by Moonwitch
She would never grow rich from the ore lifted out of the shaft, but neither would she have to worry again if fire should sweep through the prime timberland or a blight hit the crops or a disease decimate the herds. It was, she thought with a wry grin, nice to know that she at least had a cushion to land on in case someone yanked the world out from under her feet.
As for the Circle B . . . again her son had little to report. Harley had been given virtual ownership of the place when Howard Longstreet was jailed, but it was more a trust than anything else, a trust until Hope Longstreet, Howard's young daughter, reached her majority and was able to decide exactly what she wanted to do with all that land. She had been making noises recently about selling it when she was ready, and Amanda suspected that this was one reason the Petersons wanted to leave the territory for a while-to get away from the fact that they might be losing what they had come to believe was their home. There was no possible way Harley would ever be able to afford the price Hope was sure to ask. And her twenty-first birthday was coming up in the middle of this September.
Amanda never spoke to the red-bearded man about it. In his own good time, she thought, he would not oppose the sale but would come back to Four Aces where Carl Davis would be only too glad to give up the managership and return to being foreman.
"Well?"
Amanda shook her head and placed the letter back in her lap. Sarah was looking at her with a bemused expression on her face.
"You haven't heard one word I've said, have you, Amanda?''
She tapped the envelope, and Sarah nodded knowingly.
"It's hard being away, " the older woman said softly, looking up to the mantel where a sepia photograph of her sons was framed in elaborately scrolled silver. "So much seems to change so sudden, if you know what I mean. Those silly electric lights, for example, that some people we won't mention just have to have before anyone else, before anyone really knows they're safe. Trains getting bigger and faster. President Garfield talking about going to other countries. Imagine-the President of the United States galavanting off to God knows where when we've got enough troubles right here in California. " She smiled, albeit with a trace of melancholy. "And it all seems to happen when the children go away. "
There was a moment's silence before Amanda laughed lightly. "Well, my children haven't gone yet, thank heaven. Little Bess has quite a few years left yet before I have to worry about that."
"And Alex?"
"That," she conceded, "is a different story. I would like him to go into medicine or the law-Sarah, there's such a need for men like that in Wyoming these days, but I don't know . . .he seems perfectly contented to stay where he is and work with the ranch hands all day."
Sarah looked up at her from over her glasses. "I don't suppose that little girl who lives near you has anything to do with it?"
Amanda smiled, a smile which turned into an admitting grin.
"Well, just take my word for it, Amanda," Sarah said. "You just can't deal with them when they're like that. They just got to get it out of their system. No two ways about it. You can only pray they got sense enough to come to you when they've just abont gone too far. "
Amanda could do nothing but nod. She did not want to spoil the good feelings she had now by falling into a discussion with Sarah about the raising of children. She had no idea what the Wilcox boys were like, but she had seen the hangdog look on William's face enough to know that his wife was not the meek little mouse she pretended to be. Indeed there had been a few flashes of temper that had been downright unnerving.
Amanda! she chided herself; charity, girl, charity.
"I think," she said, rising, "Ill go for a walk. It's a warm night. I could use the fresh air . "
"Be careful, dear, " Sarah said without looking up. "Don't get too close to the edge. I keep telling William he should replace the fence we had, the one downed in that storm back in '72, but he's just so lazy sometimes." She shook her head, and her glasses slipped back to the end of her nose. "I just don't know how he manages in his office."
I can guess, Amanda thought as she dropped a blue and white shawl over her shoulders and stepped outside.
The front of the house faced a wide road that wound gently down the side of a low hill toward the coastline. Above it was a series of more closely set homes whose owners she had met only occasionally, at the first welcome party the Wilcoxes had given, and at one or two other functions elsewhere. Sarah did not speak of them, and Amanda did not ask, though she had an idea--uncharitable or not-that their evident Spanish background might have had something to do with it.
Turning to her left, then, she stepped down off the porch and made her way across the well-kept lawn toward the water. The land angled downward somewhat, and she shortened her steps so that she would not slip. She did not doubt that a sudden rain would slicken the grass dangerously, not to mention a heavy dew, and she could not help a morbid speculation that perhaps William had deliberately not repaired the fencing-portions of which she could see here and there, overgrown with vines and weeds--in the vague hope that Providence might somehow deliver him free of charge of his marital burden.
She laughed, then-loud, short, and deeply. She stopped and looked around her, at the shadows of the trees that massed behind the house, at the shrubs that pressed close to the walls and nearly covered the side windows, then frowned.
What, she asked herself, are you looking for, woman? As if I didn't know.
Eagleton had not called on her. He had not sent a message, nor any indication at all that he would keep his promise to contact her again. And she could never have predicted that her disappointment would have been so acute. It was as if . . .
as if Douglas had finally indicated he was willing to meet her at the church and had then not shown up at the appointed time.
The sea wind took the edges of her brown skirt and twisted them around her legs, puffed the full sleeves of her blouse, and toyed with her blue-black hair. The sun had set only minutes before, and there was still a red-orange glow on the horizon that spread in waves across the water, distorted, almost bloodlike. A single fence post, darkened by seasons of storm and salt, poked out of a clump of weeds, and she took hold of it, leaned forward to look down at the waves breaking whitely on the narrow strip of sand below. There was still a six-foot ledge beyond where she stood, yet she could not help a minor bout of vertigo, a sensation that she was ready to fall, tumbling over the edge and dropping past the age-streaked stone to the large boulders massed at the cliffs base.
She stepped back quickly, then wiped a trembling hand over her brow and concentrated on the horizon again.
It did no good. From where she stood, oblivious to the sprawling high land around her, the Pacific somehow reminded her of a vast and slumbering river just waiting for a vicious tempest to give it obscene life. It was, she knew, a totally irrational impression, but she could not help it. There was something about the hidden power of that body of water that humbled her, made her realize that no matter what inklings of the supernatural she may have contact with, this was something she would never understand.
She turned away and leaned against the post, feeling its comforting weight press into her back. Through the side window of the house she could see Sarah bending over her sewing, muttering to herself and no doubt complaining that William was still not home yet. Her gaze shifted, lighted on a tall, domed gazebo in the backyard and the dim outline of a large stable beyond that. The shadows moved. She stared, and took several long seconds before convincing herself that no one was there, no one was watching her.
A bad habit, she told herself then. But one with a firm foundation.
With a deep breath she glanced over her shoulder at the ocean, listening to the soothing hush of the surf, seeing lights on a distant ship that may easily have come from Vancouver or Japan or even New York.
She thought of Trevor and his small town. With a twinge of melancholy that surprised her, she thought of Daghaven and all that had happened to bring her
to California. Then she shook the mood away quickly and walked briskly back into the front room, a smile on her lips when she saw Sarah in her chair, head bent to her breast, a loud snore rising from her fluttering lips. Shaking her head with affection, she hung her shawl on its peg by the door and stood behind the chair, put her hand on the woman's shoulder, and shook it gently.
"I wasn't asleep," Sarah said quickly, her head jerking up, eyes blinking rapidly. Her glasses had fallen into her lap, and she reset them swiftly.
"Well, it's late anyway," she said, coming around to stand in front of her. "Why don't you go on upstairs? I'll turn down the lights."
Sarah made a brave show of replacing her sewing into the carpetbag by her chair, but Amanda could see by the set of her head that she was more worried than she wanted to admit.
"And I'll wait up for William," she added lightly. "Give him hell for staying out half the night. "
Sarah rose unsteadily, but Amanda held herself back, knew instinctively that the woman would not appreciate a hand to her arm. "We should have stayed in the old place," Sarah muttered as she looked about the room critically.
"Why did you move?"
Sarah's hands fluttered at the air derisively. "People," she said, her mouth added its own disgust to the way she had said the word ."You know what I mean. Different. Brought them over here to work on the railroads and they stayed. They actually stayed. Ugly little things they are, some of them, and it don't help that nobody says anything about all those hideous saloons and blowsy women that walk around there at night. " She shuddered. "Couldn't stay, Amanda. The place is falling apart. "
Amanda nodded and walked behind her as she tottered toward the stairwell set in a narrow hall between the living room and the dining room. She stood there, then, watching Sarah make her way toward the second-floor landing, was about to turn away when her name was called.
"Don't forget the lights, now."
"I won t, Sarah."
"And when the Petersons get back . . . don't forget to bolt the door. "
"I won't, Sarah. "
"And there's brandy on the sideboard. Help yourself. And don't stay up too late on William's account. If he has to sleep on the porch, so much the better. Teach him a lesson. "
Amanda hid a grin behind her hand and nodded, turning quickly and walking back to her chair. She did not sit, however; she stood behind it and stared at the letter she had left on the small round table beside it.
One from Alexander. Not a word from Douglas. Not a single word. And Alex had said nothing about him, either.
She made the rounds of the first-floor windows to be sure they were all latched and the delicate white curtains closed. And by the time she had finished, she was scowling at herself because she had managed, somehow, to contract some of Sarah's fears. It was well known that the outlying districts of the city were not as safe as the city fathers liked to publicize. Brigands, drunkards, outlaws from the mountains and bullyboys from the shipyards prowled the dark roads in search of foolish, solitary travelers. It did not happen often, but often enough that few people dared ride the roads unarmed.
If you listened to the mayor, she thought, you would think you were in heaven; and if you listened to Sarah, you would believe San Francisco was under a constant, bloody siege. The truth, she knew, lay closer to the official view . . . but not so close that she was tempted to ride out on her own to see if she could meet William or Harley and Olivia on their way back.
She was standing, almost dozing, in front of the fireplace when the door burst open. She gave a startled yelp and spun around, searching frantically for a weapon until she realized that it was William on the threshold.
His suit was tattered, and there were sprinkles of dried blood across his chest. His face was smeared with what looked like black dust, and his hair was as wild as the look in his eyes.
"William!"
He reached out for her and nearly fell before she could grasp his hand and lead him to the divan that faced the hearth, closing the square formed by the two armchairs. She looked then to the stairwell and heard Sarah racing down.
"What happened?" Amanda asked, loosening his collar buttons as quickly as she could.
"Fire," he gasped, and suddenly tears sprang to his eyes. "It's all gone, Amanda! Everything is gone!"
FOUR
The next few moments were bound in swirling confusion, laced with moans of small pain and admonition, self-recrimination, and feeble, unsuccessful attempts to calm William and get a coherent story from his ramblings. He was not much taller than his wife, considerably rotund and graced with a mane of silvered gray hair that reached elegantly to his collar. Now, however, that gray was mottled, streaked with dust and soot while his florid face was pocked with vivid patches of red surrounded by deathly white. Almost immediately after he had slumped onto the divan, Harley and Olivia had raced in-Harley slamming shut the door as though he were pursued by demons-and Amanda had to brace herself against screaming as voices were raised, questions punctuating the air like lances when Sarah sped into the room garbed only in a loose gold cotton robe and nearly threw herself into her husband's lap.
Finally Harley caught Amanda's desperate eye and poured them all a hefty dose of brandy from the sideboard. Sarah waved hers away impatiently, but William grabbed hold of his glass as if it had been fashioned from gold and drank the burning rich liquid in three massive gulps. Tears instantly sprang to his eyes, and he choked convulsively while Sarah pounded his back and ordered Olivia into the kitchen for damp cloths. Then she pushed Amanda to one side and sat beside her husband, burying his large puffy hands in her own. She crooned to him, whispered, and her gaze never once left his face-a gaze at once filled with concern and based on an iron will that would not allow her to join in his misery until she knew precisely what had happened.
Amanda, her heart finally calming after the explosive entrance, rose and stood by Peterson on the far side of the hearth. "What happened?" she asked softly, not taking her eyes off Wilcox.
Harley shook his head slowly. "Bad, Mandy. Real bad . " His salty red hair was plastered hard against his skull as though he had been drenched, and the awkward-looking evening clothes he was wearing were pocked with curious rents she realized had been made by flying, burning embers. He coughed once, then brushed a hand through his hair, grimacing as he realized how wet he was.
"William said something about a fire."
It was. As Olivia returned, and the two women set about cleaning the filth from Wilcox's face and hands, Harley told her that he and Livy had been dining at a restaurant not two blocks from the Wilcox office-warehouse. Right in the middle of their meal a fire truck had sped by, its smokestack streaming, its team of four dapple horses running as though the entire city were in flames. Curiosity made Peterson move to the large front window; it had been an impulse, nothing more, but he next moved outside and saw almost the entire block engulfed in a raging conflagration. Only by chance had he noticed William standing to one side, behind a line set up by the city's police. He grabbed for Livy and dragged her outside, and they hurried over to Wilcox, their ears pounded by the voice of the fire, the screams of the horses, the shouts of dozens of men setting up the hoses and bucket brigades. There had been no chance, by then, to save the already afflicted buildings, and they were concentrating their efforts on those adjoining so that the disaster would not be more widespread.
Wilcox, apparently, had been working quite late on a shipment that had just that afternoon been taken off one of the China clippers. Silks, jade figurines, and other commodities that would eventually find their way into the most exclusive shops on the East Coast and in Europe. He had decided he'd had enough, had known the Petersons were dining nearby and was walking to join them when he heard what he claimed was an explosion. He had just turned around when the facades of his office and the two flanking buildings blew across the broad avenue. Within moments everything was in flames.
"Just like tinder, Mandy, " he said, shaking his head slowly
. "You know how brush goes up long about August and there ain't been no rain? Just like that. One minute nothing, the next it's all afire. Anyone in there, they didn't have a chance."
He turned away, then, and stared out the window at the invisible ocean beyond the cliffs. His shoulders were sloping, his head down, and she knew he was grieving for his friend's loss, one that would take years, if ever, to replace. She thought to say something, but there were no words she could find; instead she moved to stand behind the divan. Sarah looked up at her. There were tears in her eyes, and at the same time a hardness about them that made Amanda step back involuntarily.
William heaved a great, shuddering sigh and freed his hands from his wife's grip. Then he gripped his knees tightly and inclined his head toward Olivia who was kneeling in front of him amid a pile of now dirty rags.
"I'm glad you were there, Livy," he said. "And you, Harl," he added, raising his voice. "I don't know what I would have done without you. Probably tried running inside to save something."