Saturday's Child

by Dallas Schulze

  So, the day before the opera, she donned the peach gown, dressed Geoff in a fine little suit of navy and white and called for a carriage to take her to the Sterling mansion.

  Looking out the window on the ride, she felt her heart begin to beat more heavily as they passed familiar sights. The exquisite homes on the hill with their marble entries and pillared facades were like something out of a dream.

  When the carriage drew to a halt, she waited until the driver jumped down to open her door and accepted his hand as if she were accustomed to such niceties every day. When she asked him to wait, he nodded without question, though she knew that a year ago, he'd have demanded to see some money first.

  With a sleeping Geoff cradled in her arms, she turned to look down the street, delaying the moment when she'd have to face her in-laws. In the distance, she could see the blue of the bay. It looked so calm and peaceful. She wished she could draw some of that peace into herself.

  Lifting her chin, she turned and walked up the brick path, raising her skirt slightly as she climbed the four stairs and stopped in front of the door. She could hear the bell ring somewhere in the house and she felt almost light-headed with nervousness. Maybe Quentin had been right.

  But before she could change her mind, the huge door was swinging open. The maid who'd answered the door was no one she recognized.

  "Yes, ma'am?" The deferential tone gave Katie courage. She half smiled, thinking that less than a year ago, she would more likely have been told to go around to the back door.

  "Mrs. Quentin Sterling to see Mrs. Sterling, please."

  She saw the girl's eyes widen and heard her quick intake of breath. She might have come to work here in the last year but it was obvious that she was well caught up on her gossip.

  "Oh my." Without another word, she pushed the door shut, leaving Katie standing on the porch. She stared at the blank door, torn between amusement and indignation. It was only a moment before the door was opened again. This time it was Mrs. Dixon who stood on the other side.

  The housekeeper looked down her thin nose at the woman and child outside. She made no effort to conceal her disdain.

  "Mrs. Sterling is not at home to you," she said coldly. She would have shut the door without another word, but Katie had been prepared for this and she already had her reply ready.

  "Then I'd like to see Mr. MacNamara, if you please. I'm sure he'll want to meet his great-grandson."

  Mrs. Dixon hesitated and Katie knew what was going through her mind. She longed to shut the door in the intruder's face, to make it clear that she couldn't push her way in. But if she did so and Mr. MacNamara found out about it...

  "Come in, please. I'll inform Mr. MacNamara of your arrival."

  Katie stepped into the huge marble foyer, her chin held high. She had nothing to be ashamed of. She had every bit as much right to be here as anyone, if not for her own sake, then for the sake of the infant she held. Geoff was a Sterling and she'd not see him shut away from his family if she could prevent it.

  Mrs. Dixon came back down the wide staircase, her back as rigid as if she'd swallowed a steel spike.

  "Mr. MacNamara will see you now. If you'll come this way."

  If the rest of the Sterling family wanted nothing to do with her or her son, Tobias MacNamara didn't share their feelings. In fact, he positively delighted in their presence in his suite of rooms.

  Geoff seemed entertained by his great-grandfather and rewarded him by being on his best behavior. No fussing or crying. Instead, Tobias got to see him at his sunny best.

  It was only when Geoff began to tire that the old man turned his attention to Katie.

  "So, how's that grandson of mine? Why isn't he herewith you?"

  "Spring is a very busy time at the ranch," Katie said noncommittally.

  "Pshaw. The boy could get away if he'd a mind to. Not having problems, are you?" He didn't wait for her to answer, which was just as well because she couldn't think of a thing to say. "He's a good lad but prone to being moody. He thinks too much. That's been his problem all along.

  "Take this girl Alice." He nodded with satisfaction when he saw Katie start at the name. "I thought that might be part of the problem. I might have warned you at the start but we hardly knew each other. Not that we know each other all that well now, but this little boy here, he kind of speeds things up."

  "I do feel as if I've known you longer than I have," Katie said shyly.

  "I do, too. Told Quentin when he came back that he wasn't going to find the kind of wife he needed among those society girls his mother would have paraded under his nose. Find yourself a good, strong girl with character, I told him. I was pleased enough when he told me the two of you were getting married. Hadn't seen a lot of you, but it doesn't take long to see character. And I saw it in you. Strength, too. He made a good choice."

  "I'm not sure he'd agree," Katie said in a whisper, twisting her gloves in her hands.

  "Well, if it's Alice you're worried about, don't be. Oh, she was a sweet enough child. Pretty as a picture and good-natured, but she and Quentin would never have suited. She was too soft and too gentle. Quentin would have found that out sooner or later."

  Katie longed to believe him. But the very intensity of her desire made her wary. When you wanted something to be true, it was easy to blind yourself to the facts. And the fact was that Quentin had said he'd wanted to die, too, when he lost Alice.

  Setting aside the tragic Alice, there was still no reason to think he cared for her. Before Geoff was born, she'd begun to think it possible, but he'd changed so since then, grown so cool and distant.

  Still, the visit with Tobias made her feel better. Maybe she shouldn't give up so soon. Maybe Quentin had missed her since she'd left. The one short note she'd received since arriving nearly three weeks ago had been completely impersonal but not everyone could put their feelings on paper.

  ❧

  These were the thoughts that were running through her head the next night as she lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling. She could find no answers there and she made a determined effort to turn her mind to other things, like the opera they'd seen a few short hours before.

  Caruso was truly as great as she'd heard. An article in the Chronicle on Sunday had said that Caruso actually would rather be a good cartoonist than the greatest opera singer in the world and had shown some of his cartoons to prove the seriousness of his claim. Katie found it hard to believe that he'd prefer drawing caricatures to singing grand opera, especially when he was reputed to be earning two thousand dollars a performance.

  Besides, the magnificence of the voice she'd heard that night made it clear that his destiny lay with opera. Surely, Don Jose had never been performed more brilliantly. And if Madame Fremstad as Carmen was, as one critic had said, just a bit dutchy, it was a small criticism.

  The glitter of the audience had been fitting competition for the splendor of the audience. Colin had told them that nearly one hundred thousand dollars had been taken in for the one performance, with the best seats going for ten dollars each.

  It seemed that the creme de la creme of San Francisco society filled the barnlike building, as much to see and be seen as to enjoy the cultural experience of the opera. There were so many dazzling jewels it was hard to notice any one more than the others.

  Mrs. James Flood was one of the more restrained, wearing a tiara, a dog collar, shoulder straps and corsage decorations of diamonds and pearls. Edith pointed out the box occupied by Chief of Police Jeremiah Dinan and his wife. Officers ringed the rear of the auditorium, a precaution against a repeat of the riot that had occurred the night before at the Alhambra Theater when the audience had objected to the quality of the performance being offered there.

  Colin had managed to get the night off so that he could attend the performance with his wife and sister and Katie thought she'd never seen him look more splendid than he did in his stiff white shirt and black frock coat.

  It had been a lovely evening and, for a few hours,
she'd nearly forgotten Wyoming, her marriage and Quentin. But now, lying in her quiet bed, there was nothing to distract her and she found herself wondering if he missed her even a fraction as much as she missed him.

  Sighing, she turned her face into the pillow, determined to get at least an hour's sleep before Geoff woke her with a demand to be fed. The mantel clock in the parlor was chiming three and Geoff was sure to be awake by six.

  Sheer willpower got her to sleep, but it seemed as if she'd barely closed her eyes when she was awake again. But it was not the sound of her son's cry that made her start up in bed. It was a deep rumbling sound, like the growl of a great animal.

  Katie sat up with a start, noting in amazement that the furniture was moving as if in some bizarre dance. The rumbling became a roar as the little house shook. Her first thought was for the baby who lay in his crib near the wall. She jumped out of bed, only to be knocked from her feet as the floor undulated beneath her.

  Lying on the floor, she knew the meaning of absolute terror. It was as if the city had been caught up by a giant terrier and was being shaken like a rat.

  The shaking stopped and she lunged upward, running to the cradle to snatch Geoff up. She had time for only that before the shaking started again, more fierce this time. Staggering, she grabbed for the bedpost, clutching the baby to her with her free hand.

  She watched in horror as the whole side of the house began to shudder and then suddenly the wall broke loose from its moorings, falling outward with a sound that seemed almost minor in comparison to the sounds of shattered masonry and falling brick that were all around.

  Above it all, incongruous as a dream, she could hear the bells of Old St. Mary's Church, north of Market, frantically ringing as if announcing the end of the world. At that moment, Katie almost believed that was exactly what she was witnessing.

  The shaking stopped with a last sullen rumble. Aside from the bell, it was suddenly silent, the quiet of the tomb. She could only stand there, trembling, holding Geoff close, her mind nearly blank.

  From the corner of her eye, she caught a movement. A calendar fluttered on the wall, the lovely girl pictured on it a contrast to the destruction she so obliviously presided over.

  Katie took careful note of the date, focusing her mind on that, as if it were of vital importance. Anything to avoid trying to deal with what had happened.

  April 18, 1906

  ❧

  Quentin rode hunch-shouldered and ill-tempered. Why was it that life never worked out as you had it planned? He'd planned to marry ABce and spend his life with her. Then she'd died and he'd sworn never to love again, never to let anyone close enough that her loss could leave him broken and bleeding inside.

  And then he'd met Katie.

  He'd admired her spirit. He'd found a certain peace when she was near. And he'd told himself that it would be a good thing to marry her. A man shouldn't go through life alone, he should have heirs to follow after, to inherit what he'd built.

  He'd thought Katie would make a good wife and she'd not expect him to love her. They were both entering into this marriage with their eyes wide open. There'd be no shattered dreams and broken hearts to come out of this union. He'd provide her with the home she wanted and they'd build a good marriage, based on mutual goals.

  It had been a good plan, he told himself irritably. Only that plan hadn't worked, either. He'd made the singular mistake of falling in love with his wife. He loved the way her nose wrinkled when she laughed, the way she frowned while she was cooking, her eyes anxious on whatever pot she was stirring. He loved the way her hair always managed to escape its pins. The way she blushed when he unbuttoned her nightgown. And then how passionately she responded to his touch. He shifted in the saddle, uncomfortable with the direction his thoughts were taking.

  When she'd so nearly died having his son, he had no longer been able to pretend that all he felt was fondness. Faced with losing her, he'd had to face his feelings. But he hadn't accepted them, he admitted. He'd fought them tooth and nail.

  He didn't want to love anyone that much again. He didn't want to be so vulnerable. He didn't want all his happiness tied up in another person. He'd arranged his life so well. How dare she destroy his neat pattern?

  He was ashamed to admit that he'd been angry at her, as if it were her fault that he loved her. And then, like a child, he'd decided that he didn't have to love her if he didn't want to. So he'd treated her like a sister or a niece. He'd stayed away from the bed they'd shared. He'd worked long hours so he wouldn't have to spend so much time alone with her.

  He'd treated his love for her like an illness that would go away if given a chance to run its course. He'd been a fool, he admitted to himself.

  It wasn't until she was gone that he'd learned the true meaning of loneliness. Oh, he'd been lonely after Alice died, but it was nothing compared to what he'd felt once Katie left.

  He'd never had a chance to build a life with Alice, never had a chance to store up the little memories that caught him unawares. He'd walk into the kitchen and feel a pang when he didn't see Katie. He'd even felt lonely when he sat on one of her knitting needles, forgotten beneath a cushion.

  His temper had gone from bad to worse after her departure. She hadn't even been gone a week when one of the hands threatened to quit. Quentin had reined in his ill temper after that, but Tate had finally taken him aside and, with the familiarity of an old man talking to a young fool, had suggested that he go to San Francisco and bring his wife home,

  Quentin had railed all night against the idea. He wouldn't love her. And then he'd gone into the room they'd shared and stared at the bed where they'd made love, the bed where their son had been born. Crossing the room, he'd pushed his boot against the cradle, listening to the quiet rhythm of the rockers against the wood floor.

  The house seemed to echo with emptiness. All the heart was gone from it. Standing there in the empty room, Quentin finally admitted to himself that love was something he couldn't dictate, no matter how hard he tried.

  If he'd never known Katie, he might have gone through his life content never to love again. But he couldn't pretend she didn't exist and he couldn't pretend she didn't hold his heart in her hands.

  "I love you, Katie Aileen Sterling." He spoke the words out loud and wondered if it was his imagination that made the room seem suddenly brighter, warmer.

  Now, here he was, almost to Laramie and frozen half to death. He had fresh clothes strapped to the back of the saddle. He was going to catch the first train to San Francisco and find his wife and tell her just what a fool he'd been. He'd beg her on bended knee if he had to, but he wasn't leaving the city without her.

  He'd started well before dawn and hadn't stopped, choosing to chew on a stick of jerked beef while he rode. It was after dark when he rode into Laramie and made his way to the livery stable. He left his horse to be cared for, giving the man an extra two bits to feed the tired animal a ration of oats and rub him down well.

  He walked directly to the railway station, though his stomach suggested that stopping to eat might be a good idea. He'd eat on the train, if he was lucky enough to be able to catch one tonight.

  "Hello, Bill. You're working late." The station-master turned as Quentin leaned in the ticket window.

  "Hello, Quentin. Trains don't pay much attention to other folks' schedules. Goin' somewhere?"

  "San Francisco, if you've got a train headin' that direction."

  "There's one should be comin' through in about three hours. Bringin' relief from Chicago."

  "Relief?" Quentin felt a frisson of alarm.

  "That's right. You would'na heard yet if you just got into town. There was a big earthquake just this morning. Newspapers are sayin' the city's leveled. No tellin' how many are dead."

  "My God." Quentin straightened away from the window. Katie and Geoff were there. And the rest of his family.

  "You still want to go?" Bill questioned. "Don't seem much reason unless you're a reporter."

 
"Yes, I want to go. My family is there."

  "Oh, say." Bill's face wrinkled with concern. "I'm sorry about that. I'd forgot you were from the coast." He shifted uncomfortably. "Well, you know how the newspapers always exaggerate. Probably wasn't near as bad as they make it sound. Your wife there?"

  "Yes. And our son."

  "Say, that's too bad, but I bet when you get there, you'll find them snug as anything. Sure, they'll be fine."

  Quentin turned away without answering. Moving to the edge of the platform, he stared toward the west. Katie was there. And Geoff. Everything he loved most in the world. If he hadn't been such a fool... If only he'd told her how he felt, she wouldn't have gone.

  Was his stupidity going to cost Katie her life?

  ❧

  The hours immediately following the quake were like a scene from Dante's Inferno. Within fifteen minutes, columns of smoke could be seen rising from various parts of the city. Many of the blazes were in the area south of Market where Colin and Edith's little house lay.

  The firemen were well trained and responded with an efficiency that couldn't be faulted, but they were hampered at first by the scattered positions of the fires, which forced them to dissipate their efforts over a wide area.

  It wasn't long before another and far more serious problem became evident. The water from the hoses slowed to a trickle and then stopped altogether. When the earthquake had lashed the city, the shifting earth had snapped the water mains, leaving the firemen virtually helpless against the advancing blaze.

  All of this Katie learned later. In those first few minutes after the tremors, she could only stand in the ruins of her little bedroom, clutching her son to her and offering up a prayer of thanks that they had been saved.

  "Katie? Katie, are you all right?" Colin's voice was harsh with fear. She could hear him picking his way through the shambles to her door.

  "I'm fine. And the baby's fine." He thrust open her door, his face white, the tension not leaving it until he saw her standing there unharmed. "Is Edith safe?"