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The fire and the gold

Page 9

by Phyllis A. Whitney


  "He's been nice to me too. But run along to bed now. You'll see things more clearly in the morning."

  Cora said good night somewhat distantly and went down the hall to her own room.

  Preparing for bed, Melora hoped that she too would see matters more clearly in the morning. One thing she had to figure out was how to face this suspicion that if she and Quent put a stop to their joke at this time, everyone would think she was throwing him over because of the lost Seymour fortune. There must be some way around that.

  "LETS GET GOING!"

  Melora lay on the hard mattress of the strange bed and listened to the night's silence, unable to fall asleep. There were no longer the noises of a city on fire. She could close her eyes. The danger was over.

  She wished her father were home. There'd always been a warm, understanding friendship between them. He never hurried to condemn, but always listened sympathetically and tried to weigh all the aspects so she could see more clearly and decide for herself. Everyone else would tell her what to do. Papa would help her to find her own way.

  Earlier that day, searching out books to carry to her room, she had picked up a tablet of paper and a pencil as well. She missed her diary, left in her suitcase in Oakland, and had thought of writing some of her experiences to her father. Now there was time for that.

  A candle stood in a china holder on the table. Surely it would be all right to light one little candle, now that the fire danger was over.

  She slipped out of bed, shivering at the sudden chill, and reached absently for her wrapper. Then she remembered and put on her coat. There were matches beside the candle and she lit it, feeling as though the scratch of stick on emery was loud enough .. everyone in the house.

  The pointed yellow plume flickered and then burned high and straight. In the dim light she could see Kwan Yin smiling at her benevolently, and the red rose in the vase wilting for lack of water.

  Melora seated herself at the table. The charred volume of Treasure Island lay beside the writing tablet and she picked it up idly, leafed through it. Always this book would remind her of Tony—even after he was completely gone from her life.

  She reached for the pencil and began to write to her father. Not about Quent, or about Cora or Tony. Such things could only be put into spoken words. But there was release in writing about what had happened in these last few days. About the fears and discomforts, of course. The fear she had felt for the family until she was reunited with them. The way at first everyone froze at an earth tremor they'd have laughed off before. And the longing for water—gallons and gallons of fresh clean water. Somehow being hopelessly dirty was one of the most distressing feelings of all.

  But she did not intend this to be a letter of complaint, so she wrote of hopeful things too. She told him about the walk through the ruined streets of San Francisco, and of the feelings she had that the city would build again and that its people were strong and courageous. Perhaps this meant a new life for San Francisco's citizens, as well as for the city. Already there were changes....

  Only then did she begin to write about Tony Ellis and his mother, who were now staying under this very roof. She had finished no more than a paragraph, however, when a tap at the door startled her.

  "Who is it?" she called softly.

  The door opened a crack and Quong Sam's round face appeared in the opening.

  "Watsa matta you burn candle?" he demanded. "You wantchee p'lice come this house, lock evelybody up?"

  "Oh, Sam, don't you suppose they've rdaxed the regulations a little by now? I'm only writing a letter to Papa."

  "No writee letta now. You no go bed, Missy M'lory, I go tellum you gran'ma."

  Melora knew that there was never any winning an argument with Quong Sam. If it was something he felt strongly about, you might as well give up because he never would.

  But on this matter of the candle he was undoubtedly right.

  "I'll blow it out," she promised, but before she could puff up her lips and bend toward the flame, Sam pattered swiftly into the room, his hands behind his back.

  "Bling plesent," he said and dropped something on the bed. Then off he went to the door and closed it softly behind him.

  In the flickering candlelight she recognized the object on the bed. Of all things, it was Cindy, the well-worn rag doll of her childhood. Gran had made Cindy for her long ago. Sam must have seen her there in Melora's room, and picked her up.

  Melora blew out the candle and got back into bed. This time Cindy's lumpy, stuffed hand was between her fingers, the doll beside her. And somehow her presence was comforting.

  During the next few days the tempo of life quickened as San Francisco dug into its ashes and began the work of recovery. An overhead trolley was being installed on Market Street, cable cars had appeared out on Fillmore, and everywhere business men counted their losses, shrugged them aside and considered how to build anew. There would be the insurance money, they told one another. Everything would be all right.

  There had been good news for Mrs. Forrest. All the newspapers were running personal columns to enable friends and relatives to recover touch with one another. "Your husband is camping on southeast comer of post-office grounds," one item read. Another: "You will find May Peck at Camp Forrest at Fell and Laguna Streets." Among the listings was one inquiring for Nell Forrest, letting her know that her son was safely with friends in Oakland. "Join me," the message pleaded.

  So Mrs. Forrest had dusted her clothes as well as she could and accepted Mr. Seymour's offer of a lift to the ferry in the Oldsmobile. She promised Mama before leaving that the first thing she would do was send a cable to Captain Cranby to let him know his family was safe.

  There was still no running water, no electricity, no gas, no fires to be built in chimneys, but the relief trains were hurrying to the aid of the city now, bringing supplies and money from all across the country. President Theodore Roosevelt had seen to it that the large donation raised went into the hands of the city's trusted ex-mayor, Mr. James D. Phelan. There was food for everyone and the Relief Committee was organized to dole it out. Clothes for the refugees were coming in too and there were various relief stations set up in Golden Gate Park, as well as all across the city. It was startling to see Nob Hill ladies with pearls about their necks and diamonds on their fingers dressed in dowdy refugee clothes as they stood in bread lines. Gentlemen were getting into overalls, red flannel shirts and loggers' boots. There was work to be done in San Francisco and no one was loafing on the job. Tony and Quent helped with the others.

  On Sunday more people attended church services than ever before. In contrast to last Sunday, which had been Easter, "church" was where you found it. Services were held in all the parks, on the steps of ruined churches, on street comers.

  On Wednesday, one week after the fire, Tony Ellis asked the girls to come and visit him at his "business establishment" on Van Ness. Mama had given up objecting to unconventional behavior for the moment and in the afternoon the two girls set out for Van Ness. Alec was permitted to come too, though with the warning that they weren't to let him out of sight. So, too, was Smokey, whose leg had healed. Alec was joyful over the good news that the school term had been declared ended and that everyone would be promoted automatically to the next grade. He was eager to make side forays and had to be restrained from climbing over every pile of bricks, or through any webbing of wire that drew him from the main road.

  Since the night when Cora had waited in her room, Melora had been conscious of a faint restraint between herself and her sister. Cora evidently regretted giving her confidence so trustingly, and Melora was torn between the troubled sense that she had failed her sister, and another feeling that she did not want to look at too closely. A feeling which was tied up with her own interest in Tony Ellis.

  Today Van Ness was a startling sight. The buckled pavement still bore witness to the earthquake's wrenching. Nevertheless, the thoroughfare bustled with carts, carriages, wagons and cars, while pedestrians thronged the
sidewalks. The very air resounded with pounding and hammering and the squeaking of saws.

  Melora paused before a new business establishment made of one green window shutter and several billboards with the gaudy pictures turned out. A smiling young woman was selling sacks of candy to passers-by and behind her hung a sign:

  The cow is in the hammock,

  The cat is in the lake,

  The baby's in the garbage can,

  What difference does it make?

  There is no water, and still less soap.

  We have no city, but lots of hope.

  "Nothing left but candied violets," the girl told Melora cheerfully. "Like some? The price is high, but they taste real good."

  Melora studied the remaining change in her purse and cautiously bought a small quantity that would give them all a taste. Caviar and candied violets and a city in ruins! But there was no need for anything to make sense. There was an exciting activity in the air that was contagious. Without stopping to draw a deep breath or count her losses, San Francisco was already reaching for the stars.

  They all took bits of the violet-colored flowerets and Melora enjoyed the hard, sugary texture and the odd taste that was like the scent of violets.

  "Look," Cora said, nudging Melora's arm. "There's Mr. Gower across the street. Let's go over and see if he knows what Tony is up to."

  They waited for a cartload of rubble to go past and then hurried after Mr. Gower, Alec and Smokey trotting at their heels. He tugged spasmodically at his gray mustache and peered through gold-rimmed spectacles at the front of a house on the west side of the street.

  When Melora spoke he turned and reached for a hat that wasn't there. The futile gesture seemed to return him to the present and he smiled apologetically.

  "Good morning," he said. "No—it's afternoon, isn't it? I find it difficult to keep track of the days just now, let alone the hours. I trust all your family are safe. Miss Melora?"

  "We're fine," Melora told him. "Did you know that Tony Ellis and his mother are staying with us at the Bonner house for the time being?"

  Mr. Gower drew a scrap of paper from an inner pocket and showed it to her. Apparently Tony had left a notice at the remains of the old store, giving both his present address and an announcement of where he was "doing business."

  "Do you know what this is all about?" Mr. Gower asked. "What possible business can the boy be engaged in?"

  Melora shook her head, but Cora smiled knowingly. "He hinted to me, Mr. Gower. But I'm not supposed to tell. He said we'd have to come see for ourselves."

  So Tony had made a point of confiding in Cora, Melora thought, faintly piqued. She offered Mr. Gower a candied violet which he accepted gravely, and they all walked on together. They discovered Tony even before they reached him, two blocks down Van Ness. He stood on a wooden packing case, head and shoulders above the crowd, and he was behaving in a way that Melora was sure would have shocked her mother. Plainly Tony Ellis was hawking some sort of wares and he was doing it with great zest and an engaging charm.

  "That one!" said Mr. Gower, quickening his steps. "What will he be up to next? I've told his mother a thousand times that he'll never make a bookman. What he wants to do, of course, is go on the stage, but his mother is terribly against that. She feels that because Tony will inherit her share in the business, he ought to work in it. But he does some very strange things. As his father did before him, I must admit."

  They could see as they drew near that an amused group had gathered about Tony's packing case to listen and watch. Melora gasped in recognition as he held up a blackened object. Goodness! He had dug more half-burned books from the shop and was actually selling them!

  "Step up, step up, ladies and gentlemen!" his voice beguiled them. "If you're weary of theater parties and rich dinners, why not stay home tonight and read a good book?"

  Laughter. Tony bowed and went on.

  "Of course you can't be sure of the beginning of the story, which may well be missing, and you can't be sure how it ends. But don't judge a book by its cover. What am I bid, ladies and gentlemen, for this handsome, this truly unique copy of The Virginian? Even if you can't read, or have no time, due to present social engagements, you can take home a fine souvenir of the great San Francisco fire."

  A silver coin flew through the air and chimed among others in a battered tin pan at Tony's feet and the "book" changed hands. Before he could reach toward the pile beside him for another, Mr. Gower squirmed his way through the crowd with the girls behind him. His indignation was so great that he could hardly speak for sputtering.

  "You—you're not s-selling this—this junk? Get down at once, sir! You are disgracing the name of Gower & Ellis. What is the meaning of this?"

  He gestured and Melora saw that Tony had placed a conspicuous and neatly lettered sheet of cardboard against his packing case. She had to choke back a laugh as she read it

  TEMPORARY SITE

  OF GOWER & ELLIS,

  Famed Booksellers of San Francisco

  Not at all disconcerted, Tony glanced briefly at his father's partner and then past him to the girls. He gave them all a merry salute, but he did not obey the order to descend from his stand. An open car had just drawn up in the street opposite and some ladies with motoring veils tied over huge hats stood up to see what was going on.

  "What have we here?" Tony cried dramatically, and the crowd turned to look. "Rubbemeckers, I do believe. These clean, well dressed ladies and gentlemen are not refugees, I think, but have come to witness our misery. Naturally they will be happy to pay well for such magnificent souvenirs as I have here." He stooped to gather up a half dozen volumes.

  The gentleman who was driving the car reached hastily to release the brake, but Tony stopped him.

  "Wait, sir! This is for the Earthquake Fund, you know."

  The good-natured crowd took up the cry and the car was quickly surrounded. "Give to the Earthquake Fund!" several voices shouted and the men in the car hastily brought out bills in exchange for half-burned books and the car went on.

  Even then Tony did not get down from his packing case to talk to Mr. Gower. "It's for a good cause, sir," he said by way of explanation. "The Fund needs every penny it can raise, and I thought this a good way to dispose of what is otherwise pure waste. But I need some help at this job. Would you young ladies like to step up and assist me?"

  Melora shrank from the thought of getting up there in front of the crowd. But Cora presented herself at the foot of Tony's perch.

  "I'll help if you can get me up there!" she cried.

  Tony leaped down from the case and offered his clasped hands as a step for Cora's small shoe, boosting her onto the box. Then he sprang up beside her and cried, "Let's get going, San Francisco!"

  The presence of a pretty girl handing out books and taking the money increased the fun and coins began to chink into the pan at a great rate. Even though such behavior was not for her, Melora rather envied the easy manner so natural to Cora and to Tony too.

  Mr. Gower coughed disapprovingly. "This matter seems to be out of my hands. If you'll excuse me. Miss Melora, Til continue my search. I understand a number of businesses are already renting space in these houses along Van Ness. I might as well consider the possibility. When the banks open again and when the insurance companies pay up . . ." He did not finish, but made again the gesture of reaching to tip a nonexistent hat and went back across the street

  Melora watched the two on the packing case. There was certainly something of the actor about Tony as he stood high above the crowd, commanding attention. Cora had only to be herself, gay and a little saucy, and the crowd loved her. A red hair ribbon (from the depths of Sam's bottomless carpetbag) now stood out stiffly at the back of her neck, holding the long hair that cascaded down her back. Her sister's eyes did not meet Melora's, but Tony made no attempt to avoid her gaze.

  In fact, as she stood there watching, elbowed by the crowd, she had the feeling that Tony was performing mainly for her. Now and the
n his dark, laughing glance swept her face and she knew that he was as completely aware of her as she was of him. Even some of his jokes seemed to be made for her benefit. There was a reference to a rose blooming in the fire, and another to Stevenson. It was exhilarating to be played to in this fashion, but also faintly disturbing.

  After a few moments she turned away and slipped through to the outer rim of the crowd. She was thinking of Tony altogether too much these days. She didn't want to find herself behaving as Cora did. He was such a quicksilver person. Just when she thought she knew him, he changed before her eyes.

  What she needed, she told herself firmly, was something to occupy her time. Something that would be of use to San Francisco.

  "Let's get going, San Francisco!" Tony had said, and quite plainly that was already the watchword on all sides. There was an enormous amount of work to be done, yet here she was still a mere sight-seer. She couldn't pick up a shovel and help to dig out the ruins, but there ought to be something—

  "Miss." A man touched her elbow and she turned. "Is that your little brother over there? That wall don't look so steady to me."

  She had forgotten Alec was there. She did not wait for the man to finish, but flew toward the wreckage of a dynamited house where Alec was balanced precariously atop a crumbling wall. Smokey yapped excitedly at its foot.

  "Come down from that wall!" she cried to Alec, her heart in her mouth.

  He turned his freckled face in her direction, looking a mischievous as Cora. "Aw, Sis, I'm all right! Everything's just as solid up here as—as—" A brick slipped from beneath his foot and he had to wave his arms wildly to keep his balance. But he lost neither his grin nor his confidence.

  Melora stepped into the rubble beneath the leaning wall. Alec must be made to come down, if she had to go after him herself.

  But rescue came from an unexpected quarter. Tony jumped down from the packing case and ran toward them. He caught Melora unceremoniously by the arm and pulled her away from the wall, shouting to Alec.

  "Jump out toward the grass! That whole wall's going to topple over in about two minutes. Jump away from it, boy!"

 

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