A Race to Splendor
Page 26
Amelia hesitated and then asked the question she couldn’t ignore.
“And your present funds are sufficient for this noble experiment?”
“I have the funds in hand to pay for first-rate renderings,” he replied. “Shall we leave it at that?” His air of joviality disappeared at the mention of money. “And now I have a question for you.”
“Yes?”
“If we use poured concrete instead of wood as our primary material, does it enhance—or negate—our chances of opening our doors on or before the anniversary of the disaster?”
Amelia heaved a sigh. “You are still obsessed about beating the Fairmont, aren’t you?”
“Yes… I’m afraid I am.”
She felt herself smiling. “Well, it might surprise you to learn… now, so am I!” She rose from her seat. “We have six months. Normally, I’d say it’s impossible, but with the use of poured concrete as our principle building material, I’d say our chances are fifty-fifty, depending on unexpected events.”
And they both knew that the unexpected was bound to come in the person of one Ezra Kemp.
***
Amelia immediately got down to the business of creating full-scale drawings of her entirely new concept for the venerable Bay View Hotel.
Meanwhile, James Hopper and the San Francisco Call had a field day playing up the “horse race” between the two hotels both vying to open on the first anniversary of the quake and fire. Amelia could only imagine Julia’s reaction when she read the most recent headline.
RIVAL FEMALE ARCHITECTS REBUILD CITY!
Even so, not an hour passed when Amelia didn’t think of Julia Morgan and her staff working at the Merchant Exchange Building, five blocks down California Street. A few days after their conference in Thayer’s tent, Amelia sent word to her client that she was ready to unveil for him her detailed sketches of her creation.
J.D. collected her and the rolled-up drawings stashed in her portmanteau in the Winton and they drove out to the Cliff House a second time for their afternoon conference about the Bay View’s future.
“More tea, ma’am?” the waiter inquired.
“Yes, thank you,” Amelia replied, patting the valise under the table with the toe of her shoe just to confirm its precious cargo was there. “It’s delicious.”
Her host sat across from her, his figure framed by the large window with potted palms at either side and overlooking the spectacular view. Violin and piano music wafted in the background, its lilting sound recalling for Amelia a sense of being in Paris. Reality told her, however, that she was sitting having tea with J.D. Thayer and was anxious to know whether he’d cobbled together enough funds to proceed with the new Bay View’s construction.
That is, if he approved of the designs she’d brought to their meeting.
The lavish table was covered in snowy linen, heavy silver plate, and, she judged, nearly enough sweets to feed the remaining refugees at the U.S. Presidio. Her eye roved appreciatively around the elegant expanse of the room, taking in the beautiful paneled walls that gave the space its sense of grandeur. Thank God the fire never got this far west, she thought.
She took a sip from her delicate teacup and set it in its saucer. “Isn’t it wonderful to see visitors coming to San Francisco again?” she asked, indicating the packed room and wondering when they could get down to business.
“It will be even more wonderful when they check into the Bay View come April.”
Amelia laughed and wondered if J.D. Thayer was a mind reader. He was as anxious about this new project as she was. “Well, we’d better get started building it, don’t you think?”
“Exactly,” J.D. said. He was staring at her with intense concentration. “Are you ready to unveil your masterpiece?”
She reached into her portmanteau and handed him a clutch of furled drawings about half the dimension of full-sized building plans.
J.D. nodded at a waiter to remove his teacup, saucer, and plate of sandwiches to one side, and her employer smoothed out the schematics she’d provided. For several long minutes he stared at the rendering of a classical facade. He peered at the elevations, and then the side views. Finally, he raised his gaze to meet hers and rendered his opinion.
“I love it.”
“You do?” she said on the breath she’d been holding.
“This is absolutely beautiful, Amelia.”
“Really?” she said, looking up from her scone with undisguised pleasure.
“You seem surprised.”
“Relieved is more like it. I think I mentioned that there’s a small hotel in Paris on the Rue Jacob that was my inspiration. I love it—but others might not share my passion.”
Etienne had been too frugal to ever want to spend a night in that jewel of a place, but she’d vowed to herself she would lodge there on her next trip to France. That building was only three stories high, with a handsome carriage court entrance, complete with a magnificent wrought iron fence. Molded embellishments were affixed above the windows and entranceway. A fountain stood in the center and flower beds with stone cherubs peeking from the foliage bordered the field of slate paving stones that led to the porticoed entrance. She’d adored it at first sight.
“Well, looking at what you’ve created here certainly makes me want to visit Paris one day because this is one of the loveliest things I’ve ever seen.” J.D. pointed to the detailed drawing of a front elevation flanked by Corinthian columns and anchored by a graceful fan of low stairs that led to the hotel’s entry. “I’m excited to build this hotel.”
“Really?” she repeated, staggered by his openly expressed enthusiasm. “Oh my Lord, that’s wonderful! I love everything about it too.”
“Well, you designed it,” he said, his all-too-charming smile in evidence once more. Then he grew somber. “Are you certain we can obtain the supplies we’ll need?”
“Sand, water, and gravel to make poured concrete are plentiful. And steel rods from suppliers I know of back east, who helped with the Fairmont, are a lot less likely to cause you misery than Ezra Kemp and his cronies supplying you lumber. The terra-cotta cladding on the upper two floors and the scrolled embellishments affixed above the windows and doors comes from a plant near Sacramento that’s in full production. We can obtain the marble or granite for the stairways and floors—depending on price, of course—from New Hampshire.”
“We’ll need some lumber for the foundations and molds, won’t we?”
“True, but it will be nothing like building an entire hotel out of wood.”
“That’s music to my ears.”
“And, as promised, the structure will be relatively fire resistant, so your insurance premiums should be less.”
“Even better.”
“We’ll install emergency water systems… hoses… all the things the old hotel lacked. How’s your cistern?”
“A lot of burned rubble landed on the old one,” J.D. answered resignedly, “but we’ll get to it, and a while back I bought the lot behind me. It was available and it was cheap since there’s so much rubble from the collapse of the house that was on it. I thought we could dig an additional cistern there as well.”
“Where the old woman lived who buried her dog on the day of the quake?” An involuntary shudder skimmed down Amelia’s spine as a host of disturbing memories assaulted her.
J.D. nodded. “That’s the one. I don’t remember very much after I located Angus at the Presidio and we came back to find you that day, but I vaguely recall your misadventure next door. Didn’t she brandish a weapon at you or something?”
“She shot straight at me, but I ducked.” She had a vision of the old woman screaming while waving the gun in her face, then saw in her mind’s eye the dog’s corpse, wrapped in a blanket, about to be laid into a traveling trunk. She could almost hear the incessant clamor of the fire brigades and smell the acrid scent of smoke that lingered for weeks. And could she ever forget the vacant stares of the damaged souls who never recovered their wits or the awfu
l vision of Ling Lee’s arm…
It seemed astonishing that she and J.D. Thayer could be sitting at the posh Cliff House, sipping tea, and recalling those ghastly events with such seeming casualness.
“J.D.?”
He set the drawing aside. “What?”
“Do you ever have… moments when thoughts about April eighteenth come back and—”
She fell silent, at a loss to describe the scenes of remembered horror that still lingered during her waking hours—and in her dreams.
“Yes.”
“You do?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Then I’m not mad when these unexpected bits of memory come crashing in and my palms perspire and I can’t catch my breath?”
“If you are mad, then so am I and half of San Francisco too, I expect.”
Relieved to see he understood, she ducked her head and hastened to change the topic. “With all that charred debris laying about, can you get to your own cistern?”
“I think so, and relatively soon. I had Loy’s men clear much of that area at night this week. We can enlarge the old well without too much trouble, I believe, and connect it to the new cistern we’ll build on the old lady’s property, once we remove the rest of the rubble. Again.”
“Then we should have all the water we need, plus the new back lot will provide for a lovely lower garden by the time we’re finished.” She pulled her father’s watch from her pocket. “Goodness, look at the time! Can you give me a lift back? I must run if I’m going to get back to the Ferry Building and catch the boat. I’m seeing my Aunt Margaret in Oakland this weekend.”
“By the way,” he said, signaling to the waiter for the check, “I’ll want my site supervisor to move to the Bay View as soon as we have a roof over our heads so there can always be someone on hand for deliveries. Also, I’d rather no one know my business at the Fairmont.”
She was startled by his proposal, for she just assumed she’d continue living in her basement cell. When she hesitated, J.D. added, “I assure you that you’ll have your own room. With a lock,” he concluded pointedly. “I want it completely understood that you are to supervise every aspect of the construction. I want the building I see in these drawings and nothing less. Hartland Law told me how you handled those thugs sent by the mayor’s office who attempted to extort more jobs for their cronies. I want that same, stalwart vigilance on my project.”
“So you’ve checked me out with your competitor?”
“Of course I did. Who knows what trouble we might run into as we proceed? I needed to be sure you could handle unpleasant encounters with the likes of Spitz.”
“And Ezra Kemp.” It was a statement, not a question.
“Yes… him and any other of his cronies, including my father, who might prefer I not offer them any competition.”
“You mean other new hotels are on the drawing boards?”
“This group always has plans afoot,” he replied obliquely.
“And we thought the Fairmont was your chief rival,” she said with a rueful smile.
“The Law brothers are gentlemen. We’ll have a race to the finish, to be sure, but I don’t think they’d blow up my building to win.”
His gaze returned to the drawings, and he appeared to be drinking them in.
“Now that I’ve seen your designs, Amelia, I’m pleased you suggested reinforced concrete. It solves a host of difficulties. And the lines of the hotel are magnificent.” He rolled up the sketches and rested them in his lap. “I think your work is first rate.”
His bald, unequivocal compliment took her breath away.
“Why, thank you,” she murmured.
He regarded her for a long moment. “Strange how things sometimes evolve in this life, isn’t it, Amelia?”
She could only stare at him across the pristine linen, wondering what Grandfather Hunter would have thought about the bizarre sequence of events following his death.
Time seemed to freeze between them. The memory of J.D. kissing her after her driving lesson rose up and she tried, unsuccessfully, to push the thought from her mind.
“Yes, life can be very strange indeed,” she answered finally. “I appreciate your kind words about my work. Building this won’t be easy. There is such a dearth of qualified craftsmen, but I have an idea to go directly to Little Italy and recruit there, if you think that makes sense, Mr. Thayer.”
“Amelia, if we’re going to do this project together day in, day out, we might as well be on a first-name basis.”
There was no way she could keep from smiling. “I admit that I’ve done my best to maintain decorum, but perhaps you’ve noticed we’ve been on a first-name basis—on and off—for quite awhile now.”
She wondered if he ever thought of their driving lesson at the Presidio parade grounds, or their kissing in front of the restaurant? Most likely, a man like Thayer considered it merely an advantageous moment to…
J.D. flashed her a crooked grin. “Well, since we’ll be working together in close quarters, I just thought it was a sensible idea to make this first name business official.”
“Fine,” she replied. “‘J.D.’ it is then.”
Now all she had to do was build the building—and keep her door locked.
Chapter 23
Once again, Loy Chen had provided the manpower—working nights only—to clear scorched rubble from the front of the property. As sections were freed of debris, Amelia had the day workers laying the foundations for the new hotel and soon the first batch of concrete was poured into the molds. Rows of square-shaped, spiral twisted steel bars, fourteen feet high, stood ready to be clad in still more concrete as the walls for the first floor rose swiftly along the same perimeter as the previous two hotels that had occupied the site.
Each workday, Amelia donned one of several pairs of her father’s old trousers, worn beneath her blue serge skirt that Aunt Margaret had sent back with her from Oakland. To these she added a plain shirtwaist, warm jacket, and sturdy boots, arriving at Taylor and Jackson streets by five-thirty in the morning. Typically, the bay was socked in with fog until the late autumn sun burned it off around noon.
From Amelia’s very first day on-site, her spirits began to rise. She felt back in her element, working in the out-of-doors, dealing with the crews of cement pourers, masons, carpenters, and suppliers. She and J.D. had recruited workers from Little Italy along Columbus Street who offered their skills and were willing to guarantee that from the plans she’d drawn, a beautiful, well-built structure would rise.
“This is marvelous,” J.D. exclaimed when he and Angus McClure climbed out of the Winton one morning in early December on a mission to inspect the latest phase of construction. Large tubs of sand, limestone, water, and gravel were being mixed to make huge batches of concrete to construct the second and third floors.
Angus reached out and ran his palm over the rough surfaces, a wry smile on his face. “The walls are certainly going up fast, but I must say, Amelia, it looks a bit forbidding. Like a medieval fortress, wouldn’t you say?”
Amelia dusted off the sand from her hands and laughed, relieved that Angus was behaving like his old self after that evening at Tadich’s a few months before when—to her total astonishment—he’d hinted that he was considering another formal offering for her hand, and she’d gently refused him.
Since that night, Angus had not broached the topic again, which seemed to indicate that he’d also concluded that their relationship was better left as simple friendship.
Amelia pointed to a slab of concrete to their right. “Don’t either of you judge anything about this building until we put on the terra-cotta cladding and apply the molded ornamentation,” she cautioned good-naturedly, referring to pre-poured sections that resembled chiseled stonework and were virtually glued to the rougher concrete that formed the interior walls. “By the time I’m through, you’ll think you’ve got yourself a Parisian villa.”
“Terra-cotta cladding? What’s it made of?” Angus asked.
“Like making chinaware,” J.D. mused.
“Exactly!” Amelia exclaimed, relieved J.D. grasped the process.
“Isn’t it breakable?” asked Angus, brow furrowed.
“Yes, but they pack the sheets in padded crates and ship them to us by train, now that the rail system is working again. Once the masons plaster the sheets onto the concrete walls, you’ll think they’re blocks of stone. The ornamentation around the windows and doors is made of the same material and poured into molds to make the various entablature look like stone arches, acanthus leaves, or rosettes. Whatever you like.”
“I think rosettes are a bit much, don’t you, Angus?” J.D. observed dryly. “Leaves or simple arches will be just fine, thank you.”
“My, you have studied those catalogues I gave you,” Amelia teased.
***
Amelia barely noticed when Christmas came and went. She found herself working daily at the Bay View and still sleeping each night once again in the basement of the Fairmont Hotel. The rains had set in and slowed their work on the top floor.
Despite their proximity, Amelia rarely ran into Julia Morgan, who was allowing Ira to attend to the daily oversight of the ongoing restoration of the larger hotel while the head of the Morgan firm forged ahead on the many other projects offered her in the post-quake building frenzy.
Amelia pitied poor J.D, still camping out on his property in an Army tent in dreadfully foul weather, but she knew he would soon have a roof over his head. Meanwhile, he preferred to save his funds for the tons of cement she had on order.
“Amelia, dear,” Aunt Margaret complained when she heard that her niece was soon to be housed at the same location as her male client, “I’m not at all happy with this arrangement of you working every day with nothing but men, let alone sleeping without a chaperon where your employer resides. I just hope that old busybody ferryman doesn’t hear about this. You know what a gossip that Harold Jasper can be.”