Saturday's Child (22 page)

❧

Quentin rode hunch-shouldered and ill-tempered. Why was it that life never worked out as you had it planned? He'd planned to marry ABce and spend his life with her. Then she'd died and he'd sworn never to love again, never to let anyone close enough that her loss could leave him broken and bleeding inside.

And then he'd met Katie.

He'd admired her spirit. He'd found a certain peace when she was near. And he'd told himself that it would be a good thing to marry her. A man shouldn't go through life alone, he should have heirs to follow after, to inherit what he'd built.

He'd thought Katie would make a good wife and she'd not expect him to love her. They were both entering into this marriage with their eyes wide open. There'd be no shattered dreams and broken hearts to come out of this union. He'd provide her with the home she wanted and they'd build a good marriage, based on mutual goals.

It had been a good plan, he told himself irritably. Only that plan hadn't worked, either. He'd made the singular mistake of falling in love with his wife. He loved the way her nose wrinkled when she laughed, the way she frowned while she was cooking, her eyes anxious on whatever pot she was stirring. He loved the way her hair always managed to escape its pins. The way she blushed when he unbuttoned her nightgown. And then how passionately she responded to his touch. He shifted in the saddle, uncomfortable with the direction his thoughts were taking.

When she'd so nearly died having his son, he had no longer been able to pretend that all he felt was fondness. Faced with losing her, he'd had to face his feelings. But he hadn't accepted them, he admitted. He'd fought them tooth and nail.

He didn't want to love anyone that much again. He didn't want to be so vulnerable. He didn't want all his happiness tied up in another person. He'd arranged his life so well. How dare she destroy his neat pattern?

He was ashamed to admit that he'd been angry at her, as if it were her fault that he loved her. And then, like a child, he'd decided that he didn't have to love her if he didn't want to. So he'd treated her like a sister or a niece. He'd stayed away from the bed they'd shared. He'd worked long hours so he wouldn't have to spend so much time alone with her.

He'd treated his love for her like an illness that would go away if given a chance to run its course. He'd been a fool, he admitted to himself.

It wasn't until she was gone that he'd learned the true meaning of loneliness. Oh, he'd been lonely after Alice died, but it was nothing compared to what he'd felt once Katie left.

He'd never had a chance to build a life with Alice, never had a chance to store up the little memories that caught him unawares. He'd walk into the kitchen and feel a pang when he didn't see Katie. He'd even felt lonely when he sat on one of her knitting needles, forgotten beneath a cushion.

His temper had gone from bad to worse after her departure. She hadn't even been gone a week when one of the hands threatened to quit. Quentin had reined in his ill temper after that, but Tate had finally taken him aside and, with the familiarity of an old man talking to a young fool, had suggested that he go to San Francisco and bring his wife home,

Quentin had railed all night against the idea. He wouldn't love her. And then he'd gone into the room they'd shared and stared at the bed where they'd made love, the bed where their son had been born. Crossing the room, he'd pushed his boot against the cradle, listening to the quiet rhythm of the rockers against the wood floor.

The house seemed to echo with emptiness. All the heart was gone from it. Standing there in the empty room, Quentin finally admitted to himself that love was something he couldn't dictate, no matter how hard he tried.

If he'd never known Katie, he might have gone through his life content never to love again. But he couldn't pretend she didn't exist and he couldn't pretend she didn't hold his heart in her hands.

"I love you, Katie Aileen Sterling." He spoke the words out loud and wondered if it was his imagination that made the room seem suddenly brighter, warmer.

Now, here he was, almost to Laramie and frozen half to death. He had fresh clothes strapped to the back of the saddle. He was going to catch the first train to San Francisco and find his wife and tell her just what a fool he'd been. He'd beg her on bended knee if he had to, but he wasn't leaving the city without her.

He'd started well before dawn and hadn't stopped, choosing to chew on a stick of jerked beef while he rode. It was after dark when he rode into Laramie and made his way to the livery stable. He left his horse to be cared for, giving the man an extra two bits to feed the tired animal a ration of oats and rub him down well.

He walked directly to the railway station, though his stomach suggested that stopping to eat might be a good idea. He'd eat on the train, if he was lucky enough to be able to catch one tonight.

"Hello, Bill. You're working late." The station-master turned as Quentin leaned in the ticket window.

"Hello, Quentin. Trains don't pay much attention to other folks' schedules. Goin' somewhere?"

"San Francisco, if you've got a train headin' that direction."

"There's one should be comin' through in about three hours. Bringin' relief from Chicago."

"Relief?" Quentin felt a frisson of alarm.

"That's right. You would'na heard yet if you just got into town. There was a big earthquake just this morning. Newspapers are sayin' the city's leveled. No tellin' how many are dead."

"My God." Quentin straightened away from the window. Katie and Geoff were there. And the rest of his family.

"You still want to go?" Bill questioned. "Don't seem much reason unless you're a reporter."

"Yes, I want to go. My family is there."

"Oh, say." Bill's face wrinkled with concern. "I'm sorry about that. I'd forgot you were from the coast." He shifted uncomfortably. "Well, you know how the newspapers always exaggerate. Probably wasn't near as bad as they make it sound. Your wife there?"

"Yes. And our son."

"Say, that's too bad, but I bet when you get there, you'll find them snug as anything. Sure, they'll be fine."

Quentin turned away without answering. Moving to the edge of the platform, he stared toward the west. Katie was there. And Geoff. Everything he loved most in the world. If he hadn't been such a fool... If only he'd told her how he felt, she wouldn't have gone.

Was his stupidity going to cost Katie her life?

❧

The hours immediately following the quake were like a scene from Dante's Inferno. Within fifteen minutes, columns of smoke could be seen rising from various parts of the city. Many of the blazes were in the area south of Market where Colin and Edith's little house lay.

The firemen were well trained and responded with an efficiency that couldn't be faulted, but they were hampered at first by the scattered positions of the fires, which forced them to dissipate their efforts over a wide area.

It wasn't long before another and far more serious problem became evident. The water from the hoses slowed to a trickle and then stopped altogether. When the earthquake had lashed the city, the shifting earth had snapped the water mains, leaving the firemen virtually helpless against the advancing blaze.

All of this Katie learned later. In those first few minutes after the tremors, she could only stand in the ruins of her little bedroom, clutching her son to her and offering up a prayer of thanks that they had been saved.

"Katie? Katie, are you all right?" Colin's voice was harsh with fear. She could hear him picking his way through the shambles to her door.

"I'm fine. And the baby's fine." He thrust open her door, his face white, the tension not leaving it until he saw her standing there unharmed. "Is Edith safe?"

"Yes, we're both all right." He seemed unaware of the cut on his forehead, caused by falling plaster. "You'd better put on some clothes. I'll gather what food we have. There's no telling what this day will bring."

"Colin?" He turned back impatiently. "It might be as well if you put some clothing on, yourself."

He glanced down at his bare legs beneath the hem of his nightshirt and an expression that was almost a smile broke the tautness of his features.

It was the only light moment in a grim day. By noon, one square mile of the city lay in ashes and the fires were still raging. Colin had shepherded his small family out into the street, their food tied in a blanket that he carried like a hobo's knapsack. In a matter of hours, it was clear that their little house was doomed. Indeed, the whole area south of Market was doomed.

Without water, Fire Chief Sullivan's brave men could do little to fight the flames. And they later learned that Dennis Sullivan himself had been fatally injured, trying to rescue his wife.

Desperately, the firemen tried to dynamite all that lay in the fire's pathway, hoping to stem its advance. There was hope for a short time that Market Street's great width might save the area to the north, but the worn wooden building on East Street north of Market soon caught fire.

The fire burned for three and a half days. The great Palace Hotel, which had boasted huge water tanks on its roof to provide its own protection from fires, burned before dusk, its water tanks empty.

As Katie hurried through the streets, seeking safety somewhere beyond the reach of the flames, she saw signs of high comedy and high tragedy. There were men in nightshirts and frock coats, carrying silk top hats and flower vases, whatever had been near to hand when they'd fled their homes.

Several times, they stopped to aid in the rescue of some poor soul trapped in the rubble of a fallen building. Twice, the aid had come too late and Colin had turned away, his face grim, his hands torn and bleeding.

They spent the night crouched in a small park, wrapped in blankets Edith and Katie had carried from their home. Dinner was beans eaten from a tin can and they felt fortunate to have that much.

Katie cradled Geoff to her bosom, wrapping the blanket modestly about her as she nursed, grateful that she didn't have to worry about food for him. Of them all, only the baby seemed to have come through the day unscathed. Colin sat staring at the blazing city below, his arms resting on his updrawn knees, his hands dangling uselessly. Edith huddled against him, her head on his shoulder, her face covered with dirt, except where the tears had wound pathways through the soot and dust.

The sky was bright with the reflected flames. It seemed to Katie as if the whole world was burning. Holding Geoff close, she drew what comfort she could from his sturdy little body. She'd seen enough women, sobbing in the street, begging for some word of their missing children, to know how lucky she was.

Exhaustion finally overcame numbed shock and she lay back, drawing the blanket about her and the baby, closing her eyes and praying that the sun would rise on a better day.

❧

But on Thursday morning, the fire still blazed. The City Hall, newspaper row and the Grand Opera House where they'd listened to Caruso only two nights before were all gone. The fire was nearing the crest of Nob Hill. Katie spared a thought for the Sterlings, hoping they'd gotten to safety. And old Mr. MacNamara.

Colin moved his small family to the Presidio. Tents and shacks were set up among the rows of military buildings, giving shelter to hundreds of refugees. Military rations were passed out to those in need.

Katie managed to rig a sort of pack that held Geoff to her bosom but left her hands free and she helped out wherever she could, distributing food, bandaging small wounds. She and Edith worked from dawn to dusk, as much to still their thoughts as anything else. Colin had gone back into the city to do what he could. All day, they could hear the sound of blasting as the fire fighters struggled to stop the flames from consuming the entire city.

But it wasn't until midafternoon on Saturday, three and a half days after the earthquake that the last of the fires were doused. Coal dumps still burned in the industrial area south of Market Street and coffee and tea, stored in a warehouse, continued to smolder, sending out a rich aroma. But there was nothing left near them to burn.

When the news reached Katie, she sat down on the ground and started to cry. For the first time since the earthquake, she allowed the tears to flow. Geoff stirred fussily in his improvised pack and she made a conscious effort to loosen her arms about him. For the first time, she allowed herself to believe that they were going to be safe. They'd be able to go home.

She'd hardly let herself think of home these last terrible days. But it had always been there, in the back of her mind. Something she held close against her fear. Home and Quentin.

Quentin. Was he worried about her? Isolated as the ranch was, it was possible he didn't even know about the earthquake and fire. Had he missed her at all? Or was he relieved that she was gone?

She held Geoff close, laying her cheek against the downy softness of his hair, drawing comfort from his sturdy little body. The smell of smoke was so prevalent she hardly noticed it anymore.

"Colin!" Edith's voice broke on the cry and Katie looked up in time to see her brother throw his arms about his wife. He was filthy with soot and grime but he was wonderfully, miraculously unharmed. Katie stood up and Colin lifted one arm from Edith's shoulders to draw her close. After a moment she stepped back, reaching up to wipe self-consciously at the tears that had left tracks on her dirty cheeks. Colin, his arms still around Edith, grinned at his sister, his teeth white in contrast to his sooty face.

"I have brought you a present. Someone I happened to run into."

At his gesture Katie turned. Her heart seemed to stop. "Quentin." His name was hardly a breath. He stood right in front of her when she'd thought him a thousand miles away. She blinked, trying to clear the tears from her eyes, sure that she was hallucinating. That wasn't Quentin. She'd thought of him so often these past few days, aching to feel his arms around her. Now that the crisis was past, exhaustion must be making her see things.

"Katie." His voice was low and husky. He was as filthy as everyone else, his work shirt torn, his jeans streaked with soot and dirt. It seemed strange to see him here in the city wearing clothes she'd only seen him wear on the ranch.

She stared at him, searching for something to say. All she wanted was to have him put his arms around her and hold her close, to hear him tell her that he loved her. that he wanted to take her home.

"What are you doing here?" The question was all she could manage.

"I was worried about you and Geoff."

She looked down, stroking her son's hand. Of course he had been worried about Geoff. She'd never had reason to doubt that he loved his child. She blinked back foolish tears.

"Geoff is fine. He's too young to know what's happened. As long as he's warm and fed, he's content."

"That's good." Quentin pushed his hands into his pockets and then pulled them out again, staring at them as if he wasn't quite certain they belonged to him. Around him were sounds of celebration that the fire was at last out.

"Have you been here long?" Katie asked at last.

"Yesterday. I got here yesterday. It wasn't easy. The rails are damaged, you know." He squinted toward the city. "I couldn't find you. Nearly everything south of Market has burned. I'd hoped you and Geoff had gotten out."

"The house was badly damaged by the earthquake," she said, shifting Geoff into a more comfortable position. "Colin got us out Wednesday morning. We've been camping since then."

"So he told me. It was sheer luck that I saw him. I'd still be looking for you otherwise."

"Yes, that was lucky." She stared at his boots, fighting back tears.

"I even went to my family's home."

She glanced up. "Are they all right? We were told that most of Nob Hill had burned. I prayed they got out in time."

"The house is gone. Everyone got out safely. My grandfather commandeered an automobile and packed the whole family across the bay Wednesday night. One of the servants told me they were safe. She also told me you'd been to visit them."

She lifted her chin. "I thought they might want to see their grandson. Your grandfather was most kind."

"But my parents refused to see you." He shook his head, narrowing his eyes against the sun. "My mother was so proud of that big house on the hill, and now the fire has left her with little more than her own servants."

There didn't seem to be anything to add to that. Katie brushed her tangled hair back from her face, knowing that she must look no better than a washerwoman and too tired to care.

Glancing up, she caught Quentin's eyes on her, a look in them she couldn't quite interpret. He looked almost hungry.

"I was coming to see you before I knew about the earthquake, Katie," he said abruptly. "I was coming to take you home, where you belong."

"Quentin?" She felt her heart slow until she could count each beat. She had dreamed of seeing that look in his eyes for so long that she was afraid to believe she was really seeing it now.

"Will you forgive me, Katie? Will you forgive me and come home? It's empty without you. I'm empty without you."

There was a frozen moment where she couldn't seem to move and then she was in his arms, feeling them close, strong and warm about her.

"Oh, God, I was such a fool." His voice was muffled in her hair, but she heard the words as clearly as if he'd shouted them. "I love you, Katie. I love you. I thought I'd lost you forever. I couldn't live without you."

She closed her eyes. If this was a dream, then she didn't want to wake up.

Geoff dispelled the dreamlike atmosphere by letting out a loud cry, indignant at the way his parents were squashing him between them. Quentin's arms loosened enough to allow the baby some room. One hand cupped Katie's cheek, his eyes looking deeply into hers. Katie felt fresh tears spring to her eyes at the expression she saw in his.

All her dreams were coming true. San Francisco would be rebuilt, bigger and better than ever. But she wouldn't be there to see it.

She was going to be in a place where you could look for miles without seeing another person, a place where the coyote provided a lullaby at night, a place where she'd put down roots, strong and sturdy.

Leaning her head against Quentin's shoulders, their son held close, she knew she'd found the home she'd always dreamed of and it wasn't really a place. It was right here in Quentin's arms.