The fire and the gold (18 page)

Lombardi tables wore red checked cloths and there were candles in big bottles half hidden beneath melting layers of colored wax. Fish nets looped across the ceiling to add atmosphere and on the walls were hundreds of drawings—caricatures of famous folk drawn by local artists.

But the most important, most colorful piece of all was Tony's grandfather. He was everywhere at once, joking and laughing, hearty and uninhibited. Tony's Uncle Vito was there tonight too, helping out as a second host, and where Uncle Vito was, Melora discovered, there was likely to be a strong smell of fish. She saw the wrinkling of Tony's nose, saw the way he edged back and stood in the shadow, as if he did not want to be connected with these relatives on Telegraph Hill.

Was he ashamed of them, she wondered, and tried at once to dismiss the idea. He couldn't possibly be scornful of this old man who warmed the entire place with his kindness and good will.

She was glad to see Quent talking boats with Uncle Vito. Mrs. Ellis' brother was obviously more at home with the business of catching fish, and this matter of greeting strangers made him uneasy.

The Forrests were already there and were to sit at the Cranby table. But the table was a long one and to her relief Melora found herself nowhere near the editor. She sat between Quent and Uncle Will Seymour, with Tony and Cora down at the other end. Mrs. Ellis had the place beside Papa and was already talking to him like an old friend. Tony's mother looked especially beautiful and dramatic tonight in wine red satin with rhinestones sparkling at her neck.

But it was the fresh crabs, the Spaghetti Lombardi, the ravioli and crusty Italian bread that held first place in everyone's attention for a while. Surely there had never been a gayer party given in all San Francisco. Both ladies and gentlemen wore everything imaginable—and no one minded. Stories of earthquake and fire were exchanged gayly and the talk was of the beautiful city that was to rise again here beside the bay.

When they had eaten as much as they could hold, someone started a call for Lotta Lombardi. Mrs. Ellis clasped her hands to her heart and shook her head vehemently. Her voice was long gone, she protested. She could not possibly sing—a thousand times no! But sing she did, in a voice that had not entirely lost its beauty. First an aria from Madame Butterfly, then an Italian folk song or two, and finally a snatch of popular music, with everyone joining in.

Afterwards there were impromptu speeches. Bouquets were tossed at Papa Lombardi, and Papa Lombardi tossed bouquets at his guests. There was much laughter and applause from the tables.

Among others, Howard Forrest was called upon to speak as editor of the California magazine, Mission Bells. Mr. Forrest told them that the rest of the world still did not believe what San Francisco could do.

"When oh-six goes out," he said, "we'll be well on our way to realizing a brand new city. This will be the biggest New Year celebration ever. Some of the big downtown buildings will be open again. And it won't be long before the Fairmont will be taking in guests. There'll even be a new Palace and the St. Francis will move out of its makeshift quarters in Union Square. All this while the rest of the world is pitying us and pulling long faces about the length of time it will take us to recover."

He went on to say that his magazine was doing its best to give the country a true picture of what had happened and what was happening here. Among the accounts he was running there was one outstanding piece which had been written by a young lady who was here tonight. Perhaps it wasn't fair to spring this on her without warning, but it was rather fun. Of all the pieces that were now reaching him, this was one of the most humanly written. Reading it you could almost smell the smoke and feel the rain of cinders, but you could hear a heart beating too— the heart of San Francisco. He wanted very much to present to them Miss Melora Cranby, author of the article.

Melora sat frozen at her place, turning hot and then cold, not knowing which way to look or what to do. From across the table Mama was waving at her to get up, to say something. She was aware fleetingly of Tony's triumphant smile and her father's pleasure, of Gran's look that was somehow not surprised, but very proud. It was Quent who came to her aid.

"Just get up and smile and say 'thank you,'" he whispered and helped to pull back her chair.

She could manage that much, though all the faces and smiles seemed to dance before her. Then she sat down while applause rang through the big room.

The formal part of the dinner ended after that. Mr. Forrest left his place and came directly to speak to Melora.

"You'll be receiving a letter from me in a day or two," he said. "With our check, of course. We're making a few changes if you agree—just to remove the personal touches in the piece. And, Melora, while this was one of those natural subjects you might handle rather easily, I feel that you have talent for this type of writing. I want to talk to you about these things soon, my dear."

He squeezed her hand and she could only murmur another thank-you before he went back to his place.

"Well, don't look so stunned," Quent said. "We've always known you were smart. Maybe we've another Gertrude Atherton in our midst."

His banter helped and her senses stopped whirling so that she could settle down a little and look at this wonderful thing that had happened to her. Not that it was to be believed yet—not wholly. And she couldn't even think of the possibilities it might open to her. The prospect was too dizzying. Thank goodness Papa was still here. She'd have a long talk with him tomorrow.

People were turning away from the long tables, moving about the room to talk and visit, while Papa Lombardi and his waiters brought them coffee.

Mama rushed over to hug Melora; Gran said they were proud of her but that this was just a beginning to some good hard work; and Papa said more with his deep, quiet look than anyone else managed with words. It was lovely to have them all so pleased and proud. She looked around for Tony and saw him talking to one of the guests who had known his father. He gave her a quick salute of approval.

Cora, as excited tonight as Mama, caught her sister about the waist and whirled her in circles until all the lavender bows on Melora's dress danced too.

"There—you see! Now aren't you glad I gave that letter to Tony?" Cora cried, and Melora had to admit breathlessly that she was.

Cora looked about the room and spoke in a conspiratorial whisper. "Maybe this is our chance to run away from the party and climb to the top of the hill. We can't be on Telegraph Hill and not go to the top. Let's see if the boys are willing."

Melora was happy enough where she was, but a breath of fresh air would be nice. And she would like being nearer Tony than she'd been all evening.

When the boys agreed, they got into their wraps. The two girls tried veils over their heads, knowing it would be blowy on the hilltop. Tony, who knew every inch of the hill, led the way up a winding path.

Cora followed close on his heels while, as usual, Melora fell back with Quent, who was in no hurry and never one to gallop up a hillside. Trees arched over the path and the smell of green things was strong enough to mask the burned odor that was always on the wind.

It was a brilliantly clear night, with the fog horns silent and a full moon shining through the dark leafiness overhead.

"Melora!" Quent called and she paused in her effort to keep up with Cora's swift pace.

She turned and waited in a clear, moonlit space on the path. He came up to her, oddly solemn for Quent, and before she knew his intent he put a hand on each arm and bent to kiss her, lightly, quickly. This was a Quent she did not know.

"There," he said, still serious. "That's because I'm proud of you. And because I won't have another chance. You can give me back my ring now, Melora."

"But—I thought ... I mean, you said— '' she faltered.

"Of course if you want to make our engagement official"—he was smiling now—"I'll be a gentleman and oblige. But if you want to be let off—"

She took the ring from her finger and gave it to him. None of this made any sense. Why should he suddenly decide on this course, when he had seemed so set against it before?

"People will say I'm throwing you over because of—of what has happened to your father," she reminded him.

Quent shrugged. "The ones who count will know better."

"Has Papa been talking to you?" Melora asked.

He shook his head. "No one has talked to me. I've just been using my eyes, that's all."

She didn't know what he meant, but Cora called to them from the top of the path and they went on. Eventually, Melora supposed, Quent would get around to telling her why he'd come to this decision. But for the moment she could only feel a sense of relief and release. Her hand was bare of the make-believe sign she had worn. It was bare for Tony to see.

Tony and Cora were waiting below the ruin of the "castle" which had once raised its bastions near the top of the hill.

"Shall we go on?" Tony asked.

Quent seated himself lazily on a low stone wall and pulled Cora down beside him before she could resist.

"No, thanks," he said. "I've had enough of looking at ruins. You two go ahead. Cora will keep me from pining away."

"I will not!" Cora cried and started to her feet. But Quent held her deliberately beside him.

"Yes you will, my poppet. Granpa wants to talk to you for a minute. There's a thing or two you need to know."

Cora stayed.

"Come along," said Tony to Melora.

They climbed to the crest. The wind struck them, whipping at Melora's skirts, tearing at her veil. There was a cool, bracing sting to its thrust that whipped cobwebs from the mind and filled the lungs with clean, sea-borne air.

"Cora is a most determined young lady," Tony said, laughing a little, but before she could speak he went on to other matters. "It's wonderful that Mr. Forrest liked your piece. We're all proud of you."

"Thanks to you," Melora said. "I can't really believe in it yet—all the possibilities it opens up. I've been longing to do something. Perhaps this is it."

'There ought to be more of an escape for you than into words," Tony said.

She didn't know what he meant. He brushed her arm lightly with his fingers and all her senses were aware of his touch.

"Look," he said.

The hill slanted steeply from beneath their feet The view in the moonlight was both beautiful and a little terrifying. There were isolated patches of light in the darkness, and there were rings of distant light cut off by the hills. But for the most part the streets ran like straight white lines beneath the moon, ruled bewteen strips of dead black. High across the dark valley a tiny cluster of lights shone on Russian Hill.

"They saved Mrs. Stevenson's house on Russian Hill," Tony said. "A little triangle of other houses escaped too. But the house my father built is gone. It was a small house just beyond those we can see."

"I'm sorry," Melora said.

"There was a whole room in it filled with books," Tony mused. "I used to lie on my stomach before the fire in that library for hours at a time when I was small, reading and dreaming about all I'd do when I grew up. About how I'd be somebody important and make everyone pay attention to me. Mama was sure I'd ruin my eyesight, but my father made her let me be. You know, I think she's almost glad the house burned down."

Melora glanced at him. "But why?"

"Well, she always lived the way he wanted to live while he was there. But afterwards it was only a shell of a house for her. She stayed because my father had wanted her to—because of me. But I'm sure she's happier here with my grandfather and the others. She loves the excitement and laughter and tempers and tears. But I—well, I'm more like my father."

Melora wondered how true that was and if he might not be fooling himself a little. Tony liked excitement too. She didn't want to see him turn against his own people.

"Your grandfather is a wonderful person," she said. "I'm sure his heart is as big as the bay, and—"

Tony broke in resentfully. "When I was in school they used to call me 'wop' and 'dago.' But I belong to my father's side, not my mother's. I want to stay as far away as possible from people who speak broken English and try to make America just like the old country. I won't carry a handicap like that around with me!"

His words shocked her. Eddie Quong came to mind and she could see him bowing respectfully in his uncle's direction. She could hear the words he had spoken that day. My uncle is old China. It is a fine thing to be old China. Eddie, with his American college education, had still been proud of his uncle and the heritage behind him. It seemed to Melora that he was right.

She reached out with her hands, as if to encompass all the ash-strewn space below their hill. "I don't think America can ever be just one kind of people," she protested. "Couldn't you feel all the lively, boiling mixture out there during the days of the fire? We were all so different, and yet we were all part of the same thing. We all liked each other and were ready to help each other."

"Earthquake love!" said Tony scornfully. "It won't last."

"I don't believe that. I don't think we'll ever go back entirely to what we were before."

But she knew she hadn't convinced him and she was sorry. She sighed without realizing it and he swung her suddenly toward him.

"I didn't come up here to talk about these things," he said. He raised her left hand in the moonlight. "So Quent told the truth. He said he'd get his ring back tonight and clear the air of his make-believe. Why didn't you tell me before, Melora?"

So that was what Quent had been up to.

"How could I tell you I was a fraud when you'd said you admired my honesty?" she asked unhappily. "The whole thing began as a joke, but we kept getting more tangled up in it and it became harder and harder to explain it to everybody. I'm glad I can now."

He drew her into his arms and she went unresisting. "How foolish you are, Melora. How could you believe I'd think you a fraud because of something so silly as this? I knew you were what I wanted from the moment when you walked into the shop that day, and I haven't wavered once since then."