Tony wasn't fooling and Alec, first calling to Smokey to get away, jumped onto the scorched remains of a lawn on the far side. He stumbled and fell, then got up and ran toward the street. A moment later the tottering mass of bricks gave way and the whole thing crashed inward, raising a great cloud of brick and lime dust.
Melora felt her knees go limp and she began to tremble. Tony looked at her in concern.
"Are you all right?"
She braced herself. "It was my fault. I forgot to watch him. If anything had happened—"
"Don't think about that," Tony said. "Suppose I take the money over to the Fund place—then I'll see you all home."
She tried to tell him it wasn't necessary, but he hurried off to get the money.
Cora had watched the whole swift incident from the packing case and now she joined her sister and brother.
"Oh, Alec, why don't you be careful?" she wailed.
Alec looked sheepish and pulled at Smokey's ear.
When Tony rejoined them and they started for home, Cora almost skipped as she walked. She was still excited and gay and it seemed as though she were almost driven by a need to attract Tony's attention. But Tony walked at Melora's side and only now and then did he turn a glance her sister's way.
OUT OF A TRUNK
At the Bonner place there was fresh activity around the laundry stove kitchen on the curb. Quong Sam had given way to Mrs. Ellis and was being indoctrinated into the mysteries of cooking Italian spaghetti. When Carlotta Ellis saw the young people coming down the sidewalk she waved a long-handled spoon at them. Papa Lombardi, who was Tony's grandfather, and Uncle Vito Lombardi, had come down earlier from the restaurant on Telegraph Hill, and brought with them all the makings for spaghetti. She put the spoon down to show them a length of crusty Italian bread. It was slightly stale, she said—but no matter. The young had good teeth.
"Too bad you missed them," she told Tony. "Uncle Vito has not been out to fish since the fire, but he goes tomorrow. And then perhaps we will have fish too."
"That's wonderful," Melora said warmly and glanced at Tony. He looked neither pleased nor interested, but ignored the bubbling pan of spaghetti sauce and turned to a car which stood at the curb beyond the kitchen.
"Whose car is that?" he asked.
Sam answered him. "Blingee tlunk. Him inside alleady."
"A trunk?" said Cora blankly.
"It must be my trunk from Oakland!" Melora cried and ran up the steps and into the house.
Sure enough, her trunk and suitcase were standing in the dim hall at the foot of the stairs. So Mrs. Forrest had apparently been able to recover them. Mama was in the parlor talking to Mrs. Forrest, and she sighed as the girls appeared.
"I never know what they're doing any more. This whole experience has been so disrupting to any sort of routine."
"Disrupting is a good word for it," Mrs. Forrest said dryly. "Good afternoon, girls. I thought you'd like to have your things as soon as possible, Melora. My son Howard brought them over today in his car. He's in the drawing room now, talking to Mr. Seymour and your grandmother. About some business venture, I'm sure."
Melora had met Mrs. Forrest's son only a few times and remembered him with respect. As editor of one of California's more important magazines, he knew all sorts of famous and successful people, and was quite well-known himself.
"Hurry and open your trunk, Melora," her sister pleaded. "Maybe there'll be something in it I can wear. Goodness knows I need a change."
"Perhaps you can help your grandmother out too," Mrs. Cranby said. "Unfortunately, I'm not as thin as the rest of you. I don't know what I'm going to do for clothes."
"Our friends in Oakland sent something over for you," Mrs. Forrest assured her. "Perhaps you won't mind that it's not exactly stylish at the moment. I don't believe San Francisco is going to be fashion-conscious for a few months. Except of course for earthquake fashions."
While Mama opened the package Mrs. Forrest had brought, Melora and her sister went into the hall to have a look at the trunk. Melora got her key and unlocked it and took a few things from the top tray and shook them out. She had the feeling that these garments were from another time, another world. She could remember the carefree circumstances under which she had worn this sheer waist, or that yellow voile frock with the dust ruffles and taffeta underskirt. Such froth was hardly useful at the moment, but Cora touched the bright material with wistful fingers.
"You take them," Melora said, thrusting shirtwaist and yellow frock into Cora's hands. "I've a blue serge skirt here too that will be more practical for you, but you'll want something pretty as well."
Cora caught up the garments with pleasure, and when the front door opened she held the yellow frock before her, curtseying as Tony came in with Quent behind him.
"I'm sorry," she said, "but this waltz is taken. I've promised it to— "
"To no one but me," said Tony, catching the spirit of the moment. He swung her the length of the wide polished hall, while she laughed and struggled to keep the dress from slipping.
Quent cocked an amused eyebrow at Melora and peered past her at the contents of the trunk.
"Looks like treasure trove," he said. "How about sharing with the refugees? They're asking at all the relief centers for whatever clothes can be spared."
Melora was surprised. The Quent she knew would have been quick to rise to such nonsense.
"I'll see what I can manage," she told him. "Don't forget that we have several refugees right under this roof."
Tony was whirling a breathless Cora down the hall.
Watching them, Melora felt suddenly cross and scratchy.
"I want to talk to you," she whispered to Quent.
"Well, go ahead and talk," he said, and seated himself on the rounded top of the trunk. "Hope you don't mind if I sit down. We've had quite a day. Join me?" He patted the trunk beside him.
"We can't talk here," she told him impatiently. "Quent, I really must see you alone."
He reached for her hand before she could snatch it away.
"Darling! Of course we must have some time together. I've hated to be away from you all day long."
She knew Tony heard, though he did not look around, and she snatched her hand away, wishing she were young enough to be unladylike and give Quent a good slap.
He only grinned at her glare. "Would you like to go out in the garden, dearest? Perhaps we could have a few tender words before Sam serves the spaghetti."
She certainly didn't want to go off with him on what Tony could think was a tete-a-tete.
"No thank you," she said in tones so undulcet that Cora heard, glancing at her startled. Melora went on hastily, trying to cover her sharpness. "What I'd really like is for you two boys to carry this trunk upstairs to my room. Then we could sort things out more comfortably."
Quent said, "After my day of hard labor I couldn't lift a peanut," and yawned widely.
But Tony came to take hold of one handle and tilted the trunk upward so that Quent slid from his perch. Sighing elaborately, Quent picked up his own end. He groaned all the way to the third floor, reducing Cora to helpless mirth.
Melora ran ahead to fling open her door, and the boys brought the trunk in and set it down by a window where she could get the best light for her task. As he turned to leave Tony saw the Kwan Yin. He paused beside the shelf and looked up into the golden face.
"So you found a place for her?" he said.
"You mean you lugged that all the way over here?" Quent was incredulous. "When you knew you'd need food and clothes?"
"It must be a pretty valuable piece," Tony said.
Quent shrugged. "I suppose that's different. I had to save Father's paintings because they're like cash in the bank. But, Melora, I must say I never could figure out the lady's blue hair. I remember when your father brought the statue home. I must have been about ten and I was fascinated. I've wanted to meet a lady with blue hair ever since."
Cora shooed at both boys "Skidoo now. I
want to see what I can find in Mellie's trunk. I'm going to dress up for dinner."
The two girls unpacked the trunk, and Melora assigned each article to a separate pile. One for Gran, one for Cora, one for herself. A fourth pile she labeled "refugee." Some of these things might help a little.
She was happy to come upon her diary in the depths of the trunk and took it out to place beside the pile of books she was reading. As soon as she had a chance, she must start filling these pages with all the missed episodes. But there would be no time to begin before dinner.
Since there was plenty of spaghetti, Mrs. Forrest and her son had been invited to stay and they all sat around the table for dinner that night. Mr. Howard Forrest had graying hair and a young, alive look about him. He smiled at Melora and held out a hand to congratulate Quent on their engagement.
Quent was as maddening as usual. Even in his clowning he put his finger on the one thing that left Melora helpless.
"I'm not sure but what the young lady means to call it off at any moment, sir," he said with exaggerated dolefulness. "You know how it is these days—I've a fine old family, but we're probably penniless. And who wants a penniless heir?"
Across the table Uncle Will shook his head. "My son must have his jest, Mr. Forrest. Melora will have something to say about this, I fancy."
Mama had choked over a hot forkful of Mrs. Ellis's spaghetti. She recovered herself and frowned at Quent.
"What a silly boy! To talk about the Seymours being penniless. Or about Melora throwing you over. Mr. Forrest, don't pay any attention to him."
"Quent wasn't joking about the penniless Seymours," Uncle Will said more gravely. "I've been hearing rumors about town concerning some of the insurance companies hedging on payments by invoking the earthquake clause. Of course paying up may wipe some of us out completely. But I hope to see the Seymour Company stand by every penny of its debts, whether there is anything left afterwards or not."
Mrs. Cranby turned shocked eyes upon him, but he did not seem to notice.
"This morning," he went on, "the wreckage had cooled enough so that we could dig that desk of mine out of the basement excavation pit in which it had been buried by falling debris. The thing that is giving every business the most concern just now is the complete loss of all records. Fortunately, the desk survived its ordeal and we found a batch of correspondence in it which furnishes us with some names and addresses. Also a few invaluable memorandum books. At least I have something with which to start again."
"You'll do it too," Gran said. "Addy, I've just told Will that he can use the drawing room of this house for office purposes if he likes."
Mama choked again, but Gran went right on.
"A good many residences are going to find themselves turned part office for a while until we've rebuilt our downtown area. We might as well help to meet the need."
Mr. Forrest nodded. "The way Fillmore and Van Ness are bursting out as business sections, I'm wondering if Market Street may not have brand new rivals. Incidentally, Mrs. Bonner, if there's any possibility of your putting Mother and me up tonight as paying guests, we'd like to take advantage of it. I am most interested in—"
"Oh, not as paying guests!" cried Mama faintly.
"Addy," Gran said, "We might as well face the fact that all the rules changed at 5:14 last Wednesday morning with the earthquake. We'll be glad to have you stay of course, Mr. Forrest—you and Nell. For the moment at least this house is in business and we'll need paying guests."
Mr. Forrest's eyes twinkled. "The reason I'm interested in staying another day is because as soon as we can start printing the magazine again I'll want to run several articles about every aspect of the earthquake and fire. The whole country will want to know the truth about what has happened. And even more, it will want to know what San Francisco is going to do about it. Mother has agreed to run around tomorrow and play reporter, while I try to cover different ground. The big story, it seems to me, is about the way the city is pitching in with a will to recover. I've never seen anything like it."
There was a silence while Sam padded in with more spaghetti and Melora found herself musing aloud.
"I wish there was some way I could pitch in. I don't want to sit home while everyone else is out working, but where can I start?"
"It isn't necessary for young ladies to—" Mama began, but Quent gave her a smile of apology and broke in.
"You bet your life you can do something, Melora! Just let me take you over to one of the relief centers tomorrow morning. They'll work you till you drop." He turned to Mrs. Cranby to forestall her objections. "They need more help and need it badly. Aunt Addy, you'll be doing the town a service if you let her go."
"Well," said Mama, "since she'll be in your care, Quentin.... Perhaps it will be all right for a day."
"She won't be in my care," Quent said. "Father's car's in Red Cross service now and I'm driving it But I can take her out and bring her home."
"I'll be ready," Melora told him, smiling reassuringly at her mother. This was a chance she didn't mean to let slip.
Of course Cora wanted to go too, but Mama was firm. Cora was too young. And she had not the freedom of an engaged girl.
When the matter had been settled, Mr. Forrest began to query Mrs. Ellis about her relatives on Telegraph Hill. She talked readily, drawing a vivid picture of the way crowds had swarmed to the clearing at the top of the hill. And of how Antonio and Vito Lombardi had joined with neighbors in saving a cluster of houses that clung to the cliffside.
Tony stared uncomfortably at his plate and Melora had the feeling that for some reason he disapproved.
BREADLINE
The next morning, when Quent and Melora set out, Mrs. Forrest decided to go along in order to get a glimpse of what was happening.
The relief station to which Quent was taking Melora was down in the Mission district, on the edge of the burned section. An old shed had been put to use and as they drew near Melora saw that mountains of bread and pyramids of canned milk had been piled on long boards supported by trestles. Men and women, and even a sprinkling of children, stood in a line that stretched down the block, and would be much longer before the day was over.
While Mrs. Forrest waited in the car, Quent took Melora into a tent where a bedraggled woman sat on a camp stool staring with disapproval at her own feet Mrs. Dunlap acknowledged Quent's introduction and said she could use another pair of hands—and especially feet.
"I ought to work in my stocking feet today," she said. "The only pair of shoes I have don't fit and my feet killed me all day yesterday."
Quent told Melora he'd be back for her at the end of the day. "Don't work too hard," he said and grinned as he went off.
Mrs, Dunlap squeezed her feet back into shoes and stood up. Obviously, as a lady, she could not go out to her station shoeless, any more than she could go hatless. She straightened her befeathered hat and shook out her heavy wine-red skirt. The hem of the skirt was decidedly the worse for wear and there were rents in one or two places.
"Sometimes," she said, "I am tempted to cut my skirts off right up to the ankle. It's ridiculous to drag all this through ashes and brick dust in order to get around. Well, my dear, we're glad to have you. Come along and we'll get started. So far we haven't received nearly enough bread, but I'm sure San Francisco ,is flooded with enough condensed milk to last for the next ten years. And no soap! No one seems to have thought of sending in a single cake of soap. Here you are, my dear."
At first as Melora checked bread cards and reached for loaf after loaf to put into waiting hands, the faces of those in line had individuality for her. She saw the old and the young, the poor and the recently rich, the cheerful and the sad. The hands that reached toward her were sometimes gnarled and blue-veined, sometimes plump and beringed; sometimes they were the hands of a workman, or a school girl, or the small hands of a child. More often than not there was a thank-you and a smile. There was even the atmosphere of a picnic about the whole affair. But as the day w
ore on lines grew longer. Those who waited grew tired and those who doled out the supplies wearied even more.
At lunch time, when Melora sat down to eat the sandwich she had brought, her feet ached and her smile had turned to cardboard. By afternoon more mountains of bread came in, so there was no need to turn the crowds away. There were more relief workers too, both men and women, but Melora began to feel sure that all San Francisco had chosen to come to this one station. Faces blurred into a featureless stream. She moved automatically and would have handed Quent a loaf of bread when he turned up at her side if he hadn't taken it out of her hands and drawn her away from her place behind board and trestle.
"They're closing down now," he said. "I've come to take you home."
She walked wordlessly to where the Oldsmobile stood beside the curb, a Red Cross displayed on its side.
"Good for you for sticking it out," he went on as he helped her into the front seat. "You'll be all right as soon as you've had time to relax and get your breath."
Melora sank back in the leather seat, while Quent cranked the machine and sprang up behind the wheel.
"So many, many people who have lost everything," , she said dazedly. "Even walking among the ruins I didn't realize. And they're all so ready to start over. You hardly ever hear a complaint."
"I know," Quent said. "This whole week I've been practically bursting with pride because I'm a San Franciscan." Then he looked sheepish. "Don't mind my lapse into the sentimental—if s temporary."
If she hadn't been so tired she might have answered She'd liked him better for his show of feeling.
After that they were silent. The wind was blowing in from the Gate and Melora was grateful for the chill of it against her face. She had no motoring veil over her sailor hat and strands of hair whipped out from the restraint of bone hairpins. No matter. She couldn't care less.
Vaguely she recalled that she had wanted to talk to Quent alone. But she could not rouse herself to make the effort.
They had covered four blocks when the engine wheezed and died. Quent tried cranking again, but nothing happened. He sighed ruefully.
The fire and the gold Page 10
