Rescuing the Heiress (15 page)

“Well, there's sure nothing wrong with her lungs.”

The men who had left the group of refugees to help Tess search were returning to their families. Someone in the rear of the wagon passed forward a small quilt and Tess wrapped the tiny girl in it, cradling and rocking her in spite of her loud lamenting.

“Hush, baby, hush,” she cooed. “We'll take good care of you. I promise.” She rocked more. “Hush, now. That's a good girl.”

When she finally raised her gaze from the child to look at Michael again, the expression on his face was so touching, so heartrending, it brought unshed tears to her eyes.

She assumed he was thinking the same thing she was. If only they had driven through this particular area sooner, had thought to look here before the baby's parents had succumbed, perhaps they could have saved the whole family. But they had not.

Tess kept reminding herself that the waif she was cuddling and trying to comfort had survived the collapse of an entire apartment house. That alone was a wonderment. Finding her parents alive and well, amid all that horrible wreckage, would have been next to impossible no matter how soon they or anyone else had begun to search.

She followed Michael's line of sight past her shoulder and watched as other men continued to pull bodies from the rubble of the tenement and lay them out in the street.
All over the city, piles of the dead were growing. How many there would be when the final tally was made was beyond imagining.

Moved beyond words, Tess pressed the child closer and continued to rock her. The little girl's sobbing lessened. She chanced a peek by lifting a corner of the coverlet and saw that the precious, exhausted little one had not only fallen asleep, her breathing had grown more natural.

Closing her own eyes, Tess prayed wordlessly for the child's lost parents and for all the others who had gone to glory already. How long would it be before rescuers like Michael and his comrades had the opportunity to rest, let alone sleep? The way things looked at present, it was going to be a long, long time.

 

Michael halted the loaded wagon in an open area near where the Dugan women were camped. “Okay,” he announced to his passengers. “This is as far as I go. Be sure you take all your things with you when you leave.”

He paused by the front wheel to lift the brother and sister down. He tousled the boy's mop of hair, then pointed the children to the Dugan camp before helping Tess disembark.

“I'm going to take this baby to Rose and Annie for temporary safekeeping,” she said. “They'll know how best to care for her.” A slight smile lifted the corners of her mouth. “I'm afraid my education as a nurse for children is sadly lacking.”

“Looks to me like you're doing fine. Is she still asleep?”

“Yes. I keep checking her because I can't help but worry. I'll feel better when Rose has had a good look at her, too.”

“Okay. Hurry back. We'll need to be heading out again as soon as possible.”

“I will. Don't leave without me.”

The sight of Tess cradling the tiny tot as she turned and started to walk away reminded Michael of a Christmas crèche. She'd make a wonderful mother some day. Experienced or not, she was nurturing and loving the same way his mother was. Tess's strong will and decisiveness, in addition to those other sterling qualities, would stand her in good stead no matter what trials life presented.

Trials such as these,
Michael concluded, taking in the multitude that had already begun to raise makeshift tents in the park and settle into a semblance of routine and order.

There were myriad kettles warming over small fires or portable kerosene stoves and the like. Families were resting together on pallets composed of blankets and whatever other suitable materials they could assemble. If it hadn't been for the foggy air, the smell of smoke and the booming of dynamite that shook the ground as badly as some of the aftershocks had, the encampment would have seemed like nothing more than a bunch of city folks enjoying leisurely afternoon picnics in the park.

Frowning as he finished emptying the wagon of
passengers and their household goods, Michael started to look around for Tess. Why hadn't she returned? What was taking her so long?

Concerned, he climbed aboard the wagon for added elevation and scanned the crowd, starting with the eucalyptus sapling which marked the Dugan encampment. There was Annie. And her mother was bending and talking to the two youngsters they'd just delivered.

In the extra moments it took him to also locate Tess, Michael's heart began to pound. Perspiration dotted his brow. Then, he spotted her reddish hair and his breath whooshed out audibly.

Relief was short-lived. Tess wasn't alone with Annie, Rose and the children. Someone else was with them. Even from that distance, the man's bowler, cane, tailored suit and foppish mannerisms looked decidedly familiar. And most unwelcome.

Rather than leave the wagon to approach on foot and chance actually losing their only means of transportation to thieves the way Tess had imagined, Michael maneuvered the team closer.

He halted them directly behind the dandy in the black bowler hat and wrapped the driving lines around the brake handle.

Judging by the man's uneasy stance and the way Tess was facing him with her hands on her hips, Michael was fairly certain she was not pleased. Then he heard her order, “Go away, Phineas,” and was positive.

Jumping down, fists clenched, Michael came at the other man from the rear. Tess's glance and quick smile
telegraphed his approach, however, and he lost the element of surprise.

The banker whirled and raised his silver-handled cane defensively. Instant recognition registered in his narrowed eyes. “What do
you
want?”

Michael stood his ground. “I should be asking you the same question.”

“I've come to escort Miss Clark out of this disgusting muddle, not that it's any of your business,” Phineas said with a jut of his chin that emphasized disdain.

“I'm making it my business,” Michael countered. “Miss Clark has chosen to stay here with me, and I'll thank you to stop bothering her.”

If the situation hadn't been so serious he would have laughed aloud at the air of dismay and astonishment on the banker's weasel-like face.

The man looked to Tess, apparently realized she was in full agreement and snapped his jaw shut.

She began to grin. “There you have it, Mr. Edgerton. Now, if you'll excuse us, we have work to do. Please assure my father that I am in very good hands.”

Circling Phineas while he stood there looking at her as if she had just fed him unsweetened lemonade and then punched him in the stomach besides, Tess offered her hand to Michael and let him help her climb back aboard the freight wagon.

As Michael joined her, took up the lines and urged the team forward, she slipped her hand through the crook of his elbow and snuggled closer, much to his delight.

Tess giggled softly, privately. “At least you didn't have
to threaten to shoot him, although a good scare like that might have served him right.”

“Don't tempt me.”

He knew his grin was far too satisfied to be respectful but he couldn't help himself. These trying circumstances were painful in many ways, yet they had also brought him closer to Tess than he'd ever hoped to be. Even after the danger was past and the city returned to normal, he'd remember these hours with both sadness and jubilation.

Every person they rescued was one more sign that life went on; and every loss, like the tot's parents, was a reminder of how precious each day should be.

It wasn't that Michael didn't realize how desperate their overall situation was or how much worse it could still become before it was over. He was simply doing the only sensible thing by taking one minute, one hour, one day at a time.

What the future might bring was more than unknown. It was almost too frightening to ponder.

Casting a sidelong glance at his lovely companion as they drove out of the park, he prayed,
No matter what becomes of me, Father, please look after Tess. She is the dearest thing in the world. I know I don't deserve her. Please take care of her and help her find the kind of happiness she's earned.

The idea that he might not be a part of Tess's future, might not be granted further blessings regarding the woman he loved so intensely, so completely, haunted Michael's thoughts.

Wisely, he refused to dwell on such a possibility. Right now they both had vitally important work to do. If Tess had not been with him on the last trip, that poor babe might not have been discovered, might not have been rescued in time. That alone was proof he should let her continue to accompany him, at least for as long as he deemed it safe to do so.

The traffic in the damaged streets had lessened measurably, probably because many citizens had already fled. He imagined they didn't much care where they went as long as they were far from the shaking, although as Chief Walters had said, the earthquake had caused severe damage many, many miles away as well.

Thankfully, the electrical power plants had been shut down for safety's sake. So had the gas. Night would soon be upon them, leaving little light other than that from an occasional lantern and from the fires still raging in the distance.

“At dusk I'm going to take you back to the Dugans' and leave you there,” he told Tess. When she stared at him and opened her mouth he quickly added, “Don't argue. I plan to go check in with Chief Walters again, assuming I can locate him in all this chaos, and see if I can persuade him to give me an assignment right away instead of waiting for morning.”

“Meaning, you don't want me underfoot?”

“I wouldn't have put it quite that bluntly, but yes. It's my job.”

“And you need to do it. I know how badly you want to.”

Michael nodded and smiled wryly as he looked down
at the backs of the team. He and that big gray horse were a lot alike in their instincts, weren't they? Every time they heard the clanging of an engine in the distance or saw flames, they both tensed, both acted as if they wanted to forget everything else and race to the fire, which, of course, was exactly how they did feel.

It was Michael's most fervent wish that he could make Tess understand that fact when he finally had to leave her. This brief time they'd managed to spend together had already lasted longer than he'd dared hope. Sooner or later, they were going to have to part.

There was no other option.

T
ess spent the bulk of that night dreaming she was still beside Michael, still thrilling to the sound of his voice, still safe and secure because of him and only him.

As she began to stir she found herself picturing his handsome, rugged face and remembering his expression when he'd finally bid her goodbye.

Tess could tell he hadn't wanted to leave. When he'd put his arms around her she'd simply stood within his embrace and relished every moment. Then, she'd lifted her face and he'd kissed her.

Seconds later, breathless, he had stepped back and apologized. “I'm sorry. I had no right to do that. Especially not in front of all these people.”

Tess remembered smiling while also being afraid she might burst into tears. That was the last thing she wanted to do, particularly since an open expression of sorrow might have made their parting even harder on Michael.

“I suppose we could have hidden away behind a bush
or something to spoon, but don't you think that would have raised even more eyebrows?”

To her relief, he'd then began to give her the tilted, Irish grin that was his trademark. “Are you inviting me to misbehave, Miss Clark?”

“Not yet,” she'd replied. “But don't lose hope. I soon may.”

Michael had grasped both her hands then and held them tightly, forming both a barrier and a bridge between them as he'd said, “I look forward to it.”

That was the moment Tess now remembered with the most fondness. It wasn't their actual parting that gave her shivers of nervous delight, it was the promise of a bright future. With Michael.

She sat up and rubbed her eyes. Explosions in the distance continued to shake the ground. Around her, much of the camp was stirring and she could smell the pleasant aromas of coffee and frying bacon.

Yawning, Tess saw Rose and Annie fussing over the baby while Rachel and David devoured enormous bowls of oatmeal as if they'd missed many meals and were trying to make up for it all at once.

She joined the other women. “How is our baby this morning?”

“Hungry,” Rose said. “I was worried that she might be a finicky eater but that's not going to be a problem.”

“Do we have enough food?” Tess asked, glancing at the older children. “If not, I can go home and get more from Mary.”

“There's plenty,” Annie said. “You should rest. You worked too hard yesterday.”

“I can't argue with that,” Tess said with a smile as she raised both arms over her head and tried to stretch some of the pain out of her muscles. “I am definitely not used to doing that much physical labor.”

“I'd fetch you a cup of coffee but I don't want to stop tending the baby,” Rose said. “Maybe Annie…?”

“Nonsense. I'm certainly capable of doing things like that myself.” Tess tossed her head to swing her long hair back over her shoulders and leaned carefully over the fire to reach the pot. It wasn't familiar. “Where did you get this, anyway?”

“Scavenged it, right out in the street over there,” Annie said proudly. “You'd be amazed at how much stuff is being thrown away as people head for the ferry. The streets are lined with piles of precious things.”

“That was very smart of you,” Tess said. “I was all over town yesterday and it never occurred to me to pick up a thing.”

“It's not like I was looting,” the maid insisted, coloring. “The pot and these cups were just lying there, abandoned on the ground. I rinsed them down by the lake before I brought them to Mama.”

“And we're all glad you did.”

Settling down and sipping her hot coffee, Tess gave thanks for many things, including the baby's health. The only clue anyone had to the child's name or family was of the tiny locket she wore and the approximate location in which she'd been found. It was hard to make out the faces
in the pictures but Tess had high hopes those images would nevertheless help identify the child's surviving relatives and return her to what was left of her family once a proper system for doing so had been established. The same was true of the older children, although they were capable of giving their names so there would be no doubt.

Calling to Annie, she asked, “Is there anything I can do to help either of you?”

Since both women were quick to assure her there was not, Tess decided to try to make herself presentable, just in case Michael had a chance to return before reporting for fire duty.

She reached into the carpet bag for her hairbrush and felt its smooth tortoiseshell handle. At the same time her fingertips brushed the journal she'd grabbed on a whim. It had been wise to preserve it because it had belonged to her late mother, she assured herself, handling the slim volume as if it were a precious relic and wishing she'd thought to rescue the family Bible as well.

Should she untie the narrow pink satin ribbon and read her mother's private musings? Tess wondered. Surely, there was no reason not to. Not now. Not when Mama was gone to glory.

Tess cradled the book in her arms, pressing it against her chest, her heart. In the midst of this crisis she wished mightily that her mother was still beside her, still able to offer comfort and counsel. Since she was not, however, perhaps she had left behind some wise words which would help at a time like this.

Seating herself atop a pile of folded blankets, Tess untied the ribbon clasp and opened the book, laying it across her lap to peruse while she worked the tangles out of her long hair at the same time.

Mama's early years seemed pretty mundane, Tess noted, leafing through them quickly. Then as her mother adjusted to marriage and tried to please her husband, the mood subtly changed.

The rhythmic movement of the hairbrush stilled. Tess stared at the page she had just turned.

I have had a lovely baby girl,
she read.
My Gerald is upset, of course, but he'll soften toward her eventually. I know he will. And I have promised that we shall try again for the son he covets so.

Tess knew she shouldn't have been surprised to read such a plain truth because she had often heard her father say practically the same thing, yet it hurt to read that Mama had agonized over it, too.

There was more to follow, special mentions of Tess's babyhood accomplishments and her ensuing youth. The pages were filled with love and appreciation for her daughter but continued to lament the fact that there had been no additional son.

Flipping to the back of the book, Tess swept aside the blank pages until she reached one of the final entries.

I fear I shall not go to heaven,
her mother wrote.
I harbor too much unforgiveness in my heart. I want to love my husband the way I used to but I cannot. I have tried to bear the son he wants and have failed him. Now it is too late. May God forgive me.

Through her tears, Tess read one more line, its words directing her to turn the page. There, she saw a notation addressed to her!

My darling Tess, I hope you may someday see this. Don't weep for me. Weep for your father. He is a bitter, unhappy man and surely will remain so for as long as he lives. You were my best and only joy and I always loved you dearly. I pray that you will find the happiness I missed and that you will live the life of your dreams, not try to mold yourself to anyone else's desires.

Follow your heart. Read the scriptures as I taught you. And remember that I loved you more than life itself.
It was signed,
Your loving Mama.

A tear dropped, dampening the paper and causing the ink to start to bleed.

Tess quickly closed the book and dabbed at her eyes. “Poor Mama. And poor Papa, too,” she added, realizing how her parents' lives had been at hopeless odds for so many years.

In retrospect she ached for her mother. Yet she could also see how that attitude of daily martyrdom might have caused her father to withdraw. Papa liked his world well-ordered. Within his control. Managed to the hilt. To have a wife who was not only ill but clearly disappointed in her entire existence when there wasn't a thing he could do about it must have driven him to distraction.

Sighing, Tess got to her feet and slipped the journal back into her carpet bag with the hairbrush. She tugged at the hem of the jacket of her wool dress and smoothed
the outfit over her hips, dusting the skirt with her hands and shaking out the hem.

When this turmoil was past and they were back at home, she'd talk to her father, she vowed, and let him know she understood why he'd always seemed so gruff. That might not change anything between them but she felt beholden to try.

Beginning to smile wistfully, she looked out at the crowd and thought of Michael. There was no sign of him or of the team and wagon this morning so she assumed he had already reported to Chief Walters. That was the most likely scenario, although she couldn't help hoping he was currently on his way to the park with one last load of refugees, instead.

No matter what, Tess vowed to be ready. She ran her fingers over her hair to smooth it carefully, then once again patted at her dusty skirt.

She couldn't imagine anything else, now or ever, that would mean more to her than catching sight of Michael Mahoney and she wanted him to be just as pleased when he saw her even if she hadn't been able to change her clothing or have her long hair properly dressed.

She smiled, remembering the way he'd threaded his fingers through her loose tresses when he'd kissed her. Truth to tell, if there was the slightest chance he'd repeat that loving act she might never, ever, pile her hair atop her head again.

 

The sun shone bloodred as it began to peek through the smoke-filled atmosphere and add another kind of
glow to the eastern sky. Michael had checked Union Square the night before and had seen nothing to indicate it would be a usable gathering place. Therefore, he planned to report to the ferry terminal. He had time for only one more task before he went on duty.

Walters's and Dougherty's decision to hold some able-bodied men in reserve made sense; he just kept wishing his station hadn't been destroyed in the initial earthquake so he and the others of his company could have gone to work immediately.

In the next hour or so, Michael intended to make certain his mother was safe no matter what. Judging by the position of the rising sun, it was still early, though the haze and smoke made it impossible to be certain of the time.

A strong wind had arisen at daybreak, made worse by the circular updraft the fires themselves were generating. Flames rose in death-dealing tornados, bearing millions of hot embers aloft then showering them over the roofs and other remains of previously unscathed buildings.

His jaw clenched. Crumbled relics of total destruction lay everywhere and buried among them many poor souls who had been unable to save themselves. Those were people he and his fellows should have been able to rescue. Somehow. That was what they'd trained for, stood ready for. Who could have imagined that the fire brigades would fall victim to so much devastation before they had a chance to even act?

The view from Nob Hill, once he reached it, was also disturbing. Michael called out to his mother as he
stopped the team outside the mansion and was relieved when she burst out and ran straight into his arms.

“Oh, God be praised,” Mary keened. “I didn't know what to do. The fire…”

“You're still safe here, at least for the time being. But I want you to pack up so I can take you down to the park to stay with Tess and the others.”

“Why? Surely the firemen will stop this soon.”

Michael shook his head slowly, considering the carnage he'd just passed. “I don't know when. None of us do. Mayor Schmitz has ordered blocks of buildings close to the fires blown to bits instead of trying to cut a firebreak farther away. That system doesn't seem to be working.”

Mary gazed up at him, tears welling. “I promised Mister Gerald I'd stay and watch the house even if all the other servants left.”

“Have you seen hide nor hair of him?”

“Nobody's been here since yesterday. Mr. Clark swore he was going to look after the money at his bank no matter what.”

“That figures.” Michael glanced up at the shimmering half disk of light peeking over Mount Diablo. “I have about an hour, by my reckoning, before I have to report to the ferry terminal. Go get your things and load all the food you can carry into sacks or pillowcases while I see if there's a decent horse left for you to ride.” He gestured at the team. “These animals have done more than enough.”

“But…”

Michael stood firm. “No buts, Ma. There's no time to argue.”

As Mary turned away she paused long enough to ask, “Is Miss Tess all right? And our Annie and her ma?”

“They're fine. Now hurry.”

It hadn't taken his mother's mention of Tess to bring her to Michael's mind. She'd never left his thoughts, his prayers. The aura of her natural beauty and her tender smile would dwell with him, in his heart and mind, for ever and always.

And, God willing, he'd see her once more, at Golden Gate Park this very morning.

 

Tess was pacing and beginning to get terribly anxious when a slim dirt-dusted young man burst through the passing crowd and accosted her.

“Miss Clark!”

She frowned, puzzled, before recognizing him as a messenger boy her father had often employed. “Jimmy?”

“Aye. It's me.” He snatched his soft tweed cap off his head and clutched it in grimy fingers.

“Did Papa send you?”

“No, ma'am. I come myself. He told us all to go away but he won't leave.”

Tess touched his arm through the sleeve of his sooty shirt. “Is fire threatening the bank?”

The boy shook his head, his tousled hair scattering bits of ash and dirt. “Worse. It's the dynamite. A soldier
said they was gonna blow up the whole block and we should clear out, but Mr. Clark, he won't budge.”