Back at the boardinghouse, no one was laughing either.
CHAPTER 8
A MYSTERIOUS MESSAGE
The house was in an uproar. At first Clara feared it was because Mother had discovered she was missing. But as she and Edgar entered the house, they realized the hubbub was centered in the parlor. The men who had marched away with the soldiers had returned.
And they had brought bad news. Clara and Edgar sidled into the room and stood by the broken windows to listen. Hiram Stokes, Geoffrey Midgard, Mr. Grissinger, and Mr. Hansen stood in the center of the room describing all they had seen and done while fighting the fires. Father sat in his wheelchair with Mother standing at his side, Baby Helen snug in her arms. Old Mr. Granger had his arms around the Wheeler sisters’ shoulders. Miss DuBois seemed to have been sobbing, Clara noted with a sinking heart. Miss Chandler, pale and wide-eyed, stood alone in the corner by the grandfather clock. Mrs. Grissinger and Mrs. Hansen sat together, faces ashen. Only their children seemed happy, excited to have their fathers back.
“The blasting sounds like artillery fire,” Mr. Grissinger was saying, shaking his head.
“It’s a war out there,” agreed Geoffrey Midgard, “and one we’re not winning. The firebreak idea was good, but it just isn’t working.”
“Oh, I think the fires may be out by the end of the day,” Hiram Stokes responded heartily, glancing at Miss DuBois. But Clara could tell he was just trying to comfort her, not sure at all that he spoke the truth.
“You’re an optimist,” muttered Mr. Hansen. “The fires are raging, and nothing is stopping them!”
The soldiers had taken the men to join forces with all the others working to clear the streets of rubble. Pathways had to be cleared for the fire wagons. But water mains were broken, so there was no water to put out the fires, and the firebreaks weren’t working. Flames progressed along city streets block by block, devouring everything in their path.
“I saw people waiting on their front steps till the fire was nearly upon them before they’d move,” marveled Mr. Grissinger. “Only then would they leave their homes and head for shelter.”
“The soldiers wouldn’t let people stay anywhere near their homes where I was working,” reported Hiram Stokes. “They herded people out of their neighborhoods like cattle—trying to get them away before the houses were dynamited. Oh, Lordy, people were wailing and cussing at those soldiers something fierce!”
“Didn’t matter in the end, though, all the dynamiting,” Geoffrey Midgard added. “Because the fire just swept through the neighborhoods anyway and reduced to ashes everything that wasn’t already exploded.”
“Awful,” said Father. “Think how many homes might have been saved if the soldiers hadn’t ordered people to leave! Folks might have been able to wet down their roofs, keep the sparks off—”
“In some places the fire was a mile high, a huge wall of fire coming right down the street! You couldn’t have saved a house by pouring water on the roof—and there is no water anyway!” Mr. Hansen’s voice was choked. “You didn’t see it, Mr. Curfman, or you’d know it was hopeless! People were running everywhere, trying to get their families and animals to safety …”
Father muttered under his breath.
“Horses screaming,” continued Mr. Hansen, shaking his head. “I saw some of them—trapped under debris. Legs broken. Backs crushed. Had to be shot.”
Miss DuBois broke into fresh sobs.
“I hear the waterfront’s been saved, though,” Geoffrey Midgard said hastily. “I was down that way last night, and they were spraying water from the bay. Fire boats came over from Oakland and up from San Jose. The whole East Side’s gone, though.”
The men kept talking all at once, interrupting each other, their words overlapping, their voices mingling in a desperate attempt to convey the horrors they’d seen. They described weeping women, wailing children, men with broken limbs lying in the street. They described acts of heroism: The little girl who rushed back inside after her cat only to discover that the housemaid lay trapped in the kitchen. She had been able to save both of them. A woman who gave birth, assisted by neighbors, as the fire approached. She and her baby were whisked to safety moments after the newborn’s first breath. A man who was suddenly strong enough to lift a toppled piano single-handedly off his son’s legs and drag the boy out of the path of fire.
Mr. Hansen grew very quiet. He kept his head down, his arm about his wife’s waist. He’s seen terrible things, thought Clara. Too terrible to talk about.
“It’s like a scene from hell down in Chinatown,” Mr. Grissinger said. “From hell, I tell you! Those poor folks have nothing left at all!”
Geoffrey Midgard’s voice rose above his. “I heard there were a hundred thousand people homeless the first day after the quake, and who knows how high the toll is now!”
“Who knows how high it will go!” cried Mr. Granger in his shrill voice. “We’re all doomed!”
“No, no, man,” said Hiram Stokes, going over to the old man and clapping him on the back. “No, I think we’ll be safe on this side of the city. That’s why they let us come home.”
Across the room, Father in his wheelchair beckoned to Clara.
“Where have you been, child?” he demanded when she joined him. “Your mother looked everywhere. We were very worried.”
“We most certainly were!” Mother said in a tight, angry tone. “I was about to come searching for you, but then all the men arrived back and it’s been bedlam since.”
“I’m sorry, Mother,” Clara began. “I just went to the park—I posted a message for Emmeline’s family, telling them to come to us. And while I was there, I saw this poster—here, look.” Clara unrolled the poster and handed it to Mother.
Mother read it swiftly, shaking her head. “It’s not the same baby, I’m sure it isn’t. The note in the basket said this child is an orphan.”
“But surely we should check, Mother!” objected Clara. “Father, certainly you’ll agree we can’t just keep this baby without contacting the Forrests.”
Mother’s voice trembled. “I think the baby’s true family perished in the quake, and anyone else trying to claim her will have to convince me they can give her a better home than we can.” She gripped Clara’s shoulder with a heavy hand. “And you aren’t to leave this house by yourself again, young lady, do I make myself clear? No going back to the park, and certainly not over to Oakland in search of these … Forrests. You’re to stay right here with me. There are all sorts of dangers now—haven’t you been listening?”
Clara couldn’t believe Mother was being so uncooperative about searching for the baby’s true family. It was all very well for Mother to want to adopt a child to replace Gideon, but if that child had been kidnapped … then Mother had no right! Clara looked at Father, sitting there so silently. Once he would have put his foot down. He’d been master of the house and head of the family, and his word was law. Now he wouldn’t even try to take charge!
Father patted Clara’s shoulder gently, but he did not say anything, except to Edgar. “Now who are you?”
“Edgar Green, sir,” said Edgar, sticking out his hand to shake Father’s, then Mother’s.
“Edgar’s uncle has been killed, and now he has no family,” Clara told them. “I thought he could stay with us awhile. I’m sure, Mother, you can find some chores for him.” Maybe Mother should adopt Edgar, Clara thought mutinously, ignoring the sharp look Mother gave her. At least he could tell them who he really was and what had happened to him!
“Of course, lad,” said Father. “You’ll be able to earn your keep, I daresay.”
“Oh, I’m a very hard worker,” Edgar assured him.
Suddenly Mr. Hansen broke his silence. “My parents will be frantic!” he cried to his wife. “I can’t bear to think of my poor mother worrying—but how will we let our family back east know we’re safe? We can’t!”
“It’s true the telephone lines are down, but at least the post office looks to be
standing,” said Hiram Stokes soothingly. “And I heard that you can send letters for free now to anywhere in the world to let relatives know you’re safe. Just take the letter to the post office and it will be sent.”
“Well, I heard it burnt down!” claimed Mr. Grissinger.
“Saw it myself,” said Hiram Stokes, “just two hours ago. There are a lot of rumors flying around, and it’s hard to know what to believe until you go out and check. Why, yesterday I heard people saying that Cliff House had fallen into the ocean during the quake—but today I heard it’s still standing strong.”
Cliff House, thought Clara. She glanced at the baby, cradled against Mother’s shoulder.
Baby H opened her mouth like a little bird and waved her tiny fists. “Look at our hungry starling,” Mother crooned. “I think we could all use some lunch, don’t you?”
The Wheeler sisters and Mr. Granger headed out of the parlor with Mother. Miss DuBois and Miss Chandler followed. But the others were still discussing the calamity in rising voices. Clara and Edgar lingered to listen.
“The Nob Hill mansions are gone, all of them,” Geoffrey Midgard was insisting. “I was up there! The Hopkins Institute of Art—ashes now, too—but I saw people carrying out some of the paintings. So that’s good.”
“Russian Hill homes are gone, as well,” pronounced Mr. Grissinger with some relish. “Seems the rich burn just as easily as the poor in the end. Pots of money won’t save you from this fire, no sir!”
“Gentlemen,” said Mother from the doorway, “we’re all very glad indeed that you’re home safe and sound. Now, please come to the dining room for your lunch. I’m afraid it’s just potatoes, but there’s a bit of leftover soup, too. Clara, I’ll need your help. And you, young man—Edward, is it? Come along, lad.”
“It’s Edgar, ma’am. Just show me what to do.”
As he and Clara stepped out the back door into the yard, Edgar whispered, “There—don’t you sense it? We’re being watched! I believe it is Uncle James. He’s happy I’m here with you now …”
Clara glanced back over her shoulder. She, too, had the sensation of being under scrutiny.
“It’s just a feeling I keep getting,” continued Edgar in a whisper. “I felt it most strongly back in the parlor when I was standing by the windows—didn’t you?”
Clara wiggled her shoulders uncomfortably as if to shake a ghost off her back. She stood at the makeshift stove and ladled buttered potatoes from the cooking pot into bowls for Edgar to carry inside to the lodgers. Back and forth he went, two bowls at a time, until all were served. Clara filled the pitcher with water from the rain barrel and walked up the ramp behind him into the house.
“Let me get you a chair,” said Mother when Edgar stepped into the dining room.
“I’ll fetch it,” said Hiram Stokes, and he hurried to bring one from the kitchen table. Edgar raised his eyebrows at Clara and looked pointedly to the empty place, Gideon’s place, at the far end of the table. Clara shook her head.
Shrugging, Edgar sat in the chair Mr. Stokes brought. Then Mr. Stokes walked to the head of the table and handed Mother a sheet of paper. “Here, ma’am. This was lying on the floor inside the back door. I guess someone must have just dropped it off—though I looked outside and saw no one in the yard.”
Clara looked up sharply from her potatoes.
Mother, bouncing Baby H on her knee, scanned the paper. Her face paled. “Oh dear,” she said. “Clara, it seems you’ve had a hand in this!”
“What is it?” Clara reached across the table for the page. The handwriting was elegant, the message succinct. Alarm bells sounded in her head as she read.
Kind Friend,
We read the notice you posted in the park and are so glad you have our daughter safe and sound. Please bring her to us at the Japanese Tea Garden at four o’clock today. We will be waiting. You will be amply rewarded for your care of our dear baby girl.
Signed—
Mr. and Mrs. Forrest
“Forrests again,” Mother said softly, rubbing her cheek against Baby H’s fuzzy head. “Your poster must be right, Clara, after all.” She sighed heavily. “So, these Forrests will meet us in the park at the Japanese Tea Garden today at four. So soon—” She dipped her head to the baby. “Oh, little one, I do hate to give you up.”
“But, of course, we must,” said Father from his end of the table. “May I see the note, Clara?” Silently she passed it to him, her mind in a whirl. “One would think,” added Father, “they could have knocked on the door and spoken to us instead of leaving a note!”
“That is rather odd,” agreed Miss Chandler.
The lodgers buzzed with interest as the note was passed around the table. “I daresay,” said Miss Amelia Wheeler, “that this note was brought by messenger.”
“Perhaps the parents have been injured,” added her sister, Ottilie.
“That would explain it,” nodded Mrs. Hansen. “The poor people. At least we have all our children here with us. It would be dreadful to become separated!”
Mother had been sitting silently, her face buried in the baby’s neck. Now she raised her face, and Clara saw the tracks of tears on Mother’s cheeks. “I know how dreadful it is to lose a child,” she said softly. “Of course we will return this precious lamb at four o’clock, just as they’ve asked us to.”
Father cleared his throat. “I will accompany you to the park, Alice.”
Clara stared from one parent to the other, then pushed back her chair. “Hold it!” she exclaimed. “Wait—you mustn’t take her to the park!”
“Now, Clara,” said Father, “I admit, I was hesitant to turn her over to that strange young woman, but this note puts the situation in rather a different light. The least we can do is see who comes to meet us at the tea garden.”
“It won’t be the parents!” cried Clara. The alarm bells in her head were very loud now, and she felt a rising sense of danger that had nothing to do with the fires still raging in her city.
“What do you mean?” demanded Mother. “How can you know that?”
And Edgar added mildly, “I don’t see what you’re so upset about, Clara. After all, you posted that note just so the parents would find their baby! Now they have, so what’s wrong?”
Clara stood trembling behind her chair. She gripped the back of it, hard. “What’s wrong is that the note came here, right to our door. To our back door, Edgar, just after we felt someone was watching us out in the yard—”
“Uncle James,” he murmured.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t think so. I think someone was out there watching us. Then, when we came in, that person crept up the ramp and slid this note under the door.” She took a deep breath to calm herself.
“All right, maybe so,” Edgar said. “Maybe the messenger saw us going inside, so he slipped it under the door instead—”
“No,” said Clara. “No. Because you’re forgetting something, Edgar. When I wrote the note and posted it on the message board in the park, I deliberately did not write our address. Remember?”
Slowly, Edgar nodded.
The room was quiet. “So how,” Clara asked softly, “did they know where to find the baby?”
CHAPTER 9
NOBODY’S BABY
I think we should go to the park at four o’clock,” Clara announced into the uproar around the table. “Leaving the baby at home.” She glanced at Father. “Under guard.”
“And we’ll see who shows up at the tea garden!” Edgar chimed in. “We’ll talk to them and demand proof—”
“Perhaps a photograph of the baby and her parents together,” Miss Ottilie Wheeler added. “Ooh, this is very exciting!”
“It could be dangerous,” said Father, looking to Mother. “Though it’s not a bad plan in itself.”
Mother shook her head. “Clara is not to go to the park!”
“I’ll go,” said Hiram Stokes.
“And I,” said Geoffrey Midgard. “We’ll see who shows up and bring them back he
re if they can prove they are legitimate.”
Clara scowled. She wanted desperately to be at the Japanese Tea Garden at four o’clock. “Please, Mother, let me go with the men.”
“Absolutely not,” said Mother. “It would be madness. We don’t know a thing about these people. I want you where I can keep an eye on you today.”
And, true to her word, Mother kept Clara and Edgar busy for the rest of the afternoon. They cleaned the lunch dishes out in the yard, using as little water as possible. They checked through the dwindling supply of foodstuffs and fried up cornmeal fritters to serve for supper with the last of the bean soup. At three-thirty, Hiram Stokes and Geoffrey Midgard set off for Golden Gate Park.
Clara and Edgar stayed behind. They cut up apples, bruised from rolling out of their barrel in the quake, and made a thick applesauce seasoned with cinnamon and a little sugar. It would have been fun for Clara, having someone to share the work with—almost like spending the afternoon with Gideon—if she had not been so upset about what might be happening in the park without her. Mother sat inside with the lady lodgers, passing the baby around and playing with her. Old Mr. Granger obligingly pushed the Hansen and Grissinger tots in the swing hanging from the oak tree. It was a cheerful scene in the backyard despite the smoke pall hanging in the air, but Clara couldn’t relax. She felt edgy. Edgar only made matters worse. Sure that his Uncle James’s ghost was hovering, he kept turning around suddenly as if to catch it unawares.
Clara set the applesauce to simmer on the makeshift stove. “You’re making me jittery,” she complained to Edgar as the two of them began refilling the kerosene lanterns and trimming the wicks.
Mother called to Clara from the back door. “The baby has soiled her diaper and the doll dress, and now she’s got nothing clean to wear, poor lamb. Please pop up to the attic for our storage carton of baby garments, while I warm some water. She needs a bath.”
Clara obligingly hurried into the house and up the stairs. The attic was dim and cool. Evidence of the quake was less obvious here. Stacked boxes had tumbled onto the floor, and the heavy steamer trunks had slid from one end of the narrow, low-ceilinged room to the other, but damage was minimal. Clara restacked boxes, reading the labels of their contents as she worked, and soon she had located “Baby Garments.”
The Strange Case of Baby H Page 6