by Ciji Ware
As Amelia surveyed the scene, she couldn’t help but wish the Bay View had been able to open first and on the anniversary date. Still, she mused, each celebrant in tonight’s gathering was a survivor, just as she was. The Fairmont’s spectacular renaissance was proof positive that the new San Francisco would one day become everything Grandfather Hunter had predicted: a major seaport on the Pacific with grand architecture, vibrant commerce, and cultural institutions that would one day rival those of New York, London, or Paris. She was certain that if her grandfather were alive, he’d also be immensely proud of this latest incarnation of his hotel, rising from the rubble at Taylor and Jackson streets.
She glanced at the hordes still funneling through the Fairmont’s grand entranceway and considered the fates of her father and grandfather, men so utterly different from one another and yet both part of the fabric of the city she loved.
Off to her right stood Aunt Margaret, put on the guest list at Julia’s behest, Amelia surmised. Her older relative was decked out in a gown of ancient vintage and sat with a group of girlhood friends near the potted palms. Amelia felt a rush of affection for her. Thank God she had survived the cataclysmic events of 1906 and was here to celebrate San Francisco’s astonishing triumph over adversity.
Out of the corner of her eye Amelia noted two gentlemen—a redhead and a brunette—chatting amiably with each other near the potted palms. Near them, Angus had suddenly appeared and was bending toward Amelia’s friend and her grandfather’s former caretaker, nurse Edith Pratt. With some relief, Amelia could see that the pair were deeply absorbed in conversation.
As Amelia continued to scan the throng, she wondered if the elder James Thayer and his wife would make an appearance this evening. And what of their son? Was the Fairmont’s gala reopening too much salt in a wound? Now that the Fairmont was ready for business, she couldn’t help but feel sympathy for J.D. and the difficulties they’d repeatedly encountered. Would he find the Fairmont’s faux marble columns and triple alabaster domes arching over the Laurel Court an inspiration—or a bitter pill? There was no question, but that it would be awhile before paying guests would be filing into his hotel.
Is that why J.D. isn’t here?
Amelia fought against her feelings of disappointment. As revelers inched through the receiving line, she perfunctorily nodded and murmured to people she knew until her eyes widened with surprise at the sight of two well-dressed women, one petite, the other gargantuan, following obediently behind Ezra Kemp.
Kemp abandoned them with a brief word, heading directly for the smoking lounge to hobnob with other city wigs puffing on their cigars.
Amelia watched the pair glance uncertainly around the vast lobby, looking lost. Unable to stem her burning curiosity about the woman J.D. had described to a tee and had been instructed to “court,” she casually walked across the marble floors and said quietly, “Hello. I’m Amelia Bradshaw, Mr. Thayer’s architect on the Bay View Hotel. I’m not sure he’s attending the opening this evening so I thought I’d introduce myself. Have either of you had a cup of the punch?”
The slender young woman, half the size of the giantess standing beside her, swiftly extended her gloved hand.
“I’m Emma Stivers and this is Miss Matilda Kemp, the daughter of Ezra Kemp, Mr. Thayer’s former business associate.” She turned to her companion. “We’re delighted to meet our first woman architect, aren’t we Tilly? Mr. Thayer told us about your fine work, but we could certainly see it for ourselves as we drove down Taylor Street on our way here.”
Amelia smiled and took the measure of Matilda Kemp. The lady in question had flushed scarlet during this exchange and was looking everywhere but at Amelia.
Meanwhile, Emma Stivers spoke up again. “You know, Miss Bradshaw, should we not have a chance to see Mr. Thayer this evening in this crush of people, please tell him we were looking for him tonight because we were unable to speak to him during his recent visit with Mr. Kemp in Mill Valley.”
Amelia rapidly searched for a way to appear in the know about J.D.’s foray into enemy territory.
“Ah… yes. I believe Mr. Thayer was in search of another batch of cross beams for the Bay View’s roof.”
The two exchanged worried glances. “He did not order lumber,” Matilda blurted.
“Tilly,” Miss Stivers said in a tone that held an unmistakable warning.
“May I offer you a glass of lemonade?” Amelia volunteered, pointing to a long table with a large crystal punch bowl at one end.
The pretty half of the duo smiled at Amelia and widened her eyes, all fine manners and charm. “Lemonade sounds most refreshing, thank you, but in case we don’t see Mr. Thayer,” she repeated, “Miss Kemp and I merely wish him to know that, even though my friend here is perfectly amenable to Mr. Thayer’s recent decision involving her, Mr. Thayer may still be hearing from Mr. Kemp unexpectedly once again and… well, we thought he’d like to know that, so as to be prepared for Mr. Kemp’s possible visit.”
Amelia felt as if the substance of the conversation had been communicated in code. “Shall I tell Mr. Thayer to expect Miss Kemp’s father soon?”
“Oh, Emma… I don’t think we should…” Matilda’s face was now the hue of a ripe tomato.
“Of course we should,” Emma interrupted firmly, and then addressed Amelia. “Please tell Mr. Thayer exactly that. That Miss Kemp is perfectly fine with his recent decision concerning them both.” She turned to address her companion. “That’s right, Tilly, isn’t it?”
Matilda nodded emphatically but didn’t elaborate.
Emma smiled at Amelia. “The second part of the message to Mr. Thayer is that Mr. Kemp—or his representatives—may be calling at the Bay View very soon on another matter.” Her manner grew grave, as if Ezra Kemp were sure to be a bearer of bad news.
“I’ll be sure to tell Mr. Thayer that,” replied Amelia, glancing toward the entrance door, “although, there he is… and you can tell him yourself.”
“Emma!” Matilda cried, nearly screeching with anxiety. “What if Papa sees Mr. Thayer here? He was so displeased, there’s no telling—” She clutched at Emma’s arm, adding desperately, “Please… I think might faint!”
Emma Stivers caught Amelia’s glance and inquired urgently. “Do you know where the women’s restrooms are, by chance?”
J.D. had spotted their group but was waylaid by James Hopper, the reporter from the Call whose story about the Bay View had caused Amelia such grief.
“Over there,” Amelia directed, pointing to the opposite end of the lobby. “Down the corridor to the left and then it’s on the left.”
“Come, Tilly, there’s a girl,” Emma said soothingly. “We’ll just have a good face splash, and you’ll be right as rain.” She smiled brightly at Amelia. “Good-bye, Miss Bradshaw. Thank you so much for your kindness, and be sure to deliver both messages, won’t you?”
“Yes, of course,” Amelia replied, amazed by how swiftly the pair decided to vacate the lobby.
Emma linked her arm with Matilda’s and whisked her through the throng, disappearing among the swirling chiffon and dark-coated celebrants. Amelia didn’t wait for them to turn the corner and disappear from view before beginning to fret over the news that Kemp could easily set his bullyboys on J.D. to beat him once again—or worse.
Her sudden fears were mollified somewhat by the recollection that—though Matilda Kemp may have worried about a contretemps between her father and J.D.—the object of J.D.’s “courting” didn’t seem particularly overwrought concerning her supposed suitor’s apparent decision to end their almost-engagement.
Suddenly her spirits rose. It would seem J.D. had unilaterally called a halt to his spurious courtship of Miss Kemp, a conclusion she found extremely gratifying.
Perhaps her employer was neither a cad nor a cardsharp.
What a lovely thought.
She and J.D. would certainly have to behave themselves until the Bay View Hotel was completed and had opened its doors. But after th
at, who knew what might evolve? Amelia’s life had taken so many strange twists since she’d returned from Paris, she had given up trying to predict the future at all.
It was just a matter of being careful, that’s all.
Amelia turned and beheld J.D. Thayer, roguishly handsome in full evening dress. He smiled warmly and extended his hand, which the architect shook primly.
His ebony hair was neatly trimmed, as were his mustache and sideburns. On his tanned face there was no trace of the beating he’d received weeks earlier. One would hardly suspect he was doing manual labor each day along side his construction crew.
“Turn around,” he said. “Let me have a look at you.” For a full five seconds, he took in her festive costume. “My, my,” he said after another long pause. He eyed the modest ostrich feather she’d tucked in her hair. “May I say you look lovely this evening, Miss Bradshaw?” he added formally. “The picture of Parisian fashion, I might add.”
She attempted to maintain her aplomb under the close scrutiny of several curious onlookers, including James Hopper. “How kind of you to say so, Mr. Thayer.”
J.D. leaned still closer. “I was expecting to escort you here myself, but you ran out before I was dressed.”
“I thought it advisable to arrive separately. I wasn’t absolutely sure you’d turn up.”
“Ah… I almost didn’t, but then it would have been lovely to walk in here with you on my arm.”
“J.D.!” she admonished. Then she asked in a low voice, “This celebration isn’t too painful for you?”
“It smarts only slightly. I’m just relieved you and I are alive to enjoy it.”
“My sentiments exactly.” She inclined her head and whispered in his ear, “Miss Kemp and Miss Stivers said to expect another ‘visit’ from Ezra sometime soon, and that Miss Kemp is—in her friend Emma’s words—perfectly amenable to your recent decision.”
“I am sure that she is,” J.D. replied cryptically. His glance swept the room, though he didn’t elaborate any further.
“Kemp’s in the smoking lounge,” she informed him. “You know, J.D., those two women were awfully nice, but they seemed frightened little mice, especially Matilda.”
“They should be. Ezra Kemp doesn’t give a damn about their well-being.”
“How terrible for them.”
J.D. gave her a somber look. “I expect that all of us must all watch out for trouble in the next little while. Meanwhile, my dear Miss Bradshaw, may I ask for this dance?”
“Is that wise?”
“Probably not, but let’s anyway.”
And so it was that on the first anniversary of the 1906 cataclysmic earthquake and fire, James Diaz Thayer and his architect, Amelia Hunter Bradshaw, entered the glittering ballroom and became the talk of the festivities as one of the handsomest couples to celebrate the opening of the Fairmont Hotel and the rebirth of San Francisco.
A few minutes before one a.m., J.D. walked Amelia home, kissed her soundly, and, once her bedroom door closed and its new lock secured, walked back to the all-night celebration continuing at the Fairmont.
***
“So what’ll it be, Thayer? The mutton or the veal?”
“Neither, Kemp. I want to talk to you.” The hotel restaurant was full of noisy diners enjoying a full-course supper served all night “on the house.”
“Really? What about? I heard your Chinks had their heads bashed a while back.”
“And how did you hear that?”
“Oh, it gets around. You know what a small town San Francisco is.”
“Ezra, your little game fools no one, especially me. I know you sent those goons. They killed two people this time—including a defenseless child—and maimed scores of others, so this is no joke.”
“You think anyone cares if there are two fewer Chinks in this town?”
J.D. abruptly stood up, ignoring the fact that his impulsive move might stir interest among their fellow diners.
“Sit down!” Kemp hissed. Lowering his voice even more, he muttered, “Thayer, I am giving you official notice that I will recommend that the board of directors of the Committee of Fifty call their initial loan for the first hotel you rebuilt on that property.”
J.D. reclaimed his seat. If Kemp figured this was his principal card to play, J.D. was home free, for the bastard apparently had no idea of the money and gems he and Amelia had found in the buried trunk. Thayer had no need of the Committee’s largesse any longer. He merely had to liquidate some of the found booty to get his hotel built, then open its doors and pay off his present expenses along with the earlier loans. The fees of paying guests would serve as a cushion and Kemp would no longer have any hold over him.
“And what makes you think that the board would vote with you on calling the old loan?” J.D. inquired calmly. “They can barely tolerate your uncouth presence as it is and will cut you dead as soon as they no longer need your lumber.” He leaned forward and stared hard at Kemp. “Do you really think that board will vote your way just because you demand it? You have a lot to learn, Ezra, about the ways of the idle rich.”
“They won’t be pleased to learn you’re violating the law and going against the hiring halls, employing Chinks who steal an honest man’s wages.”
“Honest men like Joe Kavanaugh, Dick Spitz, and Jake Kelly who killed innocent people while working for you?” J.D. narrowed his eyes. “Why, I expect Burns and those government men would advise our local authorities that you could be held as an accessory to murder.”
“As I said, nobody cares if a couple of Chinese are killed on a job.”
“But you must know by now, men like my father despise attempts at unionizing working men and don’t think labor laws apply to them. Trust me, sending Mark Desso from the hiring hall to do your bidding won’t endear you to the likes of Big Jim Thayer.”
“You can’t prove my men were part of the… unpleasantness that night. I happen to know your buddy James Hopper and his photographer weren’t there that night.”
“That doesn’t matter. I have plenty of proof.”
“What?” Kemp scoffed.
Again, J.D. rose from his chair, this time determined to depart. “That’s just the question you should be worried about, Kemp.”
Ezra grabbed his sleeve. “Just a minute! It’s that Bradshaw woman, isn’t it? She told you she saw my men? Well, she’s lying! No one will believe her!” He lowered his voice, spitting out his words. “I’ve heard it said you’re paying that architect of yours for more services than just her building plans.”
J.D. clapped his hand on Kemp’s and removed it forcibly from his jacket. “I suggest that you inform Kelly, Spitz, and Kavanaugh that I have twenty-four-hour lookouts posted everywhere,” he said under his breath. “If my men see anymore of your spies in the neighborhood, they have orders to shoot such trespassers on sight.”
Then, J.D. turned his back on his host and strode past the Fairmont’s busy maître d’.
***
The morning following the Fairmont’s grand opening, work on the hotel proceeded uneventfully. Both J.D. and Amelia were swamped with pressing duties, leaving few moments for communication between them. Seven-year-old Foo’s absence was painfully apparent, and there was little banter around their dining table. Loy kept to himself and Shou Shou’s mournful expression was heartbreaking to behold. As for Amelia, she excused herself as soon as they finished eating supper and went to her chamber, turning the newly installed bolt on her door. The gesture was as much to keep herself from seeking comfort in J.D.’s arms as from any expectation J.D. would come knocking at her door after midnight.
The next day, after breakfast, Amelia stood by the entrance to J.D.’s downstairs office and rapped sharply on the half-open door.
“Two of the Pigati boys didn’t show up,” she announced from the threshold. “I just can’t believe it. They’ve been so loyal up to now.”
“They’re still loyal. I’ve posted them on the third floor inside scaffolding.”
As it had turned out, there were no wooden shingles to be had in all of San Francisco—other than those supplied by Kemp Lumber Company. However, miracle of miracles, the slate that had been ordered months before and assumed lost or stolen en route to the Port of San Francisco had just turned up at the docks. The roof would now be covered in the expensive material that was fire resistant and enhanced the beaux-arts motif of the overall design.
“Nico and Roman are on guard duty.” J.D. rapidly moved the beads on his abacus and made notations on the sheet of paper in front of him. “There aren’t any other lookouts to hire this week.”
“And you didn’t tell me?” Amelia demanded. “Their supervisor?”
“That’s right.” J.D. didn’t look up from his papers.
“Don’t you think you should explain why?”
His eyes remained focused on his desk. “I merely felt it a wise precaution.”
Amelia was flabbergasted by J.D.’s cold, almost impersonal tone.
“Do you mind explaining why you think it’s wise to keep your construction supervisor in the dark?” she demanded with rising irritation.
He set the abacus aside in frustration. “Because it just is! Now will you please allow me to get back to my work?”
Again taken aback by his testiness, Amelia advanced into J.D.’s office.
“No. I won’t, O Mighty Hotel Owner! I want you to tell me right now what danger has prompted you to assign two of my best men to other duties without consulting me?”
“Because I pay their wages.”
Amelia stared across the space that separated them and shook her head.
“J.D. Thayer, don’t you dare do this,” she said in a low, angry voice. She marched to the edge of his desk, snatched the papers he’d been making notes on, and crumpled them in her hand. “You may pay their wages, but their safety is my concern and they’re under my direction, so I’ll ask you not to patronize me, J.D. Not at this late stage. We may have—briefly—been lovers, but either you and I are working as full partners to build this hotel or you will find yourself building it by yourself.”