by Lyn Cote
“What was it?” Cecy leaned toward Linc, her hair falling forward. She tossed it back over her shoulder. “Is something wrong at home? Del?”
“No, but I have to leave—”
“Don’t.” Feeling herself begin to gasp for air, she held her arms to him in silent appeal.
He grasped her upper arms, urging her to stand up. “I wouldn’t go if it weren’t absolutely necessary. I’ll come back as soon as I can.”
His strength had eased the anguish of hearing about her past. Why couldn’t he stay and hold her until her mother woke? Mother might still die. But seeing his resolve, Cecy repressed a bone-deep shudder. “You’ll come back?”
“As soon as I’m able.” He hesitated, then bent to kiss her on the lips. She threw her arms around his neck and clung to him. All the effort she’d put into starting a new life was slipping through her fingers like silk thread. Only Linc seemed able to guide her. She hated needing anyone. She forced herself to let go. “I’ll be waiting.”
Giving her his unspoken promise again, he left.
Feeling as though all the life had been drawn out of her, Cecy crept over to stand beside Nana who put her arm around Cecy’s waist. Cecy stared down at the limp form on the bed. Would she wake? Why had she feared probing the truth? “If she’d only spoken to me…”
“She’s led a solitary life for so long…” Nana shook her head. “I wish you’d seen her when she was so young, so pretty.”
Cecy took a calming breath, bringing air in slowly and pushing out anxiety. When she’d come into her inheritance here in San Francisco, she’d thought her powerless days were in the past. But money couldn’t help her now. The worst outcome, though, had been averted tonight. Her mother had been saved by Nana. “No more secrets. My father. My aunt. My grandfather—they’ll never touch her life, my life again.” Saying the vow out loud gave her strength.
Some tight knot in Cecy unfurled, then dissolved. She took another deep breath, pressing down the last trace of her panic. “Nana, you were right. The truth has set me free.”
The story of twisted evil Linc had listened to made him ache. Many in this new twentieth-century scoffed at the existence of evil. Fools. Parking on deserted Market Street, he charged into the Bulletin building, unusually bright for the hour, nearly dawn. Would he be able to scotch another scandal?
The door to Older’s office was open. His heart pounding in his ears, Linc stepped inside. Looking back at him were Fremont Older and the other San Francisco managing editors, one each from the Examiner, Call, and Chronicle. He’d come to know them over the past months.
“What’s all this about?” the Examiner editor, a slender young man with spectacles asked.
Linc began, “You’ve all been contacted by Dr. Kemper?”
The rumpled Call editor leaned back in his chair. “Let me guess, you don’t want us to run the latest chapter in your favorite redhead’s scandal?”
“It’s news. We print news.” The spectacled Examiner editor shrugged. The gray-haired man from the Chronicle kept his silence like Older.
Showing a confidence he was far from feeling, Linc leaned against Older’s filing cabinets. Cecilia’s reputation—what was left—hung by a strand. The scandal of attempted suicide outweighed everything else. Suicide was a shame which couldn’t be washed away. The worst of it was—Cecilia would be blamed. He imagined a headline: WILD HEIRESS DRIVES MOTHER TO SUICIDE. But keeping the attempted suicide from the papers wouldn’t be easy. What could he tempt them with?
Linc prayed for a persuasive argument, for God to move the hearts of these men. “First I think you all owe Cecilia Jackson an apology. Every one of you here knew the truth about Victor Hunt and you still painted her as the villain.”
“Is she really writing for your muckraking journal?” The young editor peered over his round spectacles.
Linc knew then what he had to offer them. “Yes, and in my first issue out in a week, she exposes the disgusting conditions of canneries across the Bay—”
“Canneries? What kind of punch does a story like that have?” The rumpled Call editor sneered.
“Miss Jackson wrote an exposé of the horrible abuses of the workers—men, women, and children in the canneries owned by”—he paused dramatically, then made himself grin—“Miss Cecilia Jackson.”
“What?” the rumpled editor unfolded himself.
“Why would she do something like that?” The bespectacled editor looked amused.
Linc spread his arms in a what-could-I-do gesture. “It was her decision. She went with me and worked a sardine catch there.”
The young editor grinned. “A young lady of quality worked in a sardine cannery?”
Linc nodded. “She lasted the whole eleven-hour shift. The experience changed her. Her article not only graphically describes four-year-olds gutting fish while their mothers work nearby. She also outlines the changes she has already set in motion.”
Older spoke up for the first time: “What changes?”
Linc glanced at him. Later he’d thank Older for calling to warn him of the doctor’s revelation. “First of all, in voluntary compliance with the new Pure Food Act, she’s ordered all the canneries across the Bay to be scrubbed spotless.”
“Since I eat sardines on toast, I’ll thank you not to tell me just how dirty they were,” Older quipped.
Linc smiled at him. “Next, she’s commissioned a mechanical engineer to improve the machinery design for safety and increased efficiency.”
The Chronicle editor finally spoke: “I’m sure all this is interesting, but I have better things to do.”
Linc ignored this. “She’s already signed construction contracts for a large a settlement house across from the cannery. It’ll include a nursery, an infirmary with a nurse, a day school, a bath house, and a laundry for all cannery workers.”
“Something like Jane Addams’s Hull House?” The young editor looked thoughtful.
“A cross between that and a company town—only a good company town. The workers will be required to report to work clean and in clean clothing to meet new sanitary standards. No children under the age of twelve will be hired. All children and infants will be left at the nursery and day school while their parents work.” Linc studied the men trying to gauge their reactions.
The Chronicle editor asked, “How does she plan to still make a profit with all these new expenses? Lower wages?”
Linc proudly shook his head. “The cleanliness changes would be necessary in themselves since the passage of the Pure Food Act, so money would have to be spent in any case. But she has doubled her workers’ wages and will still be able to make a healthy profit.” Linc smiled. “She believes the newly designed machinery will increase productivity and keep her cannery in the black.”
The young man admitted, “I’m quite impressed with what you’ve said, Wagstaff. But why should we hush up the scandal?”
Linc crossed his arms over his chest, sending up one final prayer. “Number one, would you like your doctor calling the paper to tell about your ailments? And which is more likely to make a better story? A near suicide or the reclamation of my scandalous redhead? If you run the suicide story, it will overshadow and weaken the story of Miss Jackson’s reclamation, which will give you many more opportunities for copy. Let me remind you, she has lots of factories. And she has plans for them all.”
The Chronicle editor rose. “Are you sure this isn’t just a set-up to get publicity in all our papers for your serious journal?”
Linc shrugged. It stung giving his scoop up to other papers, but Cecilia was worth more.
“Here’s my two cents. I don’t like Hunt,” Older drawled. “If Wagstaff’s heiress is writing for Linc, that makes her one of us.”
The editors absorbed this and left. Linc closed the door after them and turned to face Older. “I can’t thank you enough for warning me.” He wrung Older’s hand.
“Don’t mention it. Bring your redhead in sometime. I’d like to meet her.”
“She’ll want to thank you herself. Do you think I convinced them?”
“Time will tell. Either the scandal will run today or it won’t.”
After the meeting at Older’s office, Linc hurried back to Cecilia. He stood at the door to her mother’s bedroom. Cecilia drooped beside the bed, holding her still-sleeping mother’s hand. Should he warn Cecilia another scandal was brewing?
He strode over the thick carpet to stand behind her. He gently cupped her shoulders with his hands. “Where’s Millie?”
“I sent Nana to get some rest,” Cecy whispered, pointing to the cat curled up beside her mother. “See, Mother’s kitten came out from underneath the bed.”
She stroked the cat. “I’m hoping the kitten senses everything is okay.” Her voice quavered. “But I’m still afraid my mother won’t wake up.” A tiny sob escaped on her last syllable.
Linc stepped around Cecilia and took her mother’s pulse. He leaned close to her face and felt her shallow breaths against his cheek. “Your mother is merely sleeping peacefully. When the drug wears off, she will wake up with a slight headache. Her appetite will be dulled.”
“You sound confident.” Hope lit her eyes.
“My stepfather was a doctor, remember?” Her dawning hopefulness tightened his fear for her. Another scandal might come with the evening papers. How would she take it? “Now you’re going to get up and go freshen up.”
“No.”
He coaxed her to her feet, reluctantly releasing her hand. “When your mother awakes, she’ll feel more reassured if she sees you looking fresh.”
She buried her face into her hands. “It’s all my fault.”
He took her into his arms but held himself in check. Everything about her soft form without corset stays against him, her disheveled beauty, tormented him. She needed him, but she was vulnerable now. This was no time to hint at love, especially love he wouldn’t act on. Too much separated them—age, wealth, faith. “All this started years before you were born. I blame myself for introducing you to bohemian life—”
“It’s not your fault. It’s mine.”
He forced her lovely chin up. Her brown eyes pooled with tears. Her lips parted in silent invitation. “Cecilia, for over a year now, I’ve held on to my guilt over my wife’s death.”
Her eyes asked him why he’d brought this up now.
“Our second baby came with complications and was stillborn. When Virginia died just hours later, I wanted to wrap myself around her lifeless body and go down into the grave with her.”
“Linc,” her surprise came as a strained whisper.
Just speaking about Virginia’s death brought the scene back to life. A room much like this. A still body in a rumpled bed. Grief twisted around his neck like a hangman’s noose. “I know it’s unreasonable, but I’ve blamed myself over and over.” He gripped her by the shoulders. “Let go of the guilt. Just promise that you’ll never again repeat the behavior that hurt your mother.”
Her eyes widened. “I’ll never take another drink.”
He wrapped his arms around her. Dear God, keep me strong against temptation. “We’ll fight guilt together.” He allowed himself to experience the joy of holding Cecilia. He brushed her forehead with his lips, then made himself release her. “I’ll stay with her till you return.” He pushed her to the door. “Put on your prettiest morning gown for her, so she’ll know you are happy to see her.” With many backward glances, she went, closing the door.
Linc eased his tired body onto the stiff-backed chair. A night of shock, worry, and a bare two hours of sleep had left him feeling hollow. An old spiritual, one Susan had sung a million times, played in his mind, “I’m gonna lay down my burden, down by the river side…”
He gazed at the frail, sleeping woman. “Madam, I love your daughter. And I don’t know what to do about it.”
Chapter 14
In an ivory morning frock, Cecy lingered by her mother’s bedside. Just hours earlier, Cecy had teetered on the brink of losing her mother one more time, this time forever. Now as she watched her mother blessedly breathe in, breathe out, she clung to Nana and Linc’s reassurances.
The earth beneath Cecy’s life had shifted. Aunt Amelia, the one in her family she’d thought she could count on, had secretly despised her. No wonder her mother wouldn’t come home while her sister stayed here. In her carefully planned revenge, Auntie would have reaped all the advantages of her former beau’s wealth and also the vengeance of standing as Cecy’s parent while Cecy’s own mother remained hidden away and alone at the sanitarium. Only with Cecy by her side and with Cecy’s millions, could Auntie live the high society life she’d evidently wanted, the one she would have lived if she’d married Cecy’s father. And her father’s hatred of Cecy helped her aunt. Why had her father rejected his only child without a reason? Had he known anything of love?
What do I know of love? I love my mother. I love Nana. And little Meg. Recalling Linc’s embrace and kisses from the early morning, she pressed her hot cheeks with her cool hands. If it had been possible, she would’ve stayed within his arms. With his effortless strength, his calm authority, his clear blue eyes, which saw deep inside her, he’d stood as her friend. Oh, Linc, stay close. But I can’t love you.
Then her mother’s eyes fluttered open. “Cecy?” The lady’s voice sounded thready, unbelieving.
Cecy sat on the bed and gathered her frail mother into her arms. “Oh, mother, I thought I might never see you again.”
“I’m sorry.” The lady began to cry weakly.
“No, I’m sorry.” Cecy kissed her mother’s drawn cheek. “I know everything and I’ll never drink another drop of alcohol. And you must promise never to try to leave me again.”
Her mother’s soft gray eyes filled with tears.
“I just couldn’t face seeing you end up like me.”
“You and I are together at last. Aunt Amelia, father, and grandfather will never hurt us or separate us again.”
“You know the truth?” Her mother whispered with a shaking voice. “Everything?”
Cecy nodded, triumphant. “Yes, Nana told me and I love you more now than ever before and nothing will ever come between us again.”
The lady touched Cecy’s hair. “Dearest daughter, my own sweet girl. I prayed for us to be together without secrets, then despaired. Even so, God brought it to pass.”
Though Cecy nodded, she didn’t know if God or Linc Wagstaff were responsible. Then a thought stunned her. Victor Hunt did me a favor. Hunt’s actions had set her free from her aunt by making her flee from the scandal. They had reunited Cecy with her mother, and made Cecy willing to let Linc show her more of the world. But what would I have done without Linc?
“Thank you for coming.” Linc led Cecilia into the parlor. Why had Linc called her here so urgently? Cecy went to the fireplace and held her icy hands in front of the fire.
Approaching her, Linc took her hands. “I’ve done everything I could, but there’s a chance…”
“What?” Clinging to his strong, warm hands, she wanted to seek protection within his embrace once again. Inwardly, she took a step backward. I can’t depend on Linc. I have to depend on myself.
“The doctor called the city papers this morning and told them about your mother’s suicide attempt.” She sagged against him. “Don’t despair. The matter was handled better than I’d hoped.”
“How?” Hating her weakness, she took in small breaths.
He settled her into a hearthside chair and faced her from its hassock. “This morning when left you, Older, the Bulletin editor, called the other three city editors to his office to meet with me. I tried to persuade them not to print the story. I told them about your changes at the canneries to show that you have become a new woman.”
She leaned forward, her hands clutched in her lap. “What difference will that make to them?”
“It might be enough to remind them that now you are one of them, a journalist.”
She sat back. “I h
adn’t thought about that.”
“Anyway the editors handled it much better than I thought they would.” He lifted a stack of papers from the floor beside his chair. He read from the Examiner.
Mrs. Florence Jackson, widow of the late San Francisco businessman August P. Jackson, was suddenly taken ill early this morning. Mrs. Jackson had returned from a sanitarium to be with her daughter, Miss Cecilia Jackson, after the recent scandal. It is unfortunate that some groundless rumors have been spread about Mrs. Jackson’s illness today.
Evidently, Miss Jackson’s experience of forsaking the city’s social life has imbued her with a new, more serious purpose in life. She herself has embarked on a new venture into journalism. Read tomorrow’s Examiner to learn more of her new social progressivism north of Monterey.
“But it didn’t say anything about suicide, just rumors,” she objected.
“What if the doctor continues spreading the rumor? Often men don’t like having their word called groundless rumors. For that reason alone, I had to bring you here to warn you.”
She rubbed her forehead. Can’t anything ever go right?” What should I do?” she murmured.
“Perhaps your mother should go back to the sanitarium.”
“No!”
He held up his hand. “If your mother is under the care of physicians at the sanitarium again, her illness will be seen as a relapse related to her previous stay. That should weaken any gossip the doctor might spread.”
She buried her face in her hands. “Is it necessary?”
“It will only be for a few days. I wouldn’t urge you to do this unless I thought it were absolutely necessary. Millie should go with her. By the time Florence comes back, your new career as a social progressive will have been launched.” He smiled at her. “This will all be forgotten.”
He made everything sound so reasonable. How could she doubt him? Her emotions seemed all used up. “If you think it’s really for the best.” She straightened in her chair. “But I’m going to go ahead with my work on your journal and on changing matters at my factories. Whether San Francisco loves me or hates me, I can’t stand by and not change such…evil.”