“Goodbye,” he said.
Just like that it was over. What had she expected? She sensed he felt the same, though. Knew it from the regret in his voice, the aching hunger in his eyes, and the frustration on his face, knowing this was how it had to be. She raised her chin and remarked, “Good luck to us both.”
A thoughtful smile curved his mouth. “I have a feeling we’re going to need it.”
Nothing more to be said. He gave her a quick, silent salute as she turned away and headed for the stairs.
* * * *
Coming down the gangplank, Yancy scanned the people waiting on the dock. A few held small signs with names on them, obviously looking for someone they wouldn’t recognize. He started to read the names but stopped when he spotted a tall gentleman dressed in a double-breasted frock coat, derby hat, and gold chain looped over his vest. He didn’t hold a sign, but he didn’t need to. This had to be a banker if ever there was one. Yancy walked to the gentleman and inquired, “Leighton Canfield?”
The man smiled with relief. “Why, yes. You must be Ronald’s brother.”
“I am.”
“And is the body…?” Canfield seemed to be searching for a way to put his words discreetly. “I mean…”
“It was transferred to the ferry. They should be unloading it shortly.” Hearing himself, Yancy reflected on how calm he sounded, how detached, as if this wasn’t Ronald he was talking about.
Canfield cleared his throat. “Fine, then. I’ve engaged the services of Duggan’s Mortuary over on Valencia Street. They’ll take care of everything. The funeral itself will be at Ronald’s house. Bernice is arranging it. She’s bought a casket, solid copper, all velvet inside. Thing cost a fortune.” He looked toward the ferry. “I don’t suppose you already—?”
“He’s coming home in a pine box.”
“Fine then.” Canfield shook his head in sympathy. “We were all shocked. Ronald was an exceptional man whom we all admired. Not only did we like him personally, he was first-rate at what he did, making the bank one of the most profitable in the city. But”—he frowned, as if displeased with himself—“what am I thinking? It must have come as a terrible shock, having your brother die on the train like that. I’ll drive you home right now, but tell me, what else can I do? I’m standing by to help any way I can.”
Yancy liked this man and how he quickly got to the point and expressed his sympathy without overdoing it. “About my mother—is she all right?”
“As well as can be expected. As I’m sure Ronald told you, she’s been bedridden for quite some time, and quite fragile. When I got your telegram, I wasn’t sure I should give her the bad news. Thought I should wait until you arrived, but…” The banker’s lip curved slightly with disapproval. “Bernice thought otherwise, so I told your mother myself. She took it well, or at least I think she did. She’s a brave woman, your mother.”
Thank God she was still alive. “And Richard and Beth? My brother talked about them all the time.”
“They know.”
Yancy detected a trace of disapproval in the banker’s expression. “They’re all right?”
“Let’s just say I’m glad you’re here,” Canfield replied. “Let’s be off, shall we? The children are eager to meet you.”
Yancy chose to ignore the banker’s reluctance to answer his question. He’d find out soon enough what was going on. As they left the dock, he caught sight of Belle. She appeared to be walking toward someone with a purposeful step, as if she’d found whom she was looking for. He glanced ahead and saw a man holding a sign that read BELLE AINSWORTH. So, she’d found him. He looked closer at the man she was going to marry. Tall and dark with a full head of black, curly hair—young, with a muscular build—face handsome as the devil.
How foolish he’d been with his ridiculous hope that she’d take one look at her mail-order husband and run the other way. But of course he was glad for her. At least now he could concentrate on whatever lay ahead. Why did he have this uneasy feeling that he’d soon have more than enough troubles of his own?
* * * *
There he was! Belle walked toward the man holding the sign with her name. He smiled as she came toward him. How young he looked, much younger than thirty-three, with even, white teeth that contrasted pleasingly with his olive skin. He wasn’t blond, as she’d expected, but his full head of black curly hair added greatly to his gorgeous good looks. He wasn’t dressed formally, wore simple clothing, but oh my! He was better looking than she’d ever imagined. She touched her hair, looked down, and smoothed her skirt. When she reached him, she extended her hand, acutely aware of this momentous occasion when she and her about-to-be husband would speak for the first time. “Robert Romano? I believe you’re looking for me. I’m Belle Ainsworth.”
He took her hand and gave her a big smile. “Pleased to meet you, but I’m not Robert. I’m Tony, his brother. He was too busy to meet you, but he said to tell you he’d try to break away as soon as he could. Come on, I’ll take you home.”
Chapter 9
During the minutes after Belle met Tony Romano, she had to concentrate on searching for her trunk from the pile of luggage on the dock. Not easy when every other passenger was doing the same. When she found it, Tony easily hoisted it to his shoulder and shoved his way through the crowd, she following close behind. When they got to the street, he loaded the trunk into the back of a delivery wagon with big red letters on the side that read ROMANO BROTHERS FISH COMPANY. “Climb right in,” he cheerfully remarked. “Need a hand?”
“I can manage.” Everything had happened so fast, she could hardly think straight. Now, as Tony eased the wagon into a street teeming with traffic, she had time to wonder why Robert hadn’t met her himself. Was she that unimportant to him? Her nose caught an aroma of not-so-fresh fish. Was that all he thought of her? Letting her ride to her new home in a smelly fish wagon? They started off. As Tony drove along a wide street that bordered the bay, he was rattling on in a friendly fashion, something about what sights to see in San Francisco. He seemed an affable young man, not more than twenty-five she guessed. If he noticed how quiet she was, he refrained from commenting. “My brother was sorry he couldn’t meet you,” he said. “He’s never been busier, what with the restaurant and all. He hardly ever goes out with us anymore.”
“Goes out to do what?” she asked.
He threw her a glance of disbelief. “To fish of course. He’s a fisherman, or he was before he started the business. He said he’d try to get home early, though. So will my brothers, unless they get becalmed.”
“Becalmed,” she numbly repeated, trying to think clearly and make sense of it all.
Tony chuckled. “I guess you don’t know much about the fishing fleet. They go to sea early every morning except Sunday. Sometimes there’s no breeze and the boats can’t get back in. They’ve got to wait till there’s a breeze again. It takes hours sometimes, unless they get out the oars and row. Or sometimes they’ll throw a grappling hook into the rudder chain of a steamer passing by. That way, they get an easy ride home.”
“Do the people on the steamer mind?” she asked.
“Hell, yes, they do. Excuse the language, ma’am, but if you think that’s bad, you should hear what they holler at us. They don’t like it. Slows ’em down. Roberto—I mean, Robert—never lets go. You should hear what he hollers back. It would make your ears burn. He’s got a bit of a temper, you know.”
Dear God, what had she done? Was this really happening? But despite everything, she’d be polite like she always was. “So you’re a fisherman, too, Mr. Romano?”
“Nobody’s a mister around here. I’m just plain Tony. Sometimes I go out on the boat. Sometimes I deliver the fish, like today. My brothers and me work for Roberto now. The whole family works for him. We pretty much do what he says. You’ve never been in San Francisco?” She shook her head, and he gestured toward the water. “Well, that�
��s the bay. This roadway is called the Embarcadero. It runs along the seawall and leads to all the piers, and that includes Meiggs Wharf, where the fishing boats are moored. You’ll be spending a lot of time there.”
“Really? Doing what?”
“Mainly the wives do the light stuff like gutting the fish and packing ’em in crates. Then we load up the wagons and deliver all over town. Dungeness crab, shrimp, oysters, salmon, and the like. Those fancy seafood restaurants buy all we’ve got, not only from our own boats, but we handle the catch from some of the other boats, too.”
Gutting the fish? Surely she hadn’t understood correctly, but she had no wish to pursue such a revolting subject. “Where are we going now?”
“I thought I’d drive you past Meiggs Wharf—that’s where the fishing fleet comes in—and then straight home. The family wants to meet you. Maybe Roberto will be back by the time we get there.”
A dark, unthinkable suspicion began to grow in her mind. “When you say ‘home,’ you mean Robert’s home?”
“I guess you could say that. He owns the house, but we all live there.”
She had to close her eyes a moment. Clear her head. Take a deep breath. “So how many are in the family?”
“Well, let’s see now. There’s Mama. She’s by herself now. Papa died two years ago. There’s me and my brothers, Marco, Lorenzo and of course Roberto. Marco has a wife, three kids, and one on the way. Lorenzo and Giana have only the one. That’s Bruno. He’s thirteen and nothing but trouble. I’m single but not for long. I’ve sent for my bride, and she’ll soon be arriving from Sicily, where my parents came from. That’s where all the wives are from, too.” He threw her a cheerful grin. “Except you. I don’t know what got into Roberto, but he does things differently sometimes.”
This latest revelation left her momentarily speechless. She could only come up with a mindless answer. “It must be a pretty big house.”
“You don’t need to worry. Roberto has his own bedroom.”
They continued around the perimeter of the bay. To the right lay an assortment of rickety piers mixed in with solidly built wharves, some with large ships berthed alongside. Huge warehouses lay to her left, along with shops, businesses, and along one stretch, shabby-looking hotels, boardinghouses, and a large number of bars with names like the Salty Dog and the Old Ship Saloon.
“That’s the Barbary Coast we’re passing,” Tony remarked. “You won’t get closer than this, though. Nice ladies like you wouldn’t be caught dead there.”
When they started out, they’d been traveling north. Now the roadway curved around the water’s edge, taking them west toward the Golden Gate. They passed a row of piers until finally they came to a pier extending far out into the bay. Boats and ships of all kinds were moored on either side. A throng of people strolled along the walkway. “This is Meiggs Wharf,” Tony explained. “See all those sailing boats? That’s the fishing fleet. I guess you could say the Italian fishing fleet because we’re all Italian. The boats are mostly green, like in the old country. They paint the names of the patron saints on the hulls. Ours is the Florian.”
“Why is the wharf so crowded?” Belle asked.
“There’s shops and amusements, and the housewives come here to buy their fish. Some of the restaurants do, too. And people come to eat here.” He pointed toward a two-story building, one of several built at the edge of the pier. “That one belongs to Roberto. He just opened it. See up there?”
She could hardly miss the sign atop the roof, stretching the entire length of the building, announcing ROMANO’S FISH GROTTO.
“That’s where you’re getting married, so you’ll be seeing it soon enough.” Tony turned off the Embarcadero, drove a block, and stopped the wagon in front of a large, two-story frame house that stood on a slope with a fine view of the bay. No sooner did he announce, “We’re here,” than the front door burst open and a short, plump woman came hurrying down the steps. Wiping her hands on her apron, she called, “Welcome, Belle, so glad you got here safe.” She spoke with a heavy Italian accent. “Come on in and meet your new sisters. They’re in the kitchen.”
What new sisters? Robert hadn’t said anything about sisters. Belle smiled. She might be confused, but she’d never ignore the social graces she’d been raised with. “Are you Robert’s mother?”
“Robert?” For a moment, the older woman looked perplexed. “Oh, you mean Roberto. That boy! I told him not to put on airs. Yes, I’m his mother.”
“I’m pleased to meet you, Mrs. Romano.”
“Call me Mama. Everybody calls me that, and you can, too. He’s not home yet but should be soon.”
Leaving Tony to unload the trunk, Mama led her inside and straight to the kitchen, a large, cheerful room with bright-colored curtains, wooden sink with a pump, and a delicious aroma from something cooking on the big cast-iron stove. Two young women sat at a table drinking coffee. One broke into a smile. The other, a thin-face woman around thirty or so, remained unsmiling, although her sharp eyes assessed Belle with keen interest as she walked in.
Belle wished she could hide. She’d done what she could to make herself presentable, but after four days on a train, she suddenly felt wilted, wrinkled, and desperate for a bath.
Mama proudly pointed toward the smiling woman at the table who was dark haired, around thirty, and obviously expecting a baby. “This is Rosa, who’s given me three grandchildren and another on the way.”
Rosa came around the table and gave Belle a hug. “Welcome to the family! You’re going to love it here!”
Mama pointed to the woman with the thin face. “This is Lorenzo’s wife, Giana. She only has Bruno, but she’ll catch up, won’t you, Giana?”
The thin-faced young woman, also dark haired, uttered a barely civil, “Pleased to meet you,” not bothering with a hug. “So you got here,” she added, a faint thread of hostility in her voice.
Before Belle could think how to respond, Mama declared, “Don’t mind her. She gets cross sometimes. Sit down. Do you want some coffee? Milk? Have you eaten?”
Belle replied she wasn’t thirsty and had already eaten, but Mama soon had a glass of milk and a plate of cookies on the table. Belle became the center of attention, as Rosa’s three small children trooped through the kitchen, shyly staring. Giana’s only child came in. Bruno, a boy of thirteen, wasn’t shy like the others and made Belle feel uncomfortable with the brazen stare he was giving her. After a brief stay, he grabbed some cookies and left. During the lively conversation around the table, Belle hardly had to say a word. Mama and Rosa did all the talking, making her feel welcome, assuring her Roberto himself would be home soon to greet her.
Giana sat quietly listening, face set in lines of disapproval. Finally, looking as if she could stand it no longer, she addressed Belle. “Why did you come here? Were there no men left in the South?”
Mama bristled. “Giana! You will be nice to Belle. Don’t forget, she’s going to be your new sister.”
The thin woman rolled her eyes and muttered something in Italian.
Mama glared at her. “That’s not polite. Speak English.”
“Gladly.” Giana tossed her head. “I still think Roberto was out of his mind. He could have sent for a nice Italian girl. But no, he changes his name so he sounds more American. Orders up this little cagna from God knows where.”
Apparently Giana had said something so outrageous that Mama stood abruptly and pointed toward the door. “You will apologize this minute or out you go, and Lorenzo with you.”
Giana’s face fell. With obvious reluctance she turned to Belle. “All right, I apologize. It’s not your fault, I suppose. Every woman wants to get married.”
Belle was trying to form an appropriate answer when Mama looked toward the door and her face lit. “Roberto! Your bride is here.”
Belle looked toward the door. A man in a finely tailored suit, tall derby hat,
and black leather brogan boots stood in the doorway. Oh, no. This was Robert? Where was the tall, incredibly handsome man she daydreamed about? Surely not this man. He wasn’t the least appealing with his stocky build, heavy jaw, and large, hawk nose. And he wasn’t much taller than she was, either. As he stepped into the room, his gaze fell upon her. “Belle?” Before she could even nod, he strode to where she was sitting, lifted her to her feet, and planted a wet kiss on each cheek. “My bride! Welcome to San Francisco.” He held her at arm’s length and gave her body a raking gaze. “Bellissima! We’ll be married tomorrow.” He threw a glance at his mother. “Right, Mama?”
Mrs. Romano beamed. “The wedding’s all planned. Wait till you see, Belle. It’ll be at the restaurant in the banquet hall. We’ve hired a band. The whole neighborhood will be there. We’ve planned it for late afternoon, so everyone from the fishing fleet can be there, too.”
“Uh, that sounds very nice.” Belle had only half listened to Mama. The disgusting feel of the two wet spots on her cheeks was all that concerned her. She wanted to wipe them off, but he’d be offended, so she’d better not. She took a step back and asked, “You’re Robert Romano? The one who sent the letters?”
He threw his head back and let out a big peal of laughter. “I’m Roberto, not Robert. My bookkeeper has a way with words, so he wrote that ad. He said I’d attract more women with ‘Robert’ than Roberto. Sounds more American.” He stuck his hand under her chin and gazed into her eyes. “You’re here now, sweetheart, and that’s what counts.” He glanced over her shoulder at his mother. “What do you think, Mama? Did I do good? Isn’t she a pretty one?”
Bay City Belle Page 9