“And then there’s Annie Sheridan and her mother, who lived in the rooming house on the corner. I left them in Golden Gate Park. I don’t know if I can find them again, but I’d like to be sure they’re safe.”
“Ah, I remember, the voluble Annie.” Mr. Pat nodded. He thought a moment, then reached into his pocket and handed Nick a small money purse. “There’s not much in here, but please give this to Annie’s mother for me. Tell her we’ll do all we can to bring them back as our neighbors on Jackson Street.”
“Gee, Mr. Pat, thanks.” Nick started to go. After a few steps, he looked back. Shakespeare sat close to Mr. Pat, looking up at his master, wagging his tail.
Mr. Pat saw his glance. “Shakespeare, your young master has a mission, and I believe he’d like some company. You’d better go with him.”
“Can I really take him?” Nick asked. “Come on, Shake.”
“Go with him, Shakespeare. Nick’s part of the establishment now.” Mr. Pat tapped Shake on his shoulder and the dog sprang across to Nick in a graceful bound. “Be careful. I’ll see what I can do to round up something edible and commence the sad task of assessing the true damage to our business. And when you come back, let’s see if we can find some water for baths—for all of us!”
Nick paused on the steps. “Mr. Pat, I just want to—”
Pat Patterson pointed a finger into the air. “Nick, if we are to be a team…well, one might even go so far as to say a family…just plain Pat will do.”
Nick grinned. “Thanks, Pat. My grandmother—”
Nick stopped. He took his hat off and twisted it in his hands. It was black with soot and threadbare in some places. He thought of Gran pulling out her glove, putting by some money to buy him a new cap.
“My grandmother liked to laugh. She loved beautiful things, like flowers. I don’t think she got much beauty in her life. But she’d be happy to know…to know I’m here,” Nick said slowly. He struggled to find the right words. “Gran wanted…well, she wanted me to have the world.”
Then Nick whistled. “Come on, Shake, let’s go.”
SHAKESPEARE’S NAMESAKES
The swirling winds and the smoke of the firestorms were gone. An eerie quiet lay over the city streets, or what was left of them. It was daylight now, not night. And as Nick picked his way carefully around bricks, beams, abandoned trunks, and smoking buildings, he felt he was seeing for the first time the true horror of all that had happened.
Somehow, maybe because Jackson Street had been saved, Nick had halfway expected to find other pockets of buildings that still stood or could be repaired. But block after block, all he saw was desolation—a flattened, blackened plain where a vibrant, noisy city had stood just days before.
Here and there, the ruins of a few brick walls still stood upright. Once Nick saw the remains of a steel-framed building, where the flames must have burned like a furnace, bending and melting the metal into curved, limp pieces.
Shake pattered at Nick’s heels, head down. He didn’t stop to sniff like he’d normally do. All the live, earthy smells dogs usually love were gone.
“We’re going to Golden Gate Park now, Shake,” Nick told him as they skirted a pile of broken bricks. “Tomorrow maybe we’ll search the relief camp at the Presidio for Tommy. I don’t think we’ll find him, though. But I’m sure Annie will be real glad to see you again.”
On Market Street, Nick caught sight of a small brown cap peeking out from the ashes. It looked a lot like his own. He couldn’t help but think of the boy who must have worn it. Nick wondered how many people had died these last three days and if their names would ever be known.
He kicked at a patch of ashes with the toe of his shoe.
“If I hadn’t met Pat, I might have been sleeping in an alley Wednesday morning. I might have been crushed by a falling wall or trapped in rubble until the fire got me,” he said softly to Shakespeare. “No one would have reported me gone. No one would have missed me or even known my name.”
Shake barked once and wagged his tail. He graced Nick with a wide smile. “Yes, thanks, boy,” said Nick, scratching the big dog’s head. “I know you’d miss me. Even if you did run away and cause so much trouble.”
Nick reached over and pulled the brown hat from under the cinders. He dug a hole with a stick and buried it carefully under the ashes and dirt. As he did, Nick made himself a promise. He would do something in his life; he wasn’t sure what. Some small thing would do, just something so his name wouldn’t be totally forgotten.
Golden Gate Park was a sea of white tents, stretched as far as Nick could see. There were makeshift shelters, too, constructed out of blankets, sheets, and odd bits of furniture. People cooked on small stoves or waited in line to get handouts.
Nick hoped he could find the tent where he’d left Annie and her mother. But he didn’t need to worry. Annie must have been keeping watch. She saw him first. Or rather, she spotted Shake.
“Shakespeare!” she screamed, and charged at them, braids flying. “Nick, you saved Shakespeare!”
Shake got hugged first. But Annie gave Nick a big hug, too. She hopped up and down, chortling with joy.
“So, Nick, you’ve come for your quarter at last. What took you so long? Why didn’t you come yesterday?”
“Yesterday? Well, yesterday I was still fighting the fire,” Nick told her, grinning. “Most of Jackson Street was saved. Mr. Pat came back. He has a lot of work to do on his store, but he should be able to open again soon. But, Annie, the rooming house burned down. I’m sorry.”
He paused. “How’s your mother?”
“Mama is much better, although her side still hurts a lot. But of course she can’t be moved.” Annie leaned her head in close to Nick’s. “Don’t you want to know why?”
Without waiting for his answer, she blurted, “Because she and Will are being taken care of in the tent hospital here.”
Nick frowned. “Will?”
“My new baby brother!” Annie clapped and bounced from one foot to the other, braids flying. “He was born last night at midnight. And he’s perfectly perfect.”
“Wow. So you’re a big sister at last.” Nick almost felt like jumping up and down himself. A baby! Safe, after that long, terrible journey.
“Mama and I decided to name him after you or Shakespeare,” Annie told him. “I wanted to call him Nick, but Mama thought that might be confusing. Nick and Nick.”
“Yes, I can see that.” Nick grinned. “But why Will?”
“William Shakespeare, silly.” Annie reached into a pocket of her dress. “Now stick out your hand, Nick. Here’s your two bits. It’s the very same coin.”
“Thanks, Annie,” Nick said softly. He held it in his hand and closed his fist over it. “Monday is my birthday, you know. I’ll be twelve. That’s the best birthday present I could have. Besides knowing you’re all safe.”
When Nick visited Mrs. Sheridan, she surprised him by reaching out to give him a hug. “Thank you, dear boy. You’ll always have a place in my heart for what you did for us.”
Nick felt his face get hot. He peered into a nest of blankets at the baby’s small face. “He’s sure little,” he said, which made Annie and her mother laugh.
Nick brought out the small purse Pat had given him. “Your rooming house is ruined, ma’am. Mr. Pat…Pat says to please accept this gift and we’ll do what we can to help you come back to our neighborhood once things are rebuilt.”
“And you’re staying on with him, aren’t you? Well, I think you two will make a good team,” Mrs. Sheridan said, tears shining in her eyes.
“Three,” corrected Annie. “Don’t forget Shakespeare.”
When it was time for Mrs. Sheridan and the baby to rest, Annie walked with Nick and Shake to the edge of the park.
“I’ll come back and visit in a few days,” Nick promised. “And it looks like you were right. We’ll be neighbors after all.”
Annie nodded, but she seemed anxious. Suddenly she grabbed his arm. “Before you go, Nick,
I…I have something else for you.”
“What else?” Nick was curious. “You already gave back the coin.”
“Don’t be mad.” Annie’s astonishing bright eyes filled with tears. She reached into her pocket and then thrust something into his hand. “I found it on the floor. It just looked like such a nice family. I was so glad you went back for my picture. And so I decided to take this one with me, too.”
Nick looked at what he held. It was the old photograph of Pat’s family. Nick stared. “Annie, do you know what you’ve done?”
Annie shook her head until her braids bounced.
“You’ve saved one of Mr. Pat’s most valued treasures.”
That afternoon, as Nick turned the corner onto Jackson Street, he spotted Ed Lind standing in front of Pat’s store. Ed was watching Pat put the finishing touches on a sign. It was really just a board nailed over the empty space where the window had been.
“Hullo there, Nick,” called Ed. “I was just reading a newspaper article about you in the Call.”
“About me?”
“Here, let me, Ed.” Pat cleared his throat. “I’ve been onstage, after all.”
San Francisco, April 21, 1906
BOY HERO RISKS ALL & SAVES DOG
Nicholas Dray, of Jackson Street in San Francisco, became a hero on Friday when he entered a smoking building to rescue his dog, Shakespeare. The boy’s courage was even more remarkable because he defied a soldier who mistook him for one of the looters who have taken advantage of our city’s misfortune.
When asked why he would risk death for a mere canine, Nick declared, “He is a good dog. A very good dog.”
Nicholas Dray is the ward of Mr. Pat Patterson, one of the city’s most distinguished literary figures and owner of the stationery store Shakespeare’s Scribes, now open for business on Jackson Street. Says Mr. Patterson, “All charred items, many of them still in working order, will be on sale, and new stock is expected momentarily.”
Nick listened, and couldn’t keep from smiling. He was certainly not invisible any longer. Written up in the newspaper, before he was twelve!
When Pat finished, he and Ed burst into laughter.
But Nick was confused about one thing. “I don’t understand—what is Shakespeare’s Scribes?”
Ed Lind pointed. “Look there. It’s Pat’s new sign.”
Nick stood back and read the words out loud:
Shakespeare’s Scribes
Quality Stationers
Open for Business in the New
San Francisco
With a New Name and
Expanded Management Team
NOW THAT YOU’VE SURVIVED
THE FIRE AND THE QUAKE,
IT’S TIME TO TELL THE FOLKS BACK HOME
YOU’RE SAFE, FOR GOODNESS’ SAKE.
SO STOP IN HERE FOR POSTCARDS, PAPER, AND A PEN.
WE’VE GOT SOME FOR WOMEN AND SOME FOR MEN.
AND IF YOU CANNOT WRITE, DON’T WORRY,
FOR WE CAN FIX THAT IN A HURRY.
PAT AND NICK WILL BE YOUR SCRIBES,
WITH WORTHY SHAKESPEARE AT OUR SIDES.
Shakespeare barked three times and grinned. He wagged his tail, his whole body wriggling with joy. Pat Patterson wrote his name on the bottom of the sign with a flourish and handed the pen to Nick.
“Sign your name, Nicholas Dray, boy hero and businessman of San Francisco.”
Nick threw his cap into the air and then took the pen in his hand to begin.
EPILOGUE
One afternoon in late fall, when the air was still full of hammering and pounding and trucks and carts unloading supplies, Nicholas Dray came down Montgomery on his way home.
He was about to turn the corner onto Jackson Street when he saw a man pacing up and down the sidewalk, muttering under his breath.
To Nick’s surprise, the man suddenly threw himself on the curb and buried his head in his hands. His shoulders heaved. At first Nick thought he might be drunk—after all, Hotaling’s whiskey was pretty popular these days.
Nick knew that although liquor had been banned in San Francisco for ten weeks after the disaster, the stash that Ed Lind had managed to save had been sold elsewhere. It had given the company a boost. Best of all, Ed Lind had been promoted for his extraordinary efforts in saving the warehouse.
Nick wasn’t that surprised to see the grief-stricken man on the curb. For a long time after the disaster, people had been desperately seeking their lost relatives. It wasn’t easy to find survivors, especially among those who had lived in the rooming houses south of the Slot.
Now the city was being rebuilt, with new businesses opening every day. Most of the relief camps had closed. Some people without homes had left the city altogether. Others had moved into small wooden houses—shacks, really—that folks called earthquake cottages.
Thanks to Pat and Mr. Lind, Annie’s family hadn’t had to live at the camp at Golden Gate Park for long. Mr. Lind had found them a room to stay in at the back of the warehouse until the rooming house on the corner was rebuilt.
Seeing this man on the curb now made Nick think about Annie’s father. How she had worried what would happen if he came back to look for her! And for a moment, Nick’s heart lifted. But then he realized the truth—this man was too old to be Annie’s father.
Nick knew Annie hadn’t given up hope that her father would come back, but she didn’t talk about him so often anymore. She was busy helping her mother, for one thing. Mrs. Sheridan managed the rooming house now, a job that allowed her to take care of baby Will.
“As I climb the stairs ten times a day without any pain in my side whatsoever,” Mrs. Sheridan told Nick one day, “I often think how I would never have made it out of the building without you.”
“You shouldn’t thank me, ma’am,” Nick said. “I…I don’t really deserve it. The truth is, I forgot about Annie that day. If she hadn’t shouted for me…”
“Have you been feeling guilty all this time?” Mrs. Sheridan smiled. “Don’t worry about Annie Sheridan, Nick. Like this city, my girl is a survivor.”
Sometimes Annie, Shakespeare, and Nick walked through Chinatown. After a long struggle by the Chinese people of San Francisco, Chinatown was being rebuilt in the same neighborhood.
“Do we come here so often because we’re still looking for your friend?” Annie asked once.
“I guess so. But I have a feeling he’s not coming back,” Nick told her. “I went looking for him at the relief camps, but I never found him. He had a dream of being a singer. Maybe he’s onstage somewhere.”
That’s what he told Annie. But Nick knew the truth was probably a lot different. More likely, Tommy had ended up living in a home for Chinese orphans or working for another greedy relative.
Annie nodded solemnly. “Well, I’ll fly to the North Star tonight and help him find his way. You never know.”
You never know. Nick remembered Annie’s words when, many months later, he came home to find a letter on the store counter addressed to Nick, The Stationery Store, Jackson Street, San Francisco.
“Hullo, my boy,” said Pat, coming out from the back room, followed by Shakespeare, who jumped up and licked Nick’s face. “Glad to see you’re home from school. I’m just back here doing the books. Come tell me about your day.”
“Hi, Pat,” Nick replied with a grin. “I’ll be right there.”
Nick put his schoolbooks down on the counter and opened the envelope. Inside was a small newspaper clipping. He unfolded it carefully as Shakespeare leaned against him, and smiled when he saw the headline, “All-Chinese Barbershop Quartet to Perform in New York City.”
Nick laughed as he scanned the article. So, Tommy had made it! He was singing in New York.
The envelope felt heavy. Something else was in there. Reaching inside, Nick’s fingers closed tightly around a silver quarter. Then he drew out the other quarter from his pocket.
For a long moment, he stared down at the two shiny coins in his hands. He had both together a
gain, just like when he’d started out on his journey. But so much had changed.
Nick wondered if anything had changed for Rebecca. Most likely, though, she was still working in Mr. Hank’s fields.
And then there was Gran. Thinking of her made his heart ache. It probably always would. Yet Nick could imagine Gran looking at him now and giving a satisfied nod. Although, he thought, she’d probably want me to cut my hair.
At that moment a bell tinkled and the door behind him opened.
“Good afternoon. I’m looking for an inkwell as a present for my wife,” said a tall gentleman with a black umbrella. “Can you help me, young man?”
Nick folded up the clipping so he could show it to Annie later. He slipped the two coins carefully into his pocket.
“I certainly can, sir,” said Nick with a grin, giving Shake a pat. “Welcome to Shakespeare’s Scribes.”
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Into the Firestorm is fiction, but it is set during real events. In 1906 San Francisco was the largest city west of the Mississippi, with a population of 410,000. The San Francisco earthquake and fire, one of the worst natural disasters in American history, began at 5:12 a.m. on Wednesday, April 18, 1906.
Today we understand more about how earthquakes occur than people did at the time. The top layer of the earth is called the crust. It’s made of several thin and rigid pieces called plates, which move and push against one another. As they do, weak spots or breaks, called faults, may develop. When pressure along the faults builds up, the plates jerk and slip, releasing waves of energy that cause the shaking that occurs in an earthquake. The San Francisco earthquake occurred along the San Andreas Fault, which extends about 290 miles along the California coast between the Pacific plate on the west and the North American plate to the east.
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