by Cate Masters
No doctor would tend him while so many others fared far worse. “I’ll be fine. Let them work where they’re needed most.”
“If I don’t clean your wounds, they’ll become infected.”
An elderly woman in black slipped a flask from beneath her shawl. “Take this.” She held a finger to her lips to silence them.
Norah gawked, then hid the flask in the folds of her skirt. “Thank you. I’m Norah. This is Mac.”
“Virginia Wooten. And you’re welcome. Glad to help such a lovely young couple.”
Norah glanced at Mac. “Oh, we’re—”
“So glad to meet you, too,” Mac blurted. He couldn’t disappoint the old woman. Nor himself. He’d come back for Norah, not because she employed him. Hell, she hadn’t even paid him half the time.
No, he’d come back, he realized, because he couldn’t imagine living without her.
When her face smoothed, a light filling her eyes, and she settled against him, he knew he’d made the right decision.
Chapter Eight
The next few days passed in a blur. Norah couldn’t comprehend the destruction, though it surrounded them. Unimaginable as it seemed, even the Call skyscraper had burned down, despite surviving the quake. The first time she’d come upon it, it appeared indestructible. Now she knew nothing was.
Explosions rocked the ground again and again, intentionally set by the military to halt the fire’s progress. Futile as the rest of their efforts. The flames spread anyway, with water mains broken and horse-drawn fire wagons useless. Telegraph and electric lines all useless too. Did the rest of the world even know of their plight?
She stared at the charred remains of what was once San Francisco. “It’s all gone. The city. My shop. Everything I ever dreamed of.”
“You’ll rebuild it.”
The cheerfulness of his reply pulled her gaze to him. Sure enough, his typical devil-may-care grin widened. How sweet, to pretend she could do something so impossible. The enormity of the task overwhelmed her.
“I can’t.” Without a decent meal in days, she had no energy to do much at all.
“Yes, you will. I’ll help you.”
The softness of his voice, the steadiness of his blue eyes penetrated her, replacing her chill with warmth. “You will?”
“Yes.” He drew her close.
She nestled against his chest, grateful for the warmth of his embrace. He ran his hands across her back, providing some small comfort. If she died in his arms, she imagined they’d find her smiling, though half the city must have burned down by now.
Her eyes drifted shut, and she thought she dreamed of hearing hooves clopping along, and wagons creaking. The sound grew louder, and she sat up. “What’s that?”
Mac heaved a breath. “Maybe the fire brigade bringing more water.” A sorely lacking task due to the small amount the horse-drawn wagon’s tanks held, but he’d applauded their heroic effort. Between the earthquake, explosions, and fire, no water pipes had survived, forcing the firemen to refill the tanks from the Bay.
A boy sitting atop a man’s shoulders yelled, “Troops are coming!”
“More troops?” Now alert, Mac stood, and helped Norah to her feet.
Sure enough, a line of horse-drawn wagons approached, loaded with boxes.
“Supplies.” Mac’s disbelief was evident.
Hoping against hope those supplies included water and food, she held Mac’s hand and watched the garrison draw to a halt nearby. She could hardly believe it when an officer announced they’d brought nine hundred thousand rations from Portland and Seattle, with more coming soon on a relief train from Los Angeles.
The troops unpacked tents, canned goods, blankets and cookware. Mac and Norah joined the line forming to claim what they could. When they reached the front, a uniformed man handed them a tent. “One per couple.”
Norah began to argue, but Mac thanked him and took the rest of the supplies. “We’ll have to make do.” After a quick scan of the area, he pointed. “Let’s go to the park.”
Norah followed, weariness in her slow steps. “Yes, I’d rather sleep on grass.”
He swung his head toward her, eyes searching hers. He opened his mouth, closed it, and then the grim line became a wobbly smile.
“Careful, you’ll open your split lip again.” She touched the wound, glad to see it was healing well. “Are you ever going to tell me how that happened?”
He glanced away. “In a fight.”
“So that’s where you disappeared to that night.”
Facing her, his blue eyes pierced hers. “No. I woke up in a ship bound for China.”
Horror seized her breath. “You were shanghaied? How did you escape?”
He shrugged. “I knew if I didn’t come back, you’d have me head.”
“Gerard MacKenzie.” She clucked her tongue in reprimand. He never ceased to amaze her. The way his gaze pierced her, reached right down into her, caused her to stiffen. If only she could open up to his silent plea. Offer him what he needed. If only doing so wouldn’t doom her to a life of servitude. No man would rule over her. Not even Mac.
She turned unblinking eyes ahead and fell in step behind the crowd trailing to the park.
Why do I feel like I’m escorting a condemned woman to the hangman’s noose? Mac lugged the tent along beside Norah. The more he cast about for something to say, the fewer topics presented themselves. Obviously, she was in no mood for talk.
What had he done to upset her now? He was every bit as weary and sick at heart as she. If he could have foreseen any part of this disaster, he’d have swept her away to safety. Kicking and screaming, most likely, the hardheaded female. He hissed his frustration.
She glanced over. “What?”
He shrugged. “I said nothing.”
“I know, but you…never mind.” She blinked hard and turned ahead.
His heart softened. So afraid, she was. Pretending not to be, of course, but he saw through her charade. But of what? Certainly not him. He’d never given her cause. How could such a fierce, tireless, intelligent woman let fear rule her life?
At an empty patch of grass, she stopped. “How about here?”
He surveyed the spot and shook his head. “Too near the tree. Another quake could topple it. Let’s keep going.” He braced for the argument brewing behind the telltale scowl and kept walking. To his surprise, she did, too.
They picked their way through the commotion. Men pounded stakes into the ground, their tents laid out to mark their claimed area. Women stretched out the tarps, or hauled supplies into raised tents. Some shushed screaming children, undoubtedly hungry.
Mac veered away from those, toward the far end of the park.
“Why must we go so far from everyone else?” Suspicion tainted her tone.
“Mark my words, tents will soon enough fill every open space. We’ll be within a stone’s throw of someone in every direction.”
“And last in line for rations.”
Good point, though it made no real difference. Some people waited round the clock for the call so they could push ahead of the rest. Still, to appease her, he halted. “How does this suit you?”
“Fine, so long as I don’t have to walk any farther.”
Another good point. She needed rest. So did he. Hopefully she wouldn’t object to sharing the tent. If she refused to let him inside, he’d sleep beside it. At least the grass would prove more habitable than the hard ground at the square.
He dropped everything where they’d stopped, unbundled it and handed her the folded edge of the tarp. “Hold this.”
She glared.
“If you want a tent over your head, I have to set it up. Would you please hold the top?”
Nose tilted up, she sniffed. “That’s better.”
Maybe I should have added, ‘your highness’. But he doubted anyone had treated her like royalty before. Now seemed the absolute wrong time to ask, so he set about the task without further conversation. By the time the tent stood sturdy before them, dus
k had given way to evening.
She touched his arm. “Look, there’s Mrs. Wooten. We should go help her.”
“Yes. A kindness for a kindness.” And focusing on someone else might ease the awkwardness between them.
They wended their way through the cluttered space to where the older woman held a pole as if ready to beat the tarp.
“Hello again.” Norah bent and lifted another rod. “May we help you?”
Mrs. Wooten’s shoulders slumped. “Mac. Norah. How good of you to assist me in my plight. I thought I might simply crawl beneath the tarp and be done with it.”
Mac reached for the pole she held. “We’ll have your tent standing in no time.” He set to work, impressed with the efficiency with which Norah assisted him. Without asking, she handed him the items he needed, or propped up the tent so he could secure it.
When they’d finished, the older woman heaved a sigh. “I’m so grateful. I wish I had more to offer you than my thanks.”
Norah hugged her. “You’ve already been of greater help to us. It’s the least we could do.”
“I’d invite you in, but I’ve a feeling it might be a bit crowded.”
“We’ll let you get your rest,” Norah said, and pointed. “If you need us, our tent’s right there.”
Mac tipped his cap. “Evening, ma’am.”
As he followed Norah back, his heart flip-flopped. Now what? Would she allow him inside? “Me bones ache, I’m so tired.” Ach, so tired that his Irish had slipped out.
Outside their tent, she rubbed her arms. “Me, too.”
Neither of them moved.
He hardly dared a glance at her. “Only one blanket.”
She gave the slightest flinch at the reminder. “Yes, I know.” With one flick of the flap, she bent and ducked inside.
He blew a long breath. Hell’s bells. She intended to leave him in the cold.
He crouched in front of the flaps, the best place for him to stretch out. It would prevent any intruder from entering the tent, and force her to step over him on exiting it. How many times would she have to repeat the process before she took pity on him?
“Mac?” came her trembling inquiry.
“I know, I know.” If she said good night, he might roar in outrage.
“Is everything all right out there?”
Oh, she sorely tempted him. To spank her arse. “Yes, perfect.” Thank you so very much.
“Good, I thought maybe you weren’t coming inside.”
Eyes wide, he froze. Did she really just say that?
He walked around the tent and made a show of wiggling the ropes. “Be right in after I check the other stakes.” He waited.
No answer. She had to have heard, and didn’t argue, nor refuse him. The heaviness lifted. He silently leapt up, and then ducked inside.
She sat in the center, hugging her knees, blanket atop her legs.
Half the blanket. His heart did a jig. “Not so bad in here, eh?”
“No.” But she lacked any enthusiasm.
Poor lass. Unlike him, she’d put great stock in her possessions, and lost everything. He’d owned so few things, all easily replaced. Except for his dreams—those, the quake had shattered.
He dropped beside her, stretched out, and stared into the gloom above. “It will get better.”
Tears glistened in her eyes. “What?”
“Don’t you see? We’ve gone through hell and survived. It has to get better from here.”
Almost imperceptibly, she shook her head, horror in her faraway look.
Her misery tore at his soul. He reached for her, but she shrank back.
“Don’t.”
The smallness of her voice pierced him deeper than a banshee’s shriek could have.
He gave a nod and drew his arm up beneath his head. No sense closing his eyes. He’d get no sleep tonight.
After a sharp inhale, she released a long breath and curled onto the grass. He shifted away to give her more room when she raised the blanket. It settled over him.
“Good night.” She turned away.
“Sleep well.” He’d rather sleep with her in his arms, but he wouldn’t press it.
***
By dusk, tent cities stretched along the hillsides and the park. Norah grew impatient waiting in line for bread, soup, or other meager rations. Without Mac’s steady presence, she might have broken down. When soldiers barked at anyone who attempted to move ahead of others in line, she didn’t know whether to be angry or grateful.
She sighed, shuffling along toward the front. “Everyone’s so hungry.”
“It’s only fair we all wait our turns.”
“They’re too rough.” If the soldiers weren’t within earshot, she’d have complained about their harsh treatment during the chaos, shooting anyone who didn’t halt on command.
“No one’s thinking clearly these days.”
Or more clearly than ever. “It’s brought out their true natures. Those who are inclined to be helpful are looking after the people around them. But the greedy ones only take from others and do nothing for anyone else.”
“I s’pose.”
At his cryptic reply, she glanced over. Cap low over his brow, head ducked, he gazed out over the sea of tents, unreadable. His lack of a response turned her thoughts to herself. Did she do enough for others? Mac had helped pitch tents for three other ladies and an older gent. All she’d done was check on Mrs. Wooten, bring her some water, and play with a three-year-old girl while the mother cared for her fussy babe.
Finally, she reached the food table. The man behind it spooned stew into a bowl and handed it to her, along with a roll. While she waited for Mac to get his ration, she approached a nearby soldier standing guard.
"I need to send word back home that I'm all right. Is the mail running?"
"Yes, give your letter to any of us in uniform. Make sure you print a clear name and address on any paper. We've been instructed to accept all mail without postage."
"Wonderful. Thank you." Such a relief. She'd write to Dan, and he could tell the others.
Mac trudged over. “Do you mind if we go back to the tent? I’m a bit weary still.” His face blanched. “Unless you’d rather mingle, then I’ll go alone.”
“No you won’t.” Sounded too much like an order. “All this commotion’s a bit tiring. I’d like to go back now, too.” True enough. The tent provided a small measure of sanctuary.
He gave a nod. She couldn’t tell if he looked relieved or merely tired. He still moved slowly, the occasional wince testament to his soreness from the ordeal he’d suffered. Lucky it hadn’t killed him. It still terrified her to think of it.
Despite his obvious weariness, he held open the tent flap for her. She slipped inside and folded her legs beneath her, waiting for him to sit. They ate in silence, a comfortable ease until he placed his roll in her hand.
She stared at it, then at him. “I can’t, you’ll be starving later.”
“I have no appetite.”
“Neither do I. You eat it.” His cheekbones already had become more prominent. Hers probably had as well.
She tossed it at him so he couldn’t refuse it. “How can you protect me if you have no strength?” The only argument that might work.
It did. Reluctantly, he finished the bread. She scrawled a short note to Dan on the only scrap of paper she had—the envelope that originally brought her to San Francisco. Business gone but the government providing food and shelter. I'm fine. Much love, Norah
Then she returned the bowls and spoons, and entrusted the envelope to the same soldier. She expected Mac to be asleep when arrived at the tent. Instead, he lay with his eyes wide, staring at the emptiness above.
If only she had a book to read aloud to him, something to take his mind off their troubles.
“Tell me about your family.” She sat on a corner of the blanket. “Where are they?”
“My mam and pap brought us up in Avondale, a mining town in Pennsylvania. Pap and my three brothers
work the mines. He wanted me to, as well.”
“No, that’s a terrible life.” And robbed too many men of their lives, too early.
He gave a wry smile. “That’s what I said. Pap never appreciated an opinion differing with his, so kicked me out.”
“How old were you?”
He shrugged. “Fifteen. Big enough to pass for older, so I survived.”
From the way he said it, she suspected he’d gotten into a few serious scrapes. “Where did you learn to play the piano?”
“Mam taught piano to anyone, whether they could pay or not. She believed people should do everything they could to better themselves because you never knew when a skill or talent could take you somewhere you never dreamed.”
“Like San Francisco.” Her heart broke for him. He’d pinned his hopes on the city, and on her. Look how far it had gotten him.
“I don’t regret coming here.” His soft voice held conviction.
“You don’t?” How could he not?
He still stared at the ceiling. “Course not. We are where we’re meant to be.”
She gulped hard. How could he say that? “Barely surviving?”
He turned to look at her, finally. “Together.”
A chill flashed through her like lightning, heat and ice combined. She couldn’t break her gaze away, but the old, familiar tension crept over her. Nowhere to go. He wanted something she couldn’t give. Then what?
“Come, Norah.” He patted the grass.
Sure her heart might break through her ribs, she crept over and stretched beside him.
He slipped an arm behind her and tugged her close. “Now tell me about your life. Who did you leave in New Jersey?”
She’d braced herself, ready for groping and sloppy kisses like she used to witness at Sal’s. Instead, his hand remained at her waist, his other holding her own hand atop his chest.
“My mother.” She closed her eyes. “The most popular whore at Sal’s bordello.”
A mere grunt of acknowledgement, nothing judgmental about it. In fact, it sounded as if she’d solved a puzzle for him. “I have no other family. Dan, one of the bartenders, taught me how to use the cash register, how to manage money.” She couldn’t help but chuckle. “How to curb my temper.”