“I am so sorry, Mrs. St. Clair,” said Monique tenderly. “Clarissa, I can’t imagine what you must be thinking or feeling.”
Monique turned away slightly and whispered to Austin, “That’s the nastiest lie you’ve ever told…but now your brother is truly free to go.”
Faye no longer could support the weight of her friend with one arm. Clarissa dropped to the ground in one limp movement, like when the air is let out of a balloon. What once filled it up and made it buoyant abruptly escaped.
Mrs. St. Clair hugged Austin, patted his wound and bent over to comfort Clarissa, who was now crying uncontrollably. One crazed woman feebly attempting to help another crazed woman—a woman who would have been her first daughter-in-law in just a few days.
“I did everything I was told. I did everything I was expected to do,” mumbled Clarissa as she got back on her feet and paced among the group. Then she raised her voice. “I can set a blessed dining-room table to perfection for a man who doesn’t exist in a new house that probably doesn’t exist either!” She stopped pacing. “What am I going to do? What are we going to do without Brock?”
She walked toward the ruins of the house.
“Honey, stay away from there. You could get hurt too,” pleaded Mrs. St. Clair.
“I don’t care. Let it hurt me. Let it hurt me more.”
Mrs. St. Clair’s face went blank, as if a curtain was drawn. It appeared she could take no more of it either.
“Snap out of it,” Faye urged Clarissa.
“Snap out of what? When I went to bed last night, I had everything to look forward to. Today, I’m a widow before I was even a bride! Look at me. Really look at me. I’m a…I’m a boarded up house on a dead-end street.” She held the heart-shaped locket on the necklace that Brock gave her. “One minute everything is golden—and silver—and then it’s ashes the next. Brock’s taken my life with him.”
Austin held his mother, but gazed at Monique. There was nothing more to be said. His work was complete.
Chapter 57
Saying Goodbye Is Only The Beginning
Wednesday, April 18, 1906, 10:36 a.m.
The day of the earthquake and firestorm
“It’s hell on earth down there!” Brock said to Gubbs. “And it’s going to get worse before it gets better. There are broken buildings, broken people and fires burning everywhere. We’re going to leave…leave it all behind.”
They looked at the inferno, with the sky full of ashes and memories.
Gubbs cleared the rustiness from his throat. “Pork Chop, yer gonna do what?”
Brock gazed at Blossom. “Her family is dead. From this point on, we’re dead too.”
“Yer dead, are yuh?”
“Yes. Austin is going to say he saw me get crushed under a burning building that collapsed, which is entirely possible. My mother and Clarissa will believe him and get on with their lives. We will too, but we’ll do it somewhere else. It’s almost as if this disaster was meant to be.”
“Meant to be, yuh say?” Gubbs repeated. “I don’t reckon what yer doin’ is right. But I don’t reckon it’s wrong. It’s probably somewheres in between. If yer askin’ me to be part of it, I will. If someone comes askin’, I don’t know anythin’ and I won’t say anythin’.” He took a labored breath. “What ken I do to help?”
“The sooner we get out of here, the better. Hitch up a wagon and fresh team. Blossom and I will get the supplies we need.”
“Where yuh headin’?”
“South. I think we can get a clean start there.”
“Then let’s git yuh on yer way,” said Gubbs as he turned to get a wagon.
Blossom stood at the top of the hillside and took one last look. Intense red hotspots dotted the city like periods at the end of some horribly written sentences. She cupped her hands and covered her eyes to block it out. She had to.
Brock came over and embraced her gently from behind. He turned her away from the horrific sights, breaking her momentary paralysis. It was like being in the last row of seats at a chaotic circus of the damned.
When the wagon was full of provisions, Brock shook Gubbs’ hand. But that didn’t seem nearly enough considering how their friendship deepened in the past few days.
“I’m going to miss you, Gubbs,” said Brock as he pulled the crusty old man in for a hug. Gubbs patted Brock on the back and then pulled away. This was more affection than Gubbs had experienced in some time.
Blossom stepped forward to face Gubbs. “Thank you,” she said and looked down at the ground.
“I’m truly sorry about yer family, Miss. Brock here will take good care of yuh.”
“I know,” she replied as she looked up and placed a soft kiss on his cheek.
“Oh, there’s a few more things yuh need to take with yuh,” Gubbs said while gesturing for them to wait. He came back with the large white hatbox, Blossom’s sketch book and the handbag she’d left behind earlier.
“I don’t have no use for nothin’ like this,” he said with a slight smile while handing over the hatbox. “That picture book, now that’s down-right precious to yuh, eh?”
“Thank you, Gubbs. You’re too sweet,” replied Blossom. She looked at Brock and then down at the box that contained her first feathered bonnet.
“Is this all possible?” asked Blossom.
Gubbs quickly replied before Brock could. “Anythin’ is possible. You taught Brock to fly a kite, didn’t yuh?”
The earth lashed out once again, spooking the animals and the humans as well.
“Either we’re getting used to the earth moving, or these quakes aren’t as strong now,” Blossom said.
“It’s probably both, but I’m all for getting out of here and not finding out what happens next,” added Brock as he reached into his rear pants pocket to get his wallet. He removed some paper money and reached out to hand it to Gubbs.
“Much obliged, but no,” refused the old man. “You’ll be needin’ that more than me.”
“Gubbs, you’re a cowpoke whose beaten death before by lassoing it and dragging it out of town like a despicable outlaw.”
Gubbs grinned.
“And I have no doubt that you’ll beat whatever’s ahead of you.”
As Brock quickly stuffed the money back into his wallet, the small slip of white paper from the fortune cookie was jarred loose and made itself known. Brock slid it completely out and read its message to himself.
He smiled at Blossom and read it aloud, “Confucius say, ‘Wherever you go, go with all of your heart.’”
Brock helped Blossom climb up into the wagon.
Once he was in too, Brock directed a firm “Giddy-up” at the two-horse team, with a third tied to the back of the wagon.
“Three horses?”
“Yes, a pair and a spare!” Brock replied.
Blossom did her best to muster a smile, though she felt like she had a rock in her stomach.
They waved to Gubbs and turned to face forward. To Gubbs, it looked more like 1846 than 1906 as this young couple struck out like pioneers facing the wilderness and their uncertain future. Nothing was ahead of them, and yet everything was ahead of them.
“They’s stuck on each other like sap to a tree trunk,” Gubbs said to a horse standing at the nearby fence railing. “They’ll find their place in this here cockeyed world. Yep, they’ve got gumption and they’re gonna be just fine.”
Blossom put her hand on Brock’s shoulder to steady herself as she began to turn around.
“Don’t look back,” Brock urged. “We have a blank slate now.”
“When we meet people and when we get to wherever we’re going…we’ll have to rewrite our story, won’t we?”
“Blossom, we’re going to be writing our story…a very long story.”
The End?
Author’s note: As Lao Tzu, the philosopher and poet of ancient China, is reported to have said, “New beginnings are often disguised as painful endings.” To discover how Blossom and Brock reinvent themselv
es and make their way to a new future, be sure to read an excerpt of Blaze, the second installment of the Blossom Trilogy, which appears on the next page.
Excerpt From Blaze, Book Two In The Blossom Trilogy
“I’ve heard people complain about how sore they got from sitting in a saddle too long. But who knew a wagon’s bench could do the same?” asked Blossom as she adjusted her weight from one side to the other. “Don’t misunderstand. I love sitting side-by-side with you on this seat hour…after…hour. Just the same, I’ll be glad when this trip is over.”
Brock grinned. “You need to spend more time in the saddle. Then you’ll appreciate this bench.”
“I’ll have to think about it. Until then, here’s something I have been thinking about. What are we going to do for work when we get to wherever it is we’re going?” By saying it the way she did, the future seemed all the more uncertain to Blossom.
“Where are we going? I don’t mean exactly where, but where?”
Brock turned to look at her. “You know, for the first time in my life I honestly don’t know.”
“It’s kind of fun not knowing where we’ll end up,” admitted Blossom. “It’s like the frog at the bottom of the well.”
“It is?”
“You know…the frog thinks the universe is the well, because that’s all it can see. But if the frog climbs out, it discovers the well is part of a much bigger world. So, I’m like a frog. You’re like a frog too. We can see all kinds of possibilities now that we couldn’t see a few days ago.”
Brock’s head bounced up and down.
“Are you nodding because you agree or because the ground is so bumpy?
“Yes and yes.”
Brock cleared his throat. “Back to the topic of work, from what I’ve heard, there are plenty of farms, orchards and ranches around Los Angeles. There’s even an ostrich ranch—”
Blossom broke in, “An ostrich ranch? That’s something I’d like to see.”
“Good,” replied Brock. “Then it’s all decided.”
Blossom squinted her eyes as she turned her head to face Brock. “What is ‘it’ and what’s been decided about it?”
“The ‘it’ is the Cawston Ostrich Farm near Pasadena. I’ve seen photos and read about it. I’ve even thought about breeding them at Twin Peaks. Their feathers are like gold, especially for ladies’ hats, as you well know!”
Blossom recalled seeing San Francisco’s finest women parading through Chinatown with undulating clouds of feathers on their heads. She remembered how she longed to have a hat like that someday, and then she got one from Brock. There could be a whole lot of feathers in our future, thought Blossom.
“You want to work there?” she asked.
“I can’t be Brock St. Clair from Nob Hill anymore. But I do have skills that can earn us a living.”
“Yes you do. And you’ve got the tanned skin and leathery hands to go with the skills,” Blossom said as she slid her left hand under Brock’s right upper arm. She leaned over and put her head on his shoulder.
“Ostriches? They’re so ugly. And I bet they’re mean,” she said. “Are you going to be safe?”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. We haven’t even been there, and I don’t have a job, at least not yet. They’re ugly though. I saw a photograph of a man feeding whole oranges to an ostrich. It already had three in its throat you could see bulging out of its neck! I’ll never forget it!”
Blossom added, “Sounds awful! But those feathers…oh, those feathers. Every lady on Nob Hill must have an entire ostrich worth of feathers in her dressing room!”
Brock quickly became quiet and kept looking forward over the horses. After a time, Blossom broke the silence. “It’s your mother, isn’t it? You’re thinking about her.”
“As far as she knows, I’m dead. I can only imagine how my dear little brother Austin told her. Do you think her mother’s intuition is telling her something different?”
“I don’t know much about a mother’s intuition. But I’m learning more and more about hearts. If her heart is full of love for you, she’s thinking of you and doing it with a broken heart.” As the words “broken heart” passed her lips, Blossom wished she could take them back. You idiot! Now why would you say that?
“Brock, are we doing the right thing? I didn’t leave much. You left everything.”
He passed the reins to his left hand and put his right arm around Blossom. “Yes, there’s nothing more ‘right’ than what we’re doing.”
“But what about Clarissa and your business up on Twin Peaks? And what about Austin? Can we trust him to keep our secret?”
“Clarissa and the business will be fine. I’m sure of it. I’m not so sure about Austin. He doesn’t have the best track record.”
Blossom reached around to the back of the wagon to find her sketch book and a pencil. She’d planned ahead by placing the items just under the backside of the wagon’s seat. She swiveled to the side so she could look at Brock and began to sketch. This was the first time she’d drawn him, and it allowed her the uninterrupted opportunity to truly study his face, his hands, his hair and how he attentively led the team of horses. He turned to look at her briefly.
“Face forward, please,” she said sternly, as if in control of the situation.
“Yes, ma’am,” he barked as he smiled widely and gazed out beyond the horses’ heads.
Blossom slipped off her shoes, pulled up her legs and folded them like a pretzel. In her own special way, she studied his features to identify the two or three most powerful lines to follow that would capture his essence. She got lost in her work as he did his work at the reins.
However, with each bump in the road, a bell rang a bit louder. It was the doorbell they salvaged from Blossom’s family’s bakery and restaurant just before the fire destroyed everything. It must have wiggled itself loose from its place in the wagon. Blossom reached back to find it, though it wasn’t hard to miss. A crimson banner was still wrapped around it.
“What was it that Grand Ma Maw’s banner said?” asked Brock.
Blossom unfurled it and ran her fingers down the golden Chinese characters that were embroidered on it. “The banner reminded everyone to be hopeful. It says, ‘May good fortune follow you on your path through life.’”
They hit a deep rut in the road and the bell rang loudly. Blossom smiled at Brock. Just days earlier, the sound of that bell ringing was a signal that a customer had entered the building. Once she’d met Brock, every time the bell rang she wished it signaled his return. Now, the bell was a reminder of the life she’d never lead again, and she didn’t need to listen for a bell to know that Brock was coming back to her. He was hers. She was his. They were sharing a common path through life, as the banner prophesied.
Blossom started to sketch, but stopped and looked away from Brock.
“I’ve been waiting for the right moment. This is it.”
She laced her fingers.
“Brock, I have something to confess.”
This is an excerpt from the forthcoming book Blaze by Christopher Lentz. It has been set for this edition of Blossom only and may not reflect the final content of the forthcoming edition.
Epilogue: From The Ashes
In April 1906, souls were lost, hearts were broken, and dreams were shattered. While Blossom explores this time period, it does so with fictional characters and creative license. For the men, women and children who experienced and survived the quake, aftershocks and fires in real life, it likely stayed in their memory banks throughout their lifetimes. One survivor likened the quake to a bulldog, with the city “a rat, shaken in the grinding teeth.”
In looking at the facts, here are a few things to keep in mind about this disaster that included a destructive blaze that surpassed even the Chicago fire of 1871:
• Lasting less than one minute, the main quake—with an equivalent to 8.3 on the Richter scale (though some have revised it downward to 7.8)—struck at 5:12 a.m. on Wednesday, April 18, 1906, alo
ng the San Andres Fault, which runs the length of California. The Pacific and North American tectonic plates lurched past each other by as much as 21 feet in some places.
• Beyond the major quake and the additional 26 aftershocks, uncontrollable fires destroyed much of the city during the next three days. Ruptured gas mains, fallen lanterns, crossed electric wires, dynamiting and lighting fire breaks contributed to the blaze, while broken water mains crippled efforts to extinguish the inferno. Some of the fires were estimated to be as hot as 2,700 degrees, making the firestorm more catastrophic than the earthquake itself. An estimated 28,000 buildings were destroyed by fire.
• It’s reported that someone cooking breakfast on a stove whose chimney was damaged during the quake started the 24-hour-long “Ham and Eggs Fire” that was responsible for the destruction of a 30-block area, including parts of City Hall and Market Street.
• The death toll resulting from the disaster is estimated above 3,000, though hundreds of casualties in Chinatown went ignored and unrecorded.
• As much as 80 percent of San Francisco was estimated to be destroyed by the quake and fire.
• Around 300,000 people were left homeless, which was about 75 percent of the area’s population. Refugee camps along the coast were still in operation two years after the quake. Two refugee cottages still exist in the Presidio.
• The cost of the damage from the disaster was estimated at the time to be around $400 million, which is more than $9 billion in today’s money.
• Even with an official order to shoot and kill looters, as many as 100 people died in looting situations. Significant looting by civilians and military personnel was reported in Chinatown.
• To obtain its valuable real estate, there was an unsuccessful attempt by San Francisco leaders to permanently relocate Chinatown.
• While San Francisco takes top billing when the 1906 quake is discussed, significant damage also was done to Alameda, Berkeley, San Jose and Santa Rosa. People in locations as far away as Southern California, Nevada and Oregon reported feeling the earth tremble.
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