Wishes & Tears (8 page)

The clock chimed. She cast a glance at its face: 4:15
A.M.
and trembled, feeling cold and clammy. In one hour, the earthquake would shake and forever change the city.

After seeing Andrew’s innocent face in the dream, she decided to check on him and sit at his bedside to comfort him when he awakened during the earthquake. A child should not be alone during such a traumatic event and she felt obligated to ensure his safety.

She lit the candle in her brass candlestick, entered the hall, and descended the back stairs to the second floor. On tiptoes, so as to not disturb the household, she glided down the hall to his room. She gingerly opened his bedroom door and stepped inside. With a flicker of candlelight, she surveyed his bed.

“Andrew?” She gasped at the sight of his neatly made, unrumpled bed. There was no sign of the child.

With her heart thumping, she raced from his room and out into the hall. She almost crashed into Bridget in her panic. The maid was staggering down the hall.

“Faith Donahue, you put a fright into me,” Bridget scolded, slurring her words.

“Where’s Andrew?” Faith asked, breathless.

“Now, now, don’t you be worrying. Doctor Forrester’s taking care of him.”

The scent of brandy was strong. Bridget had been hitting the bottle, rather, emptying it.

“Oh, good, he’s in his father’s room. He’s safe.” Faith was relieved.

It was short-lived.

“Oh no, ma’am. Andrew’s not home. Neither is the … ” she hiccoughed, “good doctor.”

“What are you saying?” she asked, grabbing Bridget’s shoulders with clawed fingers and shaking her.

“Doctor Forrester took Andrew to Miss LaDue’s home tonight.”

“Why?”

“He feared you would harm his son with all your earthquake talk.”

“It isn’t talk!” She released her grip on Bridget. She should have known that he’d think her unstable enough to cause harm. She also knew that she would be getting the last laugh if they survived this. “Where’s Andrew?”

“Nob Hill.”

“Nob Hill, let me think.” Faith closed her eyes for a second, trying to remember local history. Okay, Nob Hill survived the earthquake unscathed only to be dynamited later to stop the raging fire. Andrew would be safe. Thank God the doctor wasn’t betrothed to someone in the South of Market shantytown.

“You’re certain Andrew’s on Nob Hill?”

“Tucked in bed as surely as he would be at home.” Bridget hiccoughed again. “I talked on the telephone to Myrna, the LaDue’s housekeeper. She assured me that Andrew and the good doctor are fine.”

“Okay, okay. Andrew’s safe. The doctor’s safe,” Faith assured herself.

Bridget may have been tipsy but, at least, she had her faculties. Andrew would be safe but the loss would be hers. Faith wouldn’t have him to comfort and cling to when the earth trembled. She would be alone.

She wondered where the doctor would be. Was Constance the virginal ice princess she appeared to be? Or was the doctor keeping her comfortable? Faith wondered why she even cared. What the doctor did was his business. Yet, that strange dream replayed in her mind. Why was he dancing with her?

“I need some fresh air,” Faith said. She was shaking and the earth had yet to move.

Casting a glance at Bridget, she realized that the woman wouldn’t even feel the earthquake. Bridget was already teetering.

As Faith stepped out on to the front porch, a rush of mild and misty air stroked her face. She drew a deep breath trying to subdue frayed nerves. She leaned against a wooden porch post watching as a rosy dawn broke through the fog that drove in from the Bay. The neighborhood was quiet with the restful calm that always seemed to precede tragedy.

Slowly, the city was awakening from a peaceful slumber. Wood smoke from the morning’s first fires curled out of brick chimneys, scenting the air with wood perfume. Faith knew that servants were stoking the fires to begin a day that would be far from ordinary.

The first shock came without warning. Except for a slight reverberating roar, the earth began to quietly shift. Beneath the porch, the earth began to undulate from east to west. Faith felt as if she was on roller skates trying to stay standing. She sunk to the wooden porch floor, hugging the porch post for security as well as for support. A queasy feeling, like being on an amusement park ride, rose from her stomach.

“I’m safe,” she mumbled aloud. “Pacific Heights is built on bedrock. I’m safe.”

The earth began to rumble and vibrate. A sickening sensation of heaving ground appeared as the shock increased in intensity. She watched the surrounding landscape sway. Trees bent like palms in a hurricane. The house rattled on its concrete foundation. She shook, wondering how much of the shaking she felt were nerves and how much was the actual earthquake. When the street lamps dimmed, she knew that the gas lines feeding from the central city had ruptured. The fire wouldn’t be far behind. She crouched against the porch rails waiting for the tremors to cease.

After a moment of calm and silence, Faith eased herself up to her feet, using the porch post for support. Her legs were weak, as if made of rubber. Sea legs on dry land. Soon, she heard voices as bewildered neighbors ran out of their homes and into the streets. Stepping off the porch, Faith walked down the stone path to the gatepost. She watched as husbands and wives, servants, and children meandered in the streets, oblivious to being attired in nightclothes and in various states of undress. For all the trembling, there had been little damage to Sacramento Street. A few fallen bricks, displaced objects, and snapped lamp posts seemed of little concern to residents. Their little corner of the world was safe until time revealed the mass destruction just a few blocks away.

Faith unlatched the gate and gingerly stepped out in to the street, as if expecting it to swallow her up at any moment. She strode down the street to survey damage and to catch a glimpse of the destruction down below.

As the sun finally broke through the mist, many residents gathered to look out over the business district from atop their hill. Excited chatter and laughter stopped as if a plug had been pulled. Faces that had been smiling were slack-jawed. The realizations of the extent of the devastation played out like a Nickelodeon show flickering before them.

Off in the distance, fires raged, engulfing their beloved city in fierce orange flames and thick, acrid smoke. The rays of the rising sun competed with the flames angrily greeting the morning. Sheets of fire burst out from the warehouse district near the waterfront, to the business district, Hayes Valley, and the old mission area. Doomed buildings were silhouetted against hungry flames eager to devour them.

As Faith walked down the hill, refugees were making their way up with only the clothes on their backs and squealing children in tow. The pallor of their faces, the blank, glazed look in their eyes revealed their close escape. Fear permeated the air like a new dense fog settling in.

Faith watched the residents retreat into their fine undamaged homes, their refuge from the tragedy befalling their poorer, less fortunate neighbors. Faith knew that she should be returning to check on Bridget and to secure the doctor’s home. Desperate people did desperate things. She remembered reading about looting after the quake. She wondered if the worst was over or if the worst had just begun.

A sense of helplessness and empathy permeated her being. Reading about the earthquake and being forewarned had done little to prepare her for the reality of it. The sounds of crackling timber in the distance, echoing cries of suffering and death, seeing the hollow and blank eyes, the pungent scent of a burning hell penetrating more than her nostrils.

She was about ready to turn around and run toward 92 Sacramento Street when she saw him approaching in the distance. With Andrew perched on his shoulders, the doctor appeared unscathed. Her heart skipped a beat as they drew near. Would Doctor Forrester finally believe her?

When he noticed her, he quickened his pace.

“You knew! You knew about this! You were right!” he yelled in a voice filled with surprise, guilt, and the admission of defeat.

Andrew waved his little hands as if he wanted to fly away and greet her. He was smiling. The innocence of children was to be buffeted from life’s tragedies.

“Miss Donahue!” the little boy screamed.

“Andrew! Doctor! You’re safe!” she replied, running to greet them. Faith smiled with the knowledge that they all survived. She wondered if securing their safety was the reason for her sudden appearance in their lives. The thought gave her pause.

As they drew near, the doctor’s eyes met hers. The intensity of his gaze was riveting, almost hypnotic. She stopped in her tracks.

• • •

Doctor Forrester looked at her, wanting to apologize for his being a “doubting Thomas.” She was right in predicting the earthquake and fire. She had been concerned enough to secure his home, stockpile provisions, and provide for the safety of his household.

There was something beyond strange and unusual in the woman. She wasn’t insane but harbored knowledge beyond the realm of normal human understanding. He had to get to the bottom of her gift for prophecy and her claim to be from some future world. The scientist in him was curious. The man in him was mystified.

She also had a way with children. Andrew whimpered all night, crying out for her even as he slept nestled in his father’s arms. A father’s love wasn’t enough. He had hoped that Miss LaDue would fill the void left by the child’s mother. Constance, though, had shown little interest in the boy. He hoped that her attitude would change when they married. If not, he thought how Miss Donahue could help. He had grown up with a governess and had fond memories.

He had held his son all night as he slept knowing that he needed comfort as much as the boy. An unsettled feeling had kept him awake all night checking the clock on the mantel in the LaDue’s guestroom.

He wanted to think that Faith’s warnings were the nonsensical ravings of a mad woman. As the hours passed, though, he was on edge. At the first rumblings of the quake, he cuddled his son to his chest. They rode out the trembling waves, bouncing on the mattress as if on a boat in a storm-tossed sea. He calmed Andrew by comparing the earthquake experience to that of the fun rides at the amusement park. As the paintings, objects d’art, tumbled to the floor and chaos erupted in the LaDue household, he held on to Andrew.

Only when the shaking ceased did he believe they were safe. They emerged from the bedroom into a home of hysterical women. Constance’s mother had collapsed on the sofa in one of her “spells.” Her husband frantically held smelling salts up to her nose while a servant fanned her. Constance was prone on the fainting couch being attended to by her maid. He imagined the scene being played out in most of the other Nob Hill mansions. As a physician, there was nothing more for him to do than handhold the matrons.

When he stepped out of the house and observed the chaos erupting in the city below, he knew that his services were needed in a more critical way. People were dying out there. He could hear the shrill cries of pain and suffering, could see the damage and the dancing flames. He felt a professional and a human obligation to enter the fray to help in any way possible. As he checked on his motorcar parked in front of the massive stone and stucco mansion, a policeman approached.

“Are things as bad as they appear?” the doctor asked the young policeman, who seemed ill prepared for such a cataclysmic event. His eyes burned dark and damp with fear.

“Worse, much worse. The gas lines ruptured feeding a fire that’s spread through the business district.”

“Surely, the fire department?”

“The main water main’s busted, only a trickle in the taps. Chief Sullivan’s dead, killed as he slept in the firehouse. The cupola from the California Hotel went right through the roof. There’s panic in the streets. So many displaced people, dead, and injured. Looters are beginning to take advantage.”

The doctor shook his head.

“We might be needing that motorcar, sir. Word’s come down to confiscate motorcars and horse teams to aid in rescue efforts. All hell’s broken loose and we need all the help we can get.”

“I’m a doctor and am prepared to do what I can.”

“Then you’ll be needing the motorcar.”

“My feet can carry me. There are others out there who are not so fortunate. Transportation might make the difference between life and death. Please, take the motorcar.”

“Are you certain?”

“Yes, I can walk.”

He had the sudden urge to return to his home on Sacramento Street. He had to return there to pick up his doctor’s satchel and supplies and decided that it would be the best place for Andrew to be. The boy needed familiar surroundings at a time like this. At the LaDue’s he would be ignored and alone. In his home, he would have Faith to watch over him.

He suspected that his home and its contents were secure, thanks to Faith. Faith. He snapped out of his thoughts and watched Faith run toward them, her drab skirt billowing, tendrils escaping from her unkempt pompadour, her graceful arms flailing, her complexion aglow in the morning mist, her eyes like glittering sapphires. He wondered why he hadn’t noticed any of this before. He had spent so much time ridiculing her that he never really paid attention to her. He looked at her as if for the very first time. Without any warning, another tremor, weaker than the first, rocked the earth. After instilling panic to the panic-stricken, it stopped as quickly as it began.

“Faith!” the doctor warned, scrambling to get to her.

She looked up to see a concrete gargoyle sailing through the air, ornamentation displaced from a rooftop. As she turned to get out of harm’s way, she felt the sharp pain of impact. Darkness swallowed up the pain as she drifted out of consciousness.

Faith’s head felt as if it was being squeezed in a vice while being banged on top with a sledgehammer. The pain throbbed with such excruciating agony that she hoped it could be cut out of her skull, anything for relief. As she attempted to raise her head, it felt so heavy that even a slight movement made her dizzy.