Dragon Fire

by Linda Ladd

  Beholding the rear facade of the great house, she swept her gaze over the myriad of windows and wondered in which room her mother dwelt. Throughout the morning, Windsor had avoided the prospect of a private audience with Amelia Cox. Her disrespect for her parent was wrong—guilt struck her as she remembered the Old One's words: "Respect for one's parents is the highest of the duties of civil life"—but she could not help but feel the strain between them when they tried to speak together, each word dragged out with stiff awkwardness.

  Although she still recalled bits and pieces of her childhood—primarily hazy glimpses of her parents strolling through the rooms of their whitewashed cottage on the outskirts of a Chinese village that Windsor could no longer name—she felt no blood kinship with her only living relative. Windsor considered herself as much Chinese as if she had been born with the yellow skin and slanted eyes of her friends. Her mother could never understand that.

  On the other hand, Amelia seemed a wise woman in the ways of the Western world. She ran an immense household with many servants. She had been married to two different men. She had borne a child. Perhaps she could advise Windsor on the inexplicable needs that had taken control of her body since she had met Stone Kincaid.

  "I must speak with my mother, Sun-On-Wings," she called, impulsively hopeful that her mother could help her understand her dilemma. "Please bring Jun-li inside when you finish with your practice."

  The Indian nodded, but he kept his eyes on Ning-Ying's red scarf, which had been tied around the trunk of a slender cypress tree to act as their target.

  Windsor ran lightly up the wide steps that led to the rear gallery, past two huge copper urns overrun with trailing ivy, then through the back door of the entrance hall. She walked toward the front of the house, checking inside each room for her mother. Two maids were busily removing the garlands of evergreen that had been wound through the mahogany banisters. Both women paused in their work to curtsy, and Windsor pressed her palms together and bowed her head in a respectful response.

  "I seek my mother."

  The older servant, a stocky, ruddy-cheeked woman whom Windsor's mother called Myrtle, pointed her finger toward the formal parlor. "She be in the company room workin' with the tree, Miss Windsor."

  Windsor thanked her and crossed the black-and-white tiles to the front chamber. Her mother stood beside a round marble-topped table on which there was usually displayed a large green fern with thick, waving fronds. Now, however, a four-foot cedar tree had taken its place. While Windsor watched, Amelia stepped atop a footstool and removed a silver star from the topmost branch. As she climbed down, she glimpsed her daughter in the oval mirror suspended over the mantel.

  "Windsor!" she said, turning quickly with a smile. "Please come in! Would you like to help me take down the tree? You used to love to help with the decorations when you were little."

  For a fleeting instant, Windsor's memory revisited a tiny kitchen adorned with a similar evergreen tree. She saw herself enclosed in her father's sturdy arms, heard her mother laugh merrily as she leaned forward to place a white paper star atop the highest branch. But now, a dozen years later, she could not even remember what religious significance the tree had. An aching sense of loss pervaded her heart, making her spirit dip with weariness.

  "I will watch you, my mother," she offered instead.

  A pained expression flitted across her mother's face. "Of course, I'd like that. I'm always glad when we can spend time together."

  Feeling uncomfortable with the woman who had given her life, Windsor chose a spot by the hearth and sat down on the floor in her usual cross-legged position.

  Windsor watched as her mother lifted a string of red cranberries from the branches and laid them on the table. She could not help but think that bringing a tree inside the house was a very strange ritual. Again she wondered what it could possibly signify. Perhaps a reverence for nature, she decided, but if that were the case, why would they sever the tree's trunk and allow it to wither?

  "I like your new friends, Windsor," Amelia remarked casually when the silence grew to an embarrassing length. "Mr. Kincaid and I had a nice chat this morning before he left."

  Windsor's interest sharpened. "Did he tell you where he was going?"

  Her mother paused, carefully cupping a delicate crystal angel in her hands. "He said he had to see someone."

  Windsor waited eagerly for her mother to elaborate, but Amelia busied herself instead with untying tiny silver bells from the swaying boughs. Windsor was finally forced to verbalize her greatest fear. "He is coming back here, isn't he?"

  "Why, I believe so. Did you expect him not to?"

  "I am not sure what he will do."

  Amelia's dark blue eyes turned to study her, and while Windsor watched, her mother's gaze suddenly registered understanding. She put down the tray of decorations she had been holding.

  "You care very much for this man, don't you, my dear?"

  Windsor hesitated, feeling very humiliated at having to discuss Stone Kincaid with her mother, though she had sought her out expressly for that purpose.

  "I do not know for sure," she admitted softly, "but I fear I do."

  Her conscience-stricken admission brought a smile to her mother's lips, and Amelia moved across the floor toward her. To Windsor's shock, her elegant American mother lifted her stiff, rustling gown of maroon velvet and sat down cross-legged opposite Windsor.

  "He is a very handsome man."

  At her mother's remark, Windsor blushed hotly and stared at her folded hands, unable to meet Amelia's knowing eyes.

  "There is nothing in that to be ashamed about, child," her mother said gently. "Bestowing your love upon another is a precious gift, especially if you are loved in return by that person."

  Windsor raised troubled eyes. "But I have pledged to forsake such earthly desires. And I do not understand all that I feel. Such intense longings have never plagued me before. It only happens when Stone Kincaid looks at me or puts his hands on me. Then I tremble and burn from inside my skin, and I crave more, and I want to press myself against him." She stopped, nervously moistening her lips. "Surely this cannot be good."

  Her mother gave a rueful laugh, then shook her head. "Oh, Windsor, it is good if a man and a woman love each other. I felt that very same way when your father touched me. There is nothing wrong with having such feelings. It is a wonderful part of being in love."

  "But I have vowed to renounce any physical gratification."

  At Windsor's distressed revelation, Amelia's manner became more serious. "And was this vow made before God, such as the one taken by the nuns of the Catholic faith, or to the Old One, of whom you speak with such fondness?"

  "My pledge was to neither Master Ju nor the gods. I made it to myself so that I could more readily attain enlightenment."

  "Then you must be true to yourself. You will have to search your heart and decide which course your life will follow—one of religious devotion or one in which you are a wife and mother. Both can give you great joy and happiness, but only you can decide which you will choose."

  Windsor's breast rose and fell with a resigned sigh. Her mother's words were true. She reached out and grasped her hand. "Thank you, my mother."

  Tears welled to glitter in Amelia's eyes. "I'm just so glad you came to me for this talk," she murmured, retrieving a white lace handkerchief from her full sleeve. She dabbed the corners of her eyes. "I never wanted to leave you behind in China. I hope you know that."

  Her long-suppressed guilt began to tumble out faster as she continued in an anxious rush. "I thought you drowned in the river, or I swear I would never have given up the search for you. Please, Windsor, you must believe me. I loved you and your father more than anything in this world. I never would have left you there alone if I'd thought there was any hope of finding you alive. I die inside every time I think of you the way you were then, so little and innocent, all alone with the Chinamen who took you in. You weren't mistreated by them, were you?"


  Her mother's face was so stricken with remorse that Windsor was startled. She hastily reassured her. "I do not blame you. I did not suffer but was well treated by the priests. They taught me much and with wisdom and kindness."

  "Oh, I thank God for that. If you had been abused or hurt in any way, I don't think I could bear it!"

  Her mother dissolved into a fit of quiet weeping, hiding her face inside her open palms, and as Windsor put her arm around Amelia's heaving shoulders, she felt compassion for her suffering. Deep inside her heart, the childhood love she had once felt for her parent began to stir again, awakening feelings that had lain cold and dormant for so many years of separation. Perhaps when enough time had passed, she and her mother could be a family again, she thought, her heart full of hope, because until that moment she had never considered that such an eventuality could come to pass.

  On the wharf overlooking San Francisco harbor, Stone flipped his horse's reins through a hitching ring and parted the swinging doors of the White Albatross Tavern. A hundred or more saloons hugged the waterfront, all similar in construction and clientele, and he had visited nearly all of them since he had departed the Cox mansion early that morning. But he had turned up no trace of the mysterious woman named Ruby Red. Hell, how many girls could there be with a name like that?

  His mouth tightened with mounting frustration as he threaded his way through the milling rabble and found a table on the outer perimeter of the merrymakers. The place was crowded and rowdy, even in late afternoon. He scanned the barmaids, who hung on the male customers or carried wooden trays loaded with mugs of beer. Eventually one of them sauntered up to his table. She leaned over, ostensibly to wipe the tabletop, and Stone's gaze lowered to the display of heavy white breasts that her bent position and low-cut bodice presented to him.

  "Name's Milly. What would you like, mister?" she asked, straightening, and her inviting smile offered him a lot more than a drink.

  "Whiskey and a girl named Ruby Red."

  Recognition flared behind the woman's eyes, just long enough for Stone to know she was familiar with the name. "Don't know nobody by that name," she answered, shrugging indifferently. "What d'you want her for?"

  "What do you care?"

  When she started to move away, Stone grabbed her wrist and held her where she was.

  "Hey, mister, let go o' me! I don't know nothin' about her, I tell you!"

  "I think you do." Still holding her firmly, Stone divested a twenty-dollar gold piece from his pocket and slid it across the table toward her.

  The girl's eyes latched greedily onto the money. She glanced around in a furtive manner, then spoke very low. "Who wants to know? If I tell you, you ain't gonna hurt her, are you?"

  "I want to know, and I have no intention of hurting her. I just want to talk to her."

  The woman continued to hesitate, frowning and chewing on her lower lip. "Look, she don't never do nothin' to hurt nobody. I don't wanna send no trouble her way."

  Stone retrieved a matching coin and placed it beside the first one. The girl snatched them and tucked them between her breasts.

  "She does the washin' 'round here. She's out back hangin' up the bed sheets, but don't go and hurt her or nothin', 'cause she's real frail and poorly. You know, jumpy and stuff."

  Stone let go of her. He stood. "Thanks, Milly. Show me the way."

  Moments later, he was standing on a back stoop that overlooked a small yard enclosed by an unpainted board fence. Long clotheslines ran from one end to the other, the freshly starched bed linens flapping in the brisk sea breeze. For a minute he didn't see the girl where she bent over a cauldron of boiling water. Then he stepped down to the grass and made his way toward her through the hanging sheets. She heard him coming before he reached her and swiveled around, clutching a wet pillowcase, her face twisted with fear.

  "Hello," he said, surprised by her fright. "Sorry if I startled you. Milly told me I could find you here."

  As he spoke, Stone examined her face. Her dark complexion and black braided hair hinted of a Mexican heritage, and she was young, probably even younger than Windsor. But her eyes didn't display the tranquil innocence that so attracted him to Windsor. The expression in this girl's chocolate-brown eyes was old and jaded, dulled by God knew what, especially if she had been around Clan much. She had the look of a scared rabbit poised to flee. She hadn't moved a muscle or said a word. She just stared at him, her eyes huge and terrified. He had to be careful with her, very careful.

  "Look, there's no need to be afraid. I'm not going to hurt you. I just want to ask you a few questions. My name's Stone Kincaid."

  Stone watched her dark eyes glaze over with stark horror. She started to back away, staring at him as if he were the devil come to claim her soul. He took a few paces in the same direction, afraid she was going to bolt. "I'm looking for a man named Emerson Clan. Know him?"

  Her face went slack, as if her facial muscles had turned to jelly. "Oh, Dios, Dios, senor, please don't make me go back to him, please don't, he'll hurt me again. Por favor, I beg you, I'll do anything you say."

  Her pleading was so heavily accented with Spanish that he had trouble understanding her, but he was more appalled at the way her jaw was trembling. She was on the verge of hysteria. He gentled his voice.

  "Hush, now, and listen to me. Don't be afraid. I'm not going to tell Clan anything. He didn't send me here, do you understand that? I'm looking for him, and when I find him, I'm going to kill him."

  Stone watched as she wrapped her arms around her shoulders, trying to control her quaking. "He will kill me if I speak with you," she whispered, her voice ragged.

  "Not if I kill him first."

  Her chest heaved uncontrollably, and she said nothing.

  "Is there somewhere we can go to talk?" he suggested, glancing around the yard. "Somewhere private? Do you have a room here?"

  Nodding, she pointed a quivering finger to a shack built against the back wall of the saloon.

  "We'll go inside where no one can see us. I won't hurt you, I promise."

  She backed slowly toward the hut, her eyes never leaving his face. Once inside, Stone examined the tawdry place. Dark and windowless, it had a narrow cot with a washstand beside it. A cracked white bowl holding a pitcher stood atop it, and a broken oil lamp had been set on the floor near a large wicker clothes basket full of laundry.

  "I understand you're called Ruby Red. Is that your real name?"

  The poor girl pressed herself against the wall as far away from him as she could get. She shook her head in denial. "No, it's not. It's Nina, Nina Nunez. He just liked to call me Ruby Red. I don't even know why, but I hate it! I hate him!" Her voice was shaking so badly he could barely understand her. He had never seen anyone so terrified. "I beg you, por favor, go away and leave me alone. Don't take me back. Senor Clan nearly killed me the last time I saw him." She sobbed, an awful, hopeless sound.

  Stone sat down on the bed, realizing he was going to have to calm her if he expected to get any information out of her. "You can trust me, Nina. Believe me, I hate that son of a bitch worse than you ever could. He killed some friends of mine, and he tried to kill me. He shot my brother and terrorized my sister-in-law while she was carrying a child. He would have killed her, too, if we hadn't gotten to her when we did."

  Nina didn't answer. Her eyes were wide, focused unblinkingly on him.

  Stone tried again. "I know he used my name several months ago when he killed a man here in San Francisco, a young Chinese named Hung-pin. He whipped him to death."

  Nina crumpled to her knees, rocking back and forth, her chest heaving. "He's so evil," she muttered thickly. "He likes to kill people. He made me watch him whip the Chinaman, over and over with that terrible whip, just because the Chinaman helped me up after Clan slapped me. He smiled and smiled all the time he was doing it. Dios, it is so awful the way he can flick the whip with his wrist and make the skin fly off. It was the most horrible thing I've ever seen. When I tried to stop him, he got angry
and beat me with the whip handle! See how much he hit me!" She jerked off the black shawl around her shoulders and loosened the drawstring of her top. She swept her hair away so he could see her back. "See! See what he did to me! And he'll do it again if I tell you things about him!"

  Horrified, Stone stared at the intersecting marks on her shoulders, purplish weals, still raised and discolored from a ruthless beating.

  "Good God, he's an animal," Stone muttered, hoarse with rage to think of Clan abusing the frail young woman. "Is he still in San Francisco, Nina? You have to tell me."

  Nina drew her shawl over her shoulders again, her head moving from side to side. "No, he'll kill me if I tell you. He will. I can't get away no matter how hard I try. He finds me every time I run away!"

  "I'll protect you."

  "You can't! No one can. I'll never be free from him, never."

  Stone stared at her, shocked at her trepidation, but he understood her dread of the man. Clan had that effect on people, especially his victims.

  "I'm a wealthy man, Nina. I can send you far away from here, where he can't find you. You've got to trust me. Tell me where he is, and you'll be free of him."

  "No, no, he'll come for me. I'm tied to him forever."

  Stone frowned. "I don't understand. I know Clan. If you disappear, he'll move on to another woman. Tell me where he is, please, Nina. Let me get him for doing this to you. Let me get him before he hurts someone else."

  Nina looked at him, her face streaked with tears, her eyes filled with hopelessness. "He'll come after me, I tell you, no matter where I go or what I do."

  "Why?"

  Nina got up and moved to the clothes basket beside the bed. She stooped and picked up something. When she turned around, she was cradling in her arms a blond baby about six months old.

  "He'll always come after me," she said softly, tears shining in her eyes, "because I have his son."