When the Walls Fell

by Monique Martin

  They were seriously picking up speed as he rolled down one of San Francisco’s ubiquitous hills. Elizabeth glanced down to see if Max was riding the brake. That is if they had brakes. Just in case, she tightened her death grip on the seat’s edge.

  The street was crowded, but Max didn’t seem to mind as he careened in and out among the slower moving carriages. The intersection ahead was congested with cross-traffic, but Max didn’t seem to notice. Just as they were about to broadside a cable car, he gripped a lever on the running board and a high-pitched screech joined the roar of the engine. Dampening their speed barely enough, Max made the hard left turn.

  The force of the turn caused her to slide across the small loveseat, flush against Max. “Handles like a gem, doesn’t she?” he yelled in her ear over the engine noise.

  It was reckless and totally out of control. And Elizabeth loved it. The anxiety that had balled up in her stomach started to loosen up. She gripped the seat and yelled over the din. “This as fast as she goes?”

  Max grinned and pulled down his cap. Elizabeth held on for the ride of her life.

  ***

  Oliver Wentforth droned on interminably. Normally, listening to a Civil War veteran would have fascinated Simon, but the man made even the Battle of Antietam boring.

  Simon had been in the Haven for barely an hour and already he was reassessing his strategy, but he knew he was in the right place. As much as men denied it, they gossiped like old women in clubs like this. The main topic of conversation was, not surprisingly, women. If a beautiful woman had just arrived in town, he’d be sure to hear about it in a place like this. God help him.

  Long ago he’d forsaken this very sort of life for the very sort of reasons he wanted to stuff Wentforth’s Meerschaum pipe down his throat. Pompous and wildly embellished, his retellings of the historic battle made Simon want to cringe, but he dutifully played his part and nodded, adding the occasional requisite grunt of agreement.

  Several puffs on Wentforth’s pipe gave Simon the opening he was looking for. “Fascinating,” he said as he shifted his seat and hopefully the conversation. “Tell me, Gardiner. Did you serve in the army too?”

  Reginald Gardiner sniggered and Simon took that as a no. He’d doubted Gardiner was the military sort, but any change in conversation would be a welcome one. And Gardiner seemed much more the sort of man Simon wanted to be acquainted with. From his fastidiously trimmed mustache and the overwhelming smell of brilliantine, he was obviously someone who thought himself a ladies’ man. Wedding ring, not withstanding. Foppish and lascivious was usually a combination Simon wouldn’t tolerate, but in this case, it was exactly what he needed.

  Gardiner played with the ends of his mustache as his laughter died down. “Good gracious, no. I’ll leave that sort of thing to men like Wentforth. I prefer a more personal battle, if you get my meaning.”

  Wentforth scowled and puffed out his pipe smoke with distaste. “Reg, really.”

  Gardiner shrugged and gave Simon a surreptitious wink. “All men have vices. For some it’s drink. Others laudanum,” he added, causing Wentforth to puff erratically. “Man is a flawed creature. Woe to woman for she is stuck with the likes of us.”

  If this was the sort of man Elizabeth was forced to consort with, he couldn’t find her soon enough. “Ah, but what a wonderful thing to be stuck to, no?”

  “Oh, or stuck in,” Gardiner said with a wink.

  It was all Simon could do not to throttle the man. Somehow, he managed a weak smile.

  “A kindred spirit. I think that calls for a drink,” Gardiner said with a haphazard wave to a waiter. “Cross?”

  “A bit early for me, but—”

  “Oh, come now. It’s never too early. I’ll order you some eggs to go with it if it pleases you.”

  Simon forced out a short laugh. “No, thank you. But I might take you up on that drink later tonight.”

  Gardiner pouted like a small boy. “Oh, if only I could. Caroline is having another of her famous dinner parties. God help me. And you think he’s boring,” he added with a nod toward Wentforth.

  Simon sensed his opening, but months of playing cards with Elizabeth had taught him never to play his hand too early. “Surely it isn’t that bad?”

  “You have no idea,” Gardiner said, rolling his eyes to the ceiling and slouching in his chair. “Although at least the entertainment tonight isn’t that awful quartet. She’s found some psychic. Madame Palianko or Petroika or something equally Russian. You see my wife’s foibles aren’t just limited to her taste in music but they’ve somehow managed to venture into the Other World.”

  “Twaddle,” Wentforth said between puffs.

  “Caroline will be seeing spirits for weeks,” Gardiner said, rolling his eyes. “Last time we had a medium over she was convinced the ghost of her Uncle Merryweather was trapped in the credenza.”

  “We don’t love them for their minds, now do we?” Simon said.

  Gardiner barked out a loud laugh. “No, indeed.”

  “They are pleasant company though,” Simon said. “I’ll admit my trip from New York has me rather lonely.”

  Gardiner’s eyes lit up. “I’m sure. Perhaps I could make some introductions?”

  “Do you know any young ladies who perhaps have just arrived in town?”

  “That’s an odd stipulation.”

  Simon swallowed the bile that crept up in the back of his throat. “I find young women new to a city are more…pliant.”

  “Very good,” Gardiner growled appreciatively. “Hmm… I think I might just have the very girl for you.”

  “Really? And her name?” He didn’t dare get his hopes up, but he could feel his heart begin to race at even the possibility.

  Gardiner waved the question away. “What does it matter? Someone Caroline met. You’ll come to the party and see for yourself. If she isn’t to your taste I’m sure there are others that will suffice. I doubt you have trouble on that score. Being a baron and all!”

  “Baronet,” Simon corrected.

  “Tonight then?” Gardiner asked.

  Simon had little choice. He was in a city of nearly half a million people. Finding Elizabeth by wandering the streets was madness. He had to hope that San Francisco society was incestuous as every other he’d known and that eventually, he’d find her. “That’s very generous of you.”

  Gardiner laughed, a high-pitched unpleasant sound. “We’ll see if you still think so after the party.”

  Chapter Nine

  The end of Market Street was chaos. Cable cars queued up in a turn of the century traffic jam as a growing throng of people gathered at the front of the Ferry Building. As she and Max got closer, she could hear a brass band belting out “Won’t You Come Home, Bill Bailey?” from a small stage that was decorated with red, white and blue bunting. A handful of people sat in chairs at the back of the platform as the band entertained the growing crowd.

  Just as it had in 1929 New York, Elizabeth was struck with how well dressed everyone was. Nearly every single one of the men wore a suit and a hat. Many of them were a bit grungy, but then the streets were half dirt and horses.

  The women’s dresses were all long, corsets tight and hats huge. Even the children that whizzed by with their penny candy and brightly colored pinwheels were miniature versions of the adults.

  As much as Elizabeth loved to slob around in her jeans and t-shirt, the world had definitely lost something when it went casual. Her father had been a throwback. He never wore jeans. She didn’t think he ever owned a pair. He had two suits, four shirts and two ties—one that was lucky and the one he was wearing.

  The gentle pressure of Max’s hand on her elbow pulled her out of the memory. “This way,” he said.

  The crowd was getting thicker as they neared the stage. “What’s going on?”

  “You wanted to meet Victor Graham, didn’t you? He’s the bulldog on the right,” he said pointing to the back of the stage.

  Elizabeth craned her neck to see hi
m, but they were still too far back and she was far too short. Max took her arm and together they threaded their way toward the foot of the stage.

  “What is all this?” Elizabeth yelled above the din.

  “Graham throws a little party like this every time he buys something.”

  “What did he buy?”

  “Cable Cars.”

  “All of them?”

  “Almost,” Max said and then, spotting someone ahead, he waved frantically. “Teddy!”

  Max continued to lead her through the crowd until they finally emerged on the other side. Max and a small, nervous man with a neatly trimmed brown beard shook hands. The little man held a lunch-size brown paper sack tightly to his chest and worried a peanut like a chipmunk. Max clapped him on the back. “Should have known you’d be here, old man. Elizabeth West,” Max said. “May I present Theodore Fiske. An old friend from school.”

  Teddy blushed beneath his whiskers and ducked his head.

  Max leaned in and whispered to Elizabeth. “He’s a bit shy.”

  Elizabeth extended her hand. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Fiske.”

  Teddy looked at her hand anxiously. He blinked nervously a few times then extended his peanut-filled hand. “Sorry. I…” he mumbled as he dropped the peanuts and rubbed his hand on the leg of his trousers. “Hello. Teddy. I mean to say, you can call me Teddy. I’ll just…”

  He bobbed his head as Elizabeth shook his hand. “Peanut?” he offered shoving the bag toward her.

  Teddy wasn’t just shy; he was…different.

  “Teddy,” Max scolded gently.

  “I’d love one,” Elizabeth said and dipped her hand into the offered bag. “And call me Elizabeth.”

  Teddy positively beamed at her with an endearing childlike quality that won her heart instantly and completely.

  The band finished “Bill Bailey” and swung right into “Pomp & Circumstance”. An attractive man in his early thirties moved to the front of the platform and waved to the crowd. They cheered loudly in response.

  He was energy personified and reminded her of how Teddy Roosevelt must have looked when he was younger. He commanded the crowd with a confident ease.

  “That’s Graham,” Max said.

  Graham lifted his arms to silence the crowd. “Thank you. Thank you! Welcome to the future!”

  That was met with a loud, frenetic round of applause from the audience. Graham milked it for a moment before asking for quiet again. “Just over fifty years ago, San Francisco was one dirt road and a thousand dreamers.”

  He surveyed the crowd. “Today, San Francisco is home to over a quarter of a million dreamers. That’s progress, my friends!”

  The crowd roared its approval. He was good.

  “Electricity surges through this great city, lighting the way to the future thanks to great men like George Roe and Thomas Edison. That’s progress! Messages can travel around the entire globe from our own Cliff House to the foreign shores of the Empire of Japan and back in minutes thanks to great men like John Mackay! That’s progress! San Francisco is the greatest city in the greatest country in the world thanks to people like you! That’s progress!”

  The crowd went wild with applause, and despite not having any idea what was going, Elizabeth found herself joining in.

  “I’m just a humble citizen. I don’t claim to be in the company of these great men, but I am proud to be part of this great city. And proud to welcome the Market Street Railway into the Graham Transportation family. That’s progress!”

  It didn’t make much sense, but the crowd didn’t care.

  “Consolidation! Better service! And that means potentially lower fares!”

  “You mean lower wages!” a voice yelled out over the din.

  Graham clearly heard the heckler, but did his best to ignore him and continue. “A more efficient company is a better company!”

  “Is that what you told the twenty men you fired when you bought the last one?”

  Elizabeth edged forward to get a better look at the heckler. He was small, but built like a bulldog with a face to match. Two larger men wearing gray coveralls and threadbare jackets flanked him on either side.

  Graham apparently decided that he couldn’t avoid the dissenter anymore. “During a merger there are hard decisions to be made.”

  “Lies! You made promises you didn’t keep! Union shops, you said. Closed shops!”

  A few others from the crowd started to grumble. The anger from the men was palpable. And dangerous.

  “Lies are your progress!”

  Elizabeth saw the man nearest to her reach inside his jacket. He was going for a weapon. She reacted instinctively. All she could think of was Simon as she ran toward the man.

  “Gun!” she cried out as she closed in on him and lowered her shoulder. Her years of watching football under the Friday night lights in Texas had taught her what to do. Head up, shoulder down and drive through your man.

  She did, but it was a bit like driving a Yugo through a brick wall. It was a good thing he was turning and slightly off balance when she crashed into him or she would have just bounced off.

  As it was, they fell in a tangled heap onto the pavement. The big man under her was stunned and looked up at her with wild, blue eyes. The next minute was a blur of men grabbing men and Elizabeth being lifted off the ground.

  “Are you all right?” Max said appearing at her side.

  “He’s got a gun!” Elizabeth said. “He was going to shoot Graham.”

  “I was not,” the big man protested in a thick Swedish accent.

  One of the men holding on to the gunmen, she realized, was a policemen. He reached inside the Swedes’ jacket and pulled out what was left of a big red tomato. The gathered crowd laughed.

  “Going to throw this, were you?” the policeman demanded.

  “No!” the big Swede said. “It is my lunch!”

  That won another round of laughter from the crowd.

  “I was hungry.”

  Elizabeth’s cheeks burned with embarrassment and she wondered if she wished hard enough that she could turn invisible.

  “All right, all right,” the policeman said. “Show’s over.” He waited for the crowd to ease back before he let go of the man and turned to the heckler. “All right, Ross, you and your men have made your point. Head out.”

  The man grunted, but nodded his head to his partners. “Let’s go boys.”

  “We wouldn’t want any more,” the policeman said as he tossed the Swede his smushed tomato, “vegetables hurt.”

  “It’s actually technically a fruit,” Teddy offered.

  The policeman narrowed his eyes at Elizabeth. “Keep an eye out for carrots,” he said before laughing and disappearing into the crowd.

  “Dear lord, can we please leave?” Elizabeth asked quietly, wishing they were anywhere else.

  “Not before you explain that,” Max said. “It was…magnificent.”

  This was so humiliating. She could still feel the crowd’s eyes on her. “Please?” she tried again.

  “Wait there!” a voice called out. Graham jumped down from the stage. He tugged on the hem of his vest and smiled broadly. “I didn’t get a chance to thank you, young lady.”

  Apparently invisibility by sheer will was a no go. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t apologize,” Graham said, half addressing her, but favoring the crowd. “You’re quite the heroine! Risked your life for mine and for that I’m eternally grateful. I hope you’ll join me for the banquet luncheon at the Cliff House later today as my personal guest.”

  The crowd applauded.

  “This young woman is the very picture of progress.” He put his arm tightly around Elizabeth’s shoulders and turned her toward the crowd and, much to her eternal shame, a group of reporters.

  “My heroine. My Tomato Girl!” he cried as the bright light from a photographer’s flash-lamp exploded.

  Chapter Ten

  The Cliff House was built in the style of a 17th century
French chateau, although the pediments were clearly 18th century. At least, according to Teddy Fiske, who wasn’t just a font of information he was a geyser.

  When they’d arrived at the Cliff House grounds, Elizabeth had made an off-hand comment about one of the statues that lined the parapet. A brief, rambling and absolutely adorable lecture on the etymology of the word parapet followed. It started out well enough with Latin roots, parare and pectus, and ended with a furious blush as Teddy realized he’d accidentally said the word “breast”.

  This particular parapet was far from your typical battlement though. It was more like one of the elaborate gardens at San Simeon. Beautifully manicured lawns led to a long walled edge that overlooked the Cliff House and the rocky shore below. The wall was studded with Roman statues, vases and wrought iron chairs and a few people braved the cold ocean breeze to enjoy the view.

  And it was an amazing view. From the cliff-side vista she could see for miles down the coast to the South or watch the tall ships sail in and out of the Golden Gate to the North. She couldn’t see the bridge from there, but she reminded herself, she couldn’t see the bridge from anywhere. It wouldn’t be built for another thirty years or so.

  A cluster of rocks just off the shore caught her eye. “Did that rock just…move?”

  Max laughed. “Seals. You’ll be able to see them better from the other side.”

  Elizabeth loved to watch the seals in Santa Barbara. After living landlocked in Texas for most of her life, she adored the movement and life of the ocean. It had been a pleasant surprise that Simon did too. He wasn’t exactly the beachy sort. It was impossible to picture him in pair of Bermudas and flip-flops. He was more the cable knit sweater and Burberry pea coat type. It shouldn’t have been all that shocking; after all, England is an island. Lots of water to be had.

  The party was already well underway by the time they arrived. Graham’s banquet took over the entirety of the third floor. Of course, there were seven stories to the Cliff House, so there was still plenty of room for everyone else.