“Sabrina! Sabrina, are you there!” He saw her standing in the open doorway then and came running down the stairs to find her, just as the servants seemed to explode out of their rooms from the top floor. Two of the women were hysterical, the others were crying, and even the men seemed shaken up, as another jolt hit them and this time, they all felt a mounting wave of panic. There was noise from the street beginning to reach them now, people shouting, and there were crashing sounds as though pieces of houses were falling into the streets. Sabrina realized later that many of the brick chimneys had come tumbling down, and when she ventured out with her father an hour later, after he bandaged her shoulder, they saw bodies lying dead in the streets, beneath the bricks from the fallen chimneys. It was her first glimpse of death, and she was shocked at what she saw. Everywhere, there were people in the street, the earthquake had done considerable damage, and there were injured people all around them, but what became obvious by midmorning was that the city’s greatest problem were the fires the earthquake had ignited and most of the water mains had been broken, so the firemen had no water to fight with. Worse still, the alarm systems no longer worked, and the fire chief himself had been killed in the collapse of a fire station. There was panic in the air, but everyone was still hopeful that the fires would be isolated shortly. The worst of all were burning south of Market, beyond the Palace Hotel. The hotel itself had its own well and was able to put out whatever fires threatened it at close range. But the columns of black smoke that began to cover the city by that Wednesday afternoon began to fill all of San Francisco with terror. Mayor Schmitz asked General Funston at the Presidio to assist him, and the Army was doing all that they could by that evening. A general curfew had been ordered and no one was to wander the streets from dusk to dawn, and strict orders had been issued forbidding indoor cooking.
And on Nob Hill, Jeremiah and Sabrina had thrown open their gates, and were allowing everyone in to camp in their gardens, use their home, and cook in one area which had been set aside to meet the neighborhood’s needs. And Jeremiah himself was in the old Hall of Justice at Kearny and Washington with the Committee of Fifty, which was attempting to organize the city to survive the disaster. By the next day, they had been driven out of their location and had gone to Portsmouth Square, and this time Sabrina insisted on coming with him.
“You stay here.”
“I will not!” She eyed him with determination. “I’m coming with you. I want to be with you, Papa.” And she was so stern about it that he relented and let her come. There were other women on the committee, and together they were doing what they could to help the dying city. It was a ghastly moment in the history of San Francisco, and Jeremiah could scarcely believe it as he looked around him. Later that day he was told that all of the mansions on one side of Van Ness had been dynamited, in an effort to save the west end of the city, and he could scarcely believe it. Worse yet, they had to leave their location at Portsmouth Square, and the Committee of Fifty moved its headquarters to the almost finished Fairmont Hotel, where they stayed until the fires reached Nob Hill, and they left just in time as the flames leapt around them and gutted the inside of the hotel, and then roared along to the Flood mansion. Jeremiah urged the committee to Thurston House then, where they met for a last time before having to abandon Nob Hill completely. The hill itself seemed to be in flames, and the fire darted where it chose, destroying some houses, leaving others intact, burning some to the ground and gutting others. When the Committee of Fifty left the house at the end of the third day, Thurston House itself was still intact. The gardens were badly charred, and the trees along the front of the property had all fallen, but the façade itself was barely touched by the flames and all of the damage inside had been done by the earthquake and not the fire. As Sabrina stood in the doorway looking into the beautiful home, she couldn’t believe the destruction that had been wrought in three days. It was like a nightmare that refused to end, since the first moment she’d felt it, standing on the stairs. She looked up now at the empty place where the dome had been, and all she saw was a dark sky filled with smoke. She was surprised to realize that it was already nightfall. She wasn’t even sure what day it was, she just knew that the holocaust had been going on for days, and the streets had been filled with screams and shouts and dead and dying people. She had bandaged hundreds of arms and faces and legs, led lost children to shelters, helped women search for children that could not be found, and now she slumped down on the staircase of Thurston House with a sigh of exhaustion. The servants had all fled, either to lend assistance or go in search of family or friends, and she knew that her father was upstairs. He had looked exhausted every time she’d seen him and she thought now of going to see how he was. Perhaps he needed a brandy or she should go to one of the collective kitchens on Russian Hill for something for him to eat. He was not a young man and the past few days had been a tremendous strain for them all.
“Papa!” She called out as she walked up the stairs. Her legs felt like tree trunks as she lumbered up the steps, almost falling with exhaustion. She could still hear the shouts from outside and knew that the fires on Nob Hill weren’t extinguished yet. She suddenly wondered if they ever would be. “Papa!…” She saw him sitting slumped with fatigue in a chair in his private sitting room. He had his back to her but she could see that he was as tired as she felt. She hadn’t seen him look like that since the last flood in the mines, and she went to him with a gentle step and bent to kiss his head. “Hello, Papa.” She sighed deeply and sat down on the floor at his feet, reaching quietly for his hand. How much they had been through that night, and in some ways how much they had been spared. Neither of them had been hurt, the house was damaged but still there, and she had heard that the chandelier at the opera house had gone crashing to the floor. Imagine if the earthquake had happened the previous night! “Do you want something to eat, Papa?” She looked up at his face, and suddenly stared. He was looking straight at her with unseeing eyes, and feeling terror leap at her throat as it never had before, she was instantly on her knees and touching his face. “Papa! Papa! Speak to me!” But there was no sound there, no voice, no words, no life. He had come home from the meeting of the Committee of Fifty at the Fairmont Hotel, led the meeting to his home, and come upstairs when the committee departed.… “Papa!” It was a shriek in the empty, silent house, and she began to shake him now, but his body slowly slid to the floor, where he lay and she held him close, the sobs overtaking her as the fires had overtaken the town. He was dead. Quietly, without a sound, he had come to this room, to this chair, and sat down … and died, at sixty-three years of age, leaving Sabrina an orphan, entirely on her own, two and a half weeks before her eighteenth birthday.
She sat staring down at him in shocked terror long into the night. The fires raged across Nob Hill, gutting almost everything around them, and miraculously sparing them. But Sabrina wouldn’t leave him. She sat holding his hand and sobbing long into the night, as the flames raced to the front door and then suddenly changed direction, and when morning came, she still sat there, holding the hand of the man who had been her father. Most of the fires in the city had been put out, and the earthquake was over. But for Sabrina life would never be the same again, without him.
21
Sabrina brought her father’s body back to Napa on the steamer, and on to St. Helena, in a somber cortege. The carriage from the mines was waiting for them at the pier along with a small, sober-faced party of miners, each wearing the only suit he had. It was only when the carriage reached the private road to Jeremiah’s home that she saw them all, five hundred strong, lining the road, five and ten deep, quietly waiting for the man they had loved and for whom they had worked so hard. For years, he had fought for them, dug them out in the floods, pulled them from the mines in the worst fires, cried when they died … and now they wept for him. Many cried openly as they doffed their hats as the carriage rolled slowly past them. Hannah stood on the front porch, her weather-beaten face awash with tears, her eyes
blinded by grief, as the casket was lowered from the carriage, and eight men carried it into the front hall, and then into the parlor where he had slept for eighteen years before he married.
Sabrina went wordlessly to Hannah and took her in her arms and the old woman sobbed on her shoulder, and then Sabrina went outside briefly to shake hands with some of the men, and thank them for coming. They had little to say, and couldn’t have found the words to tell her what they felt. They just stood there and eventually turned away and left, in large, silent groups. Their hearts would be buried with the man they had respected and loved. There would never be another man like him.
Sabrina walked back into the house, and felt a catch in her throat as she caught a glimpse of the mahogany box they had set down in the parlor. Hannah had woven a blanket of the wild flowers he had loved so much, and they laid it carefully over the casket now, as suddenly Sabrina could bear it no more, and she turned and buried her face in her hands, and she was surprised to feel a pair of strong arms take her in their grip, and she looked up to see Dan Richfield. He had been in charge of her father’s mines for years now and he had been invaluable to Jeremiah.
“We all feel terrible, Sabrina. And we want you to know that we’ll do anything in this world we can for you.” His eyes were as shattered as hers, and he didn’t even try to conceal that he’d been crying. He took her in his arms again then, and held her, but a moment later, she pulled herself free, and stood at the window staring out at the valley Jeremiah had loved so deeply. She spoke as though to herself, the scent of the wild flowers on the casket hanging heavy in the air, and Hannah’s sobs clearly heard from the kitchen.
“We never should have gone to San Francisco, Dan.”
He looked at her pretty form, as she stood there, with her back to him. “Don’t torture yourself, Sabrina. He wanted to take you to town.”
“I shouldn’t have let him.” She turned to face the man who had been almost a son to her father. He was thirty-four years old, and had worked for the Thurston mines for twenty-three years, and he owed everything to her father. Without him, Dan would have been digging ditches somewhere, but thanks to Jeremiah, he ran the biggest mines in the state and was responsible for some five hundred men, and he did his job well, as her father had often told her.
“He belonged here, and so do I.” Her voice caught again, she had been consumed with guilt ever since she found him. “I never should have let him take me to town. If I hadn’t, he’d be alive now.…” The sobs choked her and overtook her again, and Dan was quick to comfort her again, holding her close to him, but each time he did, Sabrina felt as though she needed air. He held her too close, even though she knew he meant well. Perhaps it was his own grief that oppressed her. “Oh God …” She walked around the room, looking back at Dan with heartbroken eyes. “What’ll I do without him?”
“You have time to think of that. Why don’t you get some rest?” She hadn’t slept in two days and she looked it. Her face showed the ravages of her grief, and her eyes looked like bottomless pools of sorrow. “You should go upstairs and lie down. Have Hannah bring you something to eat.”
Sabrina shook her head, and brushed the tears from her cheeks with one hand. “I should be taking care of her, she’s in worse shape than I am, and I’m younger.”
“You have to take care of yourself.” He stopped and looked at her for a long time, and their eyes held. There were things that he wanted to ask her, but they had to wait. It was too soon now, with her father lying there in the parlor. “Come on, do you want me to take you upstairs?” His voice was soft, and she smiled and shook her head. She could barely speak, she was so overcome by all that she felt. She couldn’t imagine a life without her father.
“I’ll be all right, Dan. Why don’t you go home?” He had a wife and children to think of, and there was nothing he could do here. They had already made all the arrangements for the funeral the next day. Sabrina wanted him buried quickly. He would have wanted that himself, no fuss, and a simple ceremony. He would have been touched by the men lining the road when they arrived, and by the men who came one by one that night, just to stand staring at the heavy mahogany box in the front parlor, their heads bowed, their eyes damp. Sabrina came downstairs again and again, to shake their hands and to thank them. And Hannah kept a huge pot of coffee on the stove, and she made huge trays of sandwiches to feed them. She had known they would come, and she was glad to see that they did. Jeremiah Thurston had been the finest man they’d ever known, and they owed him the homage they now paid him.
It was after nine o’clock that night when a man walked up the front steps, wearing a dark suit and a tie. He had gray hair and black eyes, and a rugged face with well-etched features. He seemed to hesitate before he came in, and Hannah noticed that he had an air of command about him, and then suddenly she realized who he was and she went to tell Sabrina.
“John Harte is here.” He had remained her father’s arch rival, but there had never been any ill feeling between them. John Harte kept his distance from everyone, that was just his way, and he never lost sight of the fact that he was in constant competition against the Thurston mines, but he never forgot Jeremiah’s kindness either. The two men seldom met, but when they did, there was always a quiet look that passed between them, and when a disaster struck in one mine or the other, the other always showed up, or sent his men to offer assistance. John Harte no longer had a chip on his shoulder about Jeremiah Thurston. In fact, he admired him more than most men knew. And he was sorry now that he was gone. He had only met Sabrina a few times over the years, but she knew who he was and she walked toward him now, her black dress making her look taller and slimmer, and much older than her eighteen years. Her hair was pulled back in a tight knot, and her eyes were huge in her pale face, and she looked more like a woman than a girl as he shook her hand.
“I came to pay my respects to your father, Miss Thurston.” His voice was deep and smooth, and their eyes held for a long moment. His own daughter would have been only slightly older than she, had she lived. She had been three when she died, two years before Sabrina was born. He had never married again, although everyone knew that he had had the same woman for the last ten years. She lived with him at the mine, and she was an Indian of the Mayakma tribe. She was an exotic-looking woman and someone had pointed her out to Sabrina once. She was about twenty-six years old and she had two children of her own, but none by him. He wanted no more children, and no wife. He had sealed that part of his life forever, and Sabrina thought she could still see a hint of the old pain in his eyes as he looked at her. It was as though being here with her brought it back to him again, and she wasn’t far wrong. He spoke in barely more than a whisper as they stood in the parlor, side by side, looking at the casket where Jeremiah lay. It brought painful memories back to him, and he had a lump in his throat when he spoke. “He was with me … when my boy died.…” He glanced at Sabrina, and wondered if her father had ever told her about that, and of course he had.
“I know … he told me … it made a great impression on him.” Her voice was gentle as the wind, and he watched her eyes, liking what he saw there. She was a strong, intelligent girl, with unassuming ways and eyes that seemed to take everything in. He felt as though she were searching him as he wondered how old she was, and knew she couldn’t be more than eighteen. He didn’t think Thurston had been married when Matilda and the children died, and that had been twenty years ago that spring.
Thurston House Page 24