The fire and the gold (22 page)

"You don't exactly resemble Kwan Yin," she said. "But I must say blue hair becomes you. And with the blue color picked up again in the embroidery on your yellow gown—well, I think you're stunning."

Melora looked at herself doubtfully in the glass. Would Quent think so? In her wish to please him there was none of the anxiety she had always felt with Tony. There was simply the knowledge that she liked Quent very much and that she hoped he liked her.

When the two semi-Chinese maidens went downstairs together later, their descent was entirely as dramatic as any entrance Mae Wentworth had ever made on a stage. Harry had been happy to come, and he stood beside Quent near the big fireplace in the entry hall, his eyes popping with admiration. He looked very handsome as a Mexican caballero, with short jacket and tight trousers. But Melora liked Quent's outfit best. There was no doubt about what he represented. In those loggers' boots, red flannel shirt and battered top hat dusted with ashes, he looked like more than one refugee from the days of the fire.

He leaned against the mantel, watching both girls with that look that was so hard to read. Melora began to feel a little uncertain as she reached the bottom step and he still said nothing, made no move to come toward her. She put up her fingers to see if the blue wig was slipping, but all seemed to be well.

Now everyone came in from the parlor to see. Even Quong Sam opened the dining room door to have a look for himself.

"But you ought to have a gold face!" Alec told Melora, and they laughed.

"I'm sure you'll both catch cold in those robes," Mama said worriedly, but Cora assured her that they were wearing sweaters underneath, and Quent said they'd do so much walking there'd be no chance to get cold.

Sam scuttled to open the door for them and just as Melora passed him he whispered so no one else could hear: "You got mo' betta blains now. Missy M'lory."

Melora had to laugh a little as she went down the steps with Quent, though she wouldn't tell him what Sam had said. He still made no comment about her appearance, and she could only think that he had forgotten the remark he had once made about wanting to know a lady with blue hair.

It was nearly eleven by the time they reached Van Ness and the hohday crowd streamed along in full force. The wide street was gay with lights. Waving flags hung above the new redwood shops with their freshly painted fronts. There was the gayety of renaissance in the air.

Up and down the street went the celebrants in costumes of every description. Fillmore, Quent said, was crowded too, and Golden Gate Avenue was used as a connecting link between the two streets. There were wigs and false noses and pasted-on whiskers wherever you looked. A bedlam of fish horns and whistles and cowbells served notice of New Year's Eve. Quite a few police were out, but though the crowd's excitement was intense, it was good-natured.

A clown with red circles painted on his cheeks sprinkled Melora's blue hair with confetti and danced away laughing. Bags of bright confetti were sold at stands and Quent bought a supply so they could pelt when they were pelted.

A sprightly oldster in the dress of a '49 miner stopped them as they went by. "You young folks know what happened today?" he demanded. "Ferry clock started up of its own accord—that's what. It's an omen, sure enough. This is gonna be the best dang city in the whole U.S.A.!"

A court jester tickled Cora's neck with his feather duster and tried to coax her to run away with him, but nobody minded. It was all in good fun.

Yet while they pressed their way through the throngs, Melora was very much aware of Quent, moving rather soberly at her side. He tossed handfuls of confetti and smiled at pretty girls, but he seemed to be preoccupied with his own thoughts and merely going through the motions. When a group of merrymakers, clanging bells and tooting whistles, separated the two couples, Melora and Quent were pushed into an empty side street.

Quent called back to Cora and Harry, "You go ahead. We'll see you later."

Then they stood aside from the noisy crowd, catching their breath for a few moments.

"Why the blue hair?" Quent asked.

Melora smiled. "Don't you remember what you said one time about a lady with blue hair?"

"So it is on purpose? I remembered, but I didn't expect you to. I thought it might be just an imitation of your friend Kwan Yin. I want to talk to you, Melora. I didn't know if there would be a chance tonight, but this looks like an opportunity."

"But—what about Cora and—"

"They'll just think we couldn't catch up with them. We'll see them later at home. Talking to you is more important."

She walked along with him into the emptiness of the east. Ruins were coming down in this section, and near Van Ness new buildings had gone up. But there were still empty stretches on every hand where once city houses had stood.

A hackney cab jolted past on its way to a more populated section and Quent hailed it on impulse.

"I've an idea!" he said to Melora. "In you go!" and she climbed into the seat. "Nob Hill," he told the driver. The man shrugged, apparently thinking that you could expect almost anything from a fare on New Year's Eve.

"You goin' to the Fairmont, maybe?" he asked jovially. "They ain't quite open for business yet, y'know."

"Not the Fairmont," Quent told him. "I'll let you know where to stop."

"What are you up to?" Melora asked, feeling more and more curious.

But he would not tell her. "You'll see," he said and laughed at her bafflement.

The hack carried them slowly to the heights, zigzagging along the streets to rest the horse.

"You can stop here," Quent directed when they were near the top. "Here's pay for the trip up. We'll be back in a little while for you to take us down and there'll be a tip for you if you'll wait."

The cabby agreed to wait, and Quent helped Melora down. He was looking less sober now, and his fingers were gentle about her own.

"Come along then, my lady with blue hair," he said. "This is a crazy notion, but I've always wanted to come back here. And perhaps New Year's Eve is exactly the right time for a view."

She remembered the Quent who had seated himself lazily on a wall on Telegraph Hill. That Quent had sometimes been a fake. Now he was no longer pretending anything.

She recognized the neighborhood. This was not far from the place where Alec had been hurt. They turned a comer, climbing, and suddenly she glimpsed what he had brought her to see. Shadowy white there on the hillside stood the marble columns of a doorway. A doorway to the past, Tony had said. But Quent had said it was a doorway to the future.

He went up the shallow steps ahead of her and turned to hold out his hand. "Come up here, Melora. I can't think of a better place to watch 1906 go out and the future come in."

In the starlight the mixture of the old and the new spread out below them. There were black patches of nothingness, it was true, but there were many more lights as well. A glow touched the sky from the direction where the New Year's crowd thronged Fillmore and Van Ness.

"We're doing it!" Quent said and there was an exultation in his voice. "We're doing what everyone said could never be done."

Melora felt tears bum her eyes, but they were tears of pride, tinged with only a wistful sadness for all that was lost and gone and would never come again. Wheat was to come would be new and different and changed.

Quent searched her face in the dim light. "Do you think you could tell me about you and Tony Ellis?"

She blinked the moisture away. "There's nothing to tell. He's going in a different direction from mine, that's all."

"It's not all," said Quent, his voice a little hard as he spoke of Tony. "It's not all if you care a great deal because your roads are separating."

She looked off toward the glow and clamor of Van Ness and Fillmore. Was Tony somewhere in that crowd? And if he was, did she want to be with him? She knew the answer truthfully.

"I don't think it matters," she said. "Except—" she had to be honest about this if she could—"except with a little part of me that will always remember him."

"I can understand that," said Quent.

Somewhere a blare of sound began. Out on the bay ships commenced to blow their whistles, while all the fog horns snorted. All about them San Francisco—much of it seeming so dead and so dark— erupted into an ecstasy of greeting to the new year. Fire and earthquake were behind, an exciting future lay ahead. What else could you do but yell and whistle and pound your neighbor on the back?

Quent's arm came about her. "Happy New Year, Melora."

She looked at him, her eyes shining. But before she could repeat the greeting he bent to kiss her.

"The fire brought some good things," he said. "It showed me what Melora Cranby was like, for instance. Do you suppose a lady with blue hair could be persuaded to put on my ring again? And not in make-believe this time?"

His arms about her felt as they should. There was no doubting now, just this sense of deep and wonderful contentment.

"My finger has felt empty without it," she said.

He had it in his pocket and she knew then that he had planned something like this from the start. Even when he had looked at her so guardedly as she came down the stairs tonight, he must have had this in mind. He hadn't been sure then, had not wanted to betray his own feelings—had just waited to see.

The ring slipped on her finger as if it belonged. You could grow into loving a person almost without recognizing what was happening. Perhaps growing into love was the only sure way.

"There'll be a commotion when we go back and tell them," Quent said, laughing a little, remembering other commotions.

"But a pleasant one for once," she said. "Mama will be tickled pink and so will Papa and your father. Even Quong Sam will approve of me."

They went back to the cabby, drowsing on the seat as he waited for his peculiar passengers to return. Quent woke him and they got in, giving the address on Washington Street. They'd be going back to the supper party now, and they'd probably find Cora and Harry already there.

It was fun to be kissed again in the cab, and a little surprising too. Because Quent had been here all along and she hadn't looked his way. Yet now—

"We'll not have much to start off with you know, young woman," he told her. "The Seymour fortune is gone."

"We'll manage," Melora assured him. "We don't need Nob Hill. And I'll work hard at my writing.

After all, we're the new pioneers. And when did pioneers have things made easy for them?"

The cab jogged along toward home and into the year of 1907.