark saloon again.
Linc sat listening, watching how the two men treated Del. He’d come to take Del home. But would Del just run away again and perhaps into worse company? He’d gotten a good feeling about Freddie and Long Jack. At two A.M., Linc approached the band. “Where’s the boy staying?”
“He bunks with me and him.” The drummer jerked his thumb at the horn player. “We could tell he been brung up proper. He don’t swear.”
Linc hid a grin. A sudden idea, one which shocked him, would shock Del, came to him. Thank you, Lord. “I think it’s best the three of you came to lunch tomorrow. Del knows the way. See you about noon.”
Linc waved farewell and walked out. Maybe a few days of working for a living for strangers would teach Del more than he could in their snug home.
