Giuliana shifted her weight to the right foot, trying to relieve her swollen ankle for a moment. Strange. Last night, she hadn’t felt any pain, just the softness of Kate’s skin against her cold feet and her warmth against her body. In the light of day, it all felt like a dream—a wonderful dream, she admitted to herself. She hadn’t felt so at peace yet at the same time so nervous and excited since…Well, she’d never before felt that way.
She’d always imagined that this might be how it would feel to share her bed with a husband. What did it mean that she’d now experienced those feelings with Kate, a woman? Did it make her like the woman in the vaudeville who’d dressed up as a man and sung about her love for another woman? But that had been just for show while the chaotic jumble of emotions she felt around Kate was very real.
So, what exactly was it that she felt? Could it really be—?
“It’s the wrath of God,” the man in line in front of her said, as if answering her unspoken question. He was talking to the family ahead of him. “Haven’t you heard? This”—he swept his hand toward the east, where the fires were still burning—“is happening all over the country. Chicago is burning, Seattle and Baltimore have collapsed, and New York City has been swept into the sea by a giant wave.”
Giuliana gasped. Could that really be true? And what about other countries? Had Sicilia been hit by an earthquake too?
By the time she reached the front of the line, her hands were trembling so badly that she nearly spilled the water on her way back.
Kate put down the loaf of bread she’d gotten for their group, hurried toward her, and took the pot from her. She looked down at Giuliana’s hands. “What’s wrong?”
“The men at the water wagon…they said the other cities are broken too. Do you think my family…?”
Kate handed the pot of water to Mrs. O’Brien and wrapped one arm around Giuliana. “I’m sure they’re fine. But if you’re worried, we could try to get a letter or a telegram to them. At the bread lines, they have barrels with paper and pencils set up. People are writing messages to family and friends, and the postal service will deliver them, even without postage or envelopes.”
Giuliana let out a shuddery breath as her panic slowly started to subside. Kate was right. Her family was probably fine, but sending them a letter to tell them she was all right was a good idea, just in case they heard about the earthquake in San Francisco. After Turi’s death, she didn’t want her mother to have to worry about losing another of her children. She looked into Kate’s eyes, as blue as the sky before the curtain of smoke had covered it. “Thank you.”
“Anytime.” Kate rubbed her back.
The touch sent tingles of pleasure down Giuliana’s spine. She wanted to close her eyes and arch into the touch like a cat being petted. Her skin felt hungry for Kate’s touch, and that scared her, so she sat without moving, barely even breathing.
“Want to go do that now, while we’re waiting for the water to boil?” Kate asked.
Giuliana nodded, glad for something to do that would distract her from these new, scary feelings.
They got a scrap of paper and a pencil and sat down by the fire. Giuliana told her the Sicilian words, and Kate wrote them down as best as she could. Half of the short letter might be indecipherable, but Giuliana hoped her family would understand enough to grasp that she was fine. Just her signing her name—the only thing she could write—at the bottom of the letter should let them know that she was alive.
Giuliana got up. Only when she was standing did she realize that she’d put her hand on Kate’s shoulder while climbing to her feet. Shaking her head at herself, she turned and marched away. After squeezing through the masses waiting in line, she made it to the barrels that had been set up and dropped her letter into one of them.
On her way back, she walked past a hastily erected booth next to a wobbly stove. A sign hung above it with two words and a couple of palms drawn around them.
Giuliana grinned. She could easily guess what the sign above the booth said—Palm Garden. It was just like the San Franciscans to name this improvised eatery after the finest restaurant in the city. Was the real thing still standing, or had it turned into a pile of ashes too?
Already past the booth, she paused and turned back. She fingered the battered little pouch dangling from her waist. It held the only two things she’d managed to rescue from her room: the pendant watch Kate had given her when she’d thought they would never see each other again and the five-dollar coin from Mr. Winthrop. She took out the coin and rubbed her thumb across its shiny surface.
No way could she safely send it to her family anytime soon. But the money could go to another good cause. She imagined the joy in Kate’s eyes when she brought back a can of peaches or some other treat for them to share. After they had gotten nothing but some milk, beans, and bread for the last two days, the sweet fruit would taste wonderful.
With the coin in her hand, she approached the man behind the stove. “What do you sell?”
“What do you want?” he asked back.
“Do you have peaches?”
The man bent and rummaged through a box. With a triumphant cry, he straightened and held up a tin can.
Giuliana barely held herself back from jumping with joy. “How much money?”
“How much do you have?”
She glanced at the coin in her hand and reluctantly showed it to him.
“One can of peaches costs five dollars,” he said.
What? She could have gotten at least two dozen cans for that amount of money a few days ago. “No, you do not understand. I want only one can.” She held up one finger. “One.”
He nodded. “That’s the price for one. Prices are dictated by supply and demand, you understand?” He looked at her as if she were slow-witted, grinned, and wiggled the can. “So? Do you want it or not?”
Someone cleared his throat behind Giuliana.
She looked over her shoulder and instantly tensed.
Behind her stood a soldier, a rifle in the bend of his arm and a grim expression on his face.
Was she in trouble? Did the army not like people bartering for extra food?
The soldier waved his fingers at her. “Give me the money.”
She tightened her uninjured hand around the coin. It was all the money she had left. “But…”
“Give me the money,” he repeated, a little louder.
Swallowing, Giuliana handed over the coin. It was a lot of money, but not worth getting shot over.
The soldier gave it to the man behind the stove, who beamed and dropped the coin into his already-bulging purse.
Were they working together to make money off the desperation of hungry people?
“Give me the can and your purse.” Now the soldier waved his fingers at the merchant.
“What?”
“The purse and the can. Now.” The soldier casually pointed his rifle at the man.
Red-faced, the man handed over his purse and the can of peaches.
The soldier took out several coins and then threw the purse back at its owner. “Here.” He handed Giuliana the can and the money.
She stared at the coins and counted them quickly. Four dollars and seventy-five cents.
“Twenty-five cents is still aplenty for a single can.” The soldier gave the merchant a glare over the barrel of his rifle. “Stick with that price, or I’ll confiscate your goods.”
The man’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. “Of course, sir. I will.”
The soldier nodded at Giuliana, shouldered his rifle, and marched away.
She looked at his retreating back for a moment. A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. So there were honorable soldiers protecting the helpless after all. Despite her aching feet and her swollen ankle, she nearly skipped toward their campfire, already imagining Kate’s smile when she gave her the peaches.
“Giuliana!” a man’s voice called from behind her.
She stopped and turned around. “Calogero!”
Her friend’s shirt was soot-stained, and the lines on his weather-beaten face seemed to have deepened, but at least he appeared to be uninjured.
They came together in a short embrace, and she kissed his bearded cheeks. It tickled, but it didn’t make her feel warm all over the way sharing a blanket with Kate had.
“Bedda matri, I’m so glad to see you,” Calogero said in Sicilian. “You didn’t get hurt in this hell, did you?”
“Nothing bad,” she answered in their language. “And you?”
“No. I was already up and out of the house when the quake came.”
“Then we were both lucky.” Giuliana didn’t want to linger on just how lucky she had been and shoved back thoughts of the collapsed boardinghouse.
Calogero snorted. “I’m not waiting around and testing that luck, that’s for sure.”
“What do you mean?”
“I hear Oakland, over on the other side of the bay, wasn’t hit so hard. There are still trains running from there. I’m going to New York City tomorrow.”
“New York City?” Giuliana remembered what the man at the water wagon had said. “I heard it was destroyed too.”
“Nonsense. I’m sure it’s fine. I never heard of earthquakes happening in New York, and Bernardo says you can earn good money there.”
Earn good money…which you no longer could in San Francisco.
“Do you want to come with me?” Calogero scratched his stubble. Was he blushing beneath his beard? “It might not be the most romantic way, but…I always liked you.”
Oh diu miu.
Was he offering what she thought he was? “Calogero, I…I really don’t know what to say.”
“Think about it, all right? Even if you don’t want to marry me, you could still come. Take the ferry to Oakland and meet me at the train station tomorrow at noon.” He kissed her cheeks and walked away before she could get her mouth to work.
She stared at his retreating back. A few minutes ago, her future had been uncertain—and suddenly she had an option. Well, two options, really, but she didn’t count Calogero’s marriage proposal. She liked him, but there was no tenderness when she thought of him, no flutter in her belly when he smiled.
But going to New York City to earn money…With Calogero’s help, she could get a job and connect with the Sicilian community there. And when the time ever came to return to Sicily, she could take a passenger ship from New York, where most ships to Europe started from anyway.
She shook her head at herself.
Stop dreaming.
The few dollars in her pocket wouldn’t pay for the train ticket or for enough food to last her until she reached New York City. Even if Calogero had saved up enough money to pay for two tickets, accepting money from him suggested that she would accept his marriage proposal too. Out of the question.
At least it meant she didn’t have to face the dilemma of having to say good-bye to Kate so soon.
She hefted the can of peaches and walked back to their campfire.
* * *
With a grateful nod, Kate took the cup of coffee Mrs. O’Brien handed her. She blew on the steaming surface while peering over the rim of the tin cup, keeping an eye out for Giuliana. What was taking her so long? Did she have trouble finding her way back to their campsite in the jumble of tents and makeshift shelters?
After the hell they had been through together in the last two days, being separated, even for just a few minutes, made Kate restless.
You’d better get used to it. God willing, everything will go back to normal one day soon, and then you won’t get to see her anymore.
The thought made her chest burn as if she’d taken a sip of the too-hot coffee.
Jimmy O’Brien, who’d roamed the park to see if he could get any more food for his children, returned and settled at the fire.
“Did you buy anything?” his wife asked.
“Do I look like an eejit? I amn’t paying what they ask for a can of sardines or a tiny little bit of condensed milk. You’d think the tins were made of gold.” He held up a newspaper. “This is all I got.”
His wife frowned. “You wasted money on a newspaper?”
“They’re handing it out for free.”
If Kate had been a dog, her ears would have perked up. She stopped looking around for any sign of Giuliana and slid a little closer to Mr. O’Brien. “They’re printing newspapers? How is that possible? The
Call
building was on fire last time I saw it.”
“Sure was.” Mr. O’Brien nodded. “I hear the
Chronicle
and the
Examiner
burned down too. This one was printed over in Oakland.”
Kate peered over his shoulder at the newspaper. She’d never thought she’d see the day when the
Call
, the
Chronicle
, and the
Examiner
—fierce rivals—would put out a joint edition, but now they had. They must have taken over the printing plant of the
Oakland Tribune.
In tall letters, the headline proclaimed
Earthquake and fire: San Francisco in ruins
and, farther down the page,
Entire city in danger of being annihilated.
When Mr. O’Brien turned the first page, she saw that the newspaper consisted of just four pages.
No photographs. Good.
That meant she still had a chance to sell hers to a newspaper editor.
“Death toll reaches three hundred,” Mr. O’Brien read out loud to his wife.
“Three hundred?” Kate echoed. “That can’t be right. I saw four collapsed boardinghouses on Sixth Street. There must have been at least three hundred people killed on that street alone.”
Mr. O’Brien shrugged. “Guess officials don’t want the world to know that the city is going arseways. Bad for business.”
Kate’s father nodded. “What kind of businessman would want to invest in a city that could be struck by disaster at any moment? Not the cowards back east, that’s for sure.”
So that was why the city officials were downplaying the damage the earthquake had done. That also had to be the reason why soldiers had been instructed not to let anyone take photographs.
It made Kate all the more determined to take more photographs. People had a right to find out what had really happened to San Francisco.
She looked up from the newspaper. Where on God’s green earth was Giuliana?
Finally, she saw the familiar figure appear between two tents.
Kate barely resisted the urge to jump up, rush toward her, and embrace her. Her relief at seeing Giuliana might be a little out of proportion, but this was a dangerous time, after all.