Blessed Assurance (30 page)

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.

 

Once again her business advisor stood before Cecy in her father's office. In a prim navy suit, she perused the ledger sheets. Though she knew very little about stocks, bonds, real–estate, and the businesses listed in Mr. Edmond's secretary's neat handwriting, she took her time reading the entries. Finally Cecy tapped the sheets together on the desktop. “Did you find out about the ownership of the canneries across the Bay?”

“Didn't you see them on page three?”

The blood drained from her head. “Page three?” She shuffled through the sheaf of paper.

Edmonds leaned over and pointed to the neat notations. “You own all the canneries there.”

 

“Did you know?” Birds chattered in the leafy maple nearby when Cecy confronted Linc at his front door. Not waiting, she pushed past him. When she came face-to-face with Del and two black men, she came up short. “Del, you came home?”

Linc followed her. “Cecilia, this is Long Jack and Freddie. Del's been playing ragtime with them.”

Glancing over her shoulder at Linc, Cecy felt her mouth drop open, surprised by the news and by Linc's calm tone. With his forefinger under her chin, Linc closed her mouth. Susan stepped forward. “We're just going into lunch. Will you join us, Miss Cecilia?”

“I think Cecilia wants to talk with me first. We'll join you in a
moment.” He took Cecy by the elbow into the parlor and pulled the pocket door closed.

Cecy propped her hands on her hips. “You knew I own every sardine cannery across the Bay, didn't you?”

“I didn't know you owned
every
one.”

“Why didn't you tell me?”

He had the nerve to grin. “The way you said, ‘I'd like to tell him just what I think of him,' I knew you'd ferret out who the owner was.”

“What am I going to do, Linc? Those poor people, those children—babies.” She leaned toward him, his strength drawing her.

He rested his hands on her shoulders. “What do you want to do about them?”

She tried to ignore the effect he was having on her, holding on to the thread of her thoughts. “How can I write about the canneries?
I'm
the guilty owner.”

“We're all guilty. All have sinned and fallen—”

“Don't quote the Bible to me.” She plumped down the sofa. “I can't own such a place.” She looked to him. “What am I to do?”

Linc rejoiced.
Oh, Lord, how wonderful are Your ways. I never guessed she would so quickly turn from disgust to action.
Energized, he paced. “You need to decide how to change the conditions at the canneries while still making a profit.”

“Profit? I'm worth millions. I don't need to worry about profits.”

Linc shook his head. She was so beautiful to him now—her eyes afire—her face flushed under that ridiculous driving hat and veil. “To start and keep a business growing, one needs profits, profits you can use to help your workers. Those people want and need higher wages and better working conditions,
not
a closed cannery and handouts.”

She stared at him, wide-eyed. “What should I do?”

“The canneries belong to you. You can
do
anything you want.” He wanted to sweep her up and dance around the room. And laugh. “Have you heard of Jane Addams's famous Hull House in Chicago?”

She shook her head. “But I want to right the conditions at my canneries.” Her voice rose. “I can't bear it when I think of those babies, those little children.”

“So what would you like to do?” he asked, holding his breath.

“They should be in their mother's or a good nanny's care in a clean place.”

“Yes.”

She grinned. “And after I've done that, I'll visit all my factories and mines and make more improvements.”

“Yes.” Unable to stop himself, he drew her up and held her as though preparing to waltz. “I'm at your disposal.” Glancing down into her lovely face, he paused. “That is, if you want me.”

She stood straighter. “I do.”

“Cecilia, you're wonderful.” He jerked her forward, making her driving veil fly backward, and soundly kissed her.

Now that he had her firmly in his arms, he found he couldn't let her go. He saw himself loosing her hair, letting it flow down her back like burnished spun copper. Then he would brush it aside and press soft kisses into the hollow behind her ear…Closing his eyes, he prayed for strength to stop his thoughts from going further. He released her gently.

She gazed at him, looking dazed.

“We should go into lunch.” Careful not to touch her and tempt himself again, he helped her off with her driving coat and hat. What had he been thinking? He arranged her wrap on the hall tree, then led her to the dining room. But these mundane motions had nothing to do with his true feelings. An awful realization rammed him hard. He could barely breathe.
Dear God, I'm falling in love with this woman
.

 

Cecy noted Linc frowning again. The same group they'd seen
The Mikado
with had come to see Bonnie's friend Effie Bond in
Little Princess
. Now in her cluttered dressing room, Effie stepped behind a trifold black Chinese inlaid screen. When Effie began discarding clothing over the top of the screen, Cecy couldn't believe she was
undressing with them all standing around. “Bonnie,” Effie called. “Come back and help me with these buttons.”

Bierce offered his help and was rebuffed. A little shocked, Cecy grinned. The past two days had been so serious, so dark—though in a way strangely satisfying. But tonight she could look forward to another lovely night of laughter and champagne. “Everyone,” she announced, “I'm officially now a journalist. Today, I finished my first article.”

Everyone applauded. Bonnie LaRoux stepped from behind the screen. “If I were filthy rich like you, I'd eat bonbons all day and dance all night.”

Bierce lifted his glass to Cecy. “I'm proud of you. What's the article about?”

“It's an exposé of a sardine cannery and the terrible conditions. Linc and I worked there a day last week.”

“A sardine factory?” Effie exclaimed, still hidden. “Why would you go to such a disgusting place? You journalists are insane.”

Linc said nothing. It wasn't the time for a stern lecture about social responsibility. And guilt over kissing Cecilia and betraying his love for Virginia tangled around his heart.

Cecy held her glass up to be refilled. Linc nearly snatched it away from her. He'd helped her grapple with the conditions at the cannery and write about the changes she'd already thought up. But that didn't give him the right to dictate to her.

Effie stepped out, dressed in a low-cut blue gown studded with rhinestones. “So, darlings, where are we off to for supper?”

“Why not Cliff House?” Bierce's wicked smile glinted.

Linc held Cecy's fur wrap and helped her into it. The Cliff House was a notorious restaurant that had a particularly unsavory reputation. Linc would bind and gag Cecy and carry her home before he let her go to such a place. “I made reservations at the Poodle Dog.”

“Let's be off.” Cecy drained her champagne glass.