by Lyn Cote
Linc helped her inside. “I couldn’t bring the children into the hospital to see you.”
She wanted to whirl away from him. But his home presented itself as a terrifying maze of objects to fall over, to bump into, to break. How could she make her recollections fit this dreadful murkiness that never knew dawn?
“Miss Cecilia!” The clatter of a child’s footsteps warned Cecy to brace herself for Meg’s hug around her waist. Cecy let go of Linc. Her hands skimmed over Meg’s soft face.
“Come on.” The little girl threatened to pull her off her feet.
“Wait.” Cecy reached out to Linc who led her to the parlor chair, and, after feeling for it, she sat down. Meg put her kitten into Cecy’s lap under her hands.
This simple act brought an avalanche of remembrance—Meg bringing her mother a kitten. I’m an invalid now, too.
A small hand on her cheek startled her. She jerked in her chair. The cat jumped down with a thump. “I was just wiping away your tear,” Meg said.
Susan spoke up: “I told Linc he’s wrong. You should go to be with your mother at the sanitarium.”
The news of her accident and blindness had caused her mother to relapse. And at the sanitarium, Cecy’d be safe from prying eyes, too. Cecy tucked the handkerchief into her pocket. “Del, are you here?”
“Yes, Miss.”
The boy still sounded unhappy. “You won’t run away again, will you?”
“No, Miss, I won’t.”
“Good.” She wished she could let him know how fortunate he was. But who was she to tell him to be happy?
“I want to read you an article about Caruso,” Linc said. Cecy listened in pained silence. She’d looked forward to hearing the great Caruso sing for months. Now while the rest of San Francisco society thrilled to the world famous tenor, she’d sit alone. In the dark.
“Tomorrow night we’re going to hear Caruso sing,” Linc announced.
Cecy gasped. “No. I don’t want anyone to see me like this.”
“No one will notice you. Effie Bond has arranged with the stage manager at the Grand Opera House to have you enter by the stage door. I’ve purchased seats where we won’t be seen. We’ll go early—”
“No.” She stood.
Linc took her hands. “You’re not missing Caruso. You’re blind, Cecy. Not dead.”
She pulled away from him, then stopped—afraid she might fall without his help. I might as well be.
Grimly, Linc sat beside Cecy in their seats at the Grand Opera House. A heavy black veil covered her face. Even with house lights up during intermission, their seats had been in the shadows. He’d tried to take her hand in the darkness, but she’d put up a barrier of polite coldness.
Onstage, Caruso and a formidable soprano sang in the final act of Carmen. Linc knew the opera’s story of obsessive love well. In the Spanish mountains, the temptress, Carmen, played cards with her smuggler friends. She drew the card of death. Carmen laughed and sang “You can’t avoid your fate!”
Linc glanced at the silent woman beside him. He was as blind as she. He’d thought he was seeing clearly, had a plan, but no more. Not all his pleading had changed Cecilia’s intention of joining her mother at the sanitarium. Tomorrow he would rise early and drive Cecy to her mother. Would he ever get her to return? Even if she returned, would she ever be the same? The final musical note echoed and faded. Applause vibrated throughout the opera house. Roses, red roses cascaded from the balcony and private boxes onto the stage—bow after bow.
Throughout it all, he and Cecy sat still—a quiet island in a thunderous sea. At last, the Grand Opera House was empty and Linc escorted her out of the theater, to his home. Their only communication being his murmured directions to guide her along the way. He parked in front of his garage. He rested his hands on the steering wheel. They would leave early in the morning. “Cecy.” He cleared his throat.
“Are we home?”
“Yes, but before we go in—”
“Everything has been said already. I’m going to the sanitarium.”
“That’s not the question. The question is will you return…to me, give me a chance to persuade you we have a future together?”
“Linc, I’ve told you I’ll be no man’s wife.”
“Cecy, you must learn to walk by faith, not by sight.”
“No more platitudes. I’m tired. Take me in.” Her flat tone left him nothing to say. She opened the door and stood waiting for him to lead her in. Defeated, once inside he handed her over to Susan who led her away to the guest room.
Linc loosened his tie and shrugged out of his evening coat. Tired, but restless, he walked softly into Meg’s darkened room. The moonlight shone over his beautiful child. Standing over her, he recalled donning the same evening wear for the first ball in San Francisco.
That night he’d been grieving for Virginia. He’d thought he’d suffered his greatest loss. Tonight he loved a girl so different from him, wrong for him, he’d barely admitted loving her even to himself. Now she’d suffered everything but death and he was going to lose her, too. He sank to his knees beside Meg’s bed. Burying his face in the blanket, his soul cried out, Dear Father, I’ve lost my way. Show me the way, Your way.
Chapter 17
April 18, 1906
“Linc, wake up,” Cecy’s low, coaxing voice called Linc up from deepest slumber. Groggy, he sat up in bed and ran his fingers through his hair. In the bleak predawn, she stood in the doorway of his room. “Let’s leave now.”
Tilting his bedside clock to pick up the glow from the window, he said, “It’s only a little after four A.M.”
“Now,” she insisted.
He swung his bare feet to the floor. After a short, restless night, he wanted to beg for more sleep. But he’d an afternoon meeting with Sullivan, the fire chief, and Brigadier General Funstan from the nearby Presidio garrison to discuss the army and city combining efforts for training in use of explosives for firebreaks. City graft had siphoned off the funds for the first attempt. The need to prepare for a large-scale fire had been goading Linc the past few days. Probably childhood memories of Chicago’s fire kicking in at a stressful time. But he didn’t want to miss the meeting.
Yawning, he blinked. “I’ll dress. Please wait in your room.” He ignored the lead weight in his gut. He didn’t believe she meant to return. Today he’d lose Cecy, just as completely as he’d lost Virginia.
Ten minutes later, he helped Cecy on with her drab auto garb. Then they walked out the side door into the dewy morning. Spring fragrances, lilies, and lilacs floated in the air. Purple bougainvillea cascaded over his neighbor’s fence. Drops of crystal clear dew dripped—drop, drop—from the lower petals. The beauty mocked him. Linc seated her in his car, casting a glance at his daughter’s window. He’d left her sleeping peacefully, her kitten curled up at her feet. He shoved his hands into his coat pockets. “Won’t you stay with Meg and me?”
She faced straight ahead. “No.”
He stripped away the last of his pride, his voice raw. “My love means nothing to you, then?”
“I don’t doubt you think you love me. But after all that’s happened to me since we met…” She made a sound of disgust. “Let’s go. My life is as good as over and we both know it.”
Feeling a deep weariness that had nothing to do with the gloomy hour, Linc cranked the auto and drove them away from the life they could have shared. Loving Virginia had been as natural and uncomplicated as breathing. Loving Cecy was a circle of thorns wrapped around his heart.
Up and down nearly deserted streets, out of the city, they mounted the spring-green hills and left San Francisco behind. “Cecy—” A rumble from deep in the earth interrupted him. Crows overhead screeched. In fascination, he watched the leafy maple trees farther down the road sway and jump, flapping their branches like a chicken’s wings. The car began to rock and shake.
Like someone swirling oil on a griddle, the world whirled. The deep groan moaned louder, closer. The wheel in front of hi
m spun recklessly this way and that. Ahead an old roadside fence rippled like a flag unfurled in the wind. Cecy was pitched over the side of the car. Helpless as a rag doll, he was thrown over the other side. He tried to grab hold of something stable. Nothing was stable. The insane vibrations continued. He heard himself shouting, “Stop! Oh, God, help!”
The world stopped. He lay facedown, panting on the dirt by the side of the road, wild grass up his nose. Once again the earth felt solid beneath him. He didn’t trust it. Slowly he got up on his knees and looked around. A gaping two-foot-wide fissure separated him from his car. The dancing maple trees lay uprooted across the road. Finally as though some force activated his ears, he heard Cecy calling, “Linc! Are you all right? Where are you?”
He staggered to his feet, still unsteady, jumped over the fissure, and scrambled around the car. On the ground Cecy writhed. He knelt beside her and lifted her into his arms.
“Linc! Thank God!” She collapsed against him. He scanned her, but found no blood, only a few scratches. “Nothing hurt you?” She threw her arms around his neck.
“It was an earthquake. Are you hurt?”
“I don’t think so. Hold me.”
For a while that’s all he could do. God, God, God. He couldn’t pray further than that. Finally he could think again. “We have to get back to town. Meg and Del need me.”
“What about my mother and Nana?” Her arms tightened around his neck like a stiff collar.
Prying her hands apart, he looked at the trees blocking the road toward the sanitarium. “Meg and Del are children. And Susan is not in good health.”
“I want my mother, Nana.”
Her tone moved him to pity. “My family’s in more danger in a city than your mother is at the sanitarium.” He lifted her and without opening the door, dropped her into the passenger seat.
“How do you know that?” she pleaded.
“Your mother will be fine—”
“She has to be! I can’t protect her. I hate this blindness.” Cecy’s voice rose to a shriek, “I’m helpless!”
Linc gripped her shoulders. “Everyone’s helpless in an earthquake.”
Cecy keened, “You’ll leave me! Everyone leaves me! I can’t see. I’ll die!” Her words became frantic, nearer to wordless cries.
Linc crushed her in a fierce embrace. He spoke emphatically, “I—won’t—leave—you. I—won’t.”
“You will!” she raved.
With all his strength, he pinned her against him. He shouted in her face, “I love you! I will never leave you!” Then he kissed her, forcing her into silence.
He felt her relax against him. Slowly he released her. “Now, we have to get going. We’re about an hour out of the city. We’ll go back and get Kang, Susan, Del, and Meg and we’ll all go to the sanitarium. We’ll be safe there.”
“But the earthquake might have been worse where mother and Millie are.” Cecy still swallowed tears.
“There’s nothing we can do now about the earthquake.” He put the car into gear. “I won’t sugarcoat this. You interviewed Sullivan with me. There is a special danger in the city after an earthquake. We’ve got to get the children out.”
“Fire,” Cecy murmured.
“Fire.” He pressed down hard on the accelerator. The word, short and easy to say, sent a chill from his past through Linc. Scenes from the Great Chicago Fire, forever etched on his memories, sprang to life. Only eight that night, he’d run away, so he’d faced it alone. Stampeding people—shouting and shoving—chimney’s exploding from intense heat, showers of stinging golden red sparks. Cecy sat hunched against him as though fearing attack. He understood. He’d been terrified during the quake and he had his sight. Her new blindness had already pushed her into insecurity. Would she recover from this new blow? Oh God, protect my family. Bring us safely to them.
The formerly smooth macadam road was now fraught with lumps, deep depressions, and cracks. A force strong enough to break apart the earth boggled his mind. Finally, Linc turned a bend. As the city below came into view, he stopped the car.
“What’s wrong?” Cecy shivered against him.
“Smoke.” The word rasped his throat. “Fire.” The ominous words clanged in his mind like a frantic fire bell, a death knell. On the skyline over the harbor, plumes of dark gray smoke ascended in the roiling columns. It’s begun.
Grimly Linc drove his way through the littered streets. Bright April sunlight mocked him. All around him lay scattered proof of the savage earthquake. Tall maples, oaks had crashed across intersections. Windows had shattered across roadways. Water gushing down curbs spoke of broken water mains. Downed live electric wires shimmied and twisted, hissing like vicious snakes. Stopping to move debris or detour around it, he pressed on, yard by yard. People in robes and nightgowns strolled the sidewalks aimlessly, carrying things they’d grabbed as they ran from their homes—bird cages, framed pictures, coffeepots. A few stepped in front of his car as if unaware of it. They’re in shock. His hold on the steering wheel became a death grip. I have to get Meg and Del.
In a macabre way, the billows of smoke downtown became his compass as he navigated the broken city. Closer to home, he saw the once-proud skyscrapers downtown. Their brick and stone shaken off like snakeskin, the tall buildings had become skeletons. The columns of black-gray smoke billowed wider and darker, obscuring his view. I’m coming, Meg.
Linc turned a corner and then screeched to a halt. A squad of soldiers blocked the road; they were tossing bricks from a shattered house, littering the street. One soldier motioned to Linc. “You there! Get out help us!”
“But—”
“Martial law has been declared. We have the right to impress citizens to clear rubble from the streets.”
“But—”
The soldier swung his gleaming new rifle toward Linc. Instinctively Linc’s hands went up. His heart pounded.
“Now!” The soldier barked.
He obeyed.
“Linc?” Cecy called.
“He has a gun. Stay down.” He left her clinging to the steering wheel. The soldier’s rifle gave him no choice. Linc began tossing rubble onto the curb with the other civilians and soldiers. When the path had been cleared, he hurried back to Cecy.
“Hey, you’re not dismissed!” the soldier shouted.
“She’s blind. I can’t leave her.” Linc slid behind the wheel. “We’re trying to get home to the children.”
“All right, but remember—the army is in control of the city. No alcohol can be bought or sold. Looters will be shot on sight.”
“I don’t drink! I don’t steal!” Linc drove away with haste. Martial law hadn’t been declared during the Chicago fire. “Things must be worse than I thought. I have to get home and get us all out of the city,” he muttered to himself. He sped down the street heading for home. Cecy clung to his arm, making it throb painfully, but he said nothing. He turned another corner and came smack into another group of soldiers. Most looked too young to shave, much less be in uniform.
The soldier at the rear turned and ordered, “Halt! Out of the car!”
Linc stared at the man. “What?”
“Out of the car!”
“Why? What did I do?”
The soldier fired his rifle overhead.
“Don’t shoot him!” Cecy screamed. Linc leaped out and dragged her from the vehicle. He held her close to his side. She quieted against him. “Are you hurt?” she asked with tears in her voice.
Linc called to the solder, “She’s blind. We’re just trying to get to the children.” Linc stayed by the car, but scanned the surroundings for cover.
“Sorry. I’ve got orders to confiscate autos for the use of the city and military government.”
“But you can’t just take my car. It’s private property.”
Two soldiers climbed into the car, rendering the dispute null and void. Linc’s Pierce Arrow was driven away—while he stood gaping in shock.
“Come with us.” The soldier waved his r
ifle at Linc, motioning him to join the line of soldiers and volunteers. “All able-bodied men are needed to clear streets.”
Incredulous, Linc shoved Cecy behind him. He faced the soldier. “I told you she’s blind. I cannot leave her defenseless in the midst of earthquake and fire. You can shoot me if you want to, but I’m not leaving her!”
The soldier stared at them. “Lady,” he barked, “are you really blind?”
“Yes!” she shrieked.
The soldier ordered his squad to march on. Looking back, he shouted, “Refugees are gathering at Golden Gate Park and the Presidio. Get your wife and kids there—pronto!”
Delayed fear hit Linc’s stomach, making him queasy. Soldiers firing rifles in the streets? Impressing civilians? Confiscating private property? “Come on—before someone shoots us for looting.” He set off on foot with Cecy trying to keep up with him. He judged they had about a mile to go to reach his home. He sensed Cecy’s hesitation to move so quickly, sightless, but he couldn’t help hurrying her anyway. He was rattled. She must be terrified. But she bravely kept up with him. He murmured, “Not far now.”
“Linc, the children will be fine.”
In gratitude, he kissed her temple, then hurried her on. Finally he found his street. What was left of it. He halted.
“What’s wrong?” Cecy gasped, huddled close to him as though he were a warm hearth.
“My house is down.”
“Down?”
“Yes, its roof has slid onto the drive and the house is leaning on its side. The front porch is hanging over the sidewalk,” Linc said the simple words, but couldn’t believe them. Almost three hours ago, his house had been whole, now it hung and listed, a battered wreck.
“Hurry,” Cecy urged. “They might still be in there.”
Her words moved him. Pulling her with him, he pelted down to the hulking remains of his house. Leaving her at the curb, he circled it, trying to locate a firm place to enter. But all the bricks and boards were cracked, broken at angles.
